Cersei

"Have you ever had to deal with something for so long that it… physically hurt you?"

The maid that was seeing to her hair paused, looking at the Queen's reflection. It was so odd, to have someone look at you but… not look at you. You could lock eyes with someone and yet avoid actually staring them in the eye. She was sure that there was some maester out there that would have some way to describe it when it came to the human condition but Cersei was in no mood to seek one out. She just knew that it felt suddenly very strange to not be looking the maid in the eye yet be staring right at her. To see the confusion as the dull little thing tried to puzzle over what she meant.

"You mean… like an animal?" the maid finally asked.

"No, not an animal!" Cersei snapped. But just as quickly she frowned and considered what the woman had said. "Or… yes. Yes, like an animal. Filthy, disgusting little animal. Not that anyone else can see it." She realized, if she tried her hardest not to actually think of Margaery, but rather apply all the whore had done to her to some snapping, snarling beast, that she was able to speak freely. "A little weasely thing, like a mink. Looking all pretty and cute and everyone wants to cuddle them and for some they allow themselves to be pet and stroked. But the moment everyone's back is turned they sink their fangs into your hand and refuse to let go."

The maid frowned. "I would just never go to them again, your grace."

"If only," Cersei muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Cersei said, deciding that the maid had shown enough brains that she wouldn't get a full tongue lashing. Instead she looked at the mirror and at her own reflection and found herself getting lost in staring into her own eyes. She had, of course, seen herself in a mirror hundreds of times. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Twice a day at minimum for several decades. But never had she truly become entranced by what she saw. Never had she found herself truly looking not at how her hair sat on her head or how her makeup looked but instead at the woman looking back at her.

The woman looking back at her.

'The caged woman,' she thought.

When she had been a child she had dreamed of when she would be an adult and be able to decide what she did with her life. What she wore each morning, what food she ate, how she spent her time. First it had been her mother how had decided such things but it had… well, it had never felt so terrible when she had commanded her. She was her mother, after all, and it was Cersei's duty to obey her. She always did. That's what a good child did. It was why she had never understood her own children and why they simply didn't do as they were told! She wasn't asking them to do anything less than what she did!

Deep in her mind, buried under the weight of years, was the knowledge that no, she hadn't always obeyed her mother. In fact she had done many things her mother didn't want her doing and she had always justified it in some way. But time had a way of making people forget.

After her mother's passing it had been the septas and the maester and the servants who had been tasked with keeping her life forever busy.

She had hated it; she was the Lady of Casterly Rock with her mother gone and her father refusing to remarry. On one hand she had been pleased that he didn't, as she didn't want some stranger to try and claim that they were masters of what was meant to be her's. She didn't want to deal with half brothers and sisters who believed themselves worthy of her and to a lesser extent Jaime. But on the other hand she knew it wasn't proper and while no one would say it she knew that her father's bannermen would whisper about how Lord Tywin wasn't doing his duty. It has also meant that rather than a weak-willed woman who was desperate for a relationship and thus could easily be twisted around Cersei's finger she had her father as her only way to deal with the demands of the servants. And Tywin Lannister, more often than not, would side with those he himself had chosen to see to her care.

One time, after one of the servants tasked with teaching her the proper way to fold her dresses had set down a punishment for her for refusing to keep her room tidy, Cersei had snapped at her. Declaring that she would not only see her removed from her position but would see her cast out of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. The clothing she wore belonged to Cersei's family as well so she wouldn't be able to take that either. She had, with what she had thought was a vicious smile, explained in great detail how the woman would march naked through the streets as men jeered and leered at her.

The servant, in turn, had said they best start the process and, to Cersei's horror had gone to her father's solar while he was working and informed him of Cersei's demands.

The woman had been moved to become her Aunt Gemna's lead maid, a position she held ever since and with great pride. Cersei had received a cold dressing down by her father for her many, many faults, and then given a new servant who was an old knotted thing who was missing teeth and had been commanded by him to strike her upon the back of her thighs any time she mouthed off again.

"I would suggest the soles of her feet but I won't have her limping," had been his final comment, Cersei staring in horror at the unfairness of it all.

