AUTHOR'S NOTES: Wow, guys. Thank you so much for all the love and the positive reviews I received for Olenna's chapter. It was a risky move, but as I've said to some of the few who contacted me, I think Olenna never wanted a crown for Margaery. She knew the risks it would imply and, for her, the wellbeing of her family as always first. That's why she plotted Joffrey's death in A Storm of Swords. Well, this chapter will be the last one, finally, about the events that happened in King's Landing.

The next seven chapters at least will be about Jon, Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, Myrcella, Robb and Eddard. Not necessarily in this order, but we'll get to those stories first. And from that point onwards, many plots will get together and I'll get easier for you to follow the story. I'm sorry if I've been too much focused on the King's Landing's arc, but it was necessary to bring it to an end. War is finally happening. Next time we'll hear about it, I expect it will be a Tyrion POV. As usual, feel free to leave your review and contact me via PM.

I struggled to write this one. Cersei is my favorite character, and up until this point I made an effort to portray her as a smart player of this game. But the loss of Jaime and Joffrey made it impossible to maintain such register. This is a very bleak chapter, I'm sorry. But it was needed. You'll see.

PREVIOUSLY: After Joffrey's death, Tyrion made a deal with Olenna Tyrell, right before her death, to crown Tommen and marry him to Margaery Tyrell. Since Prince Edwyle was kidnapped and the Iron Throne is vacant, Tyrion made the decision he thought best to secure the throne. Meanwhile, Cersei is mentioned to be grieving the death of Jaime and Joffrey, and unaware of the decisions happening without her.

CERSEI IV

First, the tears drowned her in a sea of sorrow.

Cersei Lannister had stood on watch by their side for days. Nothing else mattered. The Iron Throne could be vacant, the city could be burning in chaos and a war could loom not far ahead, that she no longer cared.

At least, not until she was ready to fight again.

No, the voice said in her head. His voice. A voice so clear that it was as if Jaime was just behind her back and not lying dead in front of her. You can't mend broken things, sweet sister.

The time to act was upon her. For two days she had cried, yes, living in total seclusion, wishing to lie down between those bodies. It was impossible to live in such a state of raw excruciating pain. It was the kind of pain you can't explain. An agony you can't endure without changing something in your core, unless you don't want to survive in a world that is no longer your world.

The bond she had with Jaime had been abruptly severed. It seemed like a part of her heart was now rotting inside her chest. She could almost feel the taste of blood in her throat, just as Jaime should have tasted before dying with a knife piercing his neck. And the most intimate parts of her body, the parts of her that had given birth to Joffrey, that had made her feel alive and experience the sweetest pleasures of the world, seemed now to have been sewn shut with steel wire. Nothing more than a wound that will never bleed again.

That was the kind of pain she felt.

How can I do this without you?

She looked to her brother in search of an answer.

Jaime looked strangely peaceful, wearing his golden armor. She had insisted that he had to be buried as a Lannister and not as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, as traditionally commanded. A red cloak was fastened to his shoulder, enveloping him in a bed dignified for a king. He had his sword at his belt, the ruby glinting on the pommel and the helmet placed by the side of his right arm. A true knight. Thankfully, the wound ripping his neck was hidden beneath the gold breastplate.

Slowly, Cersei extended a hand to touch the cold gold again, ignoring the empty scabbard on his waist where a dagger was missing.

Save your tears, sister, his voice said in her mind, tormenting her. You know my blood is in your hands.

Cersei closed her eyes. The voice was there, always there, filling an unfamiliar void in her life and making sure she paid for what she had done. After all, in a terrible way, the blame was on her.

During her vigil, many memories had come to her mind. One of them had the smell of the sea and the taste of Jaime's sweat imprinted on it. She could still feel the taste of salt he had on his lips that night. He had returned to his chambers, after a night swim in the Sunset Sea. His golden hair was wet, as was his body when he took her to the bed and made love to her, spoiling her favorite dress with seawater. That had been an age of glory, filled with days of promises and hope and nights of dreams and eternity.

However, she could remember that night better than any other because it was the one when Jaime had decided their lives for them. Having the moonlight as a blessing, he told her he would forfeit his inheritance and join the Kingsguard to be at her side in the Red Keep. She was supposed to marry Rhaegar by then, and the thought of living a few years away from each other was a sweet price to pay for a whole life side by side. She would get a crown in her head, and he would get his white cloak. They would be a power couple.

However, he had made her swear a few words, just as they lay naked on his bedroom.

