5

CERSEI

Accompanying the setting sun came an unexpected gust of wind, which rustled my bedsheets and dried the sheen of sweat on my bruised forehead. My scalp still ached where the Septa had yanked it close to shear off my golden tresses with a dull blade; the soles of my feet were an unspeakable, bloodstained nightmare. Maester Qyburn, humming absent-mindedly all the while, had patiently cleansed the blood and the human shit from my skin, picked out the shards of glass. After gently washing my wounds, he offered me broth and water, not wine, but I forgave him anyway. I really could have used a strong Dornish Red.

I had, however, hesitantly accepted milk of the poppy to help me sleep and was waiting for its restful effects to take hold. I had not eaten a substantial meal since before my imprisonment, and Qyburn had suggested a lovely menu to celebrate my return to the castle, but I had no appetite to speak of. Roasted dove? The thought conjured memories of the pigeon shit staining the streets I walked. Lemon cakes did nothing but summon the sour taste in my mouth during those interminable days in my cell. And lamprey pie ... at that, I thought only of the slimy eels whose slitherings had sent me to that putrid cell. No, I told myself, you must not think of revenge. Not yet. You are not strong enough. First, build yourself up, and then you can burn them all to the ground.

Qyburn was the only one I could trust, that much was certain. With Jaime in Dorne retrieving Myrcella, and Uncle Kevan named Hand of the King in my absence, I appeared to be powerless, at least momentarily. Kevan was one of those slippery little eels - nothing like my father, who would stomp their eyes out with his boot. So was Pycelle, the blubbering old fool. I saw the way his eyes grazed slowly across my body before Qyburn threw the blanket over me. He sure took his time, that disgusting snake. He will end up eating his own tail and choke on his own poison. Perhaps sooner than he thinks.

Someone had placed a pitcher of water on the stand next to my bed, and slipped a refreshing slice of lemon into a neighboring glass, but it was too far away for me to reach, and I was alone in my room, so it went untouched. Sleeping once again in my own luxurious bed in my own quarters, feeling silk against my skin, resting my head against a cloud-like feather pillow instead of a damp, unforgiving stone wall, was beyond words. How could anyone with half a soul subject another human being to such dire, soul-crushing conditions? Not moving, I closed my eyes and struggled against the sleep that was rapidly overtaking me.

You had better admit it, Cersei: you are something to be laughed at. The Lannister name no longer carried the weight it once had, and exclaiming that "no other noble family compares to ours" had felt like dust in my mouth the moment I uttered them. No longer would stomachs drop and testicles shrivel at the swelling notes that began "The Rains of Castamere." My father had worked his entire life to ensure one thing: a lasting legacy. Now it was my duty to redefine that legacy for Tommen and Myrcella and their children. Yes, the legacy that Tywin had originally planned for us would have to change, but I would continue his work. I would not allow the Lannister name to become synonymous with patricide and incest. Perhaps that was what people thought of us now, but people also once thought the Starks were trustworthy, the Targaryens invincible, and the Martells expert assassins. I snorted amusement at my own joke.

I heard a soft rustling at my bedside; expecting to see Jaime and perhaps even Myrcella, my eyes fluttered open. Instead, it was the maester, his slightly stooped, hunched back to me, his gray head down, intent on something. His feet were bare, with high, almost feminine arches.

"Qyburn," I murmured, "thank you for everything. You have been the only one to stand by me through this ... this horrible ordeal." Facing the High Sparrow tomorrow was not something I was looking forward to. Still, I had every intention of smiling, kneeling, begging or worse ... whatever it took to be released from my sentence, whatever it took for him to believe that I was so very penitent for my immoral actions and would never dream of seeking retribution. Oh, I would make him believe these things.

