Cersei

'Regal.'

No matter what was happening, no matter how much the world seemed to try and drag her into the foul depths of the rest of humanity, she had to remain regal.

Her mother, only days before she had been slaughtered by that foul little beast people claimed was her brother, had once told her that as a Lannister she had to be someone that people would look upon and follow. That her actions were the most important things in the world. She had taken that to heart, made it her guiding light. She dressed in the finest clothing, held herself apart from the rabble, and did not bother with the mindless work that so many others did. All so that all those around her, men, women, and children, knew she was better than them. And they would look upon her and see that she was their greater and they would follow, for that was their duty in life. In turn she suffered through their stupidity, their arrogance, their failures and faults. Where others tried to win love through bribery and false charity she demanded it as a woman of her station should. She showed others how they should behave, accepting their station and understanding their role in the world. Some were on top and some were on the bottom, as simple as that.

She knew her mother would be proud of her.

So despite the dishonor that was being placed upon hr she sat in the Small Council Chamber, sipping on her glass of finely aged Arbor Gold and holding herself up with her natural regal air. It did not matter that her father had been good on his world and refused to allow her to have new dresses commissioned just so they could feed some squalling babes and wrinkled widows. Nor that the meeting was happening far too early, allowing her only 9 hours of sleep and thus causing her head to throb. Even the fact that her father had made it clear that she was only there to sit as witness and wasn't even granted the title of Advisor did not shake her. Let father lash out… he was angry about his mistakes but couldn't admit how his failures had cost them. Had he only listened to her things would be so much better. She knew it and he clearly knew it.

Regal.

She had to remain regal.

Cersei looked around the table, at the men that were supposed to be the wisest and greatest in all the land, and found them all lacking. Pycelle had become a disappointment as of late, refusing to heed her commands and spending far too much time with her father. His loyalty should be with his queen, not the Hand of the King and she would have to think of ways to remind him just who held his life in their hand. Perhaps his replacement, who was due to arrive at any time to begin his training under the old man. A naïve youth who didn't know the ways of the world that she could take an interest in, be a patron of… it was worth considering.

Varys she had never trusted. A man was rash and prone to reckless acts while a woman would be conniving and sinister. But a man who was not a man but like a woman? A mixture of the worst traits of both. Cersei had already begun seeking out a way to rid herself of the man, seeking out information that she could use to force him out. And there were a few that she had an eye on, that might do well to replace him. Just recently they'd received a letter from a man named Qyburn who had found something on the shores of the God's Eye that he wished to show them; she'd managed to intercept the message and keep it from the others and she planned to meet with the man and see what he had discovered; she had a feeling he might be someone to consider.

Baelish shouldn't even have been sitting at the table. He thought himself cunning but he was a vain creature that, like the trolls that lived under bridges in myths and songs, always grasped his hand out a bit too far. He was on the way out, if her father had his way, and Cersei would be glad for it. He had been Jon Arryn's man, not her's, and she did not trust anyone she herself hadn't selected.

Uncle Kevan was her father's man as well, a decent enough follower but he did not have it in him to lead. They needed a commander to be Master of Laws, one who would ensure that the smallfolk knew there place and understood just what would happen to them should they step beyond that boundary. One that would take command and charge forth. Yet also understood that they enforced the laws and did not make them and understood that every law was about keeping the King's justice.

Mace Tyrell was not with them, much to her relief, as if she had to deal with that bumbling oaf again even her, with her infinite patience, would snap and drive a fork through his throat. She didn't care what promises her father had made to the Tyrells having the Fat Flower be Master of Ships was a mistake. If she were put in charge she would have informed the Tyrells that one did not reward a person for merely doing their duty to the crown and they should be thankful she didn't hang them all for their treason for not instantly bowing the knee to Joffrey. Giving them titles and gifts such as places on the Small Council was a grand mistake.

Then there was Joffrey. Her darling boy. The only person at the table that she would fight for. Even father would not earn her courage and her skill, for he had proven in recent days that that age had crept upon him and dulled his senses. His choices and decisions had become flawed and Cersei knew that it would be her duty to find a way for him to gracefully and honorably relinquish control of House Lannister over to her. The scorn he heaped onto Joff while granting Tyrion mild praise only showed that he had become deluded with his years, his ability to calculate and come to the correct conclusions dulled. She could tell that Joffrey was coming to see things her way as well, for his boredom in the Small Council meetings was plain to all. He sat slouched in his chair, it only his respect for his grandfather that kept him from speaking out about the folly of all this; he'd protested the first time her father had forced him to attend one of the meetings, claiming that a king should be able to come and go as he pleased, and her father had leveled him with such a dark glare that he'd finally given in. Out of respect, of course.

