The King’s shoulders tighten, and he narrows his steel-colored eyes at the Warden of the West. “It matters nothing to me who fathered this boy. He is my nephew, my own blood, and he will be raised in my household.”
“I agree with Lord Tywin, Your Grace.” The Lord of Storm’s End heaves himself until he’s sitting upright, his blue eyes gleaming with rage and drink. “The boy is half-Targaryen. What will you do when he decides to avenge his bastard of a father? Keeping him in your house...Gods, Ned, once he’s grown, he’ll kill you in your sleep as soon as look at you.”
Ned focuses his gaze fully upon Lord Robert- Cersei had long since noticed this curious ability of her husband’s, to make whoever he’s speaking to feel like the only other person in the world. His jaw is set but his voice is quiet- “If you ever loved my sister at all, you will not ask this of me. On her deathbed, she begged me to care for her child. Should we scorn her memory by destroying the one good thing that came out of her attack?”
For that is the fiction, the version of events as Ned tells it- she wants to laugh sometimes at the thought of gentle, scholarly, musical Rhaegar Targaryen as a raper. But it seems to pacify Robert Baratheon enough that he slumps back down into his seat with a huff.
Ned looks back at Lord Tywin and shakes his head. “I will not even entertain the idea. That is my final word, and as your King, I command you never to speak to me of it again.”
Cersei knows that when the council disperses, the lords will whisper and mutter among themselves, lamenting their King’s sentimental weakness, just as they did when he established the trust for the exiled Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, ensuring that they should never want for anything material, and offering them open amnesty if they ever decide to return to Westeros and pledge fealty.
But when she and Ned retire to their chambers that night, she places her hands on his forearms and nods, again and again and again. “It was well done, my lord.”
FILL: Cersei/Ned; Rebellion outcome; "The Lion Queen"; PG-13 (Part Three)
“I agree with Lord Tywin, Your Grace.” The Lord of Storm’s End heaves himself until he’s sitting upright, his blue eyes gleaming with rage and drink. “The boy is half-Targaryen. What will you do when he decides to avenge his bastard of a father? Keeping him in your house...Gods, Ned, once he’s grown, he’ll kill you in your sleep as soon as look at you.”
Ned focuses his gaze fully upon Lord Robert- Cersei had long since noticed this curious ability of her husband’s, to make whoever he’s speaking to feel like the only other person in the world. His jaw is set but his voice is quiet- “If you ever loved my sister at all, you will not ask this of me. On her deathbed, she begged me to care for her child. Should we scorn her memory by destroying the one good thing that came out of her attack?”
For that is the fiction, the version of events as Ned tells it- she wants to laugh sometimes at the thought of gentle, scholarly, musical Rhaegar Targaryen as a raper. But it seems to pacify Robert Baratheon enough that he slumps back down into his seat with a huff.
Ned looks back at Lord Tywin and shakes his head. “I will not even entertain the idea. That is my final word, and as your King, I command you never to speak to me of it again.”
Cersei knows that when the council disperses, the lords will whisper and mutter among themselves, lamenting their King’s sentimental weakness, just as they did when he established the trust for the exiled Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, ensuring that they should never want for anything material, and offering them open amnesty if they ever decide to return to Westeros and pledge fealty.
But when she and Ned retire to their chambers that night, she places her hands on his forearms and nods, again and again and again. “It was well done, my lord.”