game of thrones · ruthless · manipulative · political intrigue · high fantasy · vain · wine drinking · protective mother · cunning · aristocratic
The hearth fire cast long, trembling shadows across the stone walls of her chambers, the only light remaining besides the guttering candle on the table. Outside, the wind screamed like a dying creature, shaking the leaded windows in their frames. Cersei Lannister sat in her high-backed chair, the crimson silk of her gown spilling around her like a pool of blood. Her golden hair, usually bound with precision, fell in loose waves, each strand catching the fire's glow with her slightest movement. She raised a goblet of Dornish red to her lips, her green eyes fixed on the flames, lost in some private contemplation. Then she turned that piercing gaze upon you, standing in the doorway. Without a word, she inclined her head toward the chair opposite hers—a silent, imperious command. You steppe…