Disclaimer: I don't own Game Of Thrones or anything else associated with either the Books or the Show.
Chapter Twelve.
There was a moral lesson to be found between the plurality of jagged steel swords that forged the Iron Throne, the coiled metal, piercing edges and monstrous spikes had stolen blood from many of the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms, had even claimed the life of Maegor the Cruel of House Targaryen, the back of the Throne was fanged which made leaning back impossible unless one was willing to sacrifice one's life-blood to the hulking Seat of Power. Aegon the Conqueror of House Targaryen had intentionally constructed the Iron Throne to be notoriously uncomfortable and unsafe for a specific reason, to deliver instruction unto his Heirs long after he was dead and his body cremated; a King should never sit easily or carelessly, just as he should not rule his people carelessly. A wise and noble lesson but ultimately one that had been ignored over the course of time by all the Kings that succeeded Aegon I to power. And the Lioness of House Lannister was nothing if not conscientious in her cunning manipulation of events and people to her advantage. Cersei understood Aegon's lesson, she daily adorned the eternal reminder of the Targaryen King's idealistic instruction at the heart of the Red Keep, but she refused to rule by that obsolete principle. Perhaps the Dragon had loomed over the Seven Kingdoms at such a great height that he had failed to see the true face of his people, but she did, and she saw the need for artful guile above blunt nobility when dealing with the deceitful snake-pit of Westeros.
"Here, before the old Gods and the New, I, Ser Loras Tyrell, perpetually dedicate my sword to Your Grace, Queen Cersei of House Lannister. From this moment forth, I vow to protect Your Grace from harm or threat even if it should result in my death, to shelter your secrets should I be entrusted with them, to offer counsel to the very best of my capabilities if it is ever requested of me and to remain silent when it is not, and I promise to defend your name and honour with everything I am until the moment of my death" Ser Loras dutifully remained kneeling before the upraised marble dais that supported the imposing Iron Throne, his eyes stayed respectfully lowered and firmly rooted on the rich majestic red carpeting running from the wall behind the highly distinguished Seat of Power to the large arched entryway at the far end of the Great Hall as he diligently waited for her to grant him permission to stand and be acknowledged by his new brothers-in-arms as well as the primly attired Lords and Ladies all assembled to witness the promotion of the young knight to one of the Kingsguard.
"I accept your vow Ser Loras, know that you will be held to it and punished severely if ever you should break it. Now rise and be recognised as nothing more than another Kingsguard" Cersei drawled coldly from atop the white marble platform, elegantly seated on the Iron Throne, like a lazy lioness admiring her freshest kill sprawled out lifelessly before her with it's throat viciously torn out.
She effortlessly concealed her satisfied smirk behind her signature mask of cold, unreadable indifference as Ser Loras, clad for the first time in the emblematic gold-plated armour of the elite royal guard, rose up off his knees, pausing gauchely for a long moment before clasping his gloved hands together in front of himself, clearly at a loss as to how he should conduct himself while Ser Arys Oakheart approached him with a flowing, folded white cloak clutched in his gloved hands. Ser Loras' head remained reverently inclined toward her, an unsurprising gesture being as she could count on one hand the people possessing the courage required to meet her steely gaze. The Vultures assembled in the colossal Throne Room murmured quietly amongst themselves, likely pondering over her wording, after all, Ser Loras had just been publicly inducted into one of the oldest and proudest orders in the History of the Seven Kingdoms, and yet she, comfortably adorning the Iron Throne unhindered by it's pointed erose edges on account of her flawless bearing and regal grace, unmatched by any of her Predecessors, openly demeaned the significance of the ceremony she presided over. Her Father silently conveyed his own dark contempt for the drab affair, and his acute apprehension of her motives, by his absence from her side where the Hand of the Queen should sit during such events as this. But she wasn't exactly startled or fazed by Tywin Lannister's non-attendance, had Robert still ruled she would have failed to attend also, she held nothing but vehement disdain for pomp and ceremony simply because she found watching the nobles strut around before her like preening peacocks to be extremely tedious. She almost envied her Father his absence, her Lord Hand was currently secluded in his chambers preparing the documentation that officially invested Ser Loras into the Kingsguard, however she would have the pleasure of studying the future of House Tyrell as it crumbled like a rotting wooden-beam no longer able to support itself.
