This chapter takes place concurrently with chapters 27 – 29, when Jaime and Brienne are visiting the dragons and then the Mott's.

Cersei's Point of View:

Cersei rolled over with a groan and wrapped her Stark Swan pillow over her head. The light coming in the windows of her chamber in the Maidenvault was as dismal as her mood, but it still hurt her eyes. Her head ached from a strike she'd taken on her helm the day before and from too much wine (every night before). Her legs were stiff and her arms felt like heavy, wet towels after yesterday's practice.

She'd been training for a week now, and Ser Barristan had deemed it time for all new fighters to trade up to heavier sparring swords. She'd barely worked up to swinging the one she'd started with for any length of time, and that was using Beastly Brienne's technique of using her hips to power the thrust. The new sword was blunted as well, but weighed at least a half stone more. Too bad they'd not seen fit to trust her with a bladed weapon yet; she'd have dearly liked to "accidentally" trip and geld Ser Barristan the Old for good.

It had been a day and a half since she'd managed to drive the ugly hideous Brienne away from Jaime. She'd seen neither of them since, and the crone at the door hadn't either; at least that the senile old thing could remember. Brienne had probably kicked Jaime out of her chambers in the Maidenvault and was in there even now, in tears, hiding in shame. Cersei still found it hard to believe the great cow had fooled herself into thinking Jaime cared for her.

The Beast had seen her handling Jaime's cock, and even one of such doubtful womanly sense had to see he'd been claimed by another. Someone with a much stronger, previous claim.

Just thinking of her triumph improved Cersei's mood. Practice was starting later today so that the trainees could begin fighting in the dark just as they would be doing up north. She would have time to get something for breakfast in the dining hall rather than the squire's barracks for a change. Maybe she'd see Jaime there, crying in his morning ale. If not, perhaps she could catch up on the latest gossip. Surely a rift between Brienne the Brawn and Ser Jaime Lannister would occasion some comment among the populace of the Red Keep.

Cersei stretched her sore arms over her head and got out bed. Several gowns were pressed and ready for her in the wardrobe. She took care in choosing one that would draw attention, yet not intimidate anyone likely to share gossip with her. The green one with gold accents would do nicely; it provided a tantalizing yet subtle show of her cleavage and set off her green eyes. She chose a long-sleeved silk under-tunic that would cover the colorful bruises on her arms and keep her warm enough as she went across the yard to the hall.

A careful application of kohl to her eyes and several dozen brushstrokes through her luxuriant hair later, she was ready to go. Cersei felt a certain pride that she'd become so self-sufficient, getting ready without the help of a maid. She'd rather have had the maid, but one must take pride where one could.

Cersei walked up the hall to the doors of the Maidenvault, hoping to catch a glimpse of a very miserable Brienne, but the corridor was empty. A whole day had passed; surely the freckled freak couldn't sulk forever.

Stopping at Helyn's chair, she asked the woman if she'd seen Ser Jaime or Lady Brienne.

"No Mum, that I haven't. Not in a while, I believe. Days and days gone, mayhap as much as a fortnight since I saw either one."

"A…fortnight," Cersei said coldly, "That long do you think?"

"Believe so, though the old queen's brother was here not so long ago."

"Which one?" Cersei asked sharply, fighting the urge to shake the woman until her shriveled old brain rattled.

"Oh, the blond one, Mum. Yes, that one."

Cersei huffed and began to walk away, but Helyn cleared her throat to say something else, so she turned back impatiently.

"Now, there was a couple servants come by to pack up the Lady's things a while back. Hope they wasn't thieves, but they seemed to know what they was about. Took her fighting things and everything."

This was news! Maybe Brienne had been so disheartened that she'd tucked her tail between her huge thighs and run back to Tarth. Or even left on her own to return north to the fighting. Or become a hedge knight…She owed no one fealty and could do as she pleased. If she'd left the Keep as it sounded like she had, then Cersei had won even more decisively than she'd first thought. Jaime was still a prisoner of the crown; he would have had to stay.

Cersei nodded pleasantly to Helyn and left the building with a lightness in her step that was only slightly dampened by the deep snow she had to push her way through.

She was grateful for the warmer air of the building that housed the small hall. The day was starting off so well it gave her hope there might even be something worth eating for breakfast.

Sadly, the usual smells assaulted her nose as she entered the hall: old fish, cold grease, and spilled Hippocras, a scent that always saddened her. She spotted Loras and that new knight, Ser Dwayne, seated at a table. There were a couple of women at one end of their table, along with some empty seats next to the knights. She straightened her posture and gave her hips an extra sway as she walked over and sat next to the big knight and across from Ser Loras.

"Cersei," Loras acknowledged her tightly, his smile strained. What was up his bum?

"My lady," Ser Dwayne acknowledged more formally, a kind smile on his handsome face.

