Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or anything associated with the show or books.

AN: I'm so sorry to have kept you all waiting, you all know I have a pretty hectic schedule at the best of times but add writers block to it and well...Anyway, this chapter revolves solely around Cersei and Jaime, but I will make up for the lack of Cersei/Sansa in the next chapter, I promise. Now to all my readers wanting to see some M rated stuff, I don't plan on changing the rating of this particular story, as it is not that far off from being finished, but I have been thinking about writing a ONESHOT from Sansa's POV about Cersei and Sansa's first night together. I have no idea when I'll get the time to write it, but if you guys are interested in the idea I'll put it high up on my list of things to do.

Chapter Fifteen.

The White Sword Tower is a four tiered, slender structure built into a converging angle of The Red Keep's soaring outer walls, overlooking Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea beyond. The thunderous sounds of roaring ocean waves crashing against The Red Keep's strong stone walls caressed the delicate shells of Cersei's ears as she roughly shoved open the heavy, seven and a half foot tall, plain oak, arched door to the White Sword Tower, therein existed the living quarters and meeting place of her sworn Queensguard.

The hour was early, so early that the languidly stirring sun had yet to fully peek over the lazily brightening horizon. The coming sunrise turned the darkness of the receding night sky into mingling shades of light purple, pale pink and soft red, leaving all of King's Landing saturated in a dull dark grey light as the full magnificence of a new dawn slowly approached. The salty ocean breeze billowing through the City's maze of stone buildings and cobblestone streets, just now starting to stir with drowsy-eyed merchants readying for a day's trading by stacking their varying wares upon worn wooden stands outside their workshops, and The Red Keep's intricate labyrinth of wide walkways, opulent antechambers and warren of elaborate halls, beginning to bustle with servants frantically rushing about to prepare for the soon-to-be rousing Nobles, was cold enough that The Lannister Lioness had chosen to wear her favoured downy fur coat over her highly stylish silken red dress. The heavy and soft fur coat had a high collar that rose halfway up the elegant column of her slender neck and flowed down over the alluring length of Cersei's willowy body to end at her delicate ankles, an inch and a half thick dark brown leather belt with a gleaming gilded buckle held the two lapels of the heavy coat closed at her svelte waist.

She remembered well the day she had received the fur coat. The garment was fashioned from the thick tawny coloured pelt of a particularly ferocious and bloodthirsty Lion that had terrorised the Westerlands for a full eighteen months, claiming the lives of three dozen of his highly skilled would-be slayers and over two hundred peasants before Jaime, seemingly on a whim and without informing either herself or their Lord Father of his plans, had rode out to their ancestral home whereupon her Twin had battled and killed the fearsome beast inside his own Den. Jaime had presented her with the majestic fur coat on their twentieth Name Day at the height of an exalted celebration in her honour, hosted in the befittingly ornamented Throne room attended by all the Greater and Lesser Houses of Westeros. Later that same night after she had finished preparing for bed, she had called Jaime in from his guard post outside her bedchambers and she had rigorously questioned her beloved brother's sanity and brutally berated him for hunting such a dangerous beast, alone, having conducted minimal preparation and without the possibility of aid should he find himself in need of armed assistance. Her younger Twin had smirked at her, saying that it was a very fitting gift, even if the dreaded Lion had failed to match her own chilling ferocity.

She recalled clearly the pride shining in Jaime's eyes that day, so many years ago, it was not that of a conceited man like so many frequently accused. Her brother had been proud to be the man who destroyed the beast that had terrorised their venerable family's Seat of Power, whose brutal massacres in the dead of night had their common subjects and Vassal Houses daring to question the power and even the competency of House Lannister in hushed whispers behind closed doors. Naturally they had all, faithless peasant and Vassal Houses alike, been lastingly punished accordingly for doubting Lannister supremacy, her venerable Lord Father had swiftly seen to that.