"Promise me, Cersei." He had pleaded, as if his life depended on that. He was still inside her, catching his breath. "Promise me that one day we will run away."

"Run away?" She asked, digging her nails on his back, thrusting him deeper into her.

"After you give heirs to your dragon prince." He said, between kisses. "When you believe your round as queen is done." Another kiss. "When we're done with the bloody Seven Kingdoms, promise me that we'll leave."

She had laughed between moans, stealing one more kiss from his lips.

"I'm serious, Cersei." He said, stopping to look directly into her eyes.

"Yes." She replied, pushing him inside her again. "I promise."

She had been nothing more than a silly girl, but she learnt to cherish that promise the years that followed. The occasion to leave, though, never arose. At least, she had never believed it had. Power proved to be not as smooth as they had hoped. Yes, Jaime was sure their father's death was the sign they had prayed for years. And maybe it was. But she had not heeded his words, she had made plans to poison the Tyrells, to secure Joffrey's reign and now…

Now it's too late, Jaime's voice finished. It's too late for us.

The Dowager Queen closed her eyes again. No tears ran down this time.

"For how much time must I endure this?"

"I'm afraid you don't have much time, Your Grace."

She was not expecting a real answer, but the voice that replied had not come from her mind.

Many had come and gone before she had ordered the guards to prevent anyone from entering the Royal Sept. Not even the bloody Silent Sisters were welcome. The Dowager Queen wanted to be alone, to have them for herself for a few more hours, to hold them in a maddening nightmare forever. The Small Council had conceded to her request, too much focused on getting their hands on everything else that was happening.

And to keep me away.

But time was up.

"Qyburn." She acknowledged, turning slowly to face the maester. He was one of the few allowed to visit her. Carrying a tray with wine, bread and cold meat, he approached slowly. "Why are you here?" She asked, bluntly. "Have they found it?"

It.

The word was so small and insignificant, but somehow it didn't hurt anymore.

"I'm afraid not, Your Grace." Qyburn stammered quickly. "As far as I know, the City Watch keeps patrolling the perimeter around Flea Bottom. The riots continue and—"

"Do I look like I care about that?" She asked, turning his back to him once more. She preferred the company of the dead to the one of the living. "I gave specific orders to the Council concerning that pit hole. In a few days, I'll raze Flea Bottom to the ground and put an end to that plague." She retorted, feeling her face grow red. "But I don't have time for that now. The king deserves to be buried with respect. The City Watch and every man in this wretched city should be looking for his head. What is the Small Council doing?"

Even though two days had passed since what they were now calling the Red Melee, King's Landing was far from returning to normal. She didn't know the details yet about how sellswords had infiltrated both the Lannister Guard and the City Watch, even if she had a theory or two. The Small Council was already investigating the red and gold guard, purging any traitor from their ranks. Even so, it seemed most of the responsible were gone. Lord Varys included, as well as Queen Sansa, who was allegedly dead, and her little weasel of a sister and the prince.

What she knew for a fact was that the head of the king remained lost. She would never be able to erase from her mind the sight of the head parading on top of a spear. The only remnant of her son was the veiled thing laying on the table side by side with Jaime. They had found the body among the ashes of the king's pavilion, and recognized it only thanks to the armor he was wearing. But it was nothing more than a charred, headless, black thing.

A thin golden veil covered it, trying to give the late king a regal ending.

Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds.

She shivered, clenching her fists.

"I'm afraid, Your Grace, the Small Council is not heeding your request." Qyburn continued, frowning. "My informants have told me the City Watch received orders to stop searching and protect the perimeter around—"

"Enough." Cersei commanded, lifting her hand. "You are just repeating yourself."

The maester nodded.

"But Your Grace, as your humble and loyal servant, I feel obliged to advise you again." He said, and his voice quivered with a note of impatience. "You've to do something if you want to have a place in court. The king is being advised by some of the men who have reason to get you out of the game."

The king.

The ringing of the bells was taking any bit of sanity left in her. King. They were claiming. All of them. From the bells of the Great Sept to the ones on top of the watchtowers by the gates. King. All of them chanting their praise. King, king, king. All of them tolling for the future. All of them tolling for life. All of them tolling for the sake of the new king.

Gold shall be their crowns…

Once again, Jaime's voice sounded vividly in her head, teasing her with her worst fears.

"No!" She screamed, turning to the dead body. "No!"

"Your Grace, what are you—?"

