Work Text:
Therefore the LORD God sent him out
of the garden of Eden to till the ground from which he was taken.
Genesis 3:23
I
1921
“Goodbye,” he told her. “We may not see each other again.”
Jaime Lannister was sitting at the kitchen table in his little apartment overlooking the Champs Elysees, and he was reading a letter. Even in the dim yellow light of the lamp, one could see him squinting through the neatly typed lines, muttering to himself. He looked like a boy who was given "Treasure Island" for the first time — surprise and a kind of childish joy were replacing each other on his face.
There was an envelope on the table, casually discarded and leaving no doubt as to who the author of the letter was — a roaring lion and the monogram "TL" almost shouted about it.
Having finished reading, Jaime leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who had worked very fruitfully and deserved a rest — even small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, confirming that he had been reading diligently.
His relative calm was broken by the phone call, and Jaime's lips stretched into a smile. With obvious reluctance, putting the letter aside, he went to the mechanism and answered the call.
"Are you still at home, Jay?" he heard a voice in the receiver. “I'll be at the Dingo in half an hour, get here soon.”
“I can't, Ham,” Jaime replied, smiling, “I have a lot to do for tomorrow.”
“You never miss a meeting.”
Jaime smiled again, biting his lip.
“I'm going back to New York.”
“What?” the interlocutor took a pause, apparently pondering what he had heard. “Aren’t you kind of in exile or…”
“Father is hosting a birthday party. He wants me to be there too.”
“He must be completely nuts.”
“I’ll be gone for just a few days.”
“For you the bell tolls, Jaime Lannister. Your daddy will drive you to an early grave.”
“No,” Jaime muttered. “Not him”, but the person he was talking to did not hear the last words.
II
When he appeared at the door of the house, the evening was already in full swing. Jaime froze, as if spellbound, peering into the windows, flickering with a ghostly light. The loose curtains were closed, and only silhouettes could be discerned, but he still stood for several minutes, his head up.
He rang the bell, waited a few minutes and rang again. The music playing inside could be heard even outside the door, so Jaime flung it open and entered, not caring about the manners.
Lanky waiters in snow-white tailcoats were serving drinks, the audience was carried away by conversations about each other, and hardly any of them were able to notice the appearance of Jaime. It was difficult to tell from his face whether he was happy about it or not.
Nonetheless, Jaime slipped unnoticed past a group of ladies, martini glasses in their hands, and entered the ballroom. He leaned his shoulder against the pillar and began to look closely at those around him. His gaze ran from one couple of dancers to another, he was frowning and occasionally self-confidently smirking.
Several people even recognized Jaime and said hello before he saw his sister. The smirk immediately disappeared from his face, and he was looking rather shocked. He could see her standing with the black-haired man. His arms were around her body and he was talking about something, obviously funny, because the smile never left Cersei’s lips. Jaime narrowed his eyes and clenched his left hand into a fist.
Noticing the gaze, she made a happy face and, pointing at her brother to her companion, went to Jaime. She was wearing a maroon dress, a massive gold necklace on her slender neck, and her hair was neatly curled — she was a vulture, and everyone saw it.
When she reached her brother, Cersei ceremoniously kissed him on both cheeks, and smiled with her unique ghostly smile.
“Jaime, dear, I’m very happy to see you!” her eyes were narrowed at the same time, and she held herself like a wild cat, ready to jump. “I didn’t think you'd come after all,” she whispered conspiratorially in his ear.
“You can’t reject what Tywin Lannister offers you, moncher,” smiled Jaime. “You of all people should know that.”
Cersei laughed, squeezing up against her husband a little bit.
“It seems that we were not introduced to each other,” said the dark-haired man, about whose existence the twins seemed to have forgotten, and held out his hand to Jaime. “Robert. You weren't at the wedding, were you?”
“Alas,” he shrugged, “Had to skip the event.“ It was only after Cersei pushed him in the side that Robert noticed the polished wood where the palm should have been, and he removed his hand in embarrassment.
“Sorry to hear, the whiskey was great.”
“No doubt.”
