Chapter 27.

When Varys informed the Small Council that Cersei was trading lands and titles in order to gain the services of mercenaries, everyone expected Tywin to seethe with cold fury.

However, while it was true that Tywin was both an elitist and a snob, he was a specifically narrow-focused one. If Cersei had dared to give away so much as a square foot of the Westerlands away to a foreign soldier, he would have set sail across the Narrow Sea and personally dragged his daughter back by her hair.

But, the Stormlands? That region meant little to him in value and even less in sentiment. This was a price that he was more than willing to pay.

Furthermore, as he pointed out to the others, both Stannis and Renly had drawn heavily upon the Nobles of the Stormlands during their respective rebellions. Many lands and castles were currently vacant and useful bargaining chips.

"The remaining Stormland Nobles will complain about these up-jumped mercenaries in their midst," said Mace Tyrell.

"Let them. And, if they persist, they can be reminded that it is a light punishment for their recent treason. Far worse measures can still be meted out."

Tywin stood and said, "For once, my daughter's ambitions mesh well with the Crown's plans." Pausing for a moment, he added, "Follow me", and walked out the door.

With various degrees of speed and curiosity, the rest of them got up and moved after him.

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The banners and battlements were still hung with black, reflecting the news of Ser Jaime's death which had arrived the previous week.

Outwardly, to most people, Tywin seemed unchanged. But, to Olenna's experienced eye, it had taken a great toll on him.

For once, Tywin's habitual grimness was not from impatience at the fools that surrounded him, but from a genuine weariness of the soul.

Daenerys needs to take care when she meets Tywin in battle, Olenna thought as she slowly made her way down to the courtyard. He has been wounded grieviously and a wounded lion is the most dangerous kind.

On the bright side, she reflected, Tywin cut an impressive figure when dressed all in black. Yet another reason that she should have murdered Cersei years ago.

Luckily, Tommen and Margaery were out of the city at the moment. Officially, they were visiting friends in the country. Realistically, they were making sure that the escape routes were clear and that the people who manned them were loyal.

As an added benefit, the King was spared the awkwardness of mourning an uncle rumored to be his father.

When she finally made it down, Olenna recognized Qyburn, one of Tywin's pets.

Despite her own background in poison and death, the Queen of Thorns had to repress a shudder when she regarded the old man.

Qyburn was the complete opposite of the Mountain, as slight as the other was huge, as serene as the other was violent. But, underneath the skin, both were monsters.

At the moment, the former Maester was beaming with the pride of a father as he stood next to what looked like an out sized crossbow.

"This Scorpion", Tywin lectured, "has been constructed with the finest of materials and craftsmanship." He nodded towards the other end of the courtyard. "Observe."

Taking his cue, Qyburn stepped behind the weapon and pulled the release.

A massive bolt was launched at a shield placed on a wooden stake thirty paces away. With a splintering crunch, it pierced both iron and wood and only stopped when it hit the stone wall behind it.

"This only one of a dozen that have been made", Tywin said. "With Prince Oberyn as one of her chief advisors, it is most likely that her forces will make landfall in Dorne. Cersei will arrive in the Stormlands and the two armies will clash somewhere in the Dornish Marches.

"We will send the Scorpions and our own forces to join Cersei's before that battle begins."

What was left unsaid was: "Hopefully, that will be enough. Even if the Scorpions kill the Dragons, there is still the Dornish and the Dothraki to contend with."

Olenna repressed another shudder of unease. But, this was more in fear of what was to come rather than what she saw before her.

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Thousands of miles to the North, in an odd reversal of events, Jon Snow was drunk and Tyrion was sober.

"He feels cheated", Arya explained, when word reached the rest of them about this unusual behavior. "He was the one who was supposed to kill the Night King. I felt the same way when I heard that Joffrey had died."

Somebody had to talk some sense into him. After several pointed looks in his direction, Tyrion sighed, grumbled underneath his breath and went to see Jon.

Even inebriated, Jon's wits hadn't completely vanished. As soon as Tyrion walked in, he gave a morose chuckle. "First, Arya warns me about risking my life for revenge. Now, you're here to chide me about my drinking.