Cersei Lannister turned again to the maester, just as quickly as an enraged lioness.

"Tell me what you wanted to say and go away." She commanded, letting her voice echo through the sept. "I don't have time for this."

Qyburn took a step further, resolute in saying whatever was on his mind.

"Your Grace, you've endangered your position by letting Lord Tyrion control the Small Council." He stated, repeating all the little things he had been feeding her recently. "Your brother has already called to arms. Envoys left last night to the Westerlands, the Reach, the Vale and the houses on the Crownlands." He gulped, looking directly into her eyes. "Besides, I'm not entirely sure if the military strategy prepared is the right. Lord Randyll tells me Lord Tyrion is devising a plan to attack the Riverlands in less than a fortnight…. And you know Lord Tyrion has the new king around his little fingers, Your Grace. King Tommen has a crown on his head, but the entire court knows he will need guidance to—"

Look at him, Cersei, the voice in her head whispered again, chuckling. Can you see yourself through his eyes?

Yes, she could. The pity in Qyburn's eyes was unbearable. The Dowager Queen didn't look so much as Cersei Lannister these days. Wearing the same black dress she had worn at her father's funeral, she looked like a ghost. Her skin had grown pale and cold, her eyes were reddish from the tears and the fatigue and her hair was disheveled. However, she couldn't care less about looks.

He is a fool, the voice pressed on. He still believes you can do this, sister.

Cersei gulped, wishing the voice would stop once and for all.

Does he really believe you can halt your fate?

"Where—?" She started, before stopping. The voice in her head and the one outside it were messing with her senses. "No, no… Qyburn, where is she?"

Once again, Qyburn's face showed confusion and impatience. However, the maester quickly grasped the meaning of her words and sighed, right before giving her the answer she wanted. It was clear he felt other matters deserved more discussion than that one.

"She is hidden and safe, Your Grace. Just as I assured you yesterday."

"The Small Council have not asked for her?"

Qyburn smiled somberly.

"I'm afraid they have, yes." He said. "Lord Randyll Tarly paid me a visit just a few hours ago to poke around and make questions about Lady Catelyn's body."

"I don't want to hear her name." Cersei snarled, digging her nails into the flesh of her hand. "Well, it's best if we remove her from the keep. Lord Randyll may be in our pocket, but the other ones are not. I'll deal with Tyrion soon enough, but we must prepare. For now, they may be too busy talking about war and making new kings, but soon enough they will start looking for it. So, I believe it's better if the body is taken out of the keep. Hide it somewhere in the city, in a place where you can work and—"

"Your Grace, I can take care of the woman's dead body." He assured. "It's about the ones who live I'm afraid—"

Cersei shook her head.

"No." She insisted, her eyes wide open. "Her body is of the utmost importance, Qyburn."

Let the bitch stay dead, Jaime whispered again, amused. I did her a favor putting her out of her misery.

"No." Cersei repeated out loud, making Qyburn believe she was talking to him. "She killed my brother and I'll make her pay, even if she is already burning in the Seven Hells."

"Yes, Your Grace." Qyburn replied, once again showing how uncomfortable he was.

Oh, no, it seems like even your little rat thinks you've grown mad, Jaime laughed.

Cersei shook her head again and took a few steps toward Qyburn.

"And have you done the other thing I asked?" She said, grabbing the jar of wine to fill a glass for herself.

"Yes, Your Grace." Qyburn replied promptly, reproachfully watching the ribbon of wine falling into the glass. "Lord Tyrion will pay you a visit as soon as the Small Council convenes."

"Good." She said, sipping the wine. It tasted like ashes.

"Good?" Qyburn asked. "Your Grace, I'm afraid you are not aware of how your position has changed during the last few hours. I urge you to go to the Small Council hall. Lord Randyll may be acting on your behalf, but even he can't do much to stop Lord Tyrion. There is still some time to prevent any foolish action that will heavily harm your position—"

"No, I want Tyrion to have a taste of power first." She said, finishing the wine quickly. "Right before I snatch it from him."

"But how do you plan to do that, Your Grace? I don't think I've to remind you your position is at stake. The Small Council believes they have the king on their grasp."

"The king you talk about is not the king."

Oh, but a golden crown is already laying on his head, sister…

No, she would not allow him to finish that sentence.

And both of us know that soon enough a golden shroud will be laying over his dead body.

"What are you saying, Your Grace?" Qyburn asked, frowning his brows. He had noticed how for just a second her eyes had turned to glass, as if her mind had left her body.

