Chapter 10

“Where’s that sellsword of yours?” Cersei Lannister, self-appointed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, asked her twin brother and general, Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Where’s that pirate king of yours?” Jaime retorted, “why isn’t he reporting on the status of the Iron Fleet and paying court to you, his intended bride?”

“Enough of that, Jaime! Euron is not my twin, he did not come out of our mother’s womb into this world together, he did not father my children, he did not fight my wars and enemies, he did not push that child out of the tower for me, he’s not mine! Give up your insane jealousy for once, dear, will you? I ask about Bronn because no one has seen or heard from him in what is reported to be hours. This isn’t an excuse to dress you down!” Cersei snapped, even as a youth in Lannister armor approached them both above the map of Westeros in the courtyard.

“I have a message for the Queen ... and possibly the Lord Commander, if he is so inclined. The Iron Fleet has been annihilated by Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons. No sign of Euron Greyjoy has been found, and it is believed that he might have drowned or burned alive in the battle. If he lived, he might well have been shipwrecked on those treacherous islands off Blackwater Bay,” the youth informed both of them.

“What’s your name, boy?” Jaime demanded of him.

“I’m ... Wyllam Haigh, m’lord. Regrettably, our shipping is now vulnerable to the enemy fleet and pirates as well. They could choke us off from any trade and relief, whether military or monetary, Ser Jaime,” the lad answered, being very nervous now due to the awful news that he had to deliver to the Queen and her brother.

“And how do you know that much, Wyllam Haigh?” Cersei interjected now, curious as to how the youth could grasp something so significant with so little formal education.

“I’m from Lannisport, Your Grace. I still remember the Ironborn raids there. I was very young back then, but I remember them like yesterday, during Balon’s rebellion,” Wyllam explained to the Queen, who nodded and smiled now.

Both Jaime and Cersei felt some respect for the boy’s ability to learn so well from his personal experience and apply the lessons to a broader context. Evidently, some folks were quick pupils, even if others weren’t. Cersei thought of what Qyburn might do with such a keen young mind, and then she recalled that she hadn’t seen or heard from her Hand in several hours. A moment of panic and disquiet showed on her face, Jaime reading it with equal horror and denial.

“Qyburn,” Jaime whispered, with Cersei nodding softly in response.

“Bernadette!” Cersei called for her maid, “Bernadette!”

“What are they doing, fucking each other?” Jaime attempted a joke, but his twin was in no laughing mood.

“Ser Gregor, find the Hand of the Queen and bring him here posthaste,” Jaime now ordered the Mountain, who started to leave when another servant entered the room in abject terror.

“What is it?” Cersei now confronted the maid, who wiped tears from her eyes and face before she stopped blubbering.

“Your Grace ... I found ... we found ... the Hand, Qyburn, dead, along with one of his agents, named Jarrad, and a bald man whom I didn’t recognize. He wore very fine clothes, robes, as I recall. They were all dead ... and purple in the face, with bruises everywhere. They had just eaten some meat pies and drank some Dornish wine when they perished, Your Grace, so it must have been poison of some kind. It resembled the face of King Joffrey when he died, Your Grace,” the maidservant informed Cersei now.

“You said a ‘bald man,’ girl? Was he rather plump, with a gentle, pleasant face? Clean-shaven, perhaps even no stubble? Like a eunuch might have?” Cersei probed a bit further.

“Yes, Your Grace. That was exactly how he appeared, Your Grace,” the maid cast her eyes downward.

“Varys,” Jaime said bluntly, no doubt of it in his mind.

“Varys indeed. Thank you, girl. What’s your name?” Cersei insisted.

“Ashlyh, Your Grace. I have no surname. I’m a bastard,” she told the Queen.

The Lannister Queen’s nerves were still a bit tense because of the Iron Fleet and now equally worried due to Qyburn’s apparent murder. The fact of Varys being present for said event only raised her hackles even more. The fact that he was dead meant only that he couldn’t be questioned or tortured at all. There would not be any answer to the mystery of why he was there, dining with her Hand and one of his agents, the lad Jarrad, in the Tower of the Hand.

