A/N: Welcome back everyone! I'm excited to start this sequel, and there are lots of moments ahead that I am dying to write. Right now I have this outlined around 15 chapters, but that's susceptible to change. I will definitely be posting past when the show comes back on, and just know I'm not changing anything in my outline regardless if the show does the same thing or not. I actually included some storylines and characters I don't think season eight is going to include, and I want to make reference to some book plotlines the show skipped over.

To clarify, this first chapter is a prologue and it takes place at the same the Battle of Winterfell was being fought in "Consign Me Not To Darkness". Next chapter will skip ahead to one month after where the last story ended. Enjoy!

PROLOGUE

CERSEI

She was having the dream again.

She was sitting on the Iron Throne, surrounded by her children, all of them alive and perfect. Then, one by one, they all began to melt away. Joffrey's face turned purple as he sputtered and choked. A drop of blood fell from Myrcella's nose, followed by another and another and another. Tommen's face became distorted and bloodied, wrecked from where he had hit the ground…

She screamed for them but her cries went unanswered. "Joffrey! Myrcella! Tommen! Come back!" And yet still she was alone. She fell to her knees on the throne room floor, wanting to weep for her lost children, but then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She looked up, hoping to see her children returning to her, only to see her brother.

Tyrion's scarred face loomed over her and he smiled twistedly. "A day will come when you think you are safe," He said to her. "And suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth." His hands wrapped around her throat and she tried to fight him off, but for some reason her body could not move. All she could do was stare into Tyrion's eyes as she choked and struggled for breath, dying at the hands of her little brother just as Maggy the Frog had once told her she would…

Cersei woke with a start. A dream, just a dream. She reminded herself. A hand fell to her belly, still swollen with life, and she reminded herself that she was not alone. She still had one child, and that was proof enough to her that Maggy's prophecy was wrong. The woods witch had said she would only have three children, and if she was wrong about that, then she was probably wrong about the valonqar too. There was no need to fear.

So why was it that her little brother's face still haunted her dreams?

She realized that there was a constant rapping at the door, likely what had awoken her from slumber. Cersei climbed out of her massive bed in the royal apartments and walked to the door, opening it slightly. One of her maidservants was standing outside, looking concerned. "Your Grace, are you all right?" She asked. "I've been knocking for five minutes."

"I'm fine." Cersei snapped. "What is it that you want? I told you I was not to be disturbed."

The maidservant looked down at her feet, unable to meet Cersei's eyes. "Your Grace, it is nearly ten o'clock. Lord Symun Fossoway arrived late last night from Cider Hall, and he wants to speak with you."

Cersei nodded. "Very well. You can send him in."

"Right away, my queen."

Without another word, Cersei shut the door and wrapped herself in a robe, rubbing both hands over her massive dome of a belly. The babe kicked inside her. At seven months pregnant, she was so large that she could not see her feet and her ankles had swollen up to twice their normal size, so much she could barely walk some days. Recently she'd even begun swelling in her face and hands, but it was nothing she couldn't endure. She sat herself down at the table to wait for Symun Fossoway and silently yearned for a glass of wine, though she knew that was not possible given her condition.

She still had not decided what to name the child. Qyburn said he thought it was to be a boy, a prince for House Lannister, but a small part of Cersei hoped for a girl, as pretty and kind as her Myrcella had been. She'd named three children before – Robert had not bothered to contribute, and Jaime certainly had not had a say – but this time was proving to be more difficult. If it was a boy, she could name him for one of the Kings of the Rock, as she'd done with her first two sons. Joffrey had been named for King Joffrey Lannister, born Joffrey Lydden, who became King of the Rock after his father-in-law Gerold III Lannister died without a male heir. Tommen had been named for two kings: Tommen I Lannister brought Fair Isle into the kingdom when he married a Farman princess, while Tommen II Lannister went on an expedition to Old Valyria to find wealth and magic only to disappear without a trace of him or his golden fleet. She'd found Myrcella's name in some genealogy book or other and taken a shine to it immediately.

Cersei ran through the old Kings of the Rock in her head. Loreon, Tybalt, Lancel, Cerion, Norwin, Tywell…She certainly could not name it 'Tyrion'. She knew what she would name a girl this time. Joanna, for my mother that lecherous little imp killed. Joanna Lannister had been smart and beautiful and kind, and she'd been taken from her. But this child would not be taken from her, not even over her dead body. Perhaps I should call it 'Tywin' if it is truly a boy. Yes, Cersei silently decided, she liked that. Look at me now, Father! She wanted to shout. I'm the Queen, Father, I've won the game of thrones. The son you adored and the son you reviled, they both failed you, but I'm here. I'm the last Lannister, Father! I'm your legacy…

She was startled from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening and Symun Fossoway appeared before her. "Your Grace," The Lord of Cider Hall said, before descending into a stiff bow.

