<h1><storm>Lady Cersei Baratheon</storm></h1>
<h2>35 years old. The Lioness. Stormlands. Rosamund Pike.</h2>
<h3>Ashley. 28. eastern. Pm for Skype.</h3>
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<div class="genhead">The Father</div>
<div class="gensmall">he sits and judges right from wrong</div>
Tywin was never a gentle man. Your father was stoic and hard more often than not, though most of that you would blame on the monster that people referred to as your brother. You could remember a time when Lord Tywin was happy, doting upon his wife and children. But Tyrion murdered his happiness, along with Joanna, and the light in Tywin’s eyes faded away.
<br><br>Still, he was an astute ruler, albeit a ruthless one at times. Your house and the lands he oversaw were the better for it, and you watched him closely as you grew, paying close attention to the decisions he made and the reasons for them. You excelled in your studies more so than your twin, not that Lord Tywin took much notice. He was too busy grooming Jaime to become his successor, forcing him to sit for hours until he got his letters right. You did not begrudge your brother this attention, he was your other half, after all. But as you entered womanhood it became clear that you were more adept to be Tywin’s successor than Jaime would be.
<br><br>Your father had bigger plans for you however - a marriage to Prince Rhaegar. He visited for a great tourney when you were just ten years old. Afterward your aunt let slip that Tywin’s proposal of your hand had been refused. You refused to believe such drivel, but when your beautiful Prince married that Dornish whore it was impossible not to. Your father refused all other matches offered, and when Jaime joined the Kingsguard you thought for sure he might name you his heir. Better you than Tyrion, after all. But he did not. You begrudged his decision to send you to the Stormlands, but sought his approval still, and thus would do your duty with your head held high. <br>
<div class="genhead">The Mother</div>
<div class="gensmall">Her gentle smile ends all strife</div>
Was there ever a babe as beautiful as your little boy? It would be another three years before you actually questioned that such a thing might be true. His raven hair is a reminder of his father, but that that will not change the fact that he is yours
. This war has been your one solace in having married Robert Baratheon - that he was gone shortly following your wedding night, leaving behind only the seed that would grow into his heir. At nights you hold the babe to suckle at your breast, praying that his father will die in battle and leave the two of you alone this way forever. You would rule Storm’s End in all but name and raise Steffon to be the perfect son. But Robert does not die, and soon enough he returns home to you both, forcing you to share the babe for the first time since his birth.
<br><br>Sharing is not so difficult as you might have thought. When you handed Steffon to his father your witnessed something altogether new. The light and love in Robert’s eyes as he held his son was hardly recognizable, for all the coldness your father had shown his children. You had not wished for this future, but it was one that you could accept. The love and attention he gave your child allowed you to warm to him slightly - though it could never have been called love. Regardless, Argella followed soon after her father’s return. Another dark-haired babe born in the image of her father, though there was a bit more of you there too. She was still so small when you were called home to the Rock, if it were not for seeing your twin once more at last you might not have gone at all. Leaving Steffon for a time was difficult, but Robert insisted.
<br><br>Your moon’s blood had come on the journey, so when your womb quickened with child once more you knew it was not your husband’s. Never one prone to tears, you could not help but weep with joy that you were carrying Jaime’s child instead. More than anything you wished to remain by his side, but your love for your son called you home. Besides, being gone too long might call this new babe’s parentage into question. Not that Robert didn’t do so anyhow, when you returned after a second journey with fair-haired Joffrey in tow. You liked and claimed the dead twin had his blue eyes and little hair that might have eventually grown in dark. Whether he believed you or not, you cared little. Joffrey was your golden boy and there was nothing you had ever loved more.
<br><Br>Argella grew closer to her father and you resented her for it, though you tried not to let it show even as you favored your sons over the raven-haired girl. Perhaps you were simply making it easier for yourself, knowing she would have to be sent away to the husband of Robert’s choosing. Steffon too he sent away, to foster first in the North, then at your own home with your brother. At least it was Jaime who would be charged with growing the boy into a man. Better Jaime than Robert. It pained you to see your eldest sent away, but you visited him often enough at the Rock, taking Joffrey with you whenever it could be managed. Robert cared little for the boy and thus did not seem to mind what you did with him. There was no proposal to send him to foster anywhere, and you did not push for such a thing, instead allowing Stannis to take over in training him to be a man. At least this way he would be more calculating than the man he called father. And he would be by your side. You refused to have it any other way. <br>
<div class="genhead">The Warrior</div>
<div class="gensmall">protecting us where e'er we go</div>
Sweet Jaime. Your twin is the other half of your heart, your shadow, more than simply your brother. You are two parts of one whole, and with him you feel more like yourself. The rest of the world melts away and it is only the two of you. Separation has not made your love for Jaime dwindle in the slightest, and being apart from him has never grown any easier. When your father had proposed a marriage to Lysa Tully you even bade him to join the Kingsguard so that he might be nearer to you in King’s Landing. He had always done as you asked, your dear brother. But father took you home soon after and you were separated anyhow. Your own marriage to Robert Baratheon put further distance between you, and were you a weaker woman you might have wept at the loss. But tears were so unbecoming of you.
