When Cersei comes, Joanna is hesitant.
She knows her daughter well.
She is her blood, her flesh, her firstborn. And she is very aware of the girl that Tywin wishes to make the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Joanna, of course, has hope for her child. She is her mother. But she is also not a fool.
Her daughter has the makings of a very ill queen, indeed.
She is capricious. Covetous. And her first instinct is violence. While she is not stupid, she is impatient, while not without her cleverness and slyness in moments that give Joanna leave to hope her girl will do well eventually, her emotions then get the better of her. Those emotions are dark, dangerous things, Joanna knows, in a way emotions shouldn't be in a girl of mere ten. There is something wrong with Cersei. Joanna knows it in the marrow of her bones when her daughter looks at her. She had grown at the feet of a princess and seen the aftermath of madness in the wreckage of Summerhall. And it sends Joanna in a spiral of despair and rage that this was the girl her husband thought right to sit beside the man on the Iron Throne. Joanna knows that all too well. After all, she had seen similar behavior in the young heir, Prince Aerys... To see the same tendencies in her own daughter had… Been quite distressful, to Joanna. That is not the good makings of a good Queen, let alone a great one as Tywin envisions. Blind as he is to his children, never taking the time to just look at them when he's even present at the Rock.
Add to the fact that she had caught her daughter and son naked together in bed-
Fuck, thought Joanna, as she spotted her daughter, as she often thinks when she sees her. Cersei's eyes were glowing, her face flush. She was eager. No. Perhaps excited, was a better word. This was an event, after all, an execution on behalf of a Lady of the West. Joanna pursed her lips. What her daughter should be showing was seriousness, or sorrow for her friend. But her thought of blood or perhaps the spectacle made on the behalf of a friend of her's had her near beaming. Beside her, she felt Melara stiffen. Just a fraction. It was a sobering reality that Melara was all too aware of her daughter, Joanna knew. If she saw her eldest clearly, perhaps Melara was the only other one to see her just as clearly.
"Melara!" Cersei called, voice too gleeful for the tears on her lashes.
Like all things, Cersei did cry prettily. Joanna leveled a hand on Melara's arm. She would have curled an arm around her, but the Oak Spoon was firmly attached to her back, even seated as she was on the bench. Joanna knew the girl would only part from it if Tywin made her. For now, her husband was allowing what he thought as a telling symbol to stay with the named heiress of Hether Keep. Mentally, Joanna was thinking of taking Tygett aside and training the girl with the blade. To bolster her probably shaken confidence, and to have an added layer of protection to her own merit. Joanna knew how powerful it felt to wield a weapon well, and Melara had the intelligence and the empathy to not wield the blade foolishly as a lady.
"Good afternoon, Lady Cersei," Melara's voice was quiet, even, with only that tired quality she had gained in Joanna's solar to differentiate from the vivacious creature she had once portrayed herself to be.
Cersei faltered at the different tone. Or perhaps at the fact that Melara wore one of her old winter gowns. Cersei had outgrown it nearly a year ago, of course, and Joanna had not found another dress that would fit Melara that was suitable for her station, not in such a short time. She had a feeling she was to raid many of her child's closet leaves before new appropriate gowns could be made for the girl. The King was coming, and it was a Tourney representative of all of the people in Westeros, the girl would look fitting for the Ward of the Rock. The fine emerald of color of the silk and golden velvet trim was striking against her pale skin, highlighting the greens in her eyes, making her dark red hair all the more striking. Her hair was neatly made by Joanna's own hand, elaborately braided around the matching Westerland Hood, all flowing into a singular braid that followed down her back and filled with black pearls pins that had been in the maid's rooms, sequestered away from their rightful owner. Melara was a pretty thing, Joanna knew, and now dressed more befitting of her wealth, all the more shown.
Cersei blinked.
She was used to being the most beautiful girl in the room, uncontested. Melara's own beauty tempered by her need for survival and the plain gown forced on her by her 'guardian'. Cersei's gaze locked onto Jaime, beside the girl. Almost too close for properties' sake. Joanna suppressed a sigh. Her son had taken to following the girl, as if he was Tygett's squire as if he was needed to follow behind her. His horror, she thinks, had led to guilt, and his guilt had swiftly fallen to the admiration of her resilience… Or appearance to the songs he loved so well. A tragic maid, triumphing against a horrible man? Kind and gentle to him as he had reacted to the first real horror he had seen? It was evident that her son would fall to being infatuated with the girl. As swift as a lion on the cliffs of the West, her son would think well of Melara Hetherspoon.
Joanna near laughed at the flustered state it left the girl in, seen by the slight blush that filled her freckled cheeks.
Joanna had first thought her attention to Jaime to have been shallow. For her own betterment and to lift herself to become Lady of the Rock. And after witnessing her scars and injuries, she had thought it only for the escape and protection of her Lord Husband. Now, Joanna saw that even if it had been partly that second aspect that had made Melara look at her son, the other part of it had been his handsome face. She was perhaps infatuated with her son, truly, in a way Joanna had thought false.
It is cruel of me , thought Joanna with guilt, But I think it will do my son good… Even if it does Melara ill.
Her sweet boy had made great strives to make that tragic girl laugh today, which she had allowed, grateful to see that someone other than Cersei could catch his attention. He had japes and jests plenty for Melara Hetherspoon, bright and quiet imitative of Gerion, Joanna thought. Had guided her to the elevated dais where the Lannisters would witness the Justice for the girl, in an outer courtyard that had been quickly situated to host most of the Lords and Ladies of the West and the guests from across Westeros as they could. He had made a point of conversing with her, bringing her warm tea when she politely refused the heated wine that had begun to make the rounds and called for actual food when he realized she had yet to break her fast.
