Northern Sun | Robb Stark

Chapter 19

The Black Cells were cold.

It had taken her many days to agree to such a meeting. She avoided it by taking walks with the different members of the Small Council, writing to Winterfell, checking in on Roslin and Ellaria. Anything that she could possibly do to keep herself from having to see her mother.

And yet, curiosity won over and soon she was requesting an escort to the dungeons beneath the Red Keep.

Eidalya held up her skirts as guards led her down the narrow, damp staircase with only a torch to light their way. She could hear the pitter-patter of rats, the dripping of water. She'd never come down here before, always forbidden by her elders. Stories of the Black Cells had never been far from her ears, but seeing them in person was something else altogether.

"She's chained and unable to approach if you remain by the door," said one of the guards as he led her down the final stretch of freezing hallway. "There'll be a stool and if you need help, you call for us, Princess. We won't be far. The King has requested we give you privacy but we must still protect you."

"Thank you," said Eidalya, not wanting to believe her mother would go as far as to attack her. But then again, it had turned out long ago that she didn't really know her mother very well. Perhaps Cersei had changed too much, perhaps the woman she was about to speak with wasn't at all the woman who raised her. Not that she'd done much in that respect but still, love or hate, sin or virtue, Eidalya could not pretend this wasn't the woman who birthed her.

They gestured to the door that concealed Cersei, the woman who'd once been Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and had now been reduced to a treasonous, incestuous, violent and depraved prisoner.

Eidalya stood waiting as they unlocked it, the light of the torch trickling in to allow her a glimpse of a woman huddled in the corner, her once shimmering golden hair now caked in dirt, cracked by the filthy air and probably infested with lice. The guards lit the torch within the cell and motioned to the stool Eidalya could sit on.

Once she'd forced herself to sweep her skirts over her legs as she lowered herself onto it, they stepped out, the clatter of their armor letting her estimate how far away they were. Not too far, not too close. If she spoke normally, they wouldn't hear anything. But if their voices were raised, the conversation would become available to them and all the other prisoners.

Her own breathing seemed to echo through the grimy walls, and at first, she didn't know what to say. How could she strike up a conversation with this woman?

"You've come," rasped Cersei, turning to face her. Her face looked the same, though a tad thinner, and most definitely paler. "I thought you never would."

"I didn't think to return here," replied Eidalya. "I would have liked to remain in the North forever."

Cersei laughed weakly, a derisive laugh that made the hairs on the back of Eidalya's neck stand up. "The North. How... puerile. Last I saw you, well–"

"You called me a traitor," recalled Eidalya. "You didn't want Tommen to trust me, you insisted my people murdered Joffrey. I assure you, they did not. Whether Oberyn is responsible or not, I have no idea. We weren't wed yet and–your Mountain made sure of it– not for very long. I've since kept my siblings safe and healthy. Why, even the Kingslayer is up in Winterfell now, taking care of them."

Cersei scoffed, turning away. "And now you're in love with the Stark boy. I did not think a daughter of mine would ever..." she trailed off. "Lannister and Stark, had the wedding truly happened, your grandfather would've... Well, no matter. He's dead now. My wretched little brother saw to that. Are you aiding him, too? I hear you arrived to discuss Daenerys Targaryen's imminent arrival. Perhaps you and your beloved murderer of an uncle would like to hand me over to her."