“Not anymore. As from this day, you’re Ashlyh Waters. Are we clear? I also want you to lie with Ser Jaime here for a bit. Jaime, don’t say anything,” Cersei told her twin, before he could object.

“Cersei... , “ Jaime started to protest, anyway.

“No, just do it, Jaime. Lie with the maid. I have my reasons. It occurs to me that House Lannister is woefully short of Lannisters, and I don’t count the Imp, as he’s a traitor. Henceforth, I shall not even use his name. The Imp fits him very well. I want at least one surprise left in case the worst happens. Men’s seed doesn’t age as quickly as women’s wombs, and our child might miscarry. This is the best protection for our House, Jaime. Obey your Queen. Take Ashlyh to bed. It was going to be Bernadette, but I don’t see a sign of her, so Ashlyh benefits instead. Here, drink this, both of you. For your nerves,” Cersei poured both her brother and the maid a glass of wine each.

“Your Grace, the rumors are true? You and Ser Jaime are lovers?” Ashlyh expressed some shock.

“Yes, dear girl, they’ve always been true about that. I love having Jaime inside of me, and now you will get to enjoy him inside you as well,” Cersei told her, even as she disrobed in front of both of them.

“Are you sure it’s wise, speaking of this ... and why are you undressing, Cersei? Why here, and not the bedchamber?” Jaime was still full of questions, but Cersei ignored them as Ashlyh took her cue and stripped completely naked on top of the map.

“I must confess that I lay with another man in your absence, Jaime. Lancel. That was a grave mistake that exposed me to a lot of injury and insult, as did my exaltation of the Sparrows. Costly errors on my part, blunders even, as was too much confidence in Euron Greyjoy. See, I am naked to both of you in both body and mind, sharing everything with you,” Cersei admitted to Jaime, knowing that this was the perfect moment for such confessions.

Jaime stopped struggling and resisting the advances of the maid at that point, a certain spite growing in him as he heard of his sister’s betrayal of their love. At least, that was how he saw it. Jaime had never been intimate with another woman, though seldom was he tempted, honestly, until he met Brienne of Tarth. Brienne was no beauty in her flesh, being tall, muscled, and homely in face, but she had the noblest qualities that Jaime could admire in anyone, man or woman. Cersei was a far more beautiful woman, yet her cold, calculating ways and her cruelty toward Tyrion and others increasingly disturbed Jaime, as did Olenna Tyrell’s words to him.

Rage, more than anything else, though mixed with some lust, admittedly, stirred Jaime’s loins, and he began actively taking Ashlyh. He wasn’t gentle or knightly at all right then, but very aggressive, forcefully thrusting in and out of the maid, not caring that she was probably sixteen at most. He had tried to be noble, loyal, faithful to Cersei, his twin, the other half of his self, his soul, his heart. She had betrayed him repeatedly. She had manipulated him far too often. The truth of her last betrayal was a knife to the gut for him. It stung in a way that her conjugal duties to King Robert never could, in the same way that her flirtation with Euron Greyjoy did. Cersei was loyal to none but her children, their children, and even them she had destroyed in the end.

Yet even now, Jaime loved Cersei. That was the plain truth of it. As surely as he hated himself for his own wickedness, and yet loved himself as well, so he felt about Cersei. She was his twin. They had entered this world together. He was convinced that they would depart it together as well. It was a disease, like drunkenness or too much fondness for milk of the poppy, as he had seen in others. It was poisonous, destructive, truly harmful, and yet it was there, inescapable, unavoidable, and inevitable. His love for Cersei was unhealthy, but it was his. It was all that he had left in this world, as his children had been taken from him, one by one. It was all that motivated him anymore, beyond this anger that was due to jealousy over his sister, his lover.

Jaime was so busy thinking of this and screwing Ashlyh, rather furiously, in fact, that he didn’t notice Cersei planting her body on Ashlyh’s face until she did so. When his sister planted a hungry kiss on Jaime, he didn’t resist, openly giving her tongue while they shared the maid’s favors. He understood the truth now. This was a peace offering, so unlike Cersei but for one thing. She was afraid. She was lonely. She felt cornered. She knew of one person left whom she could trust now, with Qyburn and Euron gone, not that she ever really trusted the Ironborn sea dog. Even Bernadette was missing. Only Jaime was left. Even Tommen had betrayed her by throwing himself out that window to the ground in his act of despair.

