Chapter 37: Endure

Rhaella:

"Your Grace?"

"Yes?"

"Should we be heading in?"

"Not yet," Rhaella Targaryen wasn't ready to return to the Red Keep. She wasn't ready to hear about what was happening outside the walls of the city. She wanted to be foolish for a little longer. She knew how childish it was, but she didn't care. She needed this. This lie is my shield, while the truth stabs at me like daggers.

She held her breath every time news would come to the capital trying to brace herself for a truth that no mother should have to hear. Your son is dead. What was a mother to do knowing only one of her sons were to return to her? No matter who wins I still lose. Fear tightened her chest. I'll reunite with one and mourn the other. The fear coiled so tightly around her heart she winced.

"Your Grace," Ser Alliser was immediate in seeing her discomfort.

He should be used to it by now, she thought numbly. "I am well."

"But Your Grace," Ser Alliser Thorne was respectful in his attempt to reproach her, "Your condition-"

"I'm with child, Ser Alliser," She gently reprimanded him, looking over her shoulder to see his awkward stiffness, "I'm not dying."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Her fingers skimmed the front of her dress, feeling the swell of her stomach before resting her palm atop her belly button. It was still strange to her. Rhaella had thought motherhood was behind her after Viserys, but the gods set her on a different path. My husband's parting gift.

Not wishing to dwell on that evening, she distracted herself with the scenery that the godswood provided her. She chose a cobblestone path that would provide her plenty of shade as well as wonderful views of Blackwater Bay. The mixture of the sweet smells of the garden and the salty tang of the air brought a soothing comfort to her. It stirred memories of herself as a young girl chasing butterflies while pretending they were dragons. There were others too of her as a young mother tending to her boys, Rhaegar and Daeron. Their names were two sudden and sharp thrusts that punctured the idyllic memory she was trying to hold onto.

The Queen Mother sighed. Trying to redirect her thoughts to the babe inside her. I've always wanted a girl, she said the words softly, so only mother and child could hear.

She thought of little Rhaenys, her first granddaughter. Rhaella remembered holding the little girl, and thinking of the daughters she never had. Not yet knowing of her own pregnancy. It had been unexpected, but welcomed, remembering those first few nights after learning the news. The only joyful light in a growing sea of darkness.

While my boys prepared for war, I prepared for another babe, her fingers clenched atop her belly. Will this be a boy to replace the one I'm destined to lose?

The sound of voices and footsteps served as an unexpected source of distraction.

"It is a defeat, no more and no less," The first voice was calm, but there was an exotic lilt to it that betrayed his birth in the Free Cities.

"A simple defeat?" The second voice repeated. This one was familiar, but his name eluded her in the moment. "This is a disaster!" His voice became more nasally the more he talked. "Lord Tyrell is captured. The Golden Grove is lost. The-"

"Yes, yes," The first voice had clearly heard enough, cutting his companion off. "Thousands fled the battlefield. More slipped away then were caught or killed by the enemy. The king has left to rally them."

Rhaella looked to see they were coming from further up the path, but it hadn't turned to make her visible to them. She was blocked from their view, but neither could she see them. This is my sanctuary. She turned and left before they could spot her, but their words chased after her like hungry wolves.

"There's something else," The first voice was saying. "The pale mare is here." His words were almost drowned out by the gasp of his companion. "And it changes everything."

Then all she could hear was the sound of her knight calling out to her. "Your Grace." She met him and then passed him. It was then that she saw someone was approaching them. They were the ones who were now calling out to her as Ser Alliser had been following her without remark despite her abrupt change in demeanor.

Please, she prayed, please, let this not be the day I'm told one of my sons is dead. She tried her best to steel herself for whatever blow the gods would deliver on her.

"Your Grace," Jeyne Whent barely dipped her head when she was close enough.

Another lady in black, she observed, far too many wore black these days. Mothers, wives, sisters, daughters all in mourning for those they had lost in this war. Look my sons, she wanted to scold them like when they were boys and they'd make a mess of their toys. Except these weren't scattered wooden soldiers, but flesh and blood men and boys who were dying for them.

"The Queen wishes to see you."

"I am honored," Rhaella did not miss being the Queen. She was relieved and happy to give it to another. The title had been a chain that had bound her to her brother. To be the Queen was to be Aerys' wife, and that was an honor she could live without. She saw that Jeyne had not traveled alone. She had been accompanied by one of the new knights of the kingsguard. His inclusion for this invitation was a surprise to her. Did they think I'd refuse? She hid her frown. Her fears had no such restraint, spiraling beyond her control at trying to figure out their presence. Do they fear how I'll react?

