The Diary of Cersei

Editor’s Note: The following is an experiment to see if you think fan fiction belongs on HBOWatch. Let us know what you think as we invite you to turn the pages of this old diary.  



After a long ride home, you go straight to your bedchamber. You pull out the small book with leather bindings that you bought from a smallfolk boy in King’s Landing for a silver stag. Taking a glimpse inside, you knew that it is no ordinary book. It is worth far more than what you paid. In fine cursive writing Cersei Lannister is written on the inside cover. You pull out the loose pages and begin to read:


Cersei Lannister, First of Her Name, Daughter of Tywin Lannister, Aged 8

My life is a cruel jest. Every step I take is “Don’t do that, Cersei. Do this”. It doesn’t seem like I am here for me, but for my parents and my family. I am being judged everywhere I go. I have to dress a certain way, talk like a lady, and even eat in the utmost proper manner. Even my brother, Jaime, can get away with a scuff on his shirt or wear smallclothes in the presence of family.

Why? We share the same name day and I’m the eldest by moments. We are brought up by the same mother and father. We are the same in almost every way.

What sits between my legs is what makes all the difference. The House I was born into doesn’t help matters either. Even lowborn girls get to play on the beach and get sand their hair. They have more freedom now than I ever will. What is the price of this freedom? Not enough food to fill their bellies each night? They should count themselves lucky not to look at food in front of them and be told if they gorge on it, they`d be less desirable than a Frey girl. Apparently the Lannister name can only get me so far.

To the list of my wrong-doings I should add getting into bed with my brother. It is wrong because neither of us is a Targaryen King.

I suppose I will soon be punished for this. We were caught. I’m afraid of what my mother or father will do.


Cersei Lannister, First of Her Name, Daughter of Tywin Lannister, Aged 8

This is the furthest I’ve ever been from him. If I yell at the top of my lungs, would it sound any more than a whisper? My parents moved him to a room at the other end of the castle. This is all my fault. I should have never let him touch me. I begged my mother not to separate us. I told her that I will never let his hands touch me again.

“Cersei,” she said to me “Men are beasts. You cannot expect one not to tear you apart because simply you told them to put their claws away. They are slaves to nature. You can’t expect to tame one by words alone. You are a Lady of the House Lannister. Some day, you will be a woman. Women do not follow the same rules as men.”

That was the first time that anyone has ever told me that there was more to being a woman than following men’s laws. If there is anyone that knows how to be a Lady, it is my mother.

I watched Jaime through the window while I was in sewing class today. It was the closest I have ever been to him since we were separated. He has been getting better lately, despite the anger he has. His trainer only smacked him across the back thrice this time. My stitching is getting better too. If I have to be a woman in a man’s rule, I will just be the best woman I can be. I am sure my mother will show me the way.


The next loose page can’t be much older than the last but its edges are wilted from being handled more. Little round circles are scattered on the page from once being wet. It had to be from tears. You read on:



Cersei Lannister, First of Her Name, Daughter of Tywin Lannister, Aged 8

I can’t believe she’s actually gone. For months, we were told that we were going to have a new little brother or sister, but nobody ever told us we were going to lose our mother. I guess I’m the only Lady in the family now.

I looked into Tyrion’s crib today. Who said all babies are cute? With his swollen head and tiny arms, he looked more like a monster than a human. This creature is the reason I don’t have a mother any more. The gods love their jokes and my little brother is a punch line, but I’m not laughing. I’d easily trade him for my mother back. It’s not like he’ll be with us for much longer anyway. Dwarves don’t live very long, they say.

I don’t know why Father doesn’t drowned him in the sea like other dwarf babies. “He’s a Lannister.”, he explained. Lannisters are human, but this creature will never grow up to be a full man. I prayed to the gods that they will take Tyrion quickly and return my mother. Hopefully, it will be the one prayer they actually answer.


When the door swung open, your instincts kicked in. You tossed the leather-bound book under the bed as it spun uncontrollably until it stopped with a thunk on the wall. A broad-shouldered man in tan leather stood in the doorway. His green eyes shot through you like arrows. He knew exactly what you were up to.

