"Waters!" bellowed Ser Barristan, "Ector! Out here now!" Barristan glowered over at Cersei, limping slowly onto the field as chubby Ector Martin trotted past her enthusiastically. "While I'm still young, Waters!" Barristan called, drawing chuckles from the squires and spectators ranged around the training yard. The blowing snow seemed almost to be coming from Ser Barristan's long white hair as it streamed out on the wind. Cersei glared at Barristan and did not increase her pace. Her thighs were chafed from the armor, and her right foot ached where she had accidentally struck it with her own practice sword. Her neck ached from the strain of holding her head up and she was sure within a week her neck would be as thick as that freckled freak Beast of Tarth's was, damn her ugly hide. Barristan had adopted Brienne's idea that squires should wear their helms as often as possible to become accustomed to them, and not only were Cersei's neck and shoulders sore, but her beautiful hair was sweaty and tangled, mushed on the top into an unlovely bird's nest whenever she removed her helm. Cersei was getting even more practice at wearing her gold helm than she had to, as after practice she would wear it all the way back to her quarters in the Maidenvault so that no one would see the state of her hair before she could bathe.

Cersei finally reached the waiting knight and squire Ector, and made a show of standing with her hip jutted out, one hand propped on her waist. The effect was somewhat spoiled when she tried to give an insouciant toss of her hair and only managed to rattle her helm on her head, making her ears ring. She completely ignored the young man, who was also training for his first campaign, and looked up at Ser Barristan with all the insolence she could muster. "Glad you could make it, Waters," Ser Barristan said sarcastically in his deep, booming voice. Ector, the little whelp, was looking down at Cersei in fascination. Gods, had the kohl around her eyes started to run again? Yesterday it had smudged and spread without her knowledge and when she finally saw herself in the mirror in her room she had been unable to hold back her little scream of frustration. Her lady maid Agnes, who had just entered the room, had seemed quite frightened, if her expression was anything to go by. At least Cersei could still intimidate someone.

Cersei was not supposed to have a lady maid, since she was now actually lower in the social order than her maid, Agnes. But she had managed to convince Godfrey of Boane, the man who had the job of managing the keep's many women assigned to care for nobles, to send her one secretly. For this favor she had had to provide a favor of her own, and the memory of the man's hairy, sweaty body heaving above her as he took his pleasure still made her want to retch. It was far from the first time she had traded sex for a service done her, but she no longer had the advantage of hand-picking who she wanted to do her bidding. She did not regret Osmund Kettleblack, who had been generously endowed and experienced, and even Moon Boy had the advantage of at least finishing quickly. Not so Godfrey of Boane, who she had come to think of as Godfrey the Groan, who had labored for nigh on three quarters of an hour before finally giving a long, multi-syllabic grunt and collapsed on top of her, kissing her sloppily with his fetid breath until she had managed to wriggle out from under him.

Cersei's musings were interrupted by Ser Barristan thrusting an unlit torch into her hand. "Pay attention, Waters, unless you want to become a wight yourself!" he bellowed right into her face, so close that his breath warmed her nose a little. Her nose was numb with cold and she briefly considered getting him to yell at it more often; at least he didn't reek of old cod.

"I would not become a wight," Cersei said with certainty, "If I fell in battle someone would torch me before that happened."

"Unless they looked forward to being able to cut you down again when you rose from the dead," Barristan told her without a pause, as though he had already considered the possibility. "Now, you are, as you can see, on torch duty in this time. As Ector battles our wight you are to attempt to light it afire."

Cersei turned resignedly to the dummy wight they had erected in the yard, a white shrouded pell with huge blue glass baubles sewn onto its head. It looks just like my brother's pet monster with those ridiculous blue eyes, thought Cersei, only not as ugly. She took up her stance and raised her unlit torch, waiting for Ector to get in position as well.

