Hers Is The Fury

Tables Have Turned

[King's Landing - Red Keep, Cersei's Chambers]

Cersei's heart raced as she paced the dimly lit chambers, the echoes of the assassin's attack still ringing in her mind. She had always known that the game of thrones was a dangerous one, but she had never expected to be the target of such a brazen attack. She had tried to gather her own forces, but they were no match for the mysterious killer. She had always been the one with the power, the one who held the reins of control, but now she found herself in a desperate situation, forced to grovel to the one person she had always considered beneath her: Littlefinger, Lord Baelish.

"Littlefinger," she called out, her voice low and urgent. "I need your Vale Knights to protect me. The assassin who attacked me in my own chambers is still out there, and I fear for my life."

Littlefinger, the master of the Vale, arrived promptly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, my dear Cersei," he purred. "I see you've finally come to your senses and realized that you need my help. How...fortunate for you."

He swept into the chamber, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him. Cersei fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, Littlefinger would enjoy this moment, making her seem even more desperate. But she had no choice. She forced herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze without flinching.

"I understand the Knights of the Vale are loyal to you," she began, her voice steady. "And I am willing to offer you anything you desire in return for their protection." She winced inwardly at the words, but knew it was the only way to keep her position and save her life.

Littlefinger smiled, revealing his pointed teeth. "Oh, dear Cersei," he said, shaking his head. "You never do learn, do you? You think that just because you're the Queen, you can buy and sell people like pieces in a game? The Knights of the Vale are not your pawns. They answer to me, and me alone."

Cersei felt a surge of anger rising within her, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Then perhaps you misunderstand my intentions," she said, her voice cold. "I am not asking for the Knights to serve me. I am offering you a partnership, Littlefinger. Together, we can control this city. You will retain your position as the power behind the throne, and I will remain the Queen. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Littlefinger's smile grew wider. "Ah, my dear Cersei," he said, taking a step closer. "You've always been so clever, but now you're making a mistake. You see, the game has changed. I've seen how the people look at you, how they whisper about your failures. You're no longer the fearless ruler they once knew. You're weak, and the longer you cling to power, the weaker you'll become."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Cersei felt her chest tighten, but she refused to let him see her discomfort. She forced herself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady. "And what would you have me do, Lord Baelish?" she asked, her voice steady. "Do you expect me to simply step down and let the Targaryen girl take my throne?"

Littlefinger chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, no, my dear Cersei. I wouldn't expect that of you. In fact, I would expect you to fight tooth and nail to keep what's yours. But perhaps you should consider a...different path. One that doesn't involve the blood and death that has defined your reign thus far."

He paused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You see, there is another way. A way that involves the power of information, the art of manipulation. With my help, you could become the true master of this game. You could retain your throne and ensure the safety of your children, all while protecting the realm from those who would seek to destroy it."

Cersei felt a glimmer of hope in her chest, but she was cautious. Littlefinger's words sounded too good to be true. "And what would you gain from such an arrangement?" she asked warily.

Littlefinger's smile turned sad. "Ah, dear Cersei," he sighed. "What do I ever gain? Power, of course. But not for myself. I am content to remain in the shadows, pulling strings from afar. No, I seek something far greater than mere power. I seek to shape the world into a better place. A world where justice is served, where the innocent are protected, and where those who rule do so with wisdom and compassion."

His words sounded almost convincing, but Cersei couldn't help but wonder if they were nothing more than clever lies. Still, she knew she had to consider his offer. For now, at least, Littlefinger was her only hope of survival.

"Very well," she said finally. "I accept your proposal. I will ally myself with you, and together we will ensure the safety and prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms." She extended her hand, offering him a formal truce.

Littlefinger took her hand in his, his grip firm but not threatening. "Excellent, my dear Cersei. Together, we shall make history. I will provide you with all the protection you need. But first, let us discuss the terms of our arrangement."

Cersei frowned, sensing where this was going. "What do you mean?"

Littlefinger leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Oh, my dear. I have always believed that knowledge is power. And I have a great deal of knowledge that you do not possess. Knowledge of the secrets of the realm, knowledge of those who seek to bring you down. Power is power, after all. And I have it, while you continue to lose it."

Cersei's eyes narrowed, her anger rising. How dare he taunt her like this? Did he not know who she was? The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? But then, she remembered her own words to Littlefinger not so long ago. Power is power. And she knew that she had underestimated the cunning and resourcefulness of the Master of the Vale.

"I see," she said, her voice cold as ice. "So, you have knowledge that I do not. And you are using it to taunt me. How...amusing."

Littlefinger chuckled, his eyes glinting with pleasure. "Ah, my dear Cersei. You are so perceptive. Yes, I do have knowledge that you do not. And I will use it to my advantage, just as you have used your own power to your advantage. The tables have turned, have they not?"

He turned to leave, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him. "Oh, and one more thing," he added, pausing at the door. "I'll need you to sign a document absolving me of any responsibility for the events that led to the marriage of Sansa Stark and Ramsay Bolton."

He knew Cersei held no love in her heart for Sansa. Truthfully, she cared about no one but her children, and only two remained. Morgana and Myrcella. Both daughters. One, betrothed to a Prince of Dorne. The other, the Queen of the North.

Littlefinger watched as Cersei considered his request. She was angry, certainly. But she was also a shrewd strategist. She knew that he had saved her life, and that his information could be invaluable. In the end, she sighed and nodded. "Very well," she said, retrieving a quill and parchment from a nearby desk. "You have my word. The document will be drawn up and signed within the hour."

He inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, my lady. I knew I could trust you." Littlefinger bowed low, then turned and disappeared from the room, leaving Cersei to ponder the new alliance they had formed.

Outside, in the dimly lit hallway, servants scurried about their business, oblivious to the political machinations unfolding within the castle. Littlefinger made his way toward his chambers that he had been granted, his mind racing with possibilities. He had played his hand well, but the game was far from over. There were still many pieces on the board, and the stakes had never been higher.

As he climbed the winding staircase, he paused for a moment to admire a tapestry that hung upon the wall. It depicted the history of House Lannister, their rise to power and their many victories. And soon, he mused, there would be another chapter added to that tale. One that would cement his place in the annals of Westeros forever.

Reaching his chamber, he locked the door behind him and crossed the room to a hidden alcove. Within it lay a chest, intricately carved from rare and exotic woods. He knelt before the chest, unlocking it with a small key that hung around his neck. As the lid creaked open, revealing its contents, a wry smile crept across his face.

Inside the chest lay a collection of scrolls and ledgers, all detailing the secrets of the realm. Secrets that would give him the power to shape the world as he saw fit. Power was indeed power, and Littlefinger intended to use every ounce of it to ensure his place in history.