'And why should Joffrey be forced to come to these meetings?' she thought to herself as the group talked amongst themselves concerning some petition from the ungrateful smiths on the Street of Steel concerning a promise made by Jonos Slynt before his death. 'He is a boy… a little boy who will become a man but he is not ready for this. He should be enjoying himself, not forced to deal with things that are beyond him! I am here… that should be good enough for father! I am the queen!'

Her eyes lingered on the final chair in the room, the one that was empty, and she felt her heart clench. Cersei violently shoved down her grief, promising that she would only embrace it in the privacy of her chambers, where she could drown it with wine and food without having to fear what others would say. She hated that father would not allow her to commission new mourning dresses, claiming that the outfits she'd worn after Robert's passing would do well for honoring Jaime. When she'd argued that she only had two dresses and that she would need five scores of new black garments and veils he had narrowed his eyes and told her to stop being foolish.

"There is enough vile rumors about the two of you," he'd told her. "I will not have you walking about as if you were his widow. You will give your brother the proper respect and grief but no more than that."

'What does he know of grief?' she thought to herself as Littlefinger made some pathetic jape; she didn't know what it was about but considering that no one laughed she didn't feel the need to find out. 'He has never suffered as I have. Jaime was a part of me, my other half. I am a woman half dead now. I should be allowed to mourn for all time!'

Varys saw her staring at the chair and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the others. Apparently the issue had been settled and they'd merely been discussing the finer points. "I do believe, Lord Hand, that our next matter of business should be discussing the filling of two rather key positions. We still lake for a Commander of the Gold Cloaks and a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Both groups have been leaderless for far too long and we must do something to remedy that. The Small Folk notice when bodies lack heads, after all."

"All notice when bodies are missing their heads," Littlefinger said with a smirk.

Her father pressed his lips together. "Indeed."

Cersei cleared her throat. "For the Gold Cloaks-"

"It would be wise to consider what your uncle has to say, seeing as he has already talked with the men and determined their thoughts," her father said, cutting her off. She remembered his comments about Slynt and cursed that greedy fool for making her look bad. He had been her selection and Ser Jeor Stacey had uncovered some of his more foul dealings and revealed all to the Small Council. She'd loathed the man for that and even more Tyrion for apparently informing her father of all Slynt had done. Her father would not trust Cersei again with such a decision. She would be unable to place one that was already in her control into the position and that simply wouldn't do! It would waste much time bending this new Commander to serve her. "Kevan, do you have anyone in mind for the position?"

"I do," her uncle stated. "I spoke with the men about their last few commanders and what they liked and disliked about them. What others have done that they appreciated and what they loathed."

"Why do we care what they think?" Joffrey asked with an annoyed tone, fiddling with the long locks he had grown out to cover the scarring on his face and the hole where his right ear should have been. The rest of his hair he kept rather short, for her son complained that long hair made his neck itch, and thus he had an unusual and exotic look to him that she was sure all the lads in the Seven Kingdoms would soon be replicating. "Their duty is to serve. If I declared a cow the commander of the Gold Cloaks they would bow to it or be declared traitors. In fact we should do that, in order to determine who is loyal to us and who is the rabble that must be removed."

The others shifted in their seats as her father looked to her son, for once none of the other members on the Small Council interjecting with their thoughts. "And when there are no more Gold Cloaks left and the Small Folk rebel against you what will you do then? Send your cow against them?" her father asked dryly.

"They would never rebel, I am their king."

Tywin flexed his hand before speaking. "Aerys thought like that… it is why I was able to march into King's Landing and put an end to his madness. He never assumed that I would betray him, thinking I would except every injustice he heaped on House Lannister. Would you like me to show you where we tossed his body to rot? A word to the wise, your grace: do not emulate that madman." Joffrey glowered petulantly at her father and Cersei couldn't blame him. Joffrey was king, she was queen, and her father seemed to forget who wore the crown. Someone needed to speak up, remind him of that, make it clear that it was unwise to forget his place.

But… when Joffrey didn't say a word Cersei held her tongue. If Joff was willing to show mercy so could she.

Uncle Kevan continued. "They stated that Commander Stacey had been the best commander they had seen in ages. He was one of them, never forgetting where he came from, that he too had once walked the streets with a sword on his hip just like them. They praised him for his mercy towards those that needed it while having a spine of steel when it came to seeing justice done. One spoke of how a thief had been caught and while the man was shown to the dungeons Stacey visited with the man's wife and children and offered them food so they might not starve. Another stated there had been a son of one of the castle guard who believed he could steal from a bakery because of who is father was, brutally striking the baker's daughter, shattering her nose and knocking out one of her teeth with a blackjack. Commander Stacey marched him stripped to just his undergarments into the training yard of the Red Keep and took his right hand in front of his father after forcing the boy to confess.

