The column entered the gates at noon.

Banners snapped in the strong winds above the army. Knights and lords on barbed horses, their foot soldiers marching behind to the sound of drums. Standard bearers held up an army of golden lions prowling on crimson silk, ready to strike at the enemies of House Lannister. Alongside lions were golden coins, ten purple stars on a field of yellow, the green and white of House Sarsfield, the purple unicorn of house Brax, the burning tree of Marbrand, House Crakehall's boar, the Swyft rooster and Prester's red ox.

It was like all the houses of the Westerlands had arrived to her aid, and with them was Jaime. Cersei smiled. She had sent forth an endless stream of ravens to the Riverlands. Her brother had finally heard her call for aid and returned to protect their family from the dragons wraith. Her brother in his shining golden armour . . .

Expect Jaime wasn't in shining armour gilded with gold that was once like his hair. Neither did he wear rubies or crimson silk. Her younger twin was armoured in the plain white of the Kingsguard, his hair had darkened and greyed with a growing beard that gave him an uncouth look. The only thing gold about him was his hand. A cripple, I need the help of a cripple. In many ways Cersei wanted to laugh, but in many others she wanted to cry.

It seemed like an age since she had been held prisoner by the High Sparrow and his ilk. She had sent ravens to him so he would return from the Riverlands with their army and help her escape from the smallfolk's hands, butchering all the sparrows in the process. That was what kept sane when she had been locked in that cell after her late uncle and so-called supporters in the small council failed to do so. But Jaime never returned and that left her to deal with all the traitors who planned her destruction alone. The bastard of Driftwater abandoned her, stealing her royal fleet only to hand his services to the Targaryens to the south. There was Lady Merryweather, her one friend who fled back to the Reach and hadn't returned. Her dead uncle not only bit the hand that fed him, but worked alongside Swyft and Pycelle to swarm their council with roses that undermined her authority. Then add a Dornish whore – not to mention bastard – for further embarrassment. All planned to bring instability to her realm.

And it worked.

With everything going on, Cersei had difficulty holding the capital. Like the snake she was, Nymeria Sand had slipped out of her grasp, as did many of her Dornishmen who were promptly handed over to Qyburn. Most died during their interrogations, but some were found with missing tongues. Her commander of the Gold Cloaks had been a disappointment. "How did you miss them, more than a hundred Dornish, fully armoured?" she had demanded Osfyrd. He was a tall man, with the hooked nose and dark hair of house Kettleblack, more likely to scowl then smile and was much crueller then his brothers. But cruelty didn't mean cunning, however, a trait all the Kettleblack brother surely lacked. If anything, the queen regent wagered a horse had more wit then him, and would likely perform a better job. The knight bowed his head and claimed he would begin a search throughout the city. "You bloody fool," was her response. "You weren't looking for them before?" Ser Osfyrd didn't reply and she immediately dismissed him from her presence less she actually did replace him with a horse. When the door closed, Cersei poured herself some wine. Arbor Red had become a dear friend.

Cersei knew they were there somewhere, hiding in the city like vermin. Under her orders, the Gold Cloaks watched the gates and patrolled the streets, but they were hard-pressed against the sparrows and many smallfolk who regularly got into fights with her men whenever the two butted heads. Perhaps I should have ordered Lord Tarly to burn their nest before moving out. Cersei regretted she didn't. Enemies, I have enemies everywhere. All waiting, all watching for the first sign of weakness. But she wasn't defenceless as she once was. The Reachmen may have taken their leave, but Cersei had plans. After Tommen pressed his stamp on the heated wax of a scroll, Qyburn was tasked with finding more men like Ser Robert Strong, an order he had been very eager to fulfil. Sadly, none could compare to her staunchest protector, but they were as loyal as him and followed her orders without question. They were known as the Silent Lions for the shaped masks they wore and their oaths of silence. It was their quest to find all those who threatened her son's rule and end them quickly.