He is a truly ugly man. Cersei thought to herself. Though only in his late forties, Lord Symun had already lost most of his hair and his teeth were yellow and rotted. Even from across the room she could smell him and it made Cersei want to vomit. Last she heard Lord Symun was supposed to marry the late Lord Tarly's pretty maiden daughter, and Cersei almost felt sorry for the girl who should be so unlucky as to wed Symun Fossoway. She knew what it was like to be sold in marriage by your father, to a man who disgusted you…

On the outside, she forced a smile. "Sit, Lord Symun. I'd like a word with you." The man sat across from her and Cersei bit on the inside of her lip to prevent herself from barfing. She reached across to the bar cart and poured a large cup of wine to the brim, then pushed it across the table. "Drink."

Lord Symun looked at her warily. "Your Grace, I do not partake – "

Cersei cut him off. "Drink." She repeated, more firmly this time. She smiled insincerely and rubbed her huge belly. "You must for me, as I am afraid I cannot enjoy this lovely Arbor gold in my current condition…"

"Yes," Lord Symun said, his beady eyes flitting to her stomach as he took a long, reluctant sip. "My sincerest congratulations. And who, may I ask, is the lucky father-to-be?"

Cersei's eyes narrowed. She knew it was not a well-intentioned inquiry. The lioness does not concern herself with the opinions of the sheep. She reminded herself. "There is no one. Just me…but that is all we need." She said, her voice as smooth as honey – and laced with poison underneath. "My lord, I did not bring you here today to discuss such…womanly issues as childbearing. I was bereaved to hear of the passing of your most esteemed commander, Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."

A grave look overcame Lord Symun's face. "Yes indeed, Your Grace, it is very tragic. Lord Randyll was the strongest, most intelligent, and most generous lord I ever had the privilege to serve under in battle. He and his son both were slaughtered by the Dragon Queen."

"She is no queen," Cersei interjected. "I am the Queen."

"Of course, Your Grace. It is a shame about Lord Tarly. He was to be my father-in-law, as I'm promised to his daughter Lady Talla. A fine young maid she is, and all for me. Perhaps once we are wed I will put a son in her we can name for Lord Randyll…" Lord Symun drained the rest of his glass and Cersei poured him another.

A stupid, ugly sot, that's all he is. Cersei thought. That's what all men are. They hurt you or don't listen to you or cheat on you or betray you. But she needed this particular stupid, ugly sot if she wanted to keep her throne. "This is quite a dilemma we're facing, Lord Symun." She said. "First House Tyrell went extinct because of that…unfortunate accident in the Sept of Baelor. Now House Tarly has been effectively wiped from the world because of this Dragon Bitch and those beasts she calls children, save for your future wife of course…"

"Lord Randyll did have another son, Your Grace. Lord Samwell Tarly, but he took the black several years ago."

"Yes, well," Cersei said with a forced smile. "Men in the Night's Watch are sworn to have no lands or titles. Though some men do not take those vows as seriously as others – like that bastard Jon Snow, who now styles himself King in the North."

Lord Symun nodded. "It is a grievous offense to betray one's vows, Your Grace. The Dragon Queen and the Bastard King have surely forsaken the gods with their amorality and selfishness. Even the Mother Above can only forgive so much."

"I never took you for a godly man, Lord Symun." Cersei said, voice dripping with acidity. "Now, let's waste no more talk on the Dragon Bitch and her bastard. I've brought you here to make you an offer. House Fossoway was one of the principal bannerman of House Tyrell, and a loyal ally of House Tarly who fought bravely at the Battle of the Goldroad. Many of your brothers and cousins died for House Lannister that day, my lord, and I feel I am in your debt. I know I can trust you, Lord Symun, as I've seen you to be honorable and true."

Lord Symun Fossoway had now finished his second cup of wine and it did little to alleviate the horrible stench of his breath. Cersei thought he was less of an apple, and more of an onion. "You have?"

"Yes, I have. Which is why, once this war is over and my throne secure, I intend to bestow Highgarden upon you and your Tarly bride. Should you accept, I dub you Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Warden of the South – in exchange for your loyalty and your men on the field of battle, of course."