"They also spoke of Slynt, and how he made them all ashamed to wear the Gold Cloaks. Of how only those that paid him homage were allowed to rise in the ranks. One had to blindly follow him in order to avoid risky and deadly tasks and that bribery wasn't merely overlooked but encouraged. Several told me that Slynt on more than one occasion boasted he ought have a gold crown to go with his gold cloak, seeing how all bowed to him."

Joffrey pushed himself up at that. "Gold crown? Oh, I'll give him a gold crown! I'll… I'll… cut his skull off with a golden dagger! Where is he at?"

"Dead, your grace," Varys reminded him in a patient tone that made Cersei clench her teeth at the falseness of it. "His head was caved in at the stables the day his men captured Edward Stark."

"Rather messy, if I remember right," Littlefinger said. "Though not as bad as it could have been… seems his brains were rather small."

"Your grace was informed of this, remember?" Pycelle stated. "You offered a hefty reward for the capture of his killer? Said he was, I quote, 'The most honorable of my men'?"

"…yes, of course," Joffrey said, sitting back in his chair. "But is his body still around? I would like to parade it through the streets. Or better yet summon his sons… if their father was a traitor then so are they and I will kill them as well!"

Kevan and her father shared a look and Cersei hid a wince; she knew they wouldn't take kindly to Joff's outburst. They didn't understand that sometimes her son said things he didn't mean. It was something boys did and they had to be forgiven for, especially her son. The pressure of ruling, so young and before he was truly ready, got to him and made him blurt out such things. That was why they had to be respectful and patient… and why truly she should be the one in charge. She had the maturity he lacked and she understood him better than they did.

"We'll discuss that later, my darling boy," Cersei said gently, knowing she would calm him down

"No, we will discuss it now," Joffrey retorted with a sneer. "I have allowed far too many to call themselves king I will not allow another!"

"Another who is dead and whose sons had nothing to do with their father's actions. To kill them is a waste of time," her father stated.

"It isn't a waste of time if I declare it not to be," Joffrey snapped, speaking through his teeth. "If I declare something to be worthless then it loses all value. And if I say something is worthy of my time then it is the most precious thing in all the world and it is the duty of every person that lives to see it done! That is my right as king!"

"Then by all means, do it yourself, your grace," he said with utter calmness. "We will await your return."

"Did… did you not hear what I said?" Joffrey stammered. "When your king gives a command you do not tell him to do it… you go out and perform your duty!"

"I heard you. And I ignored you. I do that often when someone says something without thinking. And I do hope you said that without putting any thought into it, that it was merely a rash statement. We will all assume that you haven't thought that through, just as you have not thought through the commands that I can already see are on the tip of your tongue." Joffrey's eyes widened at that, his face screwing up with rage and Cersei moved to pat his arm with her hand, cursing the Iron Man as she was forced to reach across her body in order to do so without bashing Joff's arm with her gold and ivory prosthetic. He stiffened at her touch and tried to pull away but she managed to keep hold even as her father stared him down. "I have dealt with two kings who failed to heed my consul. One died gibbering like a loon before you uncle put a sword through him and is remembered as one of the worst kings all of Westeros had. The other left the Kingdom in such a debt that your grandchildren will be working to undo the damage and couldn't even go a decade without a rebellion threatening his reign. And finally he instilled such a lack of loyalty that his brothers and his closest friend now rebel against his son. Be smarter than them… listen to me now." Cersei watched as her son, with the greatest strength and control, mustered his anger and the insults to him, settling back in his chair.

'Look at him… already showing the strength of a king.' Cersei smiled in approval, looking to the others and mentally telling them, 'He gets that from me.'

"You were saying, Kevan?" her father asked.

Her uncle nodded. Though her father showed no reaction from the confrontation that had just occurred Uncle Kevan took a moment to gather himself before he spoke. "Consulting with those within the leadership of the Gold Cloaks one name came up as the best to replace Commander Stacey. A rather… unusual candidate but one the leadership and many within the ranks have accepted, surprisingly enough."

"And that is?" her father asked, it clear from his tone he was bracing for a rather distasteful suggestion, what with the buildup his brother was giving them.

"Jiffsun Davus."

Pycelle cleared his throat, making huffing sounds as he stroked his short white beard. "Davus… Davus… I do not remember… a family with that name. Certainly not… the great houses… but not even the lesser houses."

"A new knight, perhaps?" Littlefinger said with a small shrug. "It seems after the Battle of the Blackwater we have new knights cropping up like mushrooms on the morning. Every bastard and nameless lad seems to suddenly be giving themselves names and sigils. I dare say that man in Iron Pointe, you know the one, he shares your name Ser Kevan, will be quite busy making shields and banners with all manner of monsters and weapons upon them for men wishing to waste their coin."

