Chapter 3: Interlude I: Creating a Chimera Part 1
Quick A/N: Before I start let me tell you this is to set up next chapter. Which is gonna have Time-Skips aplenty, but this is to progress the character's individual development and to set up the Canon Plotline I have in mind. Everything and nothing will be as it happened in cannon, since it's prehistory I can mess around a little more than I probably should, but it is all in order to make Cannon far more interesting. Now that end part last time? Let's see how Cersei deals with her urges hmm?
Also fair warning there's an eleven year old sucking another eleven year old off in here, but it's purely for the story development, also Some of the stuff with Cersei is happening while parts of it are imagined, don't forget that she's an inbred crazy.
Also just so you fellas know, there's more POV shifts than Time-Skips in this chapter, I felt filthy writing that one half lemon, but it serves a purpose, as does Joanna's survival, A Game of Thrones,makes for a far more interesting read with the Lady Joanna in it no?
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(Casterly Rock, Lannisport, The Westerlands, The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Westeros, GoT Universe)
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(Time-Skip: One Year Later: 273 AC)
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It was 273 AC, the year of Joanna's Death and Tyrion's Birth. In that year, Rogar had formed a rapport with Cersei, but now her Mother was surprisingly still alive, probably barren but still alive nonetheless. She was up and about but still somewhat ill, but mostly stuck with a very bad fever and apparent headaches, however she was still rather strong in her health department, and weakened as she was she was expected to pull through nevertheless. Watching Cersei from the door as she reaches out to twist Little Tyrion's Cock, Rogar strides over and grabs her hand mid reach.
"Cersei, I know your grieving for the pain your mother went through, but the important thing is you still have your mother." Rogar says.
"What do you know of my pain?" Cersei demands heatedly try to wrench her hand away.
"I know more about that kind of pain than you will ever feel." Rogar snarls, before dragging Cersei to the wall where he presses her against it and places her hand on his chest.
"You feel that? My beating heart? To pay for my life my mother and twin sister had to die. You say it like I know nothing about how you feel and your only half right, because my pain is far worse. I have to live every single day knowing my mother died to bring me into the world, and my sister had to die as well. So don't you dare to presume to think otherwise.'' Says Rogar his eyes furious.
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(Cersei Lannister POV)
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His eyes were enchanting. His grip firm, it made her curious what else about him was firm. The servants gossiped, joked perversely when they didn't know she was listening in, giving her a rough idea of what went where, what to do, and how to do it. Jaime would be her first choice...but those eyes.
In a quick motion she leans forward and kisses him.
She delights in the fact that after a momentary surprise he begins to reciprocate.
She and Jaime had shared intimacy such as this in the past, but this felt right to her.
She felt his hands slip into her skirts, pawing at her. She gasped out a throaty moan when he touched her lower lips.
''Well, well, is my Little Lioness in love?'' A voice asked causing Cersei to grow aghast at being caught by her mother....and a little disappointed at it being over.
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(POV Shift: Rogar Arryn)
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For but a moment his adult Instincts took over, he essentially molested Cersei. At least Lady Joanna didn't see that part.
He wish he could fuck someone right now, but hitting something hard repeatedly would have to temporarily suffice for now....
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(Time-Skip: 3 Years Later)
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(POV Shift: Cersei Lannister)
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Jealousy burned a hole in Cersei's gut as she spied upon Melara and Rogar doing Perverted things. Melora recently flowered, something Cersei had yet to experience. Over the course of the last three years Cersei had grown significantly closer to Rogar, yet when she confided in him her father's plan to wed her to Rhaegar he grew distant.
By chance she noticed Rogar and Melara sneaking off, and after following them she immediately wanted to strangle the greedy little bitch for taking away Rogar's affections. She wanted to storm in, but she was rooted in place. Melara was clumsy in her handling of his Spear, she couldn't even take him very far into her mouth. His pleasure was clearly fake.
''Cersei. Ah gods Cersei! Your so good.''
There it was.
Melara was pleasuring him, but he was imagining it was her.
Perhaps after giving Rhaegar sons aplenty Rogar would give her daughters.
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(POV Shift: Rogar Arryn)
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Seducing Melara proved simple enough, letting Cersei notice their sneaking off without being too obvious was the hard part.
Now with his Cock out or rather in Melara's hands and mouth all his pent up Sexual frustration got some of the air let out of his tires. She was quite clumsy, but her saving Grace was her expert using of her tongue. It wasn't difficult to imagine it was Cersei blowing him, but even so this was part of the plan. He personally didn't like needing to engage in a minor sexual encounter with such an otherwise non-existent character as Melara Heatherspoon, but if the rapport he'd built carefully and the increasing affection that he'd built up was all in order to get Cersei to confide in him her betrothal at which point he'd manipulate her by being distant. It was all in order to facilitate his end goal of being Myrcella and Tommen's biological father in the effort of getting Arryn Blood onto the Iron Throne someday whilst eventually also making the Vale Independent.
