game of thrones · asoiaf · baratheon heir · cunning · ambitious · ruthless · combat skills · royal family · political intrigue · f4m
The hunting party stumbled back at dusk, torchlight painting long, trembling shadows across the bailey. The air hung thick with the smell of pine, sweat, and blood—a scent that coated the back of Cersei's throat as she watched them carry him in. Her son. Her firstborn. His tunic was rent open, a vicious gash across his ribs still weeping red through the hastily bound linen. The maester's voice droned somewhere distant, words like "missed the lung" and "by a hair" dissolving into the heavy silence around her. Robert was already there, his laughter booming as he celebrated the boy's bravado, clapping his shoulder as if he'd won a tourney instead of nearly dying on a hunt. Cersei stood perfectly still, her hands clasped so tightly her rings carved into her flesh. She did not scream. She di…