Chapter 17: The Lioness Arrives: Betrothal, Trials, and Tyrell Stratagems
The arrival of Lady Cersei Lannister in King's Landing was an event calculated to impress. Her procession was a river of crimson and gold, nearly as grand as her father's military host, filled with richly attired knights, ladies-in-waiting, and wagons groaning with the treasures of Casterly Rock – her dowry, and a clear statement of Lannister wealth. Cersei herself, riding a magnificent white palfrey, was a vision of Valyrian-descended beauty: golden hair shimmering like spun sunlight, emerald green eyes that held both allure and a predatory gleam, and a figure that even Robar's ruthlessly pragmatic mind had to register as a prime biological asset for dynastic purposes.
Her first view of King's Landing under its new management, however, must have been jarring. The expected chaos of a recently conquered city was absent, replaced by an almost unnerving order. Disciplined soldiers in Baratheon black and gold patrolled the streets alongside Gold Cloaks whose surcoats were suspiciously clean. BCR banners, with their stark stag-and-coin insignia, were nearly as prevalent as the crowned stag of the Lord Protector. The usual throng of beggars and urchins seemed… thinner, either pressed into BCR "urban renewal" labor battalions or simply too terrified to loiter. This was not the vibrant, if often squalid, capital she remembered; it was a city under new, ruthlessly efficient ownership.
Robar received her in the Red Keep's courtyard, with Lord Tywin standing like a silent, approving monolith at his side. Robar was, as usual, dressed in practical, severe black. His greeting was correct, even formally courteous, but devoid of any of the boisterous admiration or flirtatious charm Cersei might have expected from the legendary Robert Baratheon, or indeed, any prospective husband. He assessed her with the cool, appraising gaze of a merchant inspecting a prized mare, noting her beauty, her breeding, her potential value, and, his Observation Haki subtly probing, the undercurrents of ambition and vanity that radiated from her.
"Lady Cersei," Robar said, his voice a calm baritone. "Welcome to King's Landing. Your journey, I trust, was without incident. BCR's outriders were instructed to ensure the security of your passage through the recently pacified Kingswood."
Cersei Lannister, for perhaps the first time in her life when facing a man of power, felt a flicker of unease beneath her carefully constructed facade of regal grace. This was not the boorish, easily manipulated warrior she had been led to expect from tales of Robert. This man's eyes were like chips of ice, his presence formidable and utterly unreadable.
"Lord Protector," she inclined her head, her voice a musical lilt that had disarmed countless men. "The journey was… efficient. Your men are certainly thorough." She offered him a dazzling smile, designed to melt glaciers. It met with polite, impassive acknowledgement.
Later, in a private solar – a meeting Tywin had insisted upon for his daughter to "become acquainted" with her future husband – Cersei attempted to deploy her full arsenal of charm. She spoke of the glories of Casterly Rock, of her admiration for his "decisive actions" in restoring order, her voice weaving a tapestry of subtle flattery.
Robar listened patiently, his gaze never wavering, his internal monologue cataloging her attempts at manipulation as "standard asset courtship behavior, requiring careful management." When she finally paused, expecting some reciprocal compliment or expression of admiration, he simply said, "Lady Cersei, our impending union is a cornerstone of the alliance between House Baratheon and House Lannister. It is a contractual obligation of the highest strategic importance. BCR has projected significant long-term benefits for both our Houses from this merger."
Cersei's smile faltered. "A contractual obligation, my lord?"
"Indeed," Robar affirmed. "Your primary responsibilities within this contract will be to provide legitimate heirs to secure the Baratheon-Lannister dynasty, to conduct yourself with the dignity befitting the future Queen and chief female stakeholder of Westeros Inc., and to manage the royal household with utmost efficiency and fiscal prudence. BCR will provide budgetary oversight, of course. Your loyalty to my administration and its objectives will be paramount. Non-interference in matters of state and BCR policy, unless your counsel is explicitly solicited, will also be… appreciated."
The sheer, unadorned pragmatism of his words was like a slap in the face. Cersei stared at him, her emerald eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning fury. He was speaking to her not as a beautiful, highborn lady, his future queen, but as a new executive being briefed on her job description.
"And… affection, my lord?" she managed, her voice tight. "Is that not part of this… contract?"
Robar considered this for a moment, as if it were an unexpected clause. "Mutual respect and operational courtesy are conducive to a productive long-term partnership, Lady Cersei. Emotional entanglements, however, are often detrimental to clear decision-making and sound asset management. We will endeavor to maintain a professional and fruitful association." He then presented her with a small, exquisitely crafted ledger bound in crimson leather, with a gold stag-and-lion intertwined on its cover. "This is a preliminary household budget projection for the first fiscal year of our union, prepared by my BCR financial team. I trust you will find it… illuminating."
Cersei was left speechless, the ledger feeling like a lead weight in her hands. Her father had warned her this new Robert was different, but nothing could have prepared her for this cold, calculating machine in human form. Her dreams of ruling a charming, pliable king from behind the scenes dissolved into the terrifying reality of being a closely managed asset in a vast, corporate empire.
