The Newest Lion

It had started a day ago.

Mother's screams split the silence in Cersei's chambers, where all the ladies Aunt Genna had invited to sew and pray for the health of Lady Joanna and the babe she was birthing, were sitting around Cersei in a tight, tense circle. The last wail of pain had caused Lady Swyft to look up in alarm and Septa Hallen to whisper a quick prayer to the Mother. The other ladies exchanged looks of pity and concern with one another but not one dared to look Cersei in the eye.

Another piercing scream.

Cersei bit her lip. She stared at the Lannister lion she was sewing onto the piece of red silk Septa Hallen had given her. The septa had told her that she was finally ready to sew her house's sigil, and that was what Cersei had been labouring over day and night so that she could present it to the new babe, whenever it came out.

Now Mother was whimpering.

Cersei could feel shards of pain starting from her heart and moving towards her raw hands, her numb legs. She could now see her fingers grasping three needles in the place of one. She looked up. Aunt Genna was resolutely sliding her needle in and out of the cloth held by her sewing frame. Cersei could no longer go on like her aunt, keeping herself calm and brave. Cersei had been like that since Mother took to the birthing bed. Slide the golden thread into the eye. Knot. Pierce the silk. Turn. Pierce the silk. Turn. Knot the rest. It had calmed Cersei down. It had given her something to do. Everyone was looking for something to do. This was a battle Lady Joanna must fight on her own. Others must look for something to do, somewhere to go, to spare themselves from the agonizing wait, to spare themselves from the nightmares that come from their fears and worries.

Fears and worries. Cersei was plenty assured that Lady Lydden was waiting for Mother to die, so that she can sink her teeth into Casterly Rock.

Mother will live. Let that tittering maid wait for a joy that will never come to her. A whisper in Father's ear and then Lady Lydden can very well live in the cages kept in the Rock, with her lord Grandfather's lions for company.

Mother will live. That was what Cersei had been telling herself, telling her twin when they were huddled together with fear in Jaime's bed. Jaime had been inconsolable, like a babe which has seen a year at most, when Mother got into the sickroom and the maesters had forbidden anyone, even Father, the Lion of the Rock, from entering. They had waited outside her room, all day, Father crossing his arms, studying the gilded door, Jaime walking along the hallway, snuffling, and Cersei, leaning against a pillar, clutching her hands together, a white web over her gown. Evenfall had made her patience sink, made her will the maester to come out and announce a healthy babe and healthier Lady Joanna. By night, Cersei had just wanted her lady mother back, sibling or no. Jaime had started freely crying and wailing by then; Aunt Genna had scooped him and had taken him back to his bed.

Jaime, a knight. A jape, truly, if witnessing the birth of his sibling had reduced him into such a mess. He was to depart in three moons to become Lord Crakehall's squire. And more importantly, he was heir to Casterly Rock. On other times, Father would have disapproved of his wailing, but then he had been scarce paying attention to his heir. Like Cersei. Both of them could only stare at the door, that door that separated them from Mother. All the power of Casterly Rock stopped there.

The maester had come out by then. The baggy collar of his robe had been stained with blood. His eyes had been tired and his hands nervous. Fluttering. They had fluttered even more, when Lord Tywin had approached him. It had been then when Cersei had decided to fetch her embroidery. She had sat on one of those ever-present chairs and had begun on the lion.

In, out, in, out.

Outside, she had been able hear the waves crashing against the Rock. They sound like hungry dragons, she had thought then.

In, out, in, out.

By the hour of the wolf, Cersei's palms had been raw and cramped, and fear had cinched her waist until she could no longer breathe. Father had been standing all the same, hands clenched behind his back, head bowed, and wincing when Mother screamed.

"Come sweetling," Aunt Genna had tugged her sleeve, "your lady mother will be all well come the morn. Now you must go to bed." Cersei had refused and would have been standing vigil there all night if it had not been for Father.

"Child", Lord Tywin said, he has never called me child before, "go to bed".

And bed had she gone to. When Cersei had been certain that the guards outside her door were in a deep slumber, she had crept to Jaime's room. Jaime had not been sleeping all right, he was perched on a windows ledge, smacking the tree outside his window with his wooden sword. Cersei had scolded him, hugged him and then they had huddled together in Jaime's bed, Jaime still holding onto his sword and Cersei still brushing back his blond curls. It had been sweet to sleep like how they had used to sleep when they had been mere babes. Before they had gone to see the mare at the stables. If Lady Joanna died, will they share a bed again?

Mother dead? No, she would never wish it she-

A wail now. And if Cersei was not mistaken, she could now hear a baby cry.

"A monster", Lady Marbrand whispered under her breath to Lady Lydden, "A creature from one of the seven hells". When Cersei looked up sharply at her, Lady Marbrand's face grew white against the black silk of her mourning dress.

"Don't you call my brother a monster", Cersei warned her, imitating Mother's cold voice.

Mother….

"Pardon me, my lady," Lady Marbrand curtsied and withdrew to the far side of the hall. Cersei could feel Lord Tywin's eyes on her. She stood tall, pushed her nose up and floated towards the door before she could collapse.

Lady Joanna was buried in the tomb kept by House Lannister since the Field of Fire. It was a pretty marble structure built on a cliff overlooking the Summer sea.

On the morning of Lady Joanna's burial, the sea was a calm orange pool and the world was in the hues of autumn, red and brown and yellow with a hint of green, a hint of hope and harvest.

