Chapter Text
Cersei knows that she needs to pay Catelyn, and her family, the appropriate respects regarding her child’s fall.
When Robert, her fat despicable louse of a husband, had announced the impending trek to Winterfell, her thoughts had immediately shifted to the auburn haired beauty of her youth. Though Cersei had always been clumsy with the emotions of normal young ladies, Catelyn had taken her by the hand and lead. In return, Cersei had led her on great adventures. Catelyn had kept a list of these, just to prove that she had done them.
They had once gotten into Hoster Tully’s wine. Cersei remembers, somewhat murkily, how Catelyn had thrown up in the bed of flowers by the river that her father had maintained in the memory of her late mother. That night, after Hoster had disciplined Catelyn, Cersei had snuck into her chambers with a solemn look and one of the few apologies that she has every truly meant. Cersei had never loved Catelyn as much as that night when they had confided in each other about their complicated feelings about dead mothers.
That night is ever present in Cersei’s mind. Like glass, she does not notice it in its transparency until she reaches out for it and is met by the cold surface. Catelyn is frozen at five and ten in her mind. They had promised, in those days, that they would always remain close. But, Cersei thinks, that’s just teenage talk.
Now, as she stands in front of the door to the child’s chambers, she carries the weight of what she has done on her shoulders. How can she face Catelyn and her obvious pain, knowing that she is the cause? Worse, she sees the distain in Catelyn’s eyes now when she looks at her. There is no love there anymore.
“Cat.” She calls softly from the doorway, holding a shawl tightly around her for comfort.
“Cersei.” Catelyn whispers. “I did not think that you would come.”
“Is that how you see me… now?”