A Song of Grace & Fury

"This is madness," Cersei said quietly.

She smiled with grace, and with uncontested beauty, one hand over her belly as she waved the other at the cheering smallfolk. 

The air was thick with the scent of heavy perfumes, and distant fires, so much so that it momentarily drowned out the pungent stench that was natural to King's Landing.

Petals of roses were tossed from the rooftops of brick houses, and flew about for a moment before inevitably settling on the cobbled road of the Gods' Way to be crushed under the metal heel of men marching.

Cavalry, foot soldiers all clad in the Lannister red, steel at their belts and in their hands. They hoisted the roaring golden lion on red of House Lannister, her house, and marched with solemn faces and afeared eyes.

Tywin Lannister rode among them, stony faced and calm eyed, perhaps that was why the men marched with such discipline as was expected of them. The lion was old and senile, but the Realm knew not, and all feared him terribly.

His enamelled plate shimmered in the light of the sun, blood red, and a heavy golden cape hung from his shoulders, fastened by roaring lionesses. He seemed a ruby, especially so with the crimson gilded armour of his stallion.

Kevan Lannister rode beside his older brother, joined by Jaime Lannister in gold plate and a helm like a roaring lion. He flashed a grin and raised a hand to wave at the masses, and the blushing maids and ladies squealed in delight, as was par for the course.

"For once, dear sister, I concur," Tyrion said with a confused look from beside her. Cersei had half a mind to toss him over the balcony but dismissed the thought quickly. "This is not right. Not at all."

"Why would he decide to march out?" The Imp mumbled more to himself than to her. "Why send Varys to the Targaryen then?"

"He has gone mad." Cersei hissed.

Only a madman would lock up his own grandchild, offer surrender to an exiled princess across the sea, then do the one thing he had been forbidding others from for the better part of a year.

Cersei spotted the blubbering balding oaf lord of Highgarden ride up to join her father, smiling and sputtering like the idiot he was. 

It was said that a man's garb made him.

Clearly that was not true for Mace Tyrell. He looked ever the fool, even in his jewelled plate.

Did her father not see that the Tyrells were merely using them? 

That they would either usurp what was theirs the moment the opportunity presented itself?

Mace Tyrell was a blubbering idiot but Olenna Tyrell was not. The old hag was scheming, and while Tyrion had largely subverted her numerous attempts at power-grabs, she was not the sort to back down.

"I suspect there might be truth to your thoughtless insult," Tyrion admitted, fingering a crease in his red doublet with his stubby hands. "Father was... is... far too shaken by this Karl. Especially so after the last visit."

Cersei furrowed her brow, "What does he intend to do?"

"If you recall, I told you of the Night's Watch and their letter."

"The Wildlings." Cersei echoed.

Tyrion nodded, gulping wine from his goblet. Cersei scrunched her nose at the strong scent of his drink, but listened intently.

"Stannis left with his men some time ago. Karl left with him. I may have said something about distance being quite the foe, even for a sorcerer, over some wine and buttered ham," Tyrion smiled a strange toothy smile. "I believe Father means to take Robb Stark by surprise."

"They'll be expecting... No. They will not." Cersei put a finger to her lips.

The sorcerer had made the Northerners too lax with the one-sided agreement he'd forced upon Tywin at the Blackwater. They thought the man a god, and they would not doubt his word of an attack.

Although, the patrols could easily send a rider.

"The Vale has become, let us say... greedy, with its aid thanks to Bronze Yohn. Robb Stark's host is only twenty thousand or so men. With the Tyrells, we easily outnumber them three to one."

The more she heard, the less mad her father appeared.

With the sorcerer away in the cold and distant icy North, they could easily conquer their enemies. It would take him months to return at the least. 

Cersei shivered, recalling the dreary and cold land she'd visited with Robert.

"This could be quite the opportunity. Or spell an early end," Tyrion continued. "Father does not seem to be in his right mind. It feels as if he has given up on something."

"He gave up on everything many moons ago," Cersei hissed. "His damnable legacy is all he cares about."

"His legacy..." Tyrion echoed softly as some realisation dawned on him, "How he'll be remembered, is it?"

Cersei cast a curious glance at her brother, and saw not the usual grins and idle stupidity. No, the dwarf of Casterly Rock looked completely bereft of his usual 'glamour', mumbling unintelligibly.

"Wait... No. His eyes... they were not the right color. Fiery gold."

His eyes chased invisible shadows, his lips were quivering.

Even she knew, her brother was completely horrified by whatever it was that he had gleaned.

Before Cersei could question him, Tyrion took off into the castle as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. Softly shrugging her naked shoulders, Cersei returned her gaze to the marching men below.

The Tyrell soldiers, with their grey plate and their green cloaks and gold roses marched ahead of the Lannister men, she realised.

What it meant, she could scarcely understand.

A tide of green filtered through the streets, and out the Gods' Gate.

Cersei murmured softly once her father began departing, "Hear me roar."

Tywin Lannister raised his longsword high, and shouted loud and clear before pointing at the gates.

With a shout, the men in red began their march, striking the ground with heavy steps.