Despite herself, Cersei can not help but appreciate the North's beauty. The snow that fits together like intricate masonry, building a new landscape by the hour. The quiet and stillness of the air that always seems to have come upon her suddenly regardless of how long it has lasted. The cold that seeps through her many layers of cloth and fur and skin and muscle to sink deeply into her bones, and refuses to leave her no matter how long she tries to avoid stepping outside. It is an ancient beauty, one that reminds her of the well-aged Ladies of the realm; those old foxes who have managed to last decades in the game through wit and cunning. It is frightening. Powerful. Irresistible, in its own way.
It is a surprising admission for one who became a woman grown and Queen in the bustling cities below the Neck. Lannisport. Oldtown. Even King's Landing with its putrid squalor. Packed to excess and beyond, they all had a vibrancy, a breath of life, to them that Cersei had loved since childhood.
She smiled as a memory of looking out over Lannisport came to her. The setting sun had burned the sky red and gold. The harbor was packed with ships, their tall masts and sails blurring together to form a forest of many colors. A gust of wind that smelled of salt and iron kissed her body, blowing her beloved golden tresses around her head. She could hear it, the city, as it slowed down for the day: children screaming in the streets, the last ringing of hammers on iron, the merchants and vendors yelling and arguing with more fervor than at any other time of the day – for it was only in the evening before everyone went to supper that the best deals could be had – and so much more.
Cersei licked her lips and rubbed her thighs together as the other reason that memory had remained with her for so many years. Her smile turned impish as she wondered where her beloved Jamie was, and if she could steal him from the festivities for that Tully child.
Her husband kept his own council, but rarely was it that Cersei could not divine his motives. When he declared that his family – not the court, or even part of it, but only his wife and children – would be traveling to Winterfell for Catelyn Tully's son's tenth name-day, however, she was at a loss. Nothing could explain such a trip; it was pointless, nonsensical, irresponsible.
And then she had sighed. Pointless. Nonsensical. Irresponsible. Those words, more than any others, defined Robert Baratheon.
So they had traveled with the fewest number of guards and servants and courtiers as possible. Quicker, admittedly, than if they had brought the court with them, but the trek still took near a full turn of the moon. She shuddered to think how long it would take with even more hangers-on than what was absolutely necessary. Months, most likely.
Cersei paused as the sounds of laughter reached her ears. She had begged off the welcoming and name-day celebration feast, citing fatigue from the travel, and had spent her time wandering the halls of Winterfell. The entirety of the North had converged on the seat of House Stark, and she had not expected for any of the castle's residents to not be in the Great Hall.
She walked towards the laughter. The sharp crack of wood striking wood could also be heard; Cersei knew that sound from the many times she had observed her beloved brother training their eldest in the practice yard. The sound of voices soon followed. Both young, but one was distinctly that of a young boy beginning to grow into a man, while the other was not.
Cersei reached a gap and stayed close to the wall and silent. Yet when she looked around the corner she almost gasped in shock. Two children danced around eachother with wooden practice swords in hand. The elder was a boy who appeared older than the Tully boy by a year or two; the younger was a girl barely five. Both laughed easily as they traded strikes – though it would be more accurate to say that the girl was trying strike the boy, while he stood still and blocked her blows – and barbs that Cersei knew Catelyn Tully would not approve of hearing.
Yet what had shocked her so was not their impropriety, but instead their looks. The two children were Starks from their heads to their toes. Nothing about them reminded Cersei of Catelyn Tully, but instead of Ned. The long face, the lank, dark hair, and the gray eyes.
She remained silent and unmoving as the two continued their dance, her emerald eyes tracking their forms. Eventually, they stopped, dropping the practice swords onto the snowy ground. The girl rushed the boy, and he grabbed her around the waist and set her on his shoulders. Cersei stepped backwards into shadows as the two left.
Her eyes had never left them. And as the two Stark children walked back towards the Great Hall, Cersei Lannister's face split into a wide smile. Perhaps this trip had not been worthless after all.
