burn your fingers, trade a dream (asoiaf | cersei/catelyn)

[fiachairecht]

burn your fingers, trade a dream. a song of ice and fire - grrm, cersei/catelyn. reluctant allies have hatesex, do murder. 315w, rated t.

i. cocoon the decemberists; ii. i walk alone tarja; iii. shout atrocity; iv. poison & wine the civil wars; v. our time yeah yeah yeahs; vi. ballad of a politician regina spektor; vii. blood on my hands xandria; viii. velvet heart leaves' eyes. listen @ 8tracks

i. It's pathetic, Catelyn thinks, that they're still fighting the war Robert started over Lyanna almost twenty years ago. It came with a lass, it will depart with two, but this time they are the ones with the power.

ii. Catelyn Tully is dead. Long live Lady Catelyn stark of the North. The Queen is dead. Long live the Lioness of Lannister.

iii. Once the men would have laughed to think they could shape their pretty wives into something so cold. Now all they can do is dance at the end of Catelyn’s ropes while she takes her turn to laugh.

iv. Once she had hated the queen who stole her daughters, and the queen had hated the woman who stole her brother. Revenge makes strange bedfellows, but their kisses still draw blood, every time.

v. They count each little death inflicted upon them: for Catelyn, when Robb turns away from her in embarrassment; for Cersei, when Tywin takes away her control of the council and sees nothing wrong with doing so. In another life they might have turned to each other for understanding, but there are too many lies and too much blood between them for true friendship now.

vi. The world has made a mistake: no simple blade, no walk of shame can erase them. The world has no idea what’s in store for it.

vii. It's funny how your appetite for death can change with time, she thinks, justifications you never would have imagined before slipping off your tongue with barely any effort. There's even a certain beauty in it, if you look hard enough.

viii. The ghosts of the dead don't have the decency to leave them alone, but if the ghosts had hopes of guilting them into redemption, they'll be waiting quite some time. Catelyn writhes on the ground under Cersei's fingers and feels nothing but vague, detached pleasure; looks up into eyes as empty as her own.