The conversation she had just overheard was fresh in her mind. It had not been the first time she had heard talks of war. It was not even the first time she heard of those planning her son's demise. It was talked about, prayed for, and was toasted to every day and every night in this city. She thought she had been safe in the godswood, but now even her sanctuary had been corrupted. Their mention of this pale mare confused her, it sounded familiar, but she could not put a finger on its meaning, but neither could she forget the reaction, the name alone had elicited.

"Your Grace," Ser Alliser was the anchor she needed for this unrelenting storm.

"Thank you," Rhaella made sure her voice did not waver. She took his offered arm, holding it tightly, but he did not protest her grip or her nails.

The other kingsguard knight with them was Ser Brendel Byrne. Once an exiled knight and a sellsword now Ser Brendel wore the famous white cloak of the kingsguard. His past was not completely concealed, the pin of his cloak was of a small golden elephant. He also wore a pair of golden armbands. She doubted he wore those armbands in the company of Ser Arthur, but with the Lord Commander away, he was much more brazen with them.

She felt her calm fraying and her fears growing as they walked in silent procession to the Queen's chambers. She was not sure she could tolerate this silent torment. She flicked her gaze towards where Ser Brendel was walking. "Is there a reason I'm receiving such a prestigious escort?"

"I volunteered," He flashed her a quick smile, revealing that three of his front teeth were gold capped.

"Yes, he did," Jeyne sounded amused, "I believe our good knight is tired of being the nurse maid."

"It's an honor to guard the prince and princess." He sounded to have meant it.

"But not when they are loud and fussy?" She had seen men quake at the sound of hungry and sleepy babies.

He looked sheepish at her questioning look. "I mean no offense, Your Grace."

With her mood improving now that she knew the reason for his presence, she took pity on him. "None was given."

His slumped shoulders showed his relief. His golden arm bands caught the torchlight in the movement making them gleam.

"Ser Brendel?" She preferred conversation to distract her instead of reflective silences that would only devour her heart with unchecked worry. "Why do you wear those?"

He did not need to see her pointed finger to know what she meant. "In our company, a man carries his wealth on his person," He looked down at one of his two arm bands. "I gave up that wealth when offered a white cloak." He said solemnly, "But I keep these two as a reminder of that life."

She nodded, "I'm sure it's been quite the journey."

"It has, Your Grace," He agreed with a chuckle, "exiled sellsword to kingsguard knight." His posture appeared to straighten in pride at his accomplishment, "I serve."

They arrived at chambers that had once been hers. This was another loss she did not mourn. Rhaella had few happy memories of these rooms. How many nights did I lie awake dreading a knock on my door? How many times did I cry out when he hurt me? She tried to smother the memories as they bubbled up. He's gone. The look on his face when she removed the pillow was seared in her mind.

Kinslayer, the voice was a cold caress across her heart. Accursed. It whispered, Look at what you've wrought.

The loud creaking of the doors as they opened saved her from further troublesome thoughts. Rhaella had not visited her old chambers since she left them all those months ago. There were new tapestries and statues that looked exotic and expensive. The old stone dragons remained at their posts, but they too felt different to her.

The Queen was waiting for them by one of the chairs.

New chairs, Rhaella noticed. They were impressively carved and overly furnished with bright purple cushions. The armrests were carved to resemble resting dragons. Their eyes were onyx.

"Do you like them?" Laela seemed to notice her staring. "They were a gift," she sounded pleased and proud of them, gesturing for Rhaella to sit down. "Please sit, sit," she insisted, "I know too well the discomfort of walking for two."

"Thank you," Rhaella sat down, the relief in her legs and back were immediate. It was only in sitting down did she realize, she may have overextended herself in the amount of walking and standing she had put herself through.

The servants who had been hovering quietly in the background now came forward, fluttering between the two queens, carrying trays of drinks and food. Before Rhaella could ask a question or make a request, they were retreating out of the room. She looked down and felt a twinge in her stomach that made her turn to the drinks. The water was sweet and cold. It had a hint of lemons in it that made Rhaella take a second, longer sip.

"How are you?"

Broken, Rhaella kept her grief to herself. She could not share her burden with her good daughter. We may be united in our love for Rhaegar, but Laela would not shed a single tear for my Daeron.

