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 [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

Within a few minutes, Cersei is grinding her hips back against Astrid’s touches, growing ever more feverish as her pleasure slowly begins to build. Feeling delicate fingers beginning to rub her soaked cunt, knowing immediately that it is one of the elven women without having to even lift her face from where it is buried in Rhaena’s cunt.

The handmaiden finishes soon enough, her loud curses filling the room as she tugs at Cersei’s hair. Had the empress not been so close to her own climax, she might have scolded the woman for presuming to pull at her hair, but the intense waves of pleasure that begin to crash over her, distracting her from any admonishment.

As she comes down from her high, she urges the Elven woman to cease her touches before slowly pulling her hips away from Astrid’s, feeling the glass cock slip out of her tight entrance. Then, she turns her attention to Letho, watching him working the beautiful noblewomen into heated bliss.

Those particular women had never joined them before, and Cersei doubted they had ever enjoyed pleasures like this, given the banal marriages the Nilfgaardians subjected themselves to. It would seem the pair could not quite get enough of Letho, and the empress could not get enough of the view. Settling on her back beside the trio and beginning to idly play with herself as she watches, Rhaena and Astrid deciding to join her and do the same.

[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 notes he has slowed just slightly and she had been about to admonish him when she felt his hand slip between her thighs, taking over from her own touches, and she feels him begin to kiss and bite at her neck. Chasing away any words of complaint that might have fallen from her lips at the notion he thought her too delicate.

Within moments, she is clinging to the railing for dear life, entire frame trembling as each harsh thrust drives her closer to her climax. And finally it reaches her, the waves of pleasure so powerful that they near blind her. Heated screams erupting from her lips as she rides fiercely back against him, feeling her arousal streaming down her thighs.

As she eventually comes down from her high, her gaze drifts to the other whores watching below, settling on one in particular. The woman who had taken particular interest in them in the bathing chamber earlier that day. Subtly, she nods to the woman, gesturing for her to come up and join them.

Then, turning her attention to Eskel, she presses a hand to his hip to still him before slipping out from between him and the railing and pulling him back into the room. Then, shoving him on the bed unceremoniously with a smirk, she mounts him and begins to ride him fiercely. A position their new friend would find them in when she arrived at the bedchamber moments later.

“By all means, make yourself comfortable…” Cersei purrs in Myrish as the woman approaches, smirking as she settles upon the vast bed beside them to watch.

It is then that an idea comes to her, one which she is certain Eskel will enjoy. Murmuring another instruction in Myrish, she lifts from his hips and instead moves to kneel beside him as the other woman follows suit. Then, both keeping their gaze upon him, they begin to suckle and fondle his cock, determined to have him spill his seed right there for the both of 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

She ponders his words for a long time in silence as she lies atop him, emerald gaze fixed upon the wall beside the bed. His idea does sound tempting, and yet at the same time…

“No,” she says eventually, lifting her head to meet his gaze as she speaks. “No, I don’t want that, and I’m certain Elsa would not enjoy that either. I do not know of your feelings when you leave us, but I doubt you feel them as fiercely as Elsa and I…given the long life you lived before either of us entered it. But…”

She shifts off of him and onto her back beside him, gaze now fixed upon the canopy above their bed.

“Having you for a day or two…only for you to leave us again for weeks…have you any notion on how that would feel? Perhaps it would be beneficial for our attempts at a babe, but…”

She pauses to harshly wipe away her tears.

“Don’t make Elsa go through the hell of having to let you go more often than she needs to, Eskel…I am not above begging for such grace. The last time you left, for that week long contract a month or so ago, she cried for a whole day and I could not do anything to soothe her. I did not tell you, because I did not want to hurt you. I could handle it better, because I would know you would be coming back, but it is not something Elsa can comprehend, and I refuse to have her go through that over and over again.”

She pauses for several long moments, trying to force back the sobs threatening to overwhelm her.

“I should not have asked, Eskel. It was…cruel of me. Go out on the Path as you usually would. But…I will ask for one thing…”

She turns her head then, finally meeting his gaze.

“Swear to me that you shan’t grow to hate me if I cannot give you another babe…I fear I would not survive such hurt…”

[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 fondly at his words and his gentle touch through her hair. She doubted he would understand how significant such a simple gesture was, given the trauma she had experienced when her hair had been stolen from her and she’d been forced to walk through the streets. It was not a part of her story she had chosen to share with Eskel just yet, longing to forget it herself. And yet even now, it still continued to plague her.