Jaime had fortified their family's standing, in his way, and she wished today, by wearing the Lion's fur coat, to remind him of that feeling of pride. To show him that he had not changed in her eyes, their reunion the night before had been short but she knew that more than anything, he feared her perception of him changing, diminishing.

The previous evening upon his return to her, though she had desired nothing more than to keep her brother close after such a painfully prolonged separation, Cersei had sent Jaime away from her chambers to his own room in the White Sword Tower before Sansa and her cub's return. She had done so with the intention of avoiding her road-weary brother becoming overwhelmed by what would have undoubtedly been an overly boisterous welcoming from Myrcella and Tommen, and potentially her curious children's innocent questions about Jaime's extensive injury and haggard appearance. Jaime had gratefully accepted her decision to hold off on the anticipated reunion for a night with only a tired nod of his head and a small yet warm smile that did not quite reach his eyes. Cersei did not require her brother to tell her that the devastating loss of his prized sword-hand was a sensitive subject, he was a born warrior, she couldn't begin to imagine his internal torment.

They had only spoken briefly before Jaime had taken his leave, too briefly to have discussed all that has transpired during their time apart, but she had sensed from their overly short conversation that the memory of having his hand crudely cut from his body and then being forced to have more flesh, turned septic, cut from the remains of the limb was still very, very raw in his mind.

Her children were highly intelligent and inquisitive, had Jaime remained to dine with them the night before, Myrcella and Tommen may have sensed their Uncle's barely disguised anguish, like she had, and refrained from asking him about it but if they had, they would have approached their Uncle's bloodcurdling experience with their typical bluntness when asking something of one they trusted implicitly, she had only taught her cubs to be guarded and reserved with outsiders. So soon after the pivotally shattering event with the horrific memory still plaguing Jaime's mind, any inadvertently tactless inquisition would have been like taking a white hot fire iron to an abscessed wound oozing with infection and such excruciating agony often made for a harsh tongue that hurled harmful words one did not mean in response.

She was wise enough to appreciate that in all likelihood Jaime probably would not have reacted so disastrously to questioning, especially to sweet Myrcella and innocent Tommen's questioning, however she had still wished to allot her beloved brother time enough to rest after his long journey home and to mentally prepare himself for the Prince and Princess's spirited personalities and their curious inquiries, should they be issued, before allowing the three Lannisters she cared most about to lay eyes on each other once again. That Jaime had accepted her decision, to take his leave before her children had caught sight of him, without complaint nor sardonic jest only confirmed that he was in perfect accord with her judgement. As he so often was.

Overhead beneath the brightening morning sky, a gull settled atop the stone spire of the White Sword Tower, the large bird tilted back it's small white-feathered head, parted its dark yellow beak and let out a piercingly loud undulating cry that carried throughout Blackwater Bay. The bird's sharp prolonged cry, punctuated abruptly by the sounds of dark turbulent waves breaking violently and crashing against the The Red Keep's walls, resounded in Cersei's ears as she purposefully stalked through the wide arched doorway into the White Sword Tower.

The icy howling wind forcefully preceded her regal entrance into a circular chamber, appropriately named The Round Room, the stone walls were whitewashed and adorned with white woollen tapestries, between each tapestry mounted on the wall was a cast iron bracket each holding lit torches, their flickering orange flames illuminated every inch of the circular chamber. The Round Room formed the entire first floor of The White Sword Tower, it was here the sworn brotherhood held all their meets, and at the centre of the circular whitewashed stone chamber was a large white table, made of weirwood and carved into the shape of a shield attended by seven chairs. Within the undercroft, a storeroom located through a plain oak side-door to the right side of The Round Room, dwelt arms and armour, it was also where The Book Of Brothers was kept.