"Very clever, Bastard. Obviously, I'm a good influence on you." Tyrion got a mug and poured himself a good measure of wine from the pitcher.

Continuing to speak as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Tyrion continued, "Bran says that with the Night King dead, no more White Walkers can be created. However, there are still some left and they do still have the ability to bring back the dead as Wights."

"We have made a strong beginning, but it is only the beginning. To eradicate the Others entirely will take years or even decades of hard work."

"And it falls to me to do it?", Jon asked with a bleak bitterness. "Haven't I done enough?"

"It isn't just the White Walkers. With the Wall down, there's nothing separating the Northerners and the Wildings. We need somebody who is trusted enough by both to lead a force combining those two as well as what's left of the Night's Watch."

Tyrion looked Jon in the eye as he spoke, pinning his gaze and refusing to let the taller man look away. "Then, once the enemy is exterminated, somebody will have to forge a lasting peace. An even more difficult task than facing the Undead."

Jon closed his eyes, the self-pity evaporating away and leaving nothing but exhaustion in it's wake.

He heard Tyrion gently say, "It is a terrible burden, isn't it?"

Jon's eyes opened and he gave Tyrion a surprised look. In response, Tyrion wryly continued, "No, I haven't developed magic powers like Bran. Your face has always been quite easy to read."

They both drank wine in a companionable silence for a few moments.

Then Tyrion suddenly said, "For the first few weeks, I will help with organizing your forces and making certain that you are well supplied. So, not all of it will be done alone. Then, I'll be taking my men south. To face my father and kill him."

"Gods." By now, everybody knew what Tywin had done to Tyrion. Even so, the taboo against Kinslaying made such statements shocking.

"Yes, I know." The Little Lion looked into his wine as if he could find the answers to life in it. Never had before, but that didn't stop him from eternally pouring himself a glass and trying. "I've been thinking of it for decades. That was the first time that I've said it aloud and truly meant it."

Tyrion had been brought up with a Noble's name and privileges and damned little else from his family. Jon had been brought up without the name and with a Father's love.

"It could be worse." was a overused cliche. However, looking at his friend, Jon felt less sorry for himself and less weary about his tasks.

Of course, it's not the way of men to say such things. Jon simply gave Tyrion a nod, drained his mug and headed for the door. "Tomorrow, when my head is clearer, I'll come to you for the plans on cleaning the last of the Others."

Tryion raised his mug in salute. "Until then, Bastard."

"Until then, Dwarf."

########################################################################

For the last few years, the Giant had been cultivating a reputation of being magical at making money.

In a not-so rare moment of drunken candor, Tyrion told Pod that, like many other reputations, it was all somewhat exaggerated. Yes, about a third of his schemes were the result of clever inspiration and hard work. Or, hard inspiration and clever work.

Another third of the schemes failed and were quickly brushed aside. It was amazing what failures could be ignored if the successes were big enough.

And, the final third was victory by pure and simple luck. Success, after all, had it's own type of momentum.

In the aftermath of the Battle (People were calling it "The Battle of the Night King's Final Death". Personally, Tyrion thought it sounded too wordy), Thoros brought him a message from the Red Temple in Myr.

Whether by mystical visions or mundane messengers, they knew of the triumph at the Wall and of the fire that was brought forth by Melisandre's sacrifice. The Church was willing to pay premium prices for pieces of the Wall for later use in their ceremonies.

(Thoros and Tyrion shared a laugh over the notion that a fire-worshiping church was going to use water as holy relics.)

Even with the Wall falling apart, there were uncountable amounts of it left. Tyrion charged ten times what he normally charged for ice and the Red Church still purchased tons of it.

Word spread and soon other priests, scholars and magicians showed up to buy as well. A thousands-years old Wall of ice, built with magic and crumbling from a bolt of enchanted lightning? The site of a God's Miracles and Wars against Monsters? Who knew what kind of power was still imbued within it.

Privately, Tyrion just shrugged and admitted that maybe the ice did still have something still in it. Or not. Who, in all the Hells, could tell?

Warlocks of Quarth, Maegi of Essos, Bearded Priests of Norvos, The Graces of Ghiscari were among those who arrived willing to buy.