"I am well," She lied. I cannot birth a baby as a crumbling ruin. I must be strong. "And thankful," the smile that she felt her mouth make did not feel as forced when she put a hand to her belly.

Laela's eyes lingered on Rhaella's stomach before turning to her face where they stayed. Her expression shifted to sympathy, but her stare remained different. "I am glad," She finally said, "I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you."

She didn't answer. She felt those eyes searching her face, trying to peel back Rhaella's polite expression to expose what she truly felt. A futile gesture, She was raised in the capital, and was familiar with this game. "How are my grandchildren?" She did not wish to speak about sons not here.

"Happy," Laela hardly faltered at the unexpected question, "And loud."

"I'm not surprised."

"Can you hear them?"

"No, but I remember my boys." The happy warmth of thinking of her grandchildren went cold in an instant at the mention of her warring sons.

"Good," Laela sounded relieved that her children were not hindering her sleep. "I wanted to speak with you because your visits have been so infrequent these last few weeks."

"Have they?" Rhaella asked, knowing the truth, but hiding it behind a confused look. To be around you was to be around the war. She shied away from the feasts and the other gatherings, sticking to the sept and her solitude. It was an old and easy habit to fall back into. Aerys' controlling nature had made certain that she was often alone, but t his was a different sort of solitude, a more desperate one. They're hoping for my son's demise. She recalled how they cheered at any news that brought pain to my Daeron. Rhaella imagined it was no less painful if she was in the presence of Daeron's retinue. No matter where I stand, it will follow me. I am trapped. she lamented, th ere is no victory for me.

"May I ask you something?" Laela's lilt was more pronounced when she spoke, "Are you writing to them?"

Them? Rhaella nearly repeated before realizing what her good daughter meant. "No." It was an honest answer, but she would be lying if she had not thought about it. She had heard the whispers of Daeron's marriage to Cersei. News that should've been celebrated with a tournament and feasts was instead met with bloodshed and battle. She then wondered if her other good daughter was pregnant. Rhaella would welcome another grandchild, but that was a dream she could not say aloud in King's Landing.

"I do not mean to put you in such a position, but," she paused, pursing her lips, "Do you love your grandchildren?"

"Yes," Rhaella answered fiercely and quickly. The question felt like a sudden slap.

"Good," Laela did not attempt to clarify why she would ask such a question. The answer Rhaella gave had clearly satisfied her good daughter. Her face softened and her posture now seemed more relaxed.

Why would she ask such a thing? Rhaella sipped her water. The answer that surfaced sent an icy pang through her blood. The conjured images of dead babes that followed nearly made her choke on her drink. He wouldn't. She nearly said it aloud. She felt the sour pressure in her throat.

Kinslayer, the word haunted her. Woe to the kinslayer for they are forever cursed.

Laela was speaking, but her voice seemed so far away. Rhaella was only picking up some of the words: Rhaegar, Hightower, Yronwood, hope, Golden Company, chance. It was only at the sound of hand claps did she pull herself out of her reverie. Her good daughter's clap sounded as resounding as a thunder clap piercing through a calm sky, the one that heralded the coming storm.

"Such news!" Laela's shining eyes and grin was a jarring shift in demeanor after what had just been spoken between them.

Rhaella saw the plump and smiling Varys, standing at Laela's elbow. His hands folded inside his robes. He dipped his head when he felt her eyes on him. "Your Grace," he demurred.

She acknowledged him with a nod. Seeing his presence and her good daughter's new improved mood, made her aware that news had come to them. She didn't want to ask the question. She wanted to leave. She wanted to hide, but the dread had already wormed its way inside her.

"We must have a feast," Laela was too focused on the servants who had been beckoned after Varys' arrival. "Inform the kitchens and the court, this is news that must be celebrated."

The cold dread stretched inside Rhaella. "I won't keep you." She rose from her seat. Her stomach lurched and her sore back protested.

Laela looked surprised while Varys was quiet, but his eyes watched her with a sharpness he tried to hide behind an indifferent gaze and bland smile. "So soon?" She nearly pouted.

"Yes," Rhaella didn't wish to stay. "I must go to the Sept." It's the company of the gods I need now. I need their strength.

Ser Alliser had made his way to her side, her stalwart shadow.

"To pray in thanks, Your Grace?" Varys' feigned innocence was as convincing as a back alley whore's virtue.

