The Lonely Lioness - Cersei Lannister Quest

Hiring sellswords had flushed all kinds of strange and foreign things into Kings Landing. There were zorse riders, who had still many gaping and staring when they passed through the city streets. Though Cersei suspected that the one man claiming to be from the Jhogos Nai was just some lowborn mummer trying to make himself look important. There were also a few priests of faiths she had never heard from before, who unlike the Septons, saw no harm in spilling blood. Even a few Dothraki had come over the sea, despite their peoples legendary fear of the salt water. But while they had themselves come because of the opportunity for some gold, they also brought opportunities for others with them. Like the chance to hire someone who would not flinch at the mere mention of the hidden arts.

When she had first tried to learn more about the Shade of the Evening, Pycelle had been very reluctant. When she then pressed him on the matter, he told Cersei that he did not feel it acceptable for a man like him to peddle lies and charlatanery to her. It was against his oath to the Citadel, he claimed. It seemed not to have been a lie. The first letter she sent to Oldtown to inquire about more open minded maesters got her a long-winded explanation back that boiled down to some Archmaester having been absent for years and the rest of the Citadel being glad for it. The second, less diplomatic letter had not received an answer at all.

Instead of further wasting time the Citadel, Cersei began to look through the ranks of strange men and women that had come as camp followers of her sellswords. Someone had to be there among them. While most lords, especially the lesser ones without much in the way of a court, relied on their maesters for many things, she did not need to. She had a Master of Coin, untrustworthy as he might have been, to take care of the treasury, a whole Small Council to advise her and plenty of knights to lead her armies. All that she really needed was a scholar trained in ravenry. She just needed someone loyal. And less narrow-minded than the Citadel.

It was oddly enough Osmund Kettleblack that could suggest someone. An old man and very skilled healer that had been making the rounds amont the sellswords and even some of the knights at court, tending to the odd injury sustained in training or otherwise. By all accounts he was very capable and even more importantly, he had received training in ravenry from the Citadel. There was just one small hitch. Well, two of them. The Citadel had taken his chain for some sort of experimentation that they had disapproved of. Cersei did not care enough to ask what precisely that entailed, but the other matter gave a hint. Many of the sellswords he had originally traveled with were wary of him. He had also dabbled as his last employers torturer.

She had requested an opinion from Varys, but the eunuch had just warned her away, much like Pycelle had done when asked about the book. Carefully asking the already doomed Pycelle for his opinion did not yield anything either. While under constant guard, he was still performing his duties and had met is potential replacement, but was steadfastly refusing to say anything at all about him beyond that the Citadel had taken his chain for good reason. So, when Osmund took a light wound during training with his brother, Cersei took her chance to quietly meet the former maester herself.

Setting foot into the unused store room that had been converted into makeshift infirmary was not quiet she had expected. From days past she remembered what most such places were like. Blood. Screams. The stench of voided bowels and cauterized flesh. It had long been her fear to say Jaime one day spread out on a litter, two or three limbs poorer and the rest wrapped in blood soaked bandages. Here though, things were much calmer than in a field camp. The worst she could see were a few of the Gold Cloaks that had been injured while collecting taxes from Fleabottom. Other than that, only a few sellswords with no visible aches and some contrite looking maids were presents, the latter of whom bowed immediately when they saw the queen approach.

It was way too neat and tidy to Cerseis eyes though, even considering that the city was not a battlefield. Even Pycelles study and the quarter her used to house patients were looking disorderly in comparison. And there was this constant stench of strong alcohol, sharp and bitter instead of the pleasing scent of wine. The black robed old man was carefully sewing the gash on Osmunds leg back shut, occasionally washing the blood out of the way with more of the biting alcohol. The knight tried his best to bear the pain with dignity.

"Your majesty," he ground out through gritted teeth at her approach.

Cersei waited for the maester to react, but he was still fully concentrated on the sutures. Curious. She had been told he was eager to catch the attention of people at court. She turned back to her knight. "You are a queens bodyguard now, Ser Osmund. You could get treatment from the Grand Maester if you wished. Why come here?" Of course, she would have ordered it for a chance to talk with the maester without having to summon him, but Osmund himself had wanted to come here of his own and she was still curious why. It was not as if Pycelle could have harmed him with one of his brothers standing guard.