"I can't find the right words to—"

"I can get rid of Lord Tyrion tonight, if that is what you wish." Qyburn interrupted, eager to help her anyway he could. He was not doing this entirely for her. If she were to lose power or to leave the court, he would also be unwelcomed. "I can arrange for the king to be taken to your chambers. I can make the Tyrell whore throw herself from a tower. She just lost her grandmother, so it will be easy to make her death seen as a suicide over her grief. I can spin things in your favor, Your Grace, but you have to let me help you and you have to do it now."

Cersei poured herself another glass of wine.

"Yes, you're very resourceful, aren't you?" She managed a bitter smile. "That's all for now, Qyburn. You may go."

The maester felt those words as a slap, but nodded, admitting defeat. As the door of the sept closed after he left, the eerie silence fell again and she took another sip of wine. Only the tolling of the bells disturbed her now. The wine was doing his job muffling the other voice.

Sitting in one of the benches of the sept, she looked again to the bodies.

It was much more than getting Tyrion out of the way and force the Small Council to do her bidding again. That she could do quickly. No, this was a fight against time. The loss of Joffrey and Jaime had taught her that fate was catching up with her. The hell she had lived in during the last few days was only the start of a penance she would pay if nothing was done to halt it.

It all came down to the bloody prophecy.

Queen you shall be. Yes, Maggy The Frog had been right all along. Since the day she had married Robert, she had remembered the old woman's words almost every day. Every time she was afraid, or whenever a victory was achieved, the words were there, looming like a threatening shadow. But a part of her never believed them to be true. Even so, she had always acted cautiously, preparing for the worse.

Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear. Oh, for how long had she been sure the queen Maggy had anticipated was the dragon whore ravaging through Essos? She had been sure the Targaryen girl would be a problem someday. Her fear had even led her to prepare for the day she would come riding her dragons and bringing her army. She and Joffrey had convinced the Small Council to send assassins after her. They had reinforced the defenses of the keep and the city. And they had instructed Addam Marbrand to train secret squads of the City Watch to fight dragons, providing them with all kinds of dragon lore from the archives of Oldtown.

But all along, the queen who had brought her down and taken all that she held dear had been another.

Sansa.

The Starks seemed to be the ones behind everything. Jeyne Westerling, who had been found locked in the chamber next to the one where Jaime was killed, told them Arya Stark had come to kidnap the prince. So that meant, as she had suspected, that the North had made a move to put his heir on the Iron Throne and was involved in all the mess that had happened. If Edwyle just had died after falling from his horse, everything would have played out differently.

Oh, Sansa, Cersei thought to herself, tightening the grip around the glass.

If the girl's body hadn't burnt to ashes among the ruins of the king's pavilion, she would get her revenge. Death by fire was too kind to her. Maybe the Gods had been good and had spared the girl. Maybe she was somewhere alive, running for her life with her son. After all, only her crown and cloak had been found among the dead. It was not really a proof of her demise.

If she is alive, I'll make her wish to be dead.

Before that, she had to prevent the rest of the prophecy from happening. The words that followed were ones that haunted her the most. It was about her three children.

Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds.

It was not hard to interpret the meaning of those words, but she had felt too much safer to believe that her children, the princes of the crown, could die before her. However, as Joffrey lay dead and Tommen with a crown on his head, she realized the prophecy was not only true, but that time was also running short.

After the events in the Tournament's grounds, it became clear that a shift of power would happen. The natural heir to the Iron Throne was Prince Edwyle, but with the prince lost the Small Council had on its hands two possible decisions. Qyburn was right. Instead of crying, she should have tried to prevent Tyrion's stupidity shape the new world. But it was physically impossible to do so without grieving.

The Small Council had sent men after the prince, of course, but the chances of getting him back were slim. A war would happen no matter what. In the meanwhile, a regent would have to be appointed to sit on the Iron Throne while the true heir was amiss. Unless the Small Council decided to put the crown on another's head and ignore the rightful lineage. That was the first option: recognize Edwyle as king, appoint a regent and make war to get him back where he belonged.

The other option was the one already in motion. In secret, Tommen had been crowned in a small bedroom, at the eyes of servants. Randyll Tarly, Tyrion and Lady Olenna e Margaery Tyrell had also been present, giving their blessings. A marriage happened minutes after, forming a new alliance between the Throne and the Reach, as if the Tyrells were more trustworthy than the Starks at the moment.