She distracts herself from the memory by leaning in to kiss him once more, fully turning then to cuddle up against him, draping an arm and a leg over him as she nuzzles her face into his neck.

“You’ve grown terribly sentimental since our commitment,” she murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to his skin, a teasing tone in her words. “But not incorrect…”

She falls silent for several long moments, pondering her words. Then, lifting her head to gaze down at him, she reaches out to gently brush his hair back from his brow.

“It is a good thing we are not so open about what we share, elsewise the bards would not stop singing about us,” she chuckles. “Two strangers, both so isolated from the true world and what should be normal…and by some miracle of destiny, we found one another, and created this life together…entirely from nothing.”

She leans down to press a lingering kiss to his lips then.

“I will forever be grateful for you, Eskel,” she murmurs against his lips. “For the first time in my forty years, I feel entirely at ease. I am not fearful that I will wake to you forcing yourself upon me…nor am I fearful you will harm me simply because I am…well, not quite your wife, but as close as I can be.”

She does not notice she has begun to cry until she lifts her head and sees one of her tears drip down onto his cheek.

“I spent so many years…simply surviving. More for the sake of my children than for myself. But surviving led to me craving to take back power of my own…a notion which admittedly did not turn out well for me. And now…now I finally have what I now realise I have longed for all along…safety and calm. And I have found that with you.”

She settles her head back upon his chest then, cuddling closer still, practically atop him now. Craving his closeness.

“Don’t go on the Path this year, Eskel…” she says suddenly. “I shan’t stop you taking contracts but…take them here. So that you can come home to me each night. And to Elsa. And…”

She shakes her head.

“I long to give you a babe, Eskel…” she whispers. “And I fear that if you leave for a few months, it will be too late by the time you return…”

[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

He heeds her words quickly and, as she soon realises, more thoroughly than she had hoped he would.

Within moments, she finds herself clinging to the railing for dear life, near certain she is going to cause some sort of damage to it as he fucks her harder than he ever has before.

For a moment, she thinks of urging him to slow just a little, the force and depth of his thrusts bringing her more pain than she would have enjoyed. But such thoughts are short lived when her gaze moves down to the crowd below, all of them watching with gazes flooded with arousal.

Within a few minutes, pleasure has begun to raise its head once more amidst the pain and, spurred by the notion that they were being, she begins to thrust back against him, one hand leaving the railing to slide between her thighs, playing with herself to enhance the intense pleasure she knows he will drive her to.

“Gods…that’s it…

[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 Skellige woman is relentless with her fucking, evidently well-versed in fucking women if her thrusts are anything to go by. And it would seem she had not forgotten how the Empress liked it, even if their last encounter had been moons ago.

When Cersei has reached her third climax, the woman slips from her and roughly bringing her to her hands and knees, discarding the glass cock and instead getting up to seek a smaller item from the cabinet. Much to Cersei’s surprise and pleasure, she feels the warrior run it through her wetness and slowly, gently begins to tease the empress’ rear. When Cersei nods her permission., she feels the slight pain as Astrid slowly pushes it into her, giving her a moment to adjust before beginning to fuck her with it. The Empress’ mind wandering to how Letho’s immense cock might feel in such a manner, eventually concluding that likely she would require input from a maester.

One of the elven women who was riding Letho’s tireless cock, retrieves the device that Astrid had originally been using upon the Empress and made a show of licking it clean, moaning at the combination of the taste and the sensations in her own cunt as Letho fucked her from below.

It is the that Cersei notices someone from the corner of her eye as she slowly rides back against Astrid’s gentle thrusts. Rhaena, entirely bare, moving to the bed and setting upon her back before Cersei, the empress immediately burying her face between the Myrish woman’s thighs.

[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 remains silent for a long time after he speaks, deep in contemplation.

She knows his concerns are well founded, not just born of his love for Elsa as his child. Westeros was far from safe for a child, even less so for a girl. Perhaps their daughter would decide to go herself when she was older, when Eskel had trained her with the sword and Cersei had schooled her in handling herself. But it was no place for a child.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, fingers toying with his beneath the water. “For one, I am certain there are still people who…do not like me, and for good reason. I deserve their hatred for everything I did. And secondly, they will never accept anyone other than a Lannister there.”

She shifts a little in his lap, enough to bring her lips to his. Kissing him gently.

