The Red Viper strikes a Lioness
284 AC
Cersei I
On the day of her wedding Cersei Lannister could find only one joy: she would not gift Oberyn Martell her maidenhead for it had been given to Jaime years prior. Her betrothed had a fearsome reputation, even her lord father claimed the Dornishman was half-mad. Tywin Lannister had rejected the Princess of Dorne’s offer to unite their great houses, but King Rhaegar had insisted upon it. She had hoped, as well as her father, to wed then Prince Rhaegar himself years back however she was given another prince. A prince that would never make her queen.
The fair-maid sat stoically with Lannister pride as her maids readied her for her wedding, her Aunt Genna overseeing the preparations. The fat, voluptuous Lannister had taken on a maternal roll after Joanna Lannister had died in childbed. The older woman had never treated her as a child nor tried to hide her from ugly truths. It was Lady Genna that had told her of her betrothed’s bastard daughters and how he even beds boys. Her aunt taught her how to make pessaries to keep his seed from catching.
She stood as the women made to dress her in her new gown. The smallclothes were all silk, while the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-gold and lined with golden satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves pooled on the floor when she lowered her arms. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee was crossed with trim embroidered with Lannister lions, bringing down the sun and spear of the Martells. The slash was awash with heavily sexualized, ripe with ripe red pomegranates. The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Cersei had to hold her breath as she was laced into it. they brought her new shoes, soft slippers of red doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers.
“You are the most beautiful bride, Cersei,” her long-time friend, Jayne Farman, crooned over her. Jayne braided her golden hair into a crown of braids and pined it with a net set with emeralds, the deep green made her own green eyes appear darker.
“I am,” she agreed. She was beautiful, Cersei thought to herself as she admired her reflection, as beautiful as the Maiden.
“As she well should, she’s a Lannister,” Lady Genna studied her critically. “A few more gems. The emeralds I gave her on her last name-day.”
When the emeralds hung from Cersei’s ears and about her neck, Lady Genna nodded. “Lord Tywin paid no expense on her trousseau, only the finest dressmakers and jewelers would do.”
“A shame it’s all wasted on that viper,” Cersei stated so coolly that none, not even herself, would guess at how nervous she was. A lion doesn’t cower she would tell herself whenever she would begin to feel apprehensive.
Genna Lannister ignored her. “The cloak,” she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of fine red silk with a fierce lion embroidered upon it with golden thread. Smiling, Genna, placed it over her shoulders. “Your mother’s bridal-cloak,” she said fastening it about her neck with a slender gold chain.
“It would be truer to call it a slave-collar.”
“It’s a fine match, my dear. Your own lady mother would approve.”
“My mother is dead so there is no point in wondering what she would think,” the bride brushed away her aunts’ words.
“He’s a handsome man and worldly,” Genna reassured her firmly. “Would you rather have an inept man like my own I was wed too? The Seven damn that Lannister pride in you. Many other ladies would gladly take your place.”
“Let them,” Cersei snapped, turning on her aunt. “I was to wed Prince Rhaegar! Father promised! You Promised!” She would not cry. Not in front of her aunt and especially not before incompetent and simple girls that were forced into her company. She hated them, she always had hated her agemates and ladies-in-waiting, they were beneath her. Only Rhaegar would do for her – or Jaime she thought.
She hadn’t realized her aunt had struck her until her cheek began stinging followed closely with the slight taste of copper. She trembled as she looked upon her Lady Aunt, gone was the sweet gentle woman who had helped raised her. The fury this woman adorned could only be matched at the fury of Tywin Lannister.
“You selfish, selfish girl,” her aunt hissed then ordered the girls out. She waited till well after they were alone before resuming speaking to Cersei.
“Your father should have beaten you more. Maybe then you would do as you are told! It’s not fair, I agree, but a woman marries whomever her father or king bids. Now, the King bids you marry Oberyn Martell and marry Oberyn Martell you will. I learned to live with my own oaf bridegroom and so can you. There are two courses in which we may proceed. You can enter the sept on your Lord Father’s arm, or you can be dragged in. The choice is entirely up to you, dear.”