Cersei had to shut it all down and get rid of the architects of such plan. All of them. She would even throw that Tyrell whore to a cell if that meant the Tyrells' obedience, but her little boy wouldn't kept a barren whore as his wife or maintain a crown on his head.

No, the plan was simple. She would appoint herself as Queen Regent and send Tommen to Casterly Rock, away from golden crowns, dangerous intrigues and unworthy wives. The whole idea had dawned on her as the bells started tolling through the city on the morrow. She would mourn the dead for the rest of her life, but she would also make sure Tommen and Myrcella were safe. That was her duty as their mother and why she had to break the prophecy once and for all.

And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you. Her tears had drowned her, hadn't they? Cersei Lannister allowed herself a wicked smile, and for a moment she looked exactly as a Mad Queen. She stood up from the bench and grabbed the jar of wine. She would need all the strength available.

A few hours passed. Day turned to night quickly, and all the while she enjoyed her solitude, in a silent feast with the dead. It was just after finishing the jar of wine that the doors of the sept opened to let in the man she most wanted to see.

Tyrion walked in and he seemed to be bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. With a tired expression and red eyes, he looked even shorter than he actually was.

"I'm glad you finally asked to see me." He said, advancing slowly through the cold sept. Two men of the Kingsguard followed him. Faces she didn't know. Faces to replace the dead ones. Faces she would soon replace.

"It was time." She said, trying to sound weak and fragile. She nodded to the empty place at her side on the bench. "Come and sit."

"Mother."

Cersei almost gasped in surprise as she saw Tommen walk right behind Tyrion. He had been hidden all along behind the guards. The golden crown glinted strangely on his head. Somehow, it fitted him nicely. He seemed more regal and wise than Joffrey had ever looked, but it was a distressing sight all the same. Tears prickled in her eyes, and fear once again escalated in her chest.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, taken aback. "I want to have a private word with him."

Tommen hesitated before taking another step. He turned his head to Tyrion and back to her, and then back to Tyrion. The resolution seemed to have settled on his face when he finally opened his mouth to talk again.

"I had hoped I could join you. We need to discuss important family matters, Mother."

Oh, they want to send me away, Cersei realized. They think they are in control.

"Very well." Cersei said, forcing a tired, willing smile. I need them to trust me. She could play along in their game and make her move when they least expected. Tommen was old enough to understand what was about to happen. In fact, it could work as a lesson for him. It was time for him to understand he had not been carved to play the game. "But if we are here to discuss family matters, maybe it's time to do it only among family." Her gaze focused on the guards waiting by the door.

Tommen simply gestured to the guards, commanding them to wait outside. Finally, the three of them sat on the bench, the one right in front of the bodies. For almost five minutes, neither of them talked, as if each of them were paying their respect to the dead.

Tommen, Cersei noticed, had no stomach to look toward Joffrey's body. He kept his eyes on his feet and by the way his leg kept moving, she understood he was nervous. Tyrion, on the other hand, was looking with teary eyes to Jaime, as if he wanted to say one last thing to his brother but, for the first time ever, had no words to use. Books and wits cannot prepare a man for death, no matter what you think.

"Cersei, I know we had our differences." Started Tyrion eventually, when he got his words back. "And I don't hope this will change much between us. The days long gone will always weigh more than the days to come. So, I'm not here to ask for your sympathy, since I don't intend to give you mine. We may be brother and sister, but we would only fool ourselves trying to ignore how much we despise each other. Nonetheless, we have one thing in common."

They exchanged glances, as he paused to mediate about what to say next.

"And what is that?"

"Both of us loved Jaime." He said, his lips quivering once more. "I hope that we can work together, treat each other with respect, to honor Jaime's memory and—"

"Love?" She asked, clenching her fists. Oh, she needed to maintain her act but, somehow, she knew that would be impossible. "Don't be a fool. You may have loved him, but don't compare whatever brotherly feelings you had for him to the ones I had."

Tyrion was slightly taken aback by that remark and broke the gaze they had been sharing up until that moment.

"It was a different kind of love, but Jaime was—"

Tyrion stopped, unable to say another word.

For a moment, she didn't know exactly what to say and silence fell again between the three of them. There was too much sorrow diving them, and no bridge to cross that abysm. She could have reminded him how her bond with Jaime was stronger than anything Tyrion could have had with him, but as the Imp had said, she didn't want his sympathy.

"Do you know why I've asked for you, Tyrion?" She asked, after a while.

