CERSEI
Cersei Lannister stood tall and proud next to her father in the great pavilion that had been laid before Bronzegate. Both and she and Lord Tywin were clad in the crimson and gold of their house, wearing the most opulent clothing they possessed. She took a deep breath, to calm her fluttering stomach. You are a lion, and the lion does not show fear before lesser beasts, she reminded herself, glancing at her father. Tywin Lannister stood still like a magnificent statue, the banner of House Lannister spread over him. If he felt any discomfort standing here, he didn't show it. Cersei turned her eyes back to the banners of Stannis and his supporters, and tried to name them. Some were easy to recognize, like the stag of Baratheon, or the dire wolf of Stark, others took some effort, like the lizard-lion of House Reed, or the lightning bolt of Dondarrion but many were strange to her. I will have to learn them all, she thought, as she puzzled over a very odd one-a black ship with what appeared to be an onion on its sails. It would look very ill for a queen not to know her subjects banners...
She wished Jaime were here. She had not seen him for months now. Cersei had hoped to join him at King's Landing, for a brief reunion, but father had insisted she rush to him on the road to Bronzegate. Her heart bled for her brother-all alone in King's Landing, with no friends around him, surrounded by a thousand accusing eyes. I wish I were there right now, to put my arms around him, and tell him that everything is all right, that he will always have me...
But that would be a lie-a sweet lie, but a lie nonetheless. Her father was wedding her to Stannis Baratheon, to save her house, and her brother. "He is a young man with ideas," Tywin Lannister had said to her, as they rode to Bronzegate, "but a young man nonetheless. And the favor of young men is easily won by beauty and the minds of young men easily distracted from grand ideas. Bewitch him. Win his affection, and make him more... agreeable." His eyes had fixed on hers as he said this. "You can do this, my dear?"
Cersei gulped. It is for Jaime's sake. Jaime killed the old king, that awful old man, and now... now they are calling for his head. I must wed Stannis to save his life. She felt a chill and wished her soon-to-be-betrothed would hurry up and show himself. It was uncomfortable standing here in this miserable weather.
As if in response to her wish, a crowd made its way from that small sea of banners. A large man with an antlered helmet stood at its head, clad in black and gold. That had to be Stannis. As he got closer, Cersei got her first look at her husband-to-be. Stannis was tall, and looked strong, but his face was thin and jagged and pinched looking, with a large jaw and hollow cheeks. Cersei suppressed a frown-not an ugly man, exactly, but not a handsome one either. It is for Jaime's sake-Jaime and the Lannisters. I-I will be queen. Somehow, she couldn't make herself believe the last part.
Tywin took her hand, and then swiftly knelt before Stannis. Cersei followed her father's example, doing her best to follow her father's advice. Smile at him. Look at him softly and tenderly, all full of sweetness. "Your Grace," declared Tywin grandly, his face a hard mask that gave away nothing, "I come here to pledge my leal fealty. With me is my daughter, who has fallen in love with you from afar from the mere hearing of your great valor and nobility, and for whom I humbly ask the honor of being granted your hand in marriage."
To her surprise, Stannis did not look at her, and instead kept his eyes fixed on her father. "Why do you kneel, Lord Lannister? You are Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and I am Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. We meet here as equals." Stannis' voice was hard and rough. He sounds like an old man, thought Cersei, who couldn't help but remember Prince Rhaegar's lovely voice singing, or even the fair sound of her sweet Jaime's laughter.
"Can the Seven Kingdoms go without a king?" asked Tywin, his voice ringing in the pavilion. "I say they cannot. And that being the case... what other king can there be but you?"
Stannis frowned at that. "There are Targaryens yet alive," he noted. "What of them? I cannot claim the Iron Throne by mere whim. To do so would be mad folly."
"Your Grace's natural humility and care for the laws do you great credit," said another voice. Cersei looked to the side to see Grand Maester Pycelle tottering his way from her father's retinue. "But I must say they are unwarranted in this case. You, Stannis Baratheon, are the lawful and most apparent King of these Seven Kingdoms, by simple and well-practiced precedent." Cersei blinked. She had wondered why the Grand Maester had come with them from King's Landing. Somehow, finding out why was proving... disquieting. As Pycelle tottered to the center of the great green, Cersei felt her leg twitch in discomfort. Not now, she thought, doing her best to keep her movements subtle and a smile on her face.
