If I Was Easy To Kill, You Woulda Done It Already.

BLOG UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Cersei of House Lannister. Mun/muse 25+. Sister of mxnofhonour. Follows back on e-ooc.

[gcldenlioness]

"Tears aren't a woman's only weapon."

Independent Cersei Lannister roleplayer

Mun and muse 25+

Book and TV canon

Crossover/modern AU/OC friendly

Follows back on @e-ooc

Written by E.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She smiles down at him as he rests atop her chest, fingers idly playing with his hair as she watches him finally feel the gentle movements she had kept to herself for the past few weeks since she started to feel them.

“And have them tell me what, hm?” She teases. “That I’m with child? I’m rather certain of it, Eskel, and it is not as though they can provide me any further information than I have already surmised myself. Besides that, I would prefer not to have some…old man’s hands all over me when I have an old man right here for that…”

She gently slips a hand beneath his chin, drawing him up into a gentle, lingering kiss.

“Mm…I love you, Witcher…”

She smiles as she draws back, nuzzling him.

“I believe Elsa is more likely to follow in your footsteps. It is as though she grows bolder with each passing day, and I am near certain you’ll be able to teach her signs soon enough…”

She shifts their positions then, moving onto her side and drawing him to spoon her.

“I often wonder how she would get along with Myrcella…”

It is the first time she has spoken of her girl to Eskel, having found the topic too painful to broach. But in that moment, she has a desire to speak of her.

“She would be ten and six now if the Gods had not taken her from me. She was such a delicate little thing…undeserving of the cruel world I brought her in to. And so…gods, Eskel, she was so beautiful…I remember looking upon her for hours every day as she grew up, wondering how I had created such a precious girl. Much like I do with Elsa now.”

She sighs wistfully then, chewing her lip for a moment.

“Never once did she show any cruelty, nor anything other than sheer kindness. But…she was easily frightened…would wail for hours if she saw even the tiniest of insects. Elsa, meanwhile…well, the amount of creatures I have caught her trying to bring into the house with her after a day outside. And she is stubborn, too…I tell her no and half the duchy knows about it. But I see a lot of Myrcella in her. Her beauty aside, I also see it in her gentleness, her concern for others…one of her little friends visited last week and took a fall. Elsa would not leave her be until she was quite certain she had kissed away all the hurt from the graze like I do for her.”

She falls silent for several moments, the fond smile remaining upon her lips.

“I like to think this babe is fortunate to have Elsa as a sibling…because I know she will protect them fiercely. She gets that from you, I’m certain of it.”

She turns her head then to meet his gaze.

“And…should the babe be a boy, I would like to name him for his father. I would like to name him Esau…”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

“Time will tell. Signs and other forms of magic are not a thing just anyone can learn… otherwise everybody on the Continent would be throwing them around. It’s in the hands of destiny. Weapon training, horse riding, alchemy and monster knowledge I can certainly teach either way, of course. To both of them. Better to have knowledge and not need it, than to lack it and need it.”

Eskel’s low, languid tone returned to her gradually, informing her of how it worked. He could only teach someone so much about his profession, especially to those lacking the mutations and other things he couldn’t pass on. Leo returned to mind, Vesemir’s ill fated attempts to make a Witcher of the boy without the more critical Trials. Even if the Professor hadn’t murdered him with a crossbow bolt he hadn’t been able to dodge or parry thanks to his lack of mutations, Leo probably would have been relegated to hunting animals and lesser monsters… such as Necrophages, for the most part. He would have made for a capable hunter and woodsman… but not been even nearly on par with an actual Witcher. There had always been non Witcher monster hunters, of course… but the countless ill fated stories of such people and their failure rate usually spoke for themselves. There had been a reason his kind had been created in the first place, however unpleasant a solution it had been. The Witcher had been skeptical of Vesemir’s attempts with Leo, but had nevertheless pitched in with Lambert to prepare the lad as best they could… for all the good it had done him, in the end.