When she had gone to King's Landing to serve as a Lady In Waiting to Queen Rhaella she had quickly learned that her dreams about what life was like at Court were just that: dreams. Oh, how she had HATED having to admit her father was right. He had sat her down and warned her what to expect.

"Here at Casterly Rock you are my daughter and that grants you special privileges," he had told her. "But at the Red Keep you will be representing our family… and I will not have you balking the first time you are ordered to do something you find distasteful. Your choices will not be your own. You follow the Queen and you do as she commands."

Cersei had wanted to snarl that she already had to do what the septas and maester commanded but had bit her tongue; if she had talked back her father might not have let her go. And the Red Keep was her only escape from Casterly Rock. With Jaime gone to serve Old Sumner Crakehall it had only been her and the Imp and she knew if she was left alone with him she would kill him. And as much as that would have made her smile… her father would have learned it was her and he would have done nothing to save her from the scandal. At beast she would be sent to the Silent Sisters.

'As if having the monster around wasn't scandal enough,' she thought darkly.

So, she had gone to the Red Keep and her father had been proven right. No… Cersei had learned that he had actually been GENTLE with her. As horrifying as that was to think. He had made it sound like Cersei would need to just follow the Queen wherever she went. But it was far worse than that.

Cersei had to wear what the Queen wanted, even if the colors did not go well with her skin and her hair and her eyes. She had to wear the perfumes the queen liked, which were faint things with almost no scent because such strong smells made King Aerys more likely to go on a raging fit. She had to listen to the music that Queen Rhaella liked and could never even consider requesting something she preferred. She had to eat what the queen ate and even years later the mere thought of that horrid cherry stuffed chicken the queen had served on a weekly basis made her stomach rebel.

Worst of all… she had never been able to be with Rhaegar. She knew… she just KNEW… if she had been able to have more time alone with him he would have begged his father to allow them to be wed. To ignore the Dornish and to tie himself to her. Oh, there were plenty who claimed it was her father who had caused Aerys to turn her away and she did blame him for not working harder to get her the prince she still dreamed over even years after his death but… she still felt that Aerys would have changed his mind if Rhaegar had demanded her.

But she hadn't been able to be with him. Ever. Because every movement she had had been decided by others.

She should have been given full control of her life when she became queen but that hadn't happened. Jon Arryn and Robert and her father had still done all they could to restrain her. Putting in place those that were walls to her happiness. She had spent so much time and energy removing those obstacles so that she might be able to put in place those that would be doorways…

'And now,' she thought bitterly, 'with Jon Arryn, Robert, and father all in the ground… I still find myself trapped. Restrained. But now it is to the Tyrells!'

Everyone. Everyone tried to keep her caged.

It was why, perhaps, Jaime had appealed to her so much. He was the one person in all the world that had always obeyed her. She didn't have anyone like that anymore. No one that-

When it finally occurred to her she had nearly wept in relief.

The solution.

"I have changed my mind," she said suddenly. "I wish to go out."

"Your grace?" the maid said only to catch herself. "I mean… yes, your grace. I will fetch your fall dress."

"The red one with the golden leaves," she commanded as the young little dolt hurried off like a startled deer. "I won't need to redo my hair or makeup putting that on." She looked herself over and smiled. 'Yes… this will work out quite well.'

Westeros had changed. It had begun with the coming of the Iron Man, flying about in his suit and firing beams of light from his hand that could tear flesh and bone. But things had truly been altered after Stannis' attack. The servants whispered that it was the wildfire that her horrid little brother had set off that had caused it: people gaining strange and unusual abilities. Considering that Cersei had gained the ability to create purple… energy?… from where her hand had once been she knew at once they were wrong. There was simply no way her brother was responsible for her gift.

But Westeros and King's Landing had changed that day. The Spiders. The Vulture King. The tentacled man. The reports of a wolf man roaming the Kingswood and the Knight of the Moon who was declaring he was the true 'Kingsguard' but that he guarded the Moon, which was the true king of Westeros. And of course, though only Cersei knew of it, Margaery and her dark and sinful magics.