The Grand Maester cleared his throat, and unrolled a large scroll. "Now then, Your Grace, your accession is based on the same sound principles as that of your great-grandfather, Aegon V. When your most honored ancestor took the throne, it was based on the decision of the Grand Council of the Realm. Aegon was the youngest of his father's four sons, though the two eldest had predeceased him. His third brother had taken the vows of my order, which were felt to be enough to remove him from the succession. However, both Prince Daeron-his eldest brother-and Prince Aerion-his second eldest-had left issue."
Shut up, old man, thought Cersei, hoping against hope that Pycelle would stop talking soon. She did not see how any of this concerned what was happening now. Aerion... Prince Aerion... where have I heard that name? She tried to remember, but could not. The twitch in her leg was becoming an irritating ache, and her knees were starting to throb. She looked at her father, but aside from a slight downward twitch of his mouth, he seemed utterly unmoved. Stannis likewise stood stiff as a statue, frowning, though Cersei saw much of his retinue twitching, and at least one yawning. Lucky man...
"Now," continued Pycelle, manifestly warming to his subject, "Daeron's child was a daughter and thus, by long-established precedent, behind Aegon by the normal principles of succession. However, Aerion had left a son, Maegor." Cersei blinked. That seemed odd to her somehow... and then the name Aerion leapt to the forefront of his mind. The Prince Who Thought He Was A Dragon, the one who died drinking wildfire... "Despite young Maegor's excellent claim," continued Pycelle, "the combination of his own extreme youth, and his late father's known instability lead the Council to exclude him from the succession." The Maester nodded at Stannis. "Your Grace, this renders the situation as clear as the sun in the sky on a bright and cloudless day. With the deaths of Prince Rhaegar and your most worthy brother Robert, you are the oldest and closest male heir in the line of descent not bound by oath from the throne. Aerys' surviving children-like Prince Maegor-are both far too young to assume a true and proper rule, and, again like Prince Maegor, bear the stain of a father with a mind to unruly for the Iron Throne as, alas, these Seven Kingdoms have discovered to their sorrow."
Finally. Cersei prepared to rise only to feel her father's grip tighten on her arm. "And yet, Grand Maester," said Stannis, "I was unaware that there had been a Grand Council on this matter."
"Your Grace," said Pycelle with a merry laugh, "what is this present war but a Grand Council by the sword?" He turned around regarding the various lords assembled. "Aerys by breaking the oaths of his own coronation, forced action on the Lords Paramount. Had the ways of peace been open, I am certain they would have taken-but Aerys closed them off as well, and thus created this present tumult which stands for a Grand Council just as a trial by combat stands for a trial by other means." He turned once again to Stannis and smiled a pleasant and grandfatherly smile. "And so, Your Grace, fear not to accept those honors and titles that are your lawful due. You, and no other, are our king."
Stannis nodded at this, though it seemed to Cersei his frown had not lightened in the least, and in fact had grown quite severe at several points in Pycelle's recitation. "Very well. This being so, I, Stannis Baratheon, do formally proclaim myself King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, in the name of the old gods and the new."
"Long may you reign," came a solitary voice from his followers. And then, slowly, gradually, applause began and then cheers. Stannis' glanced at the noisy crowd with an undeniable sense of unease, raising his hand. He said something that Cersei couldn't make out over the noise, and then an "Enough" that she could. It seemed to Cersei the plaudits quieted far faster than they'd risen. Stannis turned to Tywin. "Rise, Lord Tywin, and know I accept your fealty, and your daughter's hand in equal measure."
"I thank Your Grace for this immeasurable honor," stated Tywin. Cersei took to her feet with great relief. Still, even if it was good to finally get the ache out, all that had been disquieting. Stannis' words were courtly, but his voice was tight and clipped, and the man himself... He is no Rhaegar, she thought. He is not even a Robert.
Stannis gave a formal, and exceedingly stiff bow. "Lord Buckler offers us the use of Bronzegate for the ceremony and the feast. Shall we enter together, Lord Tywin?"
"Once again, Your Grace honors me," said her father flatly. For a moment, Cersei felt a strange wish to run from all this, run far away, but her father's hand remained on her arm, and she was pulled quietly and firmly to the castle.