She stood by the gates to the Red Keep, with the kingsguard and red cloaks forming a protective crescent. At the front of the column was her twin, armoured in white plate dented from the war in the Riverlands. His face reminded her of when he returned after Joff's death. It was thin and gaunt, with dark lines underneath his eyes. What once had been fine locks of beaten gold were now short and bristly. He still had that wretched beard that looked so much like Robert Baratheon's. Though it wasn't black, it was turning grey. He's old, maimed and useless now. Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard looked like a crippled and lifeless husk. All the colour had drained out of him, more so when he was head to toe in the white of the kingsguard. He used to look so handsome. Cersei had dreamt of him returning the night before, where he would kiss her, say everything would be all right before throwing her onto the bed and fucking her like he used to. The Jaime in her dreams was different though, with both hands of flesh, not one of gold. His mane was long like it had been before and he was clean shaven. In the dream, he looked nothing like the haggard creature before her now.

Jaime halted his horse and looked at their children. He smiled, until he turned to her where his smile vanished. Calling a shout to his men, her brother clumsily dismounted his horse. He wasn't as graceful as the man she had loved. "I'm happy to be back, family." His face was sad and Cersei wanted to slap him. His arrival was meant to bring back hope for their family. Tommen was getting worried as news came north, as was Myrcella. "I would say that the Riverlands were quite cold, much more than this . . . though I hoped the reception would be warmer."

"I'm glad your back, nuncle," the young lion king said quickly. He wore a doublet of Lannister gold and crimson, on his shoulders was a red cloak lined with fur. The heavy padding only made him look like a bear cub and his soft face was flushed. He was smiling though, but shied up as soon his mother turned to him.

"I'm glad too. Granted, I wish it was under better circumstances, but alas." He still had that smile though, the one that could cut. It had not blunted.

While her son had an easy smile, Cersei forced hers. Emerald eyes wandered to the other lords and retainers her brother had following him like a troupe of ducklings. Ilyn Payne stood beside his mangy grey horse in his rusted mail and with a massive greatsword on his back. The King's Justice was sorely needed at the capital. There was also Ser Lyle Crakehall, also known as the Strongboar, someone who Cersei couldn't stand for what he said at her wedding. Ser Addam Marbrand, his surcoat emblazed with the burning tree of his house and one of the few people that was trusted by her father to be competent.

"I'm glad you're back, my fair lords and knights. I'm thankful you've finally come to help relieve the city and protect your king." Took you all long enough. Turning back to Jaime, she said, "Brother, I'm so glad you've finally got my message." Her words were laced with venom.

"Oh sweet sister, I came down as soon as I received word," his words were cold. "You dare think I would dare abandon Tommen and Myrcella?" Not wanting to make a scene by lunging at him and scratching the ruin that was his face, Cersei turned to the lords and knights. All looked tired from their long ride. "I'm sure the servants can show you to your rooms, my lords." They didn't waste time and escorted the lords and their retinues inside the Red Keep. As they walked past her, Cersei noticed some wore the heraldry of the Riverland houses: Roote, Piper, Frey and Vance. The queen regent bit her tongue as they retired into the Red Keep. Jaime looked around. "Where is Myrcella?"

"In bed, unwell," was the queen's response. Thanks to those Dornish serpents. Cersei knew about the Martells, and their Dornish desire for vengeance on her family. Tyrion sent her there. He caused this.

"Then I'll have to see her. I'm sure she'll be relieved to know I'm here. Haven't seen the princess since the beginning of this infernal war." Turning down to Tommen, he smiled and as they walked back to the Red Keep together, the young king sprouting nonsense about his kittens before he asked Jaime if he could teach him how to use a lance and sword. Tommen wanted to defend the city, saying how Joff did so. Cersei thought the idea foolish and said he could not.