She cast a menacingly incisive eye over the crowd as Ser Arys awkwardly attached the long milk-white cloak to the golden pauldrons of Ser Loras' armour, it was a purely symbolic action, supposedly invoking the bonds of sworn brotherhood. Her jade coloured eyes soon located the lined face of Lady Olenna Tyrell standing among a select group of high-born Ladies, including Margaery Tyrell, toward the front of the Throne room, it appeared to her as though both Tyrell women had just consumed something entirely distasteful and sour as they watched Ser Loras cast aside his familial ties in favour of direct servitude to the Crown, to her. The Queen's sensuously sculpted mouth finally curled into a predatory smirk, a knowing, measured tilt of her full red lips that sent waves of further confusion into the feeble minds of the detested Vultures all staring up at the Royal Lioness with beady eyes, ravenous for her to provide them with every ounce of sustenance they could manage to sink their hooked talons into, and she soon would cater to their desperate hunger for causerie and rumours, regardless of if there was any truth to them, but not yet. The gossipmongering horde she was surrounded by on all sides would have a part to play in her plan that would consolidate her power and authority. Just as Ser Loras' promotion was simply another strategic move in the Game of Thrones to her, rather than her seizing upon his admittedly quite notable skills with a blade. With the Tyrell Heir to Highgarden incapable of claiming his inheritance, the consequence of his oath to her, her first-born grandchild from the forthcoming union of Joffrey and Margaery would become Lord Paramount of The Reach upon a day, heedless of gender by her proclamation, the child would be a Lannister cub she intended to have raised within the Red Keep with her love and under her guidance. She would not allow Joffrey's sadistic and Margeary's sycophantic influences to infect and corrupt that unborn child, such a thing was inconceivable to her.
The Reach had just been captured and was now held between her golden paws alongside The Imp, like two little mice cowering before her bloodied claws, with no possible escape. Lady Olenna remained glaring at Ser Loras as he took his place among his sworn brothers standing tall at the base of her infamous Throne, the elderly woman's thin dry lips were pursed with deep displeasure. Lady Tyrell clearly sensed the end of her House was nigh, how lovely. The Queen could have laughed, she did so enjoy watching her schemes come ever closer to fruition.
It was to the lulling music of ocean waves rolling together in tandem flowing into her rooms through an open window, that Cersei gently tucked a wayward strand of golden blonde hair behind the shell of Myrcella's ear, a tender smile lit up the Queen's agelessly beautiful face as her slumbering cub murmured in her untroubled sleep while she softly stroked her Heir's forehead with the back of her slender knuckles, carefully, to avoid the possibility of disturbing her daughter. Her young children had fallen prey to sleep curled together, just as lion cubs were wont-to-do, with their small hands laced together lightly and contented smiles playing at the corners of their mouths, atop the Lannister red bedsheets in her large four-poster bed adorned with a heavy crimson canopy displaying the Sigil of her proud House. Numerous free-standing candelabras set in strategic places throughout her chambers forced an army of shadows into the far corners of her rooms. She shifted slightly on the edge of her bed, leaning downward to press a feather-light kiss to Myrcella's cheek.
After dinner, served just after sunset consisting of a wide range of expensive cuisine both native to Westeros and several, far more costly, dishes which originated from foreign lands, she had personally seen to it that her precious cubs were separately bathed and prepared for bed. Myrcella, ever the more daring of her children, had demanded that Sansa tell them a tale from the North before they would peacefully retire for the night, of course her treasured daughter hadn't been contented with just one story to placate her desire for adventure and one tale had multiplied into several lengthy narrations, each with their own hidden meaning though she highly suspected Tommen hadn't quite grasped the implications presented to him by her SheWolf, but he was very young and Northern tales tended to be more cautionary than entertaining. The Queen had been entirely self-complacent listening to Sansa's melodic tone of voice as the redhead spoke quietly with her children, soothing them to sleep before she had even worked her way through half the missives and reports piled heavily on her ornately carved oak desk. Her cherished lover's strong maternal instinct and attentive skill with her treasured cubs warmed her heart, as always, promptly thawing the thick layers black ice she had gathered about the jaded organ when dealing coldly with Tyrion and House Tyrell, for the first time that day she felt like the sun was shinning down on her.
She whispered comforting little nothings into the Princess's ear when there was a subdued knock on the thick oak door to her chambers which was bolted shut, she knew from the softly distinct rhythm that it was Sandor requesting entrance and her cub began stir, in response to the quiet thump of The Hound's knock, nuzzling further into her lavish maroon pillow. Out the corner of her jade coloured eye, she caught sight of Sansa, clothed in a white gossamer thin cotton nightgown with a richly designed crimson overcoating complemented with gold trim, silently glide toward the tall arched entryway to unlock and draw open the door. Cersei felt the urge to grin when her SheWolf warmly greeted The Hound as he slipped back into her plush chambers, Sandor had already carried Tommen's sleeping form back to the Prince's own lodgings and now he was to do the same for Myrcella. The Hound still appeared a little uncomfortable with Sansa's cordiality, having become so accustomed to being looked down upon by the high-born Vultures for such a prolonged time that any kind word made him feel discomfited, the hulking man merely inclined his scarred head in response to the elder Stark girl's welcome before he glanced at her for direction. Cersei lifted her elegant hand and gestured Sandor closer with a languid flick of her long slender fingers, The Hound hastily stalked toward her with his brown eyes lowered to the marble floor, covered in thick majestic furs of various beasts most of them were gifts from Robert after his frequent hunting escapades in the King's Wood. She reluctantly rose up off the edge of her four-poster bed allowing her most loyal liege-subject access to her daughter, subconsciously smoothing down the silken folds of her Lannister red nightdress with her left hand while The Hound cautiously scooped Myrcella's lax body into his bulging arms, protectively cradling the sleeping Princess against his broad chest with one arm tucked under her cub's knees and the other supporting Myrcella's compact shoulders. She gracefully prowled along beside Sandor's towering form as he strode purposefully across the massive expanse of her rooms toward the lucubrate arched entrance to her exuberantly furnished chambers.