"To pray," She prayed to gods not men. My words were for their ears and their ears alone.

"Of course," Varys' pleasant smile returned as if he was delighted by the curt answer she gave him.

"You'll hear it soon enough," Laela's words were like a hand grasping her shoulder, stopping her from leaving, but it was the Eunuch's words that pinned Rhaella where she stood.

"The Golden Company has won a great victory." He informed her, "The rebel stormlords are reeling and Lord Jon Arryn is dead."

Cersei:

The sunlight was warm against her face, the touch of morning to gently remind her of this new day. She groaned, trying to savor the pleasant haze of sleep even as she felt it slipping away from her. When she stirred under her blankets, her hand moved expecting to find him except there was nothing, but an empty spot. Her eyes fluttered open, before grimacing from the early light. She rubbed at them while shifting into a sitting position. The blankets fell off her, leaving her bare against the cool breeze.

"Daeron?" She murmured sleepily.

"I'm here."

Her relief didn't stay, it slipped away when she remembered what today was. It was finally here. She hated this day. Because today's the day he's leaving.

She remained on their bed, her eyes adjusting to their room to see that he was getting dressed. The sunlight splintered into their chambers like fingers brushing through the darkness. She did not attempt to get up or to get dressed. Instead, she lay atop the blankets, aware of the distraction she had become for her husband. Cersei couldn't help but laugh when he had gotten so distracted, he had blundered with the buttons of his shirt.

He took her mirth in stride, smiling as he unfastened them so that he could try it again. "I thought wives were supposed to be helpful towards their husbands."

"We are," Her head was propped against the pillows. "I was very helpful with you last night when you needed me."

"You were," turning to her when he was finished. "Shouldn't you be dressing or are you prepared to send me off in your current attire?"

"What?" She feigned surprise, "You do not like it?"

"I like it too much," he replied, "How am I to leave my wife when she looks like this?" He looked her over with eyes that gleamed with lust. "It would be hard," he admitted, "very hard."

Then do not leave, the words swirled in her mind, but she would not give them a voice. It was a foolish plea. She leaned down to grab her discarded gown, slipping the silk over her before tying the cinch to keep it in place. When he returns will I have a child waiting for him? In her mind's eye, she conjured the enticing image of her holding a babe that had her husband's silvery hair or lovely eyes. Then just as suddenly, the babe slipped out of her hands so that her fingers were grasping at air. She stood alone, no child in her arms or babe in her stomach when he returned to her. And then just as cruelly, he faded right before her eyes when she reached out to grab him.

"Daeron!" she shouted into the silence.

"He's gone," Jaime's voice hit her with the force of a hammer, rippling across her body to spread its cold misery. "He's dead."

"Cersei?" The image of Jaime slipped away like the morning mist that would hang over the Sunset Sea. It took her eyes a heartbeat to adjust as everything came swimming back into focus. Daeron was crouched before her. "Cersei?" His hand was stroking her hair. His face etched in worry. His lovely eyes that had her bewitched long before she saw him for the man he was, the man whom she loved. Their gaze now shone with concern for her.

"I'm well," She pushed the words past, forcing herself to smile as if to make it a wall to insure she couldn't take the lie back or say something worse.

"I know this is difficult."

She nearly scoffed. Knowing something was difficult and actually feeling it were two different torments , but she kept that harsh thought sheathed. She did not wish to lash out at him before he left. Our last memory together cannot be an argument. "We have not decided on names."

He nodded, but it had come after a beat of silence while he watched her closely. His eyes showed doubt, and the way his brows furrowed made her know that he saw through her deception, but instead of pulling hers away like a mask, he put on his own. "Baelon, Aemon, Daemon," He listed only some of the ones they had discussed.

She preferred some over others and had said as much to him in the few conversations they had had on the matter. "But I need a name if I'm-" she trailed off, the thought was a distracting one and the smile on her lips only grew when it crystallized in front of her. Our son, she thought proudly and fiercely of the conjured babe in her arms. This one didn't fade away like the one before.

"I trust you," he was smiling too. Sharing her excitement at the possible child she could be carrying.

"To name him?" She was taken aback by it.

"Or her," He corrected, his fingers were soothing as he brushed some of her hair, "I do." He leaned in to kiss her brow. "You have my trust in all things." He leant back so he could see her reaction, her immediate dismay only amused him as he brushed his lips against hers. It was a fleeting kiss, but one that stirred her from her stupor. She cupped his cheeks so as to kiss him further before he could pull away.