Rhaegar was a lover of prophecies, well here's the gods damned truth: if it wasn't for that Hightower Bitch a Girl with Arryn Blood in her veins would've ruled ably and strongly, and that women was Rhaenyra Targaryen, and a son or daughter of his would wear the Crown someday, By Wit or by War!
But preferably the former if there was any sort of a choice in the matter.
But in any case it was the pre-stages of his foundation plans.....
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(POV Shift: Cersei Lannister)
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The crone's tent was dark, with a tall peaked roof. She did not want to go in, no more than she had wanted to at ten, but the other girls were watching her, so she could not turn away. They were three in the dream, as they had been in life. Fat Jeyne Farman hung back as she always did. It was a wonder she had come this far. Melara Hetherspoon was bolder, older, and prettier, in a freckly sort of way. Wrapped in roughspun cloaks with their hoods pulled up, the three of them had stolen from their beds and crossed the tourney grounds to seek the sorceress. Melara had heard the serving girls whispering how she could curse a man or make him fall in love, summon demons and foretell the future.
In life the girls had been breathless and giddy, whispering to each other as they went, as excited as they were afraid. The girls wandered for a long while before they found the crone's tent. By the time they did all the torches were guttering out. Cersei watched the girls huddling, whispering to one another.
Lord Tywin's daughter was the first through the flap, with Melara close behind her. Jeyne Farman came last, and tried to hide behind the other two, the way she always did.
The inside of the tent was full of smells. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Pepper, red and white and black. Almond milk and onions. Cloves and lemongrass and precious saffron, and stranger spices, rarer still. The only light came from an iron brazier shaped like a basilisk's head, a dim green light that made the walls of the tent look cold and dead and rotten. Had it been that way in life as well? Cersei could not seem to remember.
The sorceress was sleeping. Without a word, she threw off her cloak, kicked the witch's bed, and said, "Wake up, we want our futures told."
When Maggy the Frog opened her eyes, Jeyne Farman gave a frightened squeak and fled the tent, plunging headlong back into the night. Plump stupid timid little Jeyne, pasty-faced and fat and scared of every shadow.
The old woman's eyes were yellow, and crusted all about with something vile. In Lannisport it was said that she had been young and beautiful when her husband had brought her back from the east with a load of spices, but age and evil had left their marks on her. She was short, squat, and warty, with pebbly greenish jowls. Her teeth were gone and her dugs hung down to her knees. You could smell sickness on her if you stood too close, and when she spoke her breath was strange and strong and foul. "Begone," she told the girls, in a croaking whisper.
"We came for a foretelling," The young Cersei told her.
"Begone," croaked the old woman, a second time.
"We heard that you can see into the morrow," said Melara. "We just want to know what men we're going to marry."
"Begone," croaked Maggy, a third time.
The girl with the golden curls put her hands upon her hips. "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."
"Please," begged Melara. "Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."
"Some are here who have no futures," Maggy muttered in her terrible deep voice. She pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girls closer. "Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."
Melara paled, but not Cersei. A lioness does not fear a frog, no matter how old and ugly she might be. Instead of running away, she took the dagger Maggy offered her, and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb. Then Melara did too.
In the dim green tent, the blood seemed more black than red. Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of it. "Here," she whispered, "give it here." When Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. It sickened Cersei to feel how queer and cold her mouth felt upon her finger.
"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."
The girls did not have sense enough to be afraid.
"When will I wed the Prince?" she asked.
"Never. You will wed the King, but love the Lord."
Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement. After a moments hesitation, she took those words to mean that she would not marry Rhaegar until after his father Aerys had died. "I will be queen, though?" asked the young Lioness.
"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."
Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother and Rogar kill her." Even now she would not stop, willful child as she was. She still had one more question due her, one more glimpse into her life to come. "Will the king and I have children?" she asked.
"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and five for you."
That made no sense to Cersei. Her thumb was throbbing where she'd cut it, and her blood was dripping on the carpet. How could that be? She wanted to ask, but she was done with her questions.
The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds for two of the five," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."
"What is a valonqar? Some monster?" The golden girl did not like that foretelling. "You're a liar and a warty frog and a smelly old savage, and I don't believe a word of what you say. Come away, Melara. She is not worth hearing."
"I get three questions too," her friend insisted. And when Cersei tugged upon her arm, she wriggled free and turned back to the crone. "Will I marry Jaime? Or....Rogar?" she blurted out, before growing shy as she utters Rogar's name.
You stupid greedy bitch! The Golden Lannister thought, angry even now as she remembered . Jaime does not even know you are alive. Back then her brother lived only for swords and dogs and horses . . . and for her, his twin.
"Not Jaime, Rogar, nor any other man," said Maggy. "Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."
"The only breath we smell is yours," said Cersei. There was a jar of some thick potion by her elbow, sitting on a table. She snatched it up and threw it into the old woman's eyes. In life the crone had screamed at them in some queer foreign tongue, and cursed them as they fled her tent...
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(POV Shift: Rogar Arryn)
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Cersei and Melara fled, and now the stage was set for his first opening moves as a currently unrecognized and unknown Contender in the Great Game of Thrones....
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