Two subservient paces behind The Lannister Lioness, protectively flanking her on either side, her Queensguards Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Loras Tyrell, both clad in their heavy gold plate armour, gleaming helms and long white capes with lethally sharp swords sheathed at their waists, timidly followed her into The Round Room. Both warriors kept their eyes nervously trained on the whitewashed floor. The cold morning wind forcibly wafting through The Round Room, and howling clamorously within the circular chamber, died abruptly when Ser Arys pushed the tall arched door to the Tower closed behind both himself and Ser Loras.

The clipped sounds of The Queen's light footsteps cut loudly through the dense silence of The Round Room as she gracefully strode around the white, shield-shaped, weirwood table, heading toward the discreet winding stairwell that wrapped around the White Sword Tower. Majestically sweeping into the stone stairwell, she was confronted by countless direly steep steps two and a half paces wide. With a grim set to her luscious red mouth, Cersei began to agilely climb the winding stairwell, a hard and cold glint in her jade coloured eyes. She could hear Ser Arys and Ser Loras trailing anxiously on her heels, like a pair of terrified mice fearful of attracting the attention of a starving cat, they hardly dared to breathe too heavily lest they draw her justified ire. A rare show of intelligence on their part, The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms thought, as an infuriated lioness roared in her ears and barely controlled rage simmered deep in her vicious heart. News of Jaime's ordeal had already circulated The Red Keep, originating from the lips of one servant or another who had seen her brother walking the halls last night. Similarly the disdainful and half-witted 'Vultures' already knew that one false move around The Lannister Lioness would result in their blood coating her claws.

Cersei's magnolia pale, long, slender fingers curled into tightly coiled yet elegant fists at her sides, her short and sharp nails cut into her soft palms as she quickened her pace. The direly steep stairs forced her to draw her knees up high, causing the lean muscles in her tone thighs to ache pleasantly, a sensation she savoured. A momentarily suppressed need for bloody vengeance boiled deep in her heart, the blazing fire burning just beneath the surface of her pale skin spurred her on at such a brisk gait that Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Loras Tyrell were forced to lunge up the steep stairs two at a time to remain close on her heels. The sounds of footfalls, hers several octaves lighter than that of her Queensguards, echoed sharply up the staircase. Ascending the steep stairs at such a quick pace was truly tiring, but she had considerable stamina, she maintained her enviable regal composure whereas Ser Arys and Ser Loras, clad in their hefty gold plate armour, were soon perspiring and panting with exertion as they struggled to keep up with her. She scowled darkly to herself, the sounds of her guard's breathing was grating on her irritated nerves.

The winding stone stairway, adequately illuminated by the flickering orange flames falling from burning torches mounted in iron brackets upon the curved walls at regular intervals, soon carried her and her flagging Queensguards beyond the small landing and closed, arched side-door, carved from solid oak, that lead into the second floor of the narrow four tiered Tower. The second and third floors of The White Sword Tower held the spare sleeping cells of the six sworn brothers of her Queensguards, it was on the topmost floor of the Tower where the Lord Commander's apartments were located.

Her lungs had begun to burn ever so slightly with exertion when she finally reached the peak of the stairwell, but she was by no means out of breath. The hundreds of steep stairs melded into a four metre long but very narrow stone landing that extended toward a wide-set arched door adorned with a polished bronze doorhandle. On either side of the arched doorway, strategically mounted on the walls in cast iron brackets, yet more torches burned brightly. When the dawn arrived in it's fullest, the gossipmongering servants would see to it that the lit reed cane torches were extinguished and replaced throughout The Red Keep.

Stoic-faced despite the hatred churning in her gut, Cersei crossed the stone landing and gripped the gleaming bronze doorhandle, her solid gold signet ring, it's square face emblazoned with the Sigil of her Noble House, glimmered brightly in the torch light. She flung open the door and swept into her beloved brother's rooms while red-cheeked Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Loras Tyrell took up position outside the chamber, flanking the door on either side.

