Disclaimer: All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, company, the asoiaf wiki.

Act 1: A Week Before the Betrothal

Cersei holds up the finished gown. Her fingers curl against the soft black velvet. She lifts the gown higher. The light through the open windows heightens the shine of the gold thread weaved through the black.

She smiles. It's perfect. A perfect gown for her Joanna. She can't wait to show it to her daughter, to see her daughter's face glow at the sight of this gown. Joanna will look beautiful in it.

Her musing is interrupting when the girl…Ami, Cersei recalls, squeaks, "Lady Baratheon?"

She gives the gown one more admiring glance. Then, she turns to Ami. "What is it?"

Ami offers a scrap of paper. "A letter from King's Landing came just now, my lady."

Her jaw clenches for a moment. She asks, "Where is my husband?"

At least the girl is smart enough to mask her confusion quickly. "He is in his study with Maester Cressen."

Of course, he was. "Are the children with them?"

"No, my lady."

Suspicious she barks, "Where are they?"

"Ser Renly's boat is prepared to dock."

Her hands twitch. Ahead of the betrothal ceremony, Renly was coming to Storm's End early and he is bringing Gendry with him. Both were probably eager to mark again where they once trod. Viserys Targaryen, too, will arrive in due time, with his Dornish wife, the pair looking like a twisted mirror of her once thwarted dream.

She does not relish having them all underfoot again, not that she had a choice. She never had a choice.

She breathes deep. At least she will not have to suffer such company alone. Her father already left from Casterly Rock and for once in so many years Tyrion left the Citadel. They too would see her next step towards personal triumph.

Jaime, too, would accompany the king and his entourage.

"Well, that's it then, isn't it, sweet sister?"

She swallows familiar bile and even more familiar anger. She refuses to let him dominate her thoughts. She has better things to do than think about her brother. He left her.

She exhales slowly. "They are headed towards the dock, aren't they?"

The girl smiles stupidly. "Yes, my lady."

"Both?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

The girl coughs. "I cannot say, my lady."

She almost snorts at the girl's nervousness. Even if the betrothal is not for some days, it would be good for Joanna and Elbert to put up a united front. If Elbert is to be the Lord of Storm's End, then Joanna, her daughter, is to be its lady. They should be seen together.

She holds up a hand when Amy opens her mouth. "You may go now."

"Yes, Lady Baratheon."

Her hands clench hearing that this time. With the girl gone, she moves further into her rooms. She drops into the seat facing her vanity table.

It's still her face. There is gray in between the gold, but, it's still her face. This face still belongs Cersei Lannister, but, not. It is the face of Lady Cersei Baratheon.

Lady Baratheon

Gods, it has been years and still not long enough.

She never wanted to be Lady Baratheon; not then. Perhaps, not even now. Yet, she allowed it. Why?

She grimaces. Stupid question for someone far from it. The moment she set foot on this pile of jagged, unforgiving rock, she called herself. It had been convenient.

No, that was not it entirely.

At the time "Lady Baratheon" served as a reminder of what she deserved and what she had been denied. It is good to remember such slights. The taste of Lady Baratheon in her thoughts and on her lips is not usually sour, but, there are moments like these that she remembers…

Since the first moment she saw Rhaegar in Lannisport she knew she was destined to be Rhaegar's queen. She would have made him the perfect wife. She should have been Rhaegar's golden queen. Her father promised her! And for what?

The one dream her and her father shared shriveled with one utterance from Aerys Targaryen's black heart. Oh, how she hated Aerys then. She hated him more when he forced Rhaegar to marry the Martell woman. Rhaegar could have had her and instead…and look what that wrought because he did not.

Though the dream grew bitter, a scant few years later the hope of being queen rose in her again; Robert's queen. Even now she nearly retches at the idea of wedding Rhaegar's killer! But, to be a queen to a warrior king, she prepared herself to accept it.

There had been no warrior king; just a babe tucked in his undeserving mother's arms. She could have tolerated being Robert's lady, the Regent's wife. Then, there was no Robert either. He never even tried to take her hand.

The humiliation burned brightly the second time around; perhaps brighter. There was no mad father and there was Martell again, clinging to what should have been hers, like an inescapable, odious smell.

When father managed to wed her to the proud and storied House Baratheon, it was to Stannis. Though lord of this place in all but name, nothing changes how Stannis was the second son. He was also a surly boor with an elder brother who was no better.

She never could bring herself to tell her father she is only called Lady Baratheon because Robert's careless whims.

The boom of Robert's laughter echoes loudly. Her mood curdles seeing the way Robert clutches at his Martell wife, pulling her flush against him. Martell does not protest. Instead she simpers and Robert smiles like he bagged the largest beast in a hunt.

Thin-lipped and flushing, Stannis argues, "I cannot allow that."

She heard Stannis Baratheon was stubborn. Seeing it fill her with no satisfaction. Nothing about him satisfies her: not his height; not his shoulders that are less broad than Robert's; not his joyless, blue eyes. Nothing at all!

She nearly sicks up when Robert presses his lips to his wife's neck. Her disgust grows when Martell cajoles, "Dear brother, in King's Landing-"

Stannis, stone faced, argues, "Storm's End is not King's Landing."

Docile and doe-eyed, Martell urges, "She will be a Baratheon. You are sweet-"

She is very close to retching. The tawdry behavior for her so-called betrothed's benefit disgusts her. Stannis Baratheon is far from sweet. Nothing about this is! Perhaps Robert agreed, but, his face is still pressed into his wife's bony shoulder. Still, muffled as it was, she heard Robert's chortling. Stannis' glower lasts until Martell stretches a spindly arm to join Stannis'. "It is only right that she be called Lady Baratheon."

"Princ-"

Robert lifts his face. Rolling his eyes, Robert barks, "Quit being bullheaded, Stannis."

"Robert!" Martell makes a show of being scandalized, jabbing Robert in the stomach with a thin elbow. Robert only laughs before turning to glare at Stannis, pressing a figure to his face.

"That's enough. If Lady Baratheon was good enough for our mother, it'll be good for the Lannister girl. You'll be in Storm's End with your wife, we won't. Elia has enough titles, besides."

Her spine burns as much as her face, Robert turns to his wife as if waiting for her approval. Martell pats Robert's arm, giving it. They share more sickening smiles.

'Elia has enough titles!'

Hearing her spineless betrothed sigh and say the words, "Very well", enraged, she draws herself away.

She is Cersei Lannister. That is the best they offer!

Lady Baratheon. Her lips curl.

She was given a legacy as one might toss a Golden Dragon to a beggar out of an open window. It felt odious taking the name then. She consoled herself with knowing those living in Storm's End blessed her for it. Yet, the sting of fate's betrayal only dulled with time, never truly vanishing. Now, with them returning so soon, all that comes rushing back. After so many years, she is still only a Lady Baratheon.

Her hands clench together so tightly they shake.

She tells herself to breathe.

She frowns. Rising from the seat, she knows she would be greeted with the sight of Stannis, clad and just as stern-faced as the day she married him. No doubt, he was grinding away at his teeth despite her demands for him to cease that horrid habit.

She tries to shake the resentment creeping into her away. Those thoughts will not serve her well.

They never have and so she rises.

For her children.

