A Comment on Age

All characters in this story are 18 years or older, despite their ages in the original fiction.

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Cersei had no idea what to expect. She was sitting in her cell by herself, awaiting the trial by combat that that sickening snake of Highgarden had forced on her. She was wearing nothing but a thong (the Faith saw no reason to offer them a shred of dignity in this moment of truth), her tits completely bare. They were still damaged and swollen from what had been done to them in the cell she and Margaery had practically shared, and she was under no illusion that they would look any better by the end. She wasn’t looking forward to it, as she could still feel the fresh pain throbbing through her body, but she knew that, one way or another, the end was coming for her now.

There was a weird, unfamiliar feeling in her gut, tormenting her by making her whole body tremble. She hated the ache it caused, and even more so because she knew that there was only one reason she was feeling it in the first place. Margaery Tyrell, Margaery and the thought of her entering the cell in a similar thong to the one Cersei was wearing. Margaery and the way she would most likely look at her; the smug look on the little queen’s whorish face. Cersei noticed the slight fear she felt quickly turning into a wave of immense, overwhelming hatred.

The cunt had brought it upon herself. The little bitch and her schemes had led them to their current predicament. As soon as the little whore would enter the cell, Cersei now decided, Cersei would tear her nails into her and rip her to shreds. The time to be a Queen would soon come again, so would the time to deal with these religious fanatics, but not now. Not until the little cunt had been entirely destroyed.

The wait wasn’t that long, but felt like an eternity. Soon enough, a struggling young queen was brought into the cell. She was still wearing a shift, but the septas soon enough changed that by ridding her off the uncomfortable sack, revealing that the queen was — as expected — wearing nothing apart from the same type of thong Cersei was wearing. Then, when they let go of her, Margaery’s body fell tits first onto the cold, tiled floor underneath them.

They abruptly left after that, as if wanting nothing of the carnage to come, leaving the two women to fight out their own trial.

“Is this what you wanted, then, little bitch?” Cersei spoke as Margaery recovered from her fall. “To lose your life by my hands in a cold forgotten dungeon? Did you really think this trial by combat is going to save you?”

Before Cersei could get her hands on her and give herself a headstart in the fight, Margaery lifted herself up on her feet. She looked angry, though tried to portray amusement in her expression. “Delusional old cow,” she mocked with a perplexed laugh. “Are you so deluded that you think you could scare me?.”

Cersei felt the fury rising in her stomach, throbbing through her cunt. The thrill of what was about to happen could almost be mistaken for arousal, wettening the fabric around her cunt, but Cersei knew that this sudden wetness was nothing but a sign she was soon going to lose it. “You are deluded not to be, clueless little slut.”

Cersei didn’t give Margaery the opportunity for a retort, as it took only another second for her to fling herself at her opponent. If the bitch wants it, she thought, she’ll get it.

Cersei knew well what the intention of those thongs was, and she used them to their full potential. She moved her hands to Margaery’s waist, grabbed hold of the string of fabric, and yanked it upwards. She could tell by the expression on the little bitch’s face, that the thong was cutting into her ass painfully. A moment later, that suspicion was confirmed by a pained groan that came from the slut’s throat.

Cersei didn’t have enough empathy to know what Margaery must be going through, but it soon turned out that she didn’t need to possess any at all to know the young queen’s pain. She only had to wait another second for the little bitch to do exactly the same thing to the thong that Cersei was wearing. The pain then turned out to be enough to blind her as involuntary tears blurred her vision, with the chafing cloth cutting through the muscle of her asshole that throbbed and stung.

“Whatever you do, cunt,” Margaery spat, there was fire in her eyes, but as Cersei still somehow imagined her wearing her snake-like green, the expression looked nearly poisonous. “I can do it harder.”

“Is that a challenge, bitch?” Cersei retorted. She grabbed a firmer hold of the thongs and began to challenge the young queen back by pulling it farther up. “Because, here, you can fucking have it.”

The pain resonated through Margaery’s body painfully enough for her to throw her head back in agony. She screamed out with it, and Cersei could swear she saw the bitch’s small tits throbbing from within as her asshole burned. Cersei felt a brief sense of victory, which was soon enough torn away from her as the little queen decided to stick to her promises. Then, as the string of fabric cut through her asshole, perhaps hard enough for her to start bleeding from it, it was Cersei’s scream that next sounded through their cell. It was so hard that her grip around Margaery’s thongs faltered a little, her fingers cramping up severely enough for her to let go altogether.

“An old bitch like you can’t fight anymore…” Margaery hissed, “she can only talk.”

Cersei wasn’t able to say or do anything, as a moment later she felt herself sinking through her knees. At first she assumed she had been going weak within them, but then, when her whole body clattered to the floor, she knew that Margaery had yanked so hard that the thong had broken and that she was now sitting on the floor in her bare cunt.

“Pathetic,” Margery called her. “Weak, pathetic and, most of all, old.”

