Part 3: Lord Imp - Cerenna
Cerenna
Everyone was coming to Casterly Rock. The last Lannister bannerman had arrived three days ago, and the rest of the Southron Lords and Knights had been streaming in ever since. Knights from all the Seven Kingdoms were here. Not an hour ago a great big Northman with a black bear on a field of green had come riding through the gates of the Rock. He had come with only a handful of retainers, and she had heard the smallfolk jeer at him, some breaking into a hastily arranged and poorly tuned rendition of "A Bear and a Maiden Fair," as he passed. Cerenna hoped he would ride well in the tournament this afternoon. She held a soft-spot for those whom others valued little.
"What are you doing up here?" called a voice. Cerenna turned from her perch on the battlements overlooking the tourney lists to see her Uncle Jaime. He had come riding in with three other members of the Kingsguard, including their Lord Commander Steffon Baratheon, the nephew of the late rebel Lord Robert the Fat. He was old now, so old that his hair was as white as the King's, and his face was a crumpled kerchief. His nose looked a little red. Cerenna had heard it said that he was sometimes well into his cups now before he'd even risen from bed.
"Looking at the knights, Uncle Jaime," said Cerenna. She stretched her arms out for a hug and he obliged her, then sat down next to her with an aching slowness.
"Let me have a look at you, girl," said Jaime. She stared at him in the face and he smiled.
"Every inch your mother," he said. "There's not a drop of Tyrion I can see on you."
"It's all hidden," said Cerenna. "Aveis is the one who takes after our father."
"Yes, yes, she's quite clearly the daughter of Tyrion Lannister and Margaery Tyrell, that's for certain." Uncle Jaime looked at her askew. "Watching all these young Sers, are you? Picking a husband like your dear older sister is about to get?"
"Seven hells, no," Cerenna swore. Her uncle grinned at that. "Who wants to be married off to one of Father's bannermen?"
"Rolf Garner's a good man, and Aveis will be well provided for in Goldshire."
"Perhaps," said Cerenna. "But look at all this spectacle. A tourney all because the eldest daughter of Tyrion Lannister is to be married on the morrow. The King and his Kingsguard riding from King's Landing. All we lack is Prince Rhaegar."
"Oh come now, my sworn brothers and I do a fair bit to keep the man in Ghaston Grey," said Jaime.
Cerenna gave him a wane smile.
"There is a point though," said Jaime. "Joyous occasions like this remind us of the best of times and allow us to forget the tragedies of life." His gaze seemed to fade past the lists to something only he could see.
"Are you talking about Aunt Erren?" asked Cerenna, after a pause.
Jaime seemed to find his way back to the present. "She's one such, yes," he said. But Cerenna could see it was not exactly what was on his mind.
It mattered very little, because Maester Alfgar saw them then from the ground below the wall they were sitting on and called up to her.
"Have you seen your father, Lady Cerenna?"
"I haven't, Maester," she called back down.
"Well, please, child, go and look for him, will you? The tournament will start soon."
"Yes, Maester Alfgar," said Cerenna. She climbed down from her perch. The Maester nodded and then turned and gave a whistle. A great wolf came bounding out from behind a tent to his side.
"Seven hells!" Jaime exclaimed. "Who
is that man?"
"Maester Alfgar is a Karstark. That's his wolf, 'Ice,'" explained Cerenna. She disliked the cold frozen Northman. His wolf companion seemed something out of song, which fascinated her. But the man who it followed was a bookish type, with hardly a martial bone in his body. He was striking, though, and the wolf added to that, so he had somewhat titillated the other ladies at Casterly Rock. And his status as a Maester, which made him forbidden, had only increased matters. He and her Father certainly had a close relation, however. Cerenna idly wondered if the Maester knew exactly where Tyrion was.
"Will you come look for Father with me, Uncle?" Cerenna asked. "You must know where he might be hiding better than I."
"I doubt it," said Uncle Jaime. "It's been many years since I was a child here. You go. I might find something to parch my thirst."