He didn’t desire such a dangerous, unrewarding life for any child of his… but it wouldn’t be his decision. As it had been for him, it was in the hands of fate. Something that had taken him a long time to understand, and to accept… to let go of trying to control, and simply go with. Deidre and Sabrina had taught him that, the same way people learned most lessons… the hard way. He returned Cersei’s kiss at once, and gladly shifted their positions at her prompting, spooning up against the golden haired beauty closely, his broad arms wrapping around her as they relaxed into one another… and he listened again silently when she began to speak. It wasn’t often that she spoke of her past children openly, but he knew they were always with her, on her mind, influencing her, knowing her as well as he did. As it was with the ghosts of everyone’s pasts which followed them around, reminding them, keeping them feeling guilty. He understood that all too well. The Witcher held her silently all the while, hands rubbing along her back and toying with her hair soothingly as he listened. In the wake of it, and her smile, her reveal of what she wanted to name the child, he couldn’t resist a smile on his scarred visage or a chuckle under his breath. At last, finding his deep, calm voice again, he murmured back to her, viper eyes meeting her emerald pair as she gazed back at him.

“We’ll raise both of them to look out for each other… the way it should be, for family. They’ll be as prepared as they can be, for a world like this. As for that name… Sir Esau Kaminski of Toussaint. I don’t know, that might not be doing him any favors in life, when he gets that knighthood one day. Something ladies would be more inclined to swoon over would be more fitting… but we shall see.”

@gcldenlioness

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She rolls her eyes fondly as him, shifting closer to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Well I think it sounds noble, and I would certainly be more an expert on that area than you are,” she teases. “No one, save for us, Geralt and Yennefer, will know of the true origin of the same. And besides, you were so averse to Elsa and I even taking your surname, and now when I hear you speak of it I see pride in your eyes, no matter how much you try to deny it.”

She shifts fully in his arms them to look at him, although her belly prevents her from getting quite as close to him as she might like.

“I can think of no other name I would like to bestow upon a son of mine. I wish to name him for the bravest, kindest man I have ever known, in hopes that such traits follow him through life too. You said yourself that Elsa and I taking your last name would allow us to make something of it, and I’m rather certain we have.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek before rising from the bed, retrieving a shirt of his from the closet and putting it on before gesturing for him to follow her.

They reach the kitchen and she opens one of the cabinets to retrieve a bottle, holding it up to show him. The label displaying the Kaminski name, as well as a drawing of Lil Bleater.

“She’s the face of our vineyard now,” she chuckles, opening the bottle and filling a glass for him. “I’m yet to try it, but considering it entirely sold out across the duchy within two weeks, I’m certain it’s good.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She was just beginning to ride harder against him once more, spurred on by the additional touches from the ladies, when she hears the she elf making her commands in Letho’s ear.

The anger she feels is immediate, chasing away any pleasure that she was feeling in that moment and she unkindly shoves away the women who were attending to her. Rising to her feet, emeralds full of fire, she gestures to the offending elf and commands her to stand.

“Is it customary in elven culture to make commands of people above you?” She says coldly. “I am an empress, not some whore, and the Witcher is a man I have chosen to take as a lover, therefore his position within this room is near my own level.”

She takes a step closer to her, emerald gaze bearing down upon her. Revelling at the way the woman flinches.

“I ought to have your tongue for such insolence, and I would, had I not enjoyed the talents of it earlier this evening. But that does not excuse what you have done.”

She leans in closer, making her words abundantly clear.

“Get out. And if I ever see you within my city again, I shall not only take your tongue, but your life as well.”

The elf murmurs an apology, before darting away from the empress and grabbing her pile of clothing from the floor. Then, not bothering to throw it back on, she flees the chambers, followed by the other Elven women that Cersei had not dismissed. The sight doing little to quell the empress’ rage them.

“Astrid. Rhaena. Remain where you are. The rest of you, out.”