The knock on their door broke their embrace. "Your Grace?"

"Yes?" Daeron replied after dispelling a quiet breath. He turned to her, she nodded at his unasked question. "Enter."

The door opened to show an apologetic Ser Barristan, who quickly dipped his head in their presence. "I am sorry for the intrusion," There was an awkwardness in the undercurrent of his tone, "You are requested in the Main Hall," the Lord Commander didn't raise his head when he finished.

"I shall be there shortly."

"Very good, Your Grace," Ser Barristan smoothly backed away and out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

"I pray there are no ladies on the battlefield," Cersei had found it all too amusing, but she made sure not to laugh until they were alone again. "I'm afraid Ser Barristan would meet his match in the company of a barely dressed maiden." She was in a modest gown, but the intimacy between her and Daeron and what the knight could infer on his intrusion had sent him into a flustered retreat.

He chuckled, but the mirth did not stay. "I wonder who summons me."

She had a suspicion, but she did not voice it, because he already knew the answer. "Whoever, it is," she said instead, "must be patient." Cersei tried to sooth away his annoyance with a series of light kisses across his jaw before her lips were on his. "A Queen's needs are just as important."

Daeron didn't object.

She mumbled unhappily as the light of the early morning touched her face like insistent fingers trying to pry her awake. It was a hopeless struggle to resist, reluctantly she opened her eyes to see the same thing she saw every morning. Cersei Lannister was staring at the empty spot in their bed.

This is where my husband should be. His absence felt sharper within her chest after the sweet dream she had been having. The memory of their last morning together.

We are one flesh, remembering their vows, but we've been split apart.

The faces of Jeyne Whent and Princess Laela swam into view. Their schemes and their snickering as they voiced their enthusiasm at stopping Cersei and Daeron's marriage. At how pleased they sounded, as they bragged triumphantly of a deed they thought was all but done. They thought themselves so clever, Cersei wished to see their reactions, to relish their disbelief to see how those plans had gone awry. To punish them for their audacity at trying to split her from Daeron. Cursed be the ones who seek to tear us asunder, she remembered the vows and was determined to make sure her enemies would never forget them.

Not yet, she tried to temper her rage, The war is not won yet, but soon.

Soon . She had come to loathe that word. It was so unreliable, too fickle for her to pin her hopes on. She rose from her bed, moving across the room to inspect the dress that had been laid out for her the night before. It was red silk with black gemstones. It was woven and embroidered by deft fingers. The opals sewn in made them shimmer like black suns. The dragon was prominent and fierce in the stitching.

It was her husband's colors that were now hers to wear as his wife and queen. How long had she chased this sigil? How long had she dreamed of these colors? Now that she had them she did not want this royal finery in front of her but her husband. She wanted to feel his fingers against her skin, not damask and silk. To feel his arms embrace her instead of the embroidered bodice of this dress…

There will be no need to alter the dresses, Her mother's voice played in her mind. It was a discrete instruction and one she wasn't supposed to hear, but Cersei had stumbled onto it when she had come early to her mother for a luncheon. The Queen's wardrobe will not be needing new commissions and adjustments.

Her hands instinctively covered her flat stomach while the bitter memory played before her. There was no babe growing inside her. There was no heir for her king. There was no child for her husband. You have failed. Cersei's fingers went to the parting gift he gave her to stave off the despondency that would come over her like a thick fog. This new memory rose to take over, washing her in its warmth.

"I have something for you," He had told her. These would be some of their last moments together. The morning sun was steadily rising and he and the others were set to depart.

"Oh?" she saw the uncertainty in how he moved. It was not the steady grace she had come to expect from him.

"Yes," He presented it to her, holding out his hands. The gift had not been boxed or wrapped, but lay bare in his hands.

It was exquisite. The gold made it shimmer in the light. This was not the gold of Casterly Rock. It was of a different make, unknown to her.

"It's beautiful," her fingers tentatively touched the gold three headed dragon pendant. It was finely wrought, but it was not freshly made. It was worn, but the gold had not been diminished by it. "Would you?"

"Of course," he took the pendant so that he could put it on her. "It's a family heirloom," His mouth brushed against her ear. The low hush made her quiver. "It belongs to our family now." He breathed the words against her ear, kissing her neck, her throat.