"Old habit, I presume," the Kettleblack knight answered with a fake chuckle as the wound was washed one final time. "You are weary of trusting an unknown healer once you found a good one. And I've seen Qyburn here deal with much worse than a cut thigh."

"Let us not scare the queen with such stories good ser." The old maester, finally done with his work, turned to her as he spoke and bowed deeply. As he rose, he bore a kindly smile that felt anything but. A small voice sounding like Jaime rang in Cerseis mind, quietly whispering in a warning tone. "I am humbled by your presence, your majesty, and I am glad to say that I return your sworn sword in good health and spirits."

"I am far from squeamish," Cersei threw back while locking eyes with the former maester in challenge. "And I would not be here if I was scared by some sellswords boasting about how terrible their nicks and bruises were."

She could see how his smile grew brittle for a moment while cleaning his hands with an alcohol soaked rag. Then he shifted and spoke on as if the awkward pause had never happened. "Of course. My apologies. Most highborn ladies prefer not to hear what remains on the field when the gallant knights have rode to the victory feast. I should have known that a queen at war would have a more grounded view on such matters. I can certainly regale you with what I consider my most remarkable cases, if it pleases your majesty."

"An interesting proposal, though I must admit that I am more curious about some other things I have heard." With a careful smirk she readjusted the emerald pendant on her necklace. "The Citadel does not take drastic steps lightly and I would be a poor queen to my soldiers if I did not make sure that they are cared for properly."

Ever so briefly she glimpsed a look of pure loathing in Qyburns eyes, but he buried it immediately. "I had some differences with the Citadel. Matters of science. The Archmaesters can be rather set in their ways. Narrow-minded. The foibles of old men."

She could feel her jaw clench. "Yes," the queen responded. "I am well acquainted with that."

"One can scarcely imagine how much better the world would be, if the Citadel had found a tincture that made people listen to reason." The measter joked while carefully watching her. He was not half as subtle as he thought, but that was perhaps a good sign.

"I can not imagine they could ever make enough," she allowed, while mulling over what to say next. This Qyburn was hardly a creature of court. For good and ill. Could she trust him? The question felt silly, given that she was relying on knights she knew not all that long to watch the known traitor day and night so that he would not try to act against her again. Even Jaimes quiet voice seemed mollified, perhaps even intrigued by this strange man.

She had taken so many risks lately. At worst she was trading one traitor for another. "Given that you seem to be held in high esteem here, I wonder what it would take for you to take a more permanent position at my court. Men of your abilities are rare. And I take it you have more skills than tending to the wounded."

"My chain was fairly long, even with how hard it was to wring a single link out of the fools in Oldtown," he chuckled briefly while unconsciously grabbing for a chain that was no longer there. "Healing. Ravenry. Engineering. Some accounting. Plenty of history. Would have taken a few in the higher mysteries too, but the Archmaester refused to have me examined."

"What a waste to have you languish here brewing tea for maids that still smell of the haystack." Behind them, the maids in question choked and stammered at Cerseis words, but she paid them no mind.

"I find myself intrigued by your offer, your majesty." Qyburn looked around the store room, seemingly thinking carefully about his next words. "All I would ask of you is a good salary. Maybe a stipend and some work rooms for some research I would like to pursue when not performing my duties."

She found herself nodding along. Reasonable requests. "And I assume that I will not hear about any unseemly work being done behind closed doors?"

"I pride myself to never repeat a mistake, your majesty," he promised without ever specifying what mistake he would not be repeating.

Yes. This man would fit in quite well in the Small Council.

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AN: Ending the chapter here without a vote since I don't want to glue on something unrelated to the scene just for the sake of having a vote..

When she climbed the steps of the Iron Throne on that day, Cersei felt nervous. Not because of the event about to take place, but because it was here sitting on the throne. Ironic, given how long she had wanted a chance to sit on the bloody thing. Now though, all she had was worries when she did. Joffrey had not arrived at Duskendale yet and there was no telling if the Kingsguard and him were just taking longer than expected, or if something had happened. The fact that he was last around her Westerman riders in Maidenpool was certainly not helping the queens peace of mind.