As with his Sworn brother's sleeping cells, Jaime's rooms were bare however the Lord Commander's chamber was very spacious. The furnishings were overly simple in design, practicalities all; a large four poster bed adorned with a pristine white canopy and white silk bedsheets, a simple white silk padded chaise that could only seat two people at a time, a plainly crafted bookcase, a desk and bedside table all made of weirwood, did nothing to diminish the sheer spaciousness of the room.

Across the circular chamber silhouetted in the mellow morning light spilling in through the wall-to-wall, floor-to-floor windows granting a view of the Bay, and facing her as she lingered in front of the arched door, Jaime sat behind his large weirwood desk in a high-backed chair with an irritated scowl etched into the contours of his handsome face.

Cersei almost smiled a little at the sight of her beloved Twin, regardless of the changes in his appearance, it warmed her jaded heart to see Jaime back where he belonged. His strong jaw was now clean-shaven and at some point during the night or even this very morning he had cut his golden blonde hair short, much shorter than his hair had been before his capture. Jaime was thinner but his tall frame was still muscular. His eyes lacked their usual spark and his lips were bare of his signature sardonic smirk.

The urge to smile faded and the anger simmering in her heart ignited, turning her vision blood red, when she realised Jaime would have been forced to have a servant assist him shave and trim his hair. It was common practice for Lords to have their servants wield the blade when they required grooming, but Jaime had never allowed any servant so close to his exposed throat with a knife. Her beloved Twin would have greatly despised every moment spent in so vulnerable a position and he would have hated being so helplessly reliant on another for so simple an act. Rage became an incessant pounding inside her skull, her elegant fingers curled into fists at her sides, her sharp nails left deep crescent-shaped marks in her palm, as she fought to contain the blazing inferno burning in her blood.

Her flesh prickled, as though there was a set of claws kneading her skin from the inside. How she longed for revenge against those responsible for her litter-mate's suffering, and she would have it. Roose Bolton and his man, Locke, would know more agony than that proffered in all the Seven Hells when Sandor dragged them before her in irons. Soon, very soon. The prospect served to quieten the furious Lioness roaring in her ears, for the moment.

Across the chamber, Jaime stared at her with weary green eyes as, with nimble fingers, she rapidly unfastened the brown leather belt holding the two lapels of her coat together and elegantly shrugged out of her Lion's fur coat, she draped the heavy tawny coloured garment over the back of the padded white silk chaise. Jaime's attention snagged on the discarded coat. Suddenly he no longer seemed aware of Master Qyburn sitting beside him behind his desk, or her as she commandingly swept further into the spacious room. She watched with her typically sharp and incisive stare as the Lord Commander's eyes glazed over, intuition told her that Jaime was remembering the day he had hunted the beast that provided the fur for her coat, just as she had intended by wearing it.

Her brother had never been a student of politics, that was her domain. Jaime did not like the deceptive subtly and cruel brutality involved when playing the Game of Thrones, he was much too honourable for all that, though he would never admit it or let it become common knowledge. However Jaime was by no means ignorant, far from it. He was a Lannister, and she knew from the look upon his face that he had found her subtle message; her perception of him had not altered in the slightest, and he need never fear that fact changing.

She smirked slightly at the sudden, potent burst of warmth in her younger Twin's eyes and the shadow of a loving smile playing in the corner of his mouth. The changes in his facial expression were so discreet that she doubted anyone other than herself would have noticed them.

"Your Grace" Master Qyburn rose from his low-backed chair and inclined his head respectfully to her.

She turned the full force of her cold, penetrating gaze onto the man who had accompanied her brother to King's Landing. She waited until Qyburn shifted on the balls of his feet, obviously uncomfortable beneath the force of her piercing stare, her mouth tilted into her signature icy smirk, before she waved her elegant hand dismissively, wordlessly indicating that he should return to his present task. She purposefully prowled toward the weirwood desk as Master Qyburn returned to his low backed chair, she intently watched both men opposite her.

"Please extend your arm, My Lord" Qyburn politely requested, keeping his attention focused on Jaime.

