No Rest for the Wicked ━━ Game of Thrones

Two sides of the same coin

Jon Arryn was dead.

Esmae Baratheon lingered in the doors of the Throne Room, watching the Silent Sisters with a distant look in her calculative eyes. She could be cruel and she could be heartless, and she didn't care enough to try and conceal it even at the man's funeral. However, Esmae was not by any means stupid and was fully aware of the grave consequences his passing would undoubtedly entail.

Jon Arryn was a good man — a sort rarely encountered in their midsts, and, what was even more important, he used to keep the King safely at bay. Losing an honorable man was a tragedy, but losing an honorable man, who didn't let her father drink himself into oblivion and waste the crown's money on whores and gruesome tournaments was an issue. An issue that Esmae had to take care of before the Queen managed to take any action.

Esmae often found herself admiring her mother. When the princess was younger, she would listen to uncle Tyrion telling her and Joffrey stories about the greatest Queens the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen — Vysenia and Rhaenys, two sides of the same coin: beauty and rage, sternness and mischief. Oftentimes Esmae couldn't but compare them to her mother, for she was as beautiful and sometimes, if she'd had enough wine to drink, as playful as the sweet Rhaenys and could be as fearsome and unrelenting as the warrior-Queen Vysenia.

Cersei Lanniser was powerful; she reveled in this power and wielded it like a Valyrian sword, cutting through everything and everyone that stood in her way with a single swing of the blade. Another thing about Cersei Lannister was that she was no stranger to getting drunk — on wine and power alike. And that was exactly what Esmae feared the death of Jon Arryn, however natural, would cause.

Esmae raised her eyes from the captivating ministrations of the Stranger's wives and caught a glimpse of her mother's golden mane. She felt one of her eyebrows arch in surprise — Esmae didn't take Cersei Lannister for a sentimental type. Working her features into a solemn expression, the princess discretely walked towards her mother and joined her, all in complete silence. Cersei didn't acknowledge her daughter's presence in any way, and Esmae knew it to be a good sign — had it been anyone else but family, Cersei Lannister's guard would have been up in an instant.

"It is a shame," she finally said without taking her eyes off of the ceremony, "your father valued him greatly."

"He served him well," Esmae nodded and waited a moment before speaking the next words, "I am yet to express my condolences to Lady Lysa. I didn't wish to bother her, she was grieving so, and their little boy..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to write her a letter," Cersei answered, her voice distant. If Esmae didn't know her mother, she'd think she looked distracted. Or was it worry?

"Oh?" Esmae wondered innocently.

At last, the Queen's eyes left the procession and moved to study her daughter, "Lysa Arryn has decided to return to the Vale. Her son is the Lord now, it was time he visited the land he is to rule over."

Esmae felt a little tug on her lips at her mother's explanation — she wondered how much time it took her to come up with it. Lysa Arryn was a woman mad, and the only thing that would make her travel so far with her sickly child, and at such short notice at that, was the constant paranoia of getting murdered. A quite justified one, Esmae mused.

"What a strange woman," she sighed, watching the Silent Sisters circle Jon Arryn's body, "It appears she was in such a hurry to claim her role as Lady Regent, she forgot to lay her husband to rest."

Esmae stole a look at her mother, but Cersei remained impassive, giving away nothing, "She always has been rather...unstable."

"I suppose so," Esmae relented gently.