Her Joanna will one day be the Lady Baratheon. Her Steffon, one day, will be Lord of Casterly Rock. For them, she thrived. For them, for herself, she must thrive.

Was there any other option for Cersei Lannister?

Act 2: Before Her Wedding

She almost slams the door in Martell's face.

As if her mood wasn't sour enough with the wedding drawing near, she had been hoping the person knocking on her door was her sweet Jaime coming to apologize. She needed him to tell her he had been mistaken, that they could still be together in the way she needed without running away to be beggars. Yet, Jaime made himself scarce and now here Martell was demanding her time.

Having years of practice, she holds down her anger. Has Martell not encroached on her enough? But, is she not doomed to a lifetime of it now?

Hoping Martell is quick about things, she asks, "You needed something?"

Her hopes die at Martell's bland smile. "May I come in?"

She itches to decline. Instead she smiles and holds the door open. She is a Lannister. She refuses to be called a bad hostess.

Once seated, she gives Martell an expectant look, willing the woman to hurry. Under the false façade of calm Martell presents, there is an unmistakable anxiousness. "Typically, these things are explained by one's kinwomen-"

Anger and humiliation bubble up. She already knows what there is to know. She and Jaime…

It takes everything in her not to retch. She knows she must lie back and do her duty to Stannis Baratheon. She sneers. "I can assure you I know what my duties are."

Martell attempts to soothe: "I have no doubt. However, your aunts requested this."

Her uncles have kittens for wives, not lions, she thinks, uncharitably. And when did Aunt Genna become so toothless? "They came to you?"

Martell smiles ruefully. "Lady Rhaelle spoke to me in Lady Cassana's place. You are marrying a Baratheon. I am the last person to have done so."

Flatly, she replies, "I daresay, if you can manage it, so can I."

If offence was her goal, judging by Martell's cheerful laughter, she was unsuccessful. It just proves Martell is as stupid as she always thought. "I think I do have some words for you after all."

This woman had better not tell her to love Stannis! She prompts, "Yes?"

Martell smirks. "Stannis and Robert differ greatly, yet, are alike in one: they are both the most bullheaded men of all Westeros. Try to not let it affect you badly."

"It's affected you badly?" She thinks she would have enjoyed seeing this.

Martell laughs, polite and estranging and says words decidedly not. "Early on there will be days you stare at your pillow and your greatest wish will be to smother him with it. Let it pass."

"Only early days?"

Martell's lips twitch. "Mostly."

"You are satisfied with Robert now?" She is certain Stannis could never satisfy her.

Martell's eyes are joyless even though she smiles. "Since I learned to understand him."

"That's all?" It's a disappointing answer. Then again, Elia Martell was always going to be disappointing.

Martell advises, "Do not discount predictability." Darkness lurks in those black eyes.

"Predictability? Is that all?"

Martell answers: "A healthy measure of disdain helped."

Disdain for who? Certainly not one another. "You sound mad."

Now Martell's expression grows wistful. "That might benefit someone marrying a Baratheon."

"How do you mean?"

Elia purses her lips. Then, she asks, "What would you like from Stannis?"

Suspicious of what Martell is after, she questions her. "Why?"

Martell's face grows thoughtful. "I do have some wisdom for you, after all."

Despite herself, she is curious. Still, she sneers. "What's that?"

"To get what you want, you must give something in return."

Elia of Dorne truly is disappointing. "That's it?"

Martell grins in response. "For any desire, there is a cost. I know what Robert's is. Learn the same about Stannis."

She sneers. "You sound like a whore."

This time it's a laugh. "I get paid better," Martell says.

That startles her. "What?"

A small smirk plays at Elia's lips. "The coin spent in the Red Keep is different from the type spent on Street of Silk."

She rolls her eyes. She returns, "Whores get furs, jewels, and silks too."

Plucking up a chalice in her skinny fingers, Elia sits back to lounge against the armrest. "Whores never get a name, status, security, or legacy." Elia takes a sip of wine before continuing, bliss radiating from her face. "Each one of those is worth more than any pouch of Golden Dragons if you know how to use your head."

Begrudgingly, she allows the point is fair. But, only that. "It's not my head you want me to use."

When Elia laughs in delight, she sneers. It seems you can take the woman out of Dorne yet not the lewdness out of the Dornishwoman. Martell sounds like it too, when she drawls out: "It is. I know what Robert wants and what he is willing to give me in return. Stannis is not that different."

"Robert is not Stannis."

She thinks of Jaime and how he told her of how things shaped up in King's Landing. Robert spent the time in council bouncing the infant king on his knee making faces at the boy or cooing over Princess Rhaenys' childish attempts at artistry. The entire realm knows Robert is a simple man. Fighting, fucking, and indolence is all there is to him. Stannis is nothing like Robert. She does not know whether to be angry or glad.

Martell tilts her head, considering. "All men have yearnings waiting to be satisfied."

Her hackles rise at that too familiar warning. "Why the stress on satisfying my husband?"

Martell bursts out laughing. "You can cry about it to the Maiden, the Crone, and then do so to the Seven Hells and still you must do that."

As if she needed Martell to tell her this! Incensed, she spits out, "What sort of Dornish woman are you?" She knew Martell was weak, but, this?

Martell smirks, shark-like. "The kind who is married to a Stormlord living in King's Landing." Martell goes on, Dornish drawl thick and sweet as syrup. "Rather than concern yourself with what sort of woman I am, it is more worth your time to keep the man who controls your coin sweet."

She says, "Like you kept Rhaegar sweet?"

The mask slips. "Rhaegar is dead," Martell snaps. There's a breath. Then: "Robert controls the coin I get."

"He has visited how many beds besides yours now?"

Martell laughs airily, without any sign of rage. "I do not care about the number of beds he visits. I care about my children's security."

This time, she is the one who laughs. "You are so easily cowed?"

Martell sighs. "Is that what you think?"

It takes everything in her to not rip off the disappointment on Martell's face. "Then, what is it?"

Martell leers. "Robert strives to return of devotion he is shown."

Hearing this freely given admission burns. "I did not wish to know that."

Martell laughs softly. "You wish to pout about easily fixed matters."

"You dare!"

Unconcerned, Martell waves a careless hand. "I dare because you are doing yourself a disservice. I have been fortunate in my marriage so far. Why not you?"

She asks, "Are you fortunate?" She doubts it.

Martell tilts her head. "As much as I can be when my fortunes are tied to the man I married."

She admits, "There is no fortune to be had by marrying someone I never wished to."

Martell huffs. "Are you going to do anything different?"

Run away with me?

She swallows. Of course, she wouldn't. Martell sees that, a half smile flits against thin lips. "I married Robert because it was best for my children. Think about what is best for you."

Stannis couldn't be that, she is sure. She snipes back, "The best was Robert?"

Martell tips her chalices in her direction. "Knowing what Robert and I must tolerate from one another since the beginning made things much easier."

Did it? Begrudgingly, she wonders, "You do not fight him at all?"

Martell laughs. "I have the sense not to give him reason to take an umbrage with me in public."

"What of love?"

"You expect love?" Martell sighs again, disappointment plain. "First, try to find something you like, first. Love may follow."

Even Martell doubts it. She holds in a sneer. "Is there something to like?"