'But… she isn't the only one able to do the impossible,' she thought.

It only took another hour for her to change into the fall dress and while it did weigh down on her shoulders a bit more than she would have liked she had to admit that the material was rather lovely and did much to stop the wind from cutting into her form. It was apparently a new style, one with small weights at the bottom hem, just enough to keep the breeze from catching it and lifting it up to chill her legs. As much as she might wish to not admit it the weather was taking a turn towards cool and every protection would be needed.

'Soon I'll need to see about furs,' she thought, hating the thought of having to go to her Uncle Kevan to make such a request. Her father had cut back the gold she could spend on herself and her Uncle had taken over doing that; there was simply no way she would go begging that jump-started bastard Jon Snow (not Stark… never Stark… it didn't matter what Robert had done the boy was a bastard and always would be!) for what was supposed to be HER'S! She was the QUEEN! He shouldn't even need to give them to her because that made it sound as if they were his to give. They weren't his. Not at all. They belonged to her!

She would have killed the bastard already if it weren't for the fact that the Tyrell witch was protecting him.

Cersei had been plotting just how to destroy Jon Snow the moment he had been named Hand of the King. As much as she had wanted to simply order his death she had realized very quickly, once the shock had worn off, that doing so would only result in her being thrown into the Black Cells. Her father… her stupid, foolish, dim-witted father… had taken a shine to the bastard for some reason. Perhaps it was because, with Jaime gone, he had latched onto the first young man he could that he could twist into seeing as a son. He certainly couldn't do that with Tyrion. Cersei didn't know the reason… but she knew her Uncle Kevan would respect her father's wishes. And it was clear that Tommen hadn't come up with the idea himself!

She once more ignored the voice, buried deep within her, that whispered that Jon Snow spent much time with her son and when Cersei had spoken with the boy king Tommen always prattled on about Jon.

So no, she hadn't been able to merely order him killed. She had to be cunning about it. Sneaky. And she had come up with the perfect plot. An accident in the training yard. That foolish boy, Parker, had created some mounted dummy. Everyone was talking about it. Well, Cersei had requested her spies find her someone that could match wits with the boy and they had directed her to a known fiddler and inventor named Smythe. He had agreed to rig the dummy so that it would swing wildly out of control. And the sword that it wielded wouldn't be blunted, meaning he would be torn to ribbons. A terrible, horrible accident that would at worst merely maim the man and leave him too ruined to be Hand of the King.

But then, days before she was going to put her attempt into motion… she had been caught by the power of the Tyrells.

Margaery had forced her to reveal all her dark plans. And, in turn, Mace Tyrell had gone to Smythe and hired him away from Cersei, making him his creature. Worst, Margaery had done something where if Cersei even attempted to think of killing Jon Snow she would feel great pain and to try and verbalize it or to write it out became impossible.

She had finally forced herself to demand to know why they were protecting him the last time the Tyrells had dragged her to a private 'family dinner' and Mace Tyrell's laughter still echoed in her ears.

"Because when one finds a man that is competent they do not toss him away unless one has no choice. Jon Stark is repairing the damage you, Robert, and even your father caused. Imagine what he will do when Margaery and Loras sit the throne!"

Worst still had been Margaery's whispered comment after they had left, the whore clinging to her arm like a barnacle and all beaming smiles.

"I desire him. Loras does too. We've agreed to take him as our consort. And we won't have you harming his pretty little head."

It was vile. Disgusting. That the two degenerates would even consider doing such at thing! It made her skin crawl and her stomach heave.

That horrible, awful voice in the back of her head whispered that if the Starks and the Lannisters hadn't gone to war and if Jaime had noticed the dark northern bastard the way Cersei had back when they had arrived in Winterfell, reminded oddly enough of Rhaegar… well… what would she have done?

So… she was trapped with Jon Snow. There was nothing she could do about him.

'Or, at least, for now,' she thought as she stepped into the covered wagon and commanded them to make for the seamstress. It wasn't her usual one… in fact she had been only there once. But it was the one that was going to save her.

Fight dark magic… with dark knowledge.