Jaime began kissing Cersei’s breasts, even biting them a little, these breasts that had nursed their three, lovely, golden children. He continued pumping ruthlessly in and out of Ashlyh, who pushed back ardently at him with her hips, her back arching against the map on the courtyard floor. It had to have been very uncomfortable for the maid, but she persisted, secretly enamored of the Kingslayer as she had been for years. At sixteen, she had a longstanding crush on Ser Jaime Lannister, so to have the chance to take him inside her body at last was an irresistible offer as well as a command from her Queen.

Tasting the Queen’s cunt was a novel experience, one that Ashlyh had never expected or even imagined before, but having done so, she had no desire to quit. It was an honor, for one thing, to be asked such things by her Queen. For another thing, Ashlyh found that the taste of another woman reminded her of how she tasted whenever she touched herself and licked her fingers clean. She didn’t mind it at all. She found herself squirting on Jaime’s cock as he plunged in and out of her, hoping that enjoyed the soft caress of her pussy on his prick. She knew that she felt as if this were one of the Seven Heavens of the Faith, even though this act ran contrary to its teachings.

As Ashlyh lapped at her twat, Cersei felt a swell of desire inside her that she never would have guessed, and realized that it was as much from the power as from the tongue inside her. She rode a girl’s face and the girl welcomed it, at least partly because she was the Queen. A Cersei Lannister who hadn’t been Queen would never have been permitted such acts without paying a whore. A maid would have reported the matter to her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, or else to King Robert, or someone like that. Knowing that Ashlyh enjoyed this, or showed every sign of it, was another reminder of the benefits of power and why she was loathe to yield it to anyone. Power enabled her to act on her every last whim without consequences, after all. There would be no more Walks of Shame for her.

Jaime continued to thrust deeper inside Ashlyh and enjoyed her enthusiasm, as he realized just how much he missed by having someone receive him that way without prior calculations or manipulations involved. When was the last time that Cersei took him balls deep without having some angle or ulterior motive? Even this act, from Cersei’s perspective, was clearly a move to hang onto Jaime, to keep him close and discourage any notions of defection. This was the only other woman besides Cersei that Jaime had bedded in his entire life, and even she had ties to his twin sister.

Even so, it was clear to Jaime that Ashlyh adored him for his name, his reputation, and now his dick. She didn’t know him at all, just his legend and now his private parts thrusting in and out of her snatch. She took him further, hungrily welcoming the Kingslayer into her body and creaming herself on his prick. Her cunt was now so slippery that he slid out twice by accident and pressed briefly against her arsehole, making her jump a bit. He heard Cersei moan softly from her orgasm caused by Ashlyh’s mouth on her twat, even as he slid back inside the maid’s slit and spurted out his cum there in several ropes. Cersei and he both rose, before the Queen raised Ashlyh to her feet and kissed her lips, still wet with her juices, both of them kissing Jaime afterward.

“You will not speak of this to anyone, girl. Are we clear?” Jaime told the maid, but Cersei just laughed.

“Who cares about it, Jaime? We’re in a war. People have chosen their camps. They are either with us or against us. They will not change their minds because we shared a maid. In fact, if I can ever find Bernadette, we should share her, too. There are no septons around to care anymore. Ashlyh, you will always wait until we are ready for this, but expect it to happen again, whenever we desire it. You’re a peach that’s barely turned ripe and I love your sweetness, your juices, your freshness, girl. You’re what I was before I turned bitter and hateful,” Cersei said, kneeling to taste Ashlyh’s cunt on his cock.

“Delicious. Juicy. Sweet. Ripe. Fresh. Just as I know that you are. Don’t put your clothes back on just yet. Let me taste you and see if I can get a rise out of my brother,” Cersei poured wine all over the maid’s body and began licking her from head to toe, even flipping her over to lick the girl’s bottom and back.