"I'll treasure it," she promised, gripping it loosely between her fingers, "and I won't take it off until you return." That was when she decided, "You will have to."

He had been amused. Those precious light purple eyes of his never failed to excite her. "I would like that," they had sealed their agreement with a kiss.

"Your Grace?" Those would be the servants ready to help prepare her for the day ahead.

She regarded herself in the looking glass before she answered. Her eyes didn't linger on her flat stomach. She may not have been carrying the heir to the Iron Throne, but she was still the Queen and her husband needed her.

Cersei broke her fast like she did every morning in the company of her good sister. They took it in the solar she had shared with Daeron after they had become husband and wife. This was part of the Rock that she was the least familiar with, but she did not wish to move back to her old quarters or another part of the castle.

She noticed the slight discomfort in Elia's expression when she took her seat across from Cersei. There was a weariness in her gaze that made Cersei nervous. Her good sister had birthed a healthy son and heir, but the birth had drained her. She recovered smoothly in the following weeks under Joanna's watchful eye and a group of maesters and healers, but there were still moments where the pain or discomfort would flare up.

"If you are unwell then you should go back to your quarters."

Elia arched an eyebrow. "I am fine." She met Cersei's inquisitive stare as if waiting for the next volley. Cersei didn't give it.

"Good," she smiled, relieved. There had been a time where the mere idea of Elia becoming her good sister would have enraged her. Now, not only was she her good sister, but Cersei counted Elia as one of her closest friends and a confidant, something she sorely needed these last few months.

The food was brought to them over a smattering of discussion that she and Elia would fall into where they spoke of everything except their absent husbands.

"How's my nephew?" Cersei took a piece of crispy bacon, making a loud crunch despite the small bite she took.

Elia chuckled, while smearing jam onto her bread. "Spoiled." Her dark eyes sparkled at the mere thought of her son. "Tyrion and your mother are with him."

Cersei tried to see her nephew every day, but some days were more difficult than others. It was not the fault of the babe, but the absence of hers that would cast a looming shadow over her mood. An invisible weight that would press down hard against her chest.

"How often?" Elia asked abruptly, "How often have you thought about leaving? About escaping in the night and joining him?" The teasing lilt softened the blunt and unexpected question.

She knew it was fruitless to try to lie to Elia. Her good sister had a keen sense at being able to snuff out lies or half truths. "Many times." Cersei had even gone as far as packing a bag, and picking a horse to ride, but she had never reached the stables despite the planning or temptation. There was always something that held her back. It had been at its worst when she had learned that she was not with child. The tossing and turning, unable to decide on if she should leave or stay.

She wouldn't forget that fresh fear that seemed to cut through her like a knife. At how it would then spread through her like poison. That she would have nothing of Daeron's if he was to perish. There would be no child who needed her, who she could watch grow, and love. A piece of her husband whom she could nurture and cherish even after his death. That fear alone had nearly been enough for her to leave.

It had been her mother that made her stay. This had not been done out of some confrontation of Cersei being caught by her, or an order mother had given to tighten the patrols around the stables or gates. It hadn't been one action, but several. It had been the countless examples and lessons she had shown and taught Cersei about the worth of a wife and how it extended beyond the birthing bed.

"We are fortunate you never did," Elia's words pulled Cersei from her thoughts and back to the table and breakfast she was sharing with her good sister. "It was you who brought the Tullys to our cause."

She could not deny the pride that welled within her at not just her good sister's praise, but the accomplishment itself.

"Careful, Your Grace," Elia's warning was coated in mirth, "A swelled head will topple your crown."

Cersei chose the more civil response in replying to her good sister's teasing. She stuck her tongue out.

Elia chuckled, wiping at her mouth with her napkin before she changed the topic. "Will you be sparring with Lyanna this afternoon?"

Lyanna and Benjen Stark had been caught up in the chaos at Harrenhal, and like a ship in a storm they became wayward. They had found themselves going west instead of north, ending up at Casterly Rock as their guests instead of a family reunion at Winterfell. They quickly sent ravens to the north, Lyanna was insistent on informing her father what had truly happened to Howland and how they had ended up in the Westerlands.