The pain coursing through Cersei’s body was enough to momentarily stun her, but that pain quickly turned into anger. She threw her body in the direction of Margaery’s legs and grabbed a hold of one of the bitch’s legs. Pulling hard and roughly, she had the little queen shaking upon her feet and although Margaery tried her best to maintain her balance, Cersei was strong enough to knock Margaery off her legs.

When the little queen lost her balance, she landed on her tailbone. She gasped as the pain shot through her spine, and then even harder when Cersei gathered all her strength to push the younger woman face first into the floor. With Margaery’s tits now pressed against the cold, stone floor, Cersei straddled her hips and began pulling the thong just as hard as the little bitch had done to hers. After a few moments of wailing, squirming and — from Cersei’s side — yanking, the thong between Margaery’s ass cheeks ripped apart just as easily as her own had done.

It was almost as though they had been intentionally provided with such flimsy fabric, but Cersei tried not to pay attention to that. The last thing she wanted was to come to the conclusion that they had once again played themselves into someone else’s trap, and so those thoughts never truly caught up with her. Instead, with both their assholes bleeding slightly, the two women were adamant to continue their fight.

“Get off me, you fat cow,” Margaery yelped, while she squirmed in order to get herself away from Cersei’s body weight. “And fight me fucking fairly, dumb coward.”

However, as Margaery might have been well aware, Cersei did not care about fairness. The little bitch might have thought that the insult might have made Cersei listen, but she’d thought wrong. All Cersei wanted was to claw the bitch’s poisonous eyes straight out of her sockets, whether it be fairly or not.

Once Margaery realised this, she quickly squirmed away. Cersei only let her because the time it took for Margaery to get herself back on her front was enough for Cersei to put her next attack into action.

After all, the time it took for Margaery to get herself back on her front was enough for Cersei to plan her next attack.

Cersei didn’t get back up on her feet like Margaery was trying. Instead, she waited for the bitch to turn towards her and quickly reached out to Margaery’s cunt. She didn’t directly attack the girl’s mound, but instead grabbed a hold of a patch of pubic hair that had not yet been pulled off during their previous fight. Margaery let her pain known in the form of a loud cry, after which it looked like she was about to sink through her feet again.

Before the young queen succumbed, she frantically kicked her foot out to Cersei’s jaw, which stunned her so much that her body clattered back against the floor once more. Another kick into the cunt prevented her from spurring back into action again, instead leaving her to wail upon her back.

It was then that Margaery sank down and seated herself on the floor. She positioned herself in between Cersei’s legs, almost as if to initiate a sex fight akin to the one they had had before. However, it soon enough became clear that this stage of their fight wasn’t reserved for bringing unwanted pleasure to Cersei, as instead she grabbed a hold of the remainder of Cersei’s yellow hair. When Cersei managed to lift herself up to sit down, she did the same to Margaery’s pussy hair until the two were constricted in a sharp fight that left both of the women screaming with unwanted agony.

This time, they didn’t just tug like they had done last time. Instead, the two quickly started yanking so hard that strand after strand of brown and golden pubic hair got ripped from their mounds. Cersei wasn’t able to see what was happening to her own cunt, but judging by what she was seeing on the cunt of her opponent, she could conclude that she was probably bleeding severely by this point. Cersei wasn’t sure about her own objective, but the rage that consumed her told her not to rest until every last strand of Margaery’s hair had been pulled out. She wanted the cunt to bleed, and for there to no longer be a single strand of hair to protect her womanhood.

That objective seemed to be shared by the young queen. After yanking out a fistful of hair that had Cersei screaming so loudly she was momentarily unable to continue her own yanking, Margaery held the hairs in her face. “Can you see that, bitch?” she huffed, waving the long-ish hairs in Cersei’s face. “Even your cunt belongs to an old cow. More grey than gold, you see?”

Cersei didn’t see it. Not only because she knew — whether it be a delusion, or reality — that there wasn’t a grey strand of hair to be found on her cunt, but because a moment later Margaery’s hand reached out to her mouth and she began stuffing the strands past her lips, so deeply into her mouth that Cersei felt her eyes watering. She gagged straight after, the feeling of hairs causing such discomfort that her entire throat seemed to close off.

Cersei didn’t leave it with this, though, and let her anger guide her in yanking out another few strands of hair. Similarly, she shoved it into Margaery’s face and pushed it past her lips in the same way while simultaneously trying her best to move away from Margaery’s hand. “Tastes like your diseased cunt, hm?” Cersei retorted, moments before the little bitch’s hand shoved straight back into her mouth.

The two queens caught themselves violently gagging on each other’s fingers as well as the prickly hair that was left near their throats. With their other, unoccupied hands, they yanked the remainder of each other’s hairs from their pussies, balding them as though there had never been a strand of hair on them before. They both bled because of it, making the ache all the more severe, especially as the gagging had their muscles cramping and convulsing so intensely that it almost felt like their bladders were going to give in and explode with pain-induced urination.

There was little more that they could do after that, as all they wanted was to get away. Margaery scurried backwards first, after which Cersei soon followed. However, the little bitch was quick enough to grab a hold of the hair on Cersei’s head and yank at it so hard that her body clattered to the floor a second later.