“Both Elsa and I bear your name now,” she whispers, gently stroking his scarred cheek. “Perhaps it is best to allow Casterly Rock to die with the Lannister name…”

She nuzzles against him then, eyes falling closed as she yawns.

“Let us go to bed…”

Before long, they are curled up beneath the fresh sheets, Eskel spooning her closely as they always did, a cruel layer of satin from her nightdress keeping her away from the bare skin of his abdomen. But they could not risk Elsa breaking in in the morning and finding them in a state she ought not be witnessing.

After a long silence, she turns her head and kisses him, lingering this time. A smile upon her lips as she draws away.

Emerald gaze remains on viper one for a moment before she settles back against the pillow.

“I adore you, Eskel…”

[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 released a low moan as she feels him slide back inside her, her grip on the railing tightening as he begins to fuck her once more. Her own hips grinding back against his, a shuddered gasp leaving her lips as she feels his hand sneak between her thighs too, in combination with his lips at her neck.

Before long, she notices the crowd of onlookers gathering below in the internal courtyard of the pleasure house, both whores and clients alike watching the muscular Witcher taking the most beautiful woman in the pleasure house right there on her balcony. She decides to give them even more of a show then, tugging her dress up over her head and leaving herself entirely bare as he took her right there over the railing.

“Harder…” she murmured, bending herself further forward over the railing. “Show them I’m yours…”

[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

It is not long before Astrid had driven her to heated pleasure right there against the pillar, the combination of her powerful tongue and fingers along with the sight of Letho and his lovers atop the bed leaving her crying out, nails digging into the Skellige woman’s shoulders to jeep herself from falling.

Before she knows it, Astrid’s strong arms have wrapped about her and lifted her up, carrying her over to the large bed, setting her down atop it beside Letho. Immediately feeling the delicate hands of the elven woman riding his mouth and cock beginning to wander over her bare flesh. Astrid disappears for a moment before returning with a large glass cock from Cersei’s collection in hand, one which she attached to herself with her sword belt before mounting her. Roughly forcing the empress’ thighs apart, the warrior slid it into her, giving her a few moments to adjust before beginning to fuck her with it. The empress’ hand blindly grasping at Letho’s, holding on for dear life as the warrior woman pounds her into the bed beneath her.

[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 enjoys the way his gaze drifts over her, taking in the sheer lewdness of her gown, showing off the body she knew could rile him within moments. An effect it had on any man with functioning eyes.

“Hm…” she murmurs, leaning up to kiss him heatedly, a hand brushing over his cock in his breeches. “We shall see about that, Witcher. And even if none can satisfy me tonight, at least I still have you. Shall we?”

Bidding Rhaena farewell, they leave the chambers, the empress delicately clinging to Letho’s arm as they walk through the palace to one of the immense courtyards. Taking a moment to survey the scene before her before they make their way down the marble staircase to the courtyard below. Taking note of the few couples stealing away to the more hidden areas, no doubt to enjoy one another with the thrill of risking being caught.

Perhaps she would engage in such activity later in the night…

“Perhaps we ought to find some ladies to join us too,” she smirks as they make their way to her table. “Call it a reward for your…enthusiasm to my cause.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho nodded with a chuckle under his breath at her observation and grip on his groin, and departed the royal bedchamber with the golden haired Empress swiftly. She took his arm as she led the way through the vast palace and out to one of the courtyards, his viper eyes taking in the view all along the way as they passed down the marble staircase. The numerous fancy black armor clad guards, uniformed servants, the costumed and drinking, dancing masked nobles and other guests from around the empire and beyond... the fancy decorations and so forth. He had probably never seen a bigger spectacle in all his years, regardless of how well traveled he was, and how many upper class targets he'd had. Sure enough, even in his mask and attire it did nothing to disguise the stares his way... his size made otherwise impossible. Though he knew most of the stares were at the revealing attired Imperator holding on to his arm as they passed through the crowds, everyone clearing their path. From a fair few of the murmurs he could tell some of the guests were aghast and resentful that a hulking, mutant brute from the arena like himself should be in the company of their fair and much sought after Empress... much less sharing her bed... but her power and standing had evidently forced even the Witcher higher up the social ladder, to be looked at with a good deal of interest and consideration by others... including a number of the ladies they passed along the way. How it worked with blue bloods... the lower ones always coveting what those at the top enjoyed. Perhaps Cersei took notice of the stares as well, based on her enticing suggestion as they made their way to her table. A smirk crossed his rough face beneath the mask, as he did the expected gentlemanly thing and held her chair back for her to be seated, his deep, gravelly tone murmuring back to her quietly at the offer, before taking his own seat at her side.