How can anyone like being married to a Baratheon? Compared to Rhaegar? Who would prefer a messy, black mops to that glorious mane of silver? Rhaegar was as bright as the sun, gentle and kind. Robert and Stannis were brutish and coarse. Then again, this was Martell…

Martell's lips twitch. "He is not a man given to pretense. You both are of an age. He has a pleasant enough face along with height and broad shoulders. There are worse things in a husband."

"Like what?"

Now face growing hard, Martell snaps, breathing heavily. "Like never having to fear your husband will one day kill your son for the crime of resembling his own father."

She stiffens. Not at the revelation. Rather, the way Martell quickly pastes on another smile unsettles her. "You have the makings of a comfortable life before it's barely begun. Why not from the start."

"Is that supposed to be enough?"

"Then pretend," Martell says simply. "Mayhap it will become real enough once you have a child."

She snorts. Martell can't give Robert any children. Of course, obedience is all she can offer. "If I do not want to manage even that?"

Martell tells her flatly, "It will be on your head."

"You are not good at comforting."

"I came here to offer advice, not comfort," Martell replies, shaking her head and rising. "At any rate, you clearly wish for none."

No. She doesn't.

Act 3: Five Years into Her Marriage

Stannis' barks a greeting. "What kept you, my lady?"

She thrusts herself forward when a weak woman would have turned back. Still, she clenches her hand behind her back. She might have struck him otherwise.

No, not quite. She knew better.

That her predictable, horrid husband gives her a predictable, horrid greeting ought not matter. Stannis Baratheon does not have the disposition for anything else. Only a great fool would expect anything approaching pleasant from Stannis Baratheon and who knew him better than his wife? "I was not aware I was late in getting to you, my lord."

He extends his hand. She holds back a snarl even as she stands beside him. She does not put her hand in his, yet. There is no one here to see it. There is no eagerness in her when his sharp gesture reminds her of a wielded weapon. No matter. She can withstand his and she can wield her own.

No doubt seeing the sneer she does not bother hiding, Stannis glares at her. "Did I say you were?"

She returns, "No, you did not."

His infernal grinding starts. "Where were you?"

She grimaces. "You knew where I was."

He returns her sour expression. "Shall I ask you again?"

"By that alone you already are."

He glares. She rolls her eyes, adding, "I was occupied." With anything else, the preparations for the cabal and the festivities are on her head, not that he ever cared.

"What kept you?"

She points out. "I have duties."

She knows better to count his reddening face a victory. "If you needed help-"

Incensed, she jerks away. 'Help', she sneers internally. "I do not need help." Who does he think he married! She does not need it or want his help.

"If you did not you would have been here."

The only reason she does not slap him is years of practicing restraint in her youth. "Look around us, Stannis. There is no one here for you to pretend to be accommodating for."

Ah, surely the gods bless her, his mood improved. The infernal grinding stopped in favor of simple glaring from his flint-thin eyes. "What does that matter?"

Stannis Baratheon would not be himself if he had understood her. "Do not act as though I commit a crime!"

"If you –"

When Stannis grimaces she barely restrains herself. "Do you not trust me to see to arrangements for my own household."

"They could have been here by now."

"It does not make a difference to Robert-"

For all that the lord of this place is Robert, he is rarely here. Even if he had been, Robert barely cares about the quality of wine he drinks, he is not going to care about anything else. Unfortunately, Stannis takes it upon himself to remind everyone this is still Robert's place. "He is not the only one coming."

She sneers. "Your precious Good-sister will not worry either."

"That is –"

Her lips curl. "What has you so bothered?"

"Do not start!"

She snarls. "You started with me."

The blessed silence is too short when he declares: "Of all days, you should have been here, with me." The last two words were hesitant, but, earnest. She does not understand that.

She pushes the though aside. "Cressen is already down there."

He stares. "That's not the point, woman."

She stares right back. "Then what is the point?"

"Must you always be disagreeable?"

Incensed, she snaps, "You are a fine one to talk."

His brow furrows. "Why must everything be a fight with you?"

She growls. Usually irritable, in this moment, her husband is impossible! "With me! You boor-"

He glares. "Woman, watch what you say."

She pushes herself closer to him. "Why?"

"Because you are my wife!" His face is red. Good.

Seething, she replies, "I never wanted to be."

He laughs. That stops what else she was going to say. Stannis never laughs. But, of course, it is no true laugh. It is harsh, cold, and just like the rest of him. Lips stretching to bare teeth, he spits, "Go then, I will make your excuses."

Startled by that, she stares. "What?"

Now though, he sneers. "Go! Woman. You did not want to be here with me, so go."

He expects her here, now he tells her to go! Must he be so infuriating!

She grimaces. Whatever it is, whatever ails her thrice damned husband she will weather it. She is Cersei Lannister. She will weather this!

She tells him, "I will not go."

His face curdled further. "Then, stay. Do whatever you like. You always do."

She almost slaps him. But she stays next to him. She cannot change that she is his wife any more than she can change who he is: a second son through and through. Her husband can only have what is given to him and gladly exercises control over what was given. And she was given to him. He is satisfied with that. She is not and will never be.

But, there is no changing him. Stannis will never bother extending himself for her. He has never wanted her to be anything except for what his wife ought to be. No doubt he would squeal like a stuck pig to anyone who would listen. The problem is that he has the ears of everyone who matters.

Robert's bellowed 'Stannis' hits her ear.

Robert bounding forward with Martell next to him on the arm of the old Maester.

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Stannis nods tightly. He holds out his hand again.

She squares her shoulders and pastes a smile on her face already preparing for a future battle she knows has started to brew.

The scene before her is irritating. Not that she laments seeing the back of the boy. But, why did Robert even bother sending his bastard here if he was just going to take the boy back anyway?

Some months ago, Stannis had been abruptly called to King's Landing and returned with a grimace, a sullen Ser Arthur Dayne, and a wide-eyed uncertain slip of a boy.

Stannis frowns, "Where else am I going to put my nephew?"

Clearly, she married a fool! The answer should be obvious. "In King's Landing," she says, snidely. "Where you found him," she adds, for good measure.

True to form, the teeth grinding stared. "I did not 'find him'," he snaps. "Yet, he was found. Gendry", Stannis goes on, lips curled, jaw tight, "Cannot stay in King's Landing."

"Why here? Can he not stay at Greenstone, with your uncle instead?"

Surely, the bastard can stay somewhere else. She already has enough to do. She manages this household. She has her own son, Renly, and Viserys Targaryen to look after. Must she run after his brother's bastard, too? And while with child again?

Stannis clucks at her, disapproving. "Robert is taking Princess on a progress of the Seven Kingdoms even as far as North, to Winterfell. Uncle Eldon is going with them. Uncle Lomas is going to remain in King's Landing with most of the other council members not joining the progress."

"Is this for the progress only, then?" She pushed enough strength in her voice to make it known what answer she prefers.

"No." Of course, her husband lives to be a disappointment. Even if by some miracle Stannis cared about what ailed her, if Robert demands the slightest of things, Stannis runs to do his bidding.

She barely holds in a curse. "Why not?"

When he looks at her like she was a dim child, she nearly lets out the curse. Not that it stops Stannis from growling out, "The boy's existence was made public. That is what changed."

She glares. "Robert has two other bastards in King's Landing. What makes this one different?"

He barks: "The circumstances. Robert will not have him."