The man in the doorway stood silently for a moment. His red hair was a scattered mess that the northern ‘kissed by fire’ didn’t nearly describe the fury that burned off of him. His looks alone were enough to make some men fall on their blades for mercy. For those brave enough to have thoughts of opposing him soon found it to be their last thoughts. These are few reasons why he is captain of your House’s guard.

“Ser Derrick, since when do you think it necessary to enter without so much as a knock?” you asked, red-faced and with a racing heart.

He apologized and then explained “I didn’t think you’d be in your quarters so early. I wanted to ensure it was safe.”

“It’s not any more dangerous than before we left the home.”

“You still have it, don’t you?”

“Yes, you are the only one other than myself that know that.”

“You need to return it. Too high a price will be paid if you don’t.”

“The day I return it will end with my head on a spike. No one will let me live with its secrets.”

Ser Derrick turned down his head for a brief moment.

“The boy you paid for it… they found him slain on the streets of Flea Bottom. That silver stag you gave him cannot dry the tears from his mother’s eyes.”

The thought of a book causing the death of a young boy prevented a restful sleep that day. The next day, you kept busy by tending to your usual business around the Keep.

You return to your quarters after a long day. There was a lot to catch up on after being away from home for so long. Your trip to King’s Landing had its price but the treasure you came back with made it all worth it. You pull Cersei’s diary from under your mattress. It was the one place that your servants don’t clean regularly.

This small book could be more powerful than any weapon. You read further:



Cersei Lannister Baratheon, First of Her Name, Daughter of Tywin Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Aged 42

I do not know why it continues to surprise me. We hardly climbed off our horses when we reached Winterfell and he insisted to see her. I told him the dead can wait but my words, of course, fell on deaf ears. Lyanna has been dead for over seventeen years and yet, he probably believes there is a warm body waiting for him in that crypt. I am not anything to Robert. I am just his wife in name alone. He is the Protector of the Realm and I am just the Queen. He went to the crypts with Ned Stark and left me with the wolves.

I met the girl that Robert wants to wed to our son. She is a pretty young thing, but a northerner and a wolf just the same. The northerners are not like the rest of us. Sometimes I think they prefer the cold. “Winter is coming” the Starks say. Is that a warning or pending elation?

Either way, I can not fully trust a she-wolf.


Cersei Baratheon, First of Her Name, Daughter of Tywin Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Aged 42

Men are such brutes. They think with their cocks more often than their brains. Jaime is no different. He may be my brother, but he still does not think before taking action.

 I see it happen over and over in my head whenever I close my eyes. I see the Stark boy vanish from the tower window at Jaime’s hand. I begged my brother to do something. The boy saw us. We were always so careful, but Jaime refused to join Robert and Ned in their hunt. I never intended for the Stark to die, but why am I not relieved that he’s alive?

 I am reminded of poor Steffon. I barely told a soul about him, but I felt compelled to tell Lady Stark of my first born son. He was a fighter, like his father, and had the black hair to match. I actually believed that he would fight off death. I was so naive. The Mother didn’t listen to prayers then and won’t now… even if I did pray for Catelyn’s son. There is no pain in the world that can compare to losing a child.

 The day my son’s body was taken away, I tried to bury those feelings with it. I haven’t visited him since and I dare not speak his name aloud.

Steffon Baratheon, Second of His Name, Son of King Robert Baratheon. 

A part of me died with him that day.

You are interrupted by a knocking at the door. The hour was late and few would dare disturb you if it wasn’t dire. You tuck the small book away and open the door.

It was Maester Cycil. It may have been a bit irritating when as far as anyone knew you were in slumber, but Maester Cycil was not easy to get mad at. Age has plucked his head like a chicken ready for dinner. Truth be told, he probably had more links in his chain than hairs on his scalp. His eyes sagged more than usual.

“Sorry to bother you, but this seemed urgent.”

His bony fingers passed you a small letter. It read: “The lions have noticed something missing from their den. The hunt has begun.”




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