She breezed through the shop and made her way to the hidden doorway, stepping down the steps that the last time had so terrified her. But the path to the secret workshop no longer held any terror for her; thanks to the Whore of Highgarden, Cersei wasn't for sure she would ever feel terror again.

"Ah… your grace," Qyburn said, looking up from his desk. He was thankfully not in the middle of one of his experiments and instead was looking over some paperwork. "I was wondering when you would come to see me again. I have had little luck finding out where Petyr Baelish has disappeared too… my spies are being rather quiet when it comes to that. Which is interesting, I must say." He rose and continued on, refusing to let Cersei get in a word edgewise. "A man is given power and his first reaction, 9 times out of 10, is to flaunt it. A boy is given a shiny sword and all they want to do is twirl it. Doesn't matter if they have swung a wooden one a thousand times suddenly all the training disappears. A scared girl, afraid of attention, will still wear her jewels for all to see.

"Robert used to scoff at tourneys, did you know that? Thought them a fanciful thing. 'War is what matters, not these fake battles!' He said that to me, though he didn't know who I was at the time and said it to many others I am sure. And yet the moment he got the power of the Iron Throne he decided to throw tourney after tourney. Because he had power now and he wanted to remind the world that he had it."

Cersei glowered at that. "I didn't come here to be reminded of that fat drunk-"

"Well, your father then," Qyburn said, cutting her off. "He flaunted his power in a different way. The Rains of Castamere! Such a waste. Oh, it made his name but it cost him the wealth of the Raynes. And it made him appear to be a butcher… something he also admitted to me, though again he didn't realize that I was listening. People do it again and again and again. They get a taste of power and their first reaction? Show it off. Even if it goes against everything they once stood for.

"Yet…there is the one out of ten. The one that doesn't flaunt their power. That takes it on silently and does what needs to be done. They are dangerous ones. Jon Stark has the Iron Throne. Oh yes, he doesn't wear the crown… but he holds the Iron Throne." Qyburn's eyes seemed to glow brightly at that, crimson like rubies dug from a deep pit and placed in the sun. "I always knew he was meant for great things… but this is proving far more interesting than I ever imagined! He is one out of ten… and that makes him a dangerous foe. Same… with Baelish. I thought that he would make a grand show of his powers and thus allow me to find him and deal with him.

"But no. he hasn't done that. He has been quiet so far. At least where my spies are. My… Marauders… and my Nasty Boys. It is impressive what he has done. The restraint. Impressive."

"I am not hear to speak about Littlefinger. I do not care about him."

Qyburn glanced at her before moving to one of the experiment tables he had, it filled with all manner of bottles with different colored liquids. In a flat, judging tone he said, "You should."

"I have other matters to focus my concerns on," she snapped. "And that is why-"

"More pressing than an immortal spirit in an armor that can rip through the floors of the Red Keep? My my my… just who have you angered now?" He paused. "Could it have something to do with Doc Ock? That was an interesting situation. Did you know that he leaves behind no trace of himself? He leaves destruction but… no bits of skin, not blood, nothing like that. It is so very strange… and the fact that the tentacles support him like they do. They sing the tales of krakens bursting from the water and grabbing men but I have found that tentacles aren't that strong when removed from the water. They are muscle, yes… but also no bone. It is why if you throw a octopus down upon the ground all they can do is flail and sometimes slither. So how is he able to support himself?"

"I do not care about Doc Ock either," Cersei snapped. "He doesn't matter."

"I'd say the Small Council disagrees. Did you know that Jon Stark is leading a party to hunt for the man? Gathering some trained soldiers and will ride to avenge King's Landing. An impressive listing, I must say."

Cersei hadn't heard that and her mind whirled with all the possibilities that could come about with the bastard gone… only to wince as she felt a stabbing pain in her temple.

There was a CRACK and her false hand fell apart as the purple energy dagger she could produce from her stump flared into existence.

"Well… that is new. Both the pain… and that power."

"The power… came to me after the Battle of the Blackfire."

"Yes, I imagined as much," Qyburn said. "That ritual… oh, Stannis should have never had some many with the Blood of the Dragon, even if it was bled on the wrong side of the bed, manning his ships. We are just lucky that none of the Dragon Eggs kept in the Red Keep decided to hatch."