The women stare incredulously at the empress for a moment, but given her threat to the elf moments ago, choose not to stay where they are and soon enough, only the warrior and handmaiden remain. A satisfied smirk remaining on Astrid’s features.

“I shan’t stand for insolence,” the empress rants, storming over to the table and pouring herself a goblet of wine. “I am their empress…I should have them all killed.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho watched as still as a statue and likewise in silence at the golden haired Empress' sudden rage towards the innocuous she elf... who quickly fled the room at the Imperator's dismissal and anger, not taking the time to change, with all the other elven women not far off on her heels. Soon enough, the Empress ordered out the Nilfgaardian blue bloods as well, who, despite their passions and enjoyment not long before, were swift to come down from their pleasure and heed her command, though unlike the she elf at least deigning to redress and mask themselves before departing in silence, having reputations to uphold. He offered a ghost of an almost apologetic smile to the departing ladies all the while as they looked back between him and the Empress... and when they were gone, the door closed behind them again, his viper eyes returned to Cersei, as she stormed over to pour herself a drink, while him, Astrid and Rhaena watched her and listened to her wrath. Her rage and desires for more executions to prove a point. He was hardly surprised, knowing her by now as well as he did... and understanding how all too quick she was to hand out death to others freely.

Even so, he was mildly surprised by some of her words before during the altercation, elevating him in status in her eyes to being near her social equal, as her lover. It seemed she was more fond of him than she was used to openly admitting... yet she had in front of all of them, letting it slip. Or more likely, it was because she saw him as an extension of herself, thus had to acknowledge it when she thought him disrespected. Either way, it was rather touching, something he couldn't recall another doing where he was concerned. At last he went up behind the young woman as she drank, silently beckoning Astrid to do the same, wrapping his broad arms around her from behind, him and the redhead's hands alike roaming her perfect, nude body appreciatively, working to sooth her, seeking to distract her from her anger. The muscled and tattooed Skellige warrior woman was made of far bolder stuff than the blue bloods had been, more amused and pleased by Cersei's anger than concerned about it or fearful of her. The eastern handmaiden on the other hand hung back at the bed observing, understandably. Leaning in, the Witcher's deep, gravelly tone murmured quietly in Cersei's ear all the while.

"Mmm. Nothin' would be gained of it. I'm certain you've already frightened all of 'em enough as it is, reminded them of your power. Fear's a useful tool or weapon like any other to achieve results, keep others on edge, but should be tempered enough so as not to inspire hatred. The one thing that makes even the most common of folk forget about their fear, and place, never mind the blue bloods. Besides, as you said, they served their purposes well, and might yet more, some day. No sense in discarding still useful tools that ain't a threat. If a ruler executed every subject and vassal who forgot their station in the throes of passion, there would be damn few of such enjoyable subjects remainin' to make use of."

@gcldenlioness

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She had just been beginning to relax into his and Astrid’s touches, especially as Astrid’s fingers wandered between her thighs, before his words fully reached her and irked her all over again.

Wrestling herself away from them both, she glowers at them as she finishes her wine and pours herself another cup.

“Do you think I care about them?” She snaps. “About any of them, hm?”

She shakes her head, laughing incredulously.

“If I have them all killed, then I will simply replace them. My subjects will do anything I ask of them, and I’m certain another flock of them would be in these chambers by the end of the next moon’s turn. I will not resign myself to the weaknesses of the male leaders before me, dedicating themselves to one lover or another. I deserve to be respected by those I take to my bed and if they cannot do that, then I have no further need of them.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

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[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel gladly stilled his hips at Cersei’s touch and prompting in the wake of their releases, knowing she needed a respite, unable to handle as much as him… though with how much the red haired beauty had handled, he was impressed. Instead he was more gentle and tender towards her, both at her words in the present, and her near confession earlier, kissing and nuzzling her back slowly and intimately, alternating between her neck and lips. The rest of the world outside of the bed returned when he came down from his release with her… his heightened senses picking it all up out there… yet even then, his focus remained upon her with fondness. His deep, calm voice murmured back against the royal’s soft flesh after a time between further kisses and touches, contented, even as the fire still burned in his blood for her, and he remained hard inside her. His viper eyes gazed back at her emerald pair, glowing faintly in the semi dark of the shut blinds. There was no hurry to anything for the Witcher, where the two of them were concerned. It was one of the main reasons he had come all this way to be with her in this tropical land anyways… to go at their own pace with things, and see her world for himself.