"Today we graduate to combat against a live opponent," Ser Barristan announced to cheers from the other trainees and a groan from Cersei. An armored man strolled into the yard, and raised his hand to acknowledge their applause. He was not so tall as Jaime, but a good deal taller than Cersei, and seemed to be enjoying the attention. He pretended to lurch with his arms out like an undead creature, to the delight of the men. Even Ser Barristan chuckled. "Now, Ser Avery is going to go a little easy at first and pretend to be a wight. Soon he will be gracing us with his terrifying White Walker impersonation. I should warn you grubs that the first time you actually see a White Walker you may be tempted to piss your small clothes like a babe. Don't do it! It's cold enough out there to freeze your balls off, but frozen piss will do it all the faster."

"Except for those of us without balls," Cersei said blandly.

"Really?" said Barristan, "I've heard that you have a whole collection."

"Oh yes, and one pair of them are quite old and shriveled, if I recall," Cersei said acidly. She wished she had been more thorough about removing his when she had dismissed him from the Kingsguard on grounds of age. Gods, could that man hold a grudge. You'd think I had actually chopped his balls off with an arakh or something. Cersei never imagined that someday he would be in a position of power over her, and with the blessing of that tart, Daenerys Targaryen.

Barristan's nostrils flared in barely controlled anger. "Waters," he said coldly, "Ser Avery is going to come at you and Ector. Do you remember what to do with your torch?"

Shove it up your arse? thought Cersei, but wisely she just nodded her head. Ector took up his sword and shield, and Cersei stood a little behind him with her practice torch raised to the side. She had already been scolded on many occasions for holding it so close to her partner that she would most likely catch him on fire, and she didn't want that lecture again. Waters, you're supposed to kill the wights, not help them! Waters, if I see you almost torch a living man again I'll put you out - in Blackwater Bay! Waters, you're more useless than a eunuch in a whorehouse! Yak, yak, yak, on and on.

Ser Avery took up his stance and lurched toward Cersei and Ector. The deranged look on his face might have looked silly if at that moment a crack of thunder hadn't rumbled over the entire Keep and panicked the two fighters. Ector made a wild swing that would have hit Cersei in the head had she not darted forward with her torch and swung it as hard as she could up between Ser Avery's legs, dropping him like a raven with an arrow through its gut. The yard was suddenly silent except for Ser Avery's whimpers as he rolled on the ground with his hands clutched between his legs. Then the applause erupted and drowned out the poor man's agony. Someone thought to go to him and pull off his helm, revealing a head of thick blond hair and a handsome face. Cersei looked down at him speculatively.

Maybe…

"You bitch!" Ser Avery cursed up at her.

Maybe not.

"You've done enough damage for now, Waters." Ser Barristan said, waving her back among the others, "And may I remind you all that wights and White Walkers cannot be felled with just a blow to the balls. If that were true Waters here would be our secret weapon." Cersei limped over to the hay bales, swept away some snow and then sat down and shivered. With the earlier thunder a new storm had blown in and brought with it stinging sleet, and the lightning had begun to flash in crazy zigzags across the greenish sky. The endless thunder joined the ringing in her aching head. Maybe they'll cancel practice on account of weather, she thought hopefully.

"This," pronounced Ser Barristan, holding his muscular arms out wide to indicate the wild wind and blowing snow, "Is the perfect training weather! Gird your loins, lads, we need to take advantage of this and stay out here until it clears." Cersei was near tears at this news, but stopped herself from crying for fear of making a mess of her kohl again. She sat despondently on a hay bale and watched as Ser Avery made it to his feet again and readied himself with a grimace to go at the next pair of trainees. He made what seemed a very exaggerated lurch toward them. Well, see, thought Cersei, I've certainly improved his lurching technique with my strike. Wouldn't Beastly Brienne be proud of how I used my hips to deliver it more powerfully?

