Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or anything else associated with the show or the books.
Chapter Eleven.
Lions may not be on the best of terms with Wolves, and by The Queen's estimation the chances of a solid reconciliation ever occurring during her lifetime could not be considered probable, but at present, Cersei could find no words better to describe the sudden and detestable drop in the clime's temperature than those belonging to the Whelps in the North; 'Winter Is Coming'.
Standing tall in the colossal Throne Room's vast upper gallery, guarded solely by stoic-faced Sandor, her full red lips tilted up into an acerbic smirk as she gazed out one of the numerous gilded windows at Black Water Bay and the surrounding areas. It had been three days since the Battle, and most of the evidence had been eradicated, just like the attest to Joffrey's disastrous rule. The Queen's signature smirk stayed in place as she silently observed the comings and goings of ships, possessing varied styles and purposes, as they gilded in and out of the bustling harbour, and the commoners going about their business, like a Lioness studies a herd of prey too mundane to earn much attention. Her gaze was cold and distant as she mused what good old Ned Stark would think of her using his family's lifelong locution, a Northern saying from the mouth of a Southerner. Her lover's beloved father being so fond of maintaining that distinction between the two regions. And perhaps Eddard had been right in secluding himself away at Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion, the South was an infamous vulture's nest whereas the North still held some honour, a view shared by most Westerosi, still it was a boundary she would soon demolish, permanently. Peace was dream, a shimmering aspiration that would eventually fade, something only a child placed any faith in. Control, however was a very real prospect, the strongest she'd ever known.
As Queen she would bring unification in every sense of the word, that was her main goal, a fact she had made clear on many an occasion during her council meetings in the previous days. She'd merely neglected to mention during her audiences with the Lords that she intended to remove any individuals, accountable for slandering her family, from power. It wouldn't be long before she had all of the Seven Kingdoms by their contemptuous throats, neither one of them would be capable of breathing for fear of fatally nicking their jugulars on her deadly fangs. Her schemes were well under way and, for the moment, working in perfect synchronisation with the political stratagems employed by her Lord Father, a dreaded combination to any opposition. Though she had yet to inform the Head of her House precisely what her plans entailed, or confirmed that any even existed. She wasn't overly shocked, after all, if there was one person in the known world with the pointed cunning to appraise her decisions before she enacted them, it was Tywin Lannister. At present her intents ran parallel to her Lord Hand's, however she knew instinctively that it would not remain so for much longer. Their interests always became conflicted, a clear testament that two strong personalities truly couldn't exist together all that comfortably, though their ultimate aim never differed. They were both devoted to securing the Eternal Legacy of House Lannister, they merely stalked along differing paths in their lifelong hunt.
It was just one of many ways in which she appeared as a proud reflection of the elder Lannister. From a young age she had strived to make her Father proud of her and her achievements, his opinions had been laws unto her. It was only natural that she had idolised her Lord Hand, as she had lacked any, softer, parental figure. She had often wondered what she would be like, had her mother lived to influence her, but her pondering was fleeting, she could not envision herself ever conforming to the traditional representation of women. The Ladies of Westeros were weak by every known definition, politically, financially, sociably, they were Hens among Foxes, and Cersei found it disgusting. For that reason she was grateful to her Lord Father's unintentional teachings, his lack of any sentimentality had made her strong. But as of late she had noted another apparent similarity between herself and her Father, one she recognised and embraced. The Head of House Lannister had only ever been know to smile when he was within close proximity to her much beloved mother, he had truly adored Lady Joanna with every fibre of his being. The fateful day of Tyrion's birth had seen her Father's heart torn out of his chest, and ambition firmly wedged into the gaping hole, the other Lannister had never smiled again. She had always been sceptical regarding the lasting love her parents had bore for each other, the idea of needing someone so much that one's heart ceased to beat without them had seemed entirely preposterous. Until she had finally found it with Sansa.