“How dare,” was all Cersei was able to say before Genna slapped her again.
“Oh, I dare, my dear and your father would dare even more.” With hand to her cheek, Cersei returned to her seat. Her aunt softened at that and smiled.
“Now, shall I summon the guards to escort you to the sept? They will carry you if they must or you can keep your remaining dignity and walk alongside me.” Cersei glared at her aunt, took a deep breath.
“I’ll go.”
“Good.” Genna smiled.
She would never be able to remember leaving the room nor descending the stairs or crossing the yard. It took everything she had to keep her head held high in front of the others. Lannister guards walked beside her, in cloaks as red as hers. Lord Tywin was waiting for her on the steps of the castle sept. Lord Lannister was magnificent in crimson and gold, the legend of the Lion of Lannister made true.
Her father looked her over with a critical eye. He circled her as she held her breath, his Lannister pride knew no match and he always made sure every Lannister looked the part. If someone did not reflect favorable on House Lannister, they simply were never seen. She held her head up high; she was his shinning jewel she knew. One he was giving away, she thought bitterly. At last, he nodded giving her no other praise but offered her his arm.
“Grant me a word alone with my daughter,” Lord Tywin commanded. Her escort drew off a few feet.
“Today you represent House Lannister,” her father began. “You have always claimed that you are the only one of your siblings who is truly a Lannister. Today is your chance to prove it. I don’t want this marriage any more than you do but it must be. Today House Lannister will prove its loyalty to House Targaryen, and you will do that.”
Proving myself a true Lannister by being sold like a brood mare, she wanted to spit, He is a Dornishman and a Martell. Not the Targaryen you promised me. If you were a true Lannister I would have wed Rhaegar. “As you say, father,” she replied coldly.
Tywin took her slim arm in his. “Come, then. Let us show the Seven Kingdoms that House Lannister is as loyal as any other.”
He led her in and up to the marriage altar, the septon waiting between the Mother and the Father to join her to a husband she did not want. She felt resentment boiling up at Aunt Genna’s lies, resentment for her father to allow this union, and resentment for the king who had spurred her. Rhaegar stood near the front with Queen Elia and his mother, whose hands rested gently on Viserys’ shoulders. Stannis Baratheon with his younger brother, Renly. The Tyrell’s who had swarmed to Kings Landing to reap their rewards for staying loyal to the Targaryens. And the salty Martell’s standing across from the royal family, though one stole her gaze.
Cersei’s stomach fluttered as she saw her betrothed for the first time. The Dornishman was tall, slim, graceful, and clad in flowing robes of striped orange, yellow, and scarlet. The prince’s face was smooth and saturnine, with thin arched brows above large eyes as black and shiny as pools of coal oil. Only a few streaks of silver marred his lustrous black hair that receded from his brow in a widow’s peak as sharply pointed as his nose. She could see the viper in him, the way eyes tracked her every movement waiting to strike. He looked over his prize like an appraiser as Lord Tywin brought her to him, and he seemed to like what he was gifted.
The ceremony passed as in a haze. Cersei did all that was required of her. Reciting prayers and vows and singing, all flew from her red lips perfectly rehearsed. She wanted to cry but she would not shame herself or her father, a lion does not balk. She did tremble though when it came to the changing of the cloaks.
Her father unfastened the crimson weight from behind her and swept it away with a kingly flourish. Oberyn stepped forward, the cloak he held was huge and heavy, burnt orange velvet, with a sun made of rubies pierced by a spear of golden satin. Sweeping it over her shoulders, he clasped it closed and allowing his hands a brush of each breast which lingered to give them a light squeeze. He tenderly kissed her cheek and withdrew.
When Cersei turned the man was gazing down at her with hungry, lust filled eyes. She did not know how she felt about how he looked at her and she didn’t care for the confusion in herself. She smoothed her skirts and made her vows, “With this kiss I pledge my love, take you for my lord and husband.”