Cersei seized the glass decanter of red wine sitting on the edge of Jaime's desk, she also took hold of one of the simple wine glasses sitting next to the decanter, she poured herself a glass of wine. From the vibrant scent of fruit and complementary spices, she identified the potent crimson liquid as both her and Jaime's favourite red wine. She took a small sip of the intoxicating beverage, failing to really appreciate the sudden rupture of rich flavour in her mouth as she watched her Twin lower his head, as if in shame, and stiffly present the stump of his arm to Qyburn. She began to pace back and forth in front of Jaime's desk, like a caged lioness, she was far too agitated and her lean muscles were too tense, to take the chair opposite her brother and Master Qyburn.

The long sleeve of Jaime's sky blue shirt was pushed up to his elbow, Cersei took a larger sip of wine while running her intense hawk-gaze along her brother's bared forearm, she felt a painful pang in her chest as for the second time she noted that, in order to save the majority of the arm from infection, Qyburn had had to remove the entire wrist joint. Her oval-shaped jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She was going to personally flay Roose Bolton alive, then she was going to tear the skin from Locke's back before publicly boiling in him in molten oil. Lastly, she would mount their foul heads on The Traitor's Walk to rot in the sun. She would have them screaming apologies to her younger brother.

Qyburn picked up a brown leather wrap from the surface of Jaime's desk, carefully he slipped the leather wrap onto the severed limp of Jaime's arm. It was to protect the skin from chaffing and blistering. Qyburn then took hold of the solid gold hand laying on the desk. Cersei drank more of her wine and continued to pace rapidly.

"Truly excellent craftsmanship, My Lord" Master Qyburn admired absentmindedly.

The sun streaming in through the wide windows behind Jaime's desk made the gold hand gleam and shimmer proudly. The breeze wafting into the circular chamber had the gossamer lengths of white drapes, hanging from the ceiling on iron hooks and brushing the floor, dancing lazily.

"Well if you like it so much Qyburn, you're more than welcome to chop off your own hand and use it yourself" Jaime drawled sarcastically with a wry smirk aimed at the other man. Only she, his Twin, could detect the layer of torment hidden beneath his barbed sardonic quip. She felt heartsick, thinking about his inner turmoil.

"Don't be an ingrate Jaime, I spent all night getting every detail just right" Cersei told him, wishing to draw his thoughts away from his own anguish, and she excelled at the art of manipulation. Jaime's eyes latched on to her. Qyburn remained quiet as he firmly inserted the stump of Jaime's arm, protectively covered with the leather wrap into the gold hand's orifice. His eyes locked on hers, Jaime grimaced and gritted his teeth in response. From the swift dilation of his pupils, she deduced that Jaime's severed limb must be extremely sore. She would secure him something to lessen his physical discomfort.

"All night?" Jaime bit out begin still gritted teeth. He exhaled a sharp breath while Qyburn ensured the gold hand was firmly in place.

"All night." Cersei confirmed, finishing her wine in single gulp.

After eating very little at dinner with her SheWolf and her cubs, The Queen had put her children to bed herself before returning to her lover in their bedchamber. She could still see the sickened look of horror on Sansa's exquisitely beautiful face when she had explained the circumstances of her younger brother's return. Knowing she would likely be gone for most of the night, she had stolen a passionate kiss from the redhead and told Sansa not to wait up for her return. She had then set off into the City in the company of her Queensguards, to the finest goldsmith available at King's Landing, better could be found at Casterly Rock but time had been of the essence. When the gold hand had been moulded and the gold allowed to cool, she'd had the goldsmith package it within a honey-coloured oak box inlaid with crimson velvet, which, upon returning to The Red Keep she had ordered her cretin of a cousin, Lancel, to deliver the packaged gold hand to The White Sword Tower ahead of herself. She had made a brief detour, to collect any and all letters that had arrived for her during the night; there were three missives tucked away in the pocket of her fur coat, one bore the Sigil of House Clegane, the other House Greyjoy, the last was unmarked.