“Mmm. Glad to do so… to get away, explore new lands… it only helps to have such a good reason to do so, this time around, with you. From what I’ve seen so far most of the men leave much to be desired… but then, it’s not easy for most men of any land to meet royal standards and tastes. Takes a rarer type. Suppose I fulfill that category well enough. The difficult and impossible are both part of my life and profession. Always did like a challenge… and risk. Makes this all the more rewarding.”

@gcldenlioness

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She relaxes beneath his gentle touches, soft sighs falling from her lips every now and then as he tended to her neck, knowing just where she enjoyed his kisses the most. There was tenderness in it, at a level she had never felt from him before. She could not help but wonder if perhaps he had picked up on the words she had almost said as he was taking her.

“I would give it all up, you know?” She murmurs softly, fingers idly playing with his hair. “Had I the coin, I would leave. And yet…”

She pauses for a moment, deciding eventually to tell him of her plans.

“I intend to earn enough to raise an army. To return to Westeros, take back what belongs to me and place my son upon the throne. Father has been warming his seat for far too long.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She smiles down at him as he rests atop her chest, fingers idly playing with his hair as she watches him finally feel the gentle movements she had kept to herself for the past few weeks since she started to feel them.

“And have them tell me what, hm?” She teases. “That I’m with child? I’m rather certain of it, Eskel, and it is not as though they can provide me any further information than I have already surmised myself. Besides that, I would prefer not to have some…old man’s hands all over me when I have an old man right here for that…”

She gently slips a hand beneath his chin, drawing him up into a gentle, lingering kiss.

“Mm…I love you, Witcher…”

She smiles as she draws back, nuzzling him.

“I believe Elsa is more likely to follow in your footsteps. It is as though she grows bolder with each passing day, and I am near certain you’ll be able to teach her signs soon enough…”

She shifts their positions then, moving onto her side and drawing him to spoon her.

“I often wonder how she would get along with Myrcella…”

It is the first time she has spoken of her girl to Eskel, having found the topic too painful to broach. But in that moment, she has a desire to speak of her.

“She would be ten and six now if the Gods had not taken her from me. She was such a delicate little thing…undeserving of the cruel world I brought her in to. And so…gods, Eskel, she was so beautiful…I remember looking upon her for hours every day as she grew up, wondering how I had created such a precious girl. Much like I do with Elsa now.”

She sighs wistfully then, chewing her lip for a moment.

“Never once did she show any cruelty, nor anything other than sheer kindness. But…she was easily frightened…would wail for hours if she saw even the tiniest of insects. Elsa, meanwhile…well, the amount of creatures I have caught her trying to bring into the house with her after a day outside. And she is stubborn, too…I tell her no and half the duchy knows about it. But I see a lot of Myrcella in her. Her beauty aside, I also see it in her gentleness, her concern for others…one of her little friends visited last week and took a fall. Elsa would not leave her be until she was quite certain she had kissed away all the hurt from the graze like I do for her.”

She falls silent for several moments, the fond smile remaining upon her lips.

“I like to think this babe is fortunate to have Elsa as a sibling…because I know she will protect them fiercely. She gets that from you, I’m certain of it.”

She turns her head then to meet his gaze.

