Cersei flinched. Panic finally broke through her exhausted face. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please. Don't take them."
The giant red knight ignored her. He stepped into the small cell. He just reached down, easily scooped the sleeping Tommen up in one arm, and took Myrcella by the shoulder with his other hand. Myrcella was shaking, but she didn't scream. She just let the knight pull her to her feet and lead her out of the room.
The heavy iron-banded door clanged shut. The lock clicked, leaving Alaric and Cersei completely alone in the dim torchlight.
Cersei stared at the closed door for a long time. Her breathing was shallow and fast. Finally, she slowly turned her head and looked back at Alaric.
Alaric didn't move. He just watched her.
"So," Alaric said casually, his voice echoing slightly against the wet stone walls. "Tell me, Cersei. After blowing up your own castle and handing me the capital... do you feel like you won?"
Cersei didn't answer right away. She looked down at her dirty hands, her fingers trembling slightly.
Cersei stared at her dirty hands, her fingers trembling slightly.
"I lost everything." Cersei whispered. Her voice was empty.
Alaric didn't care about her pity party. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees to get closer to her eye level.
"I'll ask you one more time," Alaric said, keeping his voice steady and hard. "How did you reanimate Balerion?"
Cersei blinked. The question seemed to throw her off. She shook her head slowly, looking genuinely confused.
"I don't know what you mean," she muttered. "I didn't reanimate anything. I just... I gave the order to light the wildfire. King Aerys left jars of it buried under the castle years ago. The explosion must have just thrown the bones up from the cellars."
Alaric watched her closely. She sounded pathetic, and she was trying very hard to play the victim, but he knew exactly what he had seen. She was trying to blame the whole thing on dead men and old alchemist tricks.
Alaric just smiled. It wasn't a kind look.
He reached his empty hand out. With a quick thought, he accessed his System inventory. A jagged, twisted dagger instantly materialized right in his palm. It was the strange, dark metal blade he had pulled out from between the dead dragon's eyes just before the mountain blew up.
He held it up by the hilt. The porous metal looked completely black in the dim torchlight.
"Wildfire is just green liquid in a clay jar," Alaric said flatly. "It burns wood and melts stone. It doesn't make a dead skull wake up and breathe black magic."
He tilted the blade, pointing the sharp tip directly at her.
"So let's try this again," Alaric said. "Do you recognize this dagger?"
Cersei's breath hitched the second she saw the weapon. Her green eyes went wide, locking onto the dark metal. The confusion completely vanished from her face, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of absolute panic. She pressed her back hard against the cold stone wall, trying to get as far away from the blade as she could in the tiny cell.
"Where..." Cersei choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Where did you get that?"
"I pulled it out of the dragon's head," Alaric answered smoothly. "Now tell me where it came from."
When Cersei didn't answer immediately, Alaric stood up from the wooden chair. He took a slow step toward her, the heavy boots echoing in the quiet cell.
Alaric stopped right in front of her. He didn't raise his voice, He just stood over her, his tall frame blocking out the weak torchlight. He brought the jagged dagger closer, letting her feel the cold, wrong energy radiating from the dark metal.
"You spent your whole life playing games," Alaric said, his voice dropping to a calm, dead whisper. "You lied, you stalled, and you always thought you were smarter than everyone else in the room. But those rules are gone, Cersei. I don't negotiate, and I don't play."
He leaned down, bringing his face just inches from hers.
"Prince Oberyn Martell is sitting in my camp right now," Alaric said smoothly.
Cersei stopped breathing. The name hit her like a physical blow.
"He asked me to hand you over," Alaric continued, watching the absolute horror dawn in her green eyes. "He wants to take you, Tommen, and Myrcella back to Dorne. to make your family pay for what your father did to his sister Elia. You know exactly what the Dornish will do to your children."
Cersei let out a choked, desperate sound. She tried to press herself further into the damp stone wall, but there was nowhere to go.
"I told him no," Alaric whispered. "Because you are my prisoners. But my patience is completely gone. If you don't tell me exactly where this dagger came from right now, I will open that door, call my knights, and have Tommen and Myrcella put in a wagon heading south. Oberyn will have them before the sun sets."
He tilted the dark blade, letting it rest just an inch from her face.
"I am only going to ask one last time," Alaric said. "Who gave it to you?"
Cersei broke. The threat of Dorne, combined with the sheer terror of the man standing over her, shattered whatever resistance she had left. Tears finally spilled over her dirt-smeared cheeks, and her chest heaved as she gasped for air.
"Qyburn," she sobbed, her voice cracking. "It was Qyburn."
Alaric didn't pull the dagger away. "Keep talking."
Cersei squeezed her eyes shut, the tears cutting clean lines through the soot on her cheeks. "He came to my chambers a week ago. When we heard my father had retreated to the Westerlands. Qyburn told me the wildfire might not be enough to kill you if you broke through the gates."
"Where did a disgraced maester get a weapon like this?" Alaric asked, his voice hard.
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