Cersei landed roughly on the stone floor, her blow to Margaery’s side stinging but nowhere near enough to stop the furious young queen. “Break your hip, you dried old twat?!” Margaery snapped at her as she pursued and grabbed for Cersei’s arm. The woman may have been older, but her fury drove her through this battle as well. The loss of her son and the ominous prophecy spurred her on to end this woman before she could do any further harm to her. Cersei pulled back before she could be properly grabbed, but Margaery caught her by the skin of her arm. There was a brief struggle as the fabric held, suspending them both in the middle of their lockup as they kicked and clawed at each other. The old cloth finally gave way with a loud tear, never built to take anything more than some light pulling to begin with. It wouldn’t do to have prisoners having protection from their beatings, after all.

Cersei fell back with her large breasts bouncing along with her. Margaery stumbled back with her handful of skin and arm fat, but even that small opening was enough that Cersei lashed out with her leg and tripped her down to the floor with her. The impact made Margaery flinch enough that Cersei flung herself on top of her, a frenzied mother of a she-beast slashing her claws with a vengeance. Margaery winched as the nails grazed her cheek, rough enough to leave a jagged scratch but not enough to draw blood yet. Margaery appeared to not even recognize the pain and delivered a heavy slap to Cersei’s cheek, but the elder of the two women continued her own assault as she palmed Margaery’s forehead and slammed the back of her skull into the waiting stone floor.

No amount of rage or stamina had prepared Margaery for that. She winced and curled up, cupping and shielding her throbbing head. Cersei was left free to grab her by the throat with both hands and start gouging her fingers into Margaery’s windpipe. “You treacherous little whore! I’ll leave you dead in this dungeon when I stop that black little heart of yours!” Cersei threatened through her maddening fury. Margaery emitted a few weak choking sounds before she reached up and grabbed Cersei by the face, squeezing her hands together to drag her nails towards her eyes. Cersei responded with a similarly instinctive scream, shielding her eyes as she jolted back off her opponent. Margaery didn’t bother trying to get up before she threw a kick into Cersei’s side. The older woman winced from the shocking kick, clawing one hand blindly in the direction it came from rather than where Margaery actually was. The brown-haired noble rushed in and delivered a diving punch to Cersei’s chest, clumsy but effective as both went staggering from the heavy swing.

Cersei managed to raise an arm, keeping from hitting her head against the opposite wall of their small cell. They both gathered their bearings and got their legs back under them as they stared daggers at each other. “Filthy cunt,” Cersei spat. She could have berated her for her crimes and treacheries, about the prophecy that foretold her bringing ruin to her and her family. She settled for boiling all her hatred into spitting out the two visceral words.

“Pathetic old cow!” Margaery snapped back, moving towards her foe. Her rage made her hungry for more of Cersei’s cries of pain, tempered by the time spent in her own cell. Cersei waited enough to lash out quickly, punching right across Margaery’s chin. Margaery stumbled right into her, disoriented by the blow but her momentum carrying her the rest of the way. The elder fighter grunted from the jarring impact, but hooked her nails on Margaery’s crude dress and pounded another couple punches into the brunette’s belly.

“You’re too new to this game, you little shit!” Cersei snarled. “I’ve been around far too-”

Margaery was in no mood to hear her out, shifting her weight upward and spiking her knee into Cersei’s stomach. The pain ate her words as Margaery swept her fist into the edge of Cersei’s eyebrow, dizzying her with the blow before she steadied her with a grip on her torn dress. “I’ve had enough of your words,” Margaery snarled, digging her nails into her foe’s naked breast. “I want your screams!”

If that was truly the case, then Cersei didn’t quite give her what she’d wanted. She had seen more than her share of pain, the least of which was giving birth to four children, so a few scratches weren’t enough to make her shed a tear. She still snarled through her pain and palmed Margaery’s face, shoving her back in one smooth push. Margaery went stumbling back, suspended in the air for a moment before her own dress ripped where Cersei had been holding on. The cheap dress tore in a long strip down her side, falling from her right arm and breast. Margaery barely managed to stay standing after some awkward staggering, but by then Cersei had closed in and swung her fist in a wide arc into her hated rival’s cheek.

Margaery crumbled to the ground, still rubbing her cheek with her forearm when Cersei stomped on her ribs. The downed ruler gave a husky grunt as the air was knocked from her lungs, Cersei proving just as ruthless and relentless in her fighting as she was.

“You always were too soft for my boy!” Cersei seethed as she drove another kick into Margaery’s bare breast. She jolted from the blow, but she managed to hook her fingers around Cersei’s foot and pulled hard. She tripped the assaulting mother to the hard floor beside her, landing clumsily on her ass and back.

“Did you break a hip, you old witch?” Margaery hissed angrily as she held onto the leg she had taken hold of a moment ago. “You’d better let me check!” Margaery knew of some warriors who could break a leg with their bare hands from a position like this, and while no soft throne-warmer herself, she knew she had nowhere near that much talent for violence. She settled for dragging Cersei towards her until she could thrust her hand up the mother’s skirts and scrape her nails down the front of her crotch.