"Good Sers," Cersei said, gracing them with a smile, "Have you already broken you fast?" she said, eyeing their half-empty trenchers.

"Yes, we were just finishing up," Loras said with a frown at Dwayne.

"Indeed, I believe we've eaten our fill, and must be about the day's training." Dwayne said, "I do recommend the Dragon Talons, though, my lady. They're a new delicacy on offer this morning."

Loras's expression lightened, "Ser Dwayne is correct; as you can see we ordered some ourselves. This plate was heaped twice as high with them when it was brought. You must try the thistle jam as well, Lady Cersei. I understand it was only recently discovered in a cellar, part of a king's personal supply."

"Really?" Cersei said, peering up through her lashes at Dwayne, "It sounds as though the food may finally be improving. I simply don't know what the Targaryen Tart is about with all of the awful food these days. Are you sure you can't stay to keep me company while I dine?"

"I regret that we cannot," Ser Dwayne said, "We have already lingered too long. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne were here with us earlier and departed nigh on a half hour ago."

"Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne?"

"Oh yes," Loras said, his smile widening, "They had business in King's Landing, I believe. "

"Yes," Dwayne said blandly, "They arrived from their new room in Maegor's Holdfast before we got here, though only by a few minutes."

"Their new room?"

"Courtesy of your brother Tyrion, I believe, my lady. It seems his influence grows with the queen more by the day." Loras added.

Cersei sat stunned for a moment as this new information sunk in. Tyrion. Had he done this in retaliation for her triumph the other night? When he'd come to ask her what she'd done with Jaime he had seemed very determined about something. He was plotting against her, it was the only explanation. The little turd always held onto a grudge.

Yet, Brienne had run when she'd seen her with Jaime. The look of anguish on her face…that wonderful look of complete betrayal. Wasted. Why were they still together?

With a start, Cersei realized that the two knights were looking at her curiously.

"Where is the servant?" Cersei asked imperiously, "I would like to order some of those talons, if they are as good as you say."

"Be sure not to miss the thistle jam," Loras reminded her.

"No, you do not want to miss that," Ser Dwayne said jovially, "Loras quite enjoyed it, I believe."

"Indeed, I did," Loras said, exchanging a look with the tall knight, "Nearly as much as the talons. But I regret we must depart now, my lady, and leave you to your meal. It looks like the servant is on her way; you'll not have long to wait."

The men rose hastily and Cersei watched them walk away, admiring Ser Dwayne's rounded posterior. Now there was a man that might be worth pursuing.

Jenna bustled up to the table, "I am so sorry for the delay, m'lady! Someone got the bright idea to open a big, mysterious jar was found in an old cellar t'other day. Seems 'twas some sort of meat, though that's just a guess as it had turned to liquid over time. We had to clear the kitchen to let it air-out as folk were gagging and near to fainting. Cook ruined a whole batch of pork and eggs when he vomited on the griddle," she said in a breathless rush, "Now, what can I get you, m'lady?"

"Wine," Cersei said coldly, "and leave the flagon."

"Are you sure, m'lady? We've got the new dragon talons…no one's been sick on those. Well, not while they was cooking, anyway,"

"Wine," Cersei nearly growled.

The woman retreated, properly cowed, and Cersei began to look around at the other diners in the hall, listening for threads of gossip. The two women lingering over their ale at the end of her table were talking animatedly to a third woman that had joined them. Cersei caught the word "wedding" and tilted her head to listen. Weddings had always proved to be a source of intrigue in the Red Keep and elsewhere.

"We heard it with our own ears, Mynerva," a plump gray-haired woman with ruddy cheeks was saying excitedly, "Right here at this table! They're trying to hush it up; seemed very keen on keeping the Queen from finding out."

"Is the Lady with child, do you suppose?" the newcomer asked in a carrying whisper as she folded her pink woolen cloak and set it on the bench beside her.

"Oh, wouldn't that be something?" mused the third woman, clasping her veined hands together in delight, "But why else would they be so secretive? Most young women would want to announce their betrothal right away. Especially to such a handsome man…"

The servant brought her wine and poured a goblet for her. Cersei waved her away at once and tried to scoot a little closer to the trio, intrigued. The couple in question must be highborn to merit such excited discussion, particularly if the Queen would bother to take notice of their nuptials. A handsome man, a possible wanton woman…

"Aye, he is that," the one called Mynerva said, "Though isn't he a lot older than her?"

A wanton younger woman. Interesting. Had Ser Barristan found himself a girl to warm his bed after more than half a lifetime of celibacy? The Queen might be unhappy to have her Queensguard knight's attention divided, especially if there were a child on the way. If it were true, this could be just the bit of information Cersei needed to blackmail him.