“And…should the babe be a boy, I would like to name him for his father. I would like to name him Esau…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Feeling him fill her pushes her over the edge once more and she joins him in his pleasure, her moans blending with his. She’s certain anyone walking past her chambers would know that what they were sharing was genuine, rather than the liaisons typically shared in the pleasure house. Of course, she had a client or two who could bring her to such bliss, but they were of course incredibly hard to come by.

After they both came down from their highs, she brings a hand to his hip to still them, having had quite enough for just the moment, not having the same stamina as a Witcher such as him. With a soft smile, she draws him down into a gentle kiss, nuzzling against him.

“Thank you for heeding my letter…I doubt you’ve any notion how fiercely I have missed you, especially given the men of this land…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She was just beginning to ride harder against him once more, spurred on by the additional touches from the ladies, when she hears the she elf making her commands in Letho’s ear.

The anger she feels is immediate, chasing away any pleasure that she was feeling in that moment and she unkindly shoves away the women who were attending to her. Rising to her feet, emeralds full of fire, she gestures to the offending elf and commands her to stand.

“Is it customary in elven culture to make commands of people above you?” She says coldly. “I am an empress, not some whore, and the Witcher is a man I have chosen to take as a lover, therefore his position within this room is near my own level.”

She takes a step closer to her, emerald gaze bearing down upon her. Revelling at the way the woman flinches.

“I ought to have your tongue for such insolence, and I would, had I not enjoyed the talents of it earlier this evening. But that does not excuse what you have done.”

She leans in closer, making her words abundantly clear.

“Get out. And if I ever see you within my city again, I shall not only take your tongue, but your life as well.”

The elf murmurs an apology, before darting away from the empress and grabbing her pile of clothing from the floor. Then, not bothering to throw it back on, she flees the chambers, followed by the other Elven women that Cersei had not dismissed. The sight doing little to quell the empress’ rage them.

“Astrid. Rhaena. Remain where you are. The rest of you, out.”

The women stare incredulously at the empress for a moment, but given her threat to the elf moments ago, choose not to stay where they are and soon enough, only the warrior and handmaiden remain. A satisfied smirk remaining on Astrid’s features.

“I shan’t stand for insolence,” the empress rants, storming over to the table and pouring herself a goblet of wine. “I am their empress…I should have them all killed.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Their reunion after his moons on the Path was a slow and passionate one, something which they did not get to share when their daughter was sleeping just down the hall.

Cersei took full advantage of the notion that they were alone, cries falling from her lips entirely unrestricted as he takes her. Loudly enough that likely the vineyard staff who toiled away outside would hear her. Yet she was far from caring.

Once they have both reached their pleasures, she remains with him upon the bed, their bare frames tangled in the sheets as she draws his head to rest upon her breasts, one hand gently caressing his hair and back whilst the other brings his hand to hers swollen belly, a soft smile finding her lips as she presses his palm to where she could feel movement.

“I have a strong suspicion that it’s a boy,” she chuckles. “I feel thrice the size I was when I was carrying Elsa, and this babe is a lot more settled. He certainly has his father’s demeanour this time around…”

She leans down and kisses the top of his head.

“I haven’t even been to a medic yet,” she murmurs. “No one knows I am with child, save for you and I. I could not fathom telling anyone before you came back to me…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

As it goes on, her movements atop him only become more forceful, riding him as though her entire life depended on it. She can feel slickness upon her fingers as they claw at his flesh and she assumes he is likely bleeding, but she cares little. The pleasure he is giving her is too intense for her to be aware of what she is doing.

All around them, the women too begin to reach their pleasures, almost as though they had been fearful to do so before their empress had. The notion she had so much control over them only served to add to Cersei’s arousal and she can already begin to feel the hints of a second pleasure atop Letho’s cock mere minutes after her first.

In time, once he has driven her into a third and a fourth, she turns her head just enough to pant a command against his lips.

