DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything associated with the books or shows.

Chapter Seventeen.

Travelling through the vast blackness of Maegor's Labyrinth was an ethereal experience. Where time held no meaning and the tremendous weight of darkness preyed on one's senses, blunting one's spatial awareness and robbing one of their wits.

"The torch is not going to last much longer, is it?" The young cub chimed quietly to her Lady Mother. The echoing melody of the younger blonde's voice carried over the distorted, far off, sound of slowly dripping water in the distance.

Even if she was so inclined, Cersei could not even begin to isolate the location of the resonating and irritably steady, drip, drip, drip. The lightless underground beneath The Red Keep and Capital city seemed to whisper nothing save false leads to the source of the running moisture. Feeling Myrcella's acutely curious gaze peering up at her from beneath the finery of her daughter's heavy velvet hood, The Queen did not pause in her swift pursuit of her intended exit, one of hundreds, she knew from her own lessons with her Lord and Father, from the dank labyrinth and the promise of fresh air.

Myrcella's small and milky pale hand, held clasped in one of her slight, elegant palms and the sputtering torch in the other, Cersei calmly cast her sharp, intelligent eyes disinterestedly over the wooden stave, topped with a rapidly choking flame, undisturbed by the lank and stale air lingering in the tunnel she traversed, her cub sheltered closely at her side.

"No. It is not..." Cersei intoned coolly. Her honey smooth drawl swept down the dark and narrow corridor like a wave, silencing all else for a heartbeat, afore the repetitive trickling of nearby water and the shriek of chittering rats, hidden from view, resumed "...Worry not, little cub. We're closer than you might think."

Marcella, unconsciously, tightened her little fingers in her Lady Mother's grasp. Cersei fleetingly flashed her young heir apparent a knowing half smile as the Princess's brow furrowed. The Queen of the Seven Kingdom's alluring mouth remained curved into a languid tilt. She was effortlessly able to detect Myrcella's question before her cub even began to formulate it upon her tongue.

"The way down seemed to take much longer." Myrcella mused, partly to herself. The younger blonde cocked her hooded head, studying the graceful, feminine silhouette of her Lady Mother in her search for an explanation.

"'Tis nought but a trick of the mind, my love." Cersei purred lazily. Stroking the pad of a regal thumb over the back of her club's hand, she gently allowed her short nail to graze over the pale skin of her club's petite paw.

Beneath the weight of her ankle-length lion's fur coat and tight, gilded and sleek, highly tasteful, crimson dress, the svelte muscle of the Queen's left shoulder shifted as she lifted the dying torch higher over her golden head. The diamond clips pinning long, silky tendrils of thick blonde hair away from the ageless contours of her face, gleaned like iridescent cat's eyes in the fire light. The flagging embers coiling around the end of the torch lacked the vigour to touch the dull, grey walls of the tunnel any longer. Instead of enveloping Queen and Heir in a warm bauble of dancing orange luminescence, as they previously had upon their lengthy trek deep into the bowels of the labyrinth, the flames seemed to cling, desperate and shy, to the lines and curves of their motile forms.

Raising the torch higher still. A stone fork, carved into the complex web of rock corridors and the medley of tunnels, was slowly unveiled in the dying torch light.

"Left?" Myrcella whispered between rosebud lips. So quietly, The Lannister Lioness almost failed to catch the question betwixt her dangerous claws, like a low flying dove.

Maternal pride was like a hammer striking upon an anvil, loud and thunderous, pounding to life within her chest that her beloved daughter had remembered even this small turn in the twisting, deceptive underground maze. The years to come and the treacherous machinations of their enemies would require the young Lion cub to memorize each step in the convoluted sequence that would drag her down into the heart of the Labyrinth, and she was immensely pleased Myrcella had already made some progress in that plight.

Warmth twinkling in her jade eyes, Cersei hummed her agreement in the back of her throat. Queen and Princess had successfully navigated exactly six such turns on their return to The Red Keep proper, this was the last and would have been the first on their original descent into Maegor's Labyrinth all those long drawn out hours ago. She knew it was only by process of elimination that Myrcella had correctly surmised the direction they needed to follow in order to reach the surface, rather than familiarity with the locale itself. Still, she was infinitely satisfied to note Myrcella applying herself to her daughter's unique education.

"Indeed." She murmured as, sure-footed, Lioness and cub stalked down the left passage. Leaving the ghostly stone juncture in their wake to be swallowed whole by the shadows creeping in behind them, like parasitic ivy awaiting its chance to mottle a great oak.