Even the Maesters sent a representative. Naturally, they expected to get the ice for free. Tyrion's response was to tell him to piss off. He'd give them a discount and they could count themselves lucky that they got that much.

The wealth that was created was a great help towards rebuilding villages that had been lost and providing for the widows and orphans of those men that fell in battle.

Yet again, Tyrion found himself being praised for his cleverness. Almost sheepishly, he told Sansa that all he did in this instance was to take the gold that was offered to him.

"There have been times when I've done my best and was cursed for it. Now, I do practically nothing and I'm blessed to the skies."

He added in a musing tone, "The Gods may be cunts. But, they damn sure have a sense of humor."

Because things are often lost or garbled in translation, by the time the ice (Now, melted into water) arrived in foreign lands, the legends surrounding it sometimes left out the parts involving inhuman warriors and the undead.

With the Wall's history stripped of it's darker aspects, new legends sprang up about the magic ice from a far away and fabled Kingdom and often became mixed up with the notion of creatures and humans being supernaturally reanimated.

The most popular and enduring one, especially in the far Northern parts of Essos, was of the ice's power giving life to a snowman. Every year, during the Winter Solstice, he would come back to dance and play with the children.

But, that's another story.

########################################################################

A month passed.

A nerve-wracking month, with the tension getting tighter with each passing moment.

Cersei negotiated and came to an agreement with the Golden Company. One of the largest of the mercenary bands in existence, they were famous for never breaking a contract.

One hundred years previously, the Company was founded by Westerosi exiles after the first failed Blackfyre Rebellion. Since then, although they welcomed experienced fighters from all nations, the core of their forces were of nobles banned from the Seven Kingdoms or of their descendants.

The fact that they were finally getting lands and titles back solidified the contract with lightning speed. Cersei, to her credit, handled the business of payment quite well and left the day to day affairs of preparing for war to the Company's leaders.

She knew that this was her last gamble. It would either be death or glory and the Queen kept both her drinking and her bitchiness on a firm leash.

To the South, Daenerys learned of her new rival, but summarily dismissed her from her mind. Man or woman, sell-sword or bannerman, they would all surrender or burn.

The Breaker of Chains did take note of and emulated Cersei's plans in one regard. In exchange for free passage for her men, she promised sea captains that they would be granted shipping rights and titles to lands with ports and docks attached. It saved some coin at a time when they needed every last one.

Meanwhile, the Crown's forces headed for the Dornish Marches. Officially, Mace Tyrell was Commander. However, Lord Randyll Tarly was present to make certain that things ran smoothly.

And so, the stage was set.

########################################################################

The meeting of Cersei's forces and of the Crown's was handled with minimal difficulty.

Mace was his usual fawning, eager-to-please self and both Cersei and Randyll were smart enough to keep communications (And thus, arguments) to the barest fraction.

Clad in the black of mourning, the last particles of kindness within Cersei died along with Jaime. What was left was pure ice and cruelty. When she was not planning the agonizing fate of the Targaryen Bitch, she was plotting how to settle other, more personal scores as well.

Oddly, Lord Randyll approved of this attitude. They were going to need every ounce of viciousness in order to win the upcoming battle. Lord Mace, as usual, remained oblivious.

One thing that did distract the former Queen were the Scorpions. Pleased with Qyburn's work as always, she decided he would be one of the few that would be spared.

Perhaps this was a good omen. The Mother of Scorpions defeating the Mother of Dragons.

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Upon arriving in Dorne, Oberyn rode ahead alone and met with his brother, Doran.

Speaking quietly, but firmly, Oberyn told Doran that he was no longer the Head of House Martell. Instead, he, Tyrstane, Myrcella and some loyal bodyguards were to be sent to Tyrion's Palace in Braavos.

"If Queen Daenerys wins the war and takes the Iron Throne, I shall be the new Ruler of Dorne and I shall see that you are welcomed back." Oberyn relaxed on a chair, seemingly unconcerned with the glares of the heavily-armed guards and his own unarmed status. "In the meantime, you will be safe and well-taken care of. Unlike the rest of the Lannisters, the Little Lion can be trusted to behave nobly."

Doran thought this over and looked his brother in the eye. "And, if she does not win the War?"

