Silver Stag

Rumours

[King's Landing - Red Keep, Cersei's Chambers]

Cersei sat alone in her chambers, with a pitcher of wine, looking out on the balcony when a knock sounded.

"Come in!" She hollered, not moving an inch.

"Your Grace." Master Pycelle said.

Cersei huffed, already annoyed with the man. "What is it?"

"Uh-um..."

"Spit it out!"

"It brings me no joy to tell you this, but there have been rumours..."

"Rumours about what?"

"The Princess Aelinor."

"What about my daughter?"

"It would appear she was sighted in Flea Bottom."

"Flea Bottom? What on Earth would she be doing in Flea Bottom?"

"If the rumours are to be believed, she was in a pleasure house. But that is not all. She was seen with a man with silver hair."

"Silver hair?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Now, we both know there are few possibilities of who this man could be."

"Viserys is dead. Killed by his sister's husband."

"Yes, Your Grace. I know. But there is another possibility. "

"You don't mean..."

"Daemon Targaryen, the Mad King's only remaining son."

"Who else knows of this?" Cersei questioned.

"I cannot say for certain. But your Lord father wished to discuss moving up the Princesses wedding to quell any further rumors or slights to her reputation."

"Bring the Princess to me."

"At once Your Grace." He bowed and exited.

Shortly after there was a knock on the door.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace."

"You're lucky you're grandfather is not here..." Cersei told her daughter before the door swung open.

"A brothel?! You are a Princess of the Realm. What in the Seven Hells were you doing in a brothel?!" Her grandfather, Tywin Lannister, stormed in.

"Speak of the devil and he shall arrive," Aelinor muttered to herself before turning to her grandfather. "Are you not even going to ask me if it is true?"

"It does not matter if it is true. All that matters is the perception." He huffed. "Your courtship is at an end. You will wed Ser Loras Tyrell and you will do so without protest," her grandfather told her.

"So I can be an end to your political headache?"

"You are my political headache," he shouted at her.

"Father..." Cersei interjected, causing him to turn to her.

"Don't even get me started with you. Can you not even control your own children? If word got out, we would risk losing the Reach..."

"Of course," Aelinor laughed sarcastically, causing them both to look at her. "That's all that matters to you. Isn't it, grandfather?"

"You should consider yourself lucky. Your brother could have betrothed you to some fat, old Lord."

"Yes, 'lucky'. You know if I were Joffrey or Tommen, I could father a dozen bastards and no one would blink an eye."