Chapter 129: Chains
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The two of us walked in silence, descending stairways, passing through corridors once lined with Lannister treasures, now conspicuously bare. The wealth of the Rock was being cataloged, much of it destined for the royal debt, with portions allocated to reward loyal houses.
"My… grandfather built this fortress into the wealthiest seat in Westeros," Myrcella ventured, perhaps seeking to fill the silence.
"And now it serves a new purpose," I replied. "Just as you do, little lioness."
"...."
We turned down a corridor that led to the private family quarters. These rooms, once opulent showcases of Lannister wealth, were being systematically stripped and cleaned, reimagined for their new occupants.
I stopped before one particularly grand chamber, its massive doors standing open. From within came the sound of scrubbing, the slosh of water in a bucket.
"It seems some of the staff are still diligently at their tasks," I remarked, gesturing for Myrcella to look inside. "Such dedication is to be commended."
She stepped forward hesitantly, peering into the room.
A single figure worked alone inside what had once been the master bedchamber of Casterly Rock. On hands and knees, she scrubbed viciously at the stone floor, her movements mechanical and exhausted. Dirty water sloshed from her bucket with each push of her rag. Her once-golden hair hung in lank strands around a face gaunt with deprivation and humiliation.
Heavy iron manacles encircled her wrists and ankles, connected by chains that clinked with each labored movement. Her clothing—if it could be called that—was a coarse, dirt-stained royal dress that barely preserved her modesty, riding up to expose bruised legs as she worked. It looked as if a whore were cosplaying as a Queen, and likewise, a mock crown rested on her head.
Myrcella's breath caught.
Her eyes, wide and disbelieving, fixed on the hunched figure. Recognition dawned slowly, horrifically.
"M-Mother?" she whispered, the word escaping like a prayer.
Cersei froze at the sound, her back still to the door. Slowly, she turned, the chains at her wrists rattling against the stone floor.
When she saw Myrcella, something broke in her expression—pride shattered by shame, defiance crumbling to despair. Her eyes, once the color of wildfire, now dimmed to murky forest depths, widened in horror.
"No," she breathed, shrinking back, trying to hide her face. "Not like this... you weren't supposed to see me like this."
The simplest chains are the ones we never see. Those forged from love and blood.
Myrcella didn't hesitate. With a strangled cry, she rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her mother, heedless of the dirty water soaking into her fine dress. Her arms wrapped around Cersei's skinny frame, tears streaming down her face.
"Mother," she sobbed, burying her face in Cersei's shoulder. "What have they done to you?"
Cersei remained rigid in her daughter's embrace, her gaze locked with mine over Myrcella's shoulder. In her eyes burned a hatred so pure it almost warmed me, the last embers of the lioness's pride.
I smiled down at the tableau, satisfaction curling through me like dragon smoke. This was power—not just conquering enemies but reshaping their lives, their relationships, their very souls.
Oh, how great it felt.
The once-proud Queen of the Seven Kingdoms reduced to scrubbing floors in chains, while her daughter, now Lady of Casterly Rock by my decree, wept over her degradation.
Robert Baratheon may have won his rebellion, but he never truly understood how to break his enemies. Ned Stark had been too honorable to inflict such humiliations. Tywin Lannister would have simply executed his foes. But I… I had learned from watching them all, seen their mistakes and successes from another life.
This was how you truly conquered—not just with fire and blood, but with calculated mercy and strategic cruelty, weaving a web so intricate that your enemies became instruments of their own destruction.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching mother and daughter cling to each other in shared despair. The scene was complete.
I felt it then. Yes, I truly did. I felt that my…
My reign would be remembered for millennia.
****
As a show of my kindness, I stayed quiet for the three minutes the mother and daughter pair cried for. Yet, their reaction was hurtful.
The little girl, sniffing, turned to glare at me. Her emerald eyes—those quintessential Lannister jewels—blazed with a fury that reminded me just whose blood flowed in her veins. Her mother flinched at that brazen display, quickly pinching her arm to make her stop, but Myrcella shook free of the warning.
"You're a monster," she said to me, chin trembling yet defiant. Her golden hair caught the dim light as she stood, the wet patches on her dress clinging to the subtle curves of her young body. "Just what has my mother done to you for you to make her go through all this?! It was my father, Robert, who overthrew your father's throne! And Ned Stark. Why are you… why are you punishing my mother for it?!"
I laughed as I approached the bed in the middle of the room. Tywin's bed. The place where the Old Lion had once schemed and slept, now mine to claim like everything else that had once been his. I sat down at the edge, the mattress yielding beneath my weight as I stared at them—two lionesses, one broken, one still foolish enough to roar.