Oberyn shrugged. "Tommen remains King, you can return and I shall be exiled or dead. Either way, the Iron Throne has a scapegoat and the House of Martell rules Dorne."

As his brother spoke, Doran noticed other Palace Guards arriving.

These newcomers, some of whom had served him for decades, carried nets and clubs and outnumbered the men already present by more than three to one.

His brother may have arrived alone, but he did not enter the palace alone.

Trying to accept the coup with a certain amount of dignity, Doran asked with brittle calm, "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since the day when you refused to avenge Elia's death.", Oberyn replied, the lightness of his tone belied by the glitter in his eyes. "If it's any consolation, if I was planning your assassination, none of these men would have agreed to help me."

Knowing it was futile, Doran nevertheless tried to appeal for peace one last time. "Brother, you have seen war. You know the ugliness that will result from this choice."

"You assume that we have a choice." Oberyn had an quiet, almost introspective look on his face as spoke. "Destiny is a word overused by poets and tale spinners. But, when you meet Daenerys and her Dragons, you can feel the weight of it and there is no better word to use."

He stood and said, "And, when the wind of change blows, some people build walls, others build windmills."

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Despite some initial flare-ups, the Dothraki and the Dornish took to each other like long-lost family.

The Dornish admired the Dothraki for thier horsemanship, the Dothraki enjoyed the Dornish and thier unbridled sensuality and both bonded over thier hot-blooded love of fighting.

By the time that they came into view of the Tyrell Army and the Golden Company, the Horselords and the Desert People were as close as if they had been working together for years.

During his time in Essos, Oberyn had served in the mercenary company, The Second Sons. He had fought both against and alongside the Golden Company several times and the letter that he sent over to set up a parley had the familiar tone of an old friend.

(Additionally, there was a private note for Cersei that told her about Myrcella being taken to Braavos for safety. The news left her both bitter and relieved.)

Everybody arrived at the appointed time and place, but nobody bothered to dismount from their horses. Some of the parleys before battle were a genuine chance to negotiate peace. Others were simply a formality, going through the motions before the killing started.

Most of the people present were smart enough to see that this was a case of the latter and didn't bother to say much more beyond the opening introductions.

Except for Lord Mace.

Seeing himself as the oldest and therefore wisest and most experienced warrior present, he immediately assumed a paternalistic attitude towards Daenerys and launched into peaceful alternatives to the upcoming battle.

The Breaker of Chains let him babble for a few minutes before firmly cutting him off. "No. I am here to claim the Iron Throne, for it is mine by birthright. If you do not stand aside, I will take the Throne the same way that my ancestors did. By conquest, fire and blood."

The dead silence that followed that statement was finally broke by Cersei.

"My son is King. Lord Mace's daughter sits at his side on the Throne you want.", Cersei said in an even tone.

"Your Son and Margaery will be given the chance to live. If they do not contest my claim, they will be allowed to abdicate and-". Daenerys broke off because the other Queen was shaking her head in denial.

"No, you won't."

When Cersei first laid eyes on the Mother of Dragons, she had become instantly jealous and furious. In the small corner of her soul where she buried things that she did not want to admit, the Dowager Queen knew that Daenerys was more beautiful than she was.

But now, amazingly, Cersei didn't seem to be mad, bitchy or arrogant as she spoke. Instead, there was a quiet finality in her voice, as if she was speaking of something as inevitable as the rising of the sun or the passage of the seasons.

"To have possessed the Iron Throne once before is too strong a claim to be ignored. Even if Tommen chooses not to, there will be others around him who will pursue that claim for their own plans."

She paused to let that sink in and continued, "You may not wish to kill Tommen or Margaery. But, there will be others that serve you that will have it done, either now or later, to end those plans before they begin."

Daenerys didn't say anything in response.

What could she say? She had ruled other lands and peoples and had seen the way that power attracted intrigue. The Iron Throne would be no different.

She had seen the obsession that her brother had. She herself was returning to claim Kingdoms that she had never even seen before on the basis that her ancestors had been on the Iron Throne.

After a pause, Daenerys simply nodded at her enemies, said "Until the battle, then." and rode back to her camp with her men following after.