Cersei poured herself another glass of wine. Suddenly she found herself wondering how Sansa had slept without her, last night was the first time they had not shared a bed since she had taken the younger woman as her lover. She sipped at her wine, knowing that if she had been in Sansa's place, she would not have been able to sleep absent the warmth of her mate seeping into her nor the feel of her SheWolf's tempting body tucked into her side.

The sensitive nape of her neck tingled, alerting her that she was being observed. She met her brother's green eyes with her own jade coloured irises. As Twins they shared a unique bond, communication between them often did not require any spoken words. When the 'Vultures' caught sight of Jaime's gold hand, they would all foolishly assume that she'd had the artifice crafted out a sense of revulsion for her brother's new deformity. She scoffed to herself, the 'Vultures' could not be further from the truth. Expressing her emotions did not come naturally to her, save for when she was with her cubs. Even with Sansa her feelings, no matter how powerful, refused to take vocal form. But even if she had sympathetic words and tender embraces to give him, Jaime would have rejected her pity, he always strived to earn her approval and respect, even when they were young children at Casterly Rock, it was always her Jaime sought to impress, never their Father or anyone else. The gold hand was a physical manifestation of her compassion for Jaime's ordeal and a silent vow that his loss would be avenged tenfold.

"A hook would be more practical" Jaime commented wryly. The look in his eye told her that he sensed the true purpose of his gold hand. Cersei smirked and drained her glass of wine.

"Then use it as a bloody cudgel, it is heavy enough" She said. Jaime grinned slowly, baring his white teeth. She revelled in her victory, she had drawn him away from his inner turmoil, for the moment.

"How does it feel, My Lord?" Master Qyburn asked, tucking his hands together in his lap.

Jaime twisted his head to stare at the other man. The Lord Commander of her Queensguard lifted his arm, resting his bent elbow on the surface of his desk and experimentally shifted his forearm left to right. Jaime made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. Qyburn nodded stiffly, before he rose up out his chair and walked around the desk.

As he came toward her, Qyburn inclined his head to her, "Your Grace."

"Master Qyburn...It is Master, not Maester, is it not" Cersei cocked an eyebrow. It was not a question. The disgraced former Maester had only been in her City for a half a day, but in that time he had already sworn allegiance to her House and she had already gathered much information regarding his censured 'experiments'.

"Indeed, Your Grace" Qyburn nodded, not a trace of shame in his eyes, which he kept respectfully averted. She might very well find a use for Qyburn. If and when that usefulness ran out, she would simply be rid of him.

"You may go" Cersei informed Master Qyburn in a glacial tone. Jaime awkwardly waved his gold hand, attempting to appear mocking, as Qyburn quietly slipped from the chamber. Cersei poured herself a third glass of wine. Her Twin watched her graceful movements closely, his blonde brows furrowed.

"Care to explain why you are squinting at me?" Cersei asked, turning on her heel, she walked to the white silk padded chaise.

Jaime leaned back in his chair behind his desk. She noted that through the window behind him, she could now see the morning sun was now firmly rooted in the deep blue sky. She was suddenly struck by how tired she actually was, having risen early the day before and remained awake through the night, her eyes seemed dry and her eyelids felt heavy.

"I am trying to decide whether or not the rumours are entirely true, or if you have some grand design at work" He explained.

"The Seven Kingdoms are a cesspool of rumours, to which do you refer?" She crossed her long, supple legs at the knee.

"Those of the Stark girl, of you desecrating the memory of Ned Stark by using his daughter for your amusement and pleasure. But I saw the look on your face just now, it is one I have never seen before, at least not on you, I can only assume your thoughts were of her. Which makes me think these rumours have neither truth to them nor your design"

She swallowed a large mouthful of wine, resting the bottom of the simple glass on her knee, "Her Father's execution saw to it that she is a child no longer. I desired her body instantly, but I never thought..." She felt a hand seized her throat, squeezing, choking her. She was in the safety of her trusted litter-mate's presence, they could tell each other anything and other would simply listen, and she still could not force the truth of her emotions, of their depth, for her SheWolf passed her sinfully red lips. She heaved a heavy sigh. A knowing glint came to life in Jaime's green eyes.