She sneers. "He kept the other ones."

At his annoyed glance, she realizes, "Oh, so it's his wife's doing."

Stannis lifts his chin, stubborn. "It isn't."

She tells him: "Do not lie to me."

How dare he look offended! Stannis bays, "It was Robert's choice." More and more she is thinks it had to be Martell's doing; it must be. Robert is inexplicably soft on Martell in the way Stannis never was with her.

"What is different? They are hardly going to strip Robert of his Regency for fathering another bastard." Though there had been murmurs of surprise, it led to nothing; after all, Robert was king in all but name. And if there were someone who could do something about it, Martell hadn't seemed bothered. Then again, Martell was Dornish. They did odd things like that, over there. But, what changed?

When it occurred to her, she could barely keep from laughing. "It is because this one is a boy?"

Stannis grimaces deeply. Of course, he was always grimacing. Still, he says, "That has nothing to do with it." Though the tone of his voice would quell a lesser man, Stannis' expression does not instill any fear in her. It never could, and it never will.

"That is the only difference I can see." That must be painful for Martell, knowing that she was barren now and here was a living breathing child she cannot give her husband. But, why should she suffer for it?

He glowers. "I told you, circumstance."

She is already bored with this. "That is a word, not an explanation."

He grumbles. "Did you not fail to Arthur Dayne's presence?"

As if she could! Arthur Dayne, with his dismay and doom wrapping around him like a second cloak, is just another person her husband is forcing upon her.

Before she married, Jaime used to tell her things. Among them was Dayne's horrified objections to his so-called Princess accepting Robert's marriage; those objections fell on the woman's deaf ears. While Robert was firmly lord of the realm and the number of detractors shrunk considerably, Arthur Dayne was chief among them and still seems to be. What of it?

"No, my lord husband."

She had not known Stannis could look more disapproving. "He brought the boy to their attention."

She snorts. It seems a white cloak can only mask the stink of a Dornishman's cruelty for so long. But, knowing this is not going to help her escape this travesty, is it?

She shrugs, uncaring. "Why should I care for Arthur Dayne or his petty squabbles?"

It suits her just fine if that hypocrite is miserable. If she should be at Robert's whims, why not everyone else?

"Because Robert cares about the boy's age." Stannis' glare would have been fearsome for someone else. Woe unto him he married a Lioness of the Rock.

She sneers. "And that means I must?" Was it not enough that she was married to Robert's even more boorish brother?

Then, Stannis's teeth start making that awful sound. "As you say, if Robert is the Regent to the Seven Kingdoms, then I cannot refuse him. Is that not so, wife?"

He speaks to her as if she was a fool! She almost flies at him, but, only just. What would be the use? What would it change? The boy was going to stay no matter what she wanted.

She draws herself to full height. "I fail in noticing nothing, husband."

Stannis' face purples unattractively. "Then you notice I am not asking you to take the child to your breast?"

She withholds a snarl. "What are you asking?" Demanding, more like, but, this was Stannis. If there was anyone he asks things of, she is not one of them.

"Simple things. He must dine with us if there are no guests of repute. There is no reason to waste a servants time to take him a meal in his rooms."

Her fists shake with how tightly they are bound. Not only must she house him, she must have a bastard? At her table? A bastard!

She almost laughs. What else can she expect? Of course, her demanding husband wants more from her. And this of all things!

She forces herself to breathe. When her husband forces her to see poor Rhaegar's brother at the table, why should she not have to be seated next to her lord's baseborn son?

She takes another breath. Her son will be Lord of Casterly Rock after her father. Her daughter will be Lady of Storm's End. That is what matters. Nothing else. If she can tolerate being married to Stannis, she can tolerate a bastard at her table. Still, jaw tight, she prompts, "What else?"

When Stannis speaks, his voice is harsh as it is stiff. "Ensure he is fitted as a son of this house ought to be and the state of his rooms are seen to regularly. That is all anyone would require. I will see to everything else."

With that, he leaves her. She does not stop him. There is nothing else to say.

Anything is more than she is doing, but, who was going to listen to her?

After all that trouble, here Martell was embracing the boy while Robert stared at his wife as though she hung the moon.

She was close enough to Stannis to hear his sigh of relief.

He had not thanked her for keeping the boy.

At least Stannis would never force any of his own bastards on her. But, not because he cannot. It is because he could never bring himself to have any. Isn't she fortunate?

She bears it. She resents having to.

Her nails dig into her skin, her hands are clenched that tightly. It was bad enough Stannis was barely even looking at her, now Robert blinks at her as he hurriedly closes the door behind him. She barely holds in her disgust. The room he came out of weren't for him. They were his wife's.

"Have you-"

She stops herself. Why bother asking? Robert never felt shame.

"What are you doing up at this late an hour, Cersei?"

Robert sneaks about in the dead of night and dares demand an explanation from her? In her own home? "I could ask the same of you."

At his sheepish smile she almost reveals her disgust. "It is not what you think," Robert insists. His eyes soften, imploring. His wife and his whores might find this attractive, she does not.

His face pinks further. Of course, he is drunk. Robert should be better, but, he would drink by dunking his head into the wine barrel itself and even Stannis would not try to stop him. Stannis won't do anything about Robert acting a fool for his wife either. No one will. The many fools around them believe the love Robert has for his Dornish wife is sweet and pure. She knows how base those 'affections' are.

She slips back into the shadows of the dimly lit corridor.? What was Baratheon doing at this hour? The door he stood in front of creaks open and Baratheon's so-called thief of a wife slips out. Seeing the Martell looking so haggard fills her with a satisfaction she has not tasted since she learned who her husband would be.

"You dare come to my door like this."

Baratheon lets out a low growl. Then, he laughs in Martell's face. "'Your door?' Woman, you forget yourself. Let me in."

"I forget nothing."

"You forget nothing?" Robert sneers. "Remember Storm's End is my place, then." Robert leans forward. "I will do as I please with this door because it is mine just as you are. Stand aside."

Laughter threatens to explode from her seeing Martell draw herself up, as if she could make herself bigger than that frame allows. "Are you drunk?" Martell questions bitterly before sneering. "Of course, you are."

While she tries to suppress her laughter, Robert brays with it. "What does it matter if I am? Let me in."

"Go away, Robert. I have nothing for you. I will scream. You know I can do it loudly."

Her lips curl in disgust. Martell sounds stupid.

"Gods damn it, woman! Must everything be a fight with you?"

Through the shadows, she sees Martell's snarl. "The beast of the Trident indeed! You are nothing but a drunk and a liar."

When Robert's hands snap out to grab Martell's, she shivers in anticipation. Ever grateful she will never be subjected to this, it thrills her to see the weakling fail to break away from Robert's hold. "Quiet, you!"

Martell's glare at the towering Robert is pitiful. "Not when you smell like a cheap whorehouse."

Baratheon snorts. "You knew what you were getting when I put that cloak against your ungrateful back!"

Martell sneers. "Ungrateful! Me? You are the one who cannot do the one thing I ask of you."

"Do not defy me." Baratheon stalks towards his weak excuse for a wife. "Damn it all, woman! You are my wife. You know what I expected when we married."

The Martell woman laughs again. "All this drinking and wenching dulled your memory. I was not at your feet begging you to marry me. I took the hand you put across the table."

