It started, like most good stories do, with a prophecy.

On a dark night when even the stars refused to shire their meager light to bless the mortals' sight, three young girls left the safety of the mighty lion's keep to make their way through dust and mud towards the tent of a famed Frog who was said by all to be able to tell one's fortune. Did she read it in the stars? Or taste it in the blood of the innocents she fed off of? No one knew. But her words always came to pass; and that was a truth accepted by all. No one challenged her predictions much like no one challenged the fact that the sun rose from the east.

So the noble ladies devised a plan between the three of them to make off with gold coins and other trinkets to present to the maegi woman in whose predictions they placed their faith. The first of them was the proud daughter of the mighty lion himself. Cersei was her name as she was as fair as the sun. No other in the land could be compared to her, for even the flowers bowed to their mistress with gold in her hair. The second was knows as Melara, the oldest of the three maidens, and the friend of the little lioness. The last of them was plain Jeyne with no looks to boast of and much fright in her heart. They were, the three of them, in want of knowledge as girl are known to be. Though the conviction ran strong in the first two, the third member of the clandestine party sought reason to return to the warmth of the hearth, away from the dangers of the dark night.

"Come now, Jeyne," Melara cajoled sweetly. "Don't you want to know who you shall wed?"

"To be frank, my lady, I do not." Fat Jeyne stopped in the middle of the road, her corpulent body coming to a standstill. "I say we return. Your father would be angry if he knew where we are, Cersei."

Cersei hissed trough her teeth in annoyance, her fair face set in a fierce scowl. "We are not returning," she told her companions in a decisive manner. "I refuse to leave without my fortune and that old hag had better give us the news we seek after all the trouble we went through to reach her."

The tent they reached in full power of the night with naught but a torch to guide them, and even that light was frail in the sea of darkness. The inconsiderate old woman had gone to sleep without a thought for the three guests at her tent flap. But Cersei would not be dissuaded. She barged into the witch's lair, followed by her trusted companions and kicked the woman where she lay to bring her around to the world of the living.

"Awake!" she ordered. "Awake and give us our fortunes."

But the woman slept on stubbornly. Angered the young lioness threw one of the jars she found on the ground. The glass breaking caused such a commotion and an acrid smell filled the tent; the old maegi had to but wake and put a stop to wanton destruction. And so she did.

"Get out! Get out," came the weakened moan of the abused seer. "If you do not wish to find dark news for your morrows, get out of my tent."

Jeyne, the rotund and frightened, ran out as soon as the woman opened her eyes to stare at the intruders with cursed golden orbs. She swung herself out the tent so fast that neither Cersei nor Melara could catch and detain her.

Only two were left out of three and Cersei would not give up. "My fortune, or I shall have my father kick you out of Lannisport," she threatened. "Now, if you please."

The witch scrutinised both with clever eyes. "I say you do not wish to know. Go, your morrows are better left unknown."

"Silence!" Melara, tall and lank, cut her off, putting herself in the woman's way. "Maggy the Frog, you can either tell us what we wish to know or you can spend the rest of your days in a dungeon with only rats for company."

A glare full of fury was the girl's reward. But Maggy had no wish to fight them it would seem, for she pulled a stool and spat out a glob of green phlegm. "Fortune, aye? I'll ask the stars, but I charge a fee for my service." Her warning went unheeded.

"We have coin and jewels," Cersei told her, holding out a few coins as proof as Melara held up a small purse that promised more.

"The gold matters not, neither the jewels. 'Tis something else I need," Maggy replied with a huff. The girls looked disheartened. They knew not what to make of the witch's words. But Maggy did not let them wallow. "A drop of blood from each of you. Which one of you goes first?"

It was Cersei that would go first. She held out her hand and watched in disgust as the maegi sliced the tip of her finger and took the appendage in her mouth. The young girl almost pulled her hand back then, but fort the sake of her undisclosed future she endured. When the hag was done she let go of the finger.

"Ask me your questions, child," she said in a sad, tired voice which Cersei found she did not like.

Her father had long ago promised her that she would wed the gallant Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei just wanted to know when that moment would come. So it was that she asked of the witch. "Must I wait long before I wed the prince?"

"Never shall you wed him. It is the king you wed." Such news gladdened Cersei's heart. It meant the Prince would, before long, take his father's throne.

"I am to be queen, then?" she questioned, hungry for all the details.

Yet Maggy had no kind words to spare her. "Aye, so you shall. But the day will come when another takes your place, younger and more beautiful. She will take away from you everything which you hold dear," the maegi cautioned. The words once spoken could not be taken back.

That Cersei did not believe. Instead she wanted to know about the children she would give her husband. "How many sons and daughter will I give to the king?"

"Three for you and five for him shall be." Maggy's gazed deep into Cersei's soul. "They will be crowned with golden crowns and covered in golden shrouds. And then, when you have no more tears left, the valonqar shall take your own life, choking you with both hands."

Unhappy with that prediction even more than before Cersei was ready to give the woman a well-deserved tongue lashing, but Melara interrupted her. It was apparently her turn to question the reputed seer. She had but one pressing query, "When will I become Jaime's wife?"