"Did you not commission him to make your mockingbird sigil, Lord Baelish?" Varys asked. "To replace the one of your father?"

"I did. I felt it best to pick a sigil that represented me. It would be no different than you having a castrated pig as your sigil. No offense, of course."

"Not at all. I openly admit to my lacking in that area, rather than pretending I am large where I am rather small… as some do."

Pycelle cleared his throat. "Still, this name. Davus. Unusual. Sounds rather… exotic."

"It is," Kevan stated. "Jiffsun Davus is one of the men that came with Jalabhar Xho."

Cersei let out a peel of laughter. "Oh… quite the jest, uncle, quite the jest. Putting one of the Highborn Beggar's men in charge of the Gold Cloaks." Littlefinger smiled, rubbing his upper lip with a single finger, while Varys looked on curiously, and Joffrey began to guff at the mere thought but when Uncle Kevan did not allow his face to twitch so much as an inch her laughter faded and she stared at him incredulously. "You are serious? A black skinned Summer Island savage in charge of the Gold Cloaks?"

"Yes," her uncle stated, turning from her to her father, addressing him. The Lord of the Rock regarded his brother with merely a quirk of his eyebrow, his only response to the bold choice. "Unlike most who came with the Prince of the Red Flower Vale a few of the Summer Islanders decided to do more with their lives than merely leech off of Robert's hospitality. One, Summel, is a sword instructor in the yard-"

"Yes, I remember him," Joffrey said with a scoff. "Very big on fundamentals and the like. Waste of time, all of that. I gave up dealing with him rather quickly though Tommen still begs mother to let him learn from him."

Cersei darted her eyes away from her father yet she still felt his glare. She'd need to have a gentle talk with her son, remind him of how skilled his father was and that skill hadn't merely come from natural talent but time spent in the yard. Even Jaime had practiced with Summel, now that she thought of it. He'd liked the dark skinned man who wore red plumage capes… said his style was vastly different from most in Westeros and that it forced him to think-

'No, do not think of Jaime. Not here. Not in front of them all.'

Regal.

Be regal.

"Jiffsun, if I remember, did enlist with the Gold Cloaks," Varys stated, Cersei not at all surprised he knew of the man. There seemed to be no person the Spider didn't know of. "He took command of the defense of the King's Gate and all accounts hold that it was his directive that saw it withstand Stannis' ram." He paused, smirking slightly. "I also hear he married a Dornish woman, so that shows he can handle fierce and opinionated people."

"The men will follow him?" her father asked curtly.

"They will. I grilled them all on that. To the few that didn't I made clear that if they didn't I would take heads. But I have met with Jiffsun and I do not think that will be a problem. The man is a good soldier and if he held to the New Gods I'd make him a knight."

He considered that before nodding. "Do it."

Joffrey sat up. "I suppose he will do… until a better knight is found. The Gold Cloaks matter little in the grand scheme of things."

Her father didn't even respond. "Now, we must also select a new Lord Commander of the King's Guard."

"Must we?" Cersei asked. "So soon after-"

"We must, we have been without one since Barristan was removed." The way he let those words fall from his lips made it clear how displeased he was with that choice. But he didn't speak them for which Cersei was grateful. "We have lost too many members of the Kingsguard as it is. Ser Meryn Trant was killed during his failure to capture Arya Stark, Ser Arys Oakheart is away serving as Myrcella's sworn shield-" Cersei's heart clenched at the mention of her stolen daughter. It enraged her that her father had refused to return her to King's Landing, claiming that it would be an insult to the Martells if they broke the marriage pact. It didn't matter that it had been that lecherous Imp who had made the agreement, her father was going to honor it. Which was insanity. Myrcella should be here, tucked away safely, not out in the wide world without Cersei there to protect her.

'And who cares of the Dornish?' she thought to herself. 'They are nothing. What good has ever come from them?' She drained her cup and decided to switch to a nice Dornish Red.

"Ser Preston Greenfield's body was never recovered after the riots. That leave us with Ser Mandon Moore, Ser Balon Swann, and Ser Boros Blout."

Cersei nodded even as her father sneered at the name; Blout was a good knight, deeply indebted to her and she knew that his longing for coin would keep him loyal. Moore was another one good knight, though she had been annoyed by his failure during the Battle of the Blackwater. She had told him that Tyrion had to die, that he was to cut down the Imp so that it appeared as if he had been slain by Stannis' men; she couldn't risk her father knowing she had ordered the deed done. But he had never made it to where Tyrion was fighting and some other man, a nameless castle guard, had strangely enough attempted to end the little monster's life. Still, he had his uses. Cersei knew little of Balon Swann but she was positive she could influence him and get him to join her cause… if not through coin than through other means. It had been far too long since she'd invited a man into her bed and she'd found that a few strokes was all it took to buy one's loyalty.