“Tell me about your travels,” Cersei said, and it was not clear if she was asking or ordering. “You brought me a gift, right?”
“Moving isn’t interesting,” Jaime said. “Much more interesting are the people you meet,” he tactfully ignored his sister's question.
“And who did you meet?”
“I have a friend in Paris, Ernest. He works for a newspaper. Going to become a writer.”
“A writer? And what will he write about?” Cersei laughed and shuddered.
“I don’t know,” her brother shrugged. “What do writers usually write about?”
“Jaime?!”
The music died down, and so did the guests, their gazes turned towards the direction from which Tywin Lannister's voice had interrupted his conversation with his sister. With a quick glance at Cersei and her husband, Jaime turned reluctantly.
“I beg your pardon,” he snapped, gazing at Cersei's left hand a little longer than he should have.
When the son approached, Tywin ceremoniously shook his left hand, patted him on the shoulder and, with a welcoming fatherly gesture, hugging his son to him, took him out the door into an empty corridor. At first, Jaime smiled with all his might, causing a sea of delight among the audience, but as soon as the door slammed behind him, the smile subsided, and his gaze became stingingly cold — in tune with the grimace that his father made.
“What do you allow yourself to do?” Tywin Lannister asked dispassionately. “You can't show up without warning when there are so many important deals at stake.”
As unshakable as a cliff, the elder Lannister looked at his son sternly and piercingly, like a hawk at its prey.
“I only granted your request,” Jaime replied with a smile that looked more like a grin. “If you send me letters out of politeness and don’t want me to come, make your hints more transparent, otherwise I can decide you miss me.”
Tywin narrowed his eyes.
“What letters?”
“There was only one,” Jaime waved aside, “with an invitation. Don't you remember what and to whom you wrote?”
Father and son stared intently into each other's eyes for a while, until their eyebrows rose almost simultaneously, and a name escaped from their lips:
“CERSEI!”
Tywin was the first to get over the surprise.
“Even though your sister no longer bears our last name, I’m still her father, and she just won’t get away with it.”
“I’m sure she didn’t want to do anything wrong,” the young man smiled broadly, whose dreamy gaze was already wandering outside this room.
“You don't know your sister well,” his father said grimly.
“I'll talk to her myself.”
“Jaime!” Tywin Lannister called his son, but no one answered. “Damn you, boy!”
Jaime arted out into the ballroom and gazed ahead into the crowd with excitement. After several vain attempts to find someone, he shook his head in frustration and headed off to the side. His lips curled up almost imperceptibly as Uncle Kevan approached.
“Have you buckled down?” A relative inquired busily.
“Are you always so friendly?”
“You haven’t, as I see. Tywin is right — life in Paris spoils you.” During the conversation, he lifted his chin slightly, trying to look down at his nephew. “My son, Lancel…”
When a waiter bumped into Jaime with a full tray of champagne, instead of an angry tirade, he just smiled broadly and, apologizing to his uncle, retired to the washroom.
He heard sobs when he found himself on the second floor.
It was not difficult to determine their source — the door to the former room of his sister was ajar, and when Jaime entered, he saw her lying on the bed and sobbing.
“You!” Cersei shouted when she saw her brother. “That’s because of you!”
He barely had time to dodge when she threw a small china figurine at him. It crashed somewhere behind Jaime, and he stared blankly at his sister.
“I'm only in New York for a couple of hours,” her brother smiled with his lips alone. “I'm not sure I can create problems at such a speed.”
“They hate me!” sister obviously did not listen to him. She sat on the bed with her arms around her knees and swaying from side to side. Her hair was in complete disarray, and black mascara marks remained on her cheeks. “Don't make me go back there!” she pleaded.
“Hey,” Jaime called her, looking into her eyes, “it's okay. I won’t. What happened?”
While she was distracted, wiping away her tears and smearing the mascara even more over her face, Jaime cautiously walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge.
“I told Robert that I would not contain myself. They are running after me! I keep running and running and I can't run away. You have to help me, Jaime!”
He frowned.
“Of course, I'll help you. Don’t be ridiculous. Come here.”
