AN :
Next goal for another extra chapter is 300 power stones.
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
...
( Cersei Lannister POV )
Down the stairs and further, still, Cersei ran for the tunnels of Casterly Rock, ran down into the endless hallways that only she and her brothers knew. Her stomach churned, and her heart thundered as she slumped against the wall, tears streaming down her face.
...
This was hardly the first time her aunt had told her to be nicer to Tyrion, hardly the first time she'd been scolded so, but somehow this time stung far worse than before. Why? She didn't know why! She felt tears rush down her face. Had it been because of the statue? Had it been because her brothers- her two true brothers had left her here alone to suffer the company of the imp? Had it been the invocation of her mother, a mother whose face she could barely remember without seeing Callum in her mind?
Cersei sobbed and sobbed, shuddering there against the wall. She did not know why she sobbed, why whatever dam she had used to hold back such tears of loneliness and anguish had broken. There in the half-dark of some long-forgotten tunnel in the labyrinthine palace, she, the most clever, courageous, and competent girl in the Seven Kingdoms sat a crying wreck in the darkness.
In dire vulnerability, she sat and sniffled, snot dripping from her perfect nose, her eyes leaking tears as she wished that someone, anyone could be there with her. Mother, Father, Jaime… even Callum. She would settle for any of them holding her and speaking comforting words. Her legs quivered as the sobs slowly subsided, the pain in her stomach was…
Cersei blinked past the crusted remnants of her tears, snot still dripping beneath her nose, as she investigated her suspicion. Her finger came up with a splatter of red that seemed black in the half-light of the tunnel, the coppery smell confirmed her thoughts. "Moon blood…" she sniffled. It was her first. "then…"
Cersei looked at the blood with awe and disgust, then wiped it off on her dress, climbing to her feet as she frowned darkly. It had not been a weakness of the mind that had put her down- but a weakness of the body, a woman's body. "For a woman, I am now, I suppose…" she grumbled to herself, pressing a hand to her belly. Her mind seemed to clear as the fog of doubt departed. She hadn't been wrong- no not about anything. Aunt Genna was being too kind to the Imp, and Mother would have probably… pitched him off the top of the Rock or something. Well, maybe she wouldn't go that far, but still, the Imp was a kinslayer who deserved his fate.
Cersei wiped her face clean best she could with her sleeve and marched towards her chambers. She would wash up, change, and then be on her way. What was the pain of moon blood compared to the blows she had endured in the training yard pretending to be Jaime? She would not be tricked or brought low by such a feeble attack on her senses. No! She was Cersei Lannister, a Lioness in her own right!
She stalked into her chambers with pride and poise, seeing Melara changing, she paused only briefly. "Leave," Cersei ordered, though the other girl was half undressed. Cersei grinned as she saw the blood start to drain from Melara's face. Good, that ought to bring the greedy girl down a peg.
"B-but Cersei-" Melara started.
"Leave, all of you, I don't care where." Jeyne was there as well, and a few maids. Cersei's green eyes looked over them all like the mice they were, caught before the claws of a Lannister. "I've just had my first moon blood." Cersei explained after a moment, and a chorus of "Ohs" and sounds of acknowledgment followed from the other girls and women.
"Would you like any-" one of the maids, Cersei didn't remember which one, started, and Cersei shook her head.
"Out! All of you! I Want to be Alone!" Cersei roared, and that got them moving, even half-dressed Melara knew not to get in Cersei's way. They scattered like rats, and soon Cersei was alone in her chambers.
As she went to wash her face in the basin, shedding the outer layer of her dress, Cersei frowned at how she looked in the mirror. Had she always been so gangly? So thin?" She frowned as the cool water ran down her face, wiping back the residue of her earlier tiers with a handkerchief, before casting it aside. Her frown was ugly, and she needed to do something else.
Her eyes settled on the fireplace. Walking over, she picked up a poker, heavy and cast iron. It felt good in her hand. It was no sword, not the weapon she wanted to wield, but it was close enough. Close enough for Cersei as she set about releasing her anger on her furniture, pillows, everything in reach really.
Anything to make this feeling of weakness go away.
...
( Tygett Lannister POV )
Winter had come to Westeros, brutally and with little warning, the White Ravens of the Citadel had arrived on the North Coast only two days ahead of a brutal storm off of Ironman's Bay, tranquil autumn had turned to blistering freezing rain and slush, that froze overnight on the ground trapping the land in a shell of bitter ice.
The hilly ground of the North Coast became impossible to traverse under its wrath, even as they mostly avoided the deep snows that buried the more northerly regions of Westeros. Instead, the warm rain rushing in from the Sunset Sea met the pale wall of darkness issuing from the North beyond the wall and froze, often plunging down like icy daggers that cut to the bone.
While a few hardier crops, largely, sprouts, carrots, spinach, and turnips could still be grown in Tygett's domain, staving off the fear of starvation, the horrible weather still claimed a few lives over the course of every winter. Worse, the frosty ground made it almost impossible to respond to the raids of the Ironborn.
No horse could cross overland in such conditions, but the rivers only rarely froze, and even then not thickly, letting the Ironborn sail inland and plunder farmsteads and villages, isolated and defenseless. It was yet another reason that the region was so often subject to Ironborn attack.
'It is a bitter land.' Tygett grumbled as he leaned over the table, looking down at the map before him. 'I know it better every day.'
The Arrival of winter, unexpected as it had been, wrought havoc on the Lord Tempor's plans. He had grown his forces large enough, recruited enough mounted militiamen, and trained them, to break his forces up properly over the North Coast, creating, essentially multiple outposts of cavalry who could quickly respond to Ironborn attacks. There was one in Eagle's Nest, where he had been until Third-moon, which was led by Ser Klimmeth, and another at Reddinghall led by Ser Ludo.
Tygett had moved his own staff back to Anlan's Hill on the Black River since it was towards the center of his lands. Controlling three of the five major rivers would make raiding unprofitable, and let Tygett weed out whatever fools still tried to ruin his lands more effectively. It would be a longer-term strategy, but it would cull the Ironborn eventually.
Callum had also suggested building a series of fortified homes in the more prominent villages in the region to act as sort of false-keeps, saving the inhabitants from the Ironborn until reinforcements could arrive. It wasn't a terrible idea, and Tygett had started seriously looking into it around midyear, figuring the process of moving stone from outlying fields into village centers and quickly erecting the bastard castles, only one had actually been finished, in the village of Meridian on the Gold Gap. He had plans to build more of them in all the river villages.
Now all of those plans had burned away like smoke with the arrival of winter. Winter construction was possible, certainly, but transportation was difficult, and he could hardly travel across the land building them with things as they were.
Instead, he sat in the old parlor in the stone keep, resting on an uncomfortable chair and a velvet cushion by the fire while his people were subject to raiding and slaughter beyond any ability to respond.
"Are you alright?"
Tygett glanced up from his nap. His nephew, now eleven, was sprawled out on a sofa across the parlor with his head propped up on several pillows, a book in his hands. His blond hair was growing long again, but his face had gained a small semblance of manliness over the last year. Though, it was probably just more gaunt.
Callum had gotten a lot thinner since coming under Tygett's care, a testament to the exercise he put him through, and to the admittedly dull foodstuffs available on the coast, especially compared to Casterly Rock.
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