For now though, she had to put on a happy facade. It would not do to have the Queen Regent scowling while honoring an army returning from the field victorious. After almost a year of nothing but setbacks and chaos, there was something to celebrate. One Targaryen pretendr was no longer a threat. Two in fact. Finally something that would lift spirits in the capital and assuage the fears of courtiers seeing enemies close in from all sides. It would have been even sweeter if Joffrey had been part of it, though it would suffice as it was.

As the fanfares were blown and the doors opened, in marched the leaders of that victory, their banners raised behind him. Renfred Rykker looked as if he greatly enjoyed the attention, preening like a peacock as he strode forward. Beside him, Edmure Tully was much more nervous and kept glancing to the crowds standing on the sides of the hall. He looked almost as if he expected an ambush. Though the two coming after looked even less as if they enjoyed the proceedings.

Lady Allyn Velaryon, widow of Lord Monford Velaryon and regent for their infant son, wore black grieving clothes and scowled at the ground. It was quite different from the woman that Varys described, who was almost eager to kneel before the Iron Throne. Perhaps regret for her choices had set in? Though if she had any second thoughts, now it was much too late to act on them. Beside her, Lord Ardrian Celtigar likewise looked contrite, but while the Lady Velaryon managed to seem resolute, the old lord just seemed defeated. His son had not made it back from the field and even though he was a traitor, Cersei could understand all too well how that news might have felt to him.

Edmure, being Hand, was the first to speak. Cersei kind of expected him to halt and stutter, but when he stood there, on that patch of marble, he somehow stood straighter and found his confidence. "Your majesty. I, Edmure Tully, have come to the capital as I was ordered to take the office of Hand of the King. I bring with me, my personal guard and a gift that Lord Rykker helped me acquire on the way." An armsmen came from behind at his words. A tattered and mud splattered Targaryen banner was thrown before the throne. "The pretender Caern Targaryen is dead. Take his personal banner and my words as proof of that. His body was burned on the field he died on and scattered to the winds."

Cheers erupted from the crowd at this proclamation and this time Edmure joined Rykker in preening. Even Cerseis worries could not stop the satisfied grin from creeping on her face. "A great gift indeed and one for which the king will be most grateful on his return. Let the whole realm know that the King Scabs brother will no longer threaten the realm with his madness." The cheers and excited murmuring lingered on while Tully and Renfred stepped aside, making room for the next two supplicants.

Lady Velaryon stepped forth first. She audibly spat on the dragon banner before kneeling. "Queen Regent," she loudly called with lowered here. "Before you kneel a grieving widow. My husband, may the Seven have mercy on the poor fool, had answered the call of Stannis Baratheon and then was swayed by the poisoned promises of Aukar Brightfyre. He paid the price for his treason. A traitors death. I kneel before you and ask for mercy to his family and son."

Her scowling made much more sense now. Again Cersei could not help but to feel some kinship to the woman that had to live with her husbands idiocy. Monford Velaryon. Cersei barely recalled him. Still young and hotheaded. And now his wife had betrayed his murderer to save their family. "Do you swear fealty to the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Yes," the answer came without a shred of hesitation. "I swear fealty in the name of House Velaryon to the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms, who is named Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister, true-born son of Robert Baratheon."

"Then mercy you shall be given," Cersei replied magnanimously.

Still kneeling, the lady Velaryon bowed even deeper. "Thank you, your majesty. If it is no imposition, I would ask to remain at court with my son so that no one can whisper behind our backs when we will turn our cloaks again. The fleet remaining after my husbands follies is only the thrones to command henceforth and no one shall doubt that."

That part had not been agreed on beforehand, but it was likely better for everyone involved. "I am glad to host you here for the duration of this war." Then, with a brief word of thanks, the first former traitor stepped aside.

Lord Celtigar was showing much less vigor in his actions. The old man got on his knees too, nearly slipping in the process. "Your majesty, I too grieve. I grieve a son and heir, cut down in the field as a rebel. I grieve a friend, whose counsel led me to folly. And I grieve the many other sons who had to die for my actions. House Celtigar swears to the one true king on the Iron Throne, who is Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister, true-born son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. The garrison of Dragonstone has yielded and the island once more obeys your command."