########################################################################

The plan for the Westerosi was simple.

The Golden Company would take the center and act as the vanguard, with their War Elephants being the center of the center.

At intervals, right behind the War Elephants, were the carts bearing the Scorpions. Behind those were the rest of the combined Horse Cavalry.

Used to fighting Dothraki, The Golden Company knew that the Bloodriders had no chance in a frontal assault against the Elephants, leaving their enemies with two options.

The Dothraki, also having the benefit of experience, knew that the huge beasts's biggest weakness was their speed. They could try to flank them, which would be stopped by the Westerosi Cavalry. Or, at the very least, slowed down enough for the elephants to catch them and crush them.

Or, the Dragons would try to swoop in and blast the Elephants with fire, which would bring them in reach of the Scorpions. Their range was greater than the creatures's fiery breath and they could pick them off before they could get in close enough to do damage.

Hopefully.

The choice of battlefields was a mixed blessing. Low hills on one side, a medium-sized river and it's branches bordering the other side and part of the rear. It gave the enemy less opportunities to flank them and gave them less options for retreat.

Clad in a dress that mimicked her Father's armor with liberal use of gold lions and chain mail, Cersei sat astride a horse and watched (Along with her bodyguards) the preparation for battle with a satisfied air.

More open in her hatred of Tyrion, she was also more open about admitting his cleverness. She remembered how he used a Faceless Man to infiltrate the Frey's castle and she worried that Prince Doran would use a similar spy to sabotage the Scorpions.

Doubly-guarded and checked every hour, every single one was ready for battle. The men assigned to them had trained relentlessly and were eager to earn the title of "Dragonslayer". Not to mention, the more easily spendable mountains of gold that they promised on condition of success.

For once and for all, Cersei was going show them all. Her father, brother, all of the younger bitches. Everyone who belittled her for having no worth beyond her sex and her beauty.

The others tried to get her to wait in a place of safety well behind the lines, but she scorned that notion. If Daenerys was going to be close to the battle, then so was she.

Speaking of the Stormborn, Cersei saw, in the distance behind the waiting Dothraki, three massive winged creatures take off from the ground and slowly approach.

This was it, she thought with a hard knot of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.. I've left nothing to chance. For once, it shall all go according to the plan.

And then, it didn't go according to the plan.

Instead of heading for the Westerosi battle line, the three creatures banked steeply upwards until they were a speck in the sky.

Cersei watched this with puzzlement and not a little fear.

What are they doing?

########################################################################

Keeping that many Scorpions a secret was impossible and Jorah had, weeks previously, found out about their existence from an old associate serving in the Golden Company.

(It would have pleased Cersei to know that she was right and Oberyn's first instinct was sabotage.

The spy that he hired to do the job took one look at all the extra guards around the weapons, shrugged and fucked off with the money that he'd already been paid.)

These new weapons worried Daenerys. Her dragons were not all-powerful and she feared for their sake as much as her own. Like Cersei, she was not entirely certain that the Scorpions had greater range than her children's flames. But, she was not willing to gamble on the possibility.

She spoke with her advisers on the matter and they all began chewing over new possible tactics.

"We need to think of weapons other than fire," Daenerys said. "My enemies expect that as my first and strongest weapon and they are planning accordingly. We need to keep them off balance."

"It is a pity that they cannot carry archers," Jorah said. "From five hundred yards up, you could pick off knights and there would be no way of shooting back. In such a fashion, even five or six men could change the tide of battle."

Oberyn had a trace of a smile on his face, as Mormont's words sparked an idea in him. "They may not carry archers," he mused. "But, they can carry other things."

########################################################################

The three dragons, in a steady spiral, climbed to a thousand feet or so. The ascent was slow because the beasts were careful to keep themselves relatively level and not tip the baskets that they had on their backs.

Traditionally able to carry a full grown and fully armored warrior, Daenerys quickly determined that each dragon was capable of having between four or five hundred pounds on it's back during flight. Especially since the baskets and harnesses that were created distributed the weight evenly.

The baskets were filled with spear heads, taken off of the wooden shafts, filled with about a pound of lead and weighted so that they fell point first.

And, sharpened to an absolute razor edge.