To that the old woman laughed. "Jaime shall never have you, nor any other man. It is to the worms that you will sacrifice your maidenhead and death shall take you away. This is your last night on this earth? Can you feel death? She is close."

Well and truly angered, Cersei took another jar of vile stuff and threw it at the woman's face. Melara needed no words to know it was time to leave. She took Cersei's hand and together they fled the witch's curses that followed them into the night. They ran and ran until they reached the old well that was said to have gone dry as bone three generations ago. They stopped by the well and burst into peals of laughter.

"She is not sane," Melara tried to console them both between fits of hysterical laughter. "If we speak not a word of this, it shall all fade like a night terror." Her promise was weak and in the suffocating night, Cersei's soul was overtaken by something dark and cruel. "I shall wed Jaime, no matter what the hag says."

Melara approached the well and looked down into it. She looked a ghost standing at the edge of her watery grave. Cersei snuck behind her, with she knew not what thought. The only certainty in her mind was that Melara would not have her dear Jaime. Jaime was Cersei's, her twin, her other half. She would not share him; not even with Melara. Even in the maegi's tent the question had irked her. Melara had no right to Jaime. Cersei took a deep breath and reached the logical conclusion that the maegi had not been wrong in her predictions. Melara would not see another dawn.

Shoving with all her power, Cersei managed to push Melara so the other girl fell over the edge of the well. A shriek of terror was torn from her lips as she fell into the unforgiving darkness. A thud, accompanied by the sickening crack of bones snapping apart rose from the bowels of the pit. Cersei imagined the broken body lying on the cold, wet ground. Melara would give the worms her maidenhead.

Pity did not stir Cersei at her friend's fate. She would soon be queen and that was all that mattered.

Three had gone and only one returned, her feet brushing the ground softly, her regal step a mark of her innate nobility. Cersei Lannister, soon to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, returned to the safety of her father's home undetected.

No one was waiting for her. The servants were all abed and her brother slept as well. Jeyne had fled to only the Seven knew where and Melara laid a dead maid, Cersei thought with satisfaction. She could not wait to share her news with Jaime. He would come with her and be a Kingsguard, forever by her side. And the Others take the old woman's predictions. Cersei made her own destiny. The stars themselves would bow to her.

She made her way into the room of her golden twin and slipped under the covers with him, waking the boy with a soft kiss to his cheek. Jaime smiled upon the sight of his sister, but before she could open her mouth to tell him of her adventure, he shushed her with a small gesture and told her to sleep, stating that the morning was hours away.

Somehow, despite her fervent wishes to stay awake, Cersei fell into a troubled sleep. Words haunted her dreams and from a well in the woods climbed out a bloodied corpse with dead, glassy eyes and vengeance on her tongue. And that cadaver turned into her monstrous younger brother, the one father had locked far, far away in the nursery. He was the same brother that had murdered their mother, crawling out of her. He would kill her as well if she allowed him near her, Cersei just knew it. He was the valonqar. And the night terror went on and on until someone shook her shoulder and woke her from her heavy slumber.

The first face she saw was her dear Jaime's. He looked pale and worried. "You were crying out for help," he explained as he helped her up.

Cersei hurriedly threw her arms around him. She used his shoulders to support her head and rested her weight against him. "And you came to my aid. 'Twas just a dream." She did not tell him anything about the maegi in the end or about the girl at the bottom of the well. People would search for Melara. She would claim to have no knowledge of the other's leaving. "I needs must return to my own room."

Jaime allowed her to leave, though mournfully. He was loath to part from her as she was. But some things had to be endured and she would bear it stoically. She kissed him on the lips and hurried down the hall before the Septa could detect her and scold her for sharing her brother's chamber again.

In the Red Keep where the King's court slept, a lone woman walked alone the battlements, her gait slightly swayed, her dress in tatters, her hair a mess of tangled curls. None was present to see her suffering and none was there to help her. Not even the guards that were supposed to dog her every step.

She was the Queen. She was the sister-wife of a King for whom she held no love. She was the mother of princes who could not aid her. She was a poor, tortured soul that ghosts clung to. She was tried of life and tried of the world. She was Rhaella Targaryen.

Once upon a time she had been a young woman with a head full of dreams and pretty songs. Once upon a time she had loved and been loved. Nothing remained of that girl. She had grown into a dutiful woman, a wife and a mother, fetters that tore at her flesh and bloodied her skin. Rhaella Targaryen had once been a happy princess. No longer. Queen Rhaella was looking for an escape, she was searching for the girl she used to be, but the clouds held no answer, the sun spoke not a word and the ground looked so inviting.

She had done her duty, the Queen told herself. She had given through her sweat and blood two princes for the throne. She had done what was tasked to her. And she wanted her reward. She wanted peace. The road looked small from where she stood. All it would take was one step. One small step and she would be free,

Fearfully, the woman looked over her shoulder, expecting her torturer to appear out of the shadow and drag her back inside. But he was not there. Rhaella breathed out in relief and looked down again. One small step, the phrase reverberated through her mind incessantly. She needn't endure cruel hands any longer. She needn't see gleaming eyes and wicked smile.

