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 54: The Lion’s Sorrow

The wine was bitter, but Cersei drank it anyway.

She had been drinking since noon, and noon had been four hours gone.

The servants had learned to stay away from her. The Kingsguard had learned to keep their distance as well. Even Jaime, her twin brother, her other half, had taken to watching her from across the room with a wary expression, as if he were afraid she might shatter.

Perhaps she would. And perhaps that would be a mercy.

The goblet was empty, so she reached for the flagon and poured again, the deep red wine splashing against the silver rim, staining the tablecloth like blood.

Robert had drunk like this, she remembered. Robert had drowned himself in wine to forget what he could no longer change. She had always despised him for it.

Now she understood him better than ever before.

A knock at the door, soft and hesitant. No doubt from one of her servant girls.

”Your Grace.” The voice was young and female. ”The Lord Hand requests your presence in the council chamber. He says it is urgent.”

Cersei stared at the door, at the shadow of the girl who stood beyond it. ”Tell my father I will come when I am ready.”

”Y-Your Grace, he said—”

”Tell him I will come when I am ready.”

The shadow fled. Cersei drained the goblet, rose from her chair, and walked to the window.

The sun was setting over King’s Landing, painting the city in shades of red and gold, the colors of blood and fire. Somewhere out there, beyond those walls, were her lost children.

Joffrey. The name was a curse on her tongue now. Her firstborn, her golden lion. The son she had raised, protected, and molded into a king.

And he had betrayed her. He had freed her enemies, stolen her children, and fled into the night like a common thief.

She remembered the morning she learned the truth. Finding Lord Varys’s little birds had been difficult, but making them talk was even more so.

After all...the children had no tongues, and making them understand her questions had required patience she did not know she possessed. But she had persevered.

She had learned of the secret meetings between Varys and Joffrey, of their plotting, of the tunnels beneath the Red Keep that had been used to spirit away the Starks and her children.

The boy she had loved had become a stranger. And the stranger had become her enemy.

The Small Council chamber was nearly empty. The great table of polished oak, where once a dozen lords had sat in judgment, now held only three figures.

Lord Tywin Lannister sat at the head, his green eyes cold as winter.

Jaime stood behind him, still in his white Kingsguard armor, though there was no king to guard.

And old Pycelle hunched at the far end, his chain clinking as he shifted in his seat, his watery eyes darting between the lion and the lioness.

Cersei took her place without greeting. ”What news do we have?”

Tywin gestured to a stack of reports before him. ”We have found the ship.”

Cersei’s heart skipped. ”The ship we sent after Joffrey?”

”The same.” Tywin’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. ”She was discovered drifting near the Stepstones. Or what remained of her.” He picked up a page, glanced at it, and set it down. ”The hull was blackened. The masts were shattered. The deck was scored by fire, as if a lightning bolt had struck from a clear sky. There were no survivors aboard.”

”Then how do you know what happened?”

”Because we found a survivor.” Tywin’s eyes met hers. ”Not aboard the ship. He was taken by pirates, sold into slavery, and only recently recovered by one of our agents in Lys. A Lannister soldier named Willem. He was the only man left alive when the ship went down.”

Cersei leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table. ”What did he say?”

Tywin was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was very measured, as if he were weighing each word before releasing it. ”He spoke of a storm that came from nowhere. A sky that turned black in an instant. Waves that rose higher than the mast. And then a blinding flash of light.”

”What about Joffrey?”

”Joffrey.” Tywin nodded slowly. ”The soldier claims to have seen the prince aboard the ship they were chasing. After some prodding, he insisted that he saw the prince raise his hand, and lightning fell from the sky. He says the Lannister’s Pride was struck twice...once at the bow, and once in the center. He says the fire spread so quickly that men had no time to scream.” He paused, letting the words settle. ”And he says that Joffrey’s eyes were glowing. Green fire, like nothing he had ever seen.”

Jaime shifted behind Tywin’s chair, his golden hand gleaming in the candlelight. ”The man was mad. He had been a slave for months. He saw what he wanted to see.”

”Perhaps.” Tywin’s voice was cold. ”Or perhaps he saw the truth.” He turned his gaze on Cersei, and his eyes were hard as chips of jade. ”What was your son, Cersei? What did he become in those last months before he fled?. I heard much about him but never saw him in person.”

Cersei said nothing. She remembered the way Joffrey had looked at her sometimes...those green eyes, her eyes, but so cold and calculating, just like the ones in her father’s face right now.

She remembered the way he had killed Ser Meryn Trant with a single stroke of his blade.

She remembered the night he had vanished, taking her children, freeing her enemies, leaving her with nothing but ashes and questions.

”There were signs,” she said finally. ”Strange things. He would disappear for hours, and no one could find him. He would behave and speak strangely. His personality changed before we made our trip north. Yes, I believe his change happened soon before the death of Lord Arryn.” She looked at her father, searching for something. ”I thought it was just... I thought he was becoming a man. Learning to rule. I did not know...”

”You did not want to know.” Tywin’s voice was harsh, cutting through her excuses like a blade. ”You saw what you wanted to see, as you always have. Your son was changing, and you looked away.”

”How was I to know he would become... this?” Whatever this was. A demon in human skin. A stranger wearing her son’s face.

”You were his mother.” Tywin rose from his chair, moving to the window. The sun was setting over King’s Landing, painting the city in shades of blood and gold. ”It was your duty to know. But what is done is done. Joffrey is gone. Tommen and Myrcella are gone. We must think of the future.”

”I will not give up on them!” Cersei’s voice rose, cracking through the stillness of the chamber. ”Tommen and Myrcella—”

”I am not asking you to give up.” Tywin turned to face her, and for a moment, something almost like pity flickered in his eyes. ”I will not give up either. The Lannisters always pay their debts. But I am asking you to be realistic.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. ”The North will not surrender its hostages. Ned Stark has made that clear. He holds Tommen and Myrcella, and he will keep them as leverage against us. We may never get them back.”