He had not been part of the agreement. The had come to the Lady Velaryon at the last minute to share his concerns about their future and then joined her betrayal. "And you ask for nothing in return?"

"No, Queen Regent," he pressed out in a resigned tone. "I have lost so much already. Whatever you and the gods will take from me, I will be grateful for what I am allowed to retain."

"Your fealty will be enough for me," Cersei replied. "For the gods opinion, you will have to speak to the High Septon."

Another quick thanks and a moment longer for the old Celtigar to get up and step aside. Then it was time for the first prisoner to be presented. Two guards dragged Aukar Brightfyre forward and knelt him before the throne. Varys had told her that the Braavosi bastard son was great duellant, renowned among the Bravos for his fierceness. Now though, he looked weak. Worn out by his ordeals and some lingering sickness going by what Rykker had written in his report.

It had gone almost perfectly. Not only was Alyssa Velaryon quite willing to betray him, he had even given them the perfect opportunity. Cersei had to give him credit for realizing how doomed Caerns host was, given all the much larger armies marching near the Crownlands, and tried to evacuate his forces. It was too late though. By the time he came ashore, the battle was already over and once Velaryon and Celtigar had given word of their arrival, the forces of Tully and Rykker had easily been able to apprehend him.

Now here he was. In the Red Keep. Just where all those Targaryens wanted to be. Though he probably did not like the chains. "You have reached the Iron Throne at long last, dragonspawn." She spat the last word with a healthy dose of loathing. It might have been Roberts favorite term, but the fat oaf was now dust in a pot next to Aerys, so it was time to take it from him. "Do you have anything to say to this great moment?"

He already kneeled, but dipped his head the slighted bit deeper. "I swore no oaths to the iron throne, my only crime is loyalty to an unworthy king. Even when he stubbornly refused to heed my warnings and I was injured, I tried to save him in the end. The ships I brought to transport him and his host can attest to that. Now that he is dead my loyalty can be yours."

The court murmured at this words. A few outright laughed. "Is that so?" Cersei said doubtfully and leaned back as far as the barbed throne allowed her to. "Lord Celtigar. What did he say to you again? About his plans if he failed to convince his liege?"

Celtigar shuffled uncomfortably, throwing a quick glance at the bound Aukar. "That if Caern Targaryen proved intransigent, he would turn as much of the army to heed his words as he could and retreat with them."

"Very interesting." She noted with some satisfaction, grinning down onto the prisoner before her. "This is the loyalty you offer me?" It seemed she had barely passed a poisoned chalice when he had declined her generous offer to recognize him as lord of Dragonstone.

"We both know that Caerns march on Kings Landing was suicidal," the bound Targaryen pretender replied at once, raising his head to face her. "But yes. Should you ever decide to ride into a battle you know you cannot win, I will try to convince you to reconsider. And should I fail, I will give my damnedest to save your family and closest allies instead. Just like I tried to do with Lord Cletigars son."At the end, he threw a sidelong glance at the Lord in question.

"And I take it you will be the one to decide when an order you receive is unreasonable?" Cersei asked with the slightest hint of annoyance shining through. Another one of those. Self-important retainers that had the gall to decide matters for their lieges. She had half a mind to ask Qyburn to recount to him what had become of the last one that had betrayed her, but even though the small voice in her mind assured her that it showed strength, she still did not want to introduce her new maester to court by chatting over his predecessors desiccated corpse.

"With all due respect, your majesty, I don't think either you or your son the king are capable of such an idiotic decision as the one Caern took." Aukar went on, trying and somewhat succeeding to make it sound flattering. "And the outcome of the battle validated my desperate attempts to save my liege, or at least his allies. It was a very unusual incident that I can't see repeated, at least not by Your majesty or your majesty's son, the king."

Ever since Cersei knew that they hat captured the man, she had been mulling over what to do with him. Now that he knelt before her and had a chance to plead for his life, the choice was easy.

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AN: For once most things went just right for Cersei.