Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Ladies of the tourney

…

Cersei Lannister POV

I reminisce about the melee, where knights crashed against each other in a storm of steel. Watching them bash in each other's heads was a beautiful sight—especially when Galahad took down six knights by himself. 

The memory made me smile, my needle forgotten in my hand as I replayed the image in my mind.

"Cersei, you're doing it all wrong." The voice to my left was a sharp reminder of where I was.

I looked over, annoyed, and saw her face—Catelyn Tully. A few namedays older than me, with eyes like muddy sapphires, a poor match for my own green. Her auburn hair was just as lacking, dull and unimpressive next to my golden waves. The very sight of her grated on me.

My mother had forced me to befriend her, since she was also the daughter of a lord paramount, but I could hardly stand her. 

While I'd rather be out with Jaime and the boys, here I was, stuck in this stuffy tent with Catelyn, her sister, other young ladies, and a septa watching over us all. 

And if that wasn't bad enough, Catelyn always managed to be better at everything—sewing, singing, dancing. It was infuriating.

"Melara, here," I said, tossing my sewing kit to my lady-in-waiting, the only one I liked in this tent. "Finish this for me."

I could see Catelyn's mouth tighten as she watched. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, clearly taken aback.

I smirked, meeting her gaze. "I'm the daughter of a lord paramount. Why should I sew when I have ladies who can do it for me?"

Her eyes narrowed as she shot back, "That's exactly why you should sew. The Mother says a woman must follow the right path and lead by example."

There she went again, talking about the Mother from the Seven-Pointed Star, as if I didn't already know about it. Her words grated on me, as did the glint of that necklace around her neck. I felt an urge to snap it right off.

"Oh, please," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "If you want to lead by example, Catelyn, then keep sewing. As for me, I have better things to do."

Without waiting for her response, I turned and strode toward the tent's exit.

"Young lady, where do you think you're going?" The septa, who had been hovering over us with a tight-lipped expression, suddenly appeared in front of me.

I rolled my eyes, my patience thoroughly worn thin. "Move aside," I said, annoyance clear in my voice.

She held up a hand, blocking my path. "Please, Lady Cersei. Sewing is important—you'll need it for your—"

Before the septa could finish her sentence, I slipped around her and darted out of the tent.

The fresh air filled my lungs, lifting the weight of the stuffy tent and the needles I couldn't stand. 

My eyes quickly scanned the grounds, and in the distance, I spotted them—my uncles Gerion and Tygett, the Dornish prince Oberyn, and, of course, my prince, Galahad.

I ran toward them, savoring each step of freedom.

"Wait, Lady Cersei!" The septa's voice floated faintly behind me, but I didn't even glance back. My feet carried me toward Galahad and the others, away from needles and thread, away from the septa and Catelyn with her insufferable sense of duty.

Galahad was the first to notice me, his face lighting up with surprise as he caught my eye. "Woah there, Lady Cersei. What are you doing out here?"

He was dressed in simple attire, as were the others, taking a well-earned rest before the jousting began. All four of them had advanced to the next round in the melee, and I could tell they were enjoying their break.

I wasted no time, putting on a pout as I rushed over to Galahad and hid behind him with the best crocodile tears I could muster. "Help me! The septa and Catelyn are making fun of me."

My uncles and Oberyn laughed, clearly amused. I peeked out from behind Galahad, and sure enough, the septa was marching toward us, her face tight with disapproval. 

And beside her, following along like an obedient hound, was Catelyn, all dutiful and proper, probably eager to tattle.

"Ah, trouble follows you wherever you go, doesn't it?" Oberyn chuckled, crossing his arms as he looked down at me with a smirk.

Gerion nudged Tygett with a grin. "Seems the little lioness has more spirit than her handlers know what to do with."

I pressed closer to Galahad, deepening my pout as I glanced up at him, hoping he'd play along. 

He looked at me and nodded with a smile.

His expression then shifted, and he turned to the septa with a serious, almost scolding tone. "What seems to be the problem? What have you done to Lady Cersei?"

The severity in his voice caught me off guard—it even sounded real.

"What do you mean? I was only trying to get Lady Cersei back to her sewing," the septa replied, her voice faltering, suddenly timid.

"That's not what I see," Gerion added, stepping in with a firm look. "My niece told me quite a different story."

The septa's face went pale, her words catching in her throat. "It's… it's not…" she stammered, at a loss under their gaze.

"Leave my niece be today, and we'll forget anything that may have happened," Tygett added, towering over her.

The septa gave a quick, shaky nod and practically fled back to the tent, her skirts fluttering as she hurried off.

"Hahaha!" Oberyn burst out laughing, clearly entertained by the whole charade.

I couldn't help but join in, feeling triumphant. And when I looked over at Catelyn, still standing there, stunned and blinking, it was like a cherry on top. I strode up to her with a smirk.

"You see, Catty? Your septa can't do anything," I said smugly, savoring the look of shock in her blue eyes. Catty was a mocking nickname I had given her.

But tears began to well up, and her lips trembled. She looked truly upset, her small frame shaking.

"Woah, woah, Lady Cersei," Galahad stepped between us, his tone gentle as he glanced at me. "Let's not be too harsh, alright?"