No matter how times that Daenerys rode Drogon, she still felt the same blend of exhilaration and a bit of fear.

Now, the fear was heightened, as this was a tricky maneuver that she only done a few times before.

On her command, Drogon tilted until they were practically sideways and the spearheads spilled out in a glittering arc.

########################################################################

Down below, one of the warriors, Gilbert Mannering, sat on his elephant and idly watched the dragons overhead while waiting for the battle to start.

The great-grandson of an exiled Knight from the Westerlands, he wasn't even certain that he wanted to become a Lord in a land that he'd never seen before.

Still, he could always just sell the land and go back to being a mercenary. And then, he'd-

His thoughts were interrupted by a spearhead plunging into his upper back, tearing through his guts and exiting out his belly in a explosion of gore.

The velocity of the spearpoint was such that, even though flesh and armor, it still went halfway through the thick leather saddle before stopping.

The elephant might have noticed the impact on it's back, but, a split-second later, it took a similar spearpoint in the base of it's skull, killing the great beast instantly.

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Cersei stared wordlessly at the carnage on the battlefield.

She wanted to scream and rant and rave and throw things and have people whipped to death for this failure.

However, at the moment, her fury was so great that it choked her and kept her from making a single sound.

Suddenly, one of her bodyguards cried out, "Look!".

Cersei's eyes snapped up to where he was pointing.

Another one of the dragons above was starting to tilt on it's side.

########################################################################

Up above, Daenerys grinned savagely.

She knew that the men down below were getting slaughtered and later, she would regret the deaths of so many.

But, for now, there was only the joy of battle and the satisfaction of a plan coming off perfectly. Despite the unusual task that they'd been given, her children were doing their part splendidly.

Now, the others just had to do their part.

########################################################################

A second deadly hail fell.

Then, minutes later, a third.

The first attack had been murderous because it was unexpected and the targets on the ground were sitting ducks.

In the following attacks, the spearpoints hit a lot less targets. More were actually killed when the elephants panicked, scattered and trampled everything around them.

At least a half-dozen of the Scorpions survived both events. If the men regrouped, they could still salvage this.

Indeed, Cersei could see several Commanders moving against the tide of men surging away from the center. Striking and cursing at their underlings, they tried to get everyone back into order before it was too late.

But, a thunder of hooves and a deafening chorus of howls signaled the charge of the Dothraki. Even to Cersei's inexperienced eye, it was obvious that they would reach their forces before the general formation could be restored.

They would complete the task of destroying the Scorpions. After that, the Westerosi forces would be dead meat for the dragons.

"M'Lady, we need to leave!"

Too numb to even be angry, Cersei just stared at what was unfolding before her. How could it all go so wrong, so quickly?

"Damn it, woman!"

Snapping out of her shock, Cersei looked at her head bodyguard.

"Unless you wish to be warming some Bloodrider's bed," he said, grimly, "You need to run."

Providing an example, he promptly turned his horse, put the spurs to him and was gone in a cloud of dust.

Feeling the first surges of dread within her, Cersei whipped her mare into a gallop and followed him down the hill.

########################################################################

The charge of the Dothraki had thrown the Westerosi formations into a complete mess. It wasn't quite a rout, but it would be one very soon.

Here and there, pockets of resistance still lasted where a company held it's position or a sub-officer tried to rally the men.

But then, one of the dragons would swoop in and blast them with fire. Those lucky enough to survive were then chopped to bits by the enemy.

Mace Tyrell wasn't trying to to make a stand. He had seen futility of fighting and had told Lord Tarly to get as many men out as possible in an orderly retreat. Then, he had proceeded to try to do the same.

However, the large clump of bodyguards around the Lord of Highgarden attracted the attention of Rhaegal, who dove in for an attack.

Mace saw the great beast approach and saw it's maw opening in preparation of spitting out flame.

With courage and a steady hand that would have astounded all of those who knew him at Court, Lord Tyrell pulled his sword and threw it directly at the dragon's face with all his might.

His effort was about useful as a raindrop in an ocean. Mace's sword was vaporized before it even reached halfway. Mace died in the same way less than a heartbeat later.

