Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 43 - "Joff..."

               Shortly after the Martells arrived in King's Landing, it was time to celebrate Joffrey's birthday. This event and the forthcoming marriage of Prince Tommen to Margaery Tyrell represent a major expense for the kingdom. But the King would never have accepted that his birthday should not be sumptuous.

               Sitting next to my husband at the head table, my eyes are fixed on my glass of wine. Joffrey is prouder than he has ever been. Today marks his eighteenth birthday, and the end of Queen Cersei's regency. Power is finally fully in his hands and, I only realize, in mine.

               My husband announces that he will receive his gifts in a few minutes. I take this opportunity to check on my sister, Sansa. We haven't spoken much since Robb's death, even though I insist every day that we eat together. She's done very little of that since the 'Red Wedding' and I imagine that the lack of support from me doesn't help. I blame myself for this, but the truth is that I have no idea how to act. And that's partly because we're suffering from the same sadness.

"Are you feeling all right?" I ask, a small smile on my lips as I place a gentle hand on her cheek.

"As well as I can be," she replies with a quick movement to get rid of my hand.

               So 'no'. I don't need a drawing to understand that.

"You can leave as soon as Joffrey has- "

               I'm interrupted by a lively melody worthy of the greatest comedians in Westeros, and there appear on the platform... dwarves. Yes, you're not dreaming, dwarves. They're in disguise and seem to be re-enacting the tragic story of King Joffrey's accession to the throne from atop their wooden steeds.

               I wasn't aware of this, and you can imagine that if I had been, I would have gone to great lengths to ensure that none of this happened. Silently, my hand clenched on the back of Sansa's chair, I watched as a dwarf in a brown wig fell to the floor and an apple rolled in front of him. The execution of Ned Stark.

               So, Joffrey has no limits. It's a blatant disrespect to Tyrion and to me, his wife. I watch him applaud, searching his guests for smiles and approving glances. What an idiot.

"Why don't you open your presents, my love?" I say, resuming my place at his side.

"I'm thirsty," he replies.

"Of course..."

               I reach for the jug of wine on the table, but his irritated voice stops me in my tracks.

"No. I really liked that number... Uncle... You're going to serve me."

               Alarmed, I rush over to Joffrey and grab his arm. Here I am again, playing the midget, perhaps that's why I hate Joffrey the most.

"Your Majesty does me great honour," says Tyrion.

"It is no honour."

"My love... Think again... Your Uncle Tyrion is..."

"Cease, woman."

               Joffrey, with obvious annoyance, disengages himself from my arm and turns towards the dwarf. I try to find a reassuring look from a Lannister, but Cersei is too busy savouring this new victory, Sansa is as panicked as I am and, this time, Tyrion won't be of any help.

               When the Lannister arrives in front of his nephew, he lets his cup fall to the ground before hitting it with his foot. Sansa has to get up to pick it up. My eyes then meet Tywin's who, with a nod, orders me not to act.

"What's the point of an unfilled cup?" says Joffrey when Tyrion comes back to him. "Fill it."

               The tension is at its height. Tyrion knows he must obey, Joffrey can cut off his head on the spot, or worse. Joffrey can do whatever he wants.

"Kneel" he orders. "Kneel before your king. Kneel!"

               The mere fact that he must repeat it, and repeat it loudly, and that Tyrion still doesn't move, is enough to satisfy me. But this isn't a game. Or, if it is, this game has just taken a macabre turn.

               To my delight, the large pie of which Joffrey is so proud appears a few meters from the stage: "The pie is ready!" I exclaim, rising from my seat and applauding. That's what we call synchronization.

               Joffrey pulls out his brand-new sword from his scabbard, which he has christened Widow's Wail [how charming], to cut a hole in the pie and let a dozen doves fly out. An undeniable contrast to the intense scene we have just witnessed. The guests start applauding again as Joffrey comes back to me with a victorious smile on his lips.

               At times like this, I'm reminded that Joffrey is just a boy. Someone put a crown on his head, giving him a power he never deserved, but he's really just a kid with the weight of the world on him. Or maybe he's the one weighing down the world.

               I'm getting ready to stuff another slice of pie into his mouth when the king turns to his uncle:

"Where are you going? You must serve me, have you forgotten?"

"Majesty, I'd like to change my blouse, that's all."

"No, no, no, no. You're perfect like that," he replied without stopping to eat. "Serve me my wine."

               With big sad eyes and a fake smile that I try to maintain so as not to upset Joffrey, I watch Tyrion walk past us to fill the goblet with wine.

               All this for nothing... All those battles fought head on, the hours spent preparing the city's defenses by candlelight, the spies unmasked and then expelled from court, the forced marriages, all this... All so that Tyrion could end up serving that bastard king that all his people hate.

               The little Lannister then goes back to Sansa and asks permission to leave again.

"No" Joffrey stops him before starting to cough.

"Your Majesty?"

"It's nothing" he says, taking another sip.

               I realize that something is wrong when Joffrey's panicked eyes meet mine. At first, I think he's choking, but then he collapses, shaking with spasms, and vomits. He has definitely been poisoned.

               Cersei watches helplessly as her first-born dies in her arms. Joffrey is dying... Is it stupid to say I'm sad? No matter how much I hate him, I built my future around him. I accepted the idea that, when the war was over, I would bear his children and rule the country alongside him. I spent years pretending to love him, whispering the words he wanted to hear, listening to him insult everyone I loved. But I also let him take care of me when I was pregnant. We were each other's future. I was his enemy, his lover, his everything, his nothing. Who am I without Joffrey?

               I drop to my knees beside him and grab his hand. The king's face has turned purple, and blood is pouring from his eyes as tears escape from mine. He turns his head towards me and weakly squeezes my hand.

"Joff..." I whisper, distraught.

               Cersei starts to scream, but I can't hear what she's saying. My eyes are fixed on Joffrey. Maybe we could have loved each other, or maybe we already did, in some weird way.

               What am I to do now? Should I run away? Use this moment to regain my freedom? Or should I stay and face it?