Her father was not in the Golden Gallery or the Lion's Mouth, or entertaining guests in the Stone Garden. He was not in his solar when she entered after knocking. His desk was covered with papers, and one book was opened on it, studying about dragons, as usual. She regarded the pages carefully; it was an old tome.
She had just made up her mind to leave and search for him somewhere else when she heard a woman's moan coming from his apartments. Careful as a cat's paw, she crept up to the door and pressed her earth against it.
"Not again, my lord," she heard a woman whisper, and a man's chuckle, that she recognized as her father's, in response.
Cerenna knocked on the door. "Father?" she called.
She heard someone curse quietly under their breath, and then the rustling of sheets and the patter of feet moving quickly over the stone floor.
She knocked again. "Father," she said.
"One moment!" came Tyrion's call.
Cerenna waited a bit more, and then door crept open a crack. She looked down into her father's face.
"What's the matter, sweetling?" he asked.
Cerenna ignored him and pushed at the door. Tyrion tried for a moment to stop her, but he gave up and the door flew open, so that Cerenna could see the woman lying in his bed.
Deanna was a Frey by birth, the granddaughter of Emmon and Grand-aunt Genna Lannister, which made her a somewhat distant cousin. But she looked more Lannister than Riverlander, with her pale features and golden hair. She was not much older than Cerenna was herself. It startled Cerenna to see her now, clutching at her father's sheets to cover her nakedness.
Cerenna regarded her father with emotionless eyes. "Your presence is required at the tourney immediately, Father," she said. As she left, she noted that Tyrion at least had the good sense to look ashamed of himself.
Cerenna could hardly keep her seat at the tourney. But she was a Lady of Lannister, and she would maintain her composure. She watched as Tyrion presented himself, seating himself to the right of the King, between Aegon and Lady Margaery. Cerenna wondered if his behavior had something to do with Hobber Waters, whom people said was Aegon and Margaery's child. Cerenna had dismissed it as mere rumor before, but now she wondered. She watched the three of them as the various knights presented themselves and saluted.
The first joust was between Bryce and Lord Rodrik Greyjoy. The Ironman was far too old to sit a horse, and everyone knew he was no knight. Cerenna doubted there was even a flat enough part of the Iron Isles on which to set up lists. Bryce looked fine in armor of gold, modeled after Uncle Jaime's notorious set. His rose-crowned lion dances on the red field on his chest. His visor was a lion's roaring mouth, it's fangs barred. Greyjoy's armor was simple, and painted black, with the gold kraken raised out from the surface on his chest. The two men rode to their opposite ends, and dipped their lances. The flags flashed and both men dug their heels into their mounts' flanks.
They came together with a horrible crash. Splinters flew into the air, and a broken lance landed in the sand. Bryce rode on, wobbling from the blow, barely keeping his seat. Lord Rodrik, on the other hand, tumbled from his saddle, pulling his horse down over him. There was a sickening cracking sound. Squires ran to the fallen man, pulling the horse off him. His leg was twisted at an awkward angle and the golden kraken on his chest had been pushed inwards. The crowd gasped.
Bryce himself rode back, dismounting. He shouted orders and the squires and attendants lifted Lord Rodrik carefully, taking him away to his tent, with Bryce bowing out of the tournament to watch over the man.
Her mother leaned over to her.
"Bryce has become a fine knight, don't you think?" asked Lady Margaery.
"He had better be," said Cerenna. "Father spent a fortune educating him as one."
"If your father had been born a better man, he would not have needed to spend any money," said her mother, sniffing. "He could have instructed Bryce himself."
Normally, Cerenna would rise to her father's defense, but today she could not stomach it, so she said nothing, letting the insult pass.
The next bout was between Cerenna's Bear Northman, announced as Ser Leobald Mormont of Bear Island and Ser Devan Lannister, a distant cousin. Ser Devan was past fifty, but still riding strong as ever they said. Cerenna hoped the Bear Knight was a capable rider.
At the first pass, it seemed so, as both men broke their lances on each other's shields. On the second pass, Ser Devan landed a glancing blow, while the Northman's lance swung through the air, missing completely.