"Well, but he's maybe a dozen years older than her; not so much, really," the plump woman said, defensively, "My own Rathyr was fifteen years my senior, rest his soul, and we raised eight children together."

A dozen years? If they were speaking of Barristan the woman would be too old to bear children. Who else was close to the queen that might be hiding a betrothal to a pregnant woman?

"You're right, Silva, the age isn't so much. But the other thing…"

"Oh, that!" Silva answered, waving her hand dismissively, "I wouldn't kick a good-looking man like that out of my bed for it. And he obviously loves her, the whole kingdom knows it."

"That's true, dear, if the songs are to be believed…"

Songs?

"And anyway," Silva said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, "if they can attach a gold hand to replace the one of flesh, imagine what else they could make to put on his stump!"

The three women began cackling merrily and talking all at once, gesturing with their hands to describe shapes and lengths in the air. Their words were lost in a roar of internal rage as Cersei realized who they'd been discussing all along.

Jaime. Jaime had got that big ugly bitch pregnant! No wonder he wanted it kept secret. Cersei drained her goblet of wine and poured another. She got unsteadily to her feet and made her way past the giggling women, carrying the flagon and her cup. She left the hall and went out into the heavily falling snow clutching the wine against her chest, her lips working in silent rage.

She entered the Maidenvault in a daze, soon finding herself back in her room with little memory of how she'd gotten there. She got onto her bed and finished her goblet of wine before pouring herself a third.

Much later, when her maid came in to help ready her for sparring practice, Cersei was curled up asleep with the empty goblet still in her hand, the flagon on the side table with only the dregs of sediment coating the bottom.

"M'lady! M'lady!" the maid said, shaking Cersei's shoulder warily, ready to jump back in case the woman should come awake flailing. Cersei was unpleasant to rouse when she'd been drinking, which was most of the time.

"What?" Cersei mumbled, releasing the goblet. The maid caught it before it could roll off the bed.

"M'lady, I've come to get you ready for the field. It's nearly dark! Here's water, m'lady…" the girl said, extending a cup cautiously.

Cersei pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard and opened her eyes just enough to see and grasp the water. She drank thirstily, swishing the last mouthful around in her mouth and spitting it back in the cup.

"It feels as though something has crawled in my mouth and died," she groaned, leaning her head back, "Bring me the rum."

The girl set the wine goblet down and ran to get the small jar of rum Cersei kept on the dresser. When she gave it to her, the former queen took a mouthful and gargled it loudly before also spitting it into the water cup.

"Better," she said, and got off the bed to be stripped of her gown and re-dressed in trousers, gambeson and armor. Her head had stopped aching from her hangover. Being soundly drunk tended to do that.

Sparring should be interesting tonight, she thought blearily. She accepted her helm and sword from the maid and trudged out into the hall, clanking just a bit more than usual with her slight stagger. She was halfway to the sparring yard before she remembered what she'd heard in the dining hall.

Jaime was getting married. To Beastly Brienne, who was probably pregnant with his child. The inconceivable was apparently conceived after all. It would not do. Not at all.

Cersei arrived in the yard to hoots from the other trainees. Ever since she'd dropped Ser Avery with that blow to the balls several days ago the men had begun to refer to her as "Ball Breaker," even to her face. When she objected, Ser Barristan told her she should be glad, because nicknames among fighters were a form of camaraderie.

I have some ideas for other nicknames I'd like to earn, she thought sourly, seeing the old Lord Commander watching her cross the yard. Late again, oh well.

She was just lucid enough to be glad of the alcohol making her feel warmer than usual. It was full night and the snow had stopped, but a crust of ice had formed over nearly everything. It was actually very pretty, glittering in the firelight of the torches several trainees were holding. Cersei remembered now that tonight they would be working with fire for the first time.

Let the nicknames begin.

About an hour passed in which Cersei battled stationary wights, trying and failing to light the straw dummies afire as other recruits jeered and laughed at her whenever she swung sword or torch wildly and missed. Most of them had learned to be wary when paired up with her, but she was so obviously in her cups she seemed less a threat on this night. Every time her feet slid on the ice or she struck the ground with her weapons a loud "Huzzah!" rose from their throats.

By the time she noticed Jaime and Brienne riding in from King's Landing the alcohol's effects had burned from her blood and she was, regretfully, sober. She watched them dismount at the stables and take several items off of their saddles before handing their horse's reins over to a groom. The two were laughing as they juggled their gear, and Jaime leaned in and kissed the big wench full on the mouth, his lips lingering on hers as Cersei watched, unregarded, from the yard.

Then the pair, walking so close together it was a wonder they didn't trip over each other, were lost to sight as they passed through the portcullis leading to the middle bailey. Cersei whirled in a fury and attacked the straw wight with torch and sword, surprising everyone with her ferocity. She stood back and watched the dummy burn, resolve warming her as the snow began to fall again.