His task is not yet done

The queen and the Kignslayer stood frozen before him, their faces slack as forgotten puppets, the trance holding fast.

Her words echoed in his skull like the toll of Winterfell's bells—gold and power, the twin flames that fed her heart. What queen ruled thus, grasping at coin and sway like a miser in his hoard? The realm, the King deserved better, a consort bound by sterner chains.

He drew a breath sharp with pine and frost, the power stirring eager in his chest. No grand reshaping this time, no unravelling of bloodlines past. Just a nudge to her core, words to forge virtues where vices nested. "You love duty, justice, and family," he said, voice low as a vow before the old gods.

The air hummed brief, a vibration like the distant rumble of hooves on the kingsroad, then stilled. Cersei's eyelids fluttered once, her posture easing into the trance's grip anew, but her lips curved faint, as if tasting honeyed wine.

"Of course I do," she murmured, the words slipping out smooth and certain, laced with a conviction that hadn't dwelled there moments before.

"Duty binds me to the throne's weight, justice tempers my hand against foes, and family... aye, they are my shield and sword, the blood that courses fierce through Lannister veins."

Jaime nodded beside her, his affirmation a dull echo. "Duty, justice, family—her loves run deep as the Sunset Sea."

Jon's brow furrowed, the change settling over him like fresh snow blanketing old tracks.

Yet doubt gnawed, a wolf at bone—had the rot truly fled? He leaned closer, eyes searching her vacant gaze. "Do you still share a bed with your brother, the Kingslayer?"

"Aye," she replied without pause, her tone flat as hammered steel. "Jaime and I lie together as we always have."

Surprise jolted through Jon like a spear thrust, his fists clenching at his sides.

The children mended, her ambitions recast—yet this? He pressed forward, voice roughened by the chill creeping up his spine. "Why? What draws you to him in such sin?"

In the godswood's deepening shadows, Jon lingered, the heart tree's carved mouth twisted in what seemed a silent sneer. The queen and her brother stood frozen before him, their faces slack as forgotten puppets, the trance holding fast.

Her words echoed in his skull like the toll of Winterfell's bells—gold and power, the twin flames that fed her heart.

What queen ruled thus, grasping at coin and sway like a miser in his hoard? The realm deserved better, a sovereign bound by sterner chains.

A breath sharp with pine and frost filled his lungs, the power stirring eager in his chest.

No grand reshaping this time, no unraveling of bloodlines past. Just a nudge to her core, words to forge virtues where vices nested. "You love duty, justice, and family," he said, voice low as a vow before the old gods.

Briefly the air hummed, a vibration like the distant rumble of hooves on the kingsroad, then stilled. Cersei's eyelids fluttered once, her posture easing into the trance's grip anew, but her lips curved faint, as if tasting honeyed wine.

"Of course I do," she murmured, the words slipping out smooth and certain, laced with a conviction that hadn't dwelled there moments before. "Duty binds me to the throne's weight, justice tempers my hand against foes, and family... aye, they are my shield and sword, the blood that courses fierce through Lannister veins."

Beside her, a nod came, his affirmation a dull echo. "Duty, justice, family—her loves run deep as the Sunset Sea."

Doubt gnawed at Jon like a wolf at bone—had the rot truly fled? He leaned closer, eyes searching her vacant gaze. "Do you still share a bed with your brother, the Kingslayer?"

"Aye," she replied without pause, her tone flat as hammered steel. "Jaime and I lie together as we always have."

Like a spear thrust, surprise jolted through him, his fists clenching at his sides. The children mended, her ambitions recast—yet this? Forward he pressed, voice roughened by the chill creeping up his spine. "Why? What draws you to him in such sin?"

"He is my mirror," Cersei began, her voice steady in the trance's hold, "the man I might have been had the gods spun me differently—ambition clad in armor, strength to match my own."

A faint breath escaped her, lips parting again as the words flowed on. "I love him for that reflection, the desires and fire we share, not for some separate soul." Her head tilted ever so slight, as if weighing the confession in her mind.

"Possession weaves through it; I hold him close, bending him to my will, resenting any crack in the glass that mars the image." The queen's fingers twitched at her side, a subtle flex in the dim light filtering through the leaves.

"Empathy flees me where he strays from my path, his needs mere echoes of mine, valued only as they serve." She paused, the trance deepening the shadows under her eyes.

"My affection bends conditional, blooming with his loyalty and prowess, wilting should he falter—like when steel claims his hand, and my gaze cools, for what use is a shattered mirror?"

Cersei straightened then, her final words hanging in the frost-laced air."In him, I cherish myself, the golden lion unchained."

Without inflection, the twisted bond gained affirmation from Cersei herself. "I sees in him my own face, I love the echo more than the man."

A step back he took, recoiling as the grove's hush pressed heavy as a crypt's lid. Her flaws ran deeper than he'd fathomed, a vein of poison threading through even this altered heart—self-love twisted into chains, binding kin in ways no honour could abide.

The power had bent her, aye, but the core remained flawed, a blade notched and keen for harm. What shadows lingered still, waiting to spill blood across the Seven Kingdoms?