I do not own Game of Thrones.
I do not know what I would do with it.
As Metal
Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, The Lioness, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady of Casterly Rock, Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, Wardeness of the West ran a slow, purposeful finger calmly along the cold, forbidding curve of the shaped metal sitting now quiet just to her right.
The bell.
That hateful metallically clonging bell.
It rang even now in her mind, rhythmic, repetitive, damning.
That bell.
She was working steadily to banish the sound of it from her memory.
Banish it, but hold the faces of those pitiless wretches in her secret eye always.
Those wretches who had thrown things, spat on her.
Screamed at her, sneered.
Those who had broken her down to nothing along that long, miserable, inhuman walk of shame.
They would pay.
She was Queen of the Iron Throne now, none to dispute her, not really.
Not anyone who counted.
And they, the grime beneath her feet, would pay.
She had already begun it, her conquest, her vengence.
Septum Unella.
That stone-faced, tireless worm of a woman.
Ringing that horrid bell, bellowing that terrible word over and over and over and over, right in her ear, until it filled the entire world with sh-
Ceresi's finger was shaking now and she used every bit of her strength to quell the tremors.
They passed.
Septum Unella, or what twitching, broken mass was left of her anyway, would rot in the deepest levels of the forgotten dungeons, forever and forever.
Or, Cersei mused, staked alive and left to molder, remaining entrails hanging out and purifying, tongue-less mouth garbling, before the castle for all to see as a promise of the fate that awaited anyone who dare challenge the Queen.
And it would be understood to all that none would defy her without consequences.
Either way.
Cersei hadn't yet decided.
She had ruthlessly decided a few other things however.
She would keep her hair shorn.
Adorn herself in cheerless, forbidding black.
Eat only the meat men ate.
The time for lace and flipperies were gone past now.
She had not time nor care for them any longer.
Women and their ways were weak, could be violated easily, at any time.
Cersei Lannister would no longer be a helpless, weak woman, dependent on flattery and under handed dealings to ensure her survival.
Dependent on the mercy of others.
She would become man.
No. Better than man.
She would become Queen.
Awesome tumblr via Pinterest posted a picture of Cersei sitting next to what might be Septum Unella's Shame Bell, post walk.
Now, look, I know that it may just be a regular old bell. But honestly, this thought is so much more chilling to me.
You are welcome to tell me your opinion.
Everyone appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like. :)