What? She feels her own face flush in humiliation and anger. When Robert could have had her, Robert took that one to wife? Robert asked her?

She shakes the thought away. It makes little difference now. Not when she sees Baratheon's ugly expression. She wonders if this was what Rhaegar saw before he died at this brute's Warhammer.

Baratheon snarls. "Watch yourself, woman! Your boy kept his crown because I let him keep it. I let your daughter sit on my knee. I gave you my name. I keep you in furs and silks. I gave you Mother's jewelry. I did not have to do any of that."

"A fine one you are!" Martell sneers, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Is that all you have to offer? Giving my children things they were already entitled to! You embarrassed yourself by calling out the wrong name while you were in me and used your mother's good name to fix your error. You dare paint me as ungrateful!"

Confused, she wonders what-Oh! She shivers in delight. Lyanna Stark. He said her name. Laughter bubbles up. Poor Rhaegar had been saddled with this baggage and now even Rhaegar's killer marries her only to still mourn his lost love. Oh, how sweet it is.

When that face purples and his bulk heaves with the force of his breath the sweet feeling intensifies. Not only would she have to suffer that, this only shows how weak the Martell woman is. She would have never let such an offence pass.

"Damn you, woman! I apologized! What more do you want from me?"

And quickly the joy flees leaving her a rage in its wake. No! He is not supposed to apologize! This is not-He apologized? How could he?

Martell grimaces. "Do not pretend with me, Robert. You took what Rhaegar lost for your own. It only upsets you how you cannot shout it from the rooftops without seeming like the lout you are."

She leans forward in anticipation of seeing and hearing a slap. Instead, Baratheon sighs, he plants a hand against the door, bracing himself. "You swore you would not refuse me."

What is this? This is the beast who laughed about killing Rhaegar? This monster, he should be angry, not this pleading thing. This is not right. This cannot be. How dare he? How dare they both-

"We both know what we must live with. The stench of cheap swill and even cheaper whores is not it!"

"Draw me a bath, then."

Despite her rage, she feels as stunned as Martell looks.

Arms crossed across his massive chest, Baratheon growls. "Since you are concerned with the way I smell, cleanse me. Draw me a bath. I know you had water brought to you."

Martell's face contorts. She hopes Martell refuses if only to have Baratheon angry at her once more.

"You will not leave me alone, will you?"

Robert snorts. "You know me better than that, woman."

Martell sighs softly. "Very well, get inside."

"Then-"

Revolted at his meaning, she grimaces.

Martell hisses, "A bath. Nothing else."

Begrudgingly, she acknowledges the woman has some dignity. In the next moment, she snorts. Clearly not much. Even if she has to marry a pinched-face churl, she will never have to sink this low.

Robert growls again, "Wom-"

"We have to be at the Sept early. It will be light soon and it's your brother marrying the Lannister girl. We cannot afford to be late."

There's a faint smile on Robert's face. "You will not let up, will you?"

Her brows furrow. Why is he amused?

Martell frowns. "It is late, Robert."

Robert picks up his head and drawls, "You will not bar me from your rooms for a fortnight."

She blinks. What-

Sighing, Martell returns, "Two nights."

Understanding what passes before her, she almost retches. How sickening.

"A week."

Martell makes a sound. Baratheon interrupts, "A week. I'll not play more of this game with you."

Martell relents; what little strength in that frail body is probably used up. Yet, she cannot take pleasure in it. Baratheon's burgeoning sneer freezes when the Martell woman continues, "A week. Only my bed."

Amusement gone, Robert hisses. "You complain when I go to whores. You complain when I do not 'leave you be'. Woman, which is it? Or would you rather I go mad trying to figure you out!"

Martell seems to wave his frustration away. "I want you to be the husband you promised you would be."

Baratheon snorts. "I am that!"

Martell leans towards Baratheon. "I asked one thing of you; not to make a spectacle of yourself. You are supposed to be the better man. Prove it."

Incensed anew at the undeserving witch's words, she almost misses Robert's reply. "I already did."

Proved what?

The woman laughs. "Save that sort of talk for fools interested your supposed martial prowess, Robert. This-" Martell points accusingly. "Is not what you promised me."

After a long stretch of silence, he huffs. "Alright, damn you. A week; no whores, no other women. Satisfied?"

Baratheon extends his hand toward her. Martell sniffs, but, takes it. "I'll have to be, won't I, my lord and husband?"

Face darkening, Baratheon draws himself to full height again. Despite herself, she is excited at the prospect of Baratheon's anger; that he might show himself to be the monster who struck down her dear Rhaegar rather than some weakling who shies away from taking what he demanded mere moments ago. "Let me in, woman. You've kept me out here long enough."

Looking faintly amused Martell steps aside, "If you didn't come to my door smelling like a brothel I would not."

Baratheon leers. "It is a good thing you are going to fix that."

At the soft snick of the door she shudders.

They are no better now than they had been. "What am I supposed to think, Robert?"

When no response is forthcoming, she prompts, "Well?"

Again, he gives her a sheepish look. "I wanted to ensure Elia is resting comfortably."

How tedious. "How solicitous of you. What prevents her from doing so? I hope it is nothing I have done."

Embarrassed, Robert flushes and rushes out a reassurance she does not need. He adds, "Elia had some trouble sleeping."

"Trouble?"

Then his face gets excited. "You were not at the hunt." Stannis stays stonily silent.

She returns her attentions to Robert. "No, I was not." She did not take up Robert's half-hearted invitation. She had no desire to see Robert traipsing after game with Stannis and the rest traipsing after him, acting as though Robert performs miracles.

Robert shrugs. "It's just as well, Elia was not there to keep you company."

She always found Martell contemptible. But, of course, what she abhors, Robert adores and Stannis admires and neither man cared for her opinions. They only force their wills upon her. She learned long ago Robert could do it from a distance because Stannis will let him.

She shoves down her annoyance at Robert's words. While their husbands hunted, Martell ventured towards the markets before sequestering herself in her rooms.

"Oh, does she not hunt?"

"She does usually," Robert says, smile beaming. "Cressen just confirmed she is with child. Isn't that something?"

Horrified she turns to her husband to tell her this is a jape at her expense. The look on Stannis' face tell her nothing.

Her stomach drops. Martell pregnant? Impossible! Martell was barren. She almost died the last time. If Martell has child, then, what about her son? Stannis was Robert's heir and her Steffon, his.

How could this happen? What happens now? What will happen to her son?

Act 4: 10 Years into Her Marriage

She almost rolls her eyes. Must she keep seeing Robert spilling out of his wife's rooms? "Is everything alright, Robert?"

"It's nothing. She is fine."

The pretense of Robert's embarrassment is as annoying as Robert's attempts to wave her away.

"What happened?"

Some strange expression flits across Robert's face. "Elia had a nightmare."

She almost laughs in his face. A nightmare? It's more like a flimsy tale to cover their odious behavior. "Since when does she have nightmares?"

Robert frowns as he looks towards the closed door. "She has not had one in in some time. Keep this between us, please?"

This time she does roll her eyes. Who was she going to tell? It would only make people simper more about her good-sister's frailty and there has been no shortage of tales about how attentive her good-brother is. She heard too much of that nonsense already. "Very well."

