Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 40: The Distressed Queen

The darkness of her chambers had been shattered by her brother’s fist pounding on the door, and Cersei Lannister had risen from dreams of golden crowns and kneeling lords to a nightmare she could not have imagined in her darkest fears.

”Say that again,” she commanded her brother with a deep frown on her face.

She had not yet dressed, had not yet composed her face into the mask of serenity that had served her so well. Her hair was a golden tangle, her nightgown thin and revealing, and she did not care.

Jaime stood in the doorway, still in his white cloak, his golden hand gleaming in the torchlight. His face was pale, his green eyes troubled in a way she had not seen since the day they had pushed Brandon Stark from that tower.

”Ned Stark is gone. His daughters as well.” Jaime’s voice was steady, but she could hear the undercurrent of tension beneath. ”Guards spotted them running near the dungeons. They followed through a tunnel, but—”

”But?” The word came out like a whip crack.

”They lost them. Somewhere in the storage area. The one where Robert hid all the Targaryen relics.”

Cersei closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, feeling the rage coil in her chest like a serpent preparing to strike. When she opened her eyes again, they were cold and clear.

”Someone’s head will end up on a pike for this,” she said, moving to her wardrobe and pulling out the first dress her hands found. ”How could this happen? He was locked in a cell. An unarmed man, in a cell, with guards posted at the door, and no one saw him leave?”

”He had help.” Jaime’s voice was flat. ”He could not have done this alone.”

”From whom?” She pulled the dress over her head, not caring that her fingers fumbled with the laces. ”Who in this castle would dare—”

”I don’t know. Not yet.”

Cersei turned to face him, her gown half-fastened, her eyes blazing. ”Send for the Small Council. I want every man in this castle awake and searching. And I want Ned Stark and those Stark brats back in chains before the sun is fully risen.”

A shadow fell across the doorway. Ser Barristan Selmy stood there, his old face troubled, his white armor gleaming in the torchlight. ”Your Grace. We have a problem.”

Cersei’s blood went cold. ”I am aware of the problem, Ser Barristan. The traitor has escaped. You should be at your post, guarding my son.”

The old knight’s face twisted. ”That is the problem, Your Grace. When I went to inform Prince Joffrey of what had happened, he would not answer the door. And when we forced it open...” He spread his hands.

”What?” Jaime stepped forward. ”What are you saying?”

”The room was empty, my lord. Prince Joffrey was nowhere to be found.”

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Cersei gripped the edge of her wardrobe to steady herself. ”My son is missing?”

”The castle is being searched,” Ser Barristan said quickly. ”Ser Boros, Ser Mandon, and a dozen gold cloaks are combing every corridor. We will—”

”What if Stark took him?” The words burst from Cersei’s lips before she could stop them. ”What if that traitor took my son?”

”Ned Stark is many things,” Jaime said slowly, ”but a kidnapper of children? That seems unlikely. And Joffrey is no helpless babe. He can defend himself. He’s one of the finest swordsmen I’ve ever—”

”You fool!” Cersei rounded on him. ”Stark could not have done this alone. He had help, you said it yourself. Someone on the inside. Someone who knew the castle, who knew the guards’ rotations, who knew about the secret passages.”

Just as Jamie was about to say something, another figure appeared in the doorway. Ser Preston Greenfield, his face flushed from running, his white cloak flying behind him. ”Your Grace! An emergency!”

”I am aware of the—” Cersei stopped. Ser Preston was not Joffrey’s guard. Ser Preston was supposed to be protecting her other children.

Her youngest.

”What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Ser Preston swallowed. ”Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, Your Grace. They are not in their chambers.”

The world went dark.

She woke to the sound of voices.

”—finally awake, I see.” The voice was cold, measured, familiar in a way that made her skin crawl. She had not heard that voice in years, but she would have known it anywhere.

Cersei’s eyes flew open.

Her father stood by the door, tall and stern, with cold eyes that had never shown her anything but disappointment. Lord Tywin Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock, had come to King’s Landing.

”Father?” She pushed herself up on the bed, ignoring the hands that tried to press her back down. ”What are you...how long have I been—”

”Four hours,” Maester Pycelle said, bustling to her side with a cup of something that smelled herbal and foul. ”You had a terrible shock, Your Grace. You must rest—”

Cersei knocked the cup from his hand. It shattered on the floor. ”I will not rest while my children are missing!”

”The children.” She looked at her father. ”Have you found them? Have you found any of them?”

Tywin’s face was unreadable. ”No.”

”Then why are you standing there? Why is no one looking?” She tried to rise, but her legs felt weak, unreliable. ”I want every guard in the city searching. I want—”

”I arrived at sunrise,” Tywin interrupted, his voice cutting through her panic like a blade. ”I came to see my grandson crowned, and instead I find this... chaos.” He gestured at the room, at her, at the world beyond the window where the sun was indeed shining bright and golden. ”Tell me, daughter. How did this happen?”

”I don’t know.” Cersei’s voice cracked. ”One moment, everything was under control. Stark was in his cell. The girls were locked in their chambers. Joffrey was safe in his rooms. And then—” She spread her hands. ”And then it all fell apart.”