”Then we take them back.” Cersei’s hands clenched into fists. ”We march north. We burn Winterfell to the ground.”

”With what army?” Tywin’s voice was sharp, the impatience bleeding through. ”Stannis has declared himself king. He sits at Dragonstone, gathering his strength. It will not be long before he decides to march on the capital.”

”Then we crush him first.”

”With what army?” Tywin repeated, his voice rising. ”The Lannister forces are scattered. Our gold is limited. Our allies are few.” He stepped closer, his eyes boring into hers. ”We need to forge new alliances. Strong ones. We need more swords, more gold, more grain for the winter that approaches.”

Cersei frowned, a cold dread settling in her stomach. ”Father, what are you saying?”

”I want you to think about the future.” Tywin returned to the table, his hands flat on the polished wood. ” With all of your children gone. We have no king, and we have no heir. If we cannot get them back—”

”We will get them back.”

”If we cannot,” Tywin repeated, his voice hardening like steel, ”then we must find another way. You are still young, Cersei. You can still bear children. A new marriage, a new alliance, new heirs to secure our line.”

Cersei stared at him, the words sinking into her like stones into deep water. ”You want me to remarry.”

”I want you to do your duty.” Tywin’s eyes were cold, unyielding. ”The realm needs a king. House Lannister needs an heir. You are the Queen Regent, but you are queen of nothing if you have no one to rule over. Marry again. Produce a few more sons and give us a future.”

”Who?” The word came out bitter, sharp, laced with venom. ”One of your bannermen? Some fat lord from the Reach?”

”Loras Tyrell.”

The name hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.

”The Knight of Flowers?” Cersei laughed, but there was no humor in it...only a hollow, brittle sound that echoed off the stone walls. ”He is half my age and has no interest in women. Everyone knows it. And besides, the Tyrells are with—”

”I care nothing for his interests.” Tywin’s voice was iron. ”I care about his name, his house, and his army. The Tyrells have been without a king since Renly’s death. They need a new alliance. We need their swords. A marriage between you and Loras Tyrell would bind us together. It would give us the Reach, and with the Reach, we could defeat Stannis and end this war before it begins.”

Cersei froze, the blood draining from her face. ”Wait. Renly Baratheon is dead?”

The words came from her mouth, but they felt distant, as if spoken by someone else. She had not heard this news. She had been locked in her chambers, drowning in wine while ignoring the world.

Tywin nodded. ”A raven came this morning. Renly Baratheon was killed in his camp, surrounded by his guards. No assassin was found. Some say a shadow killed him. Others blame a woman soldier from Tarth.”

Cersei’s blood ran cold. ”Dead.”

”Indeed.” Tywin’s voice was grim. ”It is both troubling and advantageous. The Tyrells are now available. We must act before they attach themselves elsewhere.”

”The Tyrells,” Jaime said from behind the chair. ”What will they do now?”

”Withdraw to Highgarden, most likely.” Tywin turned back to the window. ”With Renly dead, they have no king to support. Stannis is not their friend. They will wait, as everyone waits, to see which way the wind blows.” He looked at Cersei. ”That is why we must act now. A marriage alliance would give them a reason to choose us.”

”No,” Cersei spoke plainly.

”Pardon?” Tywin’s eyes were as cold as ice when he looked down at his daughter.

”I will not marry Loras Tyrell,” she said. ”I will not set aside my children as if they were nothing. Tommen and Myrcella are alive. I will find them. I will bring them home. And when I do, the Tyrells will bend the knee to the rightful king, or they will burn.”

Tywin studied her for a long moment. ”Your stubbornness will doom us all.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ”No. You will do what you must. For the good of this realm. For the good of our house.”

”Father—”

”This is not up for argument!” Tywin shouted for the first time, his face flushing with rage. The fury in his eyes was a barely contained storm. ”You will do as I command, or you will learn what it means to defy me.”

Cersei turned and left the chamber in a rush, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

The bedroom was dark when she reached it. The servants had stopped lighting the candles weeks ago, had stopped airing the linens, had stopped pretending that the prince and princess would ever return.

So she lit a few herself, watching the flames catch and bloom.

Cersei walked to the window, looking out at the city below. The lights of King’s Landing glittered in the darkness, a thousand tiny flames that did not know their queen was weeping.

Tommen’s toys were scattered on the floor...wooden knights, a painted horse, a carved lion that he had loved above all others. She knelt and picked up the lion, running her fingers over its worn edges. He had slept with it every night, had clutched it to his chest when the storms came, had refused to let anyone else touch it.

’He is a boy,’ she thought. He is just a boy. He should be here, in his bed, safe. He should not be a hostage in a frozen castle, surrounded by wolves.

Myrcella’s books were stacked on the shelf...histories and romances, tales of brave knights and fair maidens. She had loved to read by the window, had loved to imagine herself in the stories, had loved to dream of a future that would never come.

She is a girl. She should be dreaming of love and marriage, not of escape and survival.

Cersei sank to the floor, her back against the wall, the wooden lion clutched to her chest.

The tears came then, hot and silent, streaking her face, dripping onto her gown. She had not wept since Joffrey left. She had been too angry, too numb, too determined to appear strong.

But here, in the dark, with no one to see, she let herself break.

”I will find you,” she whispered to the empty room. ”I will find you, and I will bring you home. I will kill everyone who stands in my way. I will burn the North to ash if I must.”

Outside, the snow began to fall, dusting the rooftops of King’s Landing with white.

And in the darkness, Cersei Lannister wept for all she had lost.

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