"Tommen, of course." Tyrion said, sniffing. His voice was embargoed by emotion, but he was trying to control any sign of weakness. The time for pretending to be a family was over. "I know you are angry and yes, I know you have the right to be so. I should've consulted you first, but everything happened quickly, Cersei."

"Yes." Cersei replied, sharp as a blade. "You should have looked for me. I would never have allowed this nonsense. Tommen's place is not here. His place is on the Westerlands as the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock… But I suppose it would suit you better if he were to take the crown. Have you snatched our father's title already?"

The Imp sighed, impatient, and just as quickly he was back to his former self.

"Cersei, I don't intend to argue with you now." He said, averting the question. "We are preparing to march against the Starks. Putting Tommen on the Iron Throne was the smart thing to do. We've secured the Tyrells, even after whatever happened to them…" By the tone he used, she understood a subtle accusation was implied. "And hopefully soon enough we'll have the Vale and the Stormlands joining our ranks. But to win this war we need a strong king on the Iron Throne, a king able to unite the Great Houses again and end any rebellion the Starks bring to our doorstep."

"Must I remind you that Prince Edwyle is the king and not Tommen?"

Tyrion's lips spread into a wicked smile.

"I would never have imagined that you could say such words, dear sister. However, let me put your worries to rest: the Council signed just an hour ago a declaration that will be spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms starting tomorrow." Tyrion said, pulling a piece of paper from his sleeve. Cersei grabbed the paper. "The marriage between Sansa and Joffrey was annulled. Thanks to you, the papers were ready to sign. We just made it official. So, the prince is now a bastard and has no pretense to the Throne. Of course Robb Stark will want to use the boy to make war against us, but Law and Gods are on our side. The Great House will recognize that our pretense is stronger."

"No." Cersei repeated, rumpling the papers in her hands. "I'm afraid this will not happen."

"Why?" It was Tommen's turn to ask. "Do you think I'm unfit to rule?"

Cersei looked to her son, sitting right next to Tyrion.

You don't have the thirst for power.

"No." She lied. "I just want you to live for many years, my dear."

"Cersei, are you serious?" Tyrion intervened. "I thought we would argue because you don't approve of the marriage, but not because Tommen is the king. There is nothing you can do about it." His eyes turned once more to the dead bodies. "It's time to move on. Tomorrow Joffrey will be taken to the Great Sept to—"

"He won't go anywhere." She snarled, viciously. "Not without his head."

Tyrion exchanged a glance with Tommen, silently asking for him to help him out.

"The head is lost." Tommen said, softly. "The City Watch cannot find it—"

"The City Watch is not looking for it."

"Of course it isn't." Tommen said just as quickly, and in a harsher tone. "The City Watch is protecting us. Most of the Lannister Guard is behind bars awaiting trial. We need men protecting our walls in this time of upheaval, not looking for heads."

Cersei gasped. She would have slapped him if Tyrion was not sitting between them.

"How dare you talk in such way about your brother?" No, Tommen would never say that by his own. "Oh, who put those words in your mouth?" She asked, turning quickly to Tyrion now. "Was it you? Or is the Tyrell whore already whispering in his ear?

"Mother, I can't accept that you illspeak in such way about the Queen—"

The Queen.

"No!" Cersei interrupted, standing from the bench. "The Tyrell whore is no fit for you, Tommen. Neither is the crown. I want you to understand that and simply accept it."

"Cersei, calm down." Tyrion said, extending his arm to touch her arm. Surprisingly, he looked concerned for her, watching for the first time a paranoid side of his sister that he knew was in her, but that had never shown itself so clearly.

"Don't touch me!" She yelled, pulling her arm away from his touch. Her eyes turned again to Tommen. "You will depart to Casterly Rock in the morning."

"I'm no longer a child, Mother." Tommen replied, his voice shaking.

"Cersei, enough." Tyrion intervened again, lifting a hand to silence Tommen. "Cersei, we are not your enemies. I beg of you to work with us, not against us. The Small Council has sworn his fealty to the king. There is nothing you can do to undo that."

Cersei laughed.

"There is always something to do."

"We need you on our side." Tyrion said, ignoring her last remark. There was no gaining in pursuing her fears and mad accusations. "In fact, I'm sure you'll want to do this on your own for the behalf of our family."

Tyrion was trying to sweet talk her, showing her that he valued her, as if she was one of his whores.

"We received strange news from the Vale yesterday. The guards were scavenging Varys' chamber, trying to find any sign of him, but they found instead a message from Petyr Baelish. Do you remember him?"