Cersei pressed her face against Jaime's still wet shirt, which now had black spots too.
“Did you close the door?” sister became concerned.
“I did.”
“If a fire starts, I won't be able to escape. Why are you doing this to me, Jaime?”
Cersei pushed him away and jumped out of bed, heading towards the door. When Jaime entered, he saw her sitting in an empty bathtub. Cersei trembled.
“They find me everywhere,” she whispered, staring straight ahead.
Startled, Jaime gently took her hand in his and kissed it. She did not struggle, and he lifted her to her feet, carefully took off her dress, leaving his sister only in a thin shirt, and, turning on the hot water, sat her back down.
“Hey,” he called softly again. “Look at me. Is it a problem when I'm with you?” He smiled broadly. “Everything will be fine.”
Cersei no longer trembled and was smiling back when Robert rushed into the bathroom, opening the door with a bang.
“I was looking for you all over the house!” He growled. “You should have said where you were going!”
“Stop talking to my sister like that,” Jaime said, turning around in an icy tone. “She needs to calm down.”
“Calm down?” Robert blurted out. “You don’t know what’s happening to her at all!”
III
The dim lamp hanging over the table barely swayed, causing Jaime's brother, Tyrion, to squint every now and then. The bar in which they were sitting was half buried in smoke, but there were not enough people in it so they did not interfere, and the gramophone played the record loudly enough so that no one would listen to the brothers' conversation.
Jaime, not frowning, took another sip of the whiskey from the thick glass and asked:
“Schizophrenia?”
“This is the official diagnosis, yes,” his brother shrugged. “Father took her to a clinic somewhere in Switzerland.”
“But…” Jaime stared at his wrinkled reflection in the glass, “why didn't anyone tell me?”
Tyrion sighed, lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew smoke at the ceiling.
“Cersei asked us to.”
“Cersei asked you to?” Jaime raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“You have no idea what happened here, haven’t you?” Tyrion asked instead of answering, smiling broadly. “Of course, daddy won’t tell. It's good you have a brother, isn't it?” Tyrion took another drag and tried to make a ring of smoke. “At first, she sat in the bathroom for hours — she could not wash herself completely, according to her. She used to go down only for dinner, and were spending the rest of the time in bed. Then she stopped coming out altogether. She did not listen to father, and one of the maids, who stayed in the room a little longer than it took to leave food, she… she almost scratched the poor girl’s face.”
“And you insisted on marriage?” Jaime looked at his brother in disbelief and gestured to the waiter at his empty glass. “In this condition?”
“God forbid!” Tyrion dismissed, making a playfully frightened face. “Robert has been in Washington all this time. They were corresponding.”
Jaime looked at his brother incredulously.
“I …” Tyrion thought for a moment, “was assisting her with the answers.”
“Assisting her?!” Jaime slammed his fist viciously on the table, drawing the attention of a few visitors. “What the hell have you been doing here?!”
“Hey, hey, be quiet,” his brother replied, looking around. “She's not your problem anymore, Jaime,” he clarified. “You don't have to defend her. How long have you been here? Three weeks? It's too long for someone who has deliberately decided to stay as far away from their family as possible.”
“So far, I have no business in Paris,” Jaime informed him nonchalantly, and frowned, trying to focus his gaze.
“Oh gods, what a mediocre lie,” Tyrion laughed. “I heard you're going to play golf with Robert.”
“If he starts playing at all,” Jaime muttered grimly. “Although, I myself am not better now.”
“You can always refuse,” he was obviously very amused by this conversation.
“Cersei asked to go with them.”
“Ah, Cersei asked!” Tyrion's lips spread into a wide, sly smile. “I missed the moment when all the Lannisters began to dance to her tune.”
Jaime was clearly not listening to his brother. His face smoothed out, and the expression on it was somehow quite childishly and dreamy.
“She became so beautiful…” None of them had to specify who they were talking about.
“The more beautiful she is, the more problems it causes,” Tyrion said wisely. “Especially with the head.”
IV
“I'll show you my new putter!” Robert continued to rant. “Not a single driver has ever made such precise hits.”
