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61: The Son of Ice and Fire, Cersei
🕑 Added 2024-09-04 03:01:26 +0000 UTCMaekar
Red Keep
Maekar stood in the corridors of the Red Keep, his gaze fixed on the garden below, where Cersei Lannister sat with her servants and handmaidens, who stood a few paces away. The soft light of the setting sun bathed the scene in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured hedges and flowers.
His eyes fell on the Lady of Casterly Rock. Her golden hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders like a lioness’s mane, glinting in the fading light. Dressed in a flowing crimson gown adorned with intricate golden embroidery, she was the very image of Lannister power and pride. There was no denying her beauty—a beauty sharpened by ambition, hunger, and the will to seize what she believed was rightfully hers.
Cersei sat with her back straight and her chin held high as her handmaidens fussed around her. She glanced at them only briefly, her green eyes cold and distant, as though she were merely tolerating their presence. Even from this distance, Maekar could sense the restless energy beneath her poised exterior. The way her fingers drummed against the armrest of her chair, the occasional flicker of impatience in her eyes—Cersei Lannister was a woman who loathed the role society had forced upon her.
From his understanding of her, Cersei had always thought of herself as the female version of her father, Tywin Lannister. Willful, ambitious, and possessing low cunning, she fancied herself subtle and politically astute. Yet, to Maekar’s eyes, she was transparent. She craved power with a desperation that made her both dangerous and vulnerable. Her hatred of being excluded from influence because of her sex made her easy to manipulate, if one knew how to feed that fire.
And he intended to do just that.
Aegon was confident that Joffrey would deliver him the West. Tywin, it seemed, was pushing for a royal marriage for his grandson—perhaps to his sister, or worse, Daenerys. That could not be allowed to happen. Joffrey was in his way. Tywin, even more so.
Killing Joffrey was an option, one he had considered more than once. Cersei, for all her flaws, loved her children fiercely. To her, they were extensions of her own greatness—her legacy. If Cersei suspected he had a hand in it, she would become an implacable foe, and her wrath could be catastrophic.
He needed to be more cunning, more deliberate. Tywin could never be an ally; the man was too dangerous, too shrewd. Maekar had no desire for Tywin Lannister to be anywhere near his reign. The old lion had to be kept at bay. What he needed was Cersei—alone, without Tywin’s shadow looming over her. He needed her as the Lady of Casterly Rock, free from her father’s control.
His mind whirred with possibilities. Cersei was willful, but she could be flattered, seduced by promises of power and influence. He needed her to be on his side when he eventually got rid of Tywin, to have her in power in the West. Joffrey would need to go as well, but someone else would need to take the blame—someone on whom Cersei could direct her wrath, ideally his brother.
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He walked toward the garden as the events of a month ago replayed in his mind. Joffrey had insulted him in the training yard in front of some courtiers, Aegon, and Margaery Tyrell. He did not get angry then, but he made Joffrey a promise.
He recalled the promise he had whispered in Joffrey's ear to shock him into silence. "I’m going to fuck your mother."
‘Poor Joffrey,’ he thought, a wry smile playing on his lips he was going to make his life hell before he ended his miserable life.
As he neared Cersei, her green eyes flicked toward him, sharp with interest. She stood gracefully, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. With a subtle gesture, she dismissed her handmaidens, the redcloaks, and the servants. They all moved away obediently, leaving them alone in the golden light of the late afternoon.
"Prince Maekar," Cersei greeted him, her voice smooth as silk as she stood to face him.
He returned the smile, bowing his head slightly as he reached for her hand. "Lady Lannister," he said, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to it. "You truly are the light of the West."
Cersei’s smile widened, clearly pleased by the attention. "You flatter me, Your Grace," she replied, her tone sweet but edged with amusement.
"Only the truth, my lady," Maekar said, his voice warm.
They began to walk slowly through the garden, making small talk as they went, his every word carefully chosen.
"And how are you finding the city, my lady?" he asked, his gaze never leaving her.
Cersei’s lips curled into a faint smile, her eyes sweeping over the garden as she answered. "A lot of construction, I’ve noticed. It seems even the smell has lessened." She glanced sideways at him. "I’ve heard that you were responsible for these improvements."
"Well," Maekar said with a humble nod, "I have been trying to make the city more presentable. After all, it is the capital of the realm—it should reflect that."
Cersei chuckled softly, her voice laced with approval. "About time someone took that task seriously."
"And how are your children, my lady?" Maekar inquired, steering the conversation.
"They are fine," Cersei replied, her tone softening slightly at the mention of her children. "Joffrey, especially, is growing into a fine young man."