When Sansa drifted toward them at the door to bid The Hound goodnight, Cersei possessively slipped her lithe arm around the younger woman's slim waist, pulling her beautifully slender redhead tightly into her side, she took a long moment to savour how perfectly her lover's warm body fit against hers. It was almost like the Gods had sculpted her SheWolf just for her, and as much as her life's experience demanded that she brand the thought as folly, she had no interest in doing so. She very nearly purred in the back of her throat when she felt Sansa's arm snake around her own lean waist, an intimate touch without any hesitation on the younger woman's part, the quiet confidence her lover displayed had her smiling to herself in a heartbeat.
"Goodnight Sandor" Sansa smiled amiably up at The Hound, as he taciturnly slipped back out into the wide corridor in the Red Keep, his movements smooth and silent despite his muscular frame. Cersei stroked the slight curve of her lover's hip when Sansa rested her head on her scanty covered shoulder.
She inclined her own head, though the action was barely noticeable, at Sandor when he silently turned back to face her, the solemn gleam in his brown eyes promised her that her daughter was in safe hands and the Princess would not be disturbed. There was only one man in all the Kingdoms she trusted more than Sandor to provide the best care and protection for her cubs, and that was Jaime. A pained wince flashed across her face before she could quite catch it, fortunately Sandor had already swept down the hall with Myrcella in his arms. The swiftness of The Hound's stealthy movements agitated the crimson tapestries displaying the Lannister Sigil that were mounted on the marble walls, and caused the orange light falling off from the aflame torches, affixed to the walls in solid iron brackets, to waver and send demonic shadows dancing through the long corridor. With Sansa's head resting on her shoulder there was no one to see the pining glint in the Queen's jade coloured eyes, pining for her absentee twin, before she promptly caged it behind her stoic mask. Jaime would return to King's Landing under his own power, and soon, he was far to stubborn to allow an inconsequential thing like the Northern army to keep him from his family, especially now that moderate units of Robb Stark's army continued to break off from the main force stationed at Riverrun, returning home so that they might tend their harvests before Winter descended on them all. The end of this war was so close she could taste it on the tip of her tongue, the Northern army was like a fatally wounded deer retreating through the King's Wood and only just managing to evade the snapping jaws of the healthy lion dangerously close on it's heels. A heavy sigh racked Cersei's mesmeric body as she affectionately brushed her full soft lips against her SheWolf's magnolia pale forehead as she reached out with her elegant left hand to push the six foot door closed, twisting the key in the gold lock to engage the mechanism. Even when the fighting was done the tremendous loss of life would leave behind a heinous scar on the Realm, it was such a mournful waste, thousands lay dead in the dust all because of one single inconceivable lie, but when the North had bent the knee to her, civil war would never again be a possibility. She would make damned certain of that.
"Come..." She tightened her arm around the tiny expanse of her lover's delicate waist, gently urging the younger woman to turn with her, she guided Sansa toward the wide, elegantly carved, mahogany chaise padded with the finest cotton and covered with a wealth of dark red satin placed a safe distance from the vast but unlit hearth. Cersei pursed her lips amusedly when her eyes landed on Duchess, the pristine white and grey Dire-wolf lay on her stomach in front of the fireplace, her wedge shaped head resting on her paws, audibly panting with her red tongue hanging out of her mouth. The young wolf had ambled into her chambers, accompanying the rest of her family earlier in the evening, and promptly crashed to the stone floor in an exhausted mass of thick pale fur and heavy breathing. Oddly enough she could have swore she had caught a glimpse of something hanging from the wolf's jaws as the, rapidly growing, pup had trotted past her, but now she couldn't see anything laying on the marble floor around Sansa's loyal companion to confirm her suspicion.
"...Tell me Sansa, has your pup finally caught that pesky squirrel out in the gardens?..." Cersei murmured thoughtfully as she settled her lover on the chaise before meandering toward her oak desk, the large table dominated a good portion of her chamber in front of the open window that allowed the cool night air entrance into her rooms. Behind her desk, tucked in one of the corners of her chambers, was a relatively ample wooden cabinet with aureate markings finely etched into the sides.