Counselled by the steely hand of a years old memory, she decisively led Myrcella through the inexplicable stretches of endlessly mysterious tunnels and long forgotten chambers, none the same size as the one before. Direct and brisk in her pace, she guided her precious daughter through an antechamber, so diminutive, it's tapered dimensions forced mother and daughter to cluster together so closely, it was as if Queen and Heir became a single being, a merging of mind and body. Her keen mind easily deduced the Mason's intent, this antechamber and others of it's kind had been designed to stem the flow of pursuers. She vigilantly steered Myrcella, through a gargantuan vestibule, she insightfully concluded, could have housed no less than five hundred bustling persons. The route she cautiously selected led them along the inner wall of the mountainous chamber, past several, unremarkable doors of recourse.

Wordlessly in the dim torchlight, Cersei ducked through a low archway, noting that had she not had a firm grip of her club's paw, the younger blonde would have missed the door and simply traipsed beyond it. A single misstep that, had her cub stood alone in the Labyrinth, could have cost the Heir to the Iron Throne everything before the game had truly begun.

"Ninth door along the inner wall." Cersei spoke, smooth and comfortingly as Myrcella averted her jade eyes beneath the red, velvet hood and began to chew on her bottom lip in frustration. The younger Lannister visibly disappointed at the slip, following so soon after a success. She was unsurprised at Myrcella's near-miss, it was after all, the Princess's first foray into the Labyrinth.

"Progress is at first an exchange of give and take, Myrcella. One day you will know these halls as well as I." She released her club's little paw. Curling a long, slender finger beneath Meycella's perfectly pointed chin, she tilted the girl's head upward.

Myrcella's gaze, her daughter's jade eyes so similar to her own, locked with hers. She smirked confidently, a mirror image of Tywin Lannister, "Perhaps, even better still."

Shocked and awed at the inconceivable thought she possessed the potential to achieve something with the same competence as her Lady Mother, surpass her even, Myrcella's sharp intake of breath radiated through the honey-combed passageways, amplified as it travelled through the inky blackness, like the ricocheting roar of a great cat. She took up Myrcella's warm palm in hers once more. She would rid Myrcella of that self-doubt, just as she had destroyed her own precariousness all those years ago. A laugh, ominous and faintly amused, caught in the back of her throat as she led her beloved daughter down a set of five stairs. A child exists to exalt one's parent and their House. As Mrycella came into womanhood, her daughter would come to seek, and achieve Cersei was certain, her own glory in their common goal to uphold and advance their proud lineage.

Trudging their way through a seemingly endless series of rooms, the two Lannisters emerged in a disproportionately large corridor of rigid rock. The trickling sound of water faded with each step. While the hall was broad, the ceiling was unusually low, forcing The Queen to bow her golden head slightly, be it that, or risk knocking her head. The flames lapping at the end of the torch stave whisked about noisily. Vaguely in the dull orange light, granite pillars sprouted from the stone floor, shooting upward to reach the unseen roof. An unadorned balustrade ran between each soaring pillar, beyond them, a ravenous, dark gullet dropped down into nothingness.

Marching forth, Queen and Heir soon cleared the open chamber. Cersei abruptly halted, snagging her golden cub as she did so.

"The simplest solution is almost never the one we should act on, my love." Cersei smirked sagely, answering Myrcella's silent question, flashing in the younger blonde's eyes. They were to digress from their original path. This was not part of Myrcella's teaching, rather, she sought to satisfy a curiosity. To do so, she and her cub Princess must emanate from the Labyrinth through a different threshold than when they had first entered.

Swinging the torch closer to the stone wall looming beside them. The face of the rock was scarred with deep grooves and fissures, as if the stone masons responsible for it's creation had decided to carve a new tunnel there and then thought better of it or been instructed otherwise. Maegor the Cruel surely had been a most unpleasant task master, she mused to herself.

She lowered the torch, directing its light to the stone wall level with her knees.

"See here, Myrcella?. This gouge, it appears to be the same as all the rest."

She released the Princess's milky pale palm and handed the girl the wooden stave. Ensuring her cub held the torch with both her small paws, before turning her attention to the rivet she had indicated. She crouched, resting her weight on her haunches. The hem of her lion's fur coat brushing against the rock floor.