This finally got a scream out of Cersei, setting the tone for the fight as Margaery found some validation in the look of shock and pain on her face. However tough and vicious each woman was, an attack to the groin was enough to spark the instincts in any human being. Margaery bared her teeth in a grin as she put more weight into her arm, pushing and clawing at Cersei’s privates. She was too caught up in her bloodthirsty attack to stop Cersei’s free leg from cracking into her skull and sending her stumbling on her hands and knees.

“You treacherous whore!” Cersei raged, scrambling on top of Margaery and tearing at her already damaged dress. She wanted vengeance in more ways than one, sure to dig her long and chipped nails into the fabric as deep as they would go. She ripped away hunks of Margaery’s dress while leaving pricks and scratches against her skin wherever she’d grabbed.

Margaery raised her arms to fend off Cersei’s claws, sneaking a quick fist into the vengeful mother’s ribs. Cersei shrugged off the pain and lashed out with her hand, palming the side of Margaery’s face and mashing it against the dirty dungeon floor. When the younger of the accused wasn’t able to thrash her way out of it, she twisted her neck so that she could bite down on Cersei’s thumb. The queen shrieked and pulled her hand back to find thin trails blood running down her fingers. Margaery grabbed Cersei by her dress and tried to fling her off, but the older noble had no time to concern herself with shallow injuries. She balled up the injured hand and punched Margaery right in the eye. Margaery jerked to one side, emitting a vague curse of a growl. Cersei went to follow through and claw her eyes out, but her attack was enough that Margaery could yank on her dress and send her falling off of her with a loud sound of tearing fabric.

They both got to their knees in their tattered dresses, just starting to breathe heavy. Margaery couldn’t see herself at the moment, but she believed that Cersei was struggling to catch her breath. “Your age is catching up to you, you overbred sow,” Margaery taunted, wiping some sweat and saliva from her face. The light touch made her cheek bone ache from Cersei’s latest punch.

“And yet look at the state of you,” Cersei spat back. Her eyes ran over Margaery’s figure to trace the variously ripped fabric and exposed skin on her daughter-in-law. “Back to looking like a gutter whore already. It won’t be long before you’re dead by my hand and I’ll see that my son is avenged.”

“Come now,” Margaery said with a sadistic and toothy grin. “You had plenty of young already in your litter. I should think you could have spared one or two.”

The fire in Cersei’s eyes blaze anew and she lunged for Margaery. She grabbed for Margaery’s throat, and while the younger woman dodged back her attacker’s long nails still scraped down the front of her chest instead. Margaery cried out from the pain, but she grabbed Cersei by the shoulders and kneed her in the belly. The maternal woman gave a loud grunt at the impact, but she rushed forward to push Margaery hard with her shoulder. Cersei plowed into her until Margaery’s head clanged off the solid wooden door to their cell. Margaery gave a shrill shout as she clutched at her skull. Cersei was quick to capitalize, holding Margaery against the bars and raining frenzied blows into her stomach in an attempt to destroy the guts of her son’s murderer.

Margaery was still not about to go so easily. She suddenly reached out and caught Cersei by her greasy hair, pulling her towards her as if for some passionate embrace. Instead, she yanked Cersei’s head beside hers to smash her nose into one of the thick door. A meaty crunch sounded right beside Margaery’s ear, and she felt hot blood trickle onto her shoulder. Cersei howled and recoiled, holding her bloodied and now misshapen nose.

“You’ll pay for that, you murderous whore!” Cersei fumed at her furiously.

“I think you have plenty to answer to yourself, you incestuous cow!” Margaery buried her claws deep into one of Cersei’s breasts. Cersei reared back with quick howl, throwing a quick punch into Margaery’s crotch in reply. Margaery left bloody streaks across Cersei’s chest, trickling blood across the dungeon floor. The rest fell off their legs on their own with their stumbling steps, but they were far more focused with attacking than they were their dignity.

Margaery briefly rubbed her crotch before storming after Cersei to press her attack. “You’re an even worse fighter than you are a mother,” she snapped. The mother snarled furiously, lashing out with a quick slap to the charging Margaery’s face. It made her falter, but Margaery had already committed her momentum into the attack. It sent her knee slamming into Cersei’s pussy, making the naked royal emit a loud shout and drop to one knee. Margaery ignored the stinging in her cheek to throw a punch into Cersei’s already damaged nose. A shock of pain went through her face and left her head spinning as she collapsed to the floor, bruised and bleeding in a dazed heap.

Margaery stepped over the downed Cersei, squatting over her body and giving a heavy swing to her already aching head. Cersei’s head whipped to one side, trying to shield her face for the inevitable second blow from Margaery until she could manage to strike back. The next two strikes rocked her arms and head, but Cersei locked her eyes on the wide open target that Margaery’s sadistic aggression had offered her.