She would soon lure Robb and Catelyn Stark further South to the Capital, and she would ensure they both bend the knee volitionally, that was a certainty. But she was apprehensive concerning what the elder Stark's would demand of her SheWolf, upon their long awaited reunion. No matter what punishment she visited upon the Northerners, be it harsh or implausibly lenient, the Stark's wouldn't cease until every member of their House was returned to Winterfell. She respected their devotion to one another, if she were in their position and they in hers, the situation would be no different. But she couldn't allow it, she had already admitted as much to her younger lover and her SheWolf was just as unwilling to leave her side. But Robb Stark was truly his Father's son, the young Whelp wouldn't stand for the boundary between the noble North and spiteful South to become blurred. When she asserted that Sansa was to stay with her at King's Landing, against their wishes, the act would only serve to strengthen the Stark's conviction against her. It was problematic, a dark shadow on her plans for unification, as she had promised Sansa that the younger woman would retain a healthy relationship with her family, and she would always keep the promises made to those she cared for. The Stark's hatred of her was not without a solution.
If she were her Father, she would have them all butchered like the feral animals they had shown themselves to be and attach the blame to another of her opponents, Stannis Baratheon being the obvious choice. But she wasn't Tywin Lannister, she didn't fulfil his expectations of her, and she had grown tired of even trying. She certainly hadn't gone hunting for love when she'd taken her SheWolf to her bed, at the beginning she had merely sought to satisfy her ravenous lust and curiosity, just as she had done with all of her previous lovers. But the illusive emotion she always harboured a certain degree of dubiety for had crossed her path, and now she coveted it's longevity. She would do everything possible to spare Sansa any type of distress or pain, and would continue to do so until the end of her days, pressuring her lover's family into submitting to her authority, regardless of the method, was the only possible option that provided her with further political advantage in the realm and that guaranteed her lover's gentle feelings weren't harmed. She could only imagine what the Stark's and their ultimately inept Bannermen would label her when she openly claimed Sansa as her Paramour, a revelation she would soon unveil, but it wasn't of much significance to her. As her Lord Hand constantly reminded; 'Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep'.
Given the time and certain resources she knew well the lengths Tywin Lannister would go to in order to quell the rebellion, the route he would take was made possible by the Stark boy's doltish decision to break his vow of troth to Lord Walder Frey and instead marry a foreigner. Cersei had been helpless against considering the use of brutal tactics herself in the passing weeks, she had grown so very weary of the realm's chaotic state, if she were not so affectionate of her SheWolf, she would have already arranged for the same swift and sanguineous misfortune to befall her enemies. Despite what her icy instincts advised, she wouldn't have her lover's family publicly executed for their treason, for lover's sake alone, but she would make Robb and Catelyn Stark forever beholden unto her, personally. She would reduce the Wolves into Sheep. And by doing so, she would strip them of the assets necessary to challenge her authority, even in the slightest capacity, ever again.
They all played the Game of Thrones, but unfortunately for her feebleminded opponents, who even now foolishly believed she could still be bested, she had already won. Now all that remained, was for the Lioness of House Lannister to sink her claws into her prey, one by one.
"Sandor..." An emotionless gleam made the Queen's eyes appear colder than polished gemstones bathed in moonlight, her melodic voice fostered an ice cold edge as she addressed her most loyal liege-subject. Never once tearing her gaze away from the bustling harbour. Behind her on the awe inspiring Throne Room's vast upper gallery The Hound tilted his head, silently awaiting her instruction.