"Like so many things, and people. It belies it's true purpose. You have to tear through the mundane veil. Hunt for the truth."

Withdrawing the sleeve of her tawny coloured coat from her slender wrist The Lannister Lioness extended a regal paw. Slipping her palm into the narrow fissure, cold rock seized her hand like jaws of some starving, feral mutt. Pursing her full red lips, she pushed her hand further, feeling and hearing her solid gold signet ring grating along the lip of stone as she pushed deeper.

"Valyrian architecture. There is nothing in the world to compare." She gritted out through pearl white teeth.

Cersei growled darkly with effort, wiggling her hand until her paw was wedged up to her wrist in stone. Myrcella's bow of a mouth parted in wonder. Stoic-faced, she could at last feel a steel cleft inside the gouge in the wall. Slotting the tip of her middle finger inside a perfectly circular indent, she lunged.

Glancing over her shoulder as she fought to free her hand, Myrcella was bright eyed as a flawlessly rectangular section of the wall shifted, groaning loudly as it moved on shrouded traction, back and to the right, opening up into a spiralled stairwell. A cyclone of fresh air snaked forth, wrapping around Queen and Princess, engulfing them in the pledge of respite from the sodden stench of the underground.

Breathing in it's sweet relief, Cersei straightened and reclaimed the torch from her speechless daughter. The Lion Queen proudly swept into the stairwell, the width of two mature bulls planted side by side, and the Cub Princess was quick to follow in her paw prints.


The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sipped her Dornish red, harboured within the confines of a plain glass chalice, savouring its dry and rich notes of the choicest, ripest blackberries. Her tawny fur coat was carefully folded over the back of her chair. She was the very essence of poised grace as she sat behind her neatly organised, oversized desk within her shared chambers.

Languidly, The Lannister Lioness's tail swished back and fore as she watched aa legion of mice frantically scurry about her Den. The rodents clutched at a variety of items, some dragged pieces of parchment, detailed sketching etched upon them, while the others struggled with metre long stretches of silk, velvet and lace. The great cat observed through jade coloured eyes, mildly entertained by the nervous twitching of rounded ears. She could practically taste the mice's well-placed fear, complementing her wine brilliantly, as they scampered around one another, ducking and weaving in their attempt to avoid the great cat's merciless attention.

The aging dress maker's five aides, young and comely girls, kept their heads, all of them with their hair strictly tied back, bowed as they hastily scuttled around, imparting materials and painstakingly drawn drafts into the blonde seamstress's outstretched hands on brusquely barked commands.

The Queen'a cold, incisive glance flickered over to where a dozen handmaids went about the arduous task of setting and preparing a long rectangular table for a grand dinner. The table had been assembled beneath the flapping, gossamer drapes framing the open, marble arches leading to the open windows.

At the centre of the whirlwind of movement at the heart of the majestic Lioness's Den, lit by candles as evening settled in, a canvas partition, decorated in somewhat tasteful filigree, had been assembled by the seamstress's girls.

Cersei leaned an elbow on the polished surface of her desk, and rested her chin on the heel of her palm. Seemingly bored, though her expression was schooled. Out the corner of her eye, she caught the dressmaker wet thin lips anxiously, then turn to unobtrusively snap instruction at her aides.

By the closed door to the Queen's chamber, numerous trunks and chests were tidily stacked upon the whitewashed marble floor, bursting with the dress maker's newest samples, trendiest designs and latest fashions.

At last, the dressmaker, a Western woman older than The Queen with kempt blonde curls and faint lines at the edge of hazel eyes approached her desk and proudly brandished an arm toward the partition. Two of the five girls, one with several silver pins between her teeth, hurried to slide the division aside.

The Lannister Lioness's heart quickened in her chest and her pupils dilated as she beheld the beautiful splendour of her young mate.

Her SheWolf, her Sansa, was garbed in a sleek, Lannister red silk gown that fell to slender ankles. Long apertures ran from the dress's hem to the red head's knees, granting a tantalising glimpse of her lover's long, shapely calves and silken, pale skin. Sansa's lengthy, mouth-watering toned thighs, the flare of her lover's hips, the flat plain of her SheWolf's stomach and delightful swell of her breasts were sheathed in the most luxurious, vivid silk gold dragons could purchase. A measured bodice of whale bone and ornate lace hugged her SheWolf's abdomen and accentuated the luscious curve of Sansa's bosom, just as her hands longed to do despite the audience present.

