Chapter 24: Riots and Shame

Cersei's POV:

The scents of the city made Cersei's stomach churn as she observed the clamoring and complaints of the hungry masses outside the castle gates. They pounded on the gates, demanding to be fed, unaware that even the noble residents within were starving. Cersei scowled as she watched them. Did they not realize that the food supply was dwindling rapidly? She had grown weary of their misery.

Turning her attention away from the disheveled crowd, Cersei's gaze settled on a plate of duck, fried to a golden crisp, with a side of boiled potatoes. The sight of the duck had once been mouthwatering, but as she sipped her wine and began to eat, the duck's skin had grown soggy and unappetizing.

"I couldn't possibly eat this," Cersei muttered in disgust, looking over at the serving girl. The girl's eyes were downcast, but Cersei could sense the hunger in them. Her once-plump figure had wasted away, and her appearance had diminished.

"Disgusting gutter rat," Cersei thought, her irritation growing. She didn't know how this girl had managed to secure a job at the palace, but once the Ironborn threat was dealt with and more food arrived, Cersei intended to have her dismissed. "Child, throw this food away. The duck is soggy. Tell them to bring some figs to the Small Council chamber. It's about time I go to my meeting."

A faint smile touched Cersei's lips as she anticipated the upcoming council meeting. Today, she would finally learn about Lord Redwyne's fate, whether he was dead or if he had convinced the Northern lords to bend the knee. Either way, she intended to present the information to the council, reaffirming her position as the only one fit to lead.

"Your Grace, people are starving. To waste such a duck would be shameful," the serving girl ventured timidly.

Cersei snapped her head up, her gaze icy as she fixed it on the girl. Venom and disdain dripped from her voice as annoyance simmered within her. She could sense the girl's animosity towards her. She didn't need to look into her eyes or read her body language; the hatred was apparent in her voice. Hunger had made the girl bold, eroding her patience.

"No, it's in her voice. When one is starving, they forget all patience. They become emboldened by their rage," Cersei thought. But she simply rolled her eyes and responded dismissively, "Then eat it. I should get going, but I want those figs before the end of my meeting."

Cersei watched the relief wash over the girl's face as she rolled her eyes in return. "The lion doesn't concern itself with the sheep," Cersei mused to herself. But she knew that the sheep might soon overrun the lions if nothing was done.

She rose from her chair carefully and made her way down the hall, the soft thuds of her slippers echoing in her ears. A sense of ease washed over her as she returned to her chambers. This was where she belonged—in a position of power, not waiting on her father or Tyrion, not trembling in fear of Stannis breaching the gates and ending their lives. The War of the Five Kings was over, and she was the last unharmed Lannister standing.

"The North has White Harbor for their naval force, but if I can take that away, they are finished," Cersei contemplated. "They would have to march here, and I would pick them off one by one until there's nothing left."

A faint smile played on her lips as she pushed the door open to reveal the remnants of her council. Kevan glared at her with hatred in his eyes, seemingly hoping that she wouldn't show up for her meeting. Jaime, on the other hand, leaned back in his seat with an annoyed expression well hidden behind a soft smile. Tommen, at the moment, appeared to shrink from her gaze.

"He's only 15 years old and he is being consulted on matters of war," Cersei mused. "I don't like it, but maybe if I had done the same with Joffrey, he might not have made all those follies that led to the Northern rebellion and his death."

What surprised Cersei was that Tommen seemed to hang on Jaime's every word, while with her, he could barely look her in the eye. "I am his mother; it's my words he should hang on," Cersei thought with a hint of resentment.

"We have received word from Dorne," her Master of Whispers began in a chilling tone. "They claim all is well and even had Myrcella write to tell us so. She talks about her love for the youngest prince and how much fun she has with their princess and heir to Dorne and hopes that we can visit soon. I don't know how much of this we can trust; they have been silent for days and have refused to open ports to all other traders."

Cersei's heart pounded with worry as she glanced at Jaime. His eyes held a superior look, almost as if he were saying "I told you so." She wished to strangle him, but she swallowed her rage and focused on the faded scrolls in her hands. The scent of mildew and wet earth filled her nose as she perused the contents.

"It's her handwriting, the little whore," Cersei thought as she read the message. "And her signature. But so what? I did the same when Robb rebelled, and just like the Young Wolf, the White Wolf will fall."

Cersei spoke in a cold voice, her words lashing out at every man seated at the table. "The Dragon Queen is coming, and when she does, she will seek to make allies with the Dornish. The last time a Targaryen girl rode her dragon to Dorne, the dragon and girl both died. She won't make her ancestor's mistake. But to be sure, before they cross the Narrow Sea, I want my daughter out of Dorne. Send spies. I want to know exactly where she is. Jaime, pick a small group of men that you think can go in and out of Dorne unnoticed, and I want those names by the end of the week."

