out of the purple woods, from a season in hell // october 4th // closed; cersei and tywin
ROBB STARK APPOINTED PRIME MINISTER OF SCOTLAND, and Tywin thought: how can one kingdom be so endlessly disappointing? The political unrest gutted him more than he dared to admit. His face didn’t reveal half of the tension he felt; the slim desk lamp bathed him in a diffuse but warm light, transforming wrinkles into canyons. Rough was the newspaper’s structure between his fingers before he placed them at his bald temple. Tywin still struggled to use that fancy new tablet thing he received as a present from a partner. Even reading news on it was just too much. It lay over there, on the armchair he sat in before he had returned to work. You never know who of those greedy crawlers around you could have access to your data; Tywin didn’t dare to trust any new technology he hadn’t checked himself. Perfect paranoia is perfect awareness. Most of all, Tywin was as old-fashioned as his methods which paid well so far. But he needed to rethink. It was the family’s safety that held him awake; the terrorism, the riots that had tested him harshly. For one second which felt like centuries Tywin closed his eyes, just to open them up again, realizing it was his daughter standing at the door. Tywin scanned her face with a silent glance. His voice sounded dry since he hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours. “Come.” She never had been the exhausting Daddy, there’s a monster under my bed type of daughter. If at all, there would be only one bedroom she would seek comfort in. She needed security – he could tell from her gesture because as subtle as it was he knew her. And it made his mouth corner twitch, feeling upraising disbelief that something was about to go wrong. Again. Tywin never had thought Cersei was only useful as passive marriage pawn. He needed her as player who manipulates the pieces. He needed her to control whoever sat in the government office just as he had controlled Aerys. He had needed Cersei doing his job for him as Baratheon’s wife. He had needed her to secure London and yet there she stood. Tywin sat back in his chair and moved the newspapers aside but dared to have one last look at Stark’s face; a headshot of a coward hiding behind Scottish corners. Quietly he cleared his throat, and that deep wrinkle between his eyebrows showed that he did not appreciate her interrupting his thoughts. “What do you want, Cersei?” Because let’s be honest – visiting your father past any healthy bedtime turns you back into an insecure child. Whatever concerned her concerned him. What less trouble they all could have if his kids only did once what they were told to. Ah yes, poor Tywin Lannister, training his children. Tywin Lannister, explaining his moves and why he made them and why what he tried didn’t work. Tywin Lannister, shitting gold and still failing because his children couldn’t keep it together. But the thing is: if you laugh at one Lannister, you are laughing at House Lannister. Maybe it’s just a daughter’s job to piss her father off.
Tywin's tone wasn't forthcoming, but when had he ever been? She pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room, closing it behind her. When she heard it click shut she dwelled there on the spot, looking around for a few seconds, as if she'd expected someone else to be joining them. But no one would, not Jaime and not Tyrion, not her uncle, and not her dead aunt. Certainly not her mother. It was her, and her father, and that scared her almost as much as it reassured her. At last she moved, the silky hem of the nightgown tickling her shins.
Her father's eyes followed her, but dismissive, as if he perceived the danger that walked with her. He'd always looked at her like that, like he expected her to bring forth nothing but bad news; that was when he didn't look at her with purpose, as a means to something else. She remembered his special smiles, those he would give when she was younger; when her mother was alive. But Cersei was an adult now, and the smiles were gone, and she knew now there had been reasons behind those twitches of his lips as well.
When she halted at his desk she dared a glance down at the papers he'd been examining; Robb Stark's face stared back from the page, black and white, and once again she read the same titles she had been reading everywhere in the last day.
"He's young." A smiled played upon her lips. "He'll fall under the pressure soon enough."
If only that was all she was there for, that night. If only this was just an attempt at showing his father she had a mind just as bright and ready as his. If only, she thought as she drew a chair and sat down with her hands on the armrests, if only she could spare herself this one moment.
She knew he wouldn't ask again, so she closed her eyes briefly. When she looked up her father was still watching her, waiting. He knows. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, inhaling sharply and hoping with air she would gulp in some miraculous solution to her problem. But she didn't, and so she nodded before admitting to herself no help would come unless she sought for it under her father's skirts. As much as it angered her, she couldn't simply let it run its course. It was too dangerous. And Cersei Lannister did not cower.
"I may have encountered a small issue," she began with a shrug, aiming to downplay what she was about to say. If she could handle it with enough composure, her father would see that it was nothing to be excessively worried about. He would understand and find a solution that only a man of his stature could reach for. "Beric Dondarrion. He seems to have some... unfunded theories. Which he threatened to divulge to the public. And..." She trailed off, eyeing her father carefully. He seemed unamused. "I would like him to be stopped. His lies could damage me. Us."