"I desire to talk to you, brother," the queen said. "I wish to see you in my solar. After you've changed." Her brother wore woollens and silks soiled with dried mud, sweat and still damp from recent snowfall. He looked more like a beggar then a Lannister.

Jaime agreed and Cersei retired to her solar where she summoned her Hand, Lord Hallyne of the Alchemists Guild. He didn't take long to enter, always being close to her. Cersei smiled at his entrance and asked him to sit. "Do you wish for anything, my lord? Maybe a wine, perhaps?" She summoned one of the novices forward, an innocent looking maid with fair hair and blue eyes. She was among the most regular novices, Cersei found, but also the quietest and most diligent.

The pyromancers smiled a sly little smile as he rubbed those soft damp hands of his. "Of course, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace." He asked the serving girl for some wine, and the Queen regent did likewise. "What has my queen summoned me for?"

"To ask of your latest report, my lord." He wasn't really a lord. He wasn't lords of anything, but it was a title that came with the post of Hand. A promotion from advisor, she thought. He had been most useful in creating her wildfire. "I would like to ask how much you've procured so far." They needed a lot of it. Wildfire served well during Stannis' attack, destroying his fleet as well as the men trying to climb the walls.

The small man smiled. His face was wrinkled and atop his bold shiny head he wore a leather cap. Though the clothes he wore were far from simple, a thick silken robe of black-and-scarlet trimmed with sable. "Much more than we expected," he said with pride. "We've been working tirelessly day and night to fulfil our king's wishes. The substance will protect this city. Our fruits are ripe and waiting."

Cersei nodded and began writing a decree Tommen would later stamp. Her son didn't read what was on the parchment so it was easy to get him to do what she wanted. It was his favourite thing to do, stamping warm wax.

The Alchemists guild were loyal servants, doing whatever she said as long as it brought back some power they had during the Targaryen kings. At boring length they told her it was once a powerful guild, but lost that influence and eventually were supplanted by the maesters. She allowed them that, all she desired was more wildfire. Cersei asked them to do it when Stannis was attacking, before the Imp took them for himself. "Of course. Let's just hope you continue. How many jars have you got?"

The man gave a wry smile. "We currently have six thousand jars. Most were used during the Battle of the Blackwater. But between those left over and the substance we've created in record time, we're certain we can get ten thousand to you, just as you asked. We're even uncovering the pots present already around the city. Little treasure troves, you could say."

The queen nodded. They did warn her that too much could prove a danger, and could burn down King's Landing. It was a danger she was willing to take. Let the Targaryens be king and queen of the ashes. Dragons love ash. They would kill Tommen and Myrcella, she knew. If that was going to happen – if Tommen and Myrcella died as the prophesy foretold – Cersei was going to take the city down with her. "I do hope you not only achieve that, but surpass it."

The man bowed, stood up and left. As the door opened, Jaime was standing behind the door, having been stopped by Ser Boros Blount. The old Kingsguard knight leaned on the side, red faced and heaving from the exhausting and harsh task of standing still on two legs. It seemed he was incapable of just that.

After Hallyne took his leave, Jaime entered. Her brother had stripped out of his soiled garbs and plate for a doublet of crimson and gold with two roaring lions. He looked like a Lannister until her eyes reached his face. "Who was that?"

Cersei smiled. She tapped some ink off her quill before continuing to write. "Only a loyal servant who is making us something to burn dragons." Could dragons burn? It was said they were fire made flesh. We'll see soon enough.

"Burn dragons?"

She put the quill to the side and looked up with a victorious smile. "I've been making a little gift for this Aegon and his little queen when they finally arrive." The Dornish as well. It had been a while since they experienced fire. They needed a refresher. Jaime looked at her dumbfounded. "Wildfire."

"Wildfire?" He repeated the word like a fool.