Margaery was too caught up in her destructive rain of blows to notice. “How pathetic. You’re too old for this kind of thing, you incestuous old cow. You’re never leaving this dungeon alive. There’s a new queen to call most beautiful. The world has not use for you anymore.”

Cersei suddenly abandoned her guard to lash out as quick as a snake. Her fingers crooked and dug deeply into Margaery’s groin, her rough claws leaving long, deep cuts in and around her pussy. Margaery shuddered and screamed as her legs gave way to the invasive agony, fumbling frantically at Cersei in an instinctive attempt to make her stop.

“Blood for blood, you little whore from Highgarden!” Cersei ranted at her, the shouts ringing off the walls of stone. “How does your precious little flower feel now?!” She could see the results of her handiwork between her twisting fingers. More red slashes appeared across Margaery’s groin, and Cersei had dragged her thumb along her crotch to leave one especially deep and crooked cut. She would have hoped it would scar if she’d planned on letting Margaery live through all this. The warm blood spilled over Cersei’s bruised face and swollen chest, grimly painting her fair skin.

Margaery stomped down on Cersei’s crotch in return, hitting her squarely in the pelvis with a dense thud. While Cersei let out a disgusting grunt, Margaery flexed her toes to let her nails leave a smaller trail of destruction over her foe’s privates. She ultimately slipped on her foe’s sweat and blood, landing on top of her and letting Cersei’s claws bury deeper inside her pussy. Margaery let out a brief but pathetic shriek before she shifted her weight to start driving her knee like a piston in between Cersei’s pussy lips.

Cersei couldn’t bear it much longer and finally shoved at Margaery’s hips, sending the two of them tumbling apart. Their cell inescapably reeked of sweat and blood, and their privates throbbed with pain while still distracting them with confused sensations of arousal from all the attention they were getting.

“You have woken up a lioness,” Cersei snarled through her grit teeth. “And a Lannister always pays her debt.”

“Do they always fail as mothers and lovers as well?” Margaery hissed back as she rubbed her aching groin, forcing herself to stand after a moment. Cersei started to move to do the same. “Or is it all the same to you and you were planning to mother your grandchildren as well?”

Cersei screamed wordlessly as she threw herself at Margaery, but her foe acted with the same brutal motivators of revenge and survival. They didn’t bother slowing down as they approached, letting their battered tits slamming into each other as they swung wildly at each other. They landed a few blows apiece, Margaery punching around Cersei’s face and chest. Cersei went lower by grabbing Margaery by the hips and pounding her in the belly and groin. Margaery finally delivered a hard punch across Cersei’s jaw, sending a tooth and blood flying onto the floor. It spun Cersei partly around so that Margaery could grab her around the hips and bury her own claws into Cersei’s crotch. The Lannister screeched horrifically but threw her weight backward, bringing them both toppling back to the bloody floor of their cell.

The women scrambled over each other, swiftly and clumsily wrestling for position in their hurried struggle. Cersei ended up on top after a tremendous effort, sitting on Margaery’s belly and breathing heavily. She gouged her nails into her foe’s inner thighs, but Margaery didn’t hesitate to press her face forward and bite into her pussy lips. Cersei screamed as Margaery’s teeth attacked her privates, her nose forced to brush against her asshole. Cersei didn’t bother to escape when payback was so close, so she instead buried her face in between Margaery’s legs and returned the favor. Both women were left howling into each other’s vaginas, tongues and fingers working frantically to try to force more of the vulnerable flesh into their mouths. Any passerby could have confused it for a passionate sexual act, though the motivation was entirely the opposite.

Cersei spread out Margaery’s pussy lips with her hooked fingers, angling herself to let her teeth crush the younger woman’s clitoris against the side of her snatch. Margaery sucked on Cersei’s scratched up pussy, biting into as much of her labia as possible while her fingernails pinched and scratched her clit. Their bodies’ confused arousal was making them even more sensitive, instinctively focusing on the pleasure and pain that was coming from their hips and making it that much more intense.

“Fuck you!” Cersei hissed simply through her mouthful of pussy. “I hate you! I’ll destroy your little flower like a fucking weed!”

“Your used up twat is nothing to me!” Margaery snapped back as she drilled her pinky nail into the base of Cersei’s clitoris. “You’re old and weak. It’s time you made way for the new blood.”

“You can’t be the new blood if there’s none left in you!” Cersei seethed, but she was cut off as she threw her head back and gasped. It wasn’t what Margaery had expected, but her oral attack paid off when Cersei shook intensely from her orgasm. A small gush of her warm fluids mixed with her blood against Margaery’s tongue, urging her to press the attack. Cersei let out a long and miserable wail as she found that she was still in the throes of her orgasm, making her crotch that much more sensitive to every little touch (and every violent bite and scratch unimaginable).