“No doubt,” Jaime drawled and looked worriedly at his sister. “Not feeling well?”
“It's okay,” she said, taking a long sip of lemon and ice water.
The golf course at the country club, which they went to with their small company, was bathed in sunlight, and the heat emanating from the sand made the walkers sweat. Cersei had been unwell since the very morning, and she tried to escape from the heat under a small awning set up for those who came just to watch the game.
“I can take you home,” Jaime told his sister in a confidential tone, not listening at all to her husband’s stories.
“She’s not going anywhere!” Robert snapped at him. “The doctor said the walks would do her good.
“She will decide what to do herself,” Jaime said in a half-whisper, and his eyes darkened. Cersei glanced briefly at his left hand, which was clenched into a fist.
“It's okay,” she assured her brother and looked meaningfully into his eyes.
Something in her eyes, apparently, still calmed him, because Jaime's hand unclenched, and he quickly took from the tray a glass of gin and tonic offered by Lancel, their cousin.
Lancel was Robert's caddy and had to basically carry a huge bag of golf clubs after him, but Mr. Baratheon turned out to be much more inventive than the other players and taught his assistant to carry not so many clubs as jigger.
Cersei politely declined the cocktail, continuing to drink only lemon water.
“Have a drink,” Robert waved his hand, “it’ll make you feel better.”
Cersei cast a quick glance in the direction of her brother and only then turned to her husband.
“You seem to want to play.”
“How can I start without making sure that my wife’s alright,” he grinned, but nevertheless, having drained a tall glass in one gulp, he raised the binoculars that hung around his neck, and with the air of a connoisseur began to inspect the course.
Lancel, as befits a devoted squire, followed him, leaving the twins alone.
A hot wind blew across Cersei's face. Today she was not wearing makeup, she looked paler than usual, which did not stop Jaime from looking only at her all day.
“You haven't had breakfast,” Jaime was the first to break the silence. “Can I get you some sandwiches?”
Cersei winced.
“Let's take a walk.”
The club that Cersei's husband brought them to was a couple of hours drive from New York. She endured the road hard, always complaining about the uneven road and the smell of gasoline. Jaime did his best to please her, which could not be said about Robert. He was scolding his wife like a naughty child. Peace on Cersei's face did not appear until the end of the trip, when a huge lake appeared to her gaze. She half-turned looked at her brother with enthusiastic eyes and immediately turned back.
“Are you really okay?” Jaime asked her cautiously, when they finally came out to that very lake, quite far from the course, holding hands.
“I am,” she said uncertainly, and averted her eyes. The wind here was blowing a little harder, causing a slight ripple in the water. “It will pass.”
“You're hiding,” he frowned. “You mustn't hide. Not from me.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Please don’t.”
“These are your words, not mine,” sister smiled sadly and again turned her gaze to the water.
Jaime rolled his eyes in annoyance and, with his left hand, pushed her long hair back from her face and kissed her. Cersei, with a contented growl, wrapped her arms around his neck and returned a kiss.
“You asked me what I planned to do in the near future. This” - he kissed her again “is my answer. I don’t want anything else.”
“Your problem is,” Cersei smiled with a tired, mysterious smile, “that you want the impossible.” She sighed, peering into the blue. “I’m ready to spend my whole life by this lake! There, in Switzerland, there was a similar…”
“Come to Paris with me,” he asked lazily, apparently not for the first time.
“You know I can't. What if it starts again? Robert’s not the best husband, but he knows what to do when it starts.”
“I can take you to damn Switzerland to your lake! Say what you want and I'll do anything for you. I was at war ! I am not afraid,” he stressed the word, “of anything.”
“The war is over, Jaime,” his sister told him wearily. “And I'm not your homeland to defend me.”
“What do you want?” squinting in the wind, he peered into her pale face.
Cersei was about to reply when she doubled over sharply, holding her stomach, and threw up onto the grass. Jaime, scared, immediately rushed to her, holding out a handkerchief as he walked.
“What is it?” Frightened, he was looking at his sister like a fragile porcelain vase, afraid to even touch her.