"...Go to the barracks and escort those negligible soldiers I sent in search of Arya Stark to the dungeons. You know my mind on this matter, do you not?" Cersei purred. She had dispatched twenty men, over a month ago, to safely deliver her lover's younger sister into her custody, as she had promised Sansa. Not only had they failed to succeed in the task she assigned to them, her eyes along the King's Road reported the worthless ingrates had spent the majority of their time cloistered inside a brothel, presuming she would never discover their indolence. She was a Lannister, even an honest failure was unacceptable and inexcusable to her, as such this grave insult certainly could not go unanswered, and it would be met with blood. The trackers would soon learn how deeply mistaken they had been to think she wouldn't get word of their willful inactivity, and the calamitous consequences of their stupidity would be lethally austere. Castration seemed a fitting punishment for their insult, and she knew of no one better to see her will carried out than Sandor. The Hound was most creative in the ways of physical torment.
"I give you my word Your Grace, those useless bastards will wish their mothers had never spawned them into this world" Sandor's sadistic smirk urged one of her own into being. She glanced over her slender shoulder, clothed in the finest Lannister red silk, she noted a hunger for blood smouldering deep in Sandor's dark brown eyes. A confident smile ghosted across her full red lips.
"Do what you will with the footsoldiers, but you will take their Captain and hold him in my chambers until my arrival. After seeing that he is properly 'attended' to in my stead, of course. Then you will stand watch over Sansa for the remainder of the day. Am I understood?" She arched a perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow sardonically. Her orders were a formality, she had found herself to be of a like-mind with The Hound when regarding incompetence, words were not needed to convey her message, as they both responded to deliberate inability with violence.
"I will see it done, Your Grace, but you should not be without guards" Cersei narrowed her jade coloured eyes on the hulking man, watching him vividly pale under her hard stare, but The Hound wasn't the target of her irritation.
She wasn't foolish enough to ignore the unsubtle fact the Kingsguard, yet to be officially reformed into her Queensguard, had been reduced to a pack trounced dogs on some out of sight chain linking back directly to her Father. At the end of every day, each man, with the exception of Sandor, went scurrying to her Lord Hand with reports of her activities. The oppression of Tywin Lannister's scrutiny was stifling, the fact her Father made no attempt to conceal his examination of her was just as maddening as it was amusing. How many times had she herself manipulated the escorts of her enemies into feeding her vital information that she could then store away to use against them at a later date?. She was accustomed to verbal sparing, umbrageous and vicious plotting and the greatly beneficial victories that inevitably became hers for the taking as a result of her impelling schemes, but it seemed like forever since she was faced with an equal, possessing skills, and the strength of will to use them, tantamount to her own. Regardless, she relished the opportunity to test her will against that of her Father, she understood his motivations to a profound depth no other could grasp. That was her linchpin. Finally she relented her paralysing glare, feeling a twinge of guilt in her chest when she caught The Hound attempting to unsuccessfully conceal a sigh of sheer relief. She knew how intimidating her cold stare was, she had inherited the look from her Father and she had suffered the same immobilizing fear beneath it, even now when she was the predominant authority in the Seven Kingdoms, the crushing effect of the elder Lannister's gaze remained the same.
"You are dismissed..." Cersei returned her attention outward, toward the harbour of King's Landing once more. Small remnants of damage persisted from the Battle, most of it was hardly discernible, several wrecked ships from the Baratheon fleet were still being dragged from the Bay and the Mud Gate was yet to be repaired up to Baelish's promised standards. But at least the people of King's Landing were no longer making a nuisance of themselves. She wondered if the inflamed lesions created by her eldest son's pointless cruelty had finally been soothed now that she had denounced Joffrey and instated herself as Queen or if this was just the calm before the storm. In the end it mattered little, she had already decreed that any sign of disruption from the people would be dealt with swiftly and savagely. She would never again risk rioting to break out in the Capital or any other region. The memories of the last minor insurrection in Flea Bottom were still scorched in her mind's eye, the feel of being drenched in blood and acidic fear burning in through her veins, churning into thick knots within her stomach. She steeled herself, dispelling the plaguing retentions, it wouldn't do to rile her temper, bearing in mind, where matters of state would take her this morn. Sandor's retreating footfalls hardly caressed her ears as he left her side to ensure her commands were seen to. A smile was slow to curve the Queen's luscious mouth upwards.