"Your Grace," he replied, still not turning to face me. I half-rolled towards him and heard the faint clink, clink of a tiny instrument against glass. "If the milk of the poppy isn't quite ... doing the job, I've brought you something else." Finally, he stepped away, into the shadows, but did not yet depart. I could see the outline of his body in the fading sunset, and could see his clothes sway slightly in the breeze. "Your Grace, I thought you should know that Ser Robert Strong guards your door tonight. No one will interrupt your sleep. You will need it for the trial tomorrow." He paused, and not for the first time, I wondered what Qyburn's motives were. Surely now that his experiments with Strong had been successful, he would no longer require a sponsor. However, I was not so naive as to imagine that he felt anything near to sympathy for me. Whatever his reasons, he was still, absolutely the only one I trusted in King's Landing. And especially with Jaime gone, I would have to be incredibly careful in whom I chose to place my trust. Though that was also complicated business, as we had not departed from each other on the best of terms. I was unconcerned about Jaime - we had quarreled before, and then made peace; besides, distance can be an encouraging thing for love, and besides that, he would be returning with our daughter. I couldn't wait to see Myrcella's bright, beautiful, eager face again, watch her reunite with Tommen. Surely, her return would encourage the King's spirits and rouse him from the depression that had been plaguing him.

"You will surely need your sleep," he repeated, taking a step towards me. "It isn't a thing to be ashamed of, giving in to sleep."

"Yes," I murmured in agreement.

"Your trial will not be easy," he explained. "Allegations will arise against you, and you may not be out of danger. It will be a ... a trying time. So, Your Grace, if you wish to drink this and sleep tonight instead of facing tomorrow ... I would not blame you. No one would."

What is he saying? What has he prepared in that vial? But then I knew - truly, it did not matter which poison he had prepared - essence of nightshade, tears of Lys, wolfsbane, the Long Farewell, or the Strangler - the last of which had closed Joffrey's eyes forever. Qyburn was offering me an out, an escape from the unfathomable pain of the day's torment and the pain of losing my beauty, the respect of the Seven Kingdoms; having lost a child and a father, and potentially a brother and lover in Jaime; all of the pain that would continue into eternity, not to mention the constant, harrowing, agonizing fear of losing my other two children.

Gold will be their crowns, I could hear Maggy's brittle, bitter voice echo through the years. Gold will be their shrouds. She had sounded patronizing, almost ... triumphant. I will never allow that to happen. No matter what tomorrow may bring, no matter what fate I may wish for myself, keeping Tommen and Myrcella safe is what I must stay alive for.

I struggled to sit up, leaned against the bedframe, and stared at Qyburn. As I spoke, I listened to my own voice, comforted by the strength of my words, not sounding at all like someone who had drunk the milk of the poppy. In fact, this was the most clarity I had felt in weeks, since before my imprisonment. "Lannisters do not take the coward's way out when things become difficult." I paused, allowing my brain to wander where it seldom ventured: Tyrion. "Well, I do not take the coward's way out, and frankly, Qyburn, I am deeply insulted that you would even suggest such a thing. Tomorrow will come, and you will deliver me to the High Sparrow for my trial. I will tell him whatever he wants to hear. And then you and I and" - I paused, unsure of what to call him - "Ser Robert, will do what needs to be done against those we no longer trust. There is quite a list, as you know." And you know exactly with whom I shall begin.

Qyburn nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. I look forward to it." and again I wondered why the maester would go to such lengths to protect and care for me, both during my imprisonment and afterwards, only to then offer me an easy route to permanent oblivion. While I could not think of a potential motive, it was definitely possible that Qyburn was not to be trusted after all. After he helped me achieve vengeance against all who had hurt me and my children, perhaps he too would need to be disposed of. I will consult with Jaime as soon as he returns with Myrcella, and when both my children are close enough to protect soundly.

"Would you do me a favor before you leave, Qyburn? Close that window next to the bed. It's a bit draftier than usual tonight."

Perhaps he wants you dead. That was definitely my father's voice, distrustful, cunning, vigilant to the point of paranoia. No matter what, no matter where, anyone, if presented with the appropriate circumstances ... As I eyed Qyburn, barely moving amongst the shadowy corner of my chambers, I was certain that in this world, my father had been correct.