“Fill me…show them all I belong to you…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Keep reading

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel’s pleased smirk deepened at the sensations they shared in the bed, especially as she lay claim claim to him, and the feeling of her hands running along his form. Cersei’s next words were unmistakable, even as she cut herself off in the midst of them… and he nearly let it slow his movements down a bit to register them. Whether it was true that the red haired royal beauty loved him or it was just something said in the heat of the moment, born of passion, he couldn’t be certain. Under their respective circumstances, he highly doubted something normal as a relationship was in the cards for either of them to share… but either way, he appreciated what he was making her feel, and wasn’t about to dismiss it. Whatever it was they had, they could enjoy it together in this land, at least, during his visits. He didn’t mind her saying it, but rather than draw attention to it in that moment, lest she be embarrassed, the Witcher focused himself on pleasuring her, showing her that she did matter to him, whether it was something like love or not. He picked up the tempo, working her ever closer to a powerful release as she did the same of him, hands roaming along her form, his mouth suckling and biting carefully along her neck, losing himself in the satisfaction of it all, feeling his release drawing ever closer, and certain her own was looming as well.

@gcldenlioness

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

The increase in tempo has her groaning aloud, long legs wrapping about waist as his thrusts drive her into the bed beneath her.

She cannot help but wonder if her words had spurred him on. She was not fool enough now to assume he had not heard what she had almost said, knowing how enhanced his Witcher senses were. And though he had not responded, his movements into her told her that perhaps he did care for her too, in a way that was beyond anything either of them had planned or imagined.

As it goes on, she finds herself growing ever closer to her pleasure beneath him and, knowing him as well as she did, she could sense the signs that he was finding it ever more difficult to hold back too.

And so, when she feels herself right upon the edge, she brings a hand to his cheek and pulls his face to hers, gazing into his eyes as the first waves of her heated climax begin to crash over her. Silently urging him to join her in it.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

“It’s…Lady Kaminski…” she manages, eyes closing as his hands wander over her bare flesh. “You forget yourself, Witcher…”

He wastes little time in beginning to pleasure her, evidently as eager for her as she was for him. A low moan falls from her lips as his mouth begins to tend to her breasts, turning into a heated gasp as she feels those rough fingers slip into her undergarment.

She is swift to tug them down then, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them before she settles in his lap, sinking down upon his fingers as he buries them within her. Slowly rocking her hips against him as her emerald gaze remains upon his viper one. Her hands meanwhile begin to tug at the laces of his shirt, undoing them before eagerly pulling the garment off over his head. Hands immediately beginning to wander his bare chest as she rides against his fingers.

Within minutes, her hips are working feverishly, gasps falling from her lips with each movement and before long, she reaches the powerful pleasure she had been craving since he left, loud cries erupting from her. For once not having to stifle them now that they had the entire house to themselves.

Once she has recovered somewhat, she lifts from his fingers and brings them to her lips, gaze remaining up his as she suckles them clean. Then, with a smirk, she repositions to her knees on the floor before him, fingers expertly unlacing his breeches and tugging them down along with his smallclothes. Long fingers wrapping about his cock, she takes the time to slowly stroke him before taking him within her mouth.

She does not work him for too long, quickly growing so desperate for him once more that she had begun to play with herself without realising. Lifting from him then, she rises to her feet, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet too.

The walk to their bedroom seemed to take an age, but eventually they make it there, Cersei fearful of making a mess of the chairs in the living area that had cost more coin than she would care to admit. Wrapping her arms about his neck once they reach the room, she kisses him heatedly, pulling them back towards the bed and settling back upon it, drawing him over top of her. However, just before she guides him inside her, she realises the swell of her belly is stopping her from getting quite as close to him as she would like. Already she felt larger than she had done with Elsa even when she had been a month or two further along than she was now.

“Forgive me…” she mutters, nuzzling him as she considers her options.

She decides then to shift onto her side, urging him to spoon up against her before she grasps his cock and guides him inside her with a heated groan. Beginning to grid back against him almost immediately as she turns her head back to find his lips.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She appreciates how gentle he is with her in that moment. She had enjoyed being fucked so harshly whilst out on the balcony, the Witcher having taken her in a way he never had before, yet she would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling a slight ache between her thighs now.