It was witnessed by both Dothraki and Dornish. For years afterwards, when past battles were spoken of around the campfires, Lord Mace Tyrell's name was remembered with respect.

########################################################################

While crossing the small river that formed the back border of the Westerosi Encampment, Cersei unmercifully whipped her horse to go faster.

She had not been completely trusting in her battle plan or the new weapons. At least, not to the point of forgoing an escape plan.

Once past the river, there were fresh horses waiting about a mile away. Then, it was a short trip to a nearby port and a ready ship. The enemy would be busy with the remnants of the battle and she could get away cleanly.

As usual with Cersei, it was a good plan, but the execution of it was botched. Her mare, due to the panic of it's rider and the ill treatment that it was receiving, chose to be difficult.

Although the river was not deep, it started to lose it's footing at the midpoint. With something that was halfway between a shrug and a toss, the horse relieved itself of it's shrieking burden and continued on alone.

Cersei knew how to swim and the current was not swift. But, her voluminous skirts tangled her legs and the gold on her dress weighted her down like lead.

And so, the river (known to the locals as "The Little Brother" from the way it branched off from the larger one) choked the life out of Queen Cersei Lannister.

########################################################################

With a jerk, Cersei came to her senses.

Dazed, she looked about her. Hours must have passed, because it was nighttime.

Her bodyguards must have found her. She was on a ship, surrounded by other soldiers.

Although, as Cersei looked closer at the men around her, she realized that their armor was unfamiliar.

And, what in all the Hells was all the damned drumming about?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arc of a single flaming arrow curving over the ship and into the bay.

As the green flames erupted, Cersei realized with horror where she was.

"Matthos, get down!"

To Cersei's left, a young man turned his head, puzzled.

Then, the whole world exploded. Fortunately, the flames never got Cersei. She died instantly from a broken neck when she was flung against a mast.

########################################################################

On it went. Sometimes she recognized the battles, mostly not.

And, always, she died.

The second battle, she took an arrow in the throat. The third, she remembered and raised her shield. And, then, took a spear in the belly.

It was only after the tenth (Or fifteenth. Or twentieth. They tended to blur together), that she survived long enough to make it back to her tent with a shoulder wound.

(She was assisted by her squire. Not knowing his name, she addressed him as "Boy". Noble arrogance was the one skill that Cersei had that applied to the situation and the squire accepted her orders without question.)

Lying on her pallet, Cersei passed a weary hand over her face and was startled by the rasp of her beard stubble. It almost made her forget her situation, as she rubbed her chin and heard the scrape.

A woman, one of the camp followers that were always found among armies, entered the tent. Somewhat pretty and heavily pregnant, she carried fresh water and clean strips of linen.

"I'm here to re-bandage your wound."

The first moment of peace that she'd had and it was being interrupted. "Leave, slut. I don't wish to be disturbed."

Uncowed, the camp follower frowned at her. "Woman, we need to clean that or it'll go bad on you. An infected wound's one of the worst ways to die."

Something about the impatient way that the other person called her "Woman" struck a familiar chord with her.

"Robert?", Cersei asked, incredulously.

"Aye." Robert Baratheon, stuck in a female body and currently about eight months pregnant, sat down heavily in a chair.

Cersei laughed. And, laughed. And, laughed some more. She wasn't sure how long she laughed, but it was the hardest that she ever had.

When she could finally catch her breath and speak, she said, "A fine judgement. Who is the father? Any one man in particular? Or, did you entertain fifty men at once, a copper per man?"

Unfazed by his former wife's insults, Robert shrugged his shoulders. "I've been spared that, thankfully. I usually start at about the fourth month of pregnancy."

"Fourth month?" Cersei snickered. "Do you get heartburn or constipation?"

"Both, bugger it all to Hell." Robert saw Cersei rise from her bed. "You need to lay back while I clean that wound."

"There are other things that need to be done first." Cersei grabbed Robert by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "It will be your first time using your mouth on a man's cock. Perhaps enthusiasm will make up for a lack of experience."

Robert bared his teeth at Cersei. "Woman! Enough of thi-"

"You're the woman!", Cersei spat. "Get on your knees and-"

Cersei had expected Robert to strike at her wound or try to knee her in the groin and was guarding those areas.