"...And Sandor..." The muscular man paused instantaneously, several metres down the elaborately decorated gallery, and turned around to face her once more, his eyes averted respectfully, she remained still as a gracefully sculpted statue, her attention stayed trained on the view before her as she spoke commandingly.
"...When order is restored to the Realm, I will have you knighted for your unwavering service, and the loyalty you have shown me and mine" To have The Hound serve in the Kingsguard and yet deny Sandor the title of 'Ser', especially when considering the bulky man's exemplary service and emblematic skill with a blade was a foolish and inexcusable discourtesy from Joffrey. Her eldest son had seen Sandor as nothing more than an inferior being, and by making The Hound the only man in history to serve in the Kingsguard without being knighted, reinforced his misguided belief. It was an absolute travesty, a derisory wrong on Joffrey's part that she intended to correct, by having Sandor elevated to the appropriate rank, The Hound had more than earned it, many times over and she appreciated his allegiant feats. Cersei cocked her head, a small smile tilted the right corner of her mouth upward, the gratitude shinning brightly in his dark brown eyes was truly endearing, though unneeded, she was simply mending the abundant damage inflicted by one of Joffrey's idiotic decisions. A lengthy and tiresome task, and yet it was astutely important for reasons she should no longer concern herself with, she had renounced her eldest son.
"Now begone from my sight, we both have much work to do this day" The Queen snapped, releasing an irked sigh when The Hound had departed, silently disappearing from the Throne Room's upper gallery. The Queen lifted her head, the long silken blonde fall of her hair fell over her shoulders, she swept her disinterestedly analytical eyes over the harbour once more. The embodied impairments of the battle had all but been repaired, however there was still one specific residuum that called for her personal, ruthless, attention.
Despite the mid-morning sun blaring down on the Capital from its deep blue canopy overhead, the wintry chill was still perceptible. The Queen mentally made a note to address the preparations needed to brace against the approaching Winter, it was undeniably an urgent matter, but hardly the most pressing at that exact moment in time. Flanked by Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount, Cersei waited impatiently but without any glimmer of emotion, nor any other sign of her internal vexation, outside a worn timber door.
"Who is it?" She resisted the urge to smirk. The nervousness in Tyrion's voice, emitting from the other side of the poorly crafted chamber entrance, was all too clear in her ears, even with The Imp's attempts to sound unagitated. She slipped both of her magnolia pale hands into either of her fashionably flared sleeves, entwining her long slender fingers.
"Its your sister, the Queen" Cersei tilted her head curiously when heard a peculiar shuffling sound on the other side of the closed chamber door. She rolled her jade coloured eyes discreetly, as recognition dawned on her, she knew exactly what the delay entailed. The Dwarf was taking a precaution, finally he showed a small measure of independent intelligence, for Tyrion's sake, this usual occurrence had better hold. Finally she allowed herself to smirk sardonically when a square crevice carved into the thin timber door slid open, the lack of light in the pitiable accommodations she had reassigned The Imp to in the wake of battle prevented her from seeing much of anything, save a pair of wary blue orbs.
"What are they doing here?" Tyrion trained a suspicious eye on Ser Meryn and Ser Boros, trailing his irises over their sheathed broadswords, she nearly laughed as she observed, through the eyelet, as The Imp swallowed fearfully, her signature smirk widened slowly when Tyrion's attention returned to her. He was right to be scared, but not of her guards as he appeared to be.
"Protecting me, I assume..." She drawled sarcastically. Her brother stared at her a moment, she lifted her head, studying his expression through the locked door's open crevice. Like two lions assessing each other for any apparent weaknesses, the first move in their Game of Wits.
"...Come now Imp, if I wanted to kill you, do you honestly think I would allow a locked door to stop me?. Let me in"
"They stay outside" Tyrion inserted firmly.