Littlefinger. She had seen the man for the last time almost five years ago, when he had been banished from court at the request of Lady Catelyn. There were rumors that the Lord of the Fingers passed his time between Lysa Arryn's legs and the Stormlands, meddling in shady businesses.

"What about him?"

"Well, they didn't reply to our letters for a long time, and it seems there is a reason. According to what Baelish told Varys, the Lords Declarant of the Vale decided to cease communications with the Iron Throne for a few weeks because of certain events. I don't know how they managed it, but they did a fine job containing a great scandal. Lady Lysa was executed a few weeks ago after assaulting Myrcella."

Her heart jumped a beat.

Lady Lysa was Lady Catelyn's sister.

And she assaulted my daughter?

"Myrcella?" Cersei asked, taken aback. "Is she dead?"

Gold should be their crowns, gold their shrouds.

"Dead? What? No, of course not. There is no need for worry. She is fine." Tyrion reassured quickly, managing a smile that served only to infuriate her more. "But it seems Lady Lysa was mistreating her. I don't know details about what happened and what kind of abuse was inflicted on the girl, but Baelish assured Myrcella is fine. Lady Lysa was trialed and Lord Robert ordered her execution. Honestly, I find odd that the boy asked for her death, considering how attached he was to the woman but—"

"This is all on you." Cersei said, hoping to put an end to the conversation. "It was you who shipped her off to the hands of those lunatics."

"Our bond with the Arryns was weak." He said. "And that was long ago, Cersei. You can't hold a grudge after—"

"I want Myrcella back on the Red Keep." She declared. "And I will make sure she returns within two weeks."

"Cersei, you are overreacting again." Tyrion said quickly. "Can you let me finish what was saying? Well, we need Myrcella on the Vale, now more than ever. That's why we married her to Lord Robert. We need the Vale's army on our side. That's how you can help us."

Of course it is.

"You want me to travel to the Vale to convince a sickly boy to grant us his army as if it was a toy?"

Tyrion frowned.

"I'm afraid it's not the boy who needs convincing, but the Lords Declarant. We could send someone to deal with them, but as the mother of the Lady of the Vale and the Queen Dowager you could—"

"No." Cersei snarled. "It's out of the question."

"Very well." Tyrion replied promptly, daring to pat her on the leg. "Then I'm afraid the Crown has no use for you, sister. You shall depart to Casterly Rock tomorrow. The Silent Sisters are ready to escort Jaime back home."

Cersei laughed, and the sound that echoed through the sept made her shiver.

"Was that amusing?" Tyrion asked sarcastically.

"I could order your arrest this very moment, Imp." She said, viciously. "And let you rot in a cell."

"Cersei, it's no time for idle threats." He said. "I'm doing the best for the Realm and I'm sure one day you will thank me for it."

"Yes." She said. "You always do the best, don't you? But it was you the one who killed Mother when she gave birth. It was you and that filthy woman who brought chaos to the Riverlands right before Joffrey's reign. And yes, it was also you the one who sold my little girl to a sick boy. It was you who placed a crown on Tommen's head. So, I must ask: was it also you the one behind Joffrey's death?"

Tyrion blinked, taken aback.

"What did you just asked—?"

"And what about Jaime? Was it you the one behind his death? Did you conspire with the Starks?"

"How dare you?!"

Tyrion stood up, his face burning red. For a moment, Cersei was amused with the idea of him striking her. She wanted him to do it. But he simply sighed, shaking his head and looking at her with disgust.

"Those were simply the words of a mad woman." He said, trying to justify her. "I'll not heed them for the sake of Jaime's memory."

"Jaime's memory?" She felt the blood boil in her veins and knew the moment was close. She could hurt him, she could destroy him, she could ruin his world like he had ruined hers. "And what memory is that, Tyrion? Are you referring to the day he took you to that Tysha girl you married or to the one father asked him to get rid of her? Oh, I can remember how we used to laugh about your little romance with the girl. You still believe she is a whore after all this time, don't you?"

Tommen gasped and automatically stood up. The way he placed himself at Tyrion's side hurt her.

"Mother, this has gone too far…"

"Tysha?" Tyrion asked, receding to the bench again. He fell on it, completely lost in his own pain.

No, not lost.

Crushed.

"Yes." Cersei said, feeling empowered. She wished Qyburn could see her now and understand why she had waited. "All of us knew about the girl, but—"

"It's a lie." Tyrion said, shaking his head. "You're lying."

