Cersei Lannister stood before the full-length mirror in her opulent chambers within Casterly Rock, her gaze fixed upon her own reflection. The room around her was the epitome of wealth and power, with every inch adorned in gold. The walls were lined with gilded tapestries, and a massive chandelier, encrusted with gems, hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow throughout the space. The chamber was vast, fitting for the lady of the Rock, and every corner screamed of the wealth and power of House Lannister.
She looked at herself in the mirror, her heart pounding with a mix of vanity and desire as she gazed upon her nude body. Light from the chandelier casted a warm, golden glow over her naked form, highlighting every curve and contour of her body. She marveled at the sight, her breath catching in her throat as she admired her own beauty, a beauty that had only ripened with age.
Her golden hair cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, shimmering like liquid gold in the soft light. Her emerald green eyes, sharp and piercing, met her own gaze in the mirror, reflecting the intensity of her self-admiration. Her skin was flawless, unmarred by time, a testament to her noble lineage, and her slender, graceful figure was as alluring as ever.
She turned slightly, admiring the curve of her hips, her hands traced the curves of her body, lingering on her large, full breasts. They were still firm and round, their weight a pleasing sensation in her palms. Her nipples hardened under her touch, aching for more as she teased them gently. She smiled, a wicked, satisfied curve of her lips, as she watched her own fingers pinch and roll the sensitive peaks, sending a shiver of pleasure through her.
Her hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her hips, which flared sensuously, leading to her shapely, rounded ass. She turned slightly, admiring the view from different angles, her heart swelling with pride at the sight of her own allure. She let her fingers trail down to the apex of her thighs, feeling the heat and wetness that had gathered there. A soft moan escaped her lips as she touched herself, her body responding eagerly to her own caress. She watched herself in the mirror, her eyes locked on the erotic sight of her own pleasure, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
Cersei reveled in the knowledge that, even after many years, she was still a vision of beauty and desire. Yes, she was the lioness of the Rock, and she would never allow anyone to forget it.
Her reverie was suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. It was one of her handmaidens, the Lefford girl. "My lady," the girl said timidly, "is it time for you to dress? Your father has summoned you to his solar."
Cersei though annoyed nodded curtly, and the Lefford girl quickly entered, followed by the rest of Cersei's entourage: the Marbrand girl, the Lydden girl, the Swyft girl, and one of her own Lannister cousins. They moved with practiced efficiency, gathering the pieces of her attire from where they had been laid out with care.
They brought forth a gown of red and gold, the colors of her house, made from the finest silk and embroidered with an intricate pattern of lions. The fabric shimmered in the light, each movement catching the eye, the gold threads woven through the red making it clear that this was no ordinary garment. It was a dress fit for the heir of Casterly Rock.
The handmaidens worked swiftly, lacing up the gown and fastening the golden clasps. Cersei felt the weight of the dress settle on her shoulders, the luxurious fabric clinging to her curves in just the right way. She turned back to the mirror, and a satisfied smile played on her lips. She looked every bit the lioness she believed herself to be—the true heir of the Rock, the rightful ruler.
'Yes,' she thought, as she regarded her reflection, it was she who was meant to inherit all this, not that creature her father had sired, nor her twin, who had betrayed her. She smiled at the thought of her own superiority, her lips curling upward.
With a final glance in the mirror, Cersei turned and swept out of the room, her handmaidens—the parasites, as she thought of them—scurrying to follow her as she made her way to her father's solar.
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Cersei arrived at her father's solar and paused before the large, ornately carved door. Her handmaidens, who had followed her so faithfully, stayed back as she commanded, and the guards, dressed in the Lannister crimson and gold, opened the heavy door at her nod.
She stepped into the solar, her eyes immediately drawn to the grand space that was so unmistakably Tywin Lannister's domain. The room was richly furnished, as one would expect from the Warden of the West, yet there was a coldness to it, an austerity that reflected Tywin's personality. The walls were lined with shelves of books, each one bound in leather, and the floor was covered in a thick, crimson carpet emblazoned with the Lannister lion. A large, imposing desk made of dark wood stood in the center of the room, papers meticulously arranged on its surface, with a great map of Westeros spread out as its centerpiece. The Lannister banner hung on the wall behind the desk, a constant reminder of the power and her family commanded.