"Four Kingsguard. One who is away, one who hasn't even served a year due to injury, a fat coward, and one with a good sword arm." Her father shook his head. "Disgraceful. We must make this right at once."

"I know the perfect person to be Lord Commander," Joffrey said with excited glee. "Ser Ilyn Payne."

"The King's Justice?" Varys asked. "Your grace, Ser Ilyn was gravely injured by the Iron Man. He has barely recovered his strength."

"He can swing a sword and he knows to stay silent," Joffrey reasoned. "I like how he kills people. That is what I want out of a Kingsguard. They kill those their king requires dead, after all!"

Tywin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in thought. "Might I suggest, your grace, that you go down to the training yard and practice with your crossbow? It will give you time to think on other names to put up for your Kingsguard."

"… a wonderful idea, grandfather," Joffrey said, rising and running his fingers along his long fringe of hair to make sure it covered his scars. "I hear Tommen discovered some kittens the other day… I think I'll have live targets today rather than boring straw ones." He chuckled. "His wails do make it more sporting." He looked to them, expecting smiles and mild laughter, but none said a word. Even Cersei looked down at that, forcing down her disgust at his comments. Regal. Regal.

Joffrey stepped outside, Ser Mandon moving to follow him but Cersei' father waved to one of the Lannister guards, motioning for him to approach. "Find Prince Tommen and take him someplace far away from the king. And see if the swordsman…" he motioned to Kevan who whispered "Summel", "Summel is available to spend some time with him, to begin instructing him." He paused. "And let it be known that if I find one dead animal with a crossbow bolt through them when I walk the training yard today I will drive one of my own through the yard masters." The guard nodded quickly and hurried off and Cersei swallowed when her father directed a thunderous scowl her way. "What a son you have borne. Openly bragging about slaying innocent cats. How long before he uses Tommen as practice?"

"He… he won't do that," Cersei assured him. "Joff… brothers tease each other-"

"Jaime never did that to Tyrion and he knew that none of us loved him. And the same with Tyrion; for all I can save of him and his failures he was loyal to Jaime. And I never considered causing my brothers any pain; we were united, fighting to hold our house up high." He shook his head. "The mere idea I'd waste time seeking to cause Tygett or Kevan or Gerion to wail purely because it was 'pleasant' to my ears?" He breathed hard through his noise, one strong sharp exhale. "You love your children, do you not? All of them? Or do you merely care for Joffrey because of the power he grants you?"

"He grants me no power. It is my power-"

"No, it is not," he said, cutting her off. He looked to the others. "Ser Ilyn Payne. He has his uses but commander of the Kingsguard? What next, the Hound?"

"Lord Tywin," Pycelle said with a nervous tint.

"…he tried to put Sandor Clegane on the Kingsguard?" Uncle Kevan asked, Cersei's father silently fuming.

"He refused," Pycelle said quickly. "And Sansa Stark-"

"I have told you we will not refer to her by that name," her father snapped. "If you must refer to her call her 'The Lady'." Cersei didn't know what had happened to the woman, only that she had not been seen again after Tywin had gone to see her the day Jaime's death had reached her. Even Cersei's own spies had no inkling where she might have gone.

"-The Lady requested he serve as her personal guard."

"And Clegane will now serve as mine," her father said bluntly. "After the foolishness of his brother I want him near me, where I might keep an eye on him." He shook his head. "Payne and Clegane. I suppose no one could accuse my grandson of elevating another Crispin Cole, but that is the best I can say of him and his judgment."

Cersei set down her wine glass. "I have a few suggestions. Men of valor and honor-"

"Who are your creatures who will obey your whims and no one elses, no doubt?" her father challenged. "Men unbefitting of the White Cloak but who you would put in place because they spill secrets to you? No, I think not. We have too many of such men in the city and it will not do to add more. Certainly when the ones you've selected have proven so incompetent. I disagreed with Jaime holding to his vows but I will not disgrace his name by putting your incompetent puppets' names among his in the White Book." Cersei reeled back like she had been struck but her father paid her no heed, choosing instead to shoot a cold hard stare at the others in the room. "I know you each are considering the same. We need to strengthen alliances and reforge the glory of these stations. Now, with that in mind… would any of you like to put forth names?"