Jaime tried not to let this sight stir him, and yet it was a welcome diversion. What else did he wish to think of, the crumbling defenses of the realm against an onslaught of foes, despite his victory at Highgarden against Olenna Tyrell? Should he think about Olenna’s own words, which proved again that she truly was the Queen of Thorns? He already let that discourse before the old woman perished bother him too much as it was. There was no reason to dwell on it now. He felt like Robb Stark now, winning a great battle, two if you count his success in saving Walder Frey’s rotten arse from the Blackfish, only to have the war rug pulled out from beneath him.

No, far better to dwell on the beauty of two women tangled together, their tongues dancing along each other’s flesh. There was an aesthetic grace as well as a sensuality there that it was impossible to dismiss. As Ashlyn poured wine all over Cersei and even began rimming her in turn, Jaime found his loins rise to the occasion sooner than expected, all blood now flowing to his groin as he entered his sister once more to great cries of feverish lust from her. He wasn’t gentle, but that was fine. Cersei’s hips worked well with him on even the most brutal strokes, embracing his cock like the old friend that it was to her snatch. If he hurt his sister, she didn’t wax indignant about it, sensing that her twin needed to vent his spleen through his dick, needed to make her suffer a bit before he could forgive her the slights and barbs of the past.

“Take it ... you know that you want it. My bottom. Use it. Make me hurt. Make it hurt. Use my arse,” Cersei invited her brother, who didn’t wait to use her juices to lubricate her before he sank his dick into her arsehole.

It did hurt, no doubt of that. It hurt both Jaime and Cersei. There was some lubrication, to be sure, from Cersei’s juices, as noted, but it caused no small amount of pain, making the Queen gasp and bite her lower lip from the sharpness of it. It was good, she thought. He could punish me this way, rather than in ways that would bring me down and ruin me. Better a little buggery than regicide or treason. Let Jaime have his way and make me atone with my body, enjoying what a man needs to soothe his injured pride as well as pleasure his body. Let him exact retribution with his little head, not his big one. I can recover from this far more easily than him deserting me and joining himself to the Dragon Queen and my other adversaries. Besides, the pain actually warms and relaxes me, lets me surrender to the moment and not be in command at all times. I am, however briefly, under his thumb instead of him being under mine.

For Ser Jaime, this was all about punishment, but he never had any plans to desert Cersei, even now. The country was committed to its war between the two Queens. Cersei was right that everyone had chosen a side. There was no turning back now. Nor could Jaime rule, even if he wished it. None would permit the Kingslayer to sit the Iron Throne of Aegon Targaryen, not after slaying Aerys Targaryen. He might have been the Mad King, but kingslaying was still an act that few condoned or forgave, especially when done in such an unprepared moment, with his back turned to Jaime. No, even the prospect of Jaime Lannister on the Iron Throne would be the one thing that caused people to defect to Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime was sure of that.

Gasping, Jaime spent himself inside Cersei’s arse, a smaller amount than before, of course, and she actually came in spite of herself. Jaime didn’t know what caused it, but Cersei knew that it was the pain. She ... enjoyed pain, at least the hands of her brother. It was shocking and a little worrisome that even now, after years together, her twin could surprise her and she could surprise herself. Cersei never imagined enjoying pain and humiliation. She certainly hadn’t at the hands of Septa Unella and others in the High Sparrow’s camp.

Then again, that had been pain and humiliation for the sake of ruining Cersei in her capacity as Queen Mother, for the sake of the High Sparrow’s own secret ambitions. This was just love turned to anger mixed with resentment and jealousy. That she could more than embrace. Just like when Jaime took her so forcefully near their father’s coffin, it was high time that Jaime stopped treating love as some sweet and sentimental ideal instead of the ruthless, primordial force of nature that it was. Love could hurt as easily as it healed. That was just the way that love behaved. Yes, love could be spiteful, jealous, hateful, and even mean-spirited at times. It certainly had been for her.

“There, happier? Ashlyh, give him a bath. Pamper him. Clean him up. When she’s done with you, we need to confer, Jaime. Our very own Small Council. Just you, me, and Ser Gregor Clegane. With Qyburn dead, our Small Council is very small indeed. Lord Tarly is gone, too. Euron Greyjoy is either dead or captured or so disgraced and useless that he might as well not return. He wouldn’t be welcome here. He’s unlikely to even be welcome back home in the Iron Islands, not after losing the bulk of the Iron Fleet to Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. We’ll talk later.