“With this kiss I pledge my love,” the prince replied with his sultry accented voice. “and take you for my lady and wife.” He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, he pulled her into his hard body, and she found his passion stirring. Her head spun like never before. Cersei’s body wanted to collapse into this man’s well-muscled arms but a part of her would not let herself.
He is handsome, she admitted to herself. Yet I will never love him, I do not trust what he does to me.
The septon raised his crystal high, the rainbow lights bathed them. “Here in the sight of gods and men,” he said, “I do solemnly proclaim Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell and Cersei of House Lannister to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”
Perhaps Aunt Genna was right, she thought, she could have done worse than this swarthy man who was now her husband. He may not be able to gift her a queen crown, but he was a prince.
Oberyn entered the tourney’s himself later that day, bowing deeply to her and placing a kiss to her hand. He road well and unhorsed half a dozen men and during the melee he was unpredictable and quick like a water snake. The wedding feast took place in the Great Hall upon her father’s insistence. Oberyn shared a trencher with her and have her the choicest portions, but she tasted none of it.
The bedding ceremony loomed over her as she danced her way through partners, she would never be able to remember whom she partnered with or how many if she tried. Her Dornish husband didn’t dance with her, instead her made his way through the ladies and even once, to her horror, a squire. His deep laugh brushed the scandal away as good fun and he returned to partnering with the women. Even dancing and making Jayne burn read she noticed annoyingly.
“Lady Cersei,” Prince Lewyn Martell caught her attention. “Would you honor me?”
“The honor is all mine, ser knight,” she replied graciously, placing her hand in his she allowed him to guide her across the dance floor.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I must speak. I have never seen a more miserable bride at her own wedding. I’ve seen many brides married to men who could be their own grandfather’s and men who I would repulse to have touch me.”
“I am overwhelmed, it is all,” she brushed his concern aside. “Never had I dreamt of a more marvelous match for House Lannister.”
“A match once spurned by your father, if I remember correctly,” he replied as simply as if they were discussing the weather.
“My father had more ambitious plans for my marriage, yet it seems those were not meant to be,” she said as if it were nothing. As if being queen was nothing. The older man studied her carefully before he spoke again.
“I do not say this as an uncle of a beloved nephew but as a man of the Kingsguard. With Rhaegar you may have been queen, but you would not have been happy. I have witnessed the abuse my niece suffered from the Mad King, her heartache at Rhaegar’s betrayal. Oberyn has his faults, but he loves his family. He will love you and make you happy if only you allow him.”
Finally, the hour came that Dornish lords and other familiar faces surrounded her, and she was forced to relinquish her pride. She allowed them to carry her to her bedchamber, undressing her along the way. She chose to block out the rude jokes at her expense, she was a Lannister and couldn’t fathom why her father allowed this custom at her wedding. Perhaps the king had ordered it, or her Lord Husband.
The women follow with Oberyn behind and do the same to him. It was only after they bedded the couple down that the party goers begin to trickle out. Tywin was the last to leave and for a moment Cersei was afraid he would insist to witness the consummation.
“Goodnight, dearest daughter,” he finally spoke and turned to Oberyn. “Prince Oberyn,” he bowed and left the chamber. People stayed outside the door, drunkenly calling suggestions through the closed door. Cersei felt the bed shift and instinct had her flee the marriage bed, pulling the coverlet with her. Oberyn merely chuckled and rose as well, going to the sideboard he poured himself some wine.
“Would you care for some wine, most cherished wife,” he asked with a devilish grin. She held herself tall, remembering who she was and nodded. He held out a cup to her and she hand trembled more than she cared for. She brought the shaking cup to her mouth and spit out the wine as soon as it hit her tongue. Her husband merely laughed.
“Forgive me, I forget that Dornish red is not for everyone.”
“It’s vial,” she declared, wishing the sour taste away.
“Perhaps after I take you to Dorne, you will learn to appreciate the ways of civilized people.” Cersei backed away from him.
“I am not going to Dorne,” she declared. He looked at her as if she were a mere child that said something funny.
“A Prince of Dorne belongs in Dorne, wife,” he said over the brim of his cup. He slowly began to circle the room.