The betrothal ceremony, held a few days later in the Great Sept of Baelor (Robar had calculated that a religious veneer would enhance public acceptance and thus provide a positive ROI on ceremony costs), was a lavish affair by King's Landing standards, though every expenditure had been meticulously audited by BCR. The High Septon, a man whose initial reluctance had been overcome by a substantial "donation" to the Faith's coffers from BCR, officiated, his voice trembling slightly as he invoked the Seven's blessings upon the "sacred union" of the Lord Protector and the Lioness of the Rock. Robar and Cersei stood side-by-side, he a figure of imposing, dark power, she a radiant vision in Lannister crimson and gold, her smile fixed, her eyes holding a new, wary hardness. The assembled lords and ladies, a mix of cowed Crownlanders, nervous Storm Lords, and smug Westermen, cheered on cue. The alliance was sealed.
While these ceremonies of power unfolded, the grimmer business of the old regime's dismantlement proceeded. The trial of Aerys Targaryen began in the throne room, now reconfigured as a court of "justice." Lord Tywin Lannister, his face a mask of cold retribution, presided as chief judge, a role Robar had gladly delegated, understanding its symbolic value to the Lannisters and its utility in distancing himself from the appearance of mere vengeance. Stannis acted as chief prosecutor for the "Crown" (or rather, BCR's legal division), presenting the evidence of Aerys's madness and crimes.
It was a carefully orchestrated spectacle. Grand Maester Pycelle, weeping crocodile tears, testified to Aerys's descent into paranoia, his obsession with wildfire, his cruelty. Former servants, carefully vetted by BCR agents, recounted tales of the King's rages, his murders, his screams of "Burn them all!" Maester Vaellyn presented chilling, detailed evidence of the sheer scale of the wildfire caches beneath the city, painting a horrifying picture of the doom King's Landing had narrowly averted – thanks, it was heavily implied, to the Lord Protector's decisive intervention. Even Ser Jaime Lannister was called, much to his visible discomfort. Under his father's unyielding gaze, he gave a terse, carefully worded account of Aerys's final hours, confirming the King's intent to incinerate the city. He omitted his own role in slaying Aerys in the canon timeline, as in this reality, Robar had taken Aerys alive. Here, Jaime's testimony focused on Aerys's orders to Rossart to burn the city, an order Robar's team had directly interrupted.
Aerys himself was dragged forth each day, a broken, raving lunatic strapped to a chair, his wild shrieks and disconnected ramblings serving as the most damning evidence against him. The trial was a foregone conclusion, designed not to ascertain guilt, but to publicly legitimize the transfer of power and vilify the fallen dynasty.
During this period, Robar's strategic mind was already focused on the next major obstacle: House Tyrell and the Reach. The Reach was the breadbasket of Westeros, its vast agricultural output a critical economic asset. Mace Tyrell's armies were numerous, if indifferently led.
"Lord Tywin," Robar said in one of their strategy sessions, the Aerys trial droning on in the background. "The Tyrells are a ripe fruit, ready to fall or be plucked. Their alliance with the Targaryens is now a liability. Their lands are being harassed by the Ironborn. Their morale will be low."
Tywin nodded, his gaze sharp. "Mace Tyrell is a fool, but his mother, Olenna, is not. She will see the writing on the wall. An offer, from a position of overwhelming strength, might be entertained."
"Precisely," Robar agreed. "BCR is prepared to offer House Tyrell a junior partnership in Westeros Inc. They bend the knee, swear fealty, contribute a 'special levy' to BCR's reconstruction fund – a fine, essentially, for backing the wrong horse – and integrate their agricultural output into BCR's centralized distribution network. In return, they retain their lands, a measure of their dignity, and a seat on a newly formed 'Agricultural Advisory Board' with no actual power but a fancy title."
"And if they refuse?" Tywin asked.
"Then the Stormblade Cohort, augmented by Westerland steel, will conduct a swift and decisive military acquisition of the Reach," Robar stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "BCR analysts project that a short, successful campaign, followed by the restructuring of the Reach's economy under our direct control, would yield a higher net return than a negotiated settlement, though with greater initial expenditure. However, a swift surrender would allow us to focus on other… emerging markets more quickly."
Tywin allowed himself another of his rare, predatory smiles. This Baratheon, for all his strangeness, understood the language of power.
The trial of Aerys Targaryen reached its inevitable climax. After days of damning testimony, Lord Tywin Lannister, in the name of the "Justice of the new Lord Protector," found Aerys guilty of high treason, mass murder, attempted omnicide, and gross fiscal mismanagement. The sentence was death.
The execution was scheduled for the following day in the public square before the Red Keep. Robar intended it to be a clear, unambiguous message to all of Westeros. The old order was dead and buried. A new, more ruthlessly efficient power was now in charge. And the books of Westeros Inc. were open for business.
Cersei Lannister watched these proceedings with a mixture of fascination and growing apprehension. Her future husband was not just a conqueror; he was an entity of terrifying focus and ambition. She was betrothed to a storm, and she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that she would either learn to ride it or be consumed by it. The game of thrones she had envisioned playing had just become infinitely more dangerous, and the rules were being rewritten by a man who saw kings and queens as mere pieces on a vast, interstellar chessboard.
Word Count: Approx. 3150 words