The Queen nearly barked a laugh in response, catching his underlying tone of dread, nevertheless she nodded her acquiescence, raising her hand to signal her guards to remain outside The Imp's chamber. She could almost hear them whimper, her Lord Father wouldn't appreciate any deficient details when his spies reported back to him. She wondered how her Lord Hand would punish them for failing to remain on her heels. Tyrion closed the eyelet, a dulled shuffling sound once again travelled through the thin chamber door, she could hear a heavy bolt being drawn back and then the entryway cracked open a few inches. She rolled her eyes, before she strode forward, stalking into Tyrion's new chambers with effortless grace and an aura of cool confidence. As The Imp hurriedly shut, and relocked, the door behind her, she noted a relatively small axe leaning against the stone wall beside the crumbling threshold. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she causally walked in a wide circle around the chamber, there were three free standing candelabra strategically placed around the room, unlit, the only source of light in the chamber leaked in through a high square window. The singular room hadn't been inhabited for a good number of years, the last dweller had been a no-mark squire of some lesser knight. Intricate webs spun by unseen spiders clung to the dank ceiling in each corner of the room and thick visible layers of dust coated the various and somewhat ergodic furniture. Her upper lip curled into a sneer of distaste as she leisurely stalked back toward The Imp. Tyrion lingered near the closed door, and the axe, as if to ensure the entryway didn't somehow 'mysteriously' become unlocked and his life placed in jeopardy.
"Rumour had it that your nose had been cut off, but its not as gruesome as all that..." Cersei commented nonchalantly, deliberately leaning downward, to place herself close to eye-level with The Dwarf.
A large scar marred most of Tyrion's face, running from The Imp's left temple to his right cheek. Something stirred within her while she trailed her jade coloured eyes over the deep red mark, as she straightened with a sardonic arch of her perfectly shaped eyebrow, it wasn't concern nor was it sympathy. It was anger. The Imp was a stain on the proud name of Lannister and many a time, like her Lord Father, she had considered removing the disgraced blemish from her noble House, but when all was said and done, he was a Lannister. Unlike the gossiping vultures in her court, she knew how The Imp had received the wound during the battle, just as she knew who had arranged for the attack. As a Lannister it was The Imp's right to obtain justice for the assault, and it was her duty as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and a high ranking member of their House to administer that justice. Still, she didn't care that The Imp had nearly been butchered by Ser Mandon Moore, she cared only that a lowly guard had lain hands on a Lannister. Even as she began to toy with her prey, Ser Mandon was leaving the Capital on her order, and somewhere along the King's Road she had ensured that he would be set upon by hired brigands and 'unfortunately' the disgraced guard would fall to the attack. The insult to her House was repaid.
"...How do you like your new chambers?. I, personally, thought them fitting, after all, it isn't as though you require much room, now is it?" She adopted an impartial expression as Tyrion brushed past her, scowling up at her as he stepped away from the locked door, and the axe left leaning against the stone wall. Her words had the desired effect, her insult was her way of further assuring The Imp that she had no intention of making an attempt on his miserable life. Tyrion thought the reason for her visit revolved around discourtesies. If only.
"Maester Pycelle made a similar comment. You must be so proud to possess the same sense of humour as a man whose balls brush his knees" Tyrion sneered at her, reaching for a bottle of wine resting atop a spindly circular table next to a lank equipage she assumed had been recently used as a bed.
"And you've always been so funny, but none of your little jokes will ever match the first one, will they?. You remember, back when you ripped my mother open on your way out of her, and she bled to death..." She growled, her eyes flashing with undying rage as her lithe muscles coiled tightly. The Imp flinched violently, as though she had slapped him like she longed to do so, but he only paused momentarily before he finished pouring rich Dornish wine into a basic wooden goblet.
