CERSEI

She was going to kill Tyrion for this. She should not be seen like this-people stared at her with… pity. She didn't need anyone's pity! She was a lioness! Proud, triumphant she should be… but with Jaime's breaths so shallow and wheezy, her roar had left her.

He had said, "Had you been born with a cock between your legs, you could have lead, sweet sister."

How she wished she'd been born a man. She would've gelded the Imp long ago and drowned him in a barrel of wine.

And he had continued, "But luckily for us you're a wronged woman, battered wife, and grieving mother. Use those things to our advantage."

And so she was walking out to meet the Stormlords, led by elderly Lord Eldon Estermont. She walked barefoot from the gates of the city, dressed in her widow's weeds, without any makeup, at the head of a cart in which lay the coffin of her dear beloved Joffrey, which Tyrion had ensured was dressed in Baratheon black and gold.

"You're the one who chose this role. You, dear sister, not me. I am merely helping you to bring it to its complete realization." He had said.

The procession was not heavily guarded, for she was a Queen coming to meet with her people who had come to her aide. And when she approached, she saw the affect of her appearance on the few stormlords that had gathered at the sight of her. Lord Estermont especially seemed to be unable to take his eyes off her bruised and swollen face, made all the more offensive since Tyrion had insisted she not seek further treatment for the two days it had taken for the army to settle outside their gates. After walking the muddy mile to the encampment she then climbed to the cart to speak.

Calling their attention, she did begin, "Bannermen! Lords! Brothers by marriage if not blood, I come to you today not only as a Queen and wife to our most beloved monarch but also as a mother and woman most grievously wronged."

She then pulled open the coffin and was shocked at how Tyrion had arranged her son, her beloved son. Clad in Baratheon black and gold he was, but his wounded chest was left open and bare for all to see the bloodied mess that had been her son in his final moments. The blood was now dried and his skin pale-making his hair appear darker. She gasped at the sight of him again, her memory of him protecting her from Robert's wrath in the end having cost them both so much. With tears in her eyes, and emotion in her voice she continued.

"You see before you the body of our most beloved Prince-a young and worthy fawn who had just begun to grown his antlers and show his Baratheon fury. He was the White Hart, come to lead the House of Baratheon to glory and renown through his reign. Orys Baratheon come again! Now… he is unjustly cut down before his time."

She then knelt down and cradled the body of her son, pulling him out of the coffin for the whole army to see. She heard a few gasps.

She called out, "He was an innocent, whose spilled blood cries out for vengeance to those who've struck him down. Hear you not its cry? Would that I were a man to answer it! But being a woman, I have only the right to grieve and bare the injustices done to House Baratheon, my adopted House. I may have been born a proud lioness, in this moment I know I have the heart and stomach of a furious stag, as you do my brothers!"

At this a few quiet ayes rose out amongst the lower ranks, old men, and green boys. She would need to draw upon more than this to prove her cause.

She continued, "So it is to you, my great loyal brothers, I do beg, as a mother, for justice. Justice for our young stag!"

The old heir of Greenstone did reply at this, "And justice you shall receive my lady for the true murderers of our fair prince. Which truly aren't honorable men like Lords Renly and Stannis."

"I most graciously thank you, my lord, but do you not know that you do further wrong to our prince by this call? You say that Lords Renly and Stannis are honorable men. And from knowing them both I do agree that they are both honorable men. And yet here our tragic Prince lays. Dead at their honorable words. Do you not recognize his wounds? What else can they be from but a war hammer? And whom else could swing such a weapon but his father? Aye, but what would drive to make the father murder his own beloved fawn? Why honorable words from honorable men! This be but the honorable end to honorable words! I demand justice my lords for his most honorable death, or else you do but kill our young stag again! I beseech you to avenge this killing!"

Not all—seven hells, not even half—the assembled lords and men cried out after her call, but then she needed