Littlefinger kept his mouth firmly shut while Pycelle let out half-grunts, half-coughs. It was Varys who finally spoke. "Three men are needed and we must also decide who to elevate as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And if I might be so bold… none of the ones currently serving deserve the title… but there we come to the dilemma. Where in times past the Lord Commander has been a new recruit that is no longer the case. The only option of those that remain I feel would serve well is Ser Arys but his being in Dorne makes that unwise. As of now he is protection against any rash acts by Dornish rebels-" Cersei fought the urge to scream that such threats were the reason why Myrcella MUST be returned at once, "-but if he were Lord Commander he would become a prize for such men. And recalling him and placing another to serve there would only raise questions."

"Agreed."

Uncle Kevan chimed in. "Jaime spoke poorly of Ser Boros, amazed that he had been allowed a White Cloak. He said he was more like a low pay sellsword than a Knight of the White Sword." Cersei clenched her remaining hand; she was getting rather tired of everyone questioning her actions, either directly or silently. Blout was a perfectly fine man to have in the Kingsguard, loyal to her and only her! That was what mattered! "Ser Mandon is skilled with a sword. Jaime spoke highly of him."

"He did but only in his skill with a blade." Her father frowned, leaning back in his chair. "In other matters he was less than flattering. Tyrion agreed. He wrote to me on the matter… he stated that Ser Mandon was not a man people would follow. An able soldier but not a leader."

"We do not want a leader," Cersei pointed out. "That would create a threat to Joffrey."

"But someone who can not rally men to protect the king is not fit to be a Commander of the Kingsguard." Her father took a piece of parchment and began to write. "Ser Balon Swann it is. He is not Ser Barristan the Bold but he will have time to make his own name. And should he fail he can always be replaced. After all, thanks to his grace a king can now retire a Kingsguard member." He took some wax and dribbled it on the quickly written decree and pressed his ring into it. "Grand Maester, ensure the king signs this."

"Of course, my lord."

"Shouldn't Joffrey get a say?" Cersei asked.

"You mean shouldn't you have time to whisper in his ear that he should choose who you wish?" her father said, once more making her cheeks flare hot as he scolded her publically. She knew Varys and Littlefinger would be whispering of her mockery to all their contacts the moment they left the room. "I think not. Remember that you are not on the Small Council, daughter, you are merely a guest."

"I am the queen."

"Regent," her father retorted. "And your son seems quite anxious to be rid of you, seeing how he proclaims 'I am the king' so often." He waved towards the others. "Now then, we need three more men to fill the Kingsguard. Any suggestions for men worthy to join their ranks?"

"It would be wise to first consider how to split up the prizes," Littlefinger stated with a lazy air. "This will be a way to secure allies. But we must make sure we do not favor one side over the other, lest we alienate our fragile alliance."

"Quite right," Pycelle hurumfed. "Perhaps it would be best to divide the three positions amongst the three great powers. One from the Westerlands, one from the Reach, and one from the Crownlands."

Her father nodded. "Agreed."

Cersei though spoke up. "No. That is foolish. We can not trust men who were our enemies with Joffrey's protection."

"They are not our enemies anymore," Uncle Kevan stated. "Robert understood the need for that; he made Ser Barristan Lord Commander for that reason."

"Robert was a drunk and a fool. The three knights should be from the Westerlands. If there is a loyal man from the Crownlands so be it but only if he can prove he has no ties to the North, the Reach, or the Stormlands. Dorne as well and the Iron Islands… well, there is no worry there. But certainly not from the Reach!"

"The Reach is now in alliance to us. Mace Tyrell sits on the Small Council and his daughter will marry Joffrey and be his queen," Uncle Kevan stated. He looked to her father. "Lord Tyrell's son, Loras, is a skilled warrior and it is said he has a brilliant mind for strategy. He is the third son of Lord Tyrell so there is no issue with causing offense-" Her father, remembering what had happened with Aerys and Jaime, nodded choppily at that, "-and he is Lady Magaery's twin and they are close, so she would be pleased with the selection. The Small Folk adore him and I have never heard of a scandal concerning him. No bastards or the like."

"Oh, there is a reason for that," Littlefinger said with a chuckle. "It seems the Knight of the Flowers prefers other bees, if you catch my meaning."

"I do not care if you are being literal," her father said, making it clear he was growing tired of Baelish's japes. "He is a knight of skill, popular with the commons, and he is not an heir so we will not be accused of doing as Aerys did to my family. Ser Loras will represent the Reach."

"No."

Her father turned to her, lips pressed into a hard line. "No?"

"No," she repeated. "I will not allow it. We have given the Tyrells far too much. We cannot give them this."

"When Robert won his crown he gave his brothers seats on the Small Council and made the man he saw as a second father the position of Hand of the King. He had planned to name Lord Eddard Master of Laws and would have had Stark not wished to retreat to the North."