"...You murdered my mother, and the best part of my Father along with her. Which is why I cannot comprehend why you are going to see him today" That was a lie. Her Lord Hand had already launched a discreet investigation into the matter of Tyrion's attack. Tywin Lannister would always protect the family and slaughter those who would harm them, even the lowest member of their House had the right to that protection from the Lord Paramount of the West, and her Father provided it only to uphold their name. The Imp would readily supply the details of his onset in the hopes he could repair the rift left in the wake of her mother's death, like a dog craving his Master's affection. That was the sole reason for her visit.
"How did you know that?" Tyrion guzzled the wine from his goblet and refilled it with unnerving speed. She laughed liltingly, tauntingly. She had eyes everywhere, if there was something worth knowing in Westeros, something advantageous to her, then she would obtain that knowledge by any means necessary. She stood by what she had hissed at Baelish many weeks ago, Power was Power, but knowledge was certainly an effective and excellent weapon in the Game of Thrones.
"Your friend, Varys, owes me a few favours..." She lied smoothly. She watched, bemused, as The Dwarf paled, likely fearing that she had sent the Master of Whisperers to him as a rather efficacious spy. She didn't feel any particular need to correct his false assumption, Varys would soon serve his purpose where she was concerned, The Eunuch simply wouldn't know it until she had consolidated her power. Tyrion hid behind his wine goblet in the darkened chamber as he tried to compose himself, again, draining the contents of his drinking glass.
"...So tell me, what fabrications do you intend to give my Father today?. More of that incestuous nonsense, I suppose?" She aimed a derisive smirk in his direction. He glared back at her darkly.
"Why would I lie to him?. When, in this instance, the truth is just so much more damaging" He arched a brow sarcastically. Cersei slowly began to circle the dank chamber again with predatory grace, never once releasing The Imp from her piercing gaze, her smirk became progressively more mocking.
"Ah yes, the truth can be just as vicious as a lie, and how often they both result in the very same thing...sheer carnage...The truth is like a double edged sword in that regard, is it not?.." She mused cryptically, savouring the fact she had the clear upper hand in their verbal sparring match and The Dwarf didn't even realise it, yet. Finally she ceased her pacing, with a regal stance, she stood opposite Tyrion with seven feet separating them. From the light filtering into the small chamber through a little window, she could just about see that he wore a befuddled frown.
"...Answer me this, what do you think Father would do, if he were to discover that you have fallen in love with yet another whore?. What was her name?. Shae, something or other?" She drawled slowly, her melodic voice dripping with deadly venom. Recognition washed over his newly scarred face like a tidal wave sweeping across the shore and carrying him out into sea to flounder uselessly in an ocean of uncertainty, disbelief and defeat. It was a gratifying sight, watching her prey drown in his own folly. Had he honestly thought he could keep his lover's existence a secret?. In the moments that followed she thought The Imp would deny his relationship with the handmaid, but it wouldn't matter if he did, all she would have to do was imply the notion to her Lord Father and he would see the girl suffered horribly before he had her killed, something The Dwarf would never risk. The tide was in her favour and at last The Half-man knew it.
"What do you want Cersei?" Tyrion whispered brokenly, like a subjugated lion baring his jugular in submission.
"You are going to forever forget that Joffrey ordered Ser Mandon to kill you, and I will see to it that Father does not discover the existence of that Lorathi girl" She commented coldly, unmoved by the frantic desperation shinning in his blue eyes, her hold over him was born of his own arrogance. Unlike her, he hadn't thought of any contingency plans to safeguard his lover, whereas she would bathe in the blood of thousands if she thought they were a threat to Sansa, regardless of who they were. Even now she worked to construct a political shield around her SheWolf.
