This chapter was written as part of the Facebook challenge "Sur Votre 31":
- Invite : ''Power''.
- Number of words: From 100 to 1000 words.

All the universe of Game of Thrones belongs to GRR Martin, DB & DW.

Enjoy reading!

Jaime couldn't describe the feeling he felt as he stood in front of the pile of still smoldering ashes that now replaced the Great Sept of Baelor.

Just as he could not describe the feeling he felt when he saw Cersei, hieratic, walking towards the Iron Throne, and climbing the steps leading up to it with an air of resignation.

If he were a harmless person among the crowd that had come to see the sacrament of the new sovereign, he would think that the only glow in his eyes the same color as the fire that ravaged the Great Sept was the thirst for power.

But he is not an harmless person in the crowd. And he knows that it is not the lust for power that ravages her veiled eyes.

It is the black shadow of sadness. Of misfortune. Of suffering.

And it is when, for a brief moment, for just a few seconds, he crosses her gaze, that he understands that something has happened.

Something to do with Tommen.

Their last little lion cub.

Why else would Cersei be crowned?

Instinctively, he knows that Baelor, the ruins and the smoke, the pain in his half's eyes and the crown on her head, their last baby, it's all connected.

When the sun had long since set, Jaime entered Cersei's apartments.

It took him some time to discern his silhouette standing at the window, black against the black sky.

Black is black. Like despair.

She was contemplating the Visenya hill, which was melting into darkness, standing in the same place as when she had contemplated her vengeance and death burst forth there, her crown abandoned a little further away.

When she didn't know that the hot flush she had felt rising within her, the fire of victory and the liberating air of the power she had just definitively seized over the Tyrells and the sparrows, would soon become nothing but mourning and misfortune.

She had known this when Qyburn had removed the shroud that covered Tommen's body.

When she realized that the power had killed all her little lion cubs.

The power she had wanted so much when she couldn't have it, and had when she didn't want it anymore.

For what's the point of having power if you can't protect those you love?

Joffrey had died because when he became king, he had tasted power, that strange thing you could only want more and more as you acquired it. And he had come to terms with the idea that having power should be associated with violence. That had been his end.

Myrcella had died because of the endless power games that all the greats of this world played, and which made some of the most important families hate each other without limits, for past grudges or old wounds that never healed.

And now, Tommen.

Tommen was dead because of her, and a power he never wanted.

Never would she have thought that by blowing up the Great Sept of Baelor, Tommen would commit suicide.

She should have known. She should have known that Tommen's love for Margaery would drive him to do such a thing when she realized what had happened. She should have been with him.

If she had been, he never would have died.

When Cersei heard Jaime come in, she realized that she had failed him as much as she had failed Tommen.

She had killed his son as much as she had killed hers.

And when she felt Jaime's presence just behind her back and his breath on her neck, and her eyes filled with tears, she couldn't help but say out loud what she was thinking in her low voice:

"It's my fault...''

It was a horrible thing to say. It was horrible, because saying it only made it more real, more true.

But she repeated it anyway, tears as salty as the sea gently flowing over her cheeks and her voice breaking as the waves break when they hit the rocks.

''It's my fault...''

Jaime says nothing, simply wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder, so that they can be played cheek to cheek, the tears rolling down Cersei's cheek moistening Jaime's one.

''They all say I'm a monster... They're all right...''

At these words, Jaime stood up, and, grabbing Cersei by the shoulders, forced her to turn around.

Even then, she lowered her head, not wanting to cross her eyes, feeling horribly guilty, a feeling of emptiness that she already knew she could never fill.

Shame.

Shame.

Shame.

Jaime grabbed her face with both hands to force her to look at him:

''Cersei, listen to me well... Look at me... You are not a monster... I forbid you to say it. I forbid you even to think it.''

''I killed your son. I killed my son. I killed our son...''

''No. No, you didn't kill him. You didn't kill him, my sweet. You didn't, love.''

"Yes, I did... It is because of me that he died... It's my fault... I should have been with him... "It's all my fault...''

Seeing that nothing he could say would soothe his grief, Jaime kissed Cersei's forehead and held her close to him, allowing her to cling to him and bury her face in his chest, her warm tears wetting the leather of his jacket.

In a way, he was happy to see that she still loved him enough to feel safe, to feel secure, when she huddled up to him, letting him wrap his arms around her as if that could have kept her away and protected her from all the horrors of the world. From the torments of power.

Thank you for reading!
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Don't be too hard on English, it is not my mother tongue.