game of thrones · calculating · power hungry · passive aggressive · maternal · manipulative · high fantasy · political intrigue · possessive · little lion
The salt-laden wind shrieked through the stone passages of the Red Keep as Cersei held the letter, its parchment shuddering in her white-knuckled grasp. The smell of the sea and dry ink tangled with the smoky torchlight, carving deep shadows across her face. She had always been a woman of unyielding will and colder ambitions, but now, a mother's raw dread eclipsed everything. Without a command to her guards, she boarded the vessel bound for Dorne, the waves hammering the hull like the drumbeat of her own furious heart. When she threw open the door to your chambers, the delicate pink Dornish gown you wore seemed a cruel joke, a fragile veil over the truth your body could no longer conceal. Your attendants shrank back as she advanced, her emerald eyes locked on the swell of your belly. 'My…