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Morning. A clear bright day. Cersei crossed from the great keep to the inner wall under covered bridges, longing for privacy and for the sun; she found them, but when she came out onto the battlements she found the wind so cold it burned.
Still, she found herself lingering anyway. After so many grey days she needed the light.
Here there was colour in the world again, under the burning blue sky: the sunlight brought out blue shadows in the snow that lay thickly in every direction, a hint of green in the pine trees on the hillside. Cersei’s breath streamed away from her, brave as a banner.
I am not afraid of anything, she told herself. There had been word this morning, another raven from the Wall: Lord Stark and his men and her poor brave Joff were still delayed in the far North with those rebel Wildlings. There were still no men for her son to lead south to regain his rightful throne. But it did not matter, they would be on their way soon enough. I did nothing wrong. I did nothing but what I ought to have done.
She believed it. Everyone around her had failed her. How else could she have ended here, in Winterfell? Forced to take refuge with the Starks?
No-one in the world could have done more.
She had saved herself and her children, when there was no-one else. She had convinced the Starks to take her in and give her shelter – Robert Baratheon’s poor defenceless widow, betrayed by covetous traitors among her husband’s kin - who but Cersei could have managed it?
In the end she had not even needed to take Lord Stark to bed! He gave her a promise of shelter and aid before she had even begun to try and seduce him. Which was quite foolish of him; but Cersei was certainly not going to complain.
She had no reason to doubt. All she had to do was wait a little longer.
Oh, but it was hard to stay patient so long! The old anger rose up in her again - that brute Robert, to have sent Cersei riding ahead of him to a tourney, only to kill himself in a drunken fall the same night! She would have gone down on her knees in prayers of thanks to the gods if it had happened on a night of her own choosing – she had cousins ready to come to Robert as his squires, who would have helped her – but Robert thwarted her even in that, and chose the worst possible night for his end. So all had been a scramble, to get back to King’s Landing and hold it, and some escaped who should have been kept safe in the Red Keep.
Then Jon Arryn made trouble, and it took too long to find a way to silence him.
But Cersei had put it all right! She took the keep and the city back, and crowned her son, until her father should come. A fine cyvasse game: she was queen, and she held the king.
But those Baratheons who'd so foolishly been allowed to flee rose up against her, Renly and Stannis both, and then the monsters in the Iron Islands made trouble too. Her father had been riding to the tourney too when the king died, and had been caught far from home in the Riverlands when the news came; it took time for him to raise his banners and bring them to her. Too much time.
War was men’s business, not for Cersei to trouble herself with. So men – her father, Jaime – had been telling her all her life. But Cersei’s menfolk had not managed their side of the bargain.
First Jaime was captured, lost to her, a hostage against them; she had barely recovered from that blow when the news came that their father was dead. Only that traitor Tyrion was left, and he was too much a coward to do what he ought for them. He fell back – protecting the Rock first, he'd said – only that left Cersei and Joffrey cut off, alone.
When the city rose against them they’d had no choice but to flee. And no way back to the Westerlands by road, not with the mountain passes closed and two enemy armies in their way…
Cersei was the one who had thought of the North. Cersei had found them a ship, and passage to White Harbor; and if Cersei had had to give up her own body to the ship’s captain as part of the bargain, what of it? He’d been handsome enough; rutting with a commonborn sailor was still more pleasant than rutting with her pig of a husband had ever been.
She came to Winterfell all shocked innocence, of course, with her hair loose and only a little dishevelled, over a fine red-and-white gown she’d taken pains to keep neat and clean on their way. Pity on a poor widow and her children; aid your sworn lord’s son, your own true king… it made a fine fairytale, did it not? And they did love tales here in the North.
It should not matter that they had been waiting so long for the fine ending of the tale, for Northern armies to rise and begin the ride that would bring Joffrey back to his true kingdom. Certainly, Winterfell had been a poor mean place even before winter came, not fit to host a king and his closest kin. But it would not be for much longer...