Lord Redwyne had been kin to the Queen of Thorns and could not be trusted. The Hightowers had ties in marriage to the Tyrells as well. The Florents had served Stannis Baratheon and would never agree to come over to her side. Lady Oakheart was old and delicate and did not have enough soldiers to tempt Cersei. Lord Rowan had died at the second Field of Fire and left behind only a daughter. The Fossoways were her best bet – they had enough money and enough men between both the red-apple branch led by Lord Symun, and the green-apple branch led by Ser Tanton Fossoway, his distant cousin. If I can maintain my hold on the Reach, she thought with glee. Then my throne will be secure.

"You honor me, Your Grace." Lord Symun said, bowing his head. "I will serve you as bravely and faithfully as Lord Randyll did. I swear it on my life."

Cersei smiled, showing her teeth. "Thank you, my lord. Please, take that bottle of Arbor gold if you wish – it is my gift to you."

Lord Symun left and Qyburn came in instead, shutting the door behind him and pulling out the chair next to her. "Let me take a look at your feet, Your Grace."

Cersei rolled her eyes but relented, allowing Qyburn to take one of them into his lap so he could examine her swollen ankles. "It is quite all right, really. Your feet swell when you are with child, it's normal."

"Yes, but yours are very swollen, Your Grace." Qyburn said, prodding at the skin. "You have excess fluid in your hands and feet. Perhaps I should leech you."

"If you must." Cersei pulled her foot away and rose from her chair before Qyburn could say anything more, moving towards her wardrobe to pick out the dress she would wear today. "Enough worrying about my health. What is that Dothraki whore up to now? Tell me what songs your little birds have sung."

"Well," Qyburn said with a sigh. "I've heard rumors from the North. Apparently Jon Snow, the King in the North, has taken Daenerys Targaryen to wife, uniting Houses Stark and Targaryen in a marriage alliance. I've heard that she is also carrying his child."

Cersei turned to look at Qyburn, a hand immediately moving to her stomach. "My child is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Even if Daenerys Targaryen is really pregnant, it means nothing – her child will be born of a bastard father and a whore mother, what right will it have to anything?"

"There is…another thing." She raised an eyebrow at Qyburn, waiting for him to continue, and his face was grave. "I've heard whispers that Jon Snow is not really a bastard after all. He is the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

Cersei stared at him for a long second, and then she laughed. "Is this some kind of joke?"

She must have looked angry, because Qyburn's face paled. "Your Grace, I would not trouble you with such rumors if I did not fear they may be true. Multiple sources have told me that Jon Snow is Rhaegar and Lyanna's son, born after they secretly wed during Robert's Rebellion. He is no longer calling himself King in the North, but King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."

In that instant, Cersei Lannister suddenly hated dead Lyanna Stark more than she'd ever hated anyone. What harm could Lyanna Stark's ghost do to any of us? She had told Robert once. Evidently, it could do a lot of harm. "It still doesn't matter." She told Qyburn. "The Targaryens lost their right to the Iron Throne when Robert took it by right of conquest. I was Robert's wife, and now the Throne belongs to me. They can try to take it from me, but they'll fail. Even if they manage to survive their fight with these White Walkers – which I doubt they will – I have the forces of the Reach behind me, as well as the Ironborn ships Euron Greyjoy left behind before he died. And I think I could get the Stormlands behind me as well – I was Robert's queen."

"Perhaps, Your Grace." Qyburn said. "Though I should tell you that Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen claim they have Robert's bastard son among their numbers. What if they try to legitimize him and rally the Stormlanders to their cause? His name is – "

A son of Robert's body that still lived and breathed – Cersei's heart filled with vitriol. "I don't care what his name is." She cut Qyburn off. "This boy is probably a pretender, claiming to be Robert's seed because he wants glory and fortune. All of Robert's bastards are dead and buried. Joffrey saw to that."

"I understand Your Grace, but what if one got away?"

Even so, Cersei wanted to say. I'll see to it that he does not survive for much longer. "He would still be a bastard, and if he were legitimized by a false king and a false queen, their orders are not valid. And why should the Stormlanders rally behind a bastard boy when I can offer them much more? Wealth, power, titles, and the protection of the Iron Throne."

Qyburn nodded. "Yes, Your Grace, even if the boy is truly Robert's son he will have a difficult time getting the Stormlanders to follow him. Regardless you'll have to get to them first, and the Stormlanders will need a new Lord Paramount. Who will you name to the position?"

She thought about it for a moment. "The Trants. They were one of the principal bannerman of House Baratheon, and always remained loyal to me and my sons, Robert's lawful heirs. They'll rally the other storm lords to my cause."

"The Trants are an old and noble house," Qyburn agreed. "That is a fine choice, Your Grace. If we can rally the Reach and the Stormlands, then we will have strong numbers. We already have the Golden Company and half the Iron Fleet. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen outnumber us, but this war against the White Walkers will surely decimate their forces."

