Chapter 1
The screams of a boy tore through teh birthing chambers as the realm celebrated the birth of a Prince. Cersei huffed in relief, while tears sat on the edge of her eyes.
"It is a boy, your grace," the woman beside her added, and the relief was palpable, as she saw that golden tuft of hair on the babe, before suddenly a wave of pain tore through her abdomen once more.
"AGHHH!" she grunted in pain, and she had thought that it would all subside by now, but the woman frowned before the Maester's voice tore through the birthing chambers.
"It's an arm," and the words did not register at first.
"There is another babe inside her," and she could hear the screams and the rustles, as the maids and the maesters moved at once.
"I can't," she begged as another jolt of pain tore through her entire body.
"I can't," she pleaded, but the Maester came to her side.
"The child is nearly outside. You must gather your strength once more," and in the end, this was her battlefield was a woman, and none would dare call Cersei Lannister a craven. So, she nodded once more, as she held in a breath.
"AGHHHHH!" she screamed as she pushed once more, and so the pains began once more yet this time they ended quickly, as once more screams filled the birthing chambers.
"It is another boy....."
CERSEI LANNISTER
Cersei stood there in the Sept of Baelor, watching the silent sisters whispering their prayers and hymens as the body of the Hand lay cold on the stone altar. Dead as he was, fear still gripped her heart about the secrets those cold lips may have spilled.
Secrets that could end her life and that of her children. The fear of it all had been eating away at her for days, and yet she could do little except stand here and hold vigil for a man she did not love as she tried to seek out the tales Lord Arryn may have spun.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and clanking steel, and she did not need to turn to know who it was. She could recognise that gait anywhere, and so she was not surprised as Jaime's voice cut in from the side.
"You worry too much," and she wanted to roll her eyes at those words, yet she still smiled as she met his roguish grin and glinting eyes.
"It's even starting to show," and she had not looked in a mirror to know whether he spoke the truth or not, yet that did not matter.
"And you do not worry at all," she complained, and wasn't that the story of their lives? Jaime may have been the son, but it had always fallen on her to do all of the thinking.
Even as a child, he had been too reckless and careless, and the years had not changed that.
"When we were seven, you jumped off the cliffs at Casterly Rock," and those days had been simpler and kinder, and many a time she wished that they could go back to those times.
"A hundred-foot drop into the water, and yet you were not afraid," and Jaime's grin grew wider as he simply shrugged, just as he had back then.
"There was nothing to be afraid of until you told father," he argued, and she couldn't help but scoff at those words. But the argument had been made, and Jaime slid closer as he began to whisper.
"He is dead," he added, glancing towards the remains of the King's late Hand.
"Whatever Jon Arryn knew died with him," and he knew quite a bit. His death had been a blessing in its own way, and she was thankful to the fever that had swallowed him whole in a week for she feared the words those lips may have uttered had it spared his life.
"He could have told someone," and the mere thought of that kept her awake and afraid all the time.
"Who?" Jaime questioned, and she met his gaze once more.
"My husband," and Jaime's face showed no hint of fear at her words, as he scoffed mockingly.
"If Robert knew about us, then both our heads would be mounted on the city gates by now," and that was true, for Robert was not a man known for his tacts and ploys. He was a brute who cared little for the realm and even less so for the woman whom he had married to keep it all together as one.
"Jon is dead, and the secrets he held will be buried with him. Robert will simply appoint a new Hand of the King. Someone to rule in his stead while he is off fucking boars and hunting whores, or is it the other way around?" and the jape made her chuckle as Jaime leaned closer and added in a sultry whisper, as his hand reached for her own.
"And everything will go back to how it was," and she feared that things might not be so simple.
"He plans to ride North," she added, and the blubbering fool that he was, Pycelle had his uses and had brought to her the two missives Robert had sent yesterday—one to the North, and the other one to the West.
That was news for Jaime, and his smile stiffened at the mention of the cold wasteland.
"Stark," he whispered, and while he may be fearless, but Jaime was no fool.
"He plans on making Eddard Stark his Hand," and it was not a good choice, bringing that barbarian to these lands.
"It makes sense. Stark is one of Robert's oldest friends and allies. With Arryn dead, he would want someone loyal to him as his new Hand," yet the Starks were known to be brutes, and she knew that Jaime was not fond of the man, for the name given by him still haunted his reputation to this day.
"Still, how do you even know that?" Jaime asked, and it was obvious that he was tiring of this topic.
"He had Pycelle send out two missives yesterday," and again she met his eyes.
"One to the Starks, and one to father," and at that, he stilled, and the smile was gone from his face. Just as it was from her own face.