Cersei grew bored of watching the training quickly, and as her eyes roved over the training yard for something more interesting to see she spotted Brienne, standing out of the snow under an awning and surrounded by half a score of soldiers. She was wearing a well-cut tunic of black wool cinched in at her waist with a deep blue belt, along with soft blue leather breaches that hugged the long length of her thigh from the bottom of the tunic to the tops of her thick black boots, which ended a hand-span below her knee before draping in a fold over the top. Her hair was brushed and gleaming around her shoulders, and she was laughing with the men around her. Gods, she looks like a horse ready for the knacker man with those hideous teeth, thought Cersei with satisfaction, ugly enough to make a grumkin run away screaming. The men with her seemed to hang on her every word, but no doubt that was akin to the fascination people tended to pay to gruesome things, like heads on spikes and Daenerys' attempts at decorating.

From the corner of her eye Cersei saw Jaime and his guards enter the yard from the stables, obviously returned from riding into town. Jaime carried a wrapped bundle against his side with his right arm. He looked so handsome, despite his horrible stump, which was covered now against the cold by a suede vambrace dyed a rich red. His cloak blew out behind him in the fierce wind as he strode forward, and the dark gold of his hair was caught in a cross breeze. Jaime shook his hair out of his eyes, and even from here the sparkling green of them was apparent. Cersei remembered with a tug how those eyes had used to look at her. She stood up from the hay bale, thinking he would be coming to greet her, but he seemed not to even notice her there. Instead he made his way to Brienne's side and placed his left hand at the small of her back, standing close to her so that the two of them seemed to be holding court with the other soldiers. Jaime laughed loudly at something Brienne said, and the great gargoyle of a woman put her hand on his shoulder and said something close to his ear, making him guffaw loudly. This is all for my benefit, Cersei told herself, to make me jealous. Like I could be jealous of a monstrous moose like her. Cersei realized she was still standing, waiting for Jaime to come to her, and abruptly sat down again to watch the practice and wait for her next turn at the wight. When she looked back again, Jaime had left and his creature along with him.

The storm did not calm for a long while and it was full dark and painfully cold before Cersei was able to limp back to the Maidenvault. She had decided to try to press Brienne for information about where Jaime had gone earlier in the day. At the door to the vault Cersei asked the crone on duty if Brienne was within her own chamber.

At first the woman looked taken aback at seeing Cersei dripping wet with melted snow and still in her helmet, but she was always pleased to have a bit of gossip to share.

"Oh, no, mum," said the old woman in a low, confiding voice, "the Lady Brienne did not come in last night, just sent for her clothes this morning, bold as bread." The woman glanced around and put her withered claw of a hand on Cersei's wrist, "I'm guessing it was the former queen's brother, mum, the tall good-looking one that came to ask after her yesterday. Do you know the one, mum? Green eyes, looked like he'd be good in the trenches, if you know what I mean." She winked at Cersei, who clenched her teeth against the desire to kick the frail old thing.

"My brother, you mean." Said Cersei.

"No, mum, the old queen's brother. The one used to be such a beauty?"

She does not recognize me in armor, Cersei thought. That is all. So the little slut has spent the night with Jaime? There must be some mistake. Jaime would never allow such a vile creature into his bed.

A male voice interrupted her thoughts. "Cersei?" it was Tyrion, standing behind her, grinning. She had no idea how long he had been standing there listening to the old woman's prattle.

"Brother." She said coolly, looking down her nose at him.

"This is your brother?" asked the crone, "why, he's the spittin' image of the old queen's brother he is. Heard he shot their father with a crossbow while he was taking a shit, he did. Ah, but he disappeared long ago, now, didn't he, mum?"

Cersei tried to ignore the woman as she kept mumbling about the past and took Tyrion's arm to lead him a little down the corridor, out of earshot of the old woman. She finally stopped beneath a smoky torch set in an iron sconce, between the doors to the servants' hallways and the storage rooms. Tyrion's grin had grown wider, and when they stopped he looked up at Cesei.

"Mum?" he said, and put his hand over his mouth in mock outrage. "You're at least a year away from being her mum, aren't you?"