"Fair's fair... Witchers always have a price. Your Skellige warrior woman and some of your enthusiastic noble lady friends I saw at the Amphitheater, and in this crowd, ought suffice. Best for a Gladiator to give his fans what they want. I ain't picky though... you have at least as good taste in ladies as I do. And yourself, of course, when you have some spare time away from all the attention you'll be gettin'... and if you ain't too sore. Won't be difficult to find your gentlemen of the evening, even in costumes. We pit fighting types tend to stand out."

@gcldenlioness

[gcldenlioness]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Emerald gaze falls upon the warrior in question as Letho speaks, feeling herself instantly grow wet at the notion. Especially seeing the woman dressing in traditional Skellige attire, entirely unmistakable given her size and the flowing red curls down her back. Perhaps once she did allow Letho to leave, she would take the woman on as protection.

“I would be far from opposed to having Astrid join us again,” she smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “After all, I doubt any of the men you have selected for me would likely satisfy me enough. Better I finish my night with someone who knows a woman’s body well.”

It is not long before the feast is served, mountainous plates of food being laid out upon the tables at which all of the guests sit. Cersei helps herself and as she eats, she takes the opportunity to scan the crowd. She had instructed Letho to advise each of his chosen men to wear an emerald ring and before long, she has spotted all five of them seated around the courtyard. And, to give Letho credit, he has selected her a good variety of them, ranging in appearance and physicality.

As the feast draws on, she decides to engage in the fantasy other couples seemed to be enjoying and, knowing she would far from enjoy having all five of them fawning over her at once, she decides she will entertain them all personally during the ball, so she and Letho can enjoy the chosen women for the remainder of the evening.

Murmuring her plan in Letho’s ear once the guests had finished their feast and begun to move away from their tables, the empress too rises and saunters off to select her first for the evening.

As she wanders, she encounters Astrid, leaning up to murmur her desires for their post-feast celebration. With a smirk, the Skellige woman heeds her request and, within a few minutes, Cersei notes the woman leaving the courtyard with a group of around ten other women, heading in the direction of Cersei’s chambers as requested.

It does not take Cersei long to find the first of Letho’s chosen warriors- an Ofeiri noble, dressed in an elegant teal robe. Their encounter behind the hedge in the nearby maze is not as impressive as he appears, but it does not leave the empress entirely unsatisfied.

Over the next hour, she works her way through the other four, stealing away to various areas of the vast courtyard. Of the five, she decides she would enjoy the Toussaint knight and the noble from Novigrad again, those two having been the only ones to bring her to any form of pleasure, albeit minimal. The elven prince, as Caellad had, had disappointed her entirely and the Skellige man now lay bleeding out behind one of the fountains after Cersei had stabbed him in the neck with her dagger after he had tried to take more that his share of her.

By the time she returns to Letho close to one of the drinks tables, laying a gentle hand on his arm as she smirks up at him.

“Shall we?” She says before leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Our Skellige friend and her chosen companions await…”

She can hear the heated sighs emanating from her apartments before they even reach the doors and the empress’ emerald eyes widen as they enter the room, greeted with the sight of the dozen women around the room, each enjoying themselves with one another or alone. They pause when they note the empress and Witcher enter the apartments before immediately swarming the pair, stripping them both of their attires. And, before Cersei knows it, she finds herself pressed against one of the pillars as Astrid feasts between her thighs. Emerald gaze watching on as the two Elven twins take their heated pleasures from Letho atop the bed.

[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 watches in awe as the men begin to brawl in the sand, the notion drawing laughter from her, seeing men who thought themselves so fearsome being rendered so foolish by Eskel’s magic.

“A part of me wishes to remain here and watch,” she smirks, sliding her arms about Eskel’s neck and leaning up to kiss him. “But another part of me did not receive quite enough attention from you before we were interrupted…”

Taking his hand, she leads him back towards the city and eventually, they make it back to the pleasure house she called home. Once upstairs in her room, she saunters away from him and out onto the balcony, leaning over it slightly and subtly hitching her dress up, beckoning him to mount her once more.

[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 remains beneath him for a long time after they both reach their pleasures, Cersei having pressed a hand to his hip to stop him eventually. She holds him close, nuzzling and kissing him. Simply savouring having him, knowing he would be making for the path once more in a week or two.