"You disown the boy and yet you still protect him..." Tyrion barked a laugh. Joffrey no longer held the title of King, by her word he had no claim to his inheritance, as such, her eldest son was denied the safety of the family. He was not a Lannister, therefore he did not warrant any care from Tywin Lannister, nor was he a Baratheon. Until he married Margaery Tyrell, Joffrey was little more than a peasant in fine clothing. And as her first born had wronged so many people in such a short time, she would not be surprised if there were plots in place to assassinate him. Joffrey was no longer her concern, and yet, maternal instinct roared in her ears. By fixing his mistakes she contrived to remove the unseen threat to his life, her final good deed for him. And her last kindness would be repaid. She intended to name Ser Loras as a member of the Kingsguard, to replace Ser Mandon. While Tyrell women were openly schooled in the ways of politics, their misogynistic ancestors, a rife plague among the Kingdoms, dictated that Tyrell women couldn't inherit their family's lands, titles or wealth. Ensuring that her grandchildren would one day rule the Reach when they came of age, until that day, she intended to instate her uncle Kevan as Steward of Highgarden in Joffrey's stead, none would dare to question her decision, even her Lord Father would recognise her sound strategy. After all her uncle Kevan had always made his respect for her known, that was not to say she trusted him, that was a rarity bestowed upon very few, but her uncle Kevan would answer directly to her and take her orders without complaint or hesitation. The Queen had already sunk her claws into The Reach, and one day soon, she would forcibly drag her quarry into her Den, before moving onto the rest of the hypocritical herd.
"...Tell me big sister are you blind?. Can you not see that Joffrey is poison?" Tyrion scoffed to himself, glaring indignantly at her. She was almost amused, that it had taken her revealing her hold over The Imp to turn him into nothing more than a sulky child.
"The love I bear for my children is one of my few redeeming qualities" She stated icily. He muttered to himself further, incensed, after a moment of The Dwarf's incoherent babble ebbed away into an acute silence, he looked up into her steely gaze, frustration shone back at her, visible like the first glimpse of Summer after a long Winter and almost as gratifying. She barely resisted the urge to grin victoriously.
"So be it, I'll not say anything about the boy's attempt on my life to Father, so long as you keep your word, and see that Ser Mandon meets his end or else we will catch a glimpse of 'sheer carnage' together" Tyrion growled, even as his shoulders slumped. She nodded with a condescending smirk, completely undeterred by his threat, after all, she always had more than one route available to her, several tactics forever at the ready to utilise in the Game. Only one person could support Tyrion's claim that Joffrey had arranged the attack, and gold turned the tongues of many a dishonest hue, even that of Podrick Payne. Turning her back on The Imp, she stalked toward the chamber door, she reached out with an elegant hand, adorned with her signet ring, and dragged the heavy bolt back, but before she drew the door open, she glanced appraisingly over her slender shoulder for one last glance at her grievously wounded prey.
"Your little visit will be for nought, my Father will burn Casterly Rock to the ground before he names you Lord, and I would gladly help him. Accept it, and accept that neither he, nor I, will forgive you for killing her" She waited to see him, try and fail to, hide a wince before she flung open the door with a loud creaking sound from the protesting and thoroughly rusted hinges. She found Ser Meryn and Ser Boros trading heated, and yet rather pathetic barbs with The Imp's Sell-Sword, Bronn, all three men had a hand on their respective blades. In unison, they fell silent and as one they each took a step back from one another, making way for her as she indifferently stalked passed them with her signature unemotional mask firmly in place, much like everything else was being forced back into it's natural order.
The Seven Kingdoms may have been forged in Dragonsfire, but the future of Westeros would be sculpted by the claws of the Lannister Lioness, her legacy would eclipse that of the Targaryens and it would last for thousands of years.
TBC. . .
AN: I'm sorry about the delay, I had a ridiculous amount of school stuff to get through before summer and it all got in the way of my writing. And I know I've only mentioned Cersei/Sansa in this chapter, but there is a reason for that which I'm not going to divulge and there will be plenty of them in the next chapter, which I hope to post within a couple of weeks. Don't hold me to that though, because we all know my updates are just a 'little' irregular ;D Thanks for reading, I'd appreciate any and all feedback.