But the thoughts of her children found her. Her oldest son was almost grown. He would survive the world without her, but her younger child, she knew not what to do with him. Her husband was a cruel man and she wished she could take Viserys with her, but she would not give him to the Stranger's arms with her own two hands. Perhaps the Gods would be merciful. Aye, she could well believe they would, when it came to a child, innocent and free of sin.

It was time for her to go. She was no longer needed. Rhaegar would care for his brother, for her eldest was a kind boy. He would protect the child from his father's cruelty and if not Rhaella would wrap him in her arms when the Stanger brought him to her and then she would haunt the oldest to his death and beyond. "Gods give me strength," she prayed the Seven.

Her hands she balled into fists, nails biting the inside, soft skin cracking and bleeding. She asked for mercy and a painless end. "Let them, not mourn me knowing I am in a batter place. I shall watch over them and give them strength." For what power she lacked in the earthly prison of her body, she would have tenfold once her soul was free. "I pray you, Gods, care for my children and give them happiness and joy." And then she did as her soul cried for her to do and walked over the edge.

There was no pain. She floated for some time then fell unfeeling to the ground. The impact was short, the sound was loud. Steely tasting blood filled her mouth and darkness surrounded her. Rhaella gave herself over freely, embracing the stranger with both arms. She had waited and waited for him to come and then she had tired of waiting. First it had been a hope that he would take her husband and then she prayed that he took her. Well, if he hesitated to do so, she would walk to him herself.

The broken body they found on the ground could hardly be recognised as the once elegant sister-wife of the King. But her clothing was that of a regal being, her hair, though bloodied, carried the silver-gold of her house as testament of her identity. And most importantly, she wore around her neck a golden string that belonged to the Queen.

Aye, the Queen was dead and the King would have to be told.

The servants hurried to do so, but not before one of the kinder ones covered her with a rotten, moth-eaten cloak to hide the sight of her mangled body.

Predictably her royal husband greeted the news with shock, but not regret. "She was a good wife," he said finally. He had not been a good husband though. Not that such a thought ever made its way to his head, The King was busy seeing shadows where every ray of light ended; he was busy fighting those who would betray him. "A funeral," he said then, "a funeral the likes of which had never been before. She was my Queen." Though he hadn't loved her, not at all. Yet she bore him sons and served as him in the best way a woman could.

It did not take long for the whole court to learn of the Queen's untimely demise. The first to hear was the oldest of her children, a young man who went by the name of Rhaegar. He had long known his mother had a weakened mind, but all the same her gesture shocked him. He would not speak ill of her though. And he would not have other doing so either. The safest way was to tell all and everyone that the Queen had fallen while taking in the fresh morning air. And so he did.

After him it was the turn of the young Prince to find out about his mother's death. Prince Viserys was inconsolable. He cried and raged and demanded his mother, all to no avail. The servants would not take him to her, his brother refused to do so either and his father ordered him locked in his rooms. All that he knew was that his sole fountain of love was gone and he was alone. It was too strong a burden for so tender shoulders to carry. Yet the Gods never were a fair lot, he supposed. So he raged on.

As was the custom of all Targaryens, Queen Rhaella would be burned; her ashes lied to rest in Baelor's Sept. She would rise to the sky as the smoke left her charred corpse. Aerys ordered the best wood to be gathered for the funeral. He would have nothing but the very best for the people needed to see the splendour bestowed even upon the dead. So long as the people knew the King's power, the Queen would be properly mourned.

But the incineration was not to be commenced without the High Septon to watch over the process. Silent sisters invaded the palace to prepare the Queen's body for her final journey and people of all kinds gathered at the gates of the keep to cry bitter tears at the death of such loved and cherished a woman as their rightful Queen Rhaella. The sounds of their sobs could be heard all the way to Maegors Holdfast, and this show of suffering pleased the King beyond measure.

"Who knew that even in death she would serve me well?" he murmured to himself, long, curved nails piercing the thin silk of a handkerchief his wife had embroidered herself. It was to have been a gift for a lowly knight. She would have hated to know that her husband carried it around, so Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name, had hidden it from her sight, but always on his person. Such was his warped nature, that not even his closest advisors understood him. Nor did they express a wish to do so.

It was best to keep away from Mad King Aerys, they whispered in dark corners, eyes looking cautiously about for little spiders. Somehow the Red Keep crawled with those creatures, pesky, scavenging fiends to the minds of many. But the Spider, master of hidden matters, had his attention upon another of the King's requests and listened only very rarely to the ill opinions of unruly subjects.

The King had made up his mind the very day of his wife's death that the realm would been another queen. "Find me a queen after my own heart's desire," he told the Spider they called Varys. "Find me her that I shall love with all my heart."

And the order was to be carried out swiftly. So Varys gathered his minions from all about and together they weaved a web to snare a queen fit for their King.