Chapter Text
Ned Stark loves her. She knows he does. He’s loved her since Harrenhal. Still, it had not been easy bringing him into her bed. He is too honorable to be adulterous, which is why she immediately knows he is telling the truth when he says Jon is not his. Cersei doesn’t care about Jon Snow. She does care about Ned Stark though, and keeping him in her bed takes effort. He tries to do the “right thing” and stop their affair too many times for her liking. She convinces him to stay by lying about no one ever knowing. Jaime knows. Tyrion probably does too. She does not lie when she tells him about the abuse Robert inflicts upon her. It is almost enough to make Ned act out, but she calms him. She needs him alive. She needs him close. She needs him between her legs. And so, Cersei could honestly say that it was not easy keeping him in her bed. Oh, it was not easy at all.
It was worth it though.
Joffrey is their first. A bastard. A bastard of the North as heir to Robert Baratheon’s throne. A Snow. Ned had hoped that the child would be Robert’s ever since he found out she was with child, but she had always known, and the moment Robert’s letter of Joffrey’s birth reached Ned, he’d known as well. They’d been lucky. Joffrey has his dark hair, but her green eyes and so no one thinks to question his parentage.
When she carries their second, Myrcella, Joff is still much too young for them to know which parent he will take after. Her beautiful Myrcella is conceived during the tournament celebrating Joff’s first name day, an event large and important enough that Robert had insisted Ned both attend and bring young Robb with him. Robb was a boy of only two name days, but Robert had wanted to ensure his and Ned’s sons were the closest friends, as they were. Of course, Ned had had to bring Catelyn, who was with child, with him due to Robb’s young age and the mere size of the tournament.
Given the circumstances, Ned had felt an immense guilt riding him and tried to end their affair. Cersei had known what he wanted to suggest and had not given him the chance to do so. Instead, she waits for him on the first night with Joff cradled to her chest. One look at his son is enough to make Ned forget what he was originally there for and he spends the entire night getting to learn the boy’s temperament and laughter. Their Joff loves to laugh indeed.
It isn’t much difficult after that to convince him to take her again. She is in an abusive marriage. He does not love his wife still. She gave him a son who would rule the entire realm. He had been celibate ever since he discovered his wife’s condition and therefore was sensitive to her touch.
All too soon, the tournament is over and Ned Stark takes his true family back to the North. That was the last she’d seen of Catelyn Stark nee Tully, but it would not be the last time she meets Ned Stark, for he had left her with a precious gift in her belly. Nine moons later, she gives birth to baby Myrcella who is her mother’s image, with hair as golden and eyes as green.
By the time Ned Stark is in her presence again, the children are old enough to tell who they take after in both personality and appearance. Joff is certainly a mixture of the both of them; he has the Stark nose and his face is slightly elongated, but he has the cheekbones and jawline of a Lannister. He is as loud and demanding as she had been at his age, oozing with the arrogance of being born with a spoonful of gold in his mouth, and yet, he is also attentive and weary, conscious enough to know his “father” does not care for him and hurts his mother, and so, the child had grown exceedingly protective of his mother and sister. Her Joff could not absolve the King for hurting his loving Mother.
Myrcella, on the other hand, has none of Ned Stark in her appearance, though her personality screams a daughter of the Warden of the North. Quiet and her eyes cold, but as wild as a direwolf. She was a perfect lady when need be, Cersei had made sure of that, but she also longs to learn to wield a sword in the training grounds like her older brother. Her darling daughter, wilful as she is, had managed to find her way to Robert’s chambers once, and demanded to learn as her brother does, to which Robert had laughed to his heart’s contentment and released her with Jaime into Cersei’s care. Cersei had vowed that day to have her daughter learn to ride a horse and wield a single weapon of her choice, if only to spite Robert Baratheon. Her children’s sire has no say in how she nurtures them, and therefore neither would the Usurper.
Ned does not have much time with the children though. He had come from battle to King’s Landing with Robert after the Greyjoy’s had rebelled. He remains for a mere fortnight, and Robert does not let him be for a single waking moment. She can read it oh so easily in his eyes how conflicted her beloved Ned is between delight at spending time with his friend again, and disdain that he had but one celebratory dinner and a tourney to meet his children. At night however, she is privy into another side of Ned Stark that not even his wife knew of.
She had begged Jaime to guard her doors for her, to switch his runs and help her shield her secret. And so, for the fortnight he is in King’s Landing, Ned Stark spends every night buried deeply in her, worshipping her as though his life depends on it. Perhaps, she muses, both of their lives do. She knows better however. This is goodbye. Ned Stark will not be coming back to her bed ever again. His wife, heavy with child, attests to that.
Three moons later, when the Maester confirms what she already knows, Cersei visits the Sept of Baelor for the first time in many moons and thanks the Mother. Her fortnight with Ned had brought a beginning and an end. Tommen is her Northern blessing. He opens his eyes, and she coos at her own emerald eyes staring past her unseeing. She muses over their luck that all three Stark bastards have her eyes, and she thanks the Seven for that as well.
