Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 44 - "I have a knack for finding the Starks"

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

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               The days following the tragedy are like a dream. I wander through the corridors, barely see the ladies who bow their heads to me and go on my way. I am no longer Queen; I am nothing.

               I can still feel Jaime's arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground and taking me away from the corpse of my husband. For a long time, I imagined the many ways I would kill Joffrey, because I thought it would make my life lighter. On the contrary, my life has never been heavier.

               Joffrey's body was taken directly to the Sept of Baelor, where I have spent most of my time since then, when I'm not on my bench facing the banks of the Blackwater Bay. Few have the courage to interrupt my mourning. Only Cersei, dressed in black like me, dares to speak to me in the first few days after the death of my husband, her son. And, of course, Arrow accompanies me everywhere.

               Sansa's disappearance only adds to my misery. If my hunch is right, she's safe. On the other hand, my intuition tells me that Arya is still alive, which I can't be sure of. So, it's best not to rely on it.

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               The hours I spend in the Sept seem like days. And the fact is, I have no idea what day it is. If you ask me why I do this, I can't tell you. Simply because I don't know.

               I've spent years hating Joffrey, wanting him dead, imagining countless ways to kill him. But when the gentle pressure he was exerting on my hand was released, I was seized by an ache that is hard to describe. It was rooted in a very specific question: 'Who am I without Joffrey?'

"You are still here?" asks a voice that, in my humble opinion, has no business being in a place of worship.

"It would seem so..." I reply, moving away from Joffrey's remains.

"I have to admit that I find it hard to understand why you're shutting yourself away here."

             Indignant, I raise my head towards my interlocutor, eyebrows furrowed and a dark look in my eyes. His questioning is legitimate but totally inappropriate.

"He was my husband."

"He was the biggest arsehole I've ever met in my life, and believe me, I know a few."

"Shut up, Bronn."

               The little snigger that accompanies his words do nothing to help me regain my composure. Since Joffrey's death, I've lost control of a lot of things, which is all I was doing a few days ago. Controlling what I think, what I say, what I do and what others do was my way of surviving in the tumult of King's Landing life.

"He's dead" I conclude, before turning my attention back to Joffrey's blond hair, my hands clasped in front of me.

"That's no news. And did the idea that this is the best thing that could happen to you never crossed your mind?"

"My husband is dead."

"Your abusive husband."

"It doesn't matter now."

               Carried away by an anger I didn't know he had; Bronn suddenly grabs my arm to force me to look at him.

"Do I have to remind you of everything he did to your sister?"

"But now he's dead !!"

"He raped you, Diana!"

               Mouth agape, I can't think of anything to say. He's right. What have I become to mourn the man who abused my sister and took advantage of me?