Likely losing his wits as well. Cersei gave a small smile and nod. It was a genius idea. She had been told it could kill a dragon, especially with one having drunk the stuff, though that one had arms instead of wings. The queen knew it would serve just as well as one. Everything can burn. Harren the Black learned that when his castle walls melted. That wasn't to mention it being beautiful to look upon, remembering the time she burned down the Tower of the Hand. "Of course, dear brother. It worked so well during the Battle of the Blackwater. You should have seen it, the amount of destruction it brought upon Stannis. Destroyed a fleet, no reason to think it shouldn't destroy an army." Her brother stared before she sighed. "Please sit, brother. I haven't seen you in a while and I'm sure you're thirsty. Do you need a drink?" Looks like you need to relax somewhat. Her brother did look tense.

"You know, sister, I sometimes don't know who I pity more. Tommen, the Seven Kingdoms, or even the Targaryens who may have to clean up your mess."

Cersei Lannister frowned at that. How dare you. "I wasn't the one who killed father, I wasn't the one who—"

"Armed the faith, crippling our alliance with the Tyrells? I'm sure you're not." His face was like it was carved from stone.

Cersei's bit back a retort and poured herself a cup of wine. The rich red liquid went to the top where even the slightest tilt would make the rich red substance run from the rim. "So you've finally got a raven. I was afraid you weren't reading them."

"I finally received your raven, and I heard what happened here." She filled his cup, but only halfway. Jaime began to move his right hand – the one that was gold – before stopping. Her brother knew he would spill it in his clumsiness, so he lightly grasped it with the left. "But truly, sister, after what we've done, you really think the faith would just accept it?"

She hated he was talking openly. Tommen and Myrcella might have be lions, but their power was based on people believing they were stags. The High Septon has yet to bless Tommen himself . . . she didn't like it. The High Sparrow was a traitor and had proven that when he imprisoned her. He's waiting and he'll strike. "The Targaryens did it, they married brother and sister. The faith didn't only ignore it, they worshipped them." That wasn't what she wanted to talk about. She wanted to ask how Jaime purposed to deal with the dragons, and the faith and the Tyrells. But the way he saw the roses as allies worried her. "That's not the point."

"Oh, I think differently, sweet sister. Many things have happened here, and not all of them were good. You shouldn't have sent me to the Riverlands. Our uncle died and so had Pycelle." He let out a bitter sound and cut right through her. "They once called it the smaller council. Now they call it the smallest council—"

It should be smaller, Cersei thought. No one is worthy, only I am. They're all useless. The small council was a mummer's farce. A lion shouldn't listen to the bleating of sheep.

"—Lancel has joined the Warrior's Sons and now we have Targaryens matching up the Kingsroad."

"That's what I want you to deal with, brother. While I'm under no illusion of you using your sword like you used to, I believe you still have enough brains to come up with a strategy." She paused and remembered those flags outside. "What was that I saw riding alongside you? You come back from the Riverlands and bring our enemies to our walls. Seven only knows how many we've inside the city." Jaime was useless. He was only ever good with his cock and sword hand, but he'd lost one and will likely lose the other if he tried her patience.

"The Riverlanders swore fealty to the crown and bent the knee. Alongside some fighting men, I have hostages including their sons and daughters. While they have no love for us, they also have no love for dragons and can aid in the defence of this city, especially with their men having sworn to protect their house." He took a slow and cautious sip then immediately put it down. "Two thousand Lannister men I bring with me from the Riverlands, alongside five hundred from those who bent the knee. Not a large amount, I know, but most of our army were disbanded by our father and returned to the Westerlands."

She had ordered the Westermen to call their banners once more. Cersei knew that'll take time and they won't be coming any time soon. Cersei bit her lips hard enough to taste the metallic taste of blood. "You should have come sooner brother," her voice was soft and she was unable to look at him, instead the queen stared at the cup that was half empty. "Why were you so long in the Riverlands? I sent you who knows how many ravens. Yet you only come back now." She looked at his golden hand, all dented. "I hope you didn't lose your cock this time. Every time you leave, you seem to lose something." Something important. She looked at that hand that was once used to fight and pleasure her. He should have lost his tongue, he never puts it to good use anymore.