With another guilty look, Robert shuffles off into the dark of the hallway.

'A nightmare', she sniffs.

Even if it was true, what does Elia Martell have to fear? Her son is king. Her name follows a long list of titles. Everyone loves her. Her husband does more than tolerate her. She shivers. She pulls her gown tighter against her and rubs some warmth into her shoulders. It is not Elia Martell living with a nightmare.

Rather than return to her own chambers, she makes her way down the hall. Before slipping into the room, she looks both ways to see if she was truly alone. She opens the door softly. She passes through the antechamber and towards the bedroom. Now, she does not bother with trying to be quiet.

A sharp breath and the lump on the bed moves. She hears a growl and a shape rises from the center of the bed. She warns, "It is me."

Even in the darkness, she knows Stannis is glaring at her. "Woman, do you know what time it is?"

Of course, the time is what bothers her husband, not his wife, who rarely comes to his rooms, is here in the middle of the night. "I am not the only one up."

Stannis shuffles more upwards, squinting at her, clearly not comprehending. It makes her hate him. Jaime, she thinks with an ever-decreasing pang, would never have needed her to explain anything. He asks, "What are you on about now?"

"Your brother was skulking outside his wife's chambers."

Stannis grimaces. "So?"

"He blathered something about her having nightmares."

He looks at her blearily. "She has those still?"

Suspicious, she pounces. "How do you know she has them?"

He glares as though it were a deterrent. Stannis glares constantly. "Woman, leave it alone."

"You mean he is telling the truth." When he remains silent, she accuses, "You never told me!"

He glares harder. "It is not your concern."

How does something occurring in her own home not concern her? She hisses, "It is when you know what goes on under this roof and refuse to tell me."

Stannis turns away from her. "It has been years since I heard of it."

That only stirs her anger further. "Years? If this has been gone on for years, there is enough you should have told me. They have been back here how many times. Does anyone else know?" Was she the only one kept ignorant? Of course, she is. She is never one of them.

"Who else knows?"

Stannis grimaces. "Does it matter?"

"Stop that infernal grinding. Stop evading my questions." She almost crosses the room to strike him. "I am your wife."

"Quite. Because I am your husband and nothing to do with me, it has nothing to do with you."

"Quit trying to misdirect me."

Red faced, Stannis lets out a frustrated growl. "Woman, let me sleep!"

Sleep! Sleep? That's what he wants? Incensed, she screams: "I will let you when you tell me who else knows!"

He gives her a look of utter loathing. "I don't know; perhaps some of the Kingsguard might. Hardly something to mention since, as I said, it is an old matter."

She is shocked at one thing. "My brother knew?"

Blood rushes through her ears. The Kingsguard knew? Jaime had to know. He did not tell her. That could not be so. He would never keep things from her. But, clearly, he had.

What dreams they shared once…She was to be queen and he was supposed to be her Kingsguard. He became a Kingsguard, but, she was not queen. She was a mere Lady Baratheon of Storm's End. He had not wanted that for her and because of it, he was no longer hers.

He had been her other half once and now there were letters and meetings every few years. She almost laughs herself sick. Cersei Lannister might make demands of Jaime Lannister, but, what can a Lady of Storm's End demand of a Kingsguard? No, she could not.

She cannot pretend otherwise.

But, that does not matter; not now. She still has her husband. Him, she can make demands of. "Why did you not tell me?"

He frowns at her. "It is not relevant."

"If it is a matter you are concerned with, then I should be."

He looked at her as though she told him she was Boros Baratheon born again! "I was not concerned with it until you woke me up."

Impatient, she waves that away, "Don't you care?"

"No." Stannis frowns at her again. He presses, "Neither should you."

She snaps, "You should have told me!"

"Why would I?"

"I am your wife!"

He hisses. "You speak as though you wanted to be!"

Shocked, she gasps. "What? What did you say?"

Stannis looks as though he smelled something sour, but, he always looks like that. "Get yourself to sleep."

She never reacted well to taking orders, his orders included. She will not start now. "No."

He points to the door. "Leave me, Cersei-"

Only her husband could be found out to be a liar and still be stubborn.

"No; not until you tell me –"

"Why does it bother you so that I spared-"

"Spared?" She gurgles a sharp laugh. "You spare someone to protect them from hurt. You do not spare me. You lied to me about a family matter."

He sneers. "What family? You have only considered our children your family."

"How dare you say that to me!"

"You speak as though anything I do can hurt you, Cersei." Stannis scoffs. "You have always considered yourself intelligent. Go back to your rooms and attempt to suss my meaning out for yourself."

Oh, no…She will not allow Stannis to act as though she was in the wrong. "I will not be sent away like an errant child not by anyone, let alone you."

Stannis gets up. "You never did want to listen to anything I have to say." Stiffening when he comes closer, her breath catches. He brushes past her saying, "Stay here as long as you like. I will be in my study."

She grabs his wrist, sneering. "You never tell me anything. Even our daughter's betrothal I learned from Robert. Why do you not trust me with this?"

He spits back, "Why should I?"

"You are my husband, aren't you?"

Her husband, so incapable of true laughter, barks some out. "We both know I am not one you ever wanted."

With that he breaks free of her grasp and walks out the door.

Incensed, she hurls the glass of water he keeps at his bedside. The cup shattering against the door should satisfy her. It doesn't.

She sits at the high table, dissatisfied as she breaks her fast. This feeling of dissatisfaction will not leave her. Not even her father's words of praise for her children, allowed her to feel differently. He rarely smiled after her mother died and he had few smiles for her, but, for Steffon and Joanna and to them, he did.

Her father called her children a credit to their house. Because she had not won him a queen for a daughter, that nearly felt like victory. Seeing her delightful children sit beside Elbert as the three of them entertain the young King, she hopes that through Joanna or Steffon perhaps one day her blood, Lannister blood, will mingle with that of the king's after all.

She should feel proud and she does, but, that does not fill her with as much happiness as it should. She should be satisfied. No one had words other than praise for her, but, there is no shaking the wrongness.

Her eyes drift to one source of her disquiet. Her brother. Ser Jaime. One of King Aegon's few favored. He'd been more than a knight. He'd been more that to her once. He was her twin. Her other half.

He truly is just Ser Jaime now. Once they had been inseparable. Now there was a gulf between them she does not know how to breach. She does not know if she wanted to. The only thing she knows is that she will not take the blame when this was his doing.

Jaime once demanded, "Run away with me?"

She was supposed to be queen, and him her knight. But, when they both learned she was never going to be queen, he offered her that. He wanted to slink away, to run like thieves. He didn't even bother fighting for her. He didn't even try to-

Not now. She cannot think on that now. She gets up, utters "I am leaving" to Stannis. Whatever he saw, he dismisses her without a word.

He probably was still furious at her.

She stays in the hall long enough to give polite goodbyes to those who matter.

"Sister?"

Of course, even now, out of the hall, she cannot even be free. Renly trails after her, clad in Kingsguard white she's come to despise. "Did you need something, Renly?"

He gives her a look of concern. "Are you well?"

She almost snaps at him. "I am," she says instead. Why would she not be well? Both of her children are under one roof, together, with her. They are beautiful and bright. Her children are settled. Her father is proud of her. What does she have to be unwell about?

"Are you sick?" She almost believes this show of concern since it comes from Renly.