”We have questioned everyone who might have seen something.” Kevan Lannister stepped forward from behind his brother. His voice was gentler than Tywin’s, but no less firm. ”No one saw anyone leave the castle. No one saw anyone enter the city. The only thing we have is two ships that departed the docks in the middle of the night.”

”Ships.” Cersei seized on the word. ”What ships? Who was on them? Did anyone see Stark? Did anyone see my children?”

Tywin raised a hand. ”We are investigating. I have sent men to pursue. We will have answers soon.” He paused. ”But for now, you are not fit to make decisions. You are emotional and unstable. You will rest, and I will handle this.”

”Rest?” Cersei laughed, a high, wild sound that made Pycelle flinch. ”My children are missing, Father. How can you suggest—”

”I am not suggesting.” Tywin’s eyes were chips of green ice. ”I am telling. You will stay in your chambers. You will let me do what needs to be done. And you will not interfere.” He turned to leave, then paused. ”You did not even notice that an important member of your Small Council was missing.”

Cersei’s mind raced. Renly was gone, fled the city before the fighting even began. Stannis had never come. Lord Baelish was dead. Who else was...then she realized. ”Varys!” she gasped. ”Where is Lord Varys?”

”Exactly.” Tywin’s voice was cold. ”The spider has vanished. Along with Stark, along with your children, along with half the secrets of this castle.” He looked at her one last time, and something almost like pity flickered across his face. ”Someone planned this very carefully, daughter. Someone with resources, with knowledge, with the ability to move things around without being seen. We will find out who. But likely not today. And not with you screaming at guards.”

He left. The others followed...Kevan, Pycelle, and the Kingsguard knights who had been standing in silent witness. Only Jaime remained, hovering by the door, his face unreadable.

”Go,” Cersei said. ”Go and find my children.

”

Jaime nodded and left.

She was left alone with Ser Boros Blount to serve as protection, who stood by the door with his hand on his sword and his eyes on the floor. She dismissed him without a word, and he went gratefully, leaving her alone with the sunlight and the silence and the terrible, gnawing fear that she had lost everything.

Cersei stood at the window, looking out at the city that sprawled below the Red Keep. The streets were already bustling with merchants and mummers and the endless tide of smallfolk who would never know that their queen was watching them, that their queen’s world had crumbled to dust.

How did this happen? The Queen wondered.

She had been so careful. So clever. The plan to kill Robert had been perfect...drugged wine, a hunting accident, no witnesses, no evidence. No one would ever know that the king had died at his wife’s command.

And Stark had been so easy to manipulate. He had walked right into her trap, had given her the perfect excuse to seize power, had handed her his daughters as hostages without even realizing it.

The girl, Sansa, had been especially useful. So eager to please, so desperate to be a queen, so stupid. She had told Cersei everything...her father’s plans, her father’s suspicions, her father’s foolish letter claiming that Joffrey was not Robert’s true son.

Cersei had crushed him. Had destroyed him. Had thrown him in a cell and taken his daughters and waited for the coronation that would make her son a king and her reign secure. Everything went perfectly for her.

And now—

Now she had nothing. The hostages were gone. The prisoners were gone. Her children were gone. All of them, taken in a single night, by someone she had not even seen coming.

Who?

Not Stark. He had been in a cell, cut off from the world, unable to plan or coordinate. Not Varys...the spider was a servant, not a master. He could weave webs, but he did not choose the prey.

Someone else. Someone who had been watching, waiting, moving pieces into place while she thought she was winning.

Someone who knew the castle’s secrets. Someone who had access to the hidden passages. Someone who could bribe guards, purchase ships, and arrange an escape that no one noticed until it was too late.

Joffrey.

The thought came uninvited, and Cersei pushed it away immediately. Her son was a boy. A clever boy, yes, and surprisingly skilled with a sword, but still a child. He could not have orchestrated this.

He could not have freed the Starks, taken his siblings, and vanished without a trace. But even more so, he had no reason to do any of those things. He was about to become the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the most powerful man on the continent. No one would put so much effort into escaping from such a fate...on the contrary.

But she remembered the way he had looked at her sometimes, those green eyes...her eyes, Jaime’s eyes, Lannister eyes, but they were holding something she could not name. Something cold and patient. Something that had no place in the face of a fifteen-year-old boy.

No.

She would not believe it. Could not believe it. Joffrey was her son...her firstborn. He would not betray her like this.

Would he?. No

Cersei pushed those thoughts away and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Someone else had done this to her.

The sun was high now, the morning gone, and still there was no word. No sign of her children. No clue as to who had taken them or where they had gone.

”I will find you,” she whispered to the empty room. ”I will find all of you. And whoever did this...whoever took you from me...I will make them suffer. I will make them beg for death before I am done.”

But even as she said the words, a cold hand gripped her heart. Because she had made many enemies in her years as queen. She had plotted and schemed and killed to put her son on the throne. And now, when she needed someone to blame, when she needed someone to hurt, she had no idea where to look.

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