Her brother took it in stride. "I love you too, sweet sister. I will admit that I missed our little conversations and the sound of your voice. After weeks riding alongside Ser Illyn Payne, it gets dull. I'll easily admit he's not a talkative man."

"You rode alongside Ser Lyle Crakehall."

He smiled slightly. "The Strongboar more than made up for it."

"Good to know that your humour hasn't died as well."

"Many parts of me are still alive and kicking."

Not the parts that matter. She took another sip of wine and refilled the glass. The substance was sweeter then what she was used to. "Is there anything else you are aware of, brother? Do you know that Tyrion is here in Westeros and that Sansa has been hiding in the Vale?"

"Tyrion and Sansa?" He looked taken aback. "Where was Tyrion?"

"Serving the Targaryens." She pulled out the scroll and handed it to him. By the hand of Tyrion of House Lannister. A Lannister always pays his debts. She hated that letter and wanted it burnt. He is not a Lannister, he's a traitor who deserves to be beheaded and have his boubous head covered in tar for all the world to see. She remembered what the witch said, "the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

Ser Jaime Lannister read it. "It can't be . . . how did he get into their hands?"

"Our dwarf of a brother has a cunning tongue and a thirst for vengeance." She frowned and remembered his threats. "Kill him for me, Jaime. Kill the dwarf who killed our son and father. Protect your other children too – Myrcella and Tommen." If Tyrion died, Maggy's prophesy couldn't come to fruition.

Jaime looked down. "He's our brother."

"He killed Joff, he killed father." Who knows who else he killed. She knew Tyrion also killed Pycelle and their uncle to cause further strife. Myrcella was ill, which was also down to his doing by aiding the Dornish, and Tyrion would kill Tommen before turning to her. There was nothing Tyrion wouldn't do to sit himself on the Iron Throne. The Targaryens are fools if they think they can trust him.

"Cersei . . ."

"You need to, Jaime, you need to protect this family. Us and our children," her voice was almost pleading. She hated it. She was a queen, a lion of Casterly Rock, not a beggar pleading for scraps. "The Targaryens won't get here, you'll make sure of it. You'll protect this family, Jaime."

"That is why I'm here," was his response, slow and quiet. "I'll do what I can to protect this family." He looked down at the table though it seemed his eyes weren't looking at it. "I do seek to aid this family, you are correct in that assumption, sweet sister. But you're not making it easy for me." He then looked up, his face was hard, like father.

"What do you mean, not making it easy?" She had been trying to bring back House Lannister to its full glory whilst her brother was busy gallivanting in the Riverlands, doing who knows what. "I was busy serving my son. You were sent to remove the Tully's and come back. Now, not only are the Targaryens moving north, there is Sansa in the Vale." She felt sick at the thought. Qyburn had told her the wolf girl was there. Hiding right under my nose. Married to the Young Falcon, their recent lord. Littlefinger was a traitor she should have killed ages ago. It was said he had the ability of rubbing two dragons together to create a third, which was the only reason he survived. Enemies to the north, enemies to the south, enemies to the east and enemies to the west. She was surrounded by enemies and her allies were untrustworthy and feeble. "You shouldn't have gone."

Her brother frowned. "I was doing the king's orders. Your—"

"The king is nine!" Cersei snapped. "What happened to the brother who when I asked something of him, he did so. What happened to him and not this soiled creature before me?"

He took it in stride. "Soiled?" He shook his head. "Oh sister, I was never cleaner. People say that I, the kingslayer, stained the white cloak. No, the white cloak soiled me—"

She laughed. He's a fool and has lost his mind. Not that he ever had much to begin with. "Oh brother, you need to look in the mirror. I can see that war has done nothing for you." In many ways she was wondering why she brought him back. I should have been given the cock. Cersei was always stronger than her brother but the gods were cruel.