“This is the reason,” she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief in embarrassment, “for which I can’t leave.”
V
Cersei had been studying the obituaries column in the New Yorker for fifteen minutes, occasionally glancing nervously at her watch. Her husband, Robert, was here in the living room. He lay on the couch with a cold compress on his head, occasionally gulping down the beer that was next to him on the bedside table, and making inarticulate sounds that made Cersei flinch every time.
Finally, she glanced at her watch for the last time, put down the magazine, and turned to him carefully.
“I’d like to take a walk.”
“And why the hell should I care? If you want to take a walk, go.”
“I didn’t expect any other answer from you,” she muttered under her breath so that her husband wouldn’t hear.
“Talking to yourself again?” Robert roared. “Surely crazy.”
He addressed the last phrase only to the rapidly slamming door.
Throwing a thin knit cardigan over a light dress, Cersei stepped out of the house into the bustle of the New York morning. Without her usual bouncy curls and red lips, she looked cute, almost innocent. When she gently touched her belly with her fingertips, an expression appeared on her face, like that of Madonna — tenderness was mixed with confidence in it. No one doubted that Cersei would love her child just as desperately.
She walked a good half-block, and with a thieving glance around, darted into an inconspicuous alley. The smell there was such that she involuntarily had to hold her nose with her hand and speed up her step, but soon the girl went out into the street from the other side and eagerly inhaled fresh air. In the morning New York smelled of coffee, cinnamon, and gasoline. Before she even had time to look around, she heard a high-pitched car horn.
Her brother was already waiting for her. With a cap on his head and driving a Fiat, he looked more like one of those honest hard workers who came to New York in search of a better life, but even such inconspicuous clothes could not hide his natural beauty. He smiled, forcing his sister to smile back. They were born as reflections of each other, and never ceased to be.
“Where are we going today?” Cersei asked as she was barely in the passenger seat.
“To the Ritz.”
On the way, she hid her hair under a flowered headscarf and put on big dark glasses. Jaime drove the car enthusiastically, and did not notice the shadow of sadness slipping across her face.
The doorkeeper obligingly opened the doors for them, not forgetting to thank "Mr. Jaime" for holding out the ten-dollar bill. Cersei, who followed him, held on carefully, following her brother in small steps. The hotel clerk grinned as Jaime retrieved the keys and headed for the elevator, but Cersei was the one who noticed. She pulled her cardigan tighter and hurried to catch up with him.
Jaime let his sister go ahead, watching her enter the room with childish delight and a wide smile. There was a bouquet of light purple wisterias in a large white vase on a glass table.
“You didn’t forget!” Cersei turned with tears in her eyes.
Jaime slowly closed the door behind him and looked at her with a mixture of longing and passion.
“When I had to leave,” his gaze slid on a wooden hand for a moment, “I often recalled your words. I asked what you wanted, and you said that you wanted to watch wisterias grow right over your feet.”
“It's been so many years.” She tilted her head like a child looking at a stranger.
“A lot.” With a couple of swift steps, overcoming the distance separating them, as if afraid that if he didn’t do it now, it would increase even more, Jaime pressed her against the wall, putting his hands on his thighs. Cersei smiled.
“Missed me, brother?”
“Don’t talk.”
He kissed her almost innocently, taking his time, letting her relax and wrap her arms around his neck.
“We're having a baby,” she whispered in his ear.
“I know.”
“I just wanted to say it out loud.”
Jaime hugged her even tighter, making the presence of distance between them a thing illegal, subject to early abolition.
“I want you to be mine only,” he growled dully, not looking into her eyes.
“Jaime…” she drawled wearily.
“You agreed to be Robert’s wife, and yet you won’t be mine.”
“Please.”
He pulled back, scowling at her face.
“You understand that now I can’t leave, right?”
Biting her lip, Cersei nodded.
“And I can't just watch him ruin your life. Baby, all this isn’t real,” brother smiled broadly and threw up his hands. “He’s just replacing me.” His face became serious again very fast, it was even a little insane. “I’d kill him with my own hands.”
“What you say scares me, ” she said, although she didn’t look scared. “Why don't you ever listen to me?”