<br><Br>You did not care about the birth of your new siblings by your father’s child bride, but you returned home to Casterly nevertheless to see your brother, Argella in tow. He shared his wife’s bed when needed, out of duty, but he shared yours out of love. The only time you had ever felt whole was when he was inside you, and when you left you took a bit of him with you, your belly already beginning to swell with his child. The visit had been short enough that it could be passed off as Robert’s - you’d written your husband as soon as you knew to tell him the news, pretending as if it had been a secret you’d kept all along, waiting until you were certain to share the news.
<br><br>It felt wrong, somehow, to give birth to Jaime’s child so far away from him. When the Lady Ashara gave birth again you used it as an excuse to return to the Rock, despite the advanced state of your pregnancy and Robert’s insistence that you stay. You gave birth shortly after your arrival, as did your brother’s wife. Twins - it was so fitting wasn’t it? You did not feel overly saddened by the fact that Lynesse’s daughter had never lived. That your brother had children by anyone but you sickened you. The choice to leave your own babe in her place was one that often entered your mind, even years later. It had not required a great deal of internal debate to settle on the decision, but that did not mean it wasn’t a well calculated one. Leaving Myrcella meant that Jaime would always have a part of you - as you had of him with Joffrey. Moreover, she would be a reminder of what love he could feel for a child made by the two of you. Of how superior she was to any child Lynesse could birth. And besides, you trusted him with the future of your daughter far more than you did Robert. He’d likely give her to some Stark boy, sending her off to freeze in a tundra so far you could hardly ever visit. No, she would be far better off staying at the Rock. <br>
<div class="genhead">The Maiden</div>
<div class="gensmall">she lives in every lover's sigh</div>
In your youth it was said you were the most beautiful woman in Westeros. You had little reason to believe it was not true, and yet the Prince had refused your hand. In the years that followed his refusal you told yourself he would grow to regret the decision. You had been only ten, not yet flowered. He had simply been unable to see what a beauty you would become. Certainly a more suitable queen than that sickly woman he called wife. When you traveled to King’s Landing with your father you made sure to be within his sight whenever possible, so that the great Rhaegar Targaryen might see what he had missed.
<br><Br>By the Tourney at Harrenhal you had blossomed into quite a fair maiden, and when he rode past his wife with that crown of winter roses you thought for certain he had finally realized his mistake. But it was the Lady Lyanna he had named the Queen of Love and Beauty, not his wife, and certainly not you. You never let your bruised pride show, however, though the same could not be said for Lyanna’s betrothed. He seemed determined to fight for his love, and you found yourself wishing Rhaegar had felt the same for you. Jaime would fight for your honor, but marrying your brother would never be allowed, no matter how often you found your way into his bedchambers.
<br><br>As war broke out, it was Robert Baratheon to whom you were wed, replacing the broken betrothal with Lyanna, who would become a Targaryen in your place. What a pair you were, two lovers scorned. It united you somehow, in those early years. A disdain for the person whose lot in life you should have held. Robert was not unkind to you, and he remained faithful if only for a brief period of time. It was certainly more than you could say, bringing home a golden haired babe from the Rock. You knew he suspected you, despite your denial of unfaithfulness. Things were never the same between you after, but you cared little. After all, it had always been Jaime who held your heart.<br>
<div class="genhead">The Smith</div>
<div class="gensmall">With hammer, plow, and fire bright</div>
As your children grow older you find yourself praying for strength more often than pleases you. A wild she-wolf roams your halls, betrothed to your eldest, your sweet baby boy. Steffon truly is his father’s son, much to Robert’s delight. You ought to have balked more at him being sent to foster in the North, perhaps then he would not be betrothed to the sister of Lyanna Targaryen. Infuriating, insulting even, that your husband seems to be living vicariously through his son. It is not heartache you feel - you never loved Robert - but something more akin to bruised pride. Once you had been lauded as the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms, but you cannot escape the shadow of Lyanna. News of her presumed death falls on welcome ears, though you would never openly admit it.