"And we will beat them." Cersei added on with glee. "Drive them all back into the ground where they belong…" The image in her head of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen's heads on spikes gave her a sick sense of satisfaction. Perhaps she would put the Baratheon bastard up there with them – if he was truly Robert's after all, she did not want him walking the earth when he may try to claim her Throne. And any child that may grow up to be like Robert was better off dead. "I have an idea, Qyburn." She said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "To get rid of these pretenders sooner rather than later. It will require a bit of money, but it will remove the threat once and for all…"

"What do you mean, Your Grace?"

Cersei smiled. "You'll see…" Once she had wanted to kill Tyrion first. Now though, she thought it might be best to save him for last. When I win this war, I will show him the corpses of the false rulers he served. She thought. I'll make him watch as the maggots devour their flesh, as their skin turns to rot. Perhaps I'll take his pretty little wife Sansa Stark, who conspired in his treasons, and I'll make him watch as the Mountain ensures she's not so pretty anymore. Jaime too – I'll rip the skin from the bones of that hideous Tarth whore. I knew when I saw her at Joffrey's wedding she loved him, and now I'll show him what happens to those he chooses over me. I'll make both my brothers watch as everything they love is taken away, and then I'll kill them both last. Once they have truly learned what suffering is…

But her fantasies of revenge were interrupted when a sharp pain shot across her abdomen. It was enough to make her double over. "Your Grace?" Qyburn said, rushing to her side.

"It's nothing – " She began to insist, but then pain seized hold of her again, so much she could barely speak. She suddenly realized with terror what this pain was. But it had never begun this hard and this fast the three times before, and she was still two months early…"It's too soon." She gasped breathlessly, barely able to speak.

"Your Grace," Qyburn said, kneeling before her. "You're in labor. Come, lie down, I have some medicine that may stop it…" As soon as she tried to stand up, there was a gush, followed by wetness. Cersei looked down to see a puddle of blood and water had formed on the floor.

That was when she knew there was no stopping it.

The next moments passed in a blur of pain and fury, and though they felt like hours they could've been mere minutes for all she knew. Qyburn helped her back onto the bed and then left to fetch a midwife. Cersei buried her face into the mattress and screamed as pain took over her. She screamed until her throat was raw and her voice was gone, but the pain did not go away: it only worsened.

Suddenly she ached for Jaime. The first three times, he'd been here with her. He'd been so good to her while she labored, so gentle and kind. She could remember how he'd held her hand and wiped the sweat from her brow, mumbling words of encouragement. She whimpered involuntarily at the thought. Jaime, Jaime, why did you leave me? I'm sorry, I need you…Jaime please come back…

In the break between contractions, she sat up and tried to breathe. No, Cersei silently reminded herself. You don't need him. He is a fool, a traitor, you don't need his love…you are stronger on your own…Yet still, when the next pain came, she couldn't help but wish there was a hand to hold. Her hands gripped the edge of the mattress as she screamed, but it was not the same.

Qyburn returned with a team of midwives. It felt like he had been gone for years. "How far apart are the contractions now, Your Grace?" Cersei was seized with pain again before she could answer.

"It seems to be about two minutes now, I think." Someone said. Cersei was too blinded by discomfort to tell who. "There's nothing we can do to stop it. We have to deliver her."

"No," She barked out between clenched teeth. "No, it's too soon…" She'd birthed Tommen early, but he had only been three weeks premature, not two moonturns.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," One of the women said. "But you're going to have this baby. On your next pain, I need you to push."

Cersei tried to stubbornly clamp her legs shut, but one of the midwives forced them back open. She let out a string of curse words. "I'll have your head for this! Stop it now or I swear I'll – " Pain cut off her protests.

The whole world seemed to be spinning wildly now and red tinged her vision. When the woman looking between her legs lifted her hands, they were suddenly covered in red. It was all Cersei could see. "She's losing too much blood…I think the placenta may have detached…"

She pushed and screamed, pushed and screamed, over and over for what felt like hours. Her vision had gone blurry and Cersei could feel her hair plastered to her forehead from sweat, yet at the same time she felt cold.

Through the hazy fog she felt one of the midwives reach inside her. She pulled out a small, blood-covered mound, a perfectly still little body. The room was deathly silent, no telltale cry that indicated life…

Why isn't it crying? She wanted to ask, but Cersei could not breathe let alone speak, her mouth tasting hot and metallic. There was not a doubt in her mind that she was dying.

Qyburn's face looming over her was the last thing she saw. "Don't worry, Your Grace…you're going to be all right…"

Then, there was only blackness.