Chapter Two

'Lord Stark, Tyrion,' she smiled, though she was enormously irritated at the timing of their arrival. Lord Stark was babysitting again obviously - her brother Tyrion, the imp, so named for his devious and often cunning ways as much as for his lack of height, was three sheets to the wind and grinning from ear to ear at her. Here was a man, a brother who was so different from the other, that one would scarcely believe they were related, and she didn't mean because of his diminutive stature, which was probably the only thing about him that she didn't find irritating.

Luckily for Tyrion, he was hugely popular, especially with her ex husband who perhaps kept Tyrion around as another way of taunting her. Robert seemed to take great delight in doing that. Their eldest son sometimes joined in on the torment, though her other two children were as different from their older brother as, well she supposed, as she was from her own younger brother.

Cersei's lips twisted into a grimace as she glared down at her brother, who staggered and listed badly, heading for the floor, but was saved at the last instance by Ned.

It was both unexpected and problematic for these men to be here tonight. Lord Baelish and Ned spared no love for each other and then there was the inconvenient fact that Ned's eldest daughter was due to make an appearance downstairs at any moment, unless she could somehow alert Sansa to her father's arrival. Cersei now regretted her impulsive act to inform Sansa of Lord Baelish's arrival. Normally she could avoid such awkward moments because of Ned's strict adherence to attending an appointment on the same night each week, which was NOT tonight. As for Tyrion, he usually had enough sense to stay clear of her, though obviously he lost all sense of reason when he was in his cups.

Cersei sighed and shook her head. She never backed away from a fight, but she did not need anyone else starting something that she would likely have to finish. She pressed a button hidden beneath the counter where she greeted her visitors. It was silent but activated a glowing red light in each of the rooms upstairs, warning that there may be trouble and to use caution before heading for the front parlour. Unbeknown to visitors to Palais de la Passion, Cersei liked to be prepared for trouble, which in her profession, was often no more than a heartbeat away. While violence of any kind was swiftly dealt with by her Chief of Security, the very efficient Sandor Clegane, there was an unwritten rule for their many visitors to keep their "swords" sheathed.

'Cersei.' Lord Stark waggled his finger in front of her. 'How many times must I tell you, call me Ned, I'm not one for formalities.' He flicked a glance in the direction of Lord Baelish who was reclined on the couch enjoying his drink, but who promptly sat up, bristling like a ruffled rooster at the intentional slight.

'Of course, Ned ...' Cersei pressed her lips together to suppress a smirk, and snapped her fingers once again. These silly men and their silly games. She swept forward, her elegant red cocktail dress, ruby necklace and matching earrings were designed to complement the decor, which was mostly French in design - a grand design - that was a little over the top, with swathes of hellishly expensive velvet fabric - after all, nothing says bordello like red velvet. Despite the inordinate amounts of money spent on the room, there was no doubt that the real star was the Hostess, who knew how to command a room and made her presence felt with a nod of her head, a dazzling smile or a touch of her hand.

Cersei moved back behind the counter, pushed a button under the marble countertop and indicated an armchair on the opposite side of the room from Lord Baelish. The two men exchanged looks, Ned Stark swaggered, the look he gave Lord Baelish was arrogant and full of humour.

Lord Baelish in return glowered at the newcomer, though Cersei was aware he had at the same time withdrawn into himself, his face expressing his disdain and displeasure, though his physical actions appeared designed to diffuse and placate. He paid no mind to Tyrion, who was humming to himself and taking frequent sips from a hip flask.

'Sister dearest, how fascinating to see you again.'

'I wish I could say the same brother dearest, but I try to be truthful, so I'll just ask what you are you doing here?'

'Unlike our brother, it will not be you, sister dearest.' Cersei flinched but held her tongue. The imp knew nothing, he might guess or suggest, but she was was quite sure he could not prove whatever it was he thought he knew. Cersei had to hand it to him though, her brother's barbed tongue had inflicted several deep wounds on her in the past, as only one close enough to her would know how to. Still, she was a Lannister too, and she knew a few things as well.

Tyrion, tried to haul himself onto an armchair, but given his state of inebriation and his diminutive stature, it was not easy to accomplish, and it resulted in him sliding off the edge to the floor.

'Can I get you a ladder brother dearest,' Cersei beamed at her brother who clapped slowly and guffawed loudly.