<br><br>At least Robert has a bit more sense in finding his match for Argella. You would never have chosen the Eyrie, of all places, but she is marrying the heir to the Vale. Argella will be Lady of the Eyrie and for that you can at least be somewhat pleased. Though he could have at least managed a Targaryen match for one
of your children. There were certainly enough Targaryens to go around after all. The line of succession was too long to hope that a younger son might one day be king, but they did tend to marry one another often enough. Argella’s daughter could have had a shot at being queen - though she very well may still, even tucked away up in the Eyrie. And there was always Myrcella. You will have to write to Jaime of his plans for your other daughter - discretely, of course. <br>
<div class="genhead">The Crone</div>
<div class="gensmall">She sees our fates as they unfold</div>
For many years you would have scoffed to be associated with the crone, and even now you refuse to believe yourself to be ‘old.’ However, it is clear where the wisdom in those household lays, and it is not with your husband. You attend to matters of state more often than your husband, and though his rigid nature is displeasing, you found yourself getting along with Lord Stannis better than you had expected. He may not have always appreciated the opinions of a woman, but you could hardly care less. When Robert couldn’t be bothered to turn up to meetings concerning the governance of his lands or his household you often took his place, refusing to let your own voice be quieted.
<br><Br>However, Stannis is gone now, killed in the Tyroshi wars. You are grateful that his wisdom has been imparted upon your eldest son so that he might grow to be like his father in appearance alone. Between the two of you Steffon has been brought up to have a decent head on his shoulders; when comes his time to rule he will do a better job than his father before him. Moreover, he will have you and your council by his side; Steffon always was eager to please, he’ll be a good son and trust you know best. If only his betrothed were a meeker woman.<br>
<div class="genhead">The Stranger</div>
<div class="gensmall">Wandering from place to place</div>
It seems the Stranger haunts your halls now more than ever. Your father was the first, killed by the monster he allowed to live in infancy. If you ever see your little brother again you shall not hesitate to kill him yourself. Hard a man as Tywin Lannister was, you loved him dearly. He was your family, and it was he he made you the woman you are today, strong and unflinching in your convictions. The loss has been harder even for Jaime, you think, if for no reason other than it has made him Lord of the Rock. Jaime never wanted the title, and you wish you could be by his side to ease the burden of ruling the West.
<br><br>More even than the loss of your father, the loss of his son has taken its toll on Jaime. He was with you shortly after, returning to Storm’s End following the battles in the Stormlands. You held him close, offering comfort while silently being pleased that his only children now were born of your own womb. Had you been named Targaryen and not Lannister the Rock would pass to Joffrey now, but instead Jaime named Tycen his heir, the son of your father’s Dornish whore wife. It sickened you to think of your half brother on the throne, though he was at least a better choice than Tyrion. There had to be some other way, and you were determined to find it.
<br><br>Storm’s End was not without its losses as well, and you know your children mourn the deaths of their uncles. You mourn the death of stability in affairs of state more than you mourn Stannis, and you hold no false hopes that Robert will look to you now more than before, a truth which leaves you begrudging him all the more. If only the Stranger had been so kind as to take your husband in place of his brothers. But Robert’s fury rages on, and thus so does your own.<br>
<img src="https://s6.postimg.org/wns2bsde9/rosamund7.jpg" class="appimage">
A Greyjoy. A fucking Greyjoy. Cersei had left her golden-haired daughter with her brother as a babe so that he might have a piece of her with him always, and this was how he repaid her? By garnering a betrothal for their only daughter to a barbarian? Isn’t it good news, m’lady? Your niece is to marry the heir to the Iron Islands.’ As if that made it any better. The future Lord of the Barbarian islanders was not a worthy match for her daughter. How could Jaime let such a thing happen? Surely he wasn’t pleased at having made this match? Especially when Ashara’s daughter had been given to a Targaryen - now that was an appropriate match for a Lannister. Even a Stark would have been better. Or Garlan Tyrell - he was said to be handsome, and more importantly he wasthe new heir to Highgarden. Their kingdoms were close. What could be wrong with such a match? Anyone but a Greyjoy.
Sitting at a desk in her chambers, Cersei grabbed a bit of parchment and a quill, scratching out a note to her brother.
Word of your daughter’s betrothal has newly reached me. Is it true that she is to be Lady of the Iron Islands one day? Your wife must be pleased at such a match.
It has been too long since I have been home to the Rock, and with these wars over I think it may be time to visit home once more. Unless my husband protest I intend to leave within the fortnight. I look forward to seeing you and my sweet niece soon, dear brother.
Jaime would understand her intentions. Only his simple-minded wife could thing such a betrothal was promising. Perhaps this was her doing. How could such a woman have been left to decide the fate of Cersei’s own daughter? It had been foolish to trust Jaime to care for Myrcella all those years ago, she saw that now. But she would go to the Rock and make things right - Robert’s potential protests be damned. As if her husband could seriously prevent her from going home if she wished it.
Pressing the Baratheon seal into a bit of wax to close the letter, Cersei beckoned one of her ladies to come over, thrusting it into her hand. ”See to it that the Maester gets this sent at once. Go now.” Cersei sucked in a breath through her nose, pursing her lips and resisting the urge to furrow her brow in frustration. It would only deepen the wrinkle that had formed there, and signs of aging were to be avoided. Exhaling and crossing the room, she reached for the decanter and poured herself a glass of Dornish Red.