"He has asked him to send back Steffon," and while Jon Arryn may have held his suspicions about their trysts, the truth was that there was one person in the world who certainly knew the truth about her and Jaime.
How? For he had walked in on them years ago.
And the memory of that day still haunted her, and again it had been Jaime's stupidity that had put them in that position, and their own child had walked in on them during one of their escapades.
It had been a disaster, and to this day, she regretted what she had been forced to do just to protect her family from the consequences of that one mistake.
"Jon Arryn may or may not have known about us," and she pulled away her hand as she leaned closer and continued.
"But you and I both know that Steffon definitely knows about us," and Jaime had no answer for her.
"We have received no letter from Father over the years making any mention of that night," Jaime consoled, as she shook her head.
"Maybe we acted too rashly. Maybe he didn't see anything or simply doesn't remember it," and she still remembered his gaze from that night. Remembered those familiar green eyes looking into her own, as she lay there on all four with Jaime behind her.
"He saw us, Jaime. He saw," and to this day she regretted what she had done in the aftermath of that night, for she had believed him to be too young to understand the intricacies of their life.
Steffon was young then, and even if she could convince him of her innocence, the secret could still spill from his mouth. So, she had him confined to his room before she had him sent to Casterly Rock within a week for fostering with her father.
It was a cruel thing to do to her own child, and yet she had no choice. She had to protect herself and her family, and could only hope that her father would do the same.
For many a moon after that, she would still wake in fear of a letter arriving from her father condemning her for her sins, and yet, despite nearly four years since that day, no such missive ever came from either her father or her son.
What pained her more was that no missive came from her son at all.
"And yet to this day, father has made no mention of it," and he had come to the capital twice after that day, and yet he had never made a comment on their illicit relationship.
Steffon, though, had rebuffed all invites and had not set foot in the capital since that day. Though Robert had given him no choice now, and had ordered her father to send him back.
"He is smart," Cersei whispered, somewhat proudly, of the twins she had always felt that Steffon was more alike her than their eldest Joffrey, who was more brash and uncaring like Jaime.
Steffon was quieter, kinder, and in her own father's words, smarter than any of his own children had been.
"You always did favor him," Jaime added, and she shook her head.
"These are not my words. It was Father who called him that," and she would not disagree with him on that. Still, it was rare for Tywin Lannister to praise anyone, let alone a child, yet he had done so openly for Steffon.
"Did he ever write to you?" and it pained her to shake her head.
"Not once," she answered, and the only word she received about him was through letters from her father or an occasional word from Tyrion, but despite her countless letters, Steffon had refused to write to her even once,
"I wrote to him religiously, often alluding cautiously to the fact that he needed to keep what he saw that night a secret, and yet he never answered," and the thought that her own son had rebuffed her like that made her tear up, but she was desperate.
She had more than just one child to consider, and that was why she had to send him away the way she had. She had to protect Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. She had to protect them, but the cost of it all had simply been too steep.
"He hates me," she uttered desperately, as she, Jaime, wrapped his arms around her soothingly.
"You are his mother. He can not hate you," and he couldn't know that.
"What mother does what I did to her own child?" and she had Pycelle drug him, until he was sent away just to protect her children, and the cruelty of her actions still pained her to this day.
"One who is kind," Jaime consoled as he caressed her face.
"I know women who would do things far crueller than what you did in that situation," and yet that did not soothe her heart.
"I have wronged him, and if he were to speak of what he saw to Rob..." and Jaime shook his head.
"He would never do that," he said assuredly.
"How can you know that?" she nearly shrieked.
"He hates me," she repeated, and that much was obvious with how he had refused to even write to her at all for all these years.
"Because you said so yourself. He is smart," Jaime answered.
"If he truly knows the truth, then he would also know that the second he utters any of it to Robert, he loses his life just like the rest of us," and that was true, and she had not thought of that.
"If he wanted to tell Robert, then he would have done so years ago through a letter or something, but he did not. To this day, he has never made a mention of that night to anyone," Jaime added, and to think that she had thought him dumb.
"Not father, not Robert. Not even Tyrion," and the last name surprised her, and he caught her surprise.
"I asked our brother to keep an eye on him, in my stead," and many a time she would forget that he was as much his child as he was hers, and for all his faults, Jaime did love them all.
"To this day, he has never made a mention of that night. Ever," Jaime added, and while she would hardly ever put her trust in that little monster, he and Jaime had always been much closer.
Jaime chuckled as he added with a little chuckle.
He often writes about him. Calls him a boy too serious and too quiet for his age," and she could not help but feel proud of the praise for her son, even if it was coming from Tyrion of all people.
"I should have trusted him," she lamented her decision, yet it was too late.
"Still, he was always much closer to you. You should talk to him," and she would have done so without his prompting.
"I will...."
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