He raised his eyebrows at her with a mixture of tenderness and regret.
“Jaime!” Cersei broke down. “Damn,” she swore, “Look at this idiotic fool that you made me. Can't you not leave such a mess behind?”
“A mess?!” He got angry. “I love you and I want to be with you. The only person who makes a mess here is you.”
“Cause I think not only of myself! This,” she smiled warmly, touching her flat stomach, “is like a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else.”
“You lied to father,” Jaime said coldly, and she didn't need clarification to know what he meant.
“Сause you acted like a madman,” Cersei narrowed her eyes. She looked at her brother with an unreadable expression on her face, as if it were a plaster mask. “And it was me who called you back.”
“I must admit, you really managed to fool everyone,” he threw up his hands.
“I always get what I want, Jaime, and you know it better than anyone else,” all her innocence and childishness disappeared immediately, replaced by crazy impudence. Cersei smiled venomously. “Can you catch me?”
“Oh no, I've seen this film before,” her brother rolled his eyes. Before he had time to recover, his sister rushed out of the room. “Damn! Wait!”
He rushed after her with a growl, but, not having time to make a few steps, immediately alerted when he heard a wallop. Convulsively looking around the empty corridor, he ran into a frightened boy in the hotel's signature hat.
“M-m-m-m-mister Jaime,” he mumbled, but Jaime pushed him edgily and instinctively moved to the stairs.
He looked down and immediately turned white: Cersei lay motionless, and a dark scarlet stain spread on the hem of her dress.
VI
Nowadays.
Catching another sidelong glance from the woman at the next table, the girl in a plaid coat giggled briefly and whispered in her companion's ear:
“I’m sure she thinks it’s illegal to talk.”
“Maybe she took a vow of silence in the year of Kennedy's death and now keeps it until the Second Coming?” the blond replied to her tone.
The girl pushed him lightly, laughing a little louder, and when he turned over another page of the old newspaper, she exclaimed.
“ Look!”
On the front page was a photograph of a young woman. Her gaze, furious and insane, both frightened and imbued with her immense inner strength, and the headline "The Star and Death of Cersei Lannister: The True Story of an American Fine Lady" left no doubt about who was depicted in this photograph.
“She’s very beautiful,” the man said, and the girl nodded fervently in response.
“This interview should be here. And photos as well.”
They turned a few more pages, finally settling on the right one.
The first photograph was dated 1917 and looked more like a ceremonial portrait. Jaime, disheveled, but dressed in a strict tailcoat, sat in a high chair, and Cersei, who differed from him only in clothing and hair length, stood nearby, resting a gloved hand on the back of the chair.
Their faces, still very young, were radiant with self-satisfaction, for which they could not be reproached — the heirs to a huge fortune, they couldn’t yet know what hardships might await them.
The girl sighed.
“It's like watching photographs before the explosion,” she explained when the companion turned a questioning glance at her. “Everyone is smiling, but you still know what will happen next.”
“They look happy here,” he nodded at another photo. The year was also indicated there — 1921.
The twins sat on the side of a large round fountain with their legs dangling into water. In its center was a sculpture — a man, a woman and several pigs. The inscription on the pedestal read Ulysses and Circe.
“Roaring Twenties,” she muttered, “ tossing pennies in the pool.”
“What?”
“Em, hm,” the girl waved away, “Just came to mind.”
The blond didn’t bombard her with questions and returned to the photographs. The next two pages were completely occupied by the interview — he knew the content from her words and didn’t read the text, but after him there was a photograph again. “Paris, 1930,” the caption read.
The twisted wreckage of the car left no room for imagination.
“And that’s all? He wondered.
The girl shrugged.
“When Jaime began to write the book, he took to the bottle. Here’s the result.”
“To live the whole life in exile …” the man thought, “isn't it a too high price?”
The girl narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and then smiled radiantly.
“Letters!”
She faced the uncomprehending gaze of her companion.
“The old Lannister mansion is now a museum, where their letters are kept.”
“Let's go?” Before he could ask, the girl had already pulled his hand.