"The rumours are in part my design, as long as those simpering fools think she is nothing more than my..." She knew what people thought, she had made them think it, but she could not refer to her mate as a...

"Whore" Jaime supplied. Cersei's eyes hurled cold fire at him. He raised his hands, brokering peace, his gold hand shimmering the sunlight filtering into his chamber. Her Twin grinned smugly and she scowled back at him across the chamber, she had known he would send her such a grin when he learned she was...in love.

"She will be safe from harm"

"Will she?. What of Father?. I cannot imagine he was pleased when he learned of your preferences" Jaime's forehead creased with worry. He leaned forward in his chair, urgent for her to tell him that all was well.

She smiled, knowing without a single doubt that even without his prized sword-hand her brother would have done battle with their Father to preserve her right to be with whom she chose. She could still remember Jaime's fury when Tywin Lannister announced her betrothal to Robert Baratheon, in particular, the heated string of profanities Jaime had launched at their Father across the dining table at Casterly Rock.

"Father already knew. He has always known" Cersei said, finishing her wine in a single gulp, she placed the glass on the white-washed floor at her feet and leaned back into the softness of the chaise. She could see Jaime's eyes fly wide and anger seep into them as his strong jaw clenched.

"I remember the first time one of your handmaids caught your eye, your confusion. He let you question whether you were normal to feel lust for other women. Never offering a word of solace or reproval" Jaime growled disbelievingly, his upper lip curling.

"You expect any different from Tywin Lannister?..." Cersei snorted bitterly "...A better Father, there are hundreds of thousands. A better mentor, there is not. I married when I was commanded to, that is all that mattered to him. He has informed me that I can 'keep' Sansa"

Jaime's anger turned partially to confusion, "Why?." He asked her. She was the only living soul who could contend with Tywin Lannister's cunning and understand her Lord Hand's logic. Cersei was his only worthy Heir and Jaime acknowledged that fact since they were young.

"Because he knows what I will do when Robb and Catelyn Stark are brought to me..." She turned her incisive gaze onto her brother "...I cannot leave Robb Stark as Lord of Winterfell, he will suffer the repercussions of his little rebellion, but I have promised Sansa that I will not kill him."

"What will you do then?"

"Only a Northerner can rule the North. I will name Sansa the Lady of Winterfell, but I will not let her leave King's Landing. Catelyn Stark is a wise women, mostly, and she is widely respected. She will rule in Sansa's absence."

"You will make her Key to the North..." Jaime surmised with a nod "...And Father will not harm her because of the merit that comes with the title"

"I am going to ensnare all of the Kingdoms, Jaime. I will make certain that in the centuries to come a rebellion against the Iron Throne is impossible" Cersei swore.

"You would force peace?"

"Peace is for the weak and the complacent, neither of which I am. I would force obedience..." She amended "...And it has already begun"

"I know you are loathe to break your word, I don't think you have ever done so, but what of Robb and Catelyn Stark?. You said yourself, Sansa is not the child they remember, do you think they will quietly accept that she is your..."

"Concubine..." Cersei said firmly "...And yes, they will have no choice for they will, if it has not happened already, owe me a life debt" At Jaime's frown, she swiftly divulged Robb Stark's futile attempt at securing an alliance with Walder Frey by marrying his Uncle to a Frey girl, even though he himself had broken his vow to marry one of the vile Lord's daughters.

Jaime rolled his eyes. She smirked and then went on the tell her brother of their Father's plot to bribe Robb's remaining allies into slaughtering the young pup, his wife, unborn child and his mother.

