TYWIN | CERSEI
"Do you have a suspicion who is behind all this, Pycelle?" asked Tywin, his voice as cold as ice. His pale green eyes stared sharply at the Grand Maester sitting across his desk.
Pycelle shifted restlessly in his chair, the chains at his neck clinking softly. "The reports from Lord Redwyne and Ser Kevan are very... specific, My Lord," he said, carefully. "They confirm that pirate activity in the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea trade routes has increased drastically. Far beyond the level of nuisance we usually tolerate."
Tywin snorted softly. "Tolerate. We tolerate one or two ships lost due to storms or foolish captains. But this?"
Tywin pointed to the stack of loss reports on his desk.
Merchant ships carrying valuable cargo, machine-woven textiles from Lannisport, paper in large quantities for the Pentos and Braavos markets, as well as ships carrying volcanic ash from Dragonstone for cement manufactories, were being hunted.
In recent months, they had indeed lost one or two ships. That was business risk. However, two weeks ago, the situation turned into a slaughter. Three large Lannisport merchant ships were intercepted near Tarth. Their cargo seized, ships burned, and according to reports, the crew sold as slaves or thrown into the sea.
"This pattern is indeed troubling, My Lord," said Pycelle while adjusting his sitting position, his fingers stroking his beard. "These attacks have appeared so regularly and targeted since you began exporting paper in large quantities to Essos. And now, with the addition of high-quality textiles, and regarding the 'clear glass' already produced in the West... they have become wilder."
Pycelle leaned forward slightly. "I conclude that the situation across the sea is heating up. The Free Cities... they are afraid, Lord Tywin. They are afraid to compete with you."
"Continue," ordered Tywin flatly.
"Think about it," said Pycelle, looking to gain confidence from his own analysis. "For centuries, the economy of Essos, especially Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh, relied on the export of luxury goods to Westeros. Glass, tapestries, lace, lenses. We are their biggest market. We buy, they sell."
Pycelle pointed to the paper sample on Tywin's desk.
"But now... news that 'inventions' coming from your son keep increasing, it shakes the economic foundations of the merchants there. If Westeros can produce on its own, who will buy their goods? And worse for them, if we start selling these goods to their markets at cheaper prices and better quality... it will shift their dominance."
Tywin nodded slowly. That analysis aligned with his own thinking.
"So," said Tywin, his voice sharp, "they all basically do not want us to advance? They want to maintain the status where we are just armored barbarians buying their trinkets?"
"Exactly," confirmed Pycelle. "They just want to keep us as cash cows, My Lord. It has become a common view that Essos is a place far more advanced in terms of knowledge than Westeros. To them, we are a market, not a competitor. If we no longer buy their goods, they will lose a large part of their revenue. This triggers panic. And panic triggers desperate acts like funding pirate fleets."
Tywin's jaw hardened. A deep dislike coursed through him. He hated arrogance. Especially arrogance from people he considered inferior.
Those people... with their colorful silks, oiled beards, and reliance on slaves. They thought they were higher than him? They thought they could strangle House Lannister and the Kingdom of Westeros just by hiring a few pirates in the Stepstones?
They were very wrong. Tywin Lannister did not build his power by letting others dictate trade terms. He destroyed House Reyne and Tarbeck because they dared to oppose him. He would not let a bunch of slave traders across the sea insult him.
They were lower than beasts in Tywin's eyes. Beasts at least hunted to eat; these people hunted to maintain rotting luxury.
If they indeed wanted to play, thought Tywin, I will entertain them.
He stood up from his chair and walked towards the large map of the world hanging on the wall. His eyes fixed on the Stepstones, the cluster of rocky islands that became a den of brigands between Dorne and Essos.
...
Tonight, the Queen's private chamber felt like a secret garden hidden from the harsh outside world. The room smelled fragrant, filled with the intoxicating sweet scent of fresh flowers picked just this afternoon. Porcelain and clear glass vases were placed in many corners of the room, on the vanity, on bookshelves, and lined up near the window opened halfway, letting the night breeze carry inside.
Cersei Lannister sat on the sofa, her posture relaxed and graceful. Opposite her, sat the Queen Mother, Queen Rhaella. Beside her, little Prince Viserys was sitting cross-legged on the thick carpet. The boy wore a loose black silk tunic, and in his hand was a biscuit he was chewing slowly, crumbs falling onto his lap without him caring.
But the center of attention in the room was not the beautiful women or the young prince. The center was on Rhaella's lap.
Aegon. Cersei's son. The heir to the throne.
The child was only one year old, yet he already possessed a charisma that attracted everyone's attention. He held his grandmother's index finger with his strong tiny hand, shaking it while laughing lightly. The sound of his laughter was pure, like small silver bells.
"He never gets tired, does he?" commented Viserys with his mouth slightly full, staring at his nephew with a mixture of awe and a little annoyance. "His laughter always fills the room. Even when I want to take a nap."