It wasn't until their father's response did they see that another story had been spun to Lord Rickard. It was a clever tale that could even have seeds of truth to it, with Rhaegar claiming he only wanted his men to protect them in the chaos at Harrenhal, the chaos which he had started by his unlawful attempt to seize Daeron and herself. Regardless of how they had gotten to the Rock, the truth was they were here to stay with the fighting breaking out in the riverlands and the storms in the north. Cersei, who ended up with the responsibility of continuing the correspondence with Lord Stark since Daeron at that point had already left the Rock. She had assured the Warden of the North that his children were not prisoners or hostages, but honored guests.

Cersei had considered leaning on them to try to get the north to rally to their side, but thought better of it. She'd rather have northern indifference than accidentally pushing them onto Rhaegar's lap by mishandling the situation. The north was content to sit and wait, to keep their swords and spears above the Neck. It seemed Rickard's failed Tully bride for his heir had revealed discontent with some of his bannermen, who preferred apathy to the south instead of alliances.

They'll march south when Daeron summons them, she thought of the aftermath of their future victory over Rhaegar. They'll march and bend the knee, she did not think they were capable of being stubborn or foolish enough to ignore that sort of summons. But if they refused, Cersei didn't have to think long or hard about what would happen to the north if they refused the call from their rightful king.

"I will try," Her time in the sparring yard had become one of her favorite parts of the day, especially when it followed a frustrating meeting or letter. Then, she got to really enjoy it.

"You cannot disappoint the poor girl," Elia replied, "I think she actually believes she's close to beating you."

She smiled, showing what she thought of that possibility. The mention of one Stark made her think of another. "Will Ashara be joining us this afternoon?"

Elia shook her head. "No, she's been given instructions to remain in bed. Maester Desmond believes the babe will come any day."

"Then we'll just have to visit her instead."

"Your Grace?"

The voice of the guardsman surprised them. Cersei was not expecting visitors. "Yes?"

"Your mother and Maester Desmond," The guard announced, and without waiting for her response, the doors opened to show the uninvited guests.

It wasn't the break in decorum that alarmed her, but her mother's appearance. It was a rare sight to see Joanna Lannister look unwell. "What is it?" Cersei felt a sliver of fear in her belly.

"We have received troubling news, Your Grace," Maester Desmond hadn't forgotten expected protocol. He gave a hasty bow, when he lifted his head, she saw the uneasiness in his eyes. "The Bloody Flux is here," His words tumbling over each other, "Not here," he made a frantic gesture with his hand, "I-I mean in Westeros, we've heard rumors that its in the Reach and Riverlands."

"The what?"

Maester Desmond blinked, looking unexpectedly confused. He seemed to expect every response except her question. "It's the bloody flux." He repeated more slowly as if that would be a helpful insight.

"Which is?" Cersei's teeth were on edge, her patience straining at his dismay. As if it was her fault that her lessons did not touch on illnesses while plainly ignoring his role in the issue. I'm sure this was another lesson that Jaime was made to learn, but not me.

"It is a sickness of the bowels," he answered, "it often sprouts up during times of war and can spread quickly through and between armies."

The realization settled in her stomach like a heavy stone. "Are they…" Her question trailed off as the potential horrible answer flickered across her mind.

"We do not believe King Daeron or his forces have been infected," Desmond answered quickly, plainly aware of the instant relief it would bring them.

She felt the fear leach away as quickly as it had been forming. From the corner of her eye, her good sister's taut posture immediately sagged in relief. The good feeling did not stay with her when she caught her mother looming in the background. Which made Cersei realize that it was something else that was troubling her. It was someone else.

"It's been reported in the Reach," He was saying, "in your father's camp."

Father, despair rolled through her. It was her good daughter, not her daughter that comforted Joanna Lannister. Cersei watched it play out before her, with a detached numbness. While the horrible news had stirred Elia to action, rising from her seat, it had done the opposite to her. Cersei wanted to slink away, to sink into the earth. Not father, she wouldn't believe it. He was too strong. He couldn't be undone by something like this. The more she thought about it, the easier it became for her to refuse it.

So it wasn't her who asked the question, but Elia. "What of Lord Tywin?"

Mother's answer came after a beat of silence that felt like it stretched out for eternity right before Cersei's eyes. "His letter makes no mention of him being affected."

That made Cersei sit up in her seat, confirming her belief that this worry was for nothing. That father was healthy and would be waiting for them when this was over. That he would be amused at their concern before chiding them at thinking, he could fall to such a nasty thing like this bloody flux.

It was her mother's next words that stopped Cersei's trail of thought and sunk her confidence. "But Kevan's addendum said differently."