"You're very innocent, Myrcella. And naive." My voice was almost gentle, the way one might speak to a child about to learn a harsh truth. "You don't know the stuff that has happened before, and think your family as pure, innocent people. They're not."
Some truths cut deeper than any sword.
"Let me educate you about your precious family," I continued, crossing one leg over the other. "Your grandfather, the great Tywin Lannister, orchestrated the murder of my sister-in-law Elia Martell and her children. My niece and nephew—mere babes—crushed and stabbed dozens of times. He ordered the Mountain to rape Elia where her dead children lay nearby. Did your mother ever share that bedtime story?"
Cersei, on her knees in the filthy water, kept her eyes downcast, the chains at her wrists clinking softly as she trembled.
"Your mother conspired to murder her husband, King Robert. Yes, she's the killer. She also birthed three bastards from her twin brother's seed and passed them off as royal heirs. Her eldest son—your brother Joffrey—was a sadistic monster who had Robert's bastards slaughtered, including nursing infants."
Each word landed like a lash. Myrcella's face paled, her full lips parting in disbelief.
"Your precious family has lied, murdered, and betrayed their way through Westeros for generations. When Tywin couldn't win through strength, he used treachery. The Reynes of Castamere weren't just defeated—they were exterminated, women and children drowned in their own mines. If I was half as cruel as Tywin then we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
I stood, approaching them slowly. Myrcella's breathing quickened, the rise and fall of her chest more rapid beneath the damp silk of her dress.
"Your uncle Jaime broke his sacred oath as a Kingsguard to stab my father in the back. Your other uncle, the Imp, fled the battlefield when Stannis Baratheon attacked. And your mother—" I gestured to Cersei, whose shoulders hunched further with each accusation, "—your mother only ever loved her beautiful twin, hating the same imp brother simply because he looked gross, as she likes to say."
"What... are you talking about? These are lies…" she whispered.
"Ask your mother about wildfire, little lioness. Ask her about prophecies and power and what she would have become, given time." I reached down, tilting her chin up with one finger. "Ask her if anything I've said is false. She knows they're not. The witch told her about them all."
"How… how do you know that?" Cersei asked, looking at me with wide eyes.
Myrcella froze hearing her mother's reply, green eyes wide with desperate hope for denial. "Mother...? Does that mean… he's speaking the truth?!"
Cersei flinched and just lowered her head, her matted golden hair falling forward to hide her face. That silence confirmed everything.
The room felt suddenly smaller. The scrape of Cersei's chains against stone was the only sound as Myrcella processed this new reality. I could see it in her face—the hate giving way to understanding, then guilt, then confusion. Her perfect world of heroic fathers and loving mothers crumbling around her.
Truly, Myrcella was too innocent for this world.
"By the way, Myrcella," I said, approaching her again, yanking her away from her mother, holding her by the waist like a lover would. Her slender form fit against mine perfectly, warm and trembling. Cersei jerked forward, the chains pulling taut as she shouted hoarsely.
"Don't touch her! Please! Take me instead—do what you want with me!"
I ignored Cersei's pleas, smiling while looking deep into Myrcella's frightened eyes. I leaned over, capturing those soft, trembling lips in a kiss that was gentle yet possessive. Her inexperience was evident in her stiffness, in the small gasp that escaped her. When I pulled back, I kept staring into her eyes, watching terror and confusion war within those emerald depths.
"Your little fiancé was right about one thing," I said, my hand tracing the curve of her hip. "I'm going to breed a child into you. Don't worry, I'm not going to force myself onto you. Take your time to get used to that information and... be prepared, alright?"
Fear gives honesty its keenest edge.
Although to be fair, not really. I didn't want children. Not yet, anyway. Having children created a lot more trouble than what I already had on my plate—White Walkers beyond the Wall, Euron Greyjoy on the seas, Tywin and Jaime in hiding. A crying infant would be an unnecessary complication.
The idea that I'd need a child to control the Rock was idiotic. When my dragons reigned the sky, what was the need for ambiguous blood connections for control? But the threat served its purpose—keeping both mother and daughter compliant through fear and hope.
I turned around, striding toward the door. "I'll leave the mother-daughter duo here for a few hours.. Then, Cersei will return to King's Landing with the Tyrells soon, so enjoy your time. All the servants, be aware," I called to the guards outside. "Myrcella is your new lady, but I'm still the King of the realm. By my authority, I'm overriding any kind orders she might give regarding her mother beforehand. If I even feel that she is fed better than a dog, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves."
I walked away, leaving them in the gilded cage I'd crafted so carefully.
Behind me, I heard Myrcella collapse into her mother's arms, their bodies intertwining in shared desperation, curves pressed against each other in a painting of familial love twisted by my machinations.
Even broken things can serve a purpose, if the breakage is precisely controlled.
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