"No, it has improved me." His face clinched, only highlighting the winkles that blemished his once beautiful face. "I forgot what it was like to be a proper knight. I once yearned to be like Ser Arthur Dayne, but ended up as the Smiling Knight." He shook his head. "There is still a chance to do so. I will serve my king and protect him. You are a fool, sister. A beautiful fool, but a fool nonetheless. News travels far and especially from foolish queens. The faith, imprisoning Queen Margaery, alienating the Tyrells." His golden hand slammed on the table. "We need the Tyrells, we need their army and we need their supplies. You sent Mace but he failed, only for you to send Lord Tarly. Will you send me against them in the field? Was that your plan? Why Cersei, why alienate the Tyrells, our allies?"

How dare he. "They're our enemies."

"More so then the Targaryens?"

"They are a threat—"

"To you. They're a threat to your power, you foolish, foolish woman." He shook his head and his face was a snarl. "I came here for them – our children – not you. Mayhaps, I should have been a proper father to them. At least a proper uncle."

Cersei stared, her mouth agar. Then she felt a fire erupt in her chest and her arms began to shake. Jaime never spoke to her like that before. In a strange moment of clarity she looked him down. Bearded face, golden hand and limp hair. He was a different man and not the man she fell in love with. "Get out, ser."

"Gladly, Your Grace." He did so and slammed the door behind him loud enough to make the room shake.

Cersei stared at the door for a moment before swallowing down the last of her wine. Have I got no loyal servants now? Then she looked at the bottle.

The sun was setting when Cersei visited Myrcella in her chambers.

The princess laid in bed underneath splendid sheets of crimson, embroidered with golden snarling lions with claws at the ready. The princess's room was beautiful, there was a balcony overlooking the bay, the dolls and figurines she used to play with neatly placed in the corner. There were shelves and shelves shacked with books given to her to read and learn from. More than a few had been gifts from Tyrion. Cersei wanted to destroy them, but she couldn't. Her daughter loved reading them. It was shame her golden cub was too weak to do so. Instead Myrcella slept most days in a deep and uneasy slumber. When her princess was awake, she was too weak, usually just staring up at the ceiling in pain. Qyburn said Myrcella needed to keep her strength up, but with the princess being too fragile to eat and drink, Qyburn fed her milk sweetened with honey when it wasn't milk of the poppy.

Cersei Lannister took the seat beside the bed and watched her daughter sleep. Her Myrcella's face was so pale it was like the fresh snow in the courtyard, her once golden hair had turned white and looked so frail that the slightest brush would cause it to break. The beautiful emerald eyes had turned red and puffy, leaving tear stains down her cheeks.

Myrcella was feverishly hot, with a cold sweat covering her skin and drenching her bedding. She occasionally spoke in murmurs like she was being chased by something that only she could see. Who would do this?

Cersei Lannister knew the answer. The Dornish were cravens who killed with poison and tricks. They always hated her father for what happened and wanted vengeance. This was their way, to attack Myrcella and poison her. A slow death to punish a child for actions she never did.

The queen gently ran her fingers through her daughter's hair before cupping the girl's cheek, the princess shuddered at the touch and let out a weak murmur. In her heart, Cersei knew Myrcella would die, there was no denying it. Her daughter was growing sicker by the day. While Qyburn did what he could, there was no slowing the poison. She'll die and I can only watch.

In her grief, tears formed in the corner of the queen's eyes and her hands grasped the covers, squeezing the silken fabric until her knuckles were white. As she cried, the world blurred before her.

Myrcella was her only daughter. She was the perfect lioness, smart and beautiful, courteous but strong. The girl who loved knights and stories, fairy tales and history. A girl that held Tommen when he was sad and was learning to play the harp. The tears came quickly and Cersei sobbed. When she touched her daughter's smaller hands, they were cold and unresponsive.