Eventually, she slips out from beneath him and rises from the bed, wrapping a robe about her frame and gesturing for him to get up so she could change the stained sheets. Then, taking his hand, she leads him to the bathing room so they could share their evening bath as they did every night after Elsa had gone to bed.

She relaxes in the hot water with him, back pressed against his chest. Head resting against his shoulder as her eyes fall closer. Hands gently holding his atop her abdomen.

“I was thinking…” she murmurs eventually. “Perhaps when you return from the Path, we sail for Westeros. Spend some time at Casterly Rock, so Elsa can embrace her Westerosi heritage…”

She tries and fails to keep the sadness from her words, having accepted there was unlikely to be a pregnancy that would require her to remain at home when he returned.

“Despite giving up my crown, I am still warden of the West by birthright. As Elsa will be after me.”

[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 looks between the Witcher and the guards upon the beach, weighing up her options. Though she was far from shy, she had never particularly trusted the guards in Myr, always found them lecherous. She refused to entertain them at the pleasure house, even if the other girls told her they payed incredibly good coin.

Part of her wishes to swim further out to sea, tread water until they left. And yet she was far from a strong swimmer so likely such an endeavour would not go over very well. On the other hand, she had a Witcher at her disposal- if they tried anything, likely Eskel would defend her.

At least she hoped he would…

Hiding herself away with her hands, she made her way back towards the shore with Eskel, emeralds remaining fixed upon the guards nearby. As they get closer to their possessions on the sand, the lioness notes that the men are rather inebriated if their gait and slurred speech is anything to go by. And such a notion is only confirmed when they notice her, choosing to approach despite Eskel’s intimidating appearance.

One of them spits something in Myrish, drawing his sword as he sizes Eskel up, looking the Witcher up and down. Cersei is grateful Eskel has no knowledge of the language, for she doubts the man would survive even a moment longer if he could understand what was said. Even so, drawing a sword before a Witcher was unlikely to end well, so Cersei sensibly takes a step back, throwing her dress over her bare frame.

Wondering in that moment if she ought to flee.

[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 enjoys the way his gaze drifts over her, taking in the sheer lewdness of her gown, showing off the body she knew could rile him within moments. An effect it had on any man with functioning eyes.

“Hm…” she murmurs, leaning up to kiss him heatedly, a hand brushing over his cock in his breeches. “We shall see about that, Witcher. And even if none can satisfy me tonight, at least I still have you. Shall we?”

Bidding Rhaena farewell, they leave the chambers, the empress delicately clinging to Letho’s arm as they walk through the palace to one of the immense courtyards. Taking a moment to survey the scene before her before they make their way down the marble staircase to the courtyard below. Taking note of the few couples stealing away to the more hidden areas, no doubt to enjoy one another with the thrill of risking being caught.

Perhaps she would engage in such activity later in the night…

“Perhaps we ought to find some ladies to join us too,” she smirks as they make their way to her table. “Call it a reward for your…enthusiasm to my cause.”

[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

After a time, one hand slips down to grasp his arse whilst the other finds his hand, lacing her fingers though his as he fucks her ever closer to yet another climax.

The intensity of his fucking reminds her of how they had first been when he had came to the Red Keep. Hard, relentless and near painful, a sensation which only served to intensify her pleasure. She cannot recall when last he took her in such a way, as though possessed by something primal. Each harsh thrust reiterating that she belonged to him just as he did her.

“Mine…” she pants, arching her back to press herself harder against him. “Gods…you’re all mine…”

It is then that another intense pleasure hits her and she is almost certain the entirety of the Duchy would have heard her screams had she not had the good sense to turn her head and muffle herself with the pillow, feeling her arousal dripping from her and pooling upon the sheets below.

As she returns from her high, she draws back just enough to meet his gaze. Silently urging him to put his babe in her.

[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

At some point in their journey upstairs, she had tugged loose his shirt and cast it aside in desperation for feel his bare skin. She watches him lock the door once he had settled her atop the bed before he joins her upon it, immediately mounting her and slipping back inside her. Her breath catching in her throat at the sensation, legs immediately wrapping tightly about his hips as he moves within her.

“I love you…” she pants, burying her face in his neck as he fucks her, nipping at his skin.

Before long, she cannot hold back her pleasure once more, nails clawing at his back as each thrust drives her into the bed and within a few minutes, she is writhing beneath him as wave after wave of heated pleasure crash over her.

“Eskel…” she moans into his skin. “Fuck…harder…don’t stop…”