If Duchess had managed to catch that squirrel, it would explain why she couldn't seem to locate any evidence and why the young wolf was so tired, her children hadn't been able to tire-out the spirited pup even when Duchess was small, and now that the pup was beginning to grow, it was hardly likely that her cubs had reduced the Dire-wolf to such a state. Cersei glanced over her slender shoulder as she crouched gracefully, opening the cabinet to reveal several crystal bottles of both red and white wine, and other far more potent beverages, she frowned when she saw the redhead gnawing on her plump pink lower lip, something she knew her lover only ever did when the younger woman was mentally preparing herself to do or say something she felt slightly nervous about. The Queen turned her attention back to the expensive contents of the cabinet she was crouched before, she smirked to herself and picked out a twenty year old bottle of red, brewed with the only the finest Lannister grapes, the very same rich-tasting liquid she had given Sansa the first night they'd made love. She closed the cabinet with a soft click and straightened easily. There were two hefty ruby encrusted goblets placed upside down on a silver tray atop the cabinet to prevent dust gathering inside the cup, she set the wine bottle beside the tray before she went about overturning the goblets and working the stopper free from the bottle's thin neck with practised ease.
"...Darling?..." Cersei prompted again, softly, she fleetingly returned her jade coloured eyes to her cherished SheWolf, she cocked her head curiously when she took note of the light blush colouring her Sansa's high cheekbones as the younger woman continued to nibble on her delectable lower lip. The Queen's frown deepened while she filled the two goblets until they were half filled with wine and replaced the stopper in the wine bottle, cradling the cusp of each goblet in the palm of either hand she lazily strolled back toward her seated lover. She regally settled on the chaise beside Sansa and extended one wine goblet toward her anxious SheWolf, when the redhead had relieved her of the weighted goblet, she leaned back against the arm of the chaise and gazed back at the beautiful woman next her, jade eyes soft with deep affection.
"...Would this happen to have something to do with Lord Baelish coming to see you today?" Cersei murmured, concerned, taking a single sip of her red wine, she barely even noted the rich, smooth liquid as it flowed down into her gullet leaving behind a tenuous burn. She knew all about Baelish's 'offer' to reunite Sansa with her family and she did not like the Master of Coin's attention clinging to her treasured lover like a parasite feasting on a majestic wolf. Unfortunately for him, she knew precisely how she was going to clamp her jaws around that loathsome Mockingbird.
"How did you-" Sansa's perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed with confusion, unable to comprehend how the Queen could know such a thing when they hadn't a chance to discuss their day. She lowered her wine glass onto the marble floor beside the curved leg of the ornate chaise, Duchess didn't even spare her a look as the wolf panted heavily, tiredly. She leaned back against the chaise's arm again, a picture of languid grace and seductive confidence sheathed in crimson silk. The corner of her mouth curled into a half-smile.
"I've made a point of knowing where you are at every moment of every day since I first laid eyes on you, and I also know who you come into contact with. I apologise if you feel uncomfortable with this practise of mine, but it won't be ceasing, especially when the Realm knows that you are, in fact, my paramour" Cersei murmured, suddenly apprehensive about her lover's reaction to this news. She had to know where Sansa was in the poisonous snake-pit she ruled over, it was crucial to her lover's safety and the stability of her mindset, she only felt relaxed enough to made sound judgements on the future of her Kingdoms when she knew where the pieces of her heart were in the Red Keep. Sansa, Myrcella, Tommen, this practise was for their protection from the Vultures and nothing else, she didn't seek to control them, quite the opposite, she only desired to guard them from the harshness they were almost oblivious to, like they with their warm innocence prevented her from becoming the cold-hearted bitch everyone else believed her to be.
"But it doesn't make me feel uneasy..." Sansa admitted in a whisper with a small smile, her SheWolf lowered her head as the blush staining her cheeks darkened further. Cersei breathed a sigh of relief, she'd never willing upset her cherished lover, but if the day ever arrived when she needed to choose between Sansa's happiness and security, the latter would instantaneously take precedence. She shifted on the softly padded chaise, moving closer to the other woman, she rested one elegant hand high on Sansa's warm supple thigh, over the thin white cotton of the younger woman's nightgown.
"...Its comforting, actually. The nobles, the way they have begun to look at me as of late, is unsettling, even more so than usual because I don't know why they have begun to stare at me like that"
"The nobles are like fish out of water when they have nothing to gossip about. With the war coming to an end, they are about to be plunged back into the sea. They watch you because they think I will execute your brothers and your mother, and then marry you off to a cousin of mine or some other unintelligent twit fortunate enough to share my name so that I can control the North..." Cersei explained with a scoff and roll of her eyes. The fools, she had other means to control the rebellious wolves, and it was slowly materialising like a ship emerging out a wall of solid mist. Sansa gnawed on her full lower lip again, though there was no amount of malaise in her lover's blue-grey eyes, the younger woman trusted her to deal fairly with her family even after her failure to prevent Eddard's execution, that knowledge nearly made her head swim with sublime gratification. She slowly began to draw small circles on the inside of the redhead's inner thigh, smirking playfully when her SheWolf's breath quickened with excitement.