Rhaella smiled gently, her eyes shining full of affection as she looked at her grandson. "Spirit is a sign of health, Viserys. We should be grateful he has strong lungs."
"He always laughs at anything, Mother," complained Viserys, taking another bite of biscuit. "Even when I fall, he laughs. That is not polite, is it? A prince should not laugh at another prince's misfortune."
Cersei chuckled softly, a polite and amused laugh. She remembered that incident clearly; it happened a few days ago in the nursery. Viserys was playing war with a beautifully carved wooden dragon. He was too excited running around the table, his toy cloak fluttering, until finally he forgot that other block toys were scattered on the floor.
Viserys tripped and fell with a quite loud thud. Nothing was hurt but his pride, of course. But at that time, Aegon who was in Cersei's arms saw the incident, and instead of crying in shock, the baby laughed and clapped happily, as if his uncle had just performed a special acrobatic show for him.
"That means you must be careful when playing," said Rhaella gently, with an educating tone in her voice. "You must watch where you step. Or Aegon might imitate you later when he starts to walk. You are an example to him."
Viserys pouted.
"Let him imitate," muttered Viserys defensively. "We can fall and laugh together. At least it doesn't sound mocking if we both fall. We will be the duo of floor conquerors."
Rhaella held back a laugh, then reached out her free hand and pinched Viserys's cheek affectionately.
"You are very difficult when told, aren't you?" teased Rhaella.
"MOTHER!" cried Viserys, his face reddening from being treated like a baby in front of Cersei. But he didn't swat his mother's hand away; he didn't sound angry, only embarrassed.
"You are big now, so you must be given punishment if naughty," said Rhaella with a playful tone. "The punishment is you must finish your warm milk before bed tonight."
Viserys fell silent, his eyes widening slightly in horror, Cersei knew he hated warm milk. But then he saw his mother's smile, and he just nodded lightly, resigned. "Alright. For Aegon."
Cersei observed the interaction with a warm feeling she rarely showed to outsiders. She liked Rhaella. The Queen Mother did not try to dominate her, Rhaella knew her place, and she respected Cersei as the new Queen. And Viserys... the boy was harmless. He was just a spare. As long as Aegon existed, Viserys was just a funny uncle.
"He looks very much like Rhaegar," said Rhaella suddenly, refocusing on the baby in her lap. Her graceful fingers tidied Aegon's fine silver hair. "His face shape, his chin... that is pure Valyrian. But..."
Rhaella turned to look at Cersei. "...but he has your nose, Cersei. And your eye shape. This is seen very clearly when he is serious."
Of course, thought Cersei with satisfaction swelling in her chest. I was the one who birthed him, of course he has the same features as me.
Aegon indeed looked perfect. He was the best blend of two worlds. He had Rhaegar's refined handsomeness, yet there was the strength of Cersei's features there, a sharp and firm nose, as well as high Lannister cheekbones. He looked very handsome and adorable at the same time.
"His eyes are Rhaegar's eyes in terms of color," said Cersei, putting down her tea cup. She leaned forward, staring at her son. "And his gaze looks very deep. Like wanting to analyze everything. He does not just look; he observes. He is full of question marks, and like wanting to solve problems he sees early on."
Cersei touched Aegon's cheek. The baby turned, his purple eyes staring at Cersei with surprising intensity for a baby.
"He will be a thinker," continued Cersei proudly. "And a ruler. He will not be easily deceived."
"Yes," said Rhaella, her smile fading slightly. "But hopefully he is left to solve problems quickly..."
Rhaella bowed down, kissing her grandson's forehead. "His father has to shoulder a heavy burden at a young age. I hope Aegon has a longer childhood. A childhood full of laughter, like tonight."
"I will ensure it," promised Cersei, her voice sharp and protective. "No one will touch him. No one will burden him before he is ready."
"You are a good mother, Cersei," said Rhaella sincerely.
"A mother indeed must be good for her children," replied Cersei while smiling.
The atmosphere returned to quiet and comfortable. There was only the sound of Viserys chewing biscuits and Aegon's soft babbling.
Cersei felt very satisfied. This was the life she wanted. She was Queen. She had a healthy heir. Her husband was a King loved by the people. And her family held supreme power. Suddenly, a knock was heard on the door.
Knock. Knock.
Cersei and Rhaella turned in unison. Viserys stopped chewing.
"Enter," called Cersei. The heavy door opened slowly. And there, standing in the doorway with a black cloak draped over his shoulders and silver hair slightly messy as if he had just finished wrestling, was Rhaegar Targaryen.
However, as his eyes swept the room, seeing his mother, his younger brother, his wife, and his son laughing, that tired expression melted instantly.