Her son was kind in his summerlove. In a way he was only ever to his kin.
But, he was truly one of the kindest souls Joanna had seen in her life.
She worried for him. Cersei took advantage of kindness. She knew it. Melara probably knew it- Joanna shuddered as she remembered the night she had found them exploring each other. It had been perhaps innocent- the twins had shared baths when they were younger, only really changed when the lesson schedule had changed. But the concept of her children growing to more carnal inclinations to each other had her fearing her husband's wrath.
She knew her husband. The concept of them doing anything to tarnish the legacy he had dragged from the muck would have him furious in a way that would make the Rains seem partly. For those who were near strangers, bannermen overstepping. His own flesh and blood making him the fool would be a betrayal. And Tywin would never withstand it. Joanna loved her husband. But she knew him, and her children did not need their foolish mistakes being the cause of any suffering. Melara, as much as Joanna hated to think it, was a fine thing for her children. Cersei for her worse impulses, and Jaime for the appreciation of someone other than his sister.
Forgive me, sweetling. But I think you will appreciate my pragmatism in this.
She looked at Cersei and raised a brow.
"Cersei," she said, sharply, "Where are your manners?"
Cersei blinked again.
Melara shifted in her seat. A quick glance from Joanna, and the girl demurely dipped her head in answer. She would not speak to Cersei, Joanna realized, not as she had before. This gesture had cemented it, Melara would no longer seek out her daughter. She wonders if she even liked her daughter, or if she saw too many parallels to the cruel people who abused her. Joanna squeezed her arm gently, accepting for now. She knew Melara would still temper Cersei if they discussed it properly amongst themselves.
For now, Melara would have some peace from her.
"Mother," Cersei said, and she shifted into an acceptable curtsy.
"Cersei," she repeated, sternly.
"Good afternoon, Lady Mother," Cersei said with a huff, "Lady Melara. Brother."
"Hello, sister," said Jaime, solemnly.
Melara stayed silent. Cersei stared at her, her blonde brows furrowing. Waiting, no doubt for Melara's usual brightness, inane chattering. Melara stayed silent. Her face was still and a perfect mask of polite indifference.
"Melara-"
"Cersei. Take a seat with me, and leave her be," said Joanna, sternly.
Cersei blinked quickly. Her mouth fell slightly agape.
"Melara," her daughter barked.
Joanna remembered how the girl had acted when Cersei would get this way. The Hetherspoon lap dog, Joanna had called her in her mind with distaste. That dog was gone. A lady stood in her place. Joanna had given her means to stand on her own, and the girl had taken it with two hands. She simply blinked, slowly at Cersei. She lifted a single brow.
"You are being rude, Lady Cersei," said Melara softly, "Your Lady Mother has bid you to sit and to leave me be."
Joanna frowned at her daughter's sputtering. A mere refusal had her reacting so foolishly?
"Melara-" repeated her daughter, voice hard and starting to rise.
"Enough," said her husband, voice cold, "Sit, Cersei. We are to begin soon."
Cersei sat with a grimace. Staring at Melara with wide, angry eyes. Melara only looked at her husband.
"Lord Lannister, is there something else on your mind?"
He looked at her, jaw working. Something in his eyes, however, sharpened on her. Not viciously. Thoughtful. Joanna nearly smiled at the fact that Melara could read her husband's minute expressions. A feat that further cemented in her mind that Melara was observant.
"The castellan of Hether Keep, it has been left to Lord Damon Marbrand and he has done little for you. Will you leave it to him?"
A cursory look at Micheal Hetherspoon's account books showed indeed that his primary means of income had been Melara's own stipend inheritance. Already, she knew that Lord Damon Marbrand was to be raked across the coals for his incompetence. A cursory look and the Lord would have realized something was amiss with his cousin. He had not even sent a raven to her once, beyond the one telling her to stay at the Rock. He had never inquired after the girl who should have been in his keeping, as per the request of his kin. Tywin was wroth with fury over it, Joanna could see. He did not take the shrieking of responsibility well in any means, especially if it lead to needless suffering.
Melara did not answer right away. Her face was thoughtful.
"I would ask for a new castellan. I have little confidence in a man that barely maintained his responsibilities. Until I am well versed enough to know of the running of the Keep," she said firmly, her gaze locked on Tywin, "I believe Lord Kevan Lannister would do me no wrong as he has your confidence, my Lord. Would he be available for Hether Keep and the Isle?"
This was not bootlicking, Joanna saw. Her words were tempered with nothing but firm truth. Her gaze was firm that this was a temporary measure.
Tywin smiled.
Jaime's and Cersei's jaws dropped.
Joanna nearly giggled at their expressions.
Her husband was many things, but merry for merry's sake was never one of them. He liked her decision, plain and simple. It was what he would have done for himself. It spoke of both confidence in her own measure, but an acknowledgment of her current abilities.
"Very well, Lady Melara. It will be done. You will shadow my Lady wife in all aspects. She is also in charge of the Rock, much as Kevan is. He will, as you say, do you no wrong until you are aware of your responsibilities," His gaze flickered to her back. They lingered for a moment on the blade, before they went to the square neckline that did little to conceal the bandages that covered her back, "You will report to the Maester every day until your wounds are healed. We will do what we can to minimize your scars."
She dipped her head, demure. Her sea-green eyes were glittering, fetchingly brought brighter by the green hood around her face.
"My thanks, Lord Lannister."