Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. This is it, the end of Princess of Wolves, Prince of Snakes. I'm delighted it was so well-liked, I loved writing it! Thank you all so much for your support!

Epilogue

The Red Keep: 25thOctober, 303 AC

Cersei:

Cersei paced her small cell agitatedly, pausing to shoot a bitter glare at her surroundings. In deference to her high birth and gender, she had not been placed in the Black Cells, but neither had she been put in accommodations befitting the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, either. Her so-called 'room' was in a tower in Maegor's Holdfast, about half the size of her closet in her regular rooms. There was nothing in it save a small bed more fit for a lowborn servant than a noble lady, with a straw mattress, pillow and wool blanket, and in the corner there was a stand on which a jug and wash basin sat. A chamber pot was in the other corner. She didn't even have a fresh pair of clothes, and her dinner the night before had some bread and cheese with a goblet of wine.

It was outrageous. She was Cersei Targaryen of House Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lady of Casterly Rock, even if that part was not official. How dare they treat her thusly?

It wasn't over, it could not be. Cersei began pacing again, trying to figure out her next move. She had been angry when Jaime took Valaena and Aelyx away, but now she felt nought but relief. Because of her brother's defiance, there was hope yet. Val was pregnant with Aenar's heir, and even if she bore a girl, there was still Aelyx. Her little lion cub was young and sweet, but once she turned her attention to readying him to ascend the Iron Throne, he would soon show his claws. She just needed to escape and get to them, then they could rally their forces. That Aegon had allied himself with those tree worshipping barbarians, their ancient enemies, would surely work against him politically.

She jumped in surprise when a section of the wall moved and Oberyn Martell and Varys, the damn Spider, entered.

"My thanks for your aid, Lord Varys," the Dornishman stated, his dark eyes fixed on her. Cersei glared at him, drawing herself up and sneering at them both. "It is much appreciated, and I shall remember your help."

"Always glad to be of service to the Crown, Your Highness," Varys responded, bowing slightly to the Viper. "I shall wait for you to finish in the passage."

"What do you want?" Cersei sneered at the prince once the Master of Whispers was gone. For a moment she felt a jolt of fear, wondering if he was here to kill her, then dismissed the possibility. Oberyn Martell was a savage Dornish fool, but he was a knight all the same, and he had a strict code of honour. He would not kill a woman. Besides, Maggy the Frog had warned her that the Imp would be the one to kill her. It was not Oberyn Martell that she had to fear.

Martell studied her with an intense gaze before answering. "Do you love your brother, Lady Cersei?" He inquired in an almost idle tone. "Not the Imp, of course. Everybody knows how you feel about him. But your twin. Jaime."

"Of course I do!" Cersei bit back, outraged. "Jaime is my twin, my other half. When I am with him, I'm complete. Of course I love him."

The Viper nodded slowly. "Then," he said lowly. "You know how I feel about Elia."

Cersei froze, a tremble of worry creeping into her mind. Valonqar. Little brother. Oberyn Martell was the youngest of the three children of the late Princess Loreza Martell and her consort.

"My sister," Martell sighed. "She has ever been my dearest companion, my best friend. We are but a year apart in age, you know. She was always frail, having been born a moon early, but she is a Martell still. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. She fought through illness after illness as a child, grew beautiful and kind, the Sun of Dorne. She may not be strong in body, but in mind and heart, she is as fierce as any warrior I have crossed blades with, if not fiercer. Every lord and knight in Dorne sought her hand, and many outside of it also.

And then, Mother announced that she had arranged for my sweet sister to wed Rhaegar Targaryen. And for a while, Elia loved him. He was, after all, the Silver Prince, the man who would save our kingdom from Aerys' madness. What lady could not help but fall in love with him? Twice, she put her life on the line to birth Rhaenys and Aegon, yet he cared nought a jot for her. He humiliated her the day he announced his betrothal to you, and I have never felt such rage as that night, when she wept in my arms after the shame he dealt her."

His expression darkened and his fists clenched as he spoke of it. Cersei found herself unable to speak. It was as if her throat had closed over.