Rhaegar said nothing. He just stood there for a moment, perhaps to let the sight wash away his fatigue, a thin and gentle smile slowly etched on his lips. He stepped in, closing the door behind him.
"You are having fun without me, are you?"
Rhaegar's voice was soft and full of warmth that made Cersei's heart flutter. The King stepped fully into the candlelight, closing the door behind him.
He walked towards the sofa where Cersei sat. His movements were graceful like flowing water. Rhaegar leaned down slightly, brushing a strand of golden hair from Cersei's face, then kissed her forehead. His lips were warm and dry. The kiss was simple, not a lustful kiss in the bedroom, but a kiss of respect and affection.
Cersei closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. He always did this, giving small physical touches signaling possession, gestures that made Cersei feel special.
"We could not invite you because you always stay silent with your papers, Husband," teased Cersei, opening her eyes and looking at her husband's handsome face with a seductive smile. "I worry if I sent a servant, you would sign their forehead accidentally thinking they were a tax document."
Rhaegar chuckled, a low and pleasant sound. He sat on the edge of the sofa, beside Cersei, but his eyes were fixed on his mother and the baby on her lap.
"Perhaps I need forcing once in a while to get out of that hole, Wife," he admitted. "Sometimes I lose track of time and it is hard to stop."
Rhaegar then shifted his attention to the floor, where Viserys was trying to hide biscuit crumbs under the edge of the carpet.
"You make the carpet dirty, Viserys," admonished Rhaegar gently, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Later ants will come and carry you away while sleeping."
"Huh," Viserys gasped, his face reddening from embarrassment being caught by his brother. He hurriedly patted his crummy hands on his trousers. "I... I am feeding them, Brother. This is so they won't be mean."
"Good reason," Rhaegar smiled, ruffling his brother's silver hair. Then, his gaze softened as it shifted to the small bundle in Queen Rhaella's arms.
"And how is this little one?" he asked, his voice changing into the soft whisper he used when singing lullabies.
Aegon, hearing his father's voice, turned. His purple eyes blinked, then his toothless lips broke into a wide gummy smile. He reached out his chubby hands towards Rhaegar, making enthusiastic sounds.
"He looks very happy it seems," commented Rhaegar, tilting his head. "Does he not miss his father? He looks as if he can live with only milk and his grandmother."
Rhaegar made a face of pretend disappointment, his lower lip protruding slightly in a dramatic way that made Viserys giggle.
"He is just good at hiding his feelings," answered Cersei quickly, but her eyes glinted meaningfully. Actually, that sentence was intended as a subtle satire on Rhaegar himself, who often hid his emotions behind a mask. Rhaegar turned to her, catching the double meaning. He smiled wryly, acknowledging the attack.
"Oh, no. He is already good at acting!" cried Rhaegar, looking back at his son. "We cannot let him hold stage shows, he has duties! A King must not be a traveling actor."
"You are too dramatic, Rhaegar," Rhaella smiled shaking her head, seeing the interaction of her son and grandson. "He is still a baby. Who wants to see a show held by a baby?"
"Me," answered Rhaegar instantly. "And the ghosts of the Red Keep... I think they are bored of seeing violence. A little baby comedy will refresh the atmosphere."
Rhaegar then knelt on one knee in front of his mother's chair, leveling his height with the baby. He extended both his large and strong hands.
"Let me hold him, Mother," asked Rhaegar. "I need to see if he is still as heavy as last time. I suspect he grew two inches overnight."
"Should be so," said Rhaella softly, carefully moving the weight from her lap to her son's hands. "Watch his head."
Rhaegar received his son, he supported Aegon's neck and leaned him against his broad chest.
"Whoa, yes. He really got heavier," exclaimed Rhaegar, his eyes widening wittily feeling Aegon's solid weight. He lifted the baby a little higher, staring at his face. "Do you eat bricks or milk porridge, Little Prince?"
Aegon laughed, hitting Rhaegar's cheek with his tiny hand.
Rhaegar turned to Cersei. "What do you feed him, Cersei? Does your father secretly smuggle liquid gold into his milk?"
Cersei laughed, a clear and proud sound. She liked when Rhaegar joked about her family heritage without suspicion.
"Healthy food, of course. The best," answered Cersei, straightening her back. "Children need to grow, Rhaegar. He will be big and strong. He must have shoulders broad enough to carry armor."
"Or a warhammer," chirped Viserys innocently from the floor.
Rhaella joined in smiling. "He will be what he wants to be. But most importantly, he is healthy."
Rhaegar brought Aegon closer to the window, showing the star-studded night sky to his son.
"Look at that, son," whispered Rhaegar. "Those are stars. Big and beautiful."
Aegon stared at those small lights with wide eyes, mesmerized.
Cersei observed them, husband and son. The sight of Rhaegar holding Aegon under the moonlight was the most beautiful painting she had ever seen. This was her victory. This was her future.
...
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