He turned to Catelyn, his expression softening. "You two should try to get along. You're not enemies. You're noble ladies of respected houses, and you should act as such." He smiled, holding out a small cake. "Here, this should help. I apologize for my aggression earlier. Cheer up, Lady Catelyn."

Catelyn blinked at him, then reached out, taking the cake with a small, uncertain smile. She bit into it, and her face brightened with a spark of joy. 

Looking at the scene, a thought struck me.

Galahad was so good at brightening people's moods. I wondered if I looked that excited when eating one of Galahad's treats.

I nudged Galahad. "Me too." I held out my hand, grinning.

He smiled at me and handed me a piece of cake.

"Me too!" Oberyn teased, holding his hand out, a mischievous grin on his face.

With a roll of his eyes, Galahad gave him a cake too.

"Me too," Gerion chimed in, and even Tygett, usually so serious, was reaching out.

"You guys should've bought them from the stalls earlier!" Galahad huffed, it was directed to my uncles and Oberyn, though he couldn't help grinning.

We all laughed, the tension forgotten. 

…

Third POV

In the heart of a pavilion tent, grand and spacious, five noble ladies sat in quiet composure, the most powerful women in the Seven Kingdoms.

Sunlight seeped through the canvas, bathing Joanna Lannister, Princess Nymeria Martell, Olenna Tyrell, Cassana Baratheon, and Minisa Tully in a warm glow. 

Each of them occupied a seat around a round table, where silks, threads, and teacups lay scattered like the fragments of their houses' might and influence.

It was a rare interlude, a quiet break in the clamor of the tourney grounds, where knights and noblemen would soon vie for a glance, a smile—perhaps even a favor—from one of these esteemed ladies. 

For now, though, they sat as equals, sharing needlework and tea, each stitching her own handkerchief in patterns that suited her station and taste.

Joanna's fingers worked swiftly, golden thread winding around the outline of a lion's head, her House's sigil precise and bold against the ivory cloth. 

Beside her, Nymeria's needle traced the flowing lines of a sunburst, bright and warm against the dark fabric, a proud nod to her homeland in Dorne. 

Olenna Tyrell's handkerchief bore a subtle rose, intricately detailed, while Cassana embroidered a fierce stag, the strength of House Baratheon woven into every stitch. 

Minisa, soft-spoken and thoughtful, wove the ripples of a trout leaping across blue silk, the essence of Riverrun brought to life with every pass of the needle.

They stitched in companionable silence, the faint clink of tea cups and quiet rustle of fabric filling the air. 

Finally, Olenna's sharp voice cut through the gentle murmur of the tent.

"So, Lady Joanna," she began, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she continued stitching. 

"Have you thought of any suitable marriages for your children? I heard you rejected the Martells—a sensible choice, I'd say. Dorne is quite a distance from here." Her words were light, but her glance at Nymeria was anything but.

Joanna felt the undercurrent of tension thickening between the two, and she wasn't alone. Cassana and Minisa exchanged wary glances, sensing the familiar sparks of a rivalry rekindling.

Nymeria's lips curved in a smirk, her dark eyes flashing. 

"You're one to talk, Olenna. Last I heard, all your children are already betrothed. Such a 

shame you only have three," she said smoothly, a subtle barb veiled in her words, implying that her own lineage would be all the stronger for its numbers.

Olenna's needle paused mid-stitch, but her tone remained cool. "Quality over quantity, Princess Nymeria. Besides, not every lady needs men around them to prove their worth."

"Enough," Joanna interjected, her voice calm yet commanding, her gaze sweeping between the two. "Let's not make a battlefield out of this peace."

"To answer your question, my children are still young, far from marriage age. Tywin and I have agreed to discuss it later," Joanna said, her tone carefully measured.

She knew Tywin's intentions well. He wanted the Riverlands, and he had his eye on a match between Jaime and Minisa's daughter, Catelyn. 

But she couldn't be too direct about it; she needed to maintain an advantage in the negotiation.

"Lady Minisa, your daughter Catelyn is quite a good girl. From what I've heard from the septa, my daughter and yours have been getting along," Joanna said, forcing a smile. 

It was a blatant lie—whenever Catelyn's name came up, Cersei would groan loudly in annoyance.

"Yes, Lady Joanna, they have," Minisa replied, equally disingenuous. 

Whenever Cersei's name crossed her lips, Catelyn's face would twist with frustration.

"Haha, that's nice! It's always good to have the next generation of ladies so close," Cassana chimed in, eager to keep the conversation flowing.

"Though your daughters are still young to talk of marriage, my son Robert is of Cersei and Catelyn's age. Please do consider it…" Cassana added, a knowing smile aimed at both Joanna and Minisa.

"Haha, of course," Joanna said, her mind racing. No way in the Seven Hells would Tywin accept a match with anyone other than Prince Rhaegar for Cersei.

"I'll think about it," Minisa said thoughtfully. Yet deep down, she couldn't imagine a pairing; from what she'd seen of the boisterous boy, there was no compatibility between her sweet Catelyn and the brute Robert.

The ladies continued their sewing, their nimble fingers working deftly with the fabric. Each handkerchief was nearly complete, the intricate designs reflecting their individual styles.

…

Note:

After the joust in the next chapter, we will be skipping day 4. I will instead write an update on the Lionheart Family. Day 5 is where Richard would face some of the big names.