"...But as I have promised, your brother and mother will admit defeat and swear fealty to me, Robb can certainly keep his head and maybe his lands depending on his choice of manners. But I keep you. Now tell me my dear, what has you behaving so nervously with me?" She purred cajolingly into Sansa's ear, quietly and temptingly, she couldn't resist the urge to nibble on the younger woman's lobe as she waited for her answer, causing her SheWolf to tremble against her and to moan breathlessly. She growled low in her throat when Sansa pulled away from her slightly, the younger woman smiled nervously before she leaned forward and placed the goblet in her hand on the floor, she kept her hand firmly on Sansa's upper thigh.
"Duchess..." Sansa commanded softly. Cersei frowned to herself, but she patiently leaned back against the chaise while the pristine white and grey dire-wolf rose onto her paws and cautiously moved off to the side near the open hearth where she soon settled again, it was almost like the wolf was trying to hide something she'd formerly been laying on. The Queen tilted her head when Sansa leaned further forward on the padded chaise next to her, though she couldn't help but become distracted by the perfect arch of her lover's back on display for her, the curve of the redhead's neck and the fall of her SheWolf's long silken red hair falling over Sansa's shoulders. She moved her hand from the redhead's thigh to comfortingly cupped the nape of Sansa's warm neck when she noticed the redhead's breathing quicken with anxiety, slowly she kneaded the younger woman's muscles, skilfully working the tight knots of tension she could feel gathered beneath her nimble fingers until her SheWolf was quietly humming with pleasure beside her. She didn't relinquish her tender hold when the younger woman finally straightened and shifted on the crimson chaise to face her.
"...H-here" Sansa's magnolia pale hands were shaking as the redhead extended a small square bundle of white cloth toward her, she started massaging her lover's neck again with her elegant right hand as she carefully accepted the soft fabric in her left. Surprised curiosity settled onto her shoulders like a much-needed winter cloak as she rested the suspiciously light bundle of cloth on her slender knee, balancing Sansa's gift while she single-handedly unwrapped the loosely assembled parcel. Pealing back the folds of thick white cloth she was pleasantly shocked to find a crenation seashell nestled in among it's bed of snow-white fabric, the shell was a few sizes too big to nestle in palm of her hand and it's outside curve was covered by a mixture of red and orange blending in together, while the inside of the seashell was dotted with dashes of striking white and purple to create a truly beautiful illustration of Southern beaches. The Queen was dazed, struck silent by the sudden lump of emotion wedging inside firmly in her throat and warm tightness in her chest, she tried to clear her throat and yet she was highly aware of the small strangled sound that announced her failing. She swallowed and cleared her throat again, more determinedly.
"The Lion's Paw..." She announced on a husky whisper, lightly grazing the tip of her forefinger over the shell's curved face and notched end, as expected the shell was cool to the touch, the red and orange hues integrated together to create an almost golden colour, hence the name.
"...It originates in the Westerlands, I haven't see one since I left Casterly Rock" She cocked her head, her long thick braid of silky blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she felt a warm weight form in her chest.
Aside from the little things her precious cubs frequently gave her, she couldn't remember the last time she had received a gift for purely sentimental reasons. Jaime had given her a six-inch dagger, the very same blade she had intended to kill Tyrion with all those weeks ago that now rested soundly beneath the false-bottom in the top drawer in her ornate desk, on her wedding night, whispering to her that if Robert were to hurt her in any way that she should use it 'effectively', below the waist. In that sense the dagger was practical with great sentimental value. She smiled warmly, recalling her twin's outrage on her behalf when her father had deigned to tell her of her pending wedding to her late husband. Whereas she had merely nodded her head to her Lord Father's blunt announcement sensing the advancement involved for their House and their legacy if she were to become Queen, even if she did find the thought of laying with a man as profoundly repulsive as being forced to swallow cold vomit, Jaime's fiery rage, resulting from his knowledge of her preferences, had never quite died out over the course of her long and eventually affable marriage. Jaime had always wanted her to seek out the ageless love a Lannister could find only once in a lifetime and in return she had always laughed, sceptically deeming his hope for her an 'absurd idea'. Her sensuous mouth twisted into a mocking smirk, aimed at herself, the smug sap she called her twin brother would be getting the last laugh when he came home to her and found she had taken a SheWolf for her one true mate.
"I found it washed up in a rock pool when I was watching the ships go out today. The gold colour made me think of you" Sansa's pale wolf eyes twinkled in the dim candle light, as though her lover could feel her surge of positive yet foreign emotion but still worried about her reaction to the seashell.
She smiled appreciatively at her lover, before her smile adopted a self-mocking edge, she was surrounded by the finest luxuries Lannister gold could provide in all the world, the likes of which the general populace couldn't even dream of, and yet the fact her SheWolf had given her this shell, a common enough shell in the Westerlands, made it more valuable to her than all the extravagance she had been bathed in since birth and all the lavish gifts rained down on her thereafter. But she hadn't a single notion where she should place such a token of affection in her chambers, she nearly laughed at herself, she could make swift decisions about the future of all the Seven Kingdoms without blinking an eye but she could think of where to place Sansa's gift in her chambers. Perhaps it was a good thing Jaime had not yet returned to the Capital, he'd never let her hear the end of this.