"I have dispatched The Hound at the head of an expeditionary force to The Towers of Frey. He will save the Starks in my name and then he will bring them all, The Starks, Frey and...Bolton, here, to face trial. The Wolves, I will collar. Frey will suffer the full penalty for treason. As for Bolton...I feel a sudden fascination with the act of flaying, don't you?" A predatory smirk curled the corner of her luscious red mouth upward.

"The irony will inspire songs" Jaime's sanguineous grin brimmed with righteous malice. The Sigil of House Bolton was that of the Flayed Man, she was going to enjoy making a likeness between Roose Bolton and his own Sigil.

"Indeed. But for all the agony Bolton will endure, it will be nothing compared with what I will do to Locke." Cersei's eyes darkened at the mere thought of the man.

"I'll look forward to it" Jaime growled.

She glanced passed his shoulder, out the window, at the early morning sun. From it's position and her intimate knowledge of her family's routine she gauged that Sansa would have risen from their bed, bathed and dressed, and was now in the process of coaxing her cubs from their dens. They would be expecting her to join them for breakfast and she would not disappoint them.

"I have not yet told Myrcella and Tommen of your return, if I had told them last night they would not have rested until they had seen you. But you should join us for breakfast" Cersei said. She and her brother still had much to discuss, but that could wait.

She frowned when Jaime began fidgeting in his high-backed chair across the circular chamber, appearing very much like a child being scolded by his mother. She scoffed her disgust and shook her head slowly. Only one thing could make Jaime look so troubled in her presence. It was the one thing they, as Twins, disagreed vehemently upon.

"I have already agreed to have breakfast with Tyrion..." Jaime admitted. Cersei's long slender fingers instinctively curled into the soft silk white padding of the chaise beneath her.

"...I want to see Tommen and Myrcella but I will not break my word to our brother. We could both join you" Jaime proposed, actually daring to look at her hopefully when he knew what her answer would be.

"I would rather skin myself alive then allow that filthy creature around my children" Cersei hissed, deadly serious, she rapidly stood up from the chaise. Her Twin sighed. She knew that sigh, knew what was coming.

"He didn't choose to kill Mother, Cersei. I don't understand why you hate him so" Cersei sneered incredulously at him as she lifted her heavy, tawny coloured fur coat from the back of the chaise and shrugged into the long flowing garment.

"What memories do you have of Mother, Jaime?" Cersei suddenly asked.

Jaime frowned his confusion. She knew why. Her response was a deflection, generally whenever they veered toward this particular argument, she didn't deflect, she adopted a vicious offensive. But so soon after her beloved brother's return, she didn't wish to argue with him, still she would not have her devote convictions questioned by anyone. She would never willing hurt Jaime, or anyone she cared for, if it were not for Jaime's obvious affection for The Dwarf, she would have already devised some unfortunate and excruciating end for Tyrion. Her desire to kill The Imp had not dulled, and it never would. If she ever had a reason to, she would kill him.

Jaime's lips parted and then snapped closed. His broad shoulders sagged, "None. I have no memories of Mother." They had only been four years old so she wasn't overly surprised at the admission.

Cersei nodded stiffly, "I do." Her earliest memories were of her Mother's melodious laughter brightening the dreary crags of Casterly Rock. She deeply missed that sound.

She finally understood how Jaime could defend the wretched little Imp to her, why they would probably never be in agreement on this. One cannot mourn for what one doesn't remember. When their Mother was torn apart giving life to that lecherous little stump, she had lost more than Jaime. She could see the same realisation in her Twin's eyes and she knew they would not have this argument again.

"Join us for dinner then" Cersei said, knowing that he would not decline. Jaime nodded his assent and she turned to leave.

"I look forward to becoming acquainted with my new sister" She didn't need to look at his face to know he was grinning from ear to ear, he was happy for her. With her back facing him, she smirked to herself.

TBC. . .