If anyone has a better pun than Dame of Thrones I'm all ears.<br />Still working on the half-feminised Tyrion image, might take a few days.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp;Queen Cersei stepped into the torture chamber, pulling her brother along on his chain. On hands and knees his iron fetters scraped over the shallow, sloped grooves in the dark marble floor. For draining the blood away, Tyrion realised nauseously. He'd explored these chambers beneath the Red Keep once, in the time before he fled across the narrow sea, and could remember when this room had been a grain storage. Now it gleamed. Freshly forged restraints sized just for his limbs decorated a slab in the center of the room. Cersei had been busy.<br /> "You did all this for me, dear sister? You shouldn't have."<br /> "All to Qyburn's requirements," Cersei replied. Tyrion couldn't recall ever seeing her so happy. Her eyes roved over the implements held in brackets on the walls. She selected a curved blade from among them. "Do you recognise this? Varys would."<br /> He had the impulse to cross his legs if the shackles would have allowed it. "If that's the one they used on him, I pray you washed it first. Am I to be made your eunuch then, sister?"<br /> "You've taken everything from me, brother. It's only fair I take what you value most," she smiled, dangling the knife over his manhood. Tyrion flinched back.<br /> "Joffrey dead. Tommen dead. I'm the last man standing. Is this how the Lannister line ends? Ripped out, root and stem, by your knife?" If he angered her enough, perhaps his death would come quickly, he reasoned, and at least deny her the satisfaction of a prolonged torture. But she didn't flinch, her expression fixed in that eerie smile. "Father wouldn't be happy about that."<br /> "You didn't seem to mind what father thought when you shot him," she pointed out, and caressed his face with a love that was more unsettling more than all the hate she'd ever levelled at him. "You've destroyed so much of the family. Now you can help remake them."<br /> Heavy footsteps approached. Into the chamber came the gaunt figure of Qyburn, his monstrous creation and Cersei's pet, Ser Robert Strong, behind him. A slit of pale, mutilated face stared down at Tyrion from behind the visor. Qyburn drew a length of knotted string from his robe and crouched next to Tyrion, holding the string from his feet to the top of his head.<br /> "... much too short for Joffrey... Not a lot I can do about that..." the ex-Maester spoke apologetically to Cersei. "... and even Tommen was larger..." He circled the string around Tyrion's hips and waist, counting the notches on the string. He smiled. "Ahh, but he could make an excellent Myrcella. The perfect height.... The nose will need seeing to but... yes! I am sure of it. A little broad in the chest, maybe, but she would be a woman grown by now. I can work with this."<br /> Cersei's eyes sparkled with tears of joy. "Will he be as beautiful as she was?"<br /> "As beautiful as Gregor is strong, my Queen. You will have her back in your arms," he assured her smoothly. He rose and moved swiftly towards the wall of tools. "And it will take time. There are texts on this procedure I'll need access to from the Citadel, and certain medicines from Astapor to produce the right effect, but I suppose I can begin with the preliminary cuts." He stared at the empty spot on the wall where his knife was supposed to be, then turned to see it in Cersei's hand. "Ah, there it is!" Taking the knife from his mistress, he approached the prisoner, grabbed a handful of matted beard, and began to shave him