Even as she said the words, Cersei could see the wheels turning behind Jaime's emerald eyes. They were jaded and cold, and she couldn't tell if he was thinking of a way to save their daughter or if he was considering their enemies.

"We have managed to create a few warships," Kevan interjected, "and with those and the ones Jaime brought back, we have a start. But if we want to defeat the Dragon Queen, we are going to need more ships. Before we can do that, we have to deal with the North and South. Highgarden is in open rebellion, Dorne has closed its borders, and the North has three dragons."

Cersei's voice was cold and steady as she watched Kevan nod firmly. He seemed ready to rise from his seat, but he remained, waiting to hear if there was more to say.

"The North sent me a raven this morning," Cersei announced, her fingers gripping the scroll with the stamp of a snarling direwolf. She broke the seal and unfurled the message, holding it out for the others to see. "This is from Lord Redwyne. Even as I write this, the supposed King in the North, Jon Snow, and his sister, Sansa Stark, are making plans to come to King's Landing to bend the knee. They agree to all the terms except for the dragons. The King in the North begs that they may live, even if it is as servants of the crown. They will be leaving Winterfell with me, traveling along the King's Road in a fortnight. I will send another raven when we start our way south."

The words tasted sweet in Cersei's mouth, and a grin played on her lips. She could see various looks of doubt from the council members, but it was Jaime who openly challenged her.

"He will march south with an army and his dragons," Jaime argued. "You can't seriously think that he is just going to give them up. For all you know, that was written under duress, and they aren't coming at all. Do you think that he would give up his life and three dragons for one fat lord?"

Cersei's anger flared at her brother's words, but before she could respond, the doors to the council chamber slammed open. A man in golden-colored armor and red and gold leather entered, gasping for breath. His eyes were hidden behind a helm, but his voice trembled with panic as he relayed urgent news.

"Your Grace, rioters have broken into the courtyard," he reported. "The guards are killing them in droves, but they keep coming. They are filling the area and trying to make their way to you and King Tommen. Please, all of you, take at least five guards and lock yourselves in your rooms. The City Watch and Lannister forces will handle it."

Cersei rushed to her feet, panic and worry surging through her. She was a bird trapped in a cage with a predator. Everything became a blur as she hastily retreated to her chambers. The city watch commander was occupied with the unruly peasants, and Cersei's guards were her only protection.

"I'm heading to bed. Make sure no one gets in," she instructed her guards. She entered her room and poured herself a glass of sweet Dornish red wine, watching the chaos unfolding below her window. People, reduced to skin and bones, filled the courtyard, their desperate cries echoing through the air.

As the sun began to rise, Cersei could see the flashes of red and gold amidst the sea of brown as the guards fought off the rioters. But what startled her most was the sight of men in black robes with seven-pointed stars on their foreheads slipping into the castle, unnoticed.

"The Sparrows," Cersei realized. "They initiated this riot as a cover." She didn't know their intentions, nor did she care. She was tired of it all. With a heavy sigh, she lay down on her bed, wine in hand, and stared blankly through the window until sleep enveloped her, and the darkness of dreams took her away.

Cersei woke to the scent of mold and dampness, her surroundings cloaked in darkness. Slowly, she opened her eyes, initially greeted by a void that seemed endless. For a brief moment, she wondered if she had gone blind. But gradually, her vision adjusted, and she realized that she was in some sort of cell.

The cold, wet bricks beneath her made her shiver uncontrollably, and she glanced down at herself, finding that she was dressed in nothing but her small clothes. The frigid air cut through her, and she pulled her knees close to her chest in a futile attempt to keep warm. The cell contained nothing more than a chamber pot and a pile of straw, brown from overuse.

Cersei's rage burned brighter than ever as she realized she had been imprisoned. "Traitors," she seethed inwardly, her thoughts racing. "My guards must have turned on me. There's no way a few untrained fools with maces could have captured me."

Her fury served as a beacon, chasing away the confusion and cold that had settled in her bones. Cersei would use her anger as her weapon. As the sun began to rise, casting pools of golden light on the chamber floor, Cersei heard the metallic door open, and an old man with a leathery face and wispy white hair entered.

He wore a devious grin on his face, his eyes cold and hateful. His voice held a sick, almost fatherly, and pious tone as he spoke, "Would you like to confess?"

Cersei glared at him with undisguised loathing. She wished she had claws to rip those beady eyes from his face. Instead, she gathered saliva in her mouth, forming the biggest loogie she could muster, and spat it at him. The phlegm hit his face, eliciting a look of disgust.

"Fuck you," Cersei hissed, her defiance unwavering. She shivered violently in the cold, her teeth chattering.

The man simply wiped the spittle off his face with the hem of his robes, an infuriatingly smug look on his face. "Very well then, Septa, she is yours."