Maekar nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral. "I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with Joffrey from time to time. A fine man, indeed—sharp, ambitious. I can see why you’re proud." he found it hard to even lie about that little shit.
Cersei’s eyes lit up with genuine happiness at the compliment. "He spends too much time with that cripple," she muttered in a low voice, almost to herself.
Maekar took note of her words but stayed silent, merely nodding in agreement. He sensed an opportunity but knew it wasn’t time to push just yet.
"But," Maekar said, shifting the tone, "I didn’t come here simply to exchange pleasantries. There are important matters relating to the West that I’d like to discuss with you."
Cersei tilted her head, intrigued. "Oh? And what matters would those be?"
Maekar gave her a measured look, allowing just a hint of deference to slip into his voice. "As the heir to Casterly Rock, who better to discuss these matters with than you, Lady Lannister?"
Cersei’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at his words, a genuine smile spreading across her lips. She clearly relished the acknowledgment of her status, her pride swelling visibly. Maekar smiled internally, pleased at how easily he had touched upon one of her deepest desires—to be seen as Tywin's true successor.
"Your Grace," Cersei replied, her voice smooth, "I am, of course, at your service. What matters weigh on your mind?"
Maekar’s smile widened ever so slightly, his mind already calculating the next move. ‘Daddy issues—always a weakness,’ he thought.
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Cersei moved through the crowd with practiced grace, her golden hair shimmering under the torchlight like a crown of molten gold. Tonight’s feast was held in her honor, celebrating her arrival in the capital. The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with the sounds of music and laughter, the golden light of chandeliers reflecting off polished silver goblets and the rich fabrics of the nobles in attendance.
Yet, despite the lively atmosphere, Cersei’s thoughts were elsewhere—her mind drifting to memories and long-held fantasies that had once filled her with hope and desire.
Her eyes went to the high table, and she caught sight of the king, the man who had been the center of her fantasies and dreams since her father had promised her that she would be queen. In her mind, Rhaegar Targaryen had always been the epitome of everything she had ever desired in a man. She remembered the tales she had heard of him as a girl—the Silver Prince, tall and handsome, a warrior of unmatched skill who played the harp and sang songs of love and loss. She had imagined herself at his side, a golden queen to his silver king, ruling Westeros in a union of beauty and power.
But now, as she looked at the man before her, the harsh reality struck her. The image she had held onto for so long was shattered. The once-great Silver Prince was now a shadow of his former self. His once-vibrant silver hair had dulled, and his face was gaunt, the lines of age and suffering etched deeply into his skin. He walked with a cane and a limp, his height diminished, and the aura of invincibility that had once surrounded him was gone. Cersei’s excitement, which had sparked briefly at the thought of meeting Rhaegar again, was quickly extinguished. The prince she had once dreamed of was gone, replaced by this weakened man.
Disgust welled up inside her as she took in the sight. Even worse, her gaze fell upon Rhaegar’s heir, the crown prince, who was seated beside his father. Aegon Targaryen, the son of that Dornish whore, weak and fragile Elia Martell, was every bit as disappointing as his mother. The prince may have once been handsome, but now, after his ordeal with the Greyjoy savage, he was an ugly, twisted version of his former self. The sight of him made her stomach turn. She was embarrassed to think of her son associating with such a creature, but unfortunately, Aegon was the crown prince.
Cersei found herself struggling to mask her feelings as she approached the dais. The disappointment and revulsion threatened to show on her face, and she fought to maintain the mask of composure she had worn for so long. But then her gaze shifted, and she caught sight of someone who immediately drew her attention—a royal she was more familiar with, and one who intrigued her far more than the others.
Sitting to the left of the king was his second son, Maekar. His very existence had angered her when she first learned of it—Rhaegar’s choice to marry that wild, savage girl from the North had been an affront to her. But now, as she looked at him, those feelings of anger were replaced by something else entirely. Maekar was everything his father and brother were not. He lacked the traditional Targaryen features; his hair was dark, and his eyes were a piercing gray. But he exuded a strength and vitality that immediately captivated her. His broad shoulders and the confident way he carried himself spoke of power—the kind of power that Rhaegar had long since lost and that Aegon had never possessed.
As Cersei’s eyes lingered on Maekar, she felt a spark of something she hadn’t felt in years—a mixture of desire and ambition. Here, perhaps, was a man worth knowing. A man who could be molded, influenced, and controlled. A man who could help her achieve the power she had always craved. And as Maekar turned his head and their eyes met, Cersei felt her pulse quicken. That was no broken prince, no fragile heir to a crumbling throne.