“I will not go,” she declared again, not caring if the drunks on the other side heard. “My father will never allow it!’
“No more than he would allow our marriage,” he japed. Anger began to boil in her, she hated being ordered about and being told what she will and will not do. She would not allow this man, husband or no, to steer her life. She sent her cup shattering against the wall, painting a red streak in the tapestry hung there. Oberyn stilled, looked from the smashed cup back to her. Pride returned to her, satisfaction that she had showed him that she will not submit. Perhaps he would come to fear her, she naively thought.
“I am Cersei Lannister, the daughter of Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King! My place is at Casterly Rock!” she all but shouted, stomping her foot against the reed covered floor for good measure. Oberyn studied her for a long while, so long that she began to grow unsure of herself as his dark eyes held her. He set his cup down and came over to cup her trembling face.
“No, most cherished wife,” he said with iron in his words. Fear crept over Cersei, and she did not like that. She hated being made to feel week.
“You are Cersei Martell, wife of Oberyn Martell. Your place is at your husband’s side.” She could not hold back a ragged breath; she was suddenly very aware of how dangerous this man seemed. She recalled the tails of the Red Viper of Dorne and his notorious reputation. How he had been challenged to a duel of first blood, but he had dipped his spearhead in poison the man died regardless.
“If you hurt me, my father,” she rasped but he cut her off by a callused finger to her lips.
“Your father will do nothing for I will not harm you,” his eyes drank her face again. “How old are you, sweet wife?”
“Eight and ten,” she replied after he tsked at her hesitation.
“Yet still a child, I think. We do not harm little girls in Dorne.”
“I am not a little girl,” she insisted but he chose to ignore her.
“I will not hurt you,” he repeated. “Though, I will pleasure you. I will make you feel things you never dreamed. Your body shall transcend beyond what it believes pleasure is, most cherished wife.”
Cersei could not decide if she was aroused or terrified of the man. She did want away from him though, that she knew. The thought of a lifetime with such a man was unbearable, without thinking of the ramifications she revealed part of her secret.
“I am no maid,” once it was out, she knew this could ruin her family and her reputation. Yet he may set her aside for it, have the marriage dissolved and return to Dorne. Perhaps he would keep her secret long enough for her to hire someone to rid of him. She was surprised again when he smiled and shrugged.
“So,” he asked. “Neither am I.” he slipped her underclothes off before ridding his own. His lust filled eyes took her all in and Cersei found herself doing the same. She found him larger than Jaime which oddly excited her. He caressed a thumb over her hardened nipple and firmly cupped her breast.
“Let us show each other what we have learned,” he said and attacked himself to her throat. She gasped as he devoured her, his hands exploring her slender body. Lower he went, kissing and sucking at her breast, messaging them with adapt hands. She found herself at the edge of the bed and herself falling upon the feather mattress, the cool silken sheets against her blazing flesh.
Lower still he went, kissing her inner thighs until he stopped at her sex. He looked up at her and she down at him, her breath coming in heavy gusts. When he put his mouth to her she was at first repulsed and made to push him back, but his tongue danced inside her. He worked deeper into her womanhood and her body tingled in euphoria. She felt her hips push into his bearded face, yearning him deeper. Then he stopped and looked up at her and let out a low growl of disapproval. She could not read his solemn face as he moved up the bed next to her.
He caressed back down her body to her opening and his fingers prodded their way inside her, and thanks to his doing, well worked womanhood. He worked his fingers as well as he had done his mouth and when he pulled them out, he brought the pessary out as well. He brought it up to her face and tsked again, his face growing dark.
“No,” he chastised. “None of your woman tricks on me, most cherished wife. You will not rob me of the children owed me. I will give you my seed and in return you will give me sons and daughters. I have bastards to prove my virility and I will not be shamed to the kingdoms by my wife appearing barren.”
She let out a cry as he mounted her, her hands digging into his well-muscled back. The men who were still outside howled with approval as he made her scream her the pleasure of their coupling. She had no more ill thoughts about her salty Dornish husband that night.