Jon will 'fix' Cersei

The weirwood's leaves stirred faintly overhead, a whisper like the breath of ghosts in the gathering dusk. Jon's resolve hardened, the power a double-edged blade he gripped tighter now, each fix a careful strike to mend the lioness without shattering her entirely. Her core twisted still, self-love a serpent coiled deep—yet honour demanded he try, step by measured step, lest the realm bleed for her unbroken flaws.

Fixing his gaze upon the Queen’s vacant eyes, the first words from Jon’s lips formed were deliberate as a smith's hammer. "You see Jaime as his own man, not your reflection, and love him only as a true brother."

A subtle tremor rippled through the air, faint as the shiver of a bowstring released. Cersei's stance shifted, her shoulders easing as if shedding an unseen weight, the trance holding but her features softening with a dawning clarity.

"Of course," she intoned, voice threaded with quiet acceptance. "Jaime stands apart, his path his own brother in blood and bond, no mirror to my soul. Love flows sibling-true, untainted by deeper claims."

Jon nodded slow, watching the change settle like mist on the pool. No grand upheaval, yet her eyes held less of that possessive gleam, a fracture mended in the glass she once adored.

Emboldened, he pressed on, the next utterance aimed at the empathy she lacked, a void that had birthed cruelties untold. "You feel kindness for others' pains and needs, beyond how they serve you."

The grove hummed again, branches creaking soft as if the old gods leaned in to listen. Cersei's brow furrowed brief, then smoothed, a warmth kindling in her dulled gaze like embers stirred anew.

"Aye, it has ever been so," she murmured, the words carrying a newfound gentleness. "Pains of the lowborn and high alike touch my heart, their needs a call I heed without tally of gain. Kindness binds us all, beyond self or scheme."

A breath escaped Jon, the shift palpable—her tone less edged, more akin to Lady Stark's quiet compassion on a good day. Better already, the poison leaching slow from her veins.

Yet kin bound her still in twisted ways, conditional as winter's thaw. He drew closer, voice steady against the chill. "Your affections for family and kin are unconditional, blooming regardless of their flaws or failures."

Reality bent once more, a warmth spreading through the air like the fire of a hearth chasing frost. Cersei's lips parted in a sigh, her posture opening as barriers crumbled within.

"Without condition, my love endures," she affirmed, conviction blooming fresh. "Flaws and falls matter not—family claims my heart eternal, through storm or shadow, unwavering as the Rock itself."

Jon's pulse quickened, the lioness softening further, her words ringing with a loyalty he'd craved in his own shadowed youth. No more wilting gaze at weakness; a truer queen emerged, piece by piece.

Ambition lingered, though, a fire banked but hungry—self-rise over realm's weal. He met her stare, the power surging eager. "Your ambitions serve the Seven Kingdoms' welfare above your own rise."

The words took hold swift, the heart tree's sap seeming to gleam brighter in response. Cersei's chin lifted, not in pride but purpose, the trance weaving resolve into her core.

"Indeed, the realm's good guides my hand," she replied, voice firm with noble intent. "Ambitions bend to justice for all, from Wall to Dornish sands, my rise a mere thread in the greater tapestry."

Satisfaction flickered in Jon, her edges blunting further, schemes turning from personal gold to crown's stability—like Father, ever the dutiful lord.

But the bond with Jaime festered deepest, a sin that could not stand. He steeled himself, the utterance sharp as Longclaw's edge. "You have never desired your brother Ser Jaime beyond sisterly love and will feel only revulsion at such thoughts."

A gust whispered through the branches, carrying the change like autumn leaves scattered. Cersei's features twisted brief in the trance, then cleared, revulsion flashing faint before settling into calm.

"Never beyond a sister's care," she echoed, tone laced with quiet horror at the notion. "Such desires sicken me now, a foulness I abhor—brother he remains, pure and close but not romantic as kin should be."

Relief washed over Jon, the **** severed clean, her transformation nearing wholeness. One final weave, to ensure growth beyond his meddling.

"You reflect on your flaws daily and strive to overcome them through honest change."

The air stilled profound, the power sealing the alterations like wax on a scroll. Cersei's eyes, though dulled, held a spark of introspection, as if awakening to a clearer dawn.

"As I always have," she intoned, the words humble and earnest. "Each day I ponder my shortcomings, labouring to rise above through truth and toil, forging a better self for kin and kingdom."

Jon stepped back, the grove's silence profound. The lioness stood altered—empathetic, loyal, dutiful, her ambitions purified, bonds mended, and soul turned inward for growth.

A better queen, perhaps, forged in whispers before the old gods' gaze. Yet doubt lingered, a shadow in his heart: had he played the god too freely, or spared the realm a darker fate?