"Oh shut up, Tyrion. If you must be a turd go lie in the yard."

"Which is presumably where you've come from," said Tyrion soberly, only his eyes giving away his mirth. "Do remove your helm, sister, it must be terribly uncomfortable."

"It's fine," Cersei said through gritted teeth.

"I have heard that if you wear a helm for too long without allowing your head to breath that your hair will start to thin." Tyrion told her, "and you wouldn't want that."

Gods, that was all she needed, a bald spot atop everything else. Cersei unstrapped the helmet and pulled it off her head. Let Tyrion just dare to mention what a mess her hair was. Tyrion gazed at her for a long moment, resting his finger against his mouth as he considered her. Finally, as though coming to a decision, he said "You look like a demented raccoon."

Suddenly her maid's frightened look of the day before and Ector's rude fascination with her, and even the old crone's confusion made sense: they had all seen her with the black kohl smeared all around her eyes. "Oooh!" She hissed, stamping her little foot and making fists of her hands at her sides. She stomped her feet in a perfectly childish fit, venting her frustration until Tyrion remarked mildly that she was only enhancing the resemblance to a rabid raccoon, or maybe a bothered badger.

"Why are you here, you little bastard?" She hissed.

"Ah, so I'm the bastard now, am I? Well, I was going to invite you to accompany me to dinner after you've bathed," he told her."I understand there are some particularly fine new decorations in the dining hall that you might enjoy. Afterwards I thought we might go to the Queen's Hall and listen to the bards. I understand there is some new song about the Maid of Tarth that you might enjoy hearing."

Cersei considered this idea. Any song about the Towering Trollop of Tarth had to be rich in satire, and finding out that the Brienne had been out all night, possibly with Jaime, made her want to witness any embarrassment headed her way. "I will come." She told him simply.

"I will meet you here in about an hour, sweet sister, after your ablutions." Cersei turned to go, "Oh, and Cersei? You might want to put your helmet back on. Don't want to frighten the help, you know."

A few moments later Cersei was relieved to be in her rooms and demanded a warm bath and a shampoo from Agnes. She stripped out of her sweaty clothes and examined herself in the mirror. No fresh bruises today, but the ones from the past several days were turning ugly shades of yellow and purple. She looked appraisingly at her breasts in the mirror; there was no support built into her armor like there was in her dresses, but they didn't seem too much the worse for wear. She peered at the thatch of hair between her legs, and decided it might be getting unruly. Her maid had promised to wax her in a special style, something called a Braavosi that was supposed to be in vogue among the fashionable courtesans of the islands. Cersei had always had servants to groom her nether regions, a little secret that even Jaime had never known about. One must maintain some little mysteries, she thought with a smile, thinking of her lovers and how they always said other women just couldn't compare to her. While Agnes was at it she could use some lemons to lighten Cersei's hair to its more natural color. Jaime's hair had grown dark with the lack of sun, but she was not giving in to that yet.

She stepped into her steaming bath and sunk gratefully up to her chin, letting the day's stress unravel. Agnes came to wash her hair with some new soap that felt extra luxurious, though it didn't smell as pleasant as what she was used to. We all must make do, she thought drowsily as Agnes combed through her hair again and again to get the tangles out before wrapping her wet hair in a thick towel to dry. I will wear my red dress with the gold trim along the bodice, Cersei thought, the low cut one with the metal wires hidden under the bosom. Thank the seven they haven't taken away my dresses.

It was after she had helped Cersei from the bath but before she began to dress her and style her hair that Agnes discovered the reason the "soap" had been so lovely for getting out Cersei's tangles: she had accidentally used the bear grease that was kept to ease chilblains and chapped lips. There is no way, thought Agnes, that I won't be getting' a lashing when she figures that out. I'll just have to sleep with Godfrey the Moan and get reassigned. She slipped out the door, taking some of Cersei's moon tea with her. She hoped the Moan would get his grunting over with a little more quickly this time around.