The Great Sept of Baelor smelled of incense and flowers; Joffrey's body lay motionless on the slab, his cheeks pale and his lips still darkened by the poison, dressed in his finest clothes and, ironically, in the cloak Vlad had given him for his wedding.
Despite the solemn air and the gravity of the moment, Tywin did not miss the chance to shape the mind of the new king.
—Your brother is dead —he said in his usual severe tone, without a trace of affection— Do you know what that means?
Tommen, his eyes filled with doubt, nodded slowly.
—It means I'll be king —he said, his voice uncertain.
—Yes, you will be king. What kind of king do you think you will be? —Tywin asked.
—A good king? —Tommen ventured, more a question than an affirmation.
Tywin nodded slightly, never looking away from him, as if he were already weighing each word.
—Mmm. I think so too. You have the right temperament. But what makes a good king? What is the most important quality?
Off to the side, Cersei watched in silence. She didn't interrupt as she would have days before and, although her body remained beside her son's bier, her gaze hardly lingered on him. She didn't even seem to notice her father and her son slowly drifting away from the sept as they spoke, nor her brother's presence when he stepped behind her, worried.
When Jaime touched her shoulder, trying not to startle her, she simply focused her eyes, as if she had been lost in her own thoughts.
—I think it was Tyrion —she said in a surprisingly calm voice— He once told me: "The day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth."
Jaime almost shuddered at the serene tone of his sister and lover.
—I've thought it over carefully, and I believe he is the one with the strongest motive —she continued, explaining to Jaime while ignoring the fact that her son had been hated by ninety percent of the city.
Jaime frowned.
—You have no proof it was Tyrion —he said.
She stepped closer to him, walking slowly, swaying her hips the way she knew he liked.
—Then I'll gather it —she whispered, caressing his face with a soft, affectionate tone Jaime had rarely heard from her— I truly believe he killed our son, so I'll gather evidence and witnesses.
—There's an investigation underway; we'll get to the truth —Jaime replied, but she cut him off with a kiss.
—I know —she said with a tender, sorrowful smile that twisted something inside him— But even so, I'll do what I can to find the one who murdered my child. That's why I want to ask you for something.
Jaime was almost horrified. Cersei's behavior was nothing like anything he knew of her, but he didn't feel capable of denying her anything when she acted like this; he only hoped she wouldn't ask for something outrageous.
Cersei surprised him again with something she had never done, something even rarer than affection: reason.
—Although it's true I have no proof, I will gather it, so until then I want Tyrion placed under house arrest, not allowed to leave his chambers —she said, running a hand through his hair.
Jaime stared at her, more than surprised: the request was not only possible and logical, but reasonable. And strange as her behavior felt, it stirred a sort of protective instinct in him.
Cersei kissed him softly on the lips, knowing she had already convinced him, and pulled him toward one of the inner rooms of the Sept. Jaime, despite his doubts, decided it wasn't a request that could harm his brother in any way. Besides, it would give his sister peace and give him… a good time.
So before Cersei even closed the door to the room in the Sept, he had already agreed.
---
Hours later, the sunset light tinted the tall windows of the Red Keep red. Cersei had washed carefully and dressed in black again, this time in a simple brocade. She knew Jaime would hesitate, strange as it sounded, he loved Tyrion, but she was certain her father would be more useful; she believed he wanted him dead just as much as she did.
So her next step was to meet him in the Tower of the Hand. Cersei was already seated when her father poured wine for her without ceremony or unnecessary words; she simply took the cup and went straight to the point.
—There's no progress and no culprit. And meanwhile, my son lies in a tomb with no one having paid for it —she declared coldly, returning to her usual tone— People may start to question the Crown's effectiveness.
Tywin didn't answer immediately; he only looked at her with that piercing gaze that always made her feel like a disobedient child caught in the middle of mischief.
—If you intend to lecture me on how to handle politics, you're several years too late —Lord Lannister said, narrowing his eyes.
Despite all her cunning and coldness, Cersei couldn't stop herself from shivering at his tone.
—I'm not trying to lecture you —she replied, looking away— But as Queen Regent I have the right to demand results: you have the suspects inside the palace and no one has been questioned.
—And who do you expect me to imprison, then? —he asked calmly.
—Tyrion —she countered firmly— We both know he was the most likely culprit, that petty, jealous creature.
She paused, as if she needed to contain herself.
—You want me to imprison your brother based on your suspicions? Even if he is a disgrace, he's still a Lannister —Tywin said with scorn— You want to shame my name even further?
Tywin set the pitcher down onto the oak table with a sharp thud.
But Cersei could see through his façade. Her father didn't care about Tyrion, only about the shame that accusing him might bring, so if she was going to do this, she had to make sure the reward was worth it.
—There's no need for us to pretend; we both know you want him dead as much as, if not more than, I do —she said in a measured tone— I'm handing you the opportunity to finally rid yourself of that vermin once and for all. We both win.
Tywin stared at her, but he no longer seemed to be judging her; he seemed to be weighing the proposal.
—And you want me to arrange everything, I imagine —he replied with disdain.