The dress was clinched at Sansa's slim waist with a braided sash that appeared as though it had been spun from liquid gold. The sleeves were secured at her mate's delicate collarbones with duel, glimmering ruby pins, two identical slits running the sleeves length allowed the fine material to flow loosely to Sansa's wrist, where the sleeve was fastened by two more shimmering rubies bearing a glance of lithe, flawless limbs. Her paramour's long, fiery red hair fell in divine waves to the middle of Sansa's back.

Controlled and unreadable to all save her lover, Cersei sipped her wine in an effort to dampen her suddenly dry mouth. Placing the chalice upon her desk, she idly relaxed further in her elaborate, high-backed chair as arousal simmered low in her belly.

Shrewd jade irises locked with wolf-pale blue eyes across the chamber, a soundless exchange transpired. Sansa's porcelain cheek turned pink with pleasure, colour blossoming along the subtle ridge of high cheekbones as she stared, wholly captivated by her younger mate.

"Acceptable." Cersei declared, crisp and clear, to the visible, cosmic relief of the dressmaker and the collective mice.

With a clipped word, she summoned the crimson armoured Lannister soldiers, posted outside her chamber, in the presence of Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Boros Blount of the Queensguard, and ordering the towering men to promptly assist the seamstress in safely escaping her Den with her wares.

While soldiers and assistants went about the task of packing away the dressmaker's goods, Cersei beckoned the talented seamstress to stand before her desk with a click of her fingers. The older blonde reverently curtsied with practiced precision.

From a drawer, The Lion Queen presented a cloth coin pouch tied with a leather cord. From a concealed pocket inside her purple skirts, the dressmaker produced a small slip of parchment no wider than a child's thumb.

Neither regal Benefactor nor long time Spy uttered a word during the trade.


The click of a closing oak door signalled the mice's hasty retreat. Cersei stowed the parchment inside her desk for later inspection.

A building urgency burning coursing in her blood, the Lioness beckoned her SheWolf to come hither with a slow curl of her regal forefinger.

Sansa'a slow smile brimmed with mischief. The redhead elegantly perched herself on the crimson padded chaise lounge, with all the natural mindfulness of a well educated noble born woman not to crease her ruby red skirts. She arched her shapely golden brow at her lover's hushed defiance. Toward the back of her mind, she was astonished by that minor motion. Months ago, her Northern paramour would not have dared to refuse her anything no matter the personal cost. In the Realm of The Seven Kingdoms, there were but a few whom Cersei Lannister would reluctantly indulge a denial and even then, only within a select scope. Her cubs, her litter mate and the Lord of their noble Pride. Those of her blood. And now her mate was to be counted among their prestigious number. Not for the first time, she marvelled how far they had come in their time together. She deeply adored her SheWolf's confidence.

Sansa boldly tilted her head, pale blue eyes shining coquettishly as she beguilingly patted the lavish sofa beside her, extending an intimate invitation. Desire shot straight to her stirring core.

Pursing her full red lips coltishly, Cersei lifted her glass goblet and downed her wine in one large unladylike swig. Sansa wanted, and she was helpless not to provide.

Purposefully pushing herself away from her desk, the Lioness regally rose, jade cat's eyes dark with lust, and something so much more.

As Cersei closed the distance between herself and her mate, Sansa licked her lips with a hungry anticipation, painting pale luscious pink an beguiling shade of red. She smirked, watching the redhead watch her from beneath lustrously thick lashes.

Willowy, and so temptingly curvaceous with breasts seemingly growing fuller by the day, Sansa dextrously shifted to rest on the very edge of the padded chaise upon she remained seated, and parted her legs ever so slightly, granting her entry.

Fluidly, she came to stand between her SheWolf's sculpted knees. She tenderly cupped the warm arc of Sansa's jaw between her hands, feeling the redhead's assertive fingers encircling her wrists. Jade and blue-grey eyes eagerly drank in the sight of the other, an overdue greeting after a night and a day spent largely apart. Dipping her head, she pressed a kiss, feather-light and pure, to Sansa's temple, the pads of her thumbs reverently stroking over the perfect plains of the redhead's flushed cheeks. She inhaled deeply of Sansa's scent, expensive bath oils and floral notes, as the younger woman turned her head. She nuzzled her face into the brilliant red of Sansa's long, thick hair as the younger woman pressed an adoring kiss to the inside of her wrist.