We have been near a year here, and Stark has not raised his banners yet. He never will. We will be trapped here – that traitor Tyrion will not stir himself for us until Stark does – and now Stark has taken my Joff off to the wilds hunting grumpkins and snarks –
No. Those were a coward’s thoughts. She had done well enough, convincing Stark that he must rise up for Robert’s son as he had once risen for Robert himself, she knew she had. This was only a temporary setback. They would be riding south to glory, soon enough…
Cersei did not realise how tightly she was gripping the stone edge of the battlements before her until she heard a voice beside her. Then hands were there, coaxing her own away from the stone – Cersei hissed. Even through her heavy fur gloves, her fingers had gone quite numb.
“You’ve been out in the cold too long, you’d best come inside to the warmth,” that voice said, warm and coaxing.
Lady Stark.
Another fool in this house of fools. As innocent as a new babe – loving and trusting, as naive to the ways of the world as her husband. Believing, like her husband, that Cersei was only and no more than the poor widow she claimed to be.
Only – there was no good reason for Cersei to enlighten her and turn her claws on this pretty little housecat. Not yet. Not while Cersei still needed her…
She told herself that, as she had told herself already, many times. She should not be cruel to the little cat yet, because it would be sensible to keep her friendship for now. That was all.
They came into the warmth of the Great Keep, and Cersei could not help but gasp at the shock of it. And then she began to shiver all over, convulsively.
All at once Catelyn's arms were around her, pinning an extra cloak around her shoulders. It was pleasant enough to relax into it, to let Catelyn’s gentle chiding wash over her. Yes, Cersei supposed, she did know better than to stay out in the cold too long, but she was well enough, she did not need this babying. Only –
Only it was so nice to have someone to look after her -
And then all chance to break away back into solitude was gone. Catelyn took Cersei in to her own rooms next, in to the little stone chamber where an enormous steaming bath was waiting, with water piped up from the hot springs - and there was nothing in the world that would make Cersei turn back from that.
This bath, Cersei thought muzzily, as she sank back into the water, this is the only thing in Winterfell worth keeping. There were no other luxuries here in the North; but this, perhaps, paid for all...
Or perhaps there was one other thing in Winterfell worth keeping.
There was a small neat splash as someone else entered the water. Cersei kept her eyes closed, trying not to smile.
“I know you must be so lonely here, missing your husband and your kin.” Catelyn’s voice was almost tender. “You have been so brave, Cersei.”
Cersei knew she had indeed been brave – braver than Catelyn would ever know. If she knew what kind of pig Robert had been, how long Cersei had endured him… She had not even murdered him, in the end! In that, she supposed, she was as dutiful a wife as Catelyn thought her.
Of course Cersei could not tell her anything of the truth of what Robert had been, not while she was playing the grieving widow to Robert's dear friends. But sometimes she wanted to do it anyway. Just to hear whether Catelyn would still be soft to her, even then.
“You are too kind,” Cersei said, languid. But she could feel herself smiling, quite unnecessarily.
“I would rather be brave, like you,” Catelyn said frankly.
Cersei’s eyes popped open. A mistake - for there was Catelyn right in front of her, pinkening all over in the heat of the bath, with her lovely braid of hair pinned loosely round her head to keep it from the water; already little loose wisps were escaping, to stick to her cheeks in the dampness... And there was her pink mouth, soft and smiling at Cersei; the elegant curve of her shoulders, the line of her neck; her luscious full breasts bobbing just at the level of the water...
Even if Cersei had wanted to prevent herself from staring, it would be quite impossible.
“Do not mistake me – I am not saying I wish to lose husband and home like you have done! It is only – did you dream of adventures, when you were young? When you were so young you did not yet realise that adventures were only for brothers and fathers and uncles, and not for you? I wish I could travel, sometimes, and see the world - more of the world than I have done. Or do something strange and fearful, so I could know myself to be brave. If only I could be sure to come back to my own home afterwards…”
“That would be the trick, wouldn’t it?” Cersei hesitated. “Do not undervalue your kindness, Cat. I do not - you have been a good friend to me. I would have had a hard time of it here without you.”
The words came out awkwardly, too honest. When had she begun to be honest, to Catelyn Stark, of all people? What in the name of the Seven was she doing?
Appalled at herself, Cersei reached out, to pull Catelyn into her for a distracting kiss.
But as distractions went, Cersei could have done better. She could feel Catelyn smiling against her mouth as they kissed.