Cersei could barely contain a smile at the fact that he hadn't outright refused. That alone meant he not only saw her plan as feasible but was already considering it.
—I'll do it myself —she said with a smile— I'll gather the witnesses; you only need to vote in favor of his guilt.
Tywin watched her in silence for several long seconds; his mind seemed to be calculating pros and cons as he walked toward the window and looked out at the gray city, drowned in rumors and whispers.
Anyone else might think the silence came from guilt as a father, but not Tywin. He was merely weighing whether another stain on his name was worth the chance to kill his greatest regret —and he didn't take long to decide.
—I accept your proposal —he declared without turning— I'll give you this opportunity: prove you're as cunning as you believe and erase this blemish from my legacy.
Cersei nodded slowly; she didn't know whether he meant the king's death or the fact that Tyrion still lived, but she didn't care. She had gained his support, and nothing else mattered; with her father as an anchor, convincing the Tyrells and Oberyn to help her would be far easier.
---
And so nearly two weeks passed, with Cersei doing everything in her power to win the support of anyone she considered influential for the trial, from nobles of the court to septons, each one capable of granting her even the smallest advantage.
She had immersed herself in sept sermons, acting the part of a grieving mother, and she had donated a scandalous amount of money to earn the goodwill of the leaders of the Faith.
Above all, she had cultivated a friendship with a young but increasingly influential septon named Lars of the Vale, a common man and apparently very devout.
To Cersei, however, he was an open book: she noticed how he looked at her when she turned away, how warmly he comforted her when she pretended to be shattered, and how guilt seemed to consume him after every encounter. To her it was more than clear the young man desired her, and truthfully, she wouldn't mind taking him if it served her interests.
After all, he was a truly handsome man; the only obstacle was his seemingly incorruptible faith, but Cersei knew more than one way to get what she wanted.
And so, almost effortlessly, the Faith ended up on her side.
---
Tommen's coronation was exactly as expected: solemn, brief, and carefully orchestrated by Tywin. The young king looked uncomfortable as the septon pronounced the blessings in a grave voice. The banners of the lion and the stag fluttered in the throne room, and Cersei, still dressed in black, watched calmly, never taking her eyes off her son.
She walked slowly toward Margaery, who observed the ceremony from the second floor, smiling with that serene expression that so irritated the Queen Mother, a smile so perfect and false it made her want to strangle her.
—He sits the throne as if he were born for it —Margaery commented softly when Cersei came close enough.
Cersei had to exert considerable effort to keep her disgust from showing on her face.
—Yes —she replied without emotion— But he wasn't, was he?
—No, he wasn't —Margaery answered, lowering her gaze for an instant.
—Do you still weep for Joffrey? —Cersei asked, her disdain well hidden.
She knew perfectly well that Margaery was more than relieved by her son's death; oh, but the girl knew how to act—and she did it well.
—He was my husband —she said, meeting her eyes— My king.
—He would have been your worst nightmare —Cersei murmured with a bitter half-smile.
—Your Grace, I… I feel… —Margaery began in her usual conciliatory tone, but Cersei continued.
—You knew exactly what he was —she interrupted while watching her son on the throne— So did I. You never love anything in this world the way you love your firstborn, no matter what they do. And what he did… shocked me.
She looked directly at her.
—Do you think I'm easily scandalized?
—No —Margaery replied, trying to maintain her composure.
—Well, what he did shocked me —Cersei repeated before turning her gaze to Tommen, who, in his grandfather's company, greeted several nobles.
—Tommen is different. He's only a boy, a good, decent boy —she added with a softer voice— Perhaps the first to sit in that chair in fifty years who truly deserves it.
—It would be a comfort, after all the horror that led him there —Margaery said kindly.
—He'll need help if he's to rule well —Cersei murmured, almost feeling nauseated by what she was about to propose.
—He has you —Margaery replied with a serene smile.
—A mother isn't enough —Cersei countered, suppressing the surge of hatred those words provoked— Are you still interested in being queen?
Margaery laughed softly, as if the idea had taken her by surprise.
—After everything that has happened?
—Strangely… yes —Cersei answered.
—I haven't even thought about what comes next. It would be a great honor, of course, but I'll have to speak with my father about it.
—Yes, speak with your father —Cersei replied, feeling the hatred rise like bile in her stomach— I'll speak with mine.
Margaery inclined her head gracefully.
—We could soon have an alarming number of weddings —she said with a light laugh.
Cersei felt a slight twitch in her eye.
—I won't even know what to call you —Margaery added with feigned sweetness— Sister? Or mother?
After that comment, Cersei had to make a conscious effort not to lunge at her and strangle her.
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Sorry for the delay in posting, guys. Work barely leaves me a couple of hours free, and I've been mainly focused on rewriting this entire arc. Obviously, that includes every single chapter that mentions these events, as well as different or new scenes and dialogue. It's exhausting, but I really wanted to deliver something I was happy with.
Unfortunately, my free time doesn't look like it's going to increase anytime soon, but I'll keep writing when I can. It's something that relaxes and de-stresses me. Thanks for your patience.