“Mine…” she whispers against his lips as she nuzzles him, one hand running through his dark hair whilst the other trails down his back to his rear, squeezing the flesh as he fucks her, urging him on.

Before long, she is meeting him thrust for thrust, though they keep their dance slow and steady as they slowly work one another towards what the lioness hopes will be a shared pleasure.

“Gods…I lo-“

She catches herself before it is too late. Such words would not befit the nature of their relationship and she has enough about her still to know that such feelings ought to be kept to herself. She silently curses herself, praying to all the Gods that he had not heard her.

“Eskel…fuck…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She rides harshly back against him for a time, enjoying the way he stretcher her out in tandem with house calloused fingers upon her clit. However her current position did not allow her to adequately view the women around her and so, after several minutes, she pushes back against him so he would be on his knees, settling herself in his lap with her back against his chest. Keeping his immense cock buried so deeply within her as she begins to ride him.

“Gods…” she groans, grasping his wrist and bringing his hand back between her legs as she takes in the sights before her.

To the left, two of the Elven women had evidently raided her closet and were enjoying themselves with two of the glass cocks she and Rhaena enjoyed using when they were alone. To the right, she was greeted with the view of Rhaena upon her knees before Astrid, face buried between the warrior’s muscled thighs. But the empress’ favourite view was the one right before her. Two of the Nilfgaardian women, whom she had seen many a time stood so meekly beside their husbands, rutting desperately against one another atop the chaise. The third, who Cersei knew to be wed to a man who preferred to enjoy himself with one of the guards from the gladiator pits rather than her, remained beside them, desperately fucking herself with one of the larger of the glass cocks, evidently savouring the sensation she had likely never had from her husband.

Before the empress knows it, she reaches her first pleasure with Letho of the evening, hand reaching back to claw at the back of his neck as her arousal soaks his lap and the rug beneath them.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

As he draws her in closer, she slides her arms about his neck and leans up to kiss him after he finishes speaking, lingering for several long moments. Simply savouring finally having him back.

“That is why I suggested she stay with Geralt and Yennefer tonight…so I can have you all to myself. Of course, we can go and get her later, if you wish…I’m certain you’ve missed her horribly. But first…”

She kisses him once more before taking him inside, helping to relieve him of his swords and armour before leading him into the lounge area of their home. Urging him to sit down on one of the plush chairs before stepping back with a smirk.

“I don’t know if you recall how…desperate I was for you throughout my last pregnancy…” she murmurs, idly toying with the buttons on her blouse. Unfastening the first two to reveal her bare chest. “As you can imagine I have craved you fiercely this time too, perhaps even more so given that I could not have you. Even my own touches did little to sate me…though not for want of trying, thinking of you each night as I lay abed…”

Soon enough, the rest of the buttons are loosened and the blouse falls open, revealing her swollen belly to him. The blouse drops to the floor soon enough and after a few moments, her breeches join it, leaving her standing in the delicate green panties she had worn in the night of their commitment.

Taking a step closer to him, she brings both of his hands to her hips, sighing softly as the gentle touch on her skin sends a pleasurable shiver up her spine. Even his closeness has her growing to wetness.

“I hope you’ve missed me just as much, Witcher…

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

The elven women swarming her were relentless, hands and mouths tending to every part of her they could reach, gently yet eagerly. The sensation, along with the sight of both Astrid and Rhaena enjoying one another and Letho, soon enough having the Empress writhing uncontrollably in heated pleasure.

When the elves between her thighs sense she is growing close, they draw back, instead using their talented fingers to work the lioness into her overwhelming climax, watching in awe as her arousal floods the silk sheets beneath her. As the waves die down, Cersei is quick to urge them away, too sensitive in that moment to enjoy further touches and simply urging the elven women to settle beside her so they could watch Letho with his two lovers. The empress unable to resist fondling the women beside her as they do so.

