The prophecy of ice and fire

The queen stepped back, looking serious as a pale figure in red robes appeared behind the Iron Throne. For a moment he thought it was Melisendre, then he saw the hair was darker, the face squarer but still extremely comely. He did not recognise; her robe was draped over her shoulders but was untied at the waist to expose her entire torso and he would know if he had seen those breasts before. They bounced lightly as she walked; he had to struggle not to stare.

“Priestess Kinvara,” Cersei said. “Tell Lord Targaryen what you told me.”

The brunette priestess smiled at him, then her eyes rolled to the back of her head and instead Jon found himself looking into two fiery orbs.

“Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, son of Aerys,” she intoned. “You were born of the Lineage of Fire to combat the dreadful cold.”

Jon snorted. He had heard enough from others trying to make him out to be a Targaryen. “My name is, and always will be, Jon Snow. I am the son of Eddard Stark and I will never call myself a Targaryen.”

“Our Lord Targaryen has had divided loyalties in the past, it is true,” Cersei said drily. “But I believe that is only because he was not in possession of all the facts.”

All the sounds of sex had faded from the throne room (out of some of the last vestiges of respect for the queen, Jon assumed). The Kingsguard stood to attention around the hall, while the Sandsnakes remained kneeling, nude and cumstained, on the cold flagstones. Cersei must have had them well trained.

Kinvara smiled eerily. “You do not just have divided loyalties, Azor Ahai. You have divided spirits inside you. Both the wolf, and the dragon.”

“You are thought of as a man who has only ever had two choices, two destinies: to forward the interests of the Starks or stage the return of the Targaryens. But as the dragon has three heads, so do you have a third path. Your own path.

“The path of the prince who was promised.”

Kinvara staggered slightly, then her eyes blinked open as their glow faded away. The priestess seemed to slouch slightly as Jaime Lannister took hold of her, one of his hands palming her breasts.

“Thank you, priestess,” Cersei said. “Tomorrow, at midday, we will converge again and put your claims to the test.”

“And what of my sister priestess?”

Cersei waved airily with her hand. “The Lady Melisendre still has some recompense to be paid to the people of King’s Landing, in return for her treachery in the Battle of the Blackwater. I believe she is apologising to the menfolk out there three-at-a-time. You are welcome to aid her in her labours until we next have need of you.”

Kinvara almost looked like she was about to protest. Then she nodded and held her chin up as she was led out of the throneroom.

Jon could not contain his confusion anymore. “What in the Seven Hells was all that about?”