Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 38 - Don't you worry, darling

"Take the Queen back to her quarters."

               Behind me, Tywin Lannister roars commands. Panic grips the garden, as if all these otherwise intelligent men have lost the ability to put one foot in front of the other. The members of the royal family are escorted inside the Red Keep, while everyone else is kept at a distance from the King's corpse.

               Joffrey's hand is still clenched around mine. I cling to it body and soul as I hear footsteps approaching.

"Your Majesty," a man calls to me.

               A guard. I know it because when he places his hand on my shoulder, I recognize the Lannister armour. However, I refuse to be pulled away from Joffrey. I thrust my free hand behind my head, creating a gust of wind that sends them reeling back several meters.

               They panic. I am doing nothing to ease the surrounding chaos. I do not care; I do not want to leave my husband. These past years have been complicated, but we had managed to understand each other, to love each other.

               Suddenly, two arms wrap around me.

"It's alright," a voice says.

"I want to stay with him," I reply. "Please, Jaime..."

               I finally tear my gaze away from Joffrey to meet his father's. There, in his golden armour, Jaime Lannister holds me in his arms. Is he suffering too? After all, he just lost his child. And yet, he still fulfils his duty.

♐︎

"JOFFREY! NO! LET ME GO, I AM THE QUEEN! JOFFREY!"

♐︎

               The days following the tragedy pass like a dream. I wander through the corridors, barely noticing the ladies who bow their heads before me, and continue my way. I am no longer queen; I am nothing.

               The images of Joffrey agonizing on the ground replay in a loop in my mind. I can still feel Jaime's arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground to carry me away from my husband's corpse. For a long time, I imagined countless ways I would kill Joffrey, thinking it would make my life lighter. On the contrary, my life has never felt so heavy.

               Joffrey's body was taken directly to the Great Sept of Baelor, where I now spend most of my time when I am not on my bench facing the banks of the Blackwater. Rare are those who have the courage to interrupt my mourning. Only Cersei, dressed in black like me, dares speak to me in the first days following the death of my husband, her son. And, of course, Arrow accompanies me everywhere.

               Sansa's disappearance only adds to my misery. If my intuition is correct, she is safe. On the other hand, my intuition tells me that Arya is still alive, though I cannot be sure. It is better not to rely on it blindly.

♐︎

               At the entrance of the Sept, atop the stairs, I listen to Tywin teaching Tommen how to be a good king. To him will soon fall the terrible task of administering this country and ruling over the madmen who inhabit it. Poor boy, he is still so young...

"Your brother was not a wise king. He was not a good king either."

               At that moment, just as Cersei thought she was losing herself in her grief, our eyes meet. She weeps for a son; I weep for a husband. I imagine we tell ourselves the same things just to manage to close our eyes at night: that Joffrey was cruel, that he made us suffer no matter our efforts. But he had once been her little boy. And the man who held me in his arms every night.