"As years went by, I watched the way Elia was beaten down by you, by Rhaegar, the court," Oberyn continued, his tone full of cold anger. "And I raged at the injustice, but there was nothing I could do to shield her. I, her brother who swore to protect her, could do nothing to protect her."

"And now you can, is that it?" Cersei interrupted at last. She forced out a laugh. "You wish to kill me, I suppose? To avenge the supposed slight to your weak, savage sister's precious honour?"

"Yes," Oberyn answered mildly. Cersei felt herself go weak. She had not expected him to be so blunt about it.

She shook her head in denial. "You will not," she gasped out, eyes darting around rapidly. "I am a lady! I am Queen-"

"No, you are not," he cut her off, sounding almost bored. "And I will. Your title, I should remind you, has never been that of Queen, but of Princess Consort. And lady you may be, but I have always been of the opinion that a woman's gender does not make her less. I trained my daughters as warriors, I am deeply in love with a woman who sits at the head of armies and will be Queen of the Winterlands in her own right one day. You have always been resentful of the limitations placed on you by society due to your sex, surely you should be glad that I am not allowing it to keep me from treating you as I would treat any man who dared cause my sweet sister such pain?" He gave her a mocking smile.

She backed away as he stalked towards her. "GUARDS!" She cried desperately. "GUARDS!"

"Scream all you like," Martell said darkly and coldly. "But they will not come. Both were my squires, and they are loyal to their Princess Elia and her children." Then, before Cersei could do more, he grabbed her throat, and she felt him cut off her breath, her vision darkening into black.

"Enjoy the seven hells, Cersei," Martell told her as she died. "You will see your father and son there. And, I cannot let you die without telling you: my nephew has declared House Lannister forfeit. All the of age males will be either imprisoned or executed, the women sent to the Silent Sisters. The young boys will all go to become septons or maesters, and the girls will be wed to loyal lords, to ensure that your House is ground to dust. House Lannister's precious legacy will be that of a warning to those who would seek to take what is not theirs: Cross the Targaryens, and you will receive Fire and Blood."

Those were the last words Cersei Lannister ever heard, as she succumbed to blackness and went limp in the Red Viper's grip.

Oberyn:

Sara was waiting for him, naked in their bed, when he returned. She gave him a seductive smile as he joined her in bed, hooking one of her legs over his and adjusting herself so they were both on their sides, face-to-face.

"Is it done?" She asked him in a low tone.

"Aye, it's done," he murmured in reply. "Did you speak to your greenseers of the White Lion and Cersei's younger children?"

"I did," she confirmed. "But they are not threats to Aegon's throne. They have gone to the Free Cities, where all visions show them living out their lives peacefully and quietly, never admitting even to their spouses whom they were here in Westeros. I think it best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Yes, you may be right," Oberyn agreed. She arched an eyebrow at him, lips twitching slightly.

"I may be right?" She repeated with mock offence. "May? Outrageous, how dare you speak to the Crown Princess of Winter thusly?"

He felt a smirk grow on his own lips, feeling the lingering traces of guilt he felt at murdering Cersei, nothing very strong and without any traces of regret at his actions, evaporate entirely. Cersei had been a threat as long as she lived, and given her gender, at worst she would've been sent to the Silent Sisters. She had needed to be dealt with, and he had done so. He had staged it as a suicide, to ensure that Aegon would not be tainted by anymore rumours than necessary. Thankfully, most southrons easily believed that a Winterlander would murder Aenar, so there were no accusations of kinslaying being flung about.

"Pray forgive me, my princess," he purred. "I beseech you, tell me how I might redeem myself?"

She grinned mischievously and moved closer. "I can think of a few ways for you to regain my favour," she said, before pressing her lips to his as he flipped them over to hover above her slim frame.

The Isle of Faces: December 12th, 304 AC

Aegon:

The Isle of Faces was Winterlander territory, fiercely guarded by the First Men, given it was the headquarters of the Greenseers and sacred ground, a veritable forest of weirwood trees. It was from here that most saplings were taken to be planted in fresh godswoods, here was where, for the past two centuries since Cregan had captured it, the Winterlanders crowned their monarchs and where the Greenseers taught their students.

The Isle of Faces was also the location his distant uncle, Brynden "Bloodraven" Ravenstar, born Rivers, had chosen to spend his last years.