It is not long before Astrid and Rhaena reach their pleasure in tandem, their contrasting moans and cries echoing throughout the bedchamber. And, sensing the Empress’ growing need to finally have her Witcher, they are quick to remove themselves from him as they come down from their highs.

Cersei takes a moment to look around the room, noting several of their other guests in the seating area nearby, enjoying themselves or one another, having seeming been unable to get close enough to the bed given the elves, Skellige warrior and handmaiden taking up the space with Cersei and Letho.

With a smirk, she rises from the bed and takes Letho’s hand, guiding him over to the luxurious rug in the centre of the seating area. Lowering herself to her hands and knees and pulling him down with her. Reaching back to grasp his cock and guiding him into her from behind. Immediately beginning to thrust back against him as her emerald eyes take in the sight of the women upon the plush chairs around them.

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She moans loudly against their guest as Eskel begins to tend to her, reflex having her clamp her thighs about his head once he lets go of them. Feeling his tongue so relentless upon her as his fingers bury themselves deeply within her.

Before long, she is writhing wildly against his touches, her moans against the other woman’s cunt only seeming to add to the pleasure she was given her. And, before long, she comes undone beneath his touches, the other woman following suit a moment later.

She feels a pang of anger when the woman lifts herself off her, leans down to kiss her and murmurs in Myrish that she must leave to cleanse herself before her next client. Had she still worn the crown, she might have taken the woman’s tongue for leaving without Cersei’s permission, but she is quick to remind herself that here she is simply a whore. It had taken her quite a time to settle into such knowledge, but now she lets the woman go with a kiss and a promise of more later.

When she is alone with Eskel once more, she guides him atop her to kiss him heatedly, enjoying the taste of herself upon his tongue.

“After me, she is certainly the most popular here,” she murmurs. “We are blessed she even had time to join us at all…”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

He leaves once more after a moon, a slight delay on their original plan, but Cersei was far from complaining of an extra week or two with Eskel, and she was certain Elsa was thrilled to have her papa around.

Of course, the tiny girl went through her usual distress, a day of constant wailing after he had left, refusing to calm until she eventually wore herself out and fell to sleep in Cersei’s arms. And, for the three moons he was gone, the girl was constantly looking for him, always choosing to play by the gate of her little garden or spending time gazing out of her window after Cersei had put her to bed before curling up with her stuffed wolf and one of her papa’s shirts.

The first letter arrives after a week, telling her of where he was and the nature of the contract he was currently on. She had scarcely finished reading before she had written out her reply and pressed it into the hand of the messenger who passed through the vineyard each morning, ensuring she had included love and endless kisses from Elsa too in the letter.

Three moons after he had left, she is settled in a chair in Elsa’s garden. Today was the day he had told her he would return and, as Cersei had suggested, Elsa was staying with Geralt for that night. Not only to give them some space to enjoy one another, but also…

She smiles fondly at the gentle flutter in her belly, pressing a hand to the swell. She worked out that she was around five moons along by now, having noted she had not had her moon’s blood since their commitment. She had not sought a maester, nor breathed a word of her news to anyone, wanting Eskel to be the first to hear it. Even Elsa and Annarietta did not know.

The sun is beginning to set over the vineyard when she first catches sight of Scorpion approaching the gates bearing Eskel. And, the moment he is within the vineyard, the lioness hauls herself out of her seat and rushes from the garden to greet him. Immediately launching herself into his arms and showering him with kisses.

“I had begun to fear you were not going to return today like you said,” she pouts eventually, nuzzling him. “I could not stand another day without you…nor could I stand another day hiding what I have longed to tell you…”

She takes his hand in hers, slowly guiding it down and under her blouse, allowing him to feel the swell of her belly.

She does not notice she is crying until she looks up and meets his viper gaze.

“It did not seem so appropriate to say in a letter…