Between the pain and the blood lost, Cersei could feel herself weakening. She couldn’t rely on just her sexual attacks, so he snaked one of her legs under Margaery’s neck and started to squeeze them together. Margaery let out a brief choking noise as her breathing was hindered, turning into wet, raspy gasps as she pinched and pulled on Cersei’s pussy with nails and teeth alike. Margaery mimicked her by clamping her thighs on either side of Cersei’s aching head, adding further painful pressure as they were left trapped in their biting duel.

It was impossible for them to tell how long it went on for. All they knew was pain and the taste and feel of the other woman’s sex. At some point, Margaery ground her teeth against Cersei’s clitoris until she felt the familiar taste of fresh blood. Cersei let out one last gurgling noise and fell limp against her, the older mother’s legs falling to the side and releasing their scissor. Margaery gave her legs a quick flex and shake to ensure that her opponent was unconscious. Cersei didn’t so much as twitch.
Margaery took the opportunity to inflict more damage to the older queen by using her fist. Cersei wouldn’t know it, but during the time she was passed out, the bitch would make sure the old queen’s cunt was entirely destroyed. She did this by punching down on her sex, smacking violently until she would feel the hard bone hurting her own fist. Then, fuelled by anger — how dare the old cunt hurt her when she was still passed out — she smacked Cersei near her hole, fingering her open violently and with enough strenght for the flesh to break. The next moments, she would spend slamming her fist into Cersei’s cunt, getting herself so deeply into Cersei’s hole that the old queen would be able to feel this for the next months to come — if the Gods would have enough mercy on her to even experience those next months at all.

When the tissue had been properly torn, and Margaery had become tired of the continuous motions, she shoved the motionless foe off of her, Cersei seeming to be just barely breathing in her brutalized state. Margaery looked no better off, but her youth and stamina seemed to have let her endure the same punishment. “I… I told you. You’re worthless,” Margaery painted at the motionless Cersei. “I’m the new queen. You’re… you’re the whore…” she managed before that same sense of exhaustion swept over her. She tried to shut her eyes to focus, only to find herself collapsing next to Cersei.

When Margaery opened her eyes, she still found the queen next to her mostly passed out. Part of her was twitching, however, indicating that she had regained consciousness somewhere along the way. There was very little the queen was able to do with it, twitching and quivering as the pain overwhelmed her entire body. Margaery felt a sense of victory upon the sight of it, but it never entirely reached her. She still felt an anger that prevented her from feeling the full satisfaction of her triumph. The old hag deserves to suffer. Hanging is too easy a death. The old bitch might have been in the most damaged state Margaery had ever seen her in, but she wanted the cunt to suffer in ways she couldn’t even imagine just yet. She wanted to destroy her once and for all.

She leaned over the old queen and looked down at her. “You can’t move at all, can you?” Margaery taunted. “But can you still see me?”

Cersei barely responded, but judging by the slight noises that escaped her lips, she had definitely heard the younger queen. The slight tremble also indicated that the old cunt was scared, and that she knew Margaery wasn’t done with her just yet.

“Well, let’s change something about that then,” Margaery continued. “I want there to be no mistake after this. I want you to know, for the rest of your however short life, that there is no one who will ever be able to look at you and mistake you for a woman of beauty. Your ugly crooked nose was only the start of it.”

She gave Cersei a moment to take in the words. She began squirming a little, indicating that she wanted to get away from Margaery, to fight back. Margaery wouldn’t let her, of course, and allowed her mind to completely give in to her desire for destruction. If the old cunt would eventually be executed, Margaery wanted her to look as hideous as her heart is black.

She balled her fists again and climbed on top of the cunt. Straddling her hips, she directed all of her anger to the bitch’s eyes. The eyes, once green and proud, soon turned into purple prunes as Margaery’s fist rained down around it. Cersei was shaking underneath her, pained, though weak groans escaping her. They sounded so broken that Margaery thought the old whore might cry, not that it would do her any good.

The torture Margaery inflicted on Cersei’s eyesockets soon caused severe bleeding from the sides of her eyes. That was the only liquid Margaery would see dripping from her eyes, dripping down in thick, gloppy streaks of red. Soon, Margaery thought, this is going to be the only red Cersei will ever see herself covered in again, if she would still see anything at all.

Barely able to move at all, Margaery broke her with ease. Her eyes were the first to swell. Only when she decided it was bad enough did she direct her attention elsewhere, which in this case turned out to be her cheekbones and her already crooked nose. Margaery had never necessarily felt it before, but what she felt right now could only be described as bloodlust. It wasn’t necessarily that she got pleasure out of it, but there was something very satisfying about the way Cersei’s face was slowly being reduced to a bloody pulp.

Margaery punched her in the mouth, and soon had the older queen’s lip swelling up too. Looking back at what she had done to the queen in the last attempt to cause some much needed humiliation — at least according to Margaery — she saw a broken mess of a woman; one she had properly scarred and would never have a chance to rise above her current state ever again. Her face was swollen, blood dripping everywhere, but even underneath all of that was but a collection of badly broken bones and swollen tissue.