She discovers that Robb Stark attends meetings and other lordly duties with his father at eight name days. Thus, she sends Joffrey to attend Small Council meetings when he is of eight name days. It takes some convincing on her part to let Robert allow it, but not much, for the lazy king does not give much thought into who attends the meetings so long as he does not. Cersei smiles to herself in victory. Robert does not matter, but Joff does. If Robb Stark is going to attend to lordly meetings at eight name days, Prince Joffrey Baratheon – sometimes she calls him Joffrey Stark in her head, sometimes it is Joffrey Lannister, but she always reminds herself that it is imperative he remains Joffrey Baratheon in her thoughts so that her tongue may not err – is going to attend to Small Council meetings at eight name days. Her son will be better than Catelyn Tully’s son.
When she discovers that Robb Stark attends executions at nine name days, she draws the line. She does not know how Catelyn Stark allows this, but she will not allow her own child to go through that. Joff is only a boy, and she will not allow him to lose that innocence in his eyes quite yet.
It isn’t long before Joffrey starts paying attention during Council meetings, and suddenly he’s following Jon Arryn around like a lost pup. Cersei tries her hardest with Joff, but a boy needs a father, and unfortunately, Joff’s father was more than a moon away and the man who believed he sired him did not care for the parenting aspect of parenthood. Cersei tries her best though, encouraging a relationship with his uncle. She does not like him spending so much time in the Hand’s company, fears the man who raised her children’s sire would somehow see the resemblance. Worse still, she abhors his influence on her darling son, who starts spouting nonsense of hard work and honor. Joffrey remains adamant on learning from the Hand, and Cersei begrudgingly and reluctantly admitting that he learns well from the old man and the Maesters. Anyhow, the boy still trusts her more than anyone else and requires her opinions on most things. She resolves to divert her efforts to her youngest while quietly steering her eldest from the shadows.
And so, when, just past his twelfth name day, Joffrey complains to her one too many times about the current state of the Small Council, Cersei informs him gently as she helps little Tommen pet one of the garden cats that he is, indeed, the crown prince, and that should he want change, he must enact change. She watches for a moment as the prince’s face lights up with a thousand different ideas and he chases away to his rooms to start planning.
She finds him later holding back tears as Pycelle bandages his bruised chest from where Robert had thrown him to the walls for daring to question him. She comforts him and holds him until he succumbs to slumber before marching into Robert’s chambers and damning him with all her worth. It takes no more than one sentence out of her mouth for Robert to strike her. She wears the mark on her face with pride, spiting the bastard who orders her once and again to cover her face. Word travels fairly quickly through the realm but she ignores all the ravens she receives, only reading the ones from Ned and her father. Jaime throws a fit, and she barely persuades him to keep his peace. He is no use to her at the Wall, and she cannot deal with his tantrum while convincing Joff that her pain is not his fault.
Joffrey grows quiet, spending most of his time in his rooms reading and planning. She lets him. He deserves some rest after the things he’s gone through. Instead, she spends her days with Myrcella and Tommen. Myrcella tells her excitedly about everything she has been learning on horseback, and Tommen, her sweet Northern child, chases after the garden cats. While her daughter grows more and more into her image, her youngest grows more and more into his true father’s.
Joffrey climbs into her bed one night. He is much too old to do so, but she will not begrudge him one night. He whispers to her in the night about his fears and worries. She holds him and quells them in the way only a mother can. He falls asleep at last and she kisses his forehead. On the morrow, he goes back to being crown prince. On this starry night, he is only her babe once more.
Joffrey learns quickly that the King is more agreeable when he is heavy in his cups and possibly with a consort or two on him. His distaste only grows for the King’s antics, but he also quickly learns that the King hates no one but the Targaryens more than his Lord Grandfather, and so Joffrey resolves to silently influence a change in the Small Council during Robert’s more amenable stupors. He invites his Uncle Kevan, keeps Uncle Stannis, the Spider, and, much to his mother’s dismay, Lorn Jon Arryn. It's not like he would have been able to remove him even if he wants to. He removes Uncle Renly, who throws a fit about it, but the King ultimately decides that his will to remain out of Small Council meetings far outweighs what little affection he might possibly hold for his youngest brother, and so Renly leaves. Lastly, Joffrey had dismissed the weasel Littlefinger. His mother does not like him, and he cannot tolerate a man who makes his fortune in the whores his father so adores.
And Cersei watches, her pride ever growing, as her son makes himself a king long before any crown sits on his head, gaining the respect of not only his family, but his Small Council and the realm that knew of the boy prince who lead the nation.
And when years later, the time comes for her children and herself to march North to retrieve a new Hand, Cersei styles her youngest as closely to a Northern as she dares, converses with her daughter about cold lands, and assures her treasured eldest that the Warden in the North, the one member he has no control over, will make a fine addition to his Council.
For a single moment yet, Cersei feels like her bliss is finally within her grasp.