Cersei had carnally known great number of women. Lovers past had looked at her with a blended mix of terror, awe, lust, envy, an entire plethora of emotions. Only in Sansa, only in the Lioness's mate, had she witnessed love and acceptance staring back at her. Unadulterated and unapologetically apparent. Outside the security of their chambers, she would teach Sansa to control the honesty of her gaze, but here within their Den, it was an equilibrium and peacefulness she had never known.

Pulling back, she stroked Sansa's cheek with the back of her knuckles. The base of her skull pricked as she studied the light shadows beneath her lover's eyes. With her free hand, she cupped the back of the younger woman's head, the tips of her fingers sinking into impossibly soft red tresses.

"You did not well sleep last night." She observed quietly. Her voice a smooth timbre, holding the hazy hint of an accusation.

Sansa pressed her cheek further into The Queens touch, and tilted her head back to better stare affectionately at the Queen, "Seems I am accustomed to sharing a bed." The younger woman smiled.

She hummed in the back of her throat, heart fluttering in her chest. Briefly she felt the weight of her eyelids, having spent the night before dictating specific parameters with a blacksmith concerning the construction of Jaime's prosthetic, and taking the day to begin Myrcella's true education. And now the evening would be spent presenting her mate to her twin brother over an evening meal.

"My little SheWolf." Cersei murmured.

Pulling Sansa closer with her hand in fiery red hair, she claimed her lover's lush mouth with her own. The bare contact cast her reeling. Not for the first time, she was awed by how tremendously soft and sweet Sansa's lips were, as they fell open with a welcoming cry. Sansa's hands traced the lithe contours of her arms, she purred encouragingly as she felt Sansa's arms wrap around her narrow waist.

She expertly plunged her tongue her tongue into Sansa's mouth, and her lover lapped at hers with her own, slow and wicked. Cersei moaned against the wet heat of her mate's lips. She tightened her grip in the younger woman's hair, hard, as she deepened the heated kiss.

"Cersei..." Sansa gasped wantonly between passion swollen lips.

Standing over the seated Northerner, she growled, almost savagely, at the sound of the redhead panting her name, a breathless, glorious sound filled with desire. The younger woman hugged her waist tighter. Her sex fairly pulsated with need when Sansa suckled with abandon on the tip of her tongue. Her mate knew how to please her.

"I love you." Sansa moaned into her mouth betwixt kisses.

She was certain her pounding heart would burst from her chest at every declaration, she knew in her soul that soaring sensation would never cease.

"Mine." The Lioness rasped as her kiss grew fierce.

She pressed closer to Sansa, luxuriating in the feel of the younger woman's plump, high breasts press into the flat expanse of her stomach. She nipped at Sansa's full lower lip, her tongue soon began to dance with her lover's in arcs and twirls , full of desperate intensity.

Tightening her grip in Sansa's silky hair to better control the angle of her lover's head and instinctively dominate their kiss, her other hand left the redhead's smooth cheek to explore the softness of a swan neck. Her long fingers ghosted airily over the delicate ness of a clavicle to caress the exposed upper swell of Sansa's right breast.

Sparks and tingles raced along her spine, forcing the tiny, sensitive hairs at the nape of her neck to stand on end, as Sansa's hands stroked her lower back, before running down to cup her backside.

Suddenly, the doors to their Den slammed open with a jarring, thunderous boom. Cersei tore her mouth away from Sansa's, as her lover's arms fell from around her hips, a violent, vengeful roar in her throat for whomever had dared to intrude forbidden as she whirled around to eviscerated the intruder. Behind her, Sansa's frustrated whimper fuelled her anger, her outrage.

Her fury faded somewhat as her highly excited Cubs raced into her chamber with Duchess, Sansa's direwolf companion, bounding along, hot on their heels.

"Mama!. Uncle Jaime has returned!."

She bit back a foul curse as Tommen hurried to her, burying his cherub face in her belly and embracing her with a surprising strength. She held her golden son tightly against her, as Mrycella darted around her and flung herself into Sansa's awaiting arms.

Jaime, attired finely in brown leather pants and a long sleeved white tunic, sensibly lingered in the doorway. Scrutinizing her for a moment, he gave her wry smirk that did nothing to calm her fluctuating temper.

"Your Grace." Jaime's half smile was fixed as he stepped fully into the chamber and gently closed the door behind himself.

TBC . . .

AN: I'm so sorry this update is a thousand years overdue, but I hope it was enjoyable. Stay safe everyone.