Margaery only stopped her attacks when she was disturbed by the sound of approaching footsteps. She checked quickly to see that Cersei was still out cold before pushing herself up into a sitting position. The guards opened the door to find two naked and bloody women, only one left… well, crouching rather than standing. “I’ve won my trial,” Margaery declared breathlessly. “Now get me out of this miserable place.”

Cersei waited quietly against the wall. Her execution was in 12 hours, and she was still aching from her damning duel. Against all odds, her eyesight had survived Margaery’s final assault, though there wasn’t much to see in this gloomy dungeon. In fact, she doubted she would ever want to see herself in a mirror again. Still, she was more angry than she was frightened. “I am a lioness,” she reminded herself. “And the daughter of Tywin Lannister can never be scared.” She couldn’t do much in this situation, but she could rid them of the satisfaction of making her afraid. Anyone else might have been able to make something of all this. If her brother (and lover) were still alive, he could have come to her aid with the rest of their army. Then there was Varys the Spider, the former master of whisper who had fled after the murder of her father through some secret and forgotten tunnel. She supposed that secret passages were for spiders more than lions anyway.

It was then that the door opened. It was too early for the execution, so her thoughts went straight to her brother and her imagined rescue. While it wasn’t any family, it was no executioner either. There was a young septa, the robed woman gesturing briskly for Cersei to step out of the dungeon. The bruised mother hurried out as best she could as she explained.

“We must go. There is a small group of men loyal to your family that will take you to your brother.” They started to move quickly through the sept’s halls, the woman clearly not aware of whatever tunnels that Varys had used. To her surprise, though, they didn’t encounter anyone in need of bribing of bluffing. The halls were empty.

They reached the entrance to the building, Cersei taking in the fresh air with a shaky sigh. “Tell me, what is my rescuer’s name?” She asked the young woman.

“I am Tyene Sand, daughter of Oberyn Martell and niece to Prince Doran Martell of Dorne,” she said, level but still clearly alert for any unwelcome figures approaching. The name struck a chord with Cersei as yet another family that had a troubled history with the Lannisters. Whether her face showed it or not, Tyene went on. “But this is bigger than than our family’s disputes. Whatever you may think of you and your family, the Martells hold a far deeper and longer grudge against the Tyrells. Cersei eyed her suspiciously, but she wasn’t about to ruin this chance at her escape.

Tyene opened the door to find a small bundle containing several gold cloaks stashed on a low part of the wall. Much more noticeably, Cersei saw The Mountain. Ser Gregor Clegane was always a huge (if rather slow-witted) man, but he seemed especially… quiet. He seemed sluggish and distant as he waited for them, almost like a falcon left waiting under its hood. Tyene took the cloaks and passed one to Cersei, finally letting her replace her tattered prisoner’s clothes. Ser Gregor followed them steadily as they moved quickly to the city gate, where Tyene wished them luck and turned back, sending Cersei on her way with some scarce supplies and The Mountain at her side.

All the while, High Sparrow watched in silent approval from his tower chamber. Tyene turned back from the gates, and a few minutes later she returned through his doors. “It is done, your holiness,” she reported. “But if I may… what wisdom lead you to allow her to take her freedom and flee from her crimes?”

The High Sparrow nodded thoughtfully. “It is a fair question. It remains unwise to question the ways of the gods, but men are mortal and prone to follies in our pride. You must understand that Cersei is an important woman. She is an heiress to one of the most powerful forces in the Seven Kingdoms. Beyond that, she has brother that is rather famously gathering an army around his already legendary prowess. We cannot take action that would direct such a force at the faithful that would be in his warpath.

“Besides, she is a greater threat, but we have an even greater sinner to deal with. She is a petty woman, and I’m sure that Cersei will seek out Margaery at the first chance she gets. We shall keep clean the hands of the righteous by letting two wicked forces wipe each other out.

Tyene nodded humbly at his logic. “Very wise, your grace. But how do you trust one such as Littlefinger?”

The High Sparrow let a patient smile cross his lips, as if proud of her asking the question. “Sinner or not, we all serve the Gods and their plan.”

—

A few weeks after the alleged escape, the High Sparrow was seated in his office when he was approached by Tyene. She calmly informed the elderly leader of a septon seeking his attention. The High Sparrow granted the audience as the middle-aged man with a thick but tidy beard entered the chamber.

The clergyman gave an especially sincere bow to his superior before speaking in a high, soft voice. “Greetings, your holiness. I have encountered a problem among our followers that requires your judgement.”

“Speak it, then,” the leader encouraged, studying the visitor. He recognized the septon as Rugen, a pious and heartfelt man of the Faith. He was a wandering septon who had returned to King’s Lander after another extensive bout of traveling. The Sparrow had heard that the man had earned the rank of Most Devout, one that he had gained within a few passionate weeks of service. The High Sparrow had spoken with him once, suspicious of anyone capable of a shocking rise through the ranks, but found nothing more than another pure and pious soul dedicated to serving the Seven.

