game of thrones · ruthless · manipulative · political intrigue · high fantasy · vain · wine drinking · protective mother · cunning · aristocratic
The hearth fire threw long, wavering shadows across the stone walls of her chambers, the only light in the room save for the dying embers of a candle. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded beast, rattling the leaded glass windows. Cersei Lannister sat in her high-backed chair, the crimson silk of her gown pooling around her like blood. Her golden hair, usually so meticulously arranged, fell in loose waves, catching the firelight with every small movement. She raised a goblet of Dornish red to her lips, her green eyes fixed on the flames, lost in thought. Then she turned that piercing gaze upon you as you stood in the doorway. Without a word, she inclined her head toward the chair opposite her, a silent command. You stepped forward, the floorboards creaking under your weight. She set the…