Tywin himself stood by the tall, arched window near the desk, his gaze fixed on the lights of Lannisport in the distance. The golden lion of House Lannister, as fearsome as ever. His presence was overwhelming, he was a man who had bent the realm to his will more than once, and Cersei could feel the weight of his authority pressing down on her, as it always did when she was in his presence.
Her steps slowed as she neared him, her confidence faltering slightly. Tywin turned slightly, his cold, piercing gaze locking onto her as he spoke in that firm, unyielding voice she knew so well. "Sit."
Without a word, Cersei moved to the chair opposite his desk, sitting down with as much poise as she could muster. She watched as her father strode over to the sideboard, his movements precise and controlled, and poured two goblets of wine. He handed one to her, his gaze never leaving her face, and she accepted it, taking a small sip.
Tywin turned his back to her once more, walking to the window, his hands clasped behind him as he stared out at the city again. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, as Cersei waited for him to speak, her mind racing with the possibilities of why she had been summoned. Just as she was about to break the silence herself, Tywin's voice cut through the air, cold and deliberate.
"I want you to leave for the capital by the week's end," Tywin said, his voice calm but commanding. "You will represent our house until the tourney. I will follow in a month."
Cersei frowned, setting down her goblet. "Why must I leave so early, Father? Would it not be better for us to arrive together, in strength?"
Tywin turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "The Tyrells are already there."
Cersei's lip curled in disdain. "Those grasping roses. What do they hope to achieve?"
"They want Prince Aegon for their golden rose," Tywin replied, his tone dismissive, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Cersei's eyes narrowed in contempt. "Myrcella would make a better queen than some whore from Highgarden."
Tywin waved a hand, dismissing her words as quickly as they had left her lips. "Myrcella is too young. It is not her time."
Cersei bit back a retort, her nails digging into her palm. How easily he dismissed her daughter, her only daughter. She forced herself to remain composed, though the bitterness gnawed at her insides like a slow poison.
Tywin's gaze sharpened, his disapproval clear. "Speaking of your children, what of Joffrey? Why has he not secured the marriage with Princess Rhaenys?"
Cersei hesitated, searching for an answer that would deflect blame from her son. "Perhaps there is something wrong with the girl. She has not been married off yet, has she? Maybe she's weak, like her mother."
"That does not matter," Tywin snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I want a royal marriage for Joffrey. He is my heir."
'No, I am your heir,' Cersei thought bitterly, but she kept the words locked inside, her jaw tightening with the effort to restrain her anger. "I am sure Joffrey is doing his best."
"Not enough," Tywin said curtly, his tone slicing through her defenses. "You will ensure he understands the importance of this match."
Cersei felt a surge of inadequacy and rage swell within her, emotions she had buried for so long. She was supposed to have been the queen, the one by Rhaegar's side, not some Dornish whore who had captured his heart with her weakness. And then, that wild savage had seduced him, taking what should have been hers. Instead of ruling as a queen, she had been married off to a lesser cousin, a man of no real consequence. Even Jaime, her true love, her other half, had turned away from her, abandoning her when she needed him most.
"Do I have to take the creature with me as well?" Cersei asked, her face twisting into a sneer.
"No, I have use for him," Tywin said coldly.
Silence enveloped them again, thick and suffocating.
"Prepare to leave, Cersei," Tywin said, turning away from her, dismissing her as he always did. His back was once again to her, as if she were no more than a subordinate, a piece on his chessboard.
Cersei remained seated as he left the room, her hands trembling slightly—not with fear, but with resentment, growing like a dark shadow in her heart. Her father, with all his power and control, kept her trapped, confined to the roles he saw fit for her. She craved power, the kind of power that would make even Tywin Lannister bow, but she was shackled.
She would leave for the capital as he commanded, but the anger within her was a fire that would not be quenched. One day, she swore to herself, she would have the power she deserved. And when that day came, not even Tywin Lannister would stand in her way.
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Check out my new fic Dragonborn Conqueror.
I have posted it on webnovel... check my profile.
It's an Elder Scrolls x ASOIAF crossover where the Dragonborn, after defeating Alduin in Sovngarde, is sent to the Riverlands before Aegon's conquest, when it was still under the rule of Harren the Black.