+++++++++++++
Another ASOIF thing, though this one is an actual story. It's going to be one long one-shot that I'll add to as I get bored writing an AU that starts in Harrenhal and ends (right now at least) with the sack of King's Landing during the Rebellion. That's gonna take a while to get out, so consider this, Kingsguard, and the HP and Dresden Files crossovers that will (eventually) get posted as my writing block busters (of sorts)
ANYWAY, I'm curious as to what people can pick up from this short bit right now.
Toodles!
It is a surprising admission for one who became a woman grown and Queen in the bustling cities below the Neck. Lannisport. Oldtown. Even King's Landing with its putrid squalor. Packed to excess and beyond, they all had a vibrancy, a breath of life, to them that Cersei had loved since childhood.
She smiled as a memory of looking out over Lannisport came to her. The setting sun had burned the sky red and gold. The harbor was packed with ships, their tall masts and sails blurring together to form a forest of many colors. A gust of wind that smelled of salt and iron kissed her body, blowing her beloved golden tresses around her head. She could hear it, the city, as it slowed down for the day: children screaming in the streets, the last ringing of hammers on iron, the merchants and vendors yelling and arguing with more fervor than at any other time of the day – for it was only in the evening before everyone went to supper that the best deals could be had – and so much more.
Cersei licked her lips and rubbed her thighs together as the other reason that memory had remained with her for so many years. Her smile turned impish as she wondered where her beloved Jamie was, and if she could steal him from the festivities for that Tully child.
Her husband kept his own council, but rarely was it that Cersei could not divine his motives. When he declared that his family – not the court, or even part of it, but only his wife and children – would be traveling to Winterfell for Catelyn Tully's son's tenth name-day, however, she was at a loss. Nothing could explain such a trip; it was pointless, nonsensical, irresponsible.
And then she had sighed. Pointless. Nonsensical. Irresponsible. Those words, more than any others, defined Robert Baratheon.
So they had traveled with the fewest number of guards and servants and courtiers as possible. Quicker, admittedly, than if they had brought the court with them, but the trek still took near a full turn of the moon. She shuddered to think how long it would take with even more hangers-on than what was absolutely necessary. Months, most likely.
Cersei paused as the sounds of laughter reached her ears. She had begged off the welcoming and name-day celebration feast, citing fatigue from the travel, and had spent her time wandering the halls of Winterfell. The entirety of the North had converged on the seat of House Stark, and she had not expected for any of the castle's residents to not be in the Great Hall.
She walked towards the laughter. The sharp crack of wood striking wood could also be heard; Cersei knew that sound from the many times she had observed her beloved brother training their eldest in the practice yard. The sound of voices soon followed. Both young, but one was distinctly that of a young boy beginning to grow into a man, while the other was not.
Cersei reached a gap and stayed close to the wall and silent. Yet when she looked around the corner she almost gasped in shock. Two children danced around eachother with wooden practice swords in hand. The elder was a boy who appeared older than the Tully boy by a year or two; the younger was a girl barely five. Both laughed easily as they traded strikes – though it would be more accurate to say that the girl was trying strike the boy, while he stood still and blocked her blows – and barbs that Cersei knew Catelyn Tully would not approve of hearing.
Yet what had shocked her so was not their impropriety, but instead their looks. The two children were Starks from their heads to their toes. Nothing about them reminded Cersei of Catelyn Tully, but instead of Ned. The long face, the lank, dark hair, and the gray eyes.
She remained silent and unmoving as the two continued their dance, her emerald eyes tracking their forms. Eventually, they stopped, dropping the practice swords onto the snowy ground. The girl rushed the boy, and he grabbed her around the waist and set her on his shoulders. Cersei stepped backwards into shadows as the two left.
Her eyes had never left them. And as the two Stark children walked back towards the Great Hall, Cersei Lannister's face split into a wide smile. Perhaps this trip had not been worthless after all.
+++++++++++++
Another ASOIF thing, though this one is an actual story. It's going to be one long one-shot that I'll add to as I get bored writing an AU that starts in Harrenhal and ends (right now at least) with the sack of King's Landing during the Rebellion. That's gonna take a while to get out, so consider this, Kingsguard, and the HP and Dresden Files crossovers that will (eventually) get posted as my writing block busters (of sorts)
ANYWAY, I'm curious as to what people can pick up from this short bit right now.
Toodles!