A/N: Unella & Gregor. (I mean, it's about Unella & Gregor, but the conversation is with Cersei. I sort of thought Gregor wouldn't be much of a conversational partner.)


Cersei held the goblet up a moment, savoring. Then she slopped out some wine, a generous glug, and the septa came to life with a jerk and splutter.

She smiled down. "Hello."

Now conscious again, the septa was conscious of her pain; she was twitching and moaning, writhing weakly in her chains.

She was trying to speak. "What?" Cersei said. "I can't hear you. You were loud enough shouting shame shame shame all those times… Did you injure your voice perhaps?" She took a sip herself.

The septa tried again, agitated and fearful, and this time it was intelligibly: "Has he gone?"

"Who, Ser Gregor?" She laughed. "No, sadly for you he's just finishing up a patrol. He'll return shortly."

"He'll return. Good." Unella relaxed. Her eyes closed and her lips stretched into a bloody smile. She's gone mad. "Praise the gods, praise all of the gods, blessed be those who have offered me this holy ordeal." Her eyes opened, and incredibly, they were sane and focused. "Even you, Cersei Lannister. Such a sinner you are, but even you have served the gods' purpose."

She must be mad, however clear her gaze. "What are you talking about?" she said, with some irritation. While the blood and bruises were a pleasure to see, what she really wanted was abject despair. Not this pious bleating about praising the gods. "I already told you, the gods have abandoned you. There is nothing holy in this world – let alone in this room. Here, for you, there is only pain – and the basest violence of a man who can't even-"

"No. Not a man." The septa arched up. "You were right: he is a god. He is the Stranger in the flesh." Mad after all! "I am in the hands of a god."

"Are you-…?"

"I have known human malice," the wretch went on, "But this is wholly different. The Stranger is lifeless desolation – and he is sacred. These wounds are blessings. I have been blessed by a god's own hand, sinner. We of the faith, we pray our whole lives for but a vision of what I have experienced."

Even with her eyes swollen and nose crooked and teeth missing, even through the crust of old black blood that covered all, Cersei could see that she looked radiantly happy. That hideous smile has to go. "Is it holy when he fucks you?" she said, vicious. "He's not a god, you lunatic, he is less than human. He's a beast in the skin of an evil man, the lowest creature ever to walk the earth, and you are here to serve his lowest needs."

"You don't understand," Unella said, still smiling. "Of course you don't. I didn't either. None of us did; we worshipped the Seven but really only comprehended six of Them. The Stranger was always else. So hard for us to grasp. He takes us, destroys us, with no ill will at all. He is no more low or evil than the Father, blessed be his name. Blessed be both their names."

Cersei poured more wine into the bitch's face, but even that was unsatisfying: it washed away some of the blood, and also made her goblet run low. "You may be fooling yourself, but you aren't fooling me," she declared. "I think I'll stay here and watch him fuck you. See how holy it really is."

The pronouncement was meant to win silence, but it drew a long ranting lecture instead. "Congress with the gods is the holiest of all," the wreck insisted. "We all dream of it. Every septon has gone to sleep to imagine holding close the Maid, every septa has longed for the Warrior's embrace." Was that madness in her bright eyes after all? "But you are not worthy to see the Stranger work his will!" Scolding, even now. "It is sin for you even to look upon him, with your blasphemous unrepentant heart. Shame. Shame is upon you, more than ever."

Cersei sacrificed the rest of her wine, wished she had enough to drown the hag entirely. "I think I'll have him tear out your tongue."

The septa coughed a while before answering. "Do what you like. Our prayers and praises reach the gods whether or not we speak them aloud."

"Prayers and praises? Is that what you're planning to-" They were interrupted by a banging on the door. Cersei watched the septa shudder, close her eyes, and start to cry. Now we're getting somewhere, she thought, and settled in for the show. The septa's terror lifted her mood, as did the casual blow Gregor dealt with his mailed fist before he even took his helmet off.

The good mood was short-lived though, because then Gregor started working but even during the very worst of it, prayers and praises were all that came out of the bitch's mouth.


TBC.

Sorry bout that. Hound & Beric; Tormund & Brienne up soon.