"I am fine."

"Did you and Stannis get into a fight?"

She almost laughs. When weren't they fighting? She pitches her voice low. She will not let anyone overhear this nonsense. "What business of yours is it?"

His frown intensifies. She almost laughs in his face. Compared to the way Stannis can glare, even if he is a man grown, Renly's expression is more suited to a toothless lion cub. Whatever Visenya intended, that white cloak saps away everything meaningful in a man.

"You are my good-sister."

"I am aware of that."

Oh, she is too aware of it. It had been difficult trying not to look to where Jaime was sitting. If she'd never been wed to Baratheon, Jaime would have still been hers. Except, he'd left her, unceremoniously and unequivocally with a, "So, that's it then. I will take your leave, my lady."

And even Stannis does not want her…if he ever had.

"You did get into a fight with him?"

She swallows the response she yearns to give. "If I said 'yes' would you leave me be?"

Renly's wounded look increases her ire more than anything Stannis had ever done. "Was it bad?"

She smiles but she longs to howl. "Renly, hush now! Nothing is wrong. I am simply tired. Go now, Enjoy the festivities, if not for the children's sakes, your brothers, or mine, then yours. I am well, I said. Now, go back to the hall."

Ever obedient to the tone she employed plenty in Renly's youth, he falls silent and leaves her to her thoughts.

Martell says, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

Martell hesitates before admitting, "Stannis mentioned you had some concerns."

Of course, he would run to her! Embracing her bitterness, she laughs harshly. "The only ones I have are the ones he causes."

Martell frowns, playing at concern. Her concern will be for her Robert's brother; never her. "Is it about the betrothal? Does he not want it? Do you?"

"Of course, I want the betrothal."

What Stannis wants can go to the Seven Hells. She wants the betrothal. Her Steffon could have never had Storm's End since Elbert, all Baratheon except for the eyes, is hale and hearty. But, through Elbert, her Joanna will be the only Lady Baratheon. Her daughter deserves what she could have never had for her own.

"Then what?"

She will not discuss her marriage with Elia Martell, not when she could only blather about how much more perfect her own marriage is. She will not have it. "It does not matter."

Elia frowns. "I did not get your meaning."

She asks, "Did you love your husband?"

For a moment, Martell startles. Then, of course, she answers dutifully, "Yes, I love Robert very much."

"Not Robert."

Elia frowns. "Rhaegar?"

She sneers. "Have you had other husbands?"

Martell sits back, frowning slightly. "I suppose I did."

"Why do you only suppose? Did you not like being his wife?"

Martell frowns, tapping a finger against her lips. "Until I did not. His own actions do not allow for much liking. If you remember, he abandoned me."

"On Dragonstone, his seat." How dare she?

Elia's lip curls, disgusted. Whether it was disgust for him for doing it or at her for asking, she cannot say. It is a long while before Martell answers: "Dragonstone is a Targaryen stronghold. The seat of the King's heir is still the king's property. The men there are the king's; then, Aerys was king. Aerys had me at King's Landing soon enough."

"You hate him." Of course, she would. She never deserved Rhaegar.

Martell sighs. "I did once."

"Once?" She sneers, "No longer?"

Martell's lip curls. "Cersei, I've been Robert's wife longer than Rhaegar's."

This time, she is the one disgusted.

Martell laughs outright. "Robert has been a delightful husband."

Has marriage to Robert muddled what little sense Martell had? She says, "He still frequents whores openly."

Martell snorts. "Ten thousand nameless whores who know their place are more tolerable than a willing betrothed daughter of a lord paramount."

Was that a jab at Lyanna Stark or a warning for her? "Why so devoted to someone not devoted to you?"

Martell laughs softly. "Until I draw my last breath or Robert draws his I will have to live with him. I can either live well with him or live miserably with him. I will not apologize for living well."

She thinks back to their first conversation they had before her wedding. She says, "I suppose it helps Robert likes you."

Then, Martell gives her a look. "You think Stannis doesn't? After all this time?'

Martell does not believe her. How dare she? She knows her own husband! She responds, "He indulges you. He always finds a reason to pick a fight with me."

Martell hides a smile behind her cup. "I would worry more if Robert fought more with someone else."

"You must be stupid."

Martell only laughs. "You might be right. But as you know, arguing comes easier to our husbands than affection."

She replies, drily, "Robert does not have that problem." She sees that mor often than she'd like.

Elia frowns; obviously recalling a less savored memory. "He terrified me a great deal particularly at the beginning."

Even now the bitterness bubbles up. "All of King's Landing saw him put a cloak of protection across you back."

Elia snorts. "You put too much stock in piece of cloth."

She heard prattle about Robert being Orys Baratheon reborn. No histories show if anyone asked Argella what she thought. She would have said so, only, no one would listen. She learned that lesson early in life. But, she will not openly agree with Martell.

"What am I supposed to put it in?"

Martell gives her a strange look. "Is there one other person Stannis gives higher weight to, no one he makes all decisions of import with, anyone else he bares himself so completely to?"

She holds in a snort. Stannis speaks to few and trusts even fewer. Not even Cressen has Stannis' ears about every subject. "Stannis is not the type."

Elia is silent for a long while. Then, she asks, "What have you done to make Stannis want to be?"

Face heating, she snaps, "That again?"

Elia lets out another puff of laughter. "It is good you remember."

Was she a half-wit? Even if the words are useless, she remembered them. "That our husbands were stubborn? Is it that supposed to make me charitable? What about love?" She asks though she doubts she could ever love Stannis.

"That again?" Martell ways that away. "Declarations of love are wonderful, my dear, but, you know, I don't much care for them."

"Did your care for them die at Harrenhal?"

Anger at last! "No, but, I know better than to put love above all else."

"Did your mother teach you that?"

Martell's eyes dance with amusement. "Lady Rhaelle."

She blinks. The woman died before she was forced to marry Stannis. "Oh?"

Martell nods. "She told me she was glad that I was old enough to know what being a bride of compromise meant and that if I had any sense at all I should do my wifely duty properly otherwise I was courting disaster."

Incredulous, she asks, "And you believed her?"

Martell shrugs. "While her brothers and sister chased love, she was the last one standing. I thought it might not hurt to listen."

Would it help? It had worked for Martell. And even Stannis thinks well of his grandmother. Does she want it to work for her?

She asks, "And that was enough?"

Martell drily replies, "Robert only said he loved me after Elbert was born."

Despite herself, she gawks. "It should not take my being near death to hear sentiment from my husband."

Elia snorts. "I would not recommend it either."

"What do you recommend?"

A smile. "Enjoy the life you are blessed with: beautiful, wonderful children-"

She laughs outright. "Like you enjoy your husband's bastards."

Elia laughs. "I am pleased with all the children Robert gave me."

Once she was forced to go to King's Landing she saw Martell strolling through a courtyard with Robert's eldest clutching one hand and Rhaegar's daughter, the other. The second time she went to the Red Keep she had been forced in joining a session of sewing and there sat a new little dark-haired girl joined ones she knew, clumsily stitching away. She learned later that one was sired on a Stepstones whore. The last time she was summoned to King's Landing, Martell came out with one arm tucked into the young king's and the other tucked into Gendry's before she let go of both to crush Elbert in an embrace.

