Part 3 of 3 of the Battle of Blackwater.


CERSEI VI

Silence. Here there was only silence, just like in Joffrey's chambers. No noise, no cry, no wailing to disturb her. She was all alone, like she had always been.

It was only now that she realized it, but she was always alone. She was the first to come out of her mother's belly, the elder from the beginning, and as such she was special, apart from the others. Special people were always alone. She was alone at the very start. She was kept away from Jaime, forced to learn how to be a lady. No one really cared about her, and she didn't really care about anybody anyway. She was meant to be queen, and a queen's destiny was to be alone. Even when someone was in her company, she was alone. The eldest of three siblings, the only daughter of her parents, without a mother at the age of ten, without a father long before he died. Her friends, her lover, her husband, her children? Never there with her. Sometimes not far, but never actually with her. She was meant to be queen from the moment she came into the world. She was meant to be alone from the moment she entered this world.

Now she understood. She understood what she should have understood a long time ago. Tyrion needed wine and women. Jaime needed battle and honor. Her father needed power. Her mother needed... she didn't remember what her mother needed. Robert needed a war. Her children needed love. She had no need for any of this, and no need of anyone. She only needed a crown. The crown, and the Iron Throne, and she had them both, right now. That was all she needed, and that was be all she would ever need.

The throne room was empty. The throne room should always be empty, only accessible to the queen. Kings and queens should never have to deal with the common people, not even with the nobles. They were all beneath her. Why should she care about those who were inferior to her? Robert should have known this. Everyone should know that, but they didn't because unlike her, they were no king or queen.

She thought of the rose, on her way to Casterly Rock with her half of a brother, to own the castle where Cersei grew up. They could have it. She didn't care. She was way above them, above everything they could think about. She was Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

You'll be queen.

She was told so a long time ago, and the person who said it was right. She was the queen.

She rested comfortably her head against the back of the Iron Throne. Sharp, rough, cold, the perfect throne for a queen. Queens couldn't allow themselves to be warm, or kind, or caring. It only brought them pain, and it kept them from accomplishing their destiny. She learned it the hard way with her own children.

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the melted steel against her back, her knees, her legs, her arms, her hands, her neck, her hair. The Iron Throne was hers. It was eternal. It couldn't die. It couldn't be destroyed. No grief could come out of it, for when you began to desire it, there was no place left in you for anything else but that desire. No attachment of any kind could cause sadness or grief or suffering. All that was left when you didn't have what you wanted was anger, hatred, and that only pushed you further to the throne. There was nothing better.

The heavy doors opened like they never did, slapping like a man torn apart by two horses pulling him in opposite directions. Two men walked in, or rather ran in, covered with blood, soot, and dust.

"Cersei, we need to get out."

It was only when the first spoke that she recognized Jaime. She didn't move. "So get out," she ordered them with a distant voice, looking at the sharp edge her right hand was caressing.

"Cersei, Stannis is inside the city. His men are getting closer. They've taken the walls. King's Landing is burning."

"So what?" The Iron Throne had existed long before the city, and it would still exist long after she was gone.

"Cersei, they'll be here any moment!"

"Let them come," she replied flatly. She was the queen. If they wanted to take the Iron Throne away from her, they just had to come and try. A queen did not feel threatened by sheep.

"Don't you get it?" She thought she heard a point of impatience in her brother's voice. "We lost. The city is lost! Our only chance to survive is to escape."

"I don't see the need to escape."

"Wake up. Stannis' men will be here anytime. You will die if you stay here."

"Queens don't die."

"Ser Jaime, we should go," the other man next to him said. He was familiar to Cersei, but she wasn't sure of who he was. He wore a white cloak, as stained as it was. He was certainly not the Hound. He wasn't tall or big enough. His hair might have been blond if not for all the mud in it.

"Cersei."

For the first time, she cared to look at her brother's face. He was so ugly, covered like this. She had loved this man, before she chose her priorities better. She loved him when she was weak. Well, she wasn't weak now. She was strong, stronger than she had ever been.

"We must go back home. To Casterly Rock. It is our only chance." She looked away, straight in front of her, to the opened doors. "We could go to Essos, to the Free Cities. Say something but don't stay here!"

"Ser Jaime!"

The other man, rather a boy than a man, shouted right when Cersei saw more people pour into her throne room. Their armors displayed a flaming heart with a black stag inside. It was quite accurate for a representation. House Baratheon was doomed to burn after all?

They were about twenty, just as dusty and muddy as Jaime and his friend were. They turned to face the intruders, unsheathing their swords. In the meantime, the men with the stag on fire stopped. They wouldn't come forward. She saw some of them looking at her, and back down a foot or two. That was natural. She was the queen, and whoever was in her presence should be afraid of her.

"Surrender, Kingslayer," one of the intruders said, his voice shivering.

Jaime didn't reply right away. A long moment went on, making the silence feel heavy like death. Cersei was about to yell at him to fight for his queen.

"Never."

