lotsstoryinpatre** : CaveLeather
Game of Thrones: Rune Bastard
Game of Thrones Wizard Dothraki
Game of Thrones: Knights Life
Game of Thrones Prince of the Rhoyne
"Woo-hoo! That thing packs one hell of a punch!"
Trene Sand lay flat on the rocky summit of the Visenya Hills, one hand gripping a Myrish lens as she excitedly smacked the stone beneath her. Through the lens, the distant Great Sept of Baelor was collapsing. No—calling it a collapse was far too mild.
It looked more like an enraged giant had stomped down on the dome and crushed the entire building—along with centuries of sacred glory—into rubble.
After the massive explosion, flames erupted skyward from the ruins. Thick black smoke billowed up, swallowing half the horizon. Chunks of stone rained down like deadly hail, smashing into rooftops and streets and kicking up clouds of dust.
Even from this far away, Trene could hear the thunderous roar rolling out in wave after wave, like the final, furious bellow of a dying beast.
"If we could haul this stuff to the Water Gardens and force Prince Doran to step down…"
Trene licked her lips, her sun-kissed face lighting up with pure, hungry excitement.
"Bullshit," Obara Sand snapped, slapping the back of her sister's head—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to rattle her brain.
Trene's head jerked forward. She nearly dropped the lens and twisted around to glare at her older sister.
"Doran is Father's own brother. Why the hell would you blow him up? Did the blast fry your brain?"
Obara planted her hands on her hips, looking at Trene like she was the biggest idiot in Westeros. "That's exactly why I'm saying it, you dumbass. We should take this shit straight to Yronwood and blow that cursed place off the map!"
Trene's eyes went wide with sudden enthusiasm. "Yes! Blow up Yronwood! Let those alchemists cook up a few thousand more jars and ship them over there. Flatten the castle and the whole damn mountain it sits on!"
"Once every last one of those bastards is dead, Nymeria's accidental killing of Anders won't matter anymore!"
"Thousands of jars?" Obara shot her a look. "Those old fucks at the Alchemists' Guild said they're almost out. I doubt they can whip up that many before their ancient bones give out."
"Then we blow them up too!"
"And who's going to make the wildfire for you after that?"
"Uh…"
The two Sand Snakes kept bickering, voices rising and falling over the wind.
Sarella Sand, the youngest, huddled behind her sisters. Her lips moved a few times, but she stayed quiet, staring down at her bare toes curling nervously against the rock.
She didn't like wildfire. The stuff looked wrong. Just watching it made her skin crawl.
Back when they'd been in charge of planting the jars beneath the Sept, her stomach had been in knots the whole time. What if it went off too early and caught them in the blast?
Thinking about it now, she stole a quick glance at the distant burning ruins.
At least they'd been far enough away.
Sarella let out a long breath and patted her chest.
The three Sand Snakes kept chattering, but Cersei stood behind them in complete silence.
She stood at the highest point of the Visenya Hills. The afternoon wind off Blackwater Bay tugged at her golden hair. She had changed out of the ragged gray robe into a deep crimson velvet gown that hugged her newly slender waist. Her face was still a little gaunt from months of imprisonment and torment, but right now the smile she couldn't quite hide made her look nothing like a woman who had just survived hell.
A cup of wine in her left hand, she watched her "masterpiece" with deep satisfaction. Her right hand held tight to Tommen's small fingers. She had pulled the boy out during the chaos.
The young king stood beside his mother, eyes wide with confusion and fear. He didn't fully understand what had happened, but he had seen the Sept explode right in front of him—with his grandfather and Margaery still inside.
He looked up at his mother. She was smiling. Actually smiling. Tommen felt a cold knot form in his stomach.
Cersei wasn't paying attention to her son's fear. Her eyes were fixed on the burning ruins in the distance.
Gods, it was beautiful.
And it felt so fucking good.
The smile on her face deepened. She felt no guilt at all about blowing up her father and nearly a hundred highborn lords. The moment Tywin had stripped her of the regency and locked her in the Sept, he had stopped being her father. He had become an obstacle. An enemy standing between her and the power she craved.
Now that obstacle was gone—along with all the nobles who had spent years looking down on her in the Red Keep.
As for Bonifer Hasty and Osmund Kettleblack, who had died without understanding why… two useful idiots. Nothing more.
Cersei's mind raced. She knew every next step had to be perfect.
Tywin was dead. Jaime was far away at the Wall. Tyrion was still a condemned man. That left her—Sansa Lannister—as the only legitimate heir to Casterly Rock.
The title of Regent… no. Not just Regent.
Cersei's fingers tightened around Tommen's hand. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her palm.
She wouldn't stop at Regent. Once the dust settled, she would summon ten thousand Lannister troops from Casterly Rock to seize full control of King's Landing. Then she would have Tommen abdicate.
She would sit the Iron Throne herself. She would wear Aegon the Conqueror's crown.
She would be the first true Queen in Westerosi history—not some half-queen like Rhaenyra Targaryen.
The thought made her heartbeat quicken, but she forced herself to stay calm. This wasn't the time to celebrate. She still had work to do.
Right now the situation was perfect. No one knew she was behind the explosion.
Bonifer and all his Warriors' Sons were dead inside the Sept. Dead men told no tales. The alchemists who had helped plant the wildfire had already been dealt with.
As for the Sand Snakes…
Cersei glanced sideways at the three Dornish women still arguing behind her.
