Game Of Thrones : As Tommen Baratheon

Though Cersei was most definitely a Lannister, at that very moment, one could not be blamed for believing her to be a true Baratheon.

Ours is the Fury, indeed.

"Out! All of you, out!" The doors shut behind the servants as they nervously rushed away from their wrathful Queen, not wishing to attract her ire. Left in the room with me was Jaime, who was the Kingsguard accompanying me for the day. I swiftly compelled his silence, aware that this conversation was a long time coming. Cersei levelled her head in my direction, "Is it true?! Did you put that wretched dwarf on the Small Council?"

I frowned, still putting up an innocent act, "You mean Uncle Tyrion?" She nodded, "Of course I did."

"He killed your brother!" she raged. "And you would give him a seat on the Small Council!?"

I shook my head, "Not according to the gods, if the results of the trial by combat are anything to go by."

Cersei scoffed at me, "The Gods! Pox on the Gods. Just because one man was more lucky in combat than another does not prove anything."

I quirked an eyebrow, "Somehow, I don't think you would say the same thing if Ser Gregor had won that bout."

Cersei's eyes looked into mine as she purposefully softened her expression, lowering herself so that she was at the same eye-level as me, her skirts pooling on the floor as she crouched, "I know you love your Uncle, Sweetling, but he killed your brother. That vile, treacherous little Imp is not to be trusted."

I nodded, "And I would agree with you. Had he killed my brother, then of course he could not be trusted." It was my turn to look into Cersei's eyes, "As it is, he did not kill Joffrey, and so he can be trusted."

The same ugly snarl appeared on her face, and she stood, her fingernails grazing my cheek as she pulled away, though her tone became sickly sweet, "Oh, is that so? And pray tell, then who did kill my son?"

I smiled, "Why, I thought it obvious? Do you really not know?"

She seemed frustrated with my defiance, "Who?"

"Littlefinger, of course."

She shook her head, "You can't know that. I was there, sweetling, when the Imp made his threats. Threats against you, against Joffrey, all for that... for that whore. He threatened his family for a whore. How can you trust such a man?"

"Easily, when he is family. And it is hardly as if Joffrey was much better, really. Not with the way he treated Sansa and behaved like a tyrant. Frankly, even if Tyrion did kill him, I still would have pardon-"

She slapped me. Hard, across the face, tears stinging her eyes. She did it again. And again, "He was your brother! Your brother!"

I let any hint of mirth slip off my face entirely, "No, he wasn't. He was your firstborn, I'll grant. Related to me by blood, to be sure, but he was no brother of mine and nor was I any little brother of his. Brothers are supposed to care, to protect each other. He hurt me, abused me whilst you turned a blind eye. Frankly, I'm glad he's dead, and I'd wager most of the rest of the realm is too."

She blinked in realisation, looking at me with a blank stare. Soon, she snapped out of it and shook her head, "I... you're wrong. Tyrion isn't trustworthy. He'll hurt you, sweetling. Betray you."

"No, he won't," I insisted.

"You can't know that."

I did my best to feign discomfort, "I can."

She looked at me with scorn emerging once again into her features at my obstinance, "Oh? And how is that?"

Excellent, she had sprung my trap card. I considered sending Jaime away, but on the off chance that the two got together later, it wasn't a risk I could afford to take. If this particular manipulation was going to work, I would have to convince both twins, not just Cersei. I leaned back in my chair and sighed, feigning a world-weariness that I only partially possessed, "Because... because of my dreams."

Jaime, who had till now been silent, had a concerned look on his face, "Dreams, Your Grace?"

"More like visions, to be honest. I've had them since I was young, and I didn't know what to make of them, and yet, everything I saw, it all came true. Bran falling, or rather being pushed, from the tower, Ned's execution, Tyrion's capture and subsequent escape."

Cersei looked at me as though I was mad, and scoffed. I looked at Cersei, and I decided to take a bit of a gamble, looking at Jaime instead, "Burn them all. Do your remember that, Uncle? I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors."

Jaime paled, his mouth agape, unable to understand what he was hearing, "But... how? Nobody alive knows what he said to me. Not those words, at least. How..."

Cersei sighted Jaime's shock, "Jaime?"

I turned to look at Cersei instead, "Gold shall be their crowns and gold shall be their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands around your pale white throat and choke the life from you." Now it was Cersei's turn to pale, though she stayed silent, "For all these years, you placed more faith in the words of a mad witch than those of your own family, and in doing so, you became your own worst enemy. Not to mention, Tyrion wasn't the only valonqar at that wedding, was he?"

She reared back at my words, and shook her head in denial, "No... It can't be... Not you..."

I was eager to put any silly notions she may be having to bed, "You can relax. I didn't kill Joffrey, for accursed is the kinslayer. I just didn't... remember, that he would die till it was too late." She shot me a suspicious look, "As a babe, I have seen the Dance of the Dragons, the age of Heroes, the coming of the Andals.

I have lived a thousand years in my sleep, and I have seen thousands of Kings. Joffrey's reign made the reign of the Mad King look like that of Jaehaerys the Conciliator." I feigned a shudder, "The things he would do... they do not bear speaking. And with the image of Westeros ablaze in my mind, of Dragons in the skies once more, of blood filling the rivers instead of water, of a winter that never ends, can you honestly blame me for letting a measly poisoning slip my mind?"

Cersei gathered herself back up together, and looked at me with damp, conflicted eyes, conveying the pity, concern and anger she felt towards me in that moment. Making a snap decision, she placed her hand back on my cheek, "Why didn't you tell me? About these dreams?"

I gently freed myself from her grasp, "You would have thought me mad. And, in truth, till relatively recently I thought the dreams to be some product of a twisted imagination, not actual prescience. I mean, what child wants to believe that his own Uncle is his father?" Cersei flinched and Jaime shot me a look, but neither of them made any attempt to deny it.

"I was content to sit in the corner of the Red Keep playing with Myrcella. As it is, I must now sit in that blasted metal chair, and it falls to me to face the crises that will come. If I'm to have any hope of success, I will need all the help I can get, and Tyrion is a key part of that."

"And these same dreams tell you Tyrion is innocent?" I nodded, and realisation flashed across her face. Cersei looked at me through narrowed eyes, "Myrcella's wedding announcement, the Tyrell ships with their gold. Those were no ordinary attempts to curry favour, were they?"

I looked around, listening for the patter of little feet, only to find silence. That wasn't to say that Varys wasn't listening, but given the sudden nature of this encounter, I could only hope. I looked at her with a smile on my face, "No, they were not. If we are to survive, we need both the Reach and Dorne on our side, and Tyrion's trial presented the perfect opportunity needed to secure that loyalty. The Lannister armies may be strong, but alone they are no match for what's coming. We will need our allies, if we are to survive." I shrugged, "The Mountain was a small price to pay for that."

Jaime looked at me with a curious look on his face, "And what is coming, Your Grace?"

"War is coming, Uncle. War. What you have fought, what you have experienced... it is nothing compared to what lurks around the horizon. Nothing, you hear me? Denys dreamed of the Doom of Old Valyria, and I dream of the Doom of Westeros." I looked out the window, speaking in a low, desperate whisper, the two of them listening with rapt attention, "Sometimes... sometimes the urge strikes me, to give up. To climb to the tallest tower in the keep, open the window, and to just... fly, like Bran did."

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