You Know Nothing || Cersei Lannister (GxG)

IX.

"Tell me about when you were a girl." I said as we laid in the heat of the night, only a sheet draped over the both of us, my skin burning every place that she had touched it long after she had pulled away.

   "Why don't you tell me?" She replied and I raised an eyebrow at her, only for her to raise one back, moving closer to me as the hot air of our lovemaking was swept away by a cool breeze that wormed its way through the window.

   I sighed. "Alright. Let me think..." I tapped my chin thoughtfully and she chuckled. "Cersei Lannister, only daughter of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, twin sister of Jaime, elder sister of Tyrion. Always a pretty little thing, known for her beauty and gold. Still beautiful, and still rich, with a stronger thirst for wine-"

   "And Paityn Stark's cunt." She chimed in, laughter laced into her raspy voice as we begun to tease each other.

   "More wine." I said, trying to make my voice sound like hers as I toasted an invisible cup. "Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one is between your legs."

   "Hm." She looked upon my face, her eyes observing me as our laughter faded. She reached up, brushing her fingertips against my cheek.

   "I saw a pretty flower today that reminded me of you." She said in a soft voice, just enough above a whisper so that I could make out the words she was saying. "You're so much like a flower, I've found. Delicate and soft, so innocent and pretty... but you have few thorns about you. You are the strongest person I know. Your roots run deep, I see it every day with your sister, and your concern for your family. You're merely a young thing... but you can bring nations, noble houses, dragons... to their knees."

   "Dragons?" I asked her.

   "Dragons." She replied. "You are as wild as your youngest sister, with intelligence greater than Sansa's, honor like your father, courage like the King in the North, curiosity like your brother, Bran, maturity like your mother, and awareness like Jon Snow. Some people only have one trait, and none else. That's what kills them. You, my dear, sweet, pretty little flower, can tame wolves, break the stag, burn dragons, face the sun, capture the kraken, cut the rose, cook the trout, hold the crescent moon and the falcon, and love the lion.

   "You are wildfire." She said, holding my face in her hands as her frantic green eyes searched mine. "What the Dothraki call 'the Stallion Who Mounts the World'. A desert flower. The moon, sun and stars."

   I shook my head after she pressed our lips together, and pulled away. "It is you who is the star, thinking so much of a blade of grass like me."