“My high holiness,” Rugen started. “What is the Gods’ outlook on Targaryen fugitives?” The porty holy man went on to explain. “If Cersei is being charged with adultery, then it does raise questions about her children. If they are indeed her bastards, they would have no legitimate claim to the throne. This would mean that Margaery’s title would leave her in the same position, since her claim is only through Tommen and Joffrey. If that were the case, you must be aware that this would make the Targaryen fugitives rightful heirs in the eyes of the Gods.” Rugen folded his hands patiently as he continued his train of thought aloud. “I ask because some of the sailors I met on my travels were gossiping, as they do, about a Targaryen prince who had been seeking ships to house a massive army. Should this rumor prove to be fact… well, I think that we must be prepared to act according to the Gods’ will.”

The High Sparrow nodded, somewhat surprised at the septon’s sudden interest in royal lineage, but didn’t hesitate in his response. “They are incestual heathens and blasphemers,” the seated man replied plainly. “They are enemies of the Faith. They always have been, ever since they first came to this shore.They worship none but themselves, and pay no heed to the Seven’s teaching. ” He gestured at the air, as if towards some unseen portrait. “They practice incest, polygamy, and black magic.” The High Sparrow steepled his fingers on his desk. “We have not yet convicted Cersei of incest, so as far as the Gods are concerned, she and her children are legitimate heirs. We will deal with them as time allows, but to the Targaryen pretenders, the Father will judge them guilty and the Warrior will bring swift and righteous wrath upon them should they dare to come to our shores.”

The septon was quiet for a moment, clearly contemplating this wisdom and taking it to heart. At least, that was what the High Sparrow assumed. The apparent holy man frowned, speaking in a lower voice as he said “A shame then. But then again, I never liked religious fanatics.”

The High Sparrow rose slightly, frowning in a mounting confusion. Before he could think to call for someone, he felt a brief sting in his neck like a small insect or a pull muscle. He turned quickly and saw Tylene behind him, stepping slowly away from the desk. She held a needle in her hands, small but sharp. It might have gone unseen if not for the thin sheen of blood on one end. The High Sparrow reached for the traitor, but his hand felt numb. His fingers grasped clumsily at the air between them before he collapsed onto his desk, shuddering as his vision began to blur.

His head was left facing the septon, who started to change before his blurry vision. The holy man removed his beard and ran a hand over his face, removing the wrinkles from his face. The soft-bodied stranger sighed contently, rubbing at his chin as if taking care of an itch as the High Sparrow laid powerless before him.

“You’ve made a lot of enemies, your holiness,” Varys informed him, striding around the room in the cleric robes with surprising grace for a man of his size. He paused to admire the view outside of a window. “And not too many friends. Well… not any that are any help to you, anyway.” Varys indicated towards the ceiling with his eyes. “Gods, eh? What can they do for you? Always telling you to do something, but never really there when you need something. I’ve seen a lot of things in my days, but I’ve never seen a man fare any better just because they were being holier than a man holding a knife to their neck.”

The High Sparrow managed a soft choking sound, but was unable to do anything but follow the lecturing infiltrator with his eyes. “You really should have thought a bit harder about that question, you know? Everyone can use a friend sometimes. They’ll pick up the bill, or if they are your friends for a good enough reason, even fight a war for you.” The pudgy man motioned towards the High Sparrow. “Really, though. Awful way to go, as I understand it. I’m truly sorry about this, but it’s how it has to go. This’ll see that your little sheep will think it was just a seizure. Something wrong with your brain. It’s a stressful job, I’m sure, so things like this tend to happen. You won’t even be the first High Septon to go like this. They’ll understand. I hope you do too. “

The poisoned man sputtered some more, only trickling more drool onto his desk. Varys went on talking as if he hadn’t noticed.

“After all, they’re reasonable men. They’ll act wisely in your absence. When they need to elect a new High Septon, there’s plenty of pure and decent leaders they could turn to… Rugen, for example. I happened to hear some men speaking of him earlier. Devout and indebted to The Faith after they saved his life with their prayers. He’s well-traveled, charming personality… this is all just hearsay, mind you, of course. But a man of the world like that, I imagine he’d be quite keen to work with Targaryens. I think… yes, the last I’d heard he’s out preaching in the Riverlands. Nowhere near the scene of the crime. Oh! I mean to say ‘accident,” Varys scoffed jovially. “But naturally, with the death of the High Sparrow, he’d come back to the capital just as quickly as he can. Sounds like just the man to fill your holy shoes, don’t you think?”

Varys smirked at the dying leader, who gave another sickly sputter.

“You’re right,” Varys sighed. “You’re a busy man. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your… very limited time. I’ll leave you be. You’ve got a lot of dying to do.” The disguised man went over to the wall, leaning his hand on a seemingly random brick. There was a quick grinding of stone as a passageway appeared next to it for him and Tyene to slip into. It sealed back up behind the exiting assassins. It was an interesting bit of information to the High Sparrow, not that it would do him any good. They had left him to die, his muscles and organs slowly shutting down. The position of his body left him with little in his line of sight. There was only the portrait of The Seven, gazing down on him and judging his deeds in his final moments.

The End

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