It fell like a death sentence.

"So be it. Attack, men!"

Three of them lurched forward. Jaime dismembered the one coming at him easily. The other kingsguard dealt with two opponents. Jaime stabbed one in the back, and the third was hit at the leg, then a sword plunged through his head. A fourth man came for Jaime's partner, and her brother dealt with him just as easily as the others.

The fifteen other men or so had not moved, including the one who ordered them to attack. Jaime and Lancel (it had to be Lancel, she didn't see who else it could be) faced their enemies, waiting for them to move, side by side.

One more fool tried to attack, only to be hacked to pieces by her brother again. Then more men poured into the throne room, with more armor and better swords. There were at least fifty of them, led by an old man wearing a red-gold armor displaying a red fox within a circle of blue flowers. He removed his helmet, which revealed more accurately his silver hair. He walked forward to stand between his men and Jaime.

"Lord Florent," Jaime said. "I'm not surprised you took Stannis' side."

"Ser Jaime, the battle is over. Drop your sword and surrender yourself to the king's mercy. I can promise you that I'll talk for you and try to convince him to send you to the Wall."

Jaime scoffed. "The Wall? We both know Stannis will never do that, my lord. And even if he did, why would I want to spend the rest of my days freezing my balls in the North?"

"See it as an opportunity to get back some honor, Kingslayer." He almost spat the last word.

"You know nothing of honor, old man!"

Just as he was done speaking, Jaime ran toward the Lord of Brightwater Keep. Two knights intercepted him before he could reach him, but he shoved one aside while he slit the other's throat. Another swing of his sword and Alester Florent was on the floor, covering his face with his two hands.

A general melee followed. Jaime fought like a demon, slashing, slitting and plunging his weapon everywhere a man was to be seen. Lancel joined him after a moment, taking a first opponent by the back, then dealing with a second. He managed to reach Jaime, and they fought back to back. However, Lancel got injured at the shoulder on his way, and he struggled to keep up against the flood of enemies surrounding them. He was hurt at the leg then, and finally stabbed in the back. Jaime turned to help him, trying to protect his cousin the best he could. Fighting from all sides, an axe got him in the back, then a sword on the hand. He killed both aggressors, but when a third hit the back of his head, he didn't return the blow.

It all happened very slowly, as if the world slowed down for a moment. Blood spilled as the sword slid through Jaime's head, and this time it was his own blood that appeared, not his enemy's. He fell limp on his knees, then forward where his face met Lancel's body. There he remained. He didn't get up.

She felt nothing. Her brother, her lover was dead, and she felt nothing. Wasn't she supposed to feel something? No, of course, a queen didn't feel a thing, for a queen didn't care for anyone's life.

And yet, she couldn't help but hear her brother mutter something as he gave his last breath. She was too far to hear him. What were his last words? What was the last thing he wanted to tell her, his queen, his sister, his lover? She would never know.

Two knights came forward, climbing the dais as her eyes stayed focused on the lifeless body of her brother.

"Stand up, Lannister. You're sitting on the king's throne."

No, not the king's throne. The queen's throne. Her throne.

You'll be queen, for a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take everything you hold dear.

Well, this queen had not come. The only people standing before her were two knights, with a hundred soldiers and other knights below. All men. And Stannis Baratheon was a man too. The other queen had not come. She would be queen for a long time.


Who better to describe the end of a battle than the Mad Queen herself. *irony*

I hope you're not too shocked by Jaime's end. I think a lot of people share the hope if not the the belief that Jaime, if he is not to survive the story, will leave it in some redemptive way. In some way, he is in this case, since he died on the battlefield, like a knight, trying to protect Lancel in his last moments. But it seems that if Cersei must die by the hand of the valonqar, it won't be by Jaime's hand here.

The fact also remains that despite his quest and desire for redemption, Jaime has remained for most of the show absurdly loyal to Cersei, ready to do everything to get her back, and here they are not under the threat of the White Walkers (at least they ignore it) and Jaime has neither met Brienne nor lost his right hand, which limits Jaime's chances to break from the love he feels for his sister. Even the attempts of murder on Margaery and Tyrion could not make him abandon her, just like in the show.

As for the Battle of Blackwater, well the outcome is quite different, as you could see it. We do not have a whole picture yet of what happened during the battle, but all missing information will be provided in a future chapter told from the perspective of a former smuggler. The battle may have seemed quite short when compared to the canon version but, this time, there was no dwarf to save the day. Tell me what you thought of it.

Please review

Next chapter: Margaery

Dans un autre ordre d'idée, ma première courte histoire originale de science fiction vient juste d'être publiée. L'Épée des Siracans, écrit par Marc Therrien, est disponible gratuitement sur le site web Smashwords sous tous les formats de livres numériques disponibles (incluant epub, kindle et pdf). Elle devrait également être disponible sur l'Apple Store, Barnes&Noble et plusieurs autres détaillants d'ici peu. Vous la trouverez également sur Wattpad et FictionPress.