"I have no idea what…" Cersei shook her head, holding up her hand. "I do not care about any of that. I care about that-" She grit her teeth as she felt the pain return.

Qyburn raised an eyebrow at that. "Hmmm… how very interesting." He went over to a well worn bag and began to pull out strange instruments. Some reminded her of the tools that Grand Maester Pycelle had used to help her bring her children into the world. She remembered well how cold they were and how much she had hated their touch… but they were better than Pycelle's groping fingers. "How very interesting. Someone has taken control of you. But its not a full control, now is it?"

Before Cersei could react Qyburn had pushed her into a chair and strapped down her arms, the Queen struggling but finding that the little blue maester was far stronger than he looked. And his hands… they weren't like Pycelle's. They were hot. So very hot. He gripped her legs as he tightened several straps before moving to her head and, much to her shock, grabbing her cheeks and forced her to stare right at him.

"Do not struggle."

Cersei gaped at him for a moment before screaming shrilly, "You will release me at once!"

Qyburn though shook his head, releasing her face. "You came here because you wanted answers. I am going to give them to you but that means allowing me to do things my own way. You understand that, don't you? I simply can't look at you and provide you with the solutions you seek… I need to understand what is happening to you. And since you can't speak it…" Cersei shot him a dark look. "No. Of course not. Whoever did this is smart." He reached into the leather bag that was near him and took out what appeared to be a brass rod and began to run it along the inside of her elbow. "But… perhaps not too smart. Or rather they are using brute force rather than finesse." He frowned, changing the direction he ran the rod before pulling it away and wiping it clean with a rag.

"What are you doing?" Cersei deamdned. "You will explain what you are doing-"

"Why?" he asked. "You won't understand. You are a queen, not a maester… you do not ask me to handle Queenly Duties and I do not ask you to understand my ways."

With that he suddenly got down on his hands and knees and, to Cersei's shock and disgust, removed her slippers and began to run another one of his tools, this one a studded ball that was on a polished stick, along the soles of her feet. He murmured to himself before going over to one of his shelves and retrieving a bottle before walking back over to her and squatting down once more. Cersei let out a gasp as a viscous liquid was rubbed along her feet and then between her toes, coating them in the slippery substance.

"Stop this at once!" Cersei said through grit teeth, trying to stop herself from gasping or laughing. She wasn't for sure which, only that she would have rather had pain than whatever in the Seven Hells Qyburn was doing to her. "I am not some whore-"

"You think I do this for sexual pleasure?" Qyburn asked and his tone was so colored by disappointment that she actually briefly felt ashamed before she remembered that he was applying the Seven knows what upon her feet. "Your grace, I have evolved beyond the need for such primal, animalistic things. A man looks upon a woman and can find a hundred different things that will give him arousal. I see only something to learn and study about. You could be completely naked, lets spread wide, and giving the smoldering gaze that has enchanted thousands and I would feel nothing. Because it is a useless sensation so I have bred it out of me. Snipped it away like a cook snips away the extras from a goose that is prepared for a feast. I care only to learn."

Cersei… didn't know how to feel about that. She knew he was being honest. She knew it. Any other man claiming it she would have laughed and called them a liar but Qyburn? He had always been something different. Something strange and outside of the norm that was humanity.

"Hmmm. How strange. How very strange. Magic has been used upon you. I can tell that for sure. Powerful magic. And yet it is also magic that has not been done by someone that understands magic. They are self taught at best and if they had an instructor they were poor in showing them the way to wield it. This has all the blunt force power of a hammer when it should be a dagger, slicing into your very soul."

"Can you remove it?" Cersei demanded.

"Perhaps," Qyburn said and he went over to his workbench and grabbed another tool that Cersei couldn't see well, thanks to how she was strapped to the chair, and a bottle that was green in color. "They have made it that their spell is constantly running, reporting back to them. Yet they aren't seeking to forever know what you are up to. They aren't monitoring you. It isn't a guard who is always alert but a sleeping watch hound that will be awakened the moment one steps out of line. It is… a process… a choice. Yes. It is a choice."