At the third pass, there was another stupendous cavalcade of noise as the two men struck at each other. Ser Leobald's lance bounced off Ser Devan's shield. But Ser Devan's lance landed the Northman a solid blow to the helmet, causing him to be knocked back in his saddle. The crowd shouted in concern, then applauded when the man kept his horse. A couple of nearby Lannisters cursed in the stands near Cerenna.
But Ser Leobald did not retake his place at the end of the sand. Instead, his horse meandered a bit and then stopped. Ser Leobald's lance dropped from his hand, and everyone looked on as the man seemed to wilt in his saddle, before slipping down over his horse's neck and then falling from the saddle. He did not move. When his squire reached him, the boy pulled off his helmet and everyone could see that was blood coming out of his ears. They carried him away, but Cerenna knew they were not going to take him to any tent to repair. He would be send back to Bear Island in a casket.
"A bad start," said her mother.
The day ultimately belonged to Lord Ben Herston, with Ser Devan taking second, but Cerenna barely paid any attention after the death of Ser Leobald.
"I must go check on Lord Rodrik," Tyrion announced. "Please excuse me, your grace." He bowed low to the King, who gave him a nod of ascension.
"My lady," said Tyrion, passing his wife. He stopped in front of Cerenna.
"Daughter, I was wondering if you would accompany me," he said.
"What business would I have with some hurt Ironman?" asked Cerenna. Her tone came too sharp and too loud, and she instantly regretted it, but she had not been able to disguise her anger.
"A beautiful young woman can be a soothing presence to a wounded man," said Tyrion. He looked up at his daughter with pleading eyes. "I would be deeply in your debt."
Cerenna sighed, and stood. Tyrion nodded and led the way.
"I want you to understand," said Tyrion, as they walked. "What I did was not meant to hurt you."
"No," said Cerenna. "But it you knew it would."
Now it was Tyrion's turn to sigh. "Perhaps I did," he said.
"But you never expect me to find out," said Cerenna.
"Well, I had hoped you wouldn't."
"Did you mean to hurt Mother?"
"Margaery and I have never been very close," said Tyrion. "She seems to believe she was meant for more wondrous things than wife of the Hand."
"Which excuses you to behave with impropriety?" asked Cerenna.
"There is more to life than being proper, Cerenna," Tyrion answered. "You learned how to wield a sword. That's not proper for a lady. But I humored you. And one would be hard pressed to claim that your mother has behaved properly in our marriage."
"Why are you telling me this?" asked Cerenna. "You're striking out at her, but if you think you ennoble yourself in my eyes by doing so, you are sadly mistaken."
"I apologize," said Tyrion. He stopped at the flaps of a tent. "I apologize for everything. Even Deanna."
"Promise me it won't happen again."
"I can't, sweetling," said Tyrion. He sighed. "I can only be sorry for it happening." He turned, and entered the tent.
Uncle Jaime found her standing there a few minutes later. He had a wineskin hanging from his shoulder, and Cerenna could see stains on his white cloak from where he'd wiped his lips with it.
"What's the matter, girl?" he asked.
"I saw my father with different eyes today," she said.
"Ah, yes," said Jaime. He offered her the wine skin, and she took it wordlessly and drank. "A hard thing when that happens. Where is my lordly brother now?"
"In there, with Lord Rodrik," said Cerenna, indicating the tent.
"With Lord Rodrik, you say?" asked Jaime. "Did you know, I have oftentimes at court seen Lord Rodrik insult and provoke your father, and receive hardly a rebuke in return?"
Cerenna shook her head. She had not heard that.
"For years the man has been tormenting him. And now Tyrion's in there, tending to the man's wounds, you say? This I have to see with my own eyes."
Jaime pushed past her, into the tent, and Cerenna felt compelled to follow.
Inside, Maester Alfgar was putting vials back into a bag. Bryce and Tyrion stood nearby a cot, and on it Lord Rodrik lay. His leg was set in a splint, but he seemed strange. When Cerenna looked closely at him, she could see his chest did not rise and fall with breath. He was dead.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Bryce and Tyrion looked at her in surprise, and then at each other.
"We're paying our debts," said Bryce, finally. "As good Lannisters should."