'No, don't trouble yourself on my account, after all, why break the habit of a lifetime?'

This was getting her nowhere. She knew better than to publicly air her family's problems. With any luck, Tyrion would be responsible for his own demise, since his sharp tongue had gained him many powerful enemies, and his excessive love of cheap alcohol and dangerous women might prove equal threats to his longevity.

She would concentrate her charms on the other men. Like them, or not, both men worked for her former husband. Ned Stark was the right hand of Robert Baratheon-King, the lynchpin of Westeros society. His word was law. He'd taken over the leadership of Baratheon-King Enterprises following the death of his father, some say at his only son's hands, though Robert vigorously denied any suggestions of such a thing. He was advisor, mentor, friend and enforcer to Robert, the cool head that prevailed when her ex-husband succumbed to one of his famously over the top melt downs. Ned seemed to be the only one who could bring Robert back to earth at such times, though she had managed it a time or two in the past, when she had a mind to, which she didn't any more.

By contrast, Lord Baelish was officially the keeper of the purse, a bean counter, an important position which he was fortunate to have managed successfully thus far. However, Cersei knew her husband's patience with this timid, self-important little man would not last. If the rumours of Lord Baelish making enquiries about career opportunities as far away as Valyria were true, then maybe he himself had realised that his time left advising the CEO of Baratheon-King Enterprises was drawing to a close.

Missandei had returned with her silver tray and two glasses this time. Cersei did not miss the fact that she darted past Lord Baelish and made a beeline towards Ned Stark, before doubling back to unload the second glass, though not before Ned slapped her on the rump with a loud thwack that seemed only to make the girl titter and flutter her eyelids in his direction. It appeared Lord Baelish had not missed the fact that he had been downgraded by the help, judging by the tight, squinty eyes and red face which followed Missandei across the room. That wouldn't do, even though Cersei secretly agreed with Missandei's assessment, she was savvy enough to know that any whiff of favouritism would cause muttering and dissent amongst her guests, most of whom thought they were the most important men in Westeros, or at least only just below Baratheon-King, in the pecking order of importance.

Before any further trouble could present itself, Gilly entered the room and almost without seeming to, Cersei's eyes flicked briefly towards Lord Baelish, a movement intended only for Gilly, who smiled carefully, so as to avoid showing too much of her teeth, and headed directly towards Lord Baelish. She sat beside him on the couch and grinned at him, their faces roughly parallel, their height and physical bodies almost identical.

'Lord Baelish, how wonderful to see you.' Gilly leaned in and kissed him directly on the lips, which seemed to shock the man, who jerked back slightly, but then relaxed when her hand landed on his lap, and started a slow pinching massage of his thigh.

Cersei wanted to laugh at the look of bewilderment on Lord Baelish's face. He seemed at a loss on how to conduct himself. Several times he moved his hands towards Gilly's, to remove them, and at the last minute he relented and his hands hovered awkwardly above hers, in mid air, unsure what to do next. The faint blush of heat on his cheeks and the merest sheen of moisture on his forehead were the only indicators she could see that Lord Baelish was not unaffected by Gilly's ministrations, but they told an interesting story nonetheless.

Gilly meanwhile turned her body into Lord Baelish and put her lips to his ears, whispering something which sparked a momentary panic in his eyes, which Gilly's massaging hands seemed capable of dispelling, since he relaxed almost immediately.

Cersei reflected inwardly on this unexpected development. Thus far, the video footage she had of Lord Baelish and his rather amateur fumblings with Sansa, contained nothing of any value. He was a man of few words in the boardroom, and now it seemed in the bedroom. Perhaps this latest turn of events would net more benefits than even she could imagine.

There was a flurry from the couch as Sansa entered the room and Lord Baelish seemed flustered, as though caught with his hands in the cookie jar, though in truth, Gilly's questing hands seemed to be doing all the work.

Sansa smiled at Lord Baelish, then without missing a beat, flicked back her hair and headed towards Ned.

'Lord Stark,' Sansa affected a dramatic curtsy, fanning her skirt wide as she did so, 'it has been a while, for what reason do I have the pleasure of having your company tonight?'

Cersei tensed as Ned's jaw fell and his mouth hung open, confusion flooded his face.

He sprung from the couch and bellowed into the ensuing silence. 'What on earth is going on here?'