Tommen placed a hand on Tyrion's shoulder.

"Uncle, maybe it's time to get some rest. We can talk about this on the morrow." Tommen tried to intervene, but his words got lost.

"How does it feel now, Tyrion?" Cersei asked, relishing in every tear that ran down her brother's eyes. "Can you feel the pain?"

Tyrion raised his head to face her again.

"You're evil. I don't know what I have done to you, Cersei. I don't know… I truly don't know why you impose such pain on me…"

Cersei advanced a step and placed a hand on her brother's shoulder.

"Yes, you do." She said, softly. "You're the valonqar."

Just as Tyrion tried to get free from her grip, the golden dagger Cersei had removed from Jaime's hilt, the one she had held in her sleeve since morning, was quickly on her hand. The gold flashed in the candlelight and just as quickly as it had appeared, the dagger danced in Cersei's hand to rip Tyrion's throat.

The valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.

But then the unexpected happened.

Tommen, who was standing right by their side, threw himself to shield Tyrion as soon as he saw the dagger. Cersei lost balance on her feet when her son's body hit her. However, she still plunged the dagger onwards, hoping to reach her target. A scream echoed through the Royal Sept, right before she fell on the ground, hitting with her head on the feet of the table holding Jaime's body. The dagger slipped from her hands and fell loudly on the floor, scattering blood drops everywhere, just like rain. A second later, Jaime's body rolled from the table, falling on the ground with a sound like thunder.

What just happened?

Cersei stood on the floor for a few seconds, terror settling in as the realization of what had just occurred dawned on her. Why was she staring to Jaime's face, and why was he laying just a few inches from her?

"Guards!" Someone cried.

Tyrion.

Yes, she remembered.

The dagger.

Tyrion.

Tommen.

The prophecy.

Making an effort to sit, she grabbed the dagger again. She had to finish Tyrion, she had to break the prophecy, she had to.

And then she saw her brother kneeling on the ground, pressing a red cloth against Tommen's face. Her son was laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with tears running down from his eyes and moaning with pain.

Gold shall be their crowns, gold their shrouds.

The cloth was not red.

But blood was.

"What have you done to him?" She asked, crawling desperately to them. "Get away from him, dwarf! I won't let you kill him…!"

"You deranged woman." Tyrion said, turning to her with fury gleaming in his eyes. He was still pressing the cloth against Tommen's face. The boy was growing pale, and his moans of pain were like death itself. "It was you who did this!"

"No, no!" Cersei cried, feeling tears wetting her cheeks. "He tried to protect you. He tried to protect… He—"

She pushed Tyrion aside and grabbed the cloth. Looking closely, she felt a pang of relief. Tommen had a wound cutting the left side of his face, but the blade had missed his eye by a few inches. The wound ran from his brow to the middle of his cheek. He would live.

"Tommen, it was an accident. I…"

The king opened his eyes and looked directly to her.

"Mother…" He cried, sounding once again like the little boy she wanted him to be. "Mother, I'm sorry."

"No, you have nothing to be sorry about." She reassured, pressing the cloth. He was so gentle that even after what she had done, he was begging for her forgiveness. "Everything will be alright as soon as I take you out of this place. I promise, and this time I'll heed my promise."

"Yes, I do have to ask for your forgiveness." He continued, tears running from his eyes. "I've no other choice now." Cersei shushed him. She didn't want him to grow tired pointlessly. "From now on, you are banished from court, Mother. You'll leave to Dorne on the morrow, and there you will marry Prince Doran." He saw the look of confusion and hurt in his mother's eyes, because he hesitated for a moment. "You'll never be welcome to King's Landing again." He raised his hand slowly to touch her hand and take the cloth. By that time, he had closed his eyes again. He didn't want to see her again. "Guards, take the Queen Dowager to her chambers."

When the guards grabbed her, Cersei Lannister couldn't believe in what was happening, but she could also do nothing.

She went with the guards willingly, unable to look at her son again. Tyrion was back at his side, hiding the face of her precious Tommen, pressing the cloth against the wound as if that could save him from fate. Jaime's body lay right behind, in a strange position, saying his last goodbye to her. And her eyes had not the time to look for Joffrey, or to that charred thing she was leaving behind.

What have you said to Ned Stark?, Jaime teased, laughing in her ear.

She sobbed and smiled as the guards dragged through the Red Keep.

"You don't have to die to be dead."