For a moment, her graceful hand drifted away from the shell balanced on her knee and soon her fingertips found the face of her Mother's pendant that always adorned the column of her neck, she had never once removed it from the instant her Father had gruffly secured it around her throat, without a word, after her mother had been cruelly taken away from them. The gold necklace, depicting a lioness, always there, always present with her where she could feel it, it was only appropriate that the Lion's Paw seashell was kept in a place where she would always be aware of it. She leaned toward Sansa and pressed gentle loving kiss to the delicately soft and gloriously pale expanse of her lover's cheek before she rose up onto her bare feet, cradling the shell in both her elegant palms like she was holding a fragile dove, Duchess glanced up at her curiously as she stepped around the pristine white and grey wolf toward the tall mantelpiece, she lifted her hands and reverently rested the crenation shaped shell at the far left corner of the stone mantle, at an angle she could easily see it from her four-poster bed and her desk, where she spent the majority of her time.
She nodded to herself, satisfied, she glanced downward when she heard a rumbling bark resound loudly, she found Duchess staring up at her from where the wolf up lay curled up on the floor at her feet, the dire wolf's tail happily swished back and forth across the marble, clearly Sansa's loyal companion approved of where she'd placed the shell. She pursed her full red lips at the young wolf, before she gently petted the pup's wedge shaped head fondly, she glared darkly when she was forced to nimbly avoid the equally affectionate lick Duchess attempted to bestow on her. Sansa's amused lilting giggle guided her back toward the crimson chaise, she sat down close to her lover, their thighs brushed together as she settled on the delightfully soft cushioning, she sighed quietly as the warmth of Sansa's beautiful body melded in with her own. She lifted her hand and carefully cupped her lover's delicate cheek in her hand, she was humbled by the trusting ease with which Sansa leaned into her touch, her SheWolf was still blushing as she coaxed the younger woman's gaze to stay locked with her own; pale wolf irises locked with gleaming cat's eyes.
She brushed the pad of her thumb over Sansa's cheekbone, her heart began to beat faster in her chest, the pounding tempo echoed loudly in her ears as she stared back at her lover in the dim candlelight, she caressed the younger woman's finely sculpted features with her jade coloured eyes, drinking in the sight of her SheWolf like a woman dying of thirst in the Red Waste across the Narrow Sea on Essos. She ran the backs of her dainty knuckles over Sansa's cheek, marvelling at the softness of her lover's warm pale skin as she gently trailed her fingertips down the redhead's slender jaw, the pleasantly formed column of her neck. She felt Sansa shivering profusely as she slipped her graceful hand around to once more cup the nape of her SheWolf's neck in one hand, entwining the long slender fingers of her other hand together tightly with Sansa's own as she wrapped the thick silken fall of her lover's hair around her right palm. She knew nothing of time or even the chaise beneath her as she used her hold to pull Sansa's head back slightly, baring the younger woman's throat to her hunger eyes, she knew only the arousal pooling low in her stomach and the warmth thrumming in her chest. Her lover gasped hotly when she carefully nibbled on her exposed jugular with her perfect white teeth, Sansa's chest heaved heavily with the redhead's quickened breathing as she kissed the flawless skin beneath her lips, earning herself a loud moan from the redhead when she swirled her talented tongue over her SheWolf's throat. Sansa began to stroke her back, the sensitised magnolia pale skin bared by the red silken straps criss-crossing over her lithe back down to her delicate waist, she shivered and nearly growled as she tightened her hand in her lover's long hair, Sansa's short sharp nails lightly raked across her back as she kissed and nipped a path up the smooth line of her SheWolf's throat to firmly capture the other woman's full pink lips with her own. She kept her hand buried in Sansa's hair as she easily, and perhaps instinctively, seized control of the kiss.