"I want it removed," Cersei demanded. "I want it gone."

"Oh yes, I imagine so. Having your words forever not belong to you? It must be utterly frustrating. Especially when words are one of the last weapons you have."

"What is THAT supposed to mean?" Cersei snarled as Qyburn knelt down before her once more and she felt something else, something rough but also flexible, move against her feet.

"You are growing older. There are ways to prevent such a thing from happening… I should know… but I doubt you would enjoy the process as it isn't for the faint of heart and you are a creature ruled by pleasure." She opened her mouth to speak but he just continued on. "And besides, I do not think you would much care for the end results. After all… I do not mind my skin and eyes as they are…"

Cersei shuddered, or tried to as it was hard with her trapped in the restraints, at the thought of her skin colored like Qyburn's. What would people say?! Part of the reason she would ever want to maintain her youth would be to keep herself looking beautiful. To rob herself of her looks? No… no, that was something she could never stand for!

"It is something that happens to both men and women. The loss of youth stealing from them their greatest weapons. All that is left is the ability to speak. To charm or threaten their foes. Soon that will be all you have… and you have had that taken from you." He poured the contents of the bottle he'd grabbed onto her feet before finally standing up. "There. It is done."

"You removed the curse?" she said. "That-"

Her jaw stopped working.

She glared at him.

"No no… I cleaned up your feet." He grabbed a towel and wiped them off before putting her slippers back on.

"…what?"

"You were complaining about the jelly I placed on there so I cleaned it up. I am not a monster." He chuckled at that, standing up and staring at her with his burning red eyes, as if DARING her to claim he was, in fact, a monster. "To remove the curse placed on you would take far longer."

"Then… then do it!" Cersei demanded. "Remove it! Or block it! Prevent the-" Her mouth refused to say the words.

But Qyburn shook his head. "It would take time… time I do not have. If you had come to me sooner I might have been able to make some time for you but I am afraid I am quite busy now. Too busy to assist you in this matter."

"What… what are you talking about!?" Cersei screamed, kicking and thrashing against the restraints. "You work for me!"

"No, I don't. I suppose this is the point where you claim that I do… or at least did. But you… I never worked for you, your grace. I let you believe that because it served me well. Provided me with opportunities I wouldn't have gotten otherwise. But I never worked for you." He leaned in close and his eyes BLAZED even as he smiled. "I used you."

"I… I will see you die for this-"

"And you expect me to free you?" Qyburn asked and Cersei grimaced as she realized that her threat wasn't worth much when she was at his mercy and no one knew where she was. "And that is why, even if I ever desired a master… I would never choose you." He let out a chuckle before moving about his chambers, gathering up different bits and pieces. "The Nasty Boys will be coming soon to help me pack this all away. Don't worry… I will give them commands to leave you unmolested. I have no desire to see what your rotten womb could produce even with them.

"I've decided that there is another I can use. One who will better suit my needs now. After all… I saw to his birth… I should see just how juicy the fruits of my labor have become." He chuckled at that. "His is the Song of Ice and Fire, after all."

"What… what are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Qyburn said with a shake of his head before turning his back to her. "Lord Jon is leading a small party to go to the Vale, to hunt for Doc Ock. He is taking some rather… interesting people with him. I plan to go. I will offer my services to the right people who owe me for my aid to them and they will, in turn, convince him to allow me to come. I will discover the secrets of Doc Ock. I will discover how he does what he does. And, perhaps… I will find new men and women that are worth of my… experiments."

When he turned back to her Cersei saw he was holding a damp rag.

"Do not worry… this is merely ensure that you have dreamless sleep while I see to the cleaning up of my rooms. When you awake you will be alone… I will send word for others to come and find you. I suggest, as you wait, you come up with a reason why they found you all alone in here… nude and shivering… in this long abandoned shop."

And then, lightning quick, Qyburn was at her side, pressing the rag to her face. Cersei struggled but as she did she could feel the vapors from the rag enter her nose and clog her brain. Her eyes grow heavy and her head swam and the last thing she saw was his horrid eyes staring at her.