Varys, the traitor, chimed in. "Robert mentioned in Winterfell of his plan to have Ser Barristan take Eddard's youngest Bran as his squire when they arrived in King's Landing, before the boy had his accident. He hoped to make him a member of the Kingsguard when Joffrey married Lady Sansa. And apparently he was even considering marrying Myrcella to Robb Stark, so that the North and the Crown would be united… after all, there is still the promised princess that is owed to the North after the Hour of the Wolf."

"And what little bird told you that?" Baelish asked.

"Winter ones."

Cersei though shook her head. "It is improper. His sister will be queen."

Everyone stared at her and Jaime's name didn't even need to be mentioned to prove how foolish her statement had been; even she knew she had made a mistake the moment the words had tumbled off her tongue.

"I believe we are done," her father said coolly. "Kevan, go find Jiffsun Davus and inform him of his promotion. I expect him at our next meeting to explain how he will rebuild the defense of King's Landing. Grand Maester, I want Ser Balon installed as Lord Commander by tonight. Once Joffrey has signed that parchment make it clear to the new Commander that his first act is to update the White Book… Jaime's deeds must be recorded. Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, you will each catalog potential knights from the Westerlands and the Crownlands we might elevate to the Kingsguard… also consider those that we will grant lands to for their assistance in the war." The others rose but Cersei remained… she knew that he wished to speak with her in private. She watched them go before finally turning to him. "You will never disappoint me like that again."

Cersei scowled at that. "You have always told me that family matters most of all. That we do all we do to build the family name. How does chastising me in front of the likes of Baelish and Varys, who will crow of my embarrassment to all, help with that?"

"It doesn't," her father stated but any victory she felt in that admission died with his next words, "but you had already disgraced yourself so it matters not." He jabbed his finger against the table's hard surface. "I told you when I first arrived that you had one job… ONE. To secure our dynasty. To marry Robert and produce a son that would bring us glory. I listen to that blond waste of space and realize that my hope of molding him into a good king becomes more fruitless by the hour. I have reassessed my hopes… I can at best curb his more stupid demands and hope to hide the monster you have created from the world until he produces an heir that can take up the reigns of power."

"Joffrey is not a monster," Cersei snapped. "The real monster is that stunted little creature that murdered my mother that you now favor!"

"I will never favor Tyrion," he growled, low and slowly. "But he has his uses, unlike you." He sat stiffly in his chair, regarding her much like how a steward might look upon a shoeless vagrant that arrived at a keep begging for a bit of bread. Finally he stood and began to pace about the room, looking about the chambers, staring at the walls with their hung tapestries depicting grand moments in Rebellion. Cersei knew that underneath those bits of fabric were painted murals that showed the glorious reign of the Targaryens; Robert would never allow those reminders to remain and it had taken all of Jon Arryn's skill to keep the boorish brute from taking his warhammer to them all. "Often the maesters will seek to compare those in power with those that came before. It is something every lord and king must consider… how will they be judged? My father was a weak fool who disgraced the family and every Lannister that comes after him; should they show a hint of wavering in their duties they will be compared to him. Just as I know and accept that the next Lannister that makes a bold and bloody move against a foe will be compared to me and the Rains of Castamere. Kings are the same way. Cruel ones are Maegor reborn. Bold ones are The Conqueror Reborn. Gluttonous fools are challenging Aegon the Unworthy. Wise ones are held up next to The Conciliator. Such is the way with maesters, for their love to catalog things. It is how they order the universe and it is a useful practice, in its own way.

"Those same comparisons can be made with queens as well. It happens less, of course, but it can be done. Those that are strict warriors that are never to be crossed are Visenya come again. Those who are smart and make the role of queen nearly equal to that of a queen are Alysanne reborn." He looked over at her, eyes hooded but that did little to delude the fire that burned in them. "Do you know who I see when I consider you? Certainly not Alysanne. She held Women's Courts to hear out the pleas of the masses and that is something you would never consider. I can see it in your eyes that the idea of talking to whores like she did is a nightmare you would never place yourself in willingly. She arranged marriages and labored in the library to research old laws but both are too tedious for you. And while you like to think of yourself as equal to Jaime you are not a Visenya. She slayed assassins to protect her king… you cowered with Tommen during Stannis' attack on the city. While your disgusting little brother sought to protect the city you continued to hold feasts and never once stepped out onto the battlements. Oh no… you are not Visenya. You are Rhaenyra."

Her brow furrowed at that, trying to determine what he was getting at. She knew there was an insult there... with father there was always an insult in anything that wasn't direct. He was never vague with his praise, as miniscule as it tended to be from him. But insults and complaints? Sometimes he was just as harsh and direct but other times he preferred to make the subject of his taunt work to understand just what he was saying to them.