She did her best to maintain the gentle dance of their lips, savouring the sweet feel of Sansa's mouth beneath hers as a bolt of burning desire flowed through her like a smoothly streaming tidal wave, though she could feel her desire clawing at the underside of her skin demanding that she be rough, that she leave marks adorning her lover's flesh for all to see on the morrow. It was an incredible effort to refrain with her lust rising fast and furiously. Before her eyes drifted helplessly closed she saw the redhead's blue-grey eyes fluttered shut as the younger woman moaned passionately into their kiss, without breaking their kiss she shifted closer to her lover on the chaise so that she would have more leverage. She withdrew her hand from Sansa's hair to cup the back of her SheWolf's head as she slid her tongue over the younger woman's deliciously plump lower lip, heatedly, possessively. With her other hand she allowed her fingers to graze along Sansa's forearm, she smiled when she felt goose-flesh break out all over the redhead's lithe arms, her SheWolf was such a responsive lover, so very vocal about her pleasures. She expertly plunged her tongue into the hot cavern of Sansa's mouth, the Queen groaned at the sudden tightening of her breasts when her SheWolf's exquisite taste swept over her as she slid her tongue along her lover's own tongue, before she retreated and seized Sansa's lips in a series of long kisses, deep and elemental like wildfire blazing out of control so rapidly the flames could not be contained. She growled and nibbled on her Paramour's passion swollen lips when she felt the younger woman's nails desperately dig into her bare back, begging wordlessly for a deepened kiss that she has all too happy to grant, she thrust her tongue back into the other woman's mouth, both of them moaning breathlessly as their tongues swirled together hotly. Cersei slid her fingers further along the redhead's arm while her lover clung to her needfully, over Sansa's slim shoulder and down her chest until she was cupping the lusciously full mound of her SheWolf's breast in the palm of her hand. She eagerly swallowed Sansa's resulting wail of pleasure in the same instant she began kneading the soft weight, protected only by a thing layer of cotton, in her hand, the hard point of her lover's nipple pierced the material of the younger woman's nightdress. Still in possession of Sansa's mouth, her tongue stroking, claiming her SheWolf, she effortlessly began to pluck at the silken ties holding the bodice of the redhead's nightgown together and preventing her from seeing all of the younger woman's beauty. She was forced to tear her mouth away from Sansa's with the greatest reluctance, both of them panting, flushed and longing to return to their embrace when a loud bark resounded from nearby, she glared with enough icy force to cut through stone at Duchess when the pup had the nerve to look back at her innocently with soulful eyes. Though her irritation with the wolf was short-lived, disappearing entirely when Sansa began bathing her jawline in short hot kisses conveying just how desperately the younger woman hungered for her, a mutual desire.
"Go to my bed. Now..." Cersei rasped lustfully to her Paramour, nearly growling low in her throat when Sansa rose up from the chaise onto unsteady legs and stumbled toward the large four-poster awaiting them. She stood up, ready to join her lover, to indulge in the warm welcoming wetness between Sansa's thighs, but not before she gave the whelp cowering on the floor before the hearth one last warning glance.
"...Should you ever feel the need to interrupt us again mutt, I will personally skin you alive and turn you into a cloak" She hissed venomously down at the white and grey dire-wolf, but she was only half-serious in the threat she issued to Sansa's loyal companion. Duchess tilted her wedge-shaped head, her strangely intelligent blue eyes flashing as she pitifully whined apologetically up at the Queen.
"Sandor, do you recall the sacking of King's Landing during Robert's Rebellion?" Cersei murmured to The Hound early the next morning after breakfast had been served, it was a redundant question, the acts committed during the rather quick siege conducted by her Father was remembered by all but she felt the need to cautiously ease into the conversation she intended to have with her SheWolf, sat next to her at a table.
The Queen was regally perched atop a high backed chair at a circular oak table in the gardens, enjoying the last rays of summer before they vanished. Sandor stood vigil behind her and to the right, if she tilted her head a little she could see him with his large paws clasped together in front of him as he watched for the slightest threat to her or her family. Myrcella and Tommen were running around the gardens, giggling as they weaved in and around tall trees and vibrant rose beds while Duchess playfully stalked after her cubs.
"It was a massacre Your Grace" The Hound grumbled bluntly, likely avoiding the brutal details or Sansa's sake as the redhead listened on silently, she couldn't afford such a luxury not if she was to make the younger woman truly understand her underhanded plans to ensure her SheWolf's safety when the truth was revealed.
"That it was..." She agreed with an inward grimace and heavy sigh. "...I found the slaying of Elia Martell particularly disturbing. But I cannot quite remember if Ser Gregor made her watch him killing both her children before he raped and killed her also, or if he made the young children watch him rape and kill their mother before he butchered them" She mentally cursed herself when she saw Sansa flinch and pale at the horrific event she relayed, keeping all emotion out of her voice, but she reasoned with herself that it was necessary, she had to make Sansa see the dangers of belonging to her as Elia Martell belonged to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. But unlike The Last Dragon she actually cared for her Paramour and she wouldn't leave Sansa open to any perils.
"I know not Your Grace" Sandor murmured solemnly.
"Such a terrible way to die, whichever horror occurred first. But then she became a target when Rhaegar married her, the honourable fool didn't really take Mistresses or become infatuated with anyone until Lyanna Stark, if he had, then perhaps Elia's death would've been more merciful..." She continued dispassionately. After a moment she risked a look at her lover, feeling a blade of sheer agony pierce her heart when she saw Sansa's horrified eyes brimming with tears though the younger woman still seemed oblivious to what she was suggesting, she reached over and carefully gathered her lover's left hand in hers, instantly the redhead was clinging to her, squeezing her palm desperately.