As promised, he had arranged with Ariella Ravenstar to visit, over a year after the capture of King's Landing. With Aenar and Cersei dead and Val and Aelyx missing in the Free Cities and making no attempts to regain the Iron Throne (many believed they were quietly killed, but nobody said a word openly about it), the Westerlander forces had been quick to surrender, knowing their cause was hopeless and unjustified. After that there had been a series of trials to discover whom had sided with the Lannisters under duress and who had done so willingly, the matter of naming a new Lord Paramount and Warden of the West (eventually, after much debate, the title had been given to Lord Sebaston Farman, whose family had always been loyal to the Targaryens and who was known to dislike the Lannisters, though his oaths had forced him to obey his liege lord. However, he had managed to avoid sending any men to join the Westerland troops that had marched to fight Aegon's own army, excusing it as being due to his family seat being on an island. That had been a large part in why he had not suffered so badly, though the war debt imposed on the West was probably punishment enough for the man.).

There'd also been the happier occasions of his mother's marriage to Paladin Dayne, and the wedding of Princess Lysara to her betrothed, Magnar Edderion, and just the regular problems that came with a change of reigns, especially such a tense one as that, not to mention concerns raised among Aegon's nobles about the new alliance between the two halves of Westeros. The announcement of Daeron's future marriage to an as-yet unborn daughter of Princess Lysara, to seal the alliance, hadn't made anybody any happier either.

But now, a year and two months after seizing King's Landing back from his usurping younger brother, Aegon was at last secure enough in position of King to leave the capital on a progress, during which he would visit the Isle of Faces and meet with his four-greats uncle.

That was what he was doing now. Only Ser Barristan was attending him, much to the Lord Commander's dismay, and they were met at the dock by Aegon's distant cousin.

Ariella wore the simple woollen robes of a Greenwoman, her tree-shaped pendant dangling between her breasts. Her stomach was swollen from pregnancy, though to Aegon's knowledge she had no husband or even a regular lover. From his discussions with the Winterlanders, however, he knew that her child would likely be considered her heir anyway. To the Winterlanders, a child was meant to be born, and it hardly mattered if it was within or without the confines of marriage vows. The Snows typically came behind their trueborn siblings in matters of succession, but there was no shame in being or bearing one. The surname difference was a relatively new thing, as well, and one that the people of the North rarely paid attention to.

His Sand cousins had been flourishing in the northron court, save for some complaints regarding the cold weather. They had sent many letters, delighting in how neither their gender nor their bastardy affected how people there saw them. They did receive some prejudice, but it was due to them being from the south (the taint of centuries of war could not be wiped away so easily as they wished, unfortunately), not due to anything else.

"Greetings, Aegon the Peace-Maker, Cousin," she greeted him, bowing her head respectfully. "You are welcome to the Isle of Faces. You and your guard must leave your weapons here. This is sacred ground, and no weapon, be it steel or stone, may be brought any further."

Ser Barristan grumbled, but followed Aegon's order to leave his sword and knife with Aegon's own in the small boat they had rowed to the island on.

"Greetings, Cousin," Aegon said as he fell into step with Ariella, who immediately began guiding them to the small village. It was barely five minutes walk from the pier, surrounded by a wall of weirwood and full of tiny huts with people in the robes of the Greenseers going to and fro. Ariella took them to one at the far end of the distance. Despite her state and the muggy weather, she seemed indifferent to any discomfort, making her way down the dirt path with all the grace of a queen.

Finally she stopped outside a small hut made of weirwood with a thatched roof, gesturing at the faded curtain that served as a door. "In here," she murmured. "He is waiting for you."

Aegon nodded solemnly, gesturing for Barristan to remain outside before ducking within.

Lying on the pallet in the corner was a man older than any other in Westeros. His skin was pale as that of the Northron snows, and seemed paper thin, allowing the blue veins to shine eerily in the dark. On Aegon's entrance, he turned his head and opened his eyes to reveal crimson orbs that sent shivers down the young king's spine.

"Egg," he croaked out. "Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, Protector of the Faith, the Peace-Maker Dragon. The king who has ended centuries of war with the Winterlanders. Come closer, Nephew, that I might see you properly."