"You know who she is, don't you?" he asked accusingly.

"Of course," Cersei said and knowing that was never going to be good enough for him, that he would want more, she stated, "she was the Queen that led the Blacks against the Greens during the Dance of the Dragons. Her father's second wife sought to displace her with Aegon the II."

"Hmmm. So you at least know your history." He began to pace once more. "They say that Rhaenyera was a beautiful girl in her youth. That all were struck by her grace and that all wished to have her. And from an early age she held that she would be queen." He paused and then let the hammer fall. "She was also a whore who spread her legs to her own uncle and did little with power once she held it. And as I look upon you now I see that her ending has been taken by you as well. Rhaenyera allowed herself to become bloated with age, destroying her youth and leaving her a corpulent creature."

Cersei felt her rage burn white hot at that insult. "I am not some bloated creature waddling about the Red Keep!"

"No, you aren't," he accepted. "But you are on your way there. You always wrote to me about Robert's vices. Of how he was governed by them. How he ate and drank and went to seed so spectacularly that any that looked at him would never have guessed he was once the Demon of the Trident." He waved his hand in her direction. "And what do I find when I arrive here but you having seemingly picked up all his vices. I have never seen you without a goblet full of wine, guzzling it down so quickly that it is a wonder that it doesn't dribble down your chin like some dockhand too far into his cups. Where other queens delighted in changing the realm, molding it nearly as much as their husbands did you choose to instead gorge yourself at banquets." He sniffed derisively. "I am considering returning your dress budget because it has become obscene seeing you squeeze yourself into those garments."

Cersei looked down at herself and couldn't help but frown. Her dresses had become tighter but that was because they hadn't been properly stored, that was all. She was nothing like Robert and her jaw worked at the implication that she and her 'husband" could be considered alike in any form. Yet she also held her tongue because her desire to have new gowns and dresses meant that taking a bit of abuse from her father would be worth it in the end.

She saw him shake his head, disgust clearly written on his features. "The high hopes your mother and I had for you. We knew that you would be a radiant beauty but we also hoped that your mind would be sharp. Visenya created the Kingsguard and was the driving force that saw her son crowned over his weak half brother; her death was the true end for Maegor for she was the true cunning behind his reign and with her gone his madness was revealed. Alysanne spent years going through the laws of Westeros and crafting one unified doctrine. And that was in between birthing far more children than you ever had, traveling the length and breadth of the Westeros, and ruling the Seven Kingdoms just as handedly as her husband." He turned his back to her, staring at the banners that hung on the wall. "Everything fades. Beauty, cunning, intelligence, skill... all of it wastes away eventually. But nothing goes quite as quickly as an appealing face. Wrinkles have already begun to show... your hair will lose its luster... your body will sag and stretch in ways that would make you scream in terror if you could see it now." Each comment, each prediction, was like a body blow and Cersei gripped the arm of her chair with each point he made.

'Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.'

Regal. She had to be regal.

"You have disappointed me," her father said, drawing back her attention. "You have proven true every vicious word that was ever spoken of you by those that came to me with warnings of your failures." She wanted to demand who those traitors were, so she could remove their tongues herself, but she help back, knowing that now wasn't the time. "And worst of all your lack of vision had ruined already Joffrey." With that he turned, feeling no need or desire to say another word on the matter.

'Lack of vision?' she screamed at him as he left, though only in her head. 'You have no idea my cunning. I have tricked all, even you. Through my skill the Lannisters have a greater boon than you could have ever dreamed. Ours will be the sole blood that runs through the line of kings... nothing of Robert. I killed that vile sack of rancid fat and all toasted me for my composure and strength in the face of my 'loss'! Cunning? I am far cunning than you, father! You were sloppy with your plans! Had I dealt with the Reynes they would have never rebelled! They would have loved me... as all love me! I have bested you and achieved more in terms of power of influence than you ever have, you jealous old-'

Regal.

Regal.

There was a violent crack and Cersei cursed, reaching over and quickly pulling up the sleeve of her dress and yanking on the straps that held her false hand in place. First one, than two, then finally a third and the piece, carved of gold from the Westerlands and ivory from Essos, rubies and gold tokens embedded within it so that it was the envy of all, fell to the table. She looked at it and cursed to herself, hating herself for losing control. She had been maintaining her focus ever since the Battle of the Blackwater, when that wave of green fire had changed everything, but once more she hadn't been able to maintain control.

'But I will,' she thought to herself as she stared at the shattered remains of the false hand... and then the glowing purple blade of pure energy that shimmered from her stump. 'I will.'

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes; So… Cersei is a mutant.

…the word you are looking for is, "Fuck".