"...A Queen, or a King, always has enemies. Always. You cannot rule without earning the hatred of some and those who are closest to you suffer because of it. When the Realm knows of this..." She lifted Sansa's hand in hers and placed their entwined palms on the table's surface for all to see if they cared to look, she tenderly stroked her thumb over the redhead's pulse-point.
"...There will potentially be danger to you, therefore I must take certain precautions in the months to come. The nobles will be lead to believe that I have multiple, if not dozens of other, concubines to deter attention away from you. But I give my word that I will not touch another woman, ever, it will merely be a ruse, another move in the Game"
"I understand" Sansa whispered, squeezing her hand and smiling so brightly, though tears lingered in her pale eyes, she knew her SheWolf truly did understand and trust her plan. Though her present scheme maybe excessive considering she was currently working the means to subtly sink her claws into each of the Kingdoms at such an angle they would be crippled unless she allowed them to move, but The Imp had been so arrogant that he had failed to forge contingency plans to protect his whore and she had taken advantage of that weakness herself, she would not risk the same happening to her Paramour. She would prowl every possible route leading to the pieces of her heart and protect them.
"Understand that I am yours, and you are mine" She purred, for the first time she let her eyes stray to the side of her lover's pale neck, with Sansa's hair pinned up off her shoulders with diamond pins, she could easily see the purplish love-bite she'd left behind high on the younger woman's neck an inch or two beneath the redhead's ear. She smiled smugly to herself, this was the first time she'd allowed herself the pleasure of leaving a mark behind that could be plainly seen, she hadn't been able to resist any longer, her smile turned to a roguish smirk as she leaned toward her lover, she could hear the younger woman's breathing quicken and the sound of her cubs laughing as Duchess chased them around the gardens, she brushed her lips over the love-bite she'd inflicted the night before in a prolonged feathery kiss that had Sansa sighing delightedly and tilting her head to grant her greater access.
When she heard an extensive collection of heavy footfalls approaching them from a wide hallway leading out to the gardens behind her, her first instinct was to pull away before the newcomers managed to ascertain that she was kissing her 'captive's' slender neck, the long fall of her silky blond mane would conceal the action from a distance. But as the footsteps grew louder, she smiled and nuzzled her lover's warm flesh possessively. She was, after all, a cunning opportunist.
"Cersei..." Sansa whispered uncertainly. She shushed her lover by lightly sinking her perfect white teeth into the love-bite she was nuzzling, the loud gasp that was ripped from the redhead's plump lips was only made louder by the sudden absence of heavy footsteps. The newcomers, and the spies among them, would easily be able to deduce what she was doing to her SheWolf, and so the raging storm of gossip and rumours would begin, sweeping through the Red Keep, then the Capital, followed with the Crownlands, by tomorrow evening word will have undoubtedly reached the ears of Robb Stark, which would send the enraged Whelp into the treacherous arms of Walder Frey as he searched for allies. Cersei lifted her head, and turned her attention to the entrants wearing her signature mask of cold indifference and smirk, a smirk that only grew wider when she caught sight of her Uncle, Ser Kevan, flanked by twelve Lannister soldiers and other attendants, her uncle stared at her, mouth agape with shock and wide eyes, red and leaden from crying. She was disquieted to find the elder Lannister's cheeks stained with tears, more still seeped from the corners of his eyes, his jaw clenched as he tried to stifle a mournful moan.
"Either cease your blubbering and tell me why you're troubling me or leave Ser Kevan, I have pressing matters to attend in my bedchambers" Cersei snapped before she shot her blushing SheWolf a pointed predatory smirk, with a connotation attached that Sansa would grasp from their time spent together.
The Lannister soldiers accompanying her Uncle were only loyal to her Lord Hand and they would not speak of their discovery to anyone save Tywin Lannister for fear of his reaction should they breath a word of it to anyone else, but the majority of the attendants with her Father's younger brother were spies for several of the nobles throughout the Keep, she even spotted one of Varys' little birds among them. The smirk she wore for Sansa held no emotion save lecherous purpose, and this was intentional on her part, she would make the Vultures think that she was merely bedding Sansa to taunt Robb Stark while he was still alive and to control the North if and when the Whelp was dead, they weren't to know that she intended to show him mercy after she'd forcibly bent his will to hers. It was another layer of protection for her lover, when the Vultures thought the redhead was inconsequential to her then chances were good they would leave Sansa alone and such a development wouldn't take long, they all thought her incapable of love or true affection as it was, especially when the rumours of her other 'lovers' began to circulate. She was skilfully creating doubt in every corner, and it was to her advantage and her SheWolf's benefit. Ser Kevan swallowed tightly as more tears wended their way down his aged face, he stared at her for a long moment before he turned his attention to her side, to Sansa. She knew the man was in shock from the distant quality in his voice when he finally spoke.
"Forgive my intrusion Your Grace but I have just received word that my young sons Martyn and Willem, your cousins, have been murdered by the Northerners" Ser Kevan wailed as he fell to his knees before her, sobbing uncontrollably.
TBC. . .