They were still useful. For now.
Once she had power again, none of them would be allowed to live.
The Lannister soldiers scattered across the city had lost their commander. With Tywin and Adam Marbrand both gone, they were leaderless and confused. All she had to do was appear at the ruins, rally them, and pin the whole thing on that damned farmer—Vito Coreyon.
She would say the Black Hand had planted wildfire beneath the Sept to overthrow the crown.
The soldiers would believe it. Everyone knew Tywin and Coreyon hated each other.
Then two thousand elite Lannister troops would march on Flea Bottom and wipe the Black Hand off the map. Even if Coreyon had three heads and six arms, he wouldn't escape.
Cersei could already picture it—Flea Bottom burning, Coreyon's head on a spike, and her standing on the Red Keep walls looking down on it all.
Just like today.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
"Mother."
Tommen's small voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
She looked down. The boy's face was pale, his green eyes full of tears.
"Did you already know the Sept was going to explode?"
His voice cracked. "Why didn't you send someone to get Grandfather out? And Queen Margaery… she was still inside…"
Cersei went quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and gently stroked Tommen's soft golden hair. The motion was tender, almost motherly, but her eyes held no warmth at all.
"No, Tommen," she said softly. "I didn't know the Sept would explode. Mother just hadn't seen you in so long. I wanted to bring you here so we could be together. I never expected something like this to happen."
Lying came as naturally to Cersei as breathing.
Tommen stared at her, clearly wanting to believe. But the timing was too perfect. And the things those Dornish women had said earlier…
He didn't dare finish the thought.
He dropped his head. Tears finally spilled over. His small shoulders shook.
Cersei felt nothing. She wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumb.
"They were taken by the Stranger," she said, voice gentle but firm. "It was the will of the Seven. Mortals cannot change it. We can only accept it and keep moving forward."
Tommen looked up at her through wet lashes. "Really?"
"Really." Cersei gave him a small smile. "The Stranger took them, but he left us with a duty. You're the king now, Tommen. Your grandfather is gone. The realm needs you to be strong."
"Once we deal with this, I'll find you a new queen—younger and prettier than Margaery Tyrell. From one of the great houses."
At the mention of Margaery's name, fresh tears welled in Tommen's eyes, but he bit his lip and nodded hard.
Because his grandfather had once told him that a king's tears could shake the confidence of his men.
Cersei's smile widened as she watched her son try to hold back his tears.
Without Margaery Tyrell whispering poison in his ear, the boy was still obedient. And now Jaime was gone, Tywin was gone, Tyrion was a non-factor. Every obstacle had been cleared in one glorious stroke.
From now on, nothing could stop her.
Cersei stood, drained the last of her wine, and let the crystal cup slip from her fingers. It shattered on the rocks below, glittering in the sunlight like the flames in the distance.
She turned to face the three Sand Snakes.
Trene was still arguing with Obara about how much wildfire it would take to level Yronwood. Sarella had tucked herself into a corner, doing her best impression of someone who knew nothing.
Cersei stood in the afternoon light, crimson velvet rippling in the wind. Her green eyes burned brighter than the distant fire.
"Let's go," she said. "It's our turn now."
Trene was the first to react. She shoved the Myrish lens into her belt pouch and rubbed her hands together eagerly.
"Where to? Flea Bottom? I've been dying to go a few rounds with that Coreyon bastard!"
"Not Flea Bottom," Cersei cut her off. A cold, sharp smile curved her lips. "We're going to the Sept first."
"The Sept?" Trene blinked. "Wasn't it just blown to pieces? What's left to do there?"
Cersei didn't answer right away. She looked out over King's Landing. Red-cloaked Lannister soldiers were already pouring through the streets toward the ruins, banners snapping in the wind. The golden lion roared on crimson fields.
They needed a real lion to lead them.
Cersei ran the numbers in her head. Two thousand elite Lannister troops had lost their commander. Adam Marbrand was almost certainly dead inside the Sept. Right now those men were like headless chickens. They needed a new leader.
And that leader could only be her.
She was Tywin Lannister's daughter. She was Tommen's mother. She was the only legitimate heir to Casterly Rock.
"Tommen." She looked down at her son. "Listen carefully. From this moment on, I want you to remember one thing."
She leaned closer, voice soft but edged with steel.
"Your grandfather Tywin Lannister and all those nobles… were murdered by Vito Coreyon."
Tommen's eyes went wide. "But—"
"There is no 'but.'" Cersei's grip on his hand tightened. Her green eyes bored into his. "Coreyon planted wildfire beneath the Sept. He tried to murder the Regent and the King. That is high treason. Unforgivable."
"Do you understand?"
Tommen's lips trembled, but he finally nodded. "I understand, Mother."
Cersei smiled, satisfied. She took her son's hand and started down the hill, golden hair shining in the sunlight.
The three Sand Snakes exchanged glances, then followed her toward the future she believed was already hers.
Far away in Flea Bottom, Vito Coreyon stood at the window on the third floor of the Hall of Order, watching the column of black smoke rising in the distance.
Balerion lay curled on his lap, amber eyes open for once and reflecting the distant fire.
Coreyon's hand moved slowly over the cat's back. His face gave nothing away.
"My lord!"
Rolje's voice came from the doorway, tight with shock. "The Sept… it exploded!"
Coreyon didn't turn around.
He kept watching the smoke, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile.
"I know."