On the morning of Lady Joanna's burial, Maester Gawen scratched out the unfortunate words on a piece of vellum and then stumbled all the way up to the raven cage. Dark wings, dark words. And yet, it was a pair of white wings that scared the maester badly. A healthy white raven from the Citadel was perched on the window sill, looking like a picture of peace. But every maester knows what message these ravens carry. Winter was finally here.

On the morning of Lady Joanna's burial, Jaime knelt at his mother's corpse. His uncle, Kevan, was kneeling beside him. They had just come back after visiting the babe, Tyrion. Jaime was feeling very guilty. If he had not troubled Mother so, if he had not insisted on that thrice damned bedtime tale from her the night before Mother got into the birthing bed, if Mother had been properly rested and cared, she would not have died. Jaime had killed Mother, despite whatever Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion say. Jaime had killed Mother, and now the guilt was too heavy a burden to bear alone.

On the morning of Lady Joanna's burial, Cersei lay upon her bed, clad in the mourning gown she had been wearing for these past three days, holding the bottle of clove and lavender oil that Mother had loved so much, muscles clenched until her whole body became a breathing rock. The amount of coaxing Aunt Genna had to do to get Cersei out of her bed would have overflowed a Lannister mine. Her maids scrubbed Cersei from head to toe, and then Aunt Genna herself brushed out her blond hair until it glowed like a lantern.

Like the lanterns they had lit and floated down the Summer sea to mark the passing of a Lannister.

"You are a lioness", Aunt Genna told, catching her eye in the mirror, "You are now Lady of Casterly Rock and we expect you to behave like one. Hold your head high and brush your shoulders back, sweetling. One day you may even be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and when that day comes, everyone must needs to talk about how strong and proud Queen Cersei is".

Cersei did as she was told. In the distance, she could hear the babe howling. You killed Mother, Cersei thought.

Melara Hetherspoon looked like a fat cow. "I'm sorry for your loss, Cersei", she said and took Cersei's arm. Her eyes were brimming with unasked questions.

"What do you want?" Cersei bit out the words and gave a huff of exasperation. They walked down the hallway towards the lower parts of the Rock.

Melara recoiled a bit, "I only meant- "

"Cersei!" Jaime came up. He looked worse for wear today-damp hair, tired eyes and pale skin. "Are you ladies going to see the babe?"

"What madness would possess me to do that, brother?" Cersei asked. She took note that their steps were unconsciously leading them towards the nursery.

"Yes," Melara puffed with agreement, encouraged by Cersei's hate-filled remark, "the babe is said to be blind and covered in scales with a monkey's tail and two wings, and oh no, it cannot fly because- oh!" Melara squealed as Cersei pinched her palm. "You are talking about my brother", Cersei warned her.

"Please Cersei", Jaime beseeched, "Don't you want to see our brother?"

"You are the only brother I know of," Cersei declared. She took a look at Jaime's eyes; they were a pitiful green. She gave a sigh.

There was nothing grotesque about the babe. Asleep, he looked like any other babe, save for the fact that his head was too big for his body, but that was all. No scales. No wings. No tail.

"He's just a babe ", Melara gasped.

"He is", Jaime gave a small smile and reached into the cradle to prod the babe. "No, don't", Cersei jerked his hand away from the cradle. "You'll wake him he- "

"His name is Tyrion", Jaime stared at her. "Uncle Kevan said so". Cersei felt some mild astonishment at not knowing her brother's name.

On hearing his name, Tyrion woke up. One of his eyes were green and the other was black. His hair was so blond, it looked like Targaryen silver but when the sunlight caught his hair, it shimmered like gold. He looked at Cersei and gave a sudden giggle.

Cersei was taken aback and Melara giggled back. "He likes you", Jaime declared. He carefully scooped Tyrion up and gave it to Melara, which incited a series of whimpers from Tyrion." Would like to hold him?" Melara asked, her eyes giddy with happiness.

Cersei wanted to. So bad. She forgot all about the rumours. She forgot about how Tyrion was cursed upon a haughty family to curb their pride. She forgot the stories about how a demon clawed his way out of Lady Joanna's womb, killing her on its way out. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Cersei reached for Tyrion. Tyrion's whimpers turned into calm breaths and then slow giggles. He knows, she thought, he knows that I'm his sister and he loves me.

Overwhelmed, Cersei shoved Tyrion back to Melara, and then ran all the way to the entrance of the Rock, all the way to the small sept on the shores of the sea. She staggered to the Mother's altar. Cersei was weeping. Mother, she screamed in her head, come back, she screamed, come back.

As Cersei stared at Joffrey's unmoving body, grief shook her. My son, come back. Unbidden, memories of the day she had first seen Tyrion came rushing back to her. If I had chosen him over Mother, if I had not punished him for Mother, would he have still killed my beautiful baby boy?

He's a monster, the rage inside her spoke, the valonqar from your prophecy. He had promised to do this, hadn't he? Promised to turn all of your joy into ashes in your mouth? He'd already killed Mother when he was born, and killing your loved ones is what he will do until the day you find him and kill him and let him burn in the seven bloody hells into nothing.

"I will kill you!" Cersei shrieked. Outside, the rain pounded on the roof of the Grand Sept. Thunder boomed across King's Landing.

Amidst all the storm, Joffrey stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. Green eyes. Like hers. Like Jaime's. But I had not given him those purple lips, those scars on his sweet neck, that bloated face. That was the Imp's doing. Tyrion's doing. That was poison.

Cersei sank to the floor, balling her hand into an unqueenly fist and stuffing it into her mouth, to stop her from screaming her life out of her throat. My son was so alive, she thought, I thought I was going to die when I birthed him, but I didn't. I thought I was going to die if I will ever see him hurt before me. How am I still alive now?

That valonqar will pay for this.