She sneers. "Gendry lived here the beginning."

Martell smiles, just as sharply. "And with me now." Martell gives her a look, then asks, "Did you dislike it?"

Martell never seemed to dislike it. Hearing the maids blubbering about how kind the woman had been about Robert's by-blows nearly made her retch.

Martell looks weary. "For what it is worth, I am truly sorry about that."

Because she hates Martell's obvious sincerity, she waves that away. "That is old business. I have to worry about now."

Martell asks, "What are you worried about?"

She says, "How can I love someone when the only thing he gave me is my children?"

Martell sighs. "Because when your children grow and have children of your own, the only person you have left is your husband. And to be happy or be miserable with him when that happens is your choice."

Act Five: Current Day: At the Betrothal Feast

She wanted a different future once. She might never stop dreaming of it. They were such beautiful dreams, but, they can never be. She is too intelligent to be that foolish. Some days she still wishes and some days she regrets.

She smiles at seeing the happiness on Joanna's face as Elbert leans towards her daughter.

She looks towards her beautiful, dark haired son clad in Lannister red murmuring in low tones with her father who has his arms around his grandson and heir.

She takes a deep breath.

This, she has, and it was hard won.

Stannis sits in his solar with a letter on the otherwise empty table.

She says, "You called for me."

As usual, Stannis is devoid of manners with his clipped, "Read this."

She picks it up. "What is it?"

Stannis's face curdled like spoiled milk. "A letter from your father."

Her father? She grips the letter eagerly even though she is annoyed Stannis read her private correspondence. But, both her ire and her happiness die, leaving only dread in their wake. Her father is demanding her Steffon. Her father never wrote to Stannis! And, now, he does it to demand her son? Impossible!

She did not want to let her boy go yet. She had been putting it off and making excuses She knew Steffon should go to Casterly Rock and cement his place as her father's heir, but, she could never bring herself to part ways with her little boy; not if she had to keep the other ones under her roof. But, now, even her father conspires against her. He was never supposed to write to Stannis!

She looks up to see the anger burning on Stannis' face. "You let your father think I am the one keeping our boy here!"

She rounds on him. "Why should he be anywhere else? He is our son!"

He huffs like an enraged bull. "He is my son, too. Do not forget it."

She laments, "As if I could." Steffon may become father's heir, but, with his black hair and blue eyes, there was no doubting who his sire was. She can never forget who her children's father is.

He crosses his arms across his chest. He barks, "It was decided that Steffon would be fostered at Casterly Rock. Or did you forget your father named him his heir?"

How dare he speak to her like a child! Through a clenched jaw, she hisses, "So what if I kept him for a year or two longer than Father wanted. You always hated that Robert was fostered at a young age."

That reminder hit it's mark as she knew it would. But, of course, Stannis was stubborn! He grouses, "I gave my word. I intend to keep it."

That only incensed her more. She knows her husband is a slave to duty and oaths. "Is that all you care about? But, what about our son? He should be with us, not shipped away as though we never wanted him."

Stannis's face goes red. "Don't you dare, woman!"

"Then why are you letting him-"

He sneers. "You think I want this? To let him go live across the country, let someone else's hands guide my son to manhood, watch as he bears someone else's name. But, I am because that is what he was meant for." Stannis sends her an ugly glare. "He leaves within a month."

Her face heats. "A month?" No!

Stannis bares his teeth. "It's either that or your father may well recall your brother from the Citadel. Or better yet, he could let any one of your uncle's sons take what is meant for our son. Is that what you want?"

No of course not, but, her father wouldn't do that to her. Could he? Would he?

Stannis grimaces as he gestures to the letter. He looks at it as though it was laced with poison. "A month. Your father is expecting him. I already sent a letter. I will not have it said we do not keep our oaths. Do you understand me?"

She almost flies at him. Of course, she understands, she is not a fool no matter what he thinks.

He demands: "Say it!"

She bites out, "I understand."

"Good," he says, making it sound like a curse. "I let you raise our children as you saw fit because I trusted you to do what was best for them and in return you made me look like a fool to your father. Do not give me another reason to regret my faith in your abilities."

Stannis pauses to take a breath before adding, "I will not let anyone jeopardize my children's future for their own petty desires, especially their own mother."

This time she is the one who grows red. How dare he? She demands, "Is that what you think I was doing?"

His lips curl in disgust. "What do you think this looks like?" He has the gall to look hurt. "If you wanted to wait to send Steffon, you could have just told me."

"Would you have allowed it?"

He sighs deeply. "We will never know will we?" He turns away. "Because you never bothered to ask."

She shoves down the lump in her throat. "Would you have wanted to?"

He looks away and does not speak for some time. When he does speak, the voice is not like Stannis'. It's soft and so unlike him. "Steffon is my son too."

She forces herself to ask, "Then, why are you so angry?"

Stannis turns back to her, his lips pulled together, tightly pinched. "You always call me a 'second son'. I bear that. What I will not do is allow your father an opportunity to throw my son away on the chance that your brothers change their minds or that your cousins are not as loyal as you believe they are."

Her father would not allow that, would he? "That is not what I was intending to do."

Stannis sighs. "I know."

She asks, "So, now what?"

Stannis snorts. "Tell me. You have nothing complain about?"

"I do not complain!"

He gestures to the open chair, huffing incredulously. "Any suggestions, then?"

Mind whirring, she demands, "Why now?"

He gives a look. "Whatever you have to say, tell me. I do not care to be surprised again least of all by you."

She laughs.

That is the start of something at least, she thinks, as she sits down.

That was the day she let her childhood dreams start to die.

Today, she catches Stannis' eyes. She is a very different person from the one who came to Storm's End. Stannis Baratheon had been good enough to give her two perfect children whose legacies are secure. He wants the same thing for their children. For that she tolerates him. More than, truly, though their fights inside rage just as fiercely as the storms outside.

But, if one thing the successes her children have made of themselves, she cannot a truth go. Soon enough her children will not need her at all.

And so she draws Stannis' attention she threads her arm around his. "What?"

"I am thinking of our children and us."

He glances towards them before returning his attention to her. His voice is pitched low. "What about our children?"

"I wonder if they will be happy."

Stannis frowns. "They are attending to their duties well."

She presses her lips together and presses herself closer to her husband. "There is more than duty

to think of."

He makes a dismissive sound. Just as she knew she he would. It seems he means to humor her, or at least, go as far as he was capable. "Such as?"

"Happiness for one."

He asks, "Do you not think they are?"

"I do, but, I am not only concerned about their happiness?"

"How do you mean?"

She presses herself closer. "Do you not think we deserve to be happy?"

He looks at her curiously. "Happy?"

He said it as though the word was a foreign concept. For a moment she lets herself embrace the bitterness she tries to keep at bay. "I do not think we ever started to think about being happy together. Did we?"

Stannis presses, "Was that ever supposed to matter?"

She takes a deep breath before making her own admission. "No, but, it should. I want it to."

Red creeps up from his collar. "What are you after, Cersei?"

She was a lioness of Casterly Rock and a Lady of Storm's End. "From you? What else besides everything I can get?"

He laughs, a brittle thing, yet, it is a laugh.

A few heads turn, shocked. Her children are looking at her, smiling widely.

This is not the life she wanted, but, in this moment, she is content, for now.