But, she was unprepared for a swift punch from Robert's left fist into the side of her windpipe. While she was gagging and had dropped her guard, Robert then punched her in her shoulder would.

The pain made her faint. When she came to, Robert was holding her sword in his hands. Despite his new form, the warrior in him shone through when he held a blade.

"It takes very little to crush a windpipe. One of the first lessons that I had in fighting was to always tuck your chin in." Robert pointed the sword at the bed in a clear order for Cersei to sit on it. "You're bigger and stronger. And, I've been training to fight since I was eight years old. Try that again and I'll split your skull down to your teeth."

Wordlessly, Cersei sat on the bed.

"Are you ready to listen?"

She nodded.

"Good." Robert sat down again and continued speaking. "You used the word, judgement. That's exactly where we are. We get punished for our sins. And, when we accept what we did, regret it and choose to never do it again, we can move past this place.

"You used women and threw them away to raise their bastards on their own." Cersei nodded. "A fitting lesson for you."

"Aye. And your constant scheming and lust for power is because you wanted to be a man. Because men are given swords and armor, ride to battle, win glory." Robert gave an ironic half-grin. "A fitting lesson for you."

Cersei wanted to snarl something back at him, but the throbbing ache in her shoulder kept her from forming a retort.

Instead, she asked, "How are you paying for your failures as a King?"

"I'm not. I suppose that my time as King was fairly well done." Off of Cersei's disbelieving look, Robert said, "It's true."

"We're judged on what we do, but also on what we choose not to do."

"War was what I was best at. I could have found more of them." Robert's eyes grew shadowed as he looked inward at what could have been. "I could have found an excuse to invade the Summer Isles. Or cross the Stepstones and into Essos. I could have forged an Empire."

"It would have solved a lot of problems. It would have given the Lords a common enemy to plunder. It would have gotten rid of a lot of second sons and first cousins, all plotting for power. Most importantly, I would have kept sharp as a blade, instead of becoming fat and useless.

Robert shook himself and came out of his reverie. "But, I know what battle is. I love it, but I'm not blind about it. It's a lot of slaughter. Your men, their men, both. Millions would die to make that dream real."

Cersei gave him a look of contempt. "A poor excuse for laziness. I would have ordered it to be done."

Standing out of his chair, Robert replied, "I know. That's one of the reasons that you're still fighting and dying."

Seeing that he was starting to leave, Cersei asked, "Where are you going?"

"We can help friends or family. We can try to ease the burden of those that we love and help them learn how to complete their punishments."

"That is why you are here?", Cersei asked, derisively. "To help me with my punishment?"

"No." Robert gave her a quiet and fathomless look of guilt and grief. "We both need to help Joffrey."

"He's not doing well. His head is still full of all the horsedung that you filled it with. He keeps insisting that he was King and that he could do whatever he wanted. But, I will keep trying to help him, even if it takes a thousand years."

Robert paused and added, "I was a poor father in life. I can be a better one in death."

And, without a backwards glance or a farewell, Robert walked out of the tent.

Cersei's wound ached, her throat ached and her body ached. More than anything else, she wanted to sleep.

Also, it occurred to her that, since this was a knight's tent, there was probably wine somewhere around. A bottle would be the finest thing in the world, at the moment.

"He was all I had once.", she said to Tyrion. "Before Myrcella was born, I used to spend hours looking at him. His wisps of hair, His tiny little hands and feet. He was such a jolly little fellow."

Slowly, but without hesitation or regret, Cersei got to her feet and left the tent to go see her son.

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Another long delay, another apology. But, at least I'll finish this before the show ends.

Some chapters are easier than others. This one, I had to chisel out a line at a time.

Frankly because it dealt with some of the characters that I don't really care about. Lord Mace, for example, is a bland doofus. But, he's never lacked for courage (Possibly because he doesn't have the imagination to be scared) and I tried to give him a decent ending.

And the Doctor from Deep Space Nine (Which is how I perpetually remember him) isn't half as interesting as the flamboyant Oberyn.

I know that people will be bored by the fact that Tyrion is (Yet again) making more money. But, I threw that in to show that success breeds success. After all, how many of Tywin's victories came from his reputation?