This chapter was written as part of the Facebook challenge "Sur Votre 31":
- Invite : ''Beautiful''.
- Number of words: From 100 to 1000 words.
All the universe of Game of Thrones belongs to GRR Martin, DB & DW.
Enjoy reading!
Context : During episode 10 of season 5, ''Mother's Mercy''.
The lines in simple italics are lyrics from Patricia Kaas' song ''Il me dit que je suis belle'' (He tells me I'm beautiful).
''Whore!''
"Bitch!''
''Slut!''
''Shame!''
''Cunt!''
''Whore!''
The crowd became denser and denser, and the cries seemed to increase tenfold as Cersei moved away from the Sept, surrounded by sparrows, by the septas, by the people.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
Insults were flowing, the people who had come by the thousands, even the public humiliation of the Queen Mother were now attacking her physique, denigrating her, degrading her, look at her, I have half the belly of this queen whore, look at her breasts, as they fall, mine are firmer, look at her skin, it's all marked, look at her, the most beautiful woman of the Seven Kingdoms, oh yes, she's the most beautiful, the most beautiful whore, the most beautiful whore that those damn crowns have ever seen.
People were screaming, spitting out how ugly she was, women were shouting at her to look at them, to see how much more beautiful they were than she was.
But Cersei ignored them. Cersei didn't listen to them. Cersei didn't hear them.
The only voice she heard was that of her twin, when he whispered sweet words to her when they united, when he adored her.
He tells me I'm beautiful.
''You're the most beautiful, Cersei, you, you, you, you, it's always been you, it will always be you, the most beautiful woman in the world''.
''Whore!''
"Bitch!''
"Cunt!''
The cries of the delirious crowd couldn't reach her, not so much because it was her voice, the voice of Jaime, the voice of her Jaime, the only voice she heard, the only voice she listened to, her murmurs resounding in her head a thousand times louder than the screams of the common people.
He speaks as one caresses, of words that don't exist, of always and of tenderness, and all I hear is his voice.
''You are the most beautiful, my love, you are the only one, you are the only one for me, I am yours, I am yours and you are mine, it has always been like that, and it will always be like that, always. Before the cradle, and after the grave. You'll always be the only one, you'll always be the most beautiful in my eyes.''
The unbridled men and women who surrounded her had begun to throw projectiles of various kinds at her, projectiles that Cersei did not want to know where they came from.
She repeated Jaime's sweet words to herself, like a mantra, like a magic formula, as if it could have silenced everyone around her, so that only Jaime's voice would continue to be heard.
But the invective of the crowd became more and more audible as Cersei walked through the dark alleys of Flea Bottom, as more and more people around her spat their venom in her face, literally and figuratively.
Lies and nonsense, which a child would not believe, but poor me, I believe it.
''You are the most beautiful. You, you, you.''
Cersei felt a cold liquid with a stinking, pungent odor run down her spine, and could not repress a shiver.
What if, after all, it was the people who were right?
What if she was ugly?
She had grown old; she was well aware of it. She no longer had anything of the nineteen-year-old girl who had married the king, she no longer had anything of the young queen, of the Light of the West, of the Golden Queen.
Her lower abdomen was now marked with deep scarlet and white stripes, the sign of her pregnancies, where the skin had stretched and then distended.
Her breasts were drooping a little, a sign of the age she was beginning to take, not as firm as before.
She no longer had her long golden hair, her lioness mane, her crown of glory.
They had been butchered, torn out the mane, crushed the crown.
The people were right.
She was now stained with filth and blood.
She kept her head in the hope that Jaime would appear, that he would come, that he would come at full gallop to pull her out of this hell, to pull her out of the seven hells where she had landed.
He tells me I'm beautiful, I see him running towards me, his hands graze me and drag me away, no more betrayal, no more pain.
But Jaime wasn't there. Jaime was in Dorne, to pick up Myrcella. To get their daughter back.
Jaime wasn't there, and Jaime didn't come.
Cersei slipped, and she felt a sticky liquid dripping from a part of her body, she would have been unable to tell which one.
She fell to her knees, her diamond tears now flowing freely from her emerald eyes.
A pain filled her whole being, a pain that she could not have said which one it was.
Humiliation, hatred, her body bloody, soiled, denigrated, insulted.
But as everything became murky around her, as the voices, the cries, the shouts, the people blended together because of the crying that burned her eyes, because of the dull pain that pounded her head, a single voice continued to resound distinctly.
He tells me I'm the queen, poor me, I believe it.
''You are my queen, Cersei, my queen, you are mine, you are mine, you are mine and I am yours, my beautiful golden queen.''
Then, Cersei got up, and continued to advance, despite the insults, despite the insults, despite the hatred.
She was the queen. It was her, and one day she would make them pay.
A Lannister always pays his debts.
And Jaime's voice continued to resound in his head as if he were right next door, whispering in his ear a whisper louder than a thousand cries.
He tells me I'm beautiful, and poor me I believe it.
''You are the most beautiful. You, you, you. It 's you.''
And poor me, I believe it.
Thank you for reading!
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Don't be too hard on English, it is not my mother tongue.