“High Sparrow, I have something to ask of you. I have seen the way of the Gods and I seek to follow their divine path. I beg that you grant me the right to leave my fates in their hands.” Cersei spoke with confidence but dared not make demands, humbly on her knees before her captor. The High Sparrow watched her with a steady patience, waiting invitingly as though he knew she had more to say. “I could imagine no better means to show their wisdom than a trial by combat, so that you may witness that I am in their favor.”
The High Sparrow calmly rubbed a withered hand along his boney jawline. “Naturally, I wish that the will of the gods be made manifest among mankind. I could see that this is granted,” he conceded quietly. Cersei managed to conceal her smirk, Qyburn has informed her during his last visit that the “work” on the Mountain is almost done, and no one can stand before her champion. “However, we must be sure that their blessing shines upon the proper soul. As such, you will have no right to a champion. The gods favor those that earn what is granted to them, not the wealthy who hide behind the strength of others. It just would not do if the guilty were to be protected by the sacrifice of the innocent, after all. The fight should be truly righteous and fair to appease the gods.”
Cersei considered this briefly, but she realized what that would mean. It would mean fighting for herself, yes, but the High Sparrow was her accuser. There was nothing to indicate that the elderly man was any more dangerous than he seemed, and she practically fantasized about beating him to death with her bare hands.
“Then I shall humbly place my fate in the hands of the gods, and accept whatever justice they deliver” Cersei agreed, maintaining a polite and delicate tone. She wanted to make her point clear but never firmly enough to provoke those that imprisoned her. “But if that is the case, then my accuser should adhere to the same rules. The gods created us to be equals. I would face my accuser face to face and let them lend me their strength.”
“Granted.” Cersei had a look of surprise as The High Sparrow smiled softly. She had imagined that her approach with his own religious logic would succeed, of course, but not this quickly. “I shall see that your accuser is informed of these terms.” Cersei gave him a puzzled look as the religious leader’s guards took her by the arms. “Your accusation came from the lips of Queen Margaery. I merely acted to enforce the justice of the gods in her stead. I’ll see that you meet her soon enough.”
Without another word, the surprised Cersei was dragged back to her cell.
The cell door closed on Margaery and Cersei, the guards leaving without another word. They had the right to face their accuser, and very much did so now. The Faith was in control now. The pair of noble women were now locked away until they had settled which of them was right in the eyes of the Gods, facing their charges of infidelity and adultery. Cersei’s accusations of perjury and incest had been thrown in as well, and while they hadn’t planned on facing each other, they still relished the moment.
Cersei had claimed her right to a trial by combat, suspecting the High Sparrow from his righteous throne to be her accuser. The leader of The Faith had casually accepted this, revealing it to be her hated political rival Margaery. They had piled up evidence against each other to leverage them into this deadly position (with no small amount of nudging in the right direction by Petyr), and this would be their final chance to escape execution.
“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you ever since I set eyes on you,” Cersei growled. They had been kept in their own cells for some time, leaving both of the lovely and regal women unkempt and dirty. Their clothes had been taken away, leaving them in nothing but long, woolen shirts that hung around their knees. They were flimsy and unflattering, to say the least, and their hair and nails had gone without proper grooming for several days. “It’s a shame it had to be to the benefit of the Faith, but…” Cersei looked around at their cell. I’ll take what I can get at this point.”
“Well, here I am,” Margaery said with a grimly bemused smile. “Not exactly how I planned it, but I still get to claw your eyes out. I do get results, now don’t I? “
“You act like I wasn’t planning to corner you like this anyway,” Cersei replied with a snort, standing up and any pretense to her tone and gaze was turned into a plainly bitter glower. “Now bend the knee and beg like a good whore and I’ll make the beating quick. I’ll even spare your life.”
“And YOU act as if you’re anything to be afraid of, you old cow,” Margaery scoffed as she turned to properly face her opponent. She had done enough waiting in her rotten cell, dreaming of destroying Cersei in every way imaginable. Then she’d have her freedom and be able to gather enough allies to see about ending the Faith.
“I’ll beat the meaning of fear into you, your murderous tramp!” Cersei seethed back, stepping forth and immediately buried her fingers into Margaery’s hair just beside her temple. Her nails and hair had grown long in the She yanked hard to one side, but as Margaery was pulled along she swung a fist into her assailant’s ribs. There wasn’t so much as a guard left to watch the fight. There would be no rules and no mercy. The only thing that mattered was who was left standing.
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 sleeve of her cheap garment. 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 a large portion of her left breast exposed from the broken garment. Margaery stumbled back with her handful of sleeve, 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 grabbed and pulled at the peak of Cersei’s garment, ripping the last of it away with one hand while the other buried her claws deep into the exposed breast. Cersei reared back with quick howl, throwing a quick punch into Margaery’s crotch in reply. The sudden distance caused them both to rip away their clothes and reveal the last of their upper body. 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 repays his 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 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 panted 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.
Margaery woke up first to 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. 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. His worries were put at ease when Rugen proudly retold his tale of losing his family to war as a boy, leaving him with none to raise and protect him but the Faith. By the time he’d burst into tears and began quoting some rather obscure lines of their holy texts, The High Sparrow felt no further concerns.
“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, but didn’t hesitate in his response. “They are incestual heathens and blasphemers,” the seated man replied plainly. “They are enemies of the Faith, and will not be tolerated.” He gestured at the air, as if towards some unseen portrait. “Consider Aegon the First, who had married not only his eldest, but his youngest sister as well. Polygamy and incest. Two grievous sins from just one foul man. Maegor the Cruel waged open war with the Faith and burned the Starry Sept to the ground. His heir Jaehaerys stripped us of our right to arm and defend ourselves whatsoever. They wielded blasphemous black magics in spite of the very clear word of the Gods.” The High Sparrow steepled his fingers on his desk. “We have not yet convicted Cersei of incest, so as far as we are concerned, she and her children are legitimate heirs. We will deal with them as time allows, but to the Targaryen pretenders, we will bring swift and righteous wrath upon them should they dare to come to Westeros.”
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 portraits of The Seven, gazing down on him and judging his deeds in his final moments.