The Kingslayer's Mercy

After the Small Council meeting—it was very small these days, with only Qyburn, Cersei, and himself—Jaime made sure to enter Cersei's chambers about twenty minutes after she did to avoid eliciting any suspicious whispers. As if everyone doesn't already know, he thought, but he had become so accustomed to trying to hide their relationship that even though Cersei was now sloppier about hiding it ("I'm the queen of the seven kingdoms," she'd gloated, "I can do as I please.") he was conditioned towards discretion. He had almost killed the Stark boy to hide their affair; after such an extreme move, he could not simply flaunt his secret because Cersei was now Queen.

He knocked on the door, and heard her voice say "come in." He opened the door and walked in to find her already naked, pacing the room excitedly. As he took in the sight of her firm backside and graceful long neck—those potions Qyburn kept giving her for hair growth still weren't working—he slyly bowed and said, "your grace," and winked at her. She paused and smiled at him, and then kept on pacing. "What is on your mind?" he asked. "The plan for sacking Highgarden is all set. Bur something is troubling you."

She stopped and approached him, taking his head into her hands and then slipping off his jacket. "It's the old cunt, Olenna. Every time I tried bringing up my plans for her, you seemed to change the subject rather quickly. But I know what I want. She needs to suffer for plotting to have her smirking whore of a granddaughter use our son"—Jaime winced at the mention of Tommen, suddenly feeling hurt—"for her own gain, and for all the ways she tried to undermine me, and us. Do you know she once called me 'the famous tart, Queen Cersei?' How dare she, when I've only ever been yours." She grabbed Jaime by the back of his head and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, biting his lip, then his ear, before pulling back while keeping her arms around her waist. Her eyes flashed with excitement. Cersei never looked more aroused—or more beautiful—than when she was plotting the demise of her enemies. "I have a few ideas. House Bolton may be gone, but we know their methods. Grandma might be in for a bit of a public flaying." Cersei smirked and then burst into laughter, and while Jaime stayed in her arms, he struggled not to flinch at this thought. Olenna Tyrell was a schemer, yes, but he couldn't help but respect her. And he couldn't help but see some of Cersei in her. Both women would do anything for their families, and both women could cut down any man with a sneer or a cutting remark. And she had already seen the demise of her entire family— wasn't that suffering enough? After the deaths of his children, Jaime already knew how painful it was to lose the people you loved most.

Cersei looked into Jaime's eyes, smirked, and then got down onto her knees, unbuttoning his pants. "I have another idea as well. I might prefer this one," she said as she unbuttoned. "Why not make her endure what I endured? She has a far more grotesque body, and so many more sins to hide than I do. Let everyone see what's under that veil. Ser Gregor can chant 'shame!' behind her as she walks naked, her teats sagging to her knees, from where her family's ashes lie to the Red Keep, where he'll then behead her." This talk wasn't particularly arousing for Jaime, and as Cersei finally pulled down his pants, she frowned when she saw he was not erect. "What, that doesn't excite you?" she asked, standing up and arching an eyebrow. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into bed, and he took off his shirt.

"Oh, she's going to die." he said. "We can't sack Highgarden without killing her, of course. But have some ideas of my own."

"Oh do you, clever boy?" Cersei laughed bitterly. "We both know only I ever truly listened when Father talked about how to deal with our enemies, but go ahead. I'm sure your ideas will amuse me."

"Well Olenna... she's a wicked schemer, a mastermind who did everything she could do to make our family suffer." He grabbed Cersei's hand as they lay down with his one good hand. "So why not make her suffer the way our son suffered? With poison?"