The prince had come to her to talk, recognizing her as her father's true heir—the only one in the capital who did. Cersei knew he was smart; he understood where true power lay, and he had sought her out to discuss matters of conflict between lords on the borders of the Crownlands and the West. He had asked for her help in mediating the matter, a request that spoke to her pride.
It was clear to her that the prince was captivated by her beauty, as were so many others, yet his compliments felt different—more sincere, perhaps, or more calculated. She appreciated them more than she would admit.
‘If only I were younger,’ she thought as she neared the table, her mind filled with what could have been.
As she reached the high table, she offered a greeting to the king. Rhaegar, his expression distant and weary, acknowledged her. His voice, once commanding, was now a mere shadow of what it had been.
"Lady Cersei," he said, his eyes barely meeting hers.
Joffrey, eager to make an impression, quickly stepped forward to introduce Aegon. "Mother, may I introduce you to Prince Aegon."
Cersei offered a quick, polite greeting to the crown prince, her voice smooth but detached. "Prince Aegon, a pleasure."
Aegon nodded, and Cersei wasted no time before turning her attention to Maekar.
"Lady Lannister," Maekar greeted her, his eyes reflecting the same keen interest she had seen earlier.
"Prince Maekar," Cersei replied with a smile, leaning in slightly. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, I hope? I believe you promised me a dance."
Maekar’s lips curled into a charming smile. "I haven’t forgotten, my lady. The night is still young."
Satisfied, Cersei turned to find her seat, but not before catching sight of Joffrey’s face, twisted in anger. She felt a flash of irritation—had the boy forgotten everything she had taught him? She scolded him with a sharp look, silently reminding him to control his emotions.
As the feast continued, Cersei sat with a carefully schooled expression, watching the proceedings with thinly veiled boredom. The music played, a lively tune filled with the sounds of lutes and harps, but it did little to engage her. The laughter and chatter of the court washed over her, leaving her feeling detached from the revelry around her.
Her eyes, however, were fixed on Prince Maekar. He was dancing with his aunt, Princess Daenerys, and the sight stirred something unpleasant within her.
‘She is beautiful,’ Cersei thought, her gaze narrowing as she took in the delicate features of the Targaryen princess—the way her silver hair shimmered in the light, the way her violet eyes sparkled with joy.
But it wasn’t just Daenerys’s beauty that caught Cersei’s attention—it was the way Maekar held her, his hands on her body, his movements close and intimate. The sight of it ignited a flare of jealousy in Cersei’s chest, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Unable to stand it any longer, Cersei rose from her seat and walked towards them. She could not—would not—allow herself to be overshadowed. Not now, not ever.
She neared them as they finished their dance.
"Prince Maekar, I believe you promised me a dance," Cersei said.
Maekar glanced at Daenerys briefly before nodding to Cersei. "Indeed, I did promise," he agreed, offering his hand.
Cersei did not even acknowledge Daenerys as she took Maekar’s hand, leading him onto the dance floor. The music swelled, a rich melody filling the hall as they began to move together. She was surprised to find that the prince was an excellent dancer. His grip on her waist was firm, his fingers brushing suggestively against her skin as they swayed in perfect rhythm. The thrill of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, awakening something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Cersei responded in kind, allowing her body to press closer to his, her eyes gleaming with amusement and desire.
"You are a bold one, my prince," Cersei said, her voice low and filled with a sultry edge.
Maekar’s lips curled into a smile. "I’ve always been attracted to power," he replied smoothly.
Cersei’s lips curved in a sly smile. "It’s rare to come across a kindred spirit."
As they continued to dance, Cersei noticed the prince's subtle gestures—his eyes darting towards the high table, where Joffrey stood with a shocked expression. She could have sworn she saw the prince wink at her son, a gesture so brief it could have been imagined.
As the dance came to an end, Maekar leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur that only she could hear. "I hope we get to know each other better in the coming months, my lady."
Cersei’s smile widened as she nodded in agreement. "I would like that, my prince."
With a final, lingering touch, Maekar stepped away and made his way back toward his aunt, leaving Cersei to return to the high table. As she did, she began to notice things she hadn’t before—the tension between Prince Aegon and Prince Maekar, the subtle glances exchanged between them. She had heard that the two were not close, but now it seemed there was more to their relationship than mere distance. The tension was palpable, and Cersei found herself intrigued.
It seemed the next few months in King’s Landing would not be as dull as she had feared. Taking a sip of wine from her goblet, Cersei allowed herself to smile, her mind already working through the possibilities.
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