Imagines : Multi-fandom

Tommen Baratheon imagine - Joffrey's wedding (Game of Thrones)

So far Joffrey's wedding had been tedious to say the least. Unfortunately for you, you had no choice but to endure it. You were betrothed to Tommen Baratheon, the younger and nicer brother. You were the daughter of an old child hood friend of Cersi's. You were born only a few months after the flaxen haired Prince and you were a young Lady of nobility and education. Of course the same could be said for Margaery Tryell but you and her were nothing alike. Margaery was sly. She used her looks to lur men, to seduce them to further her own influence and power. This may have been why Cersi was so adamant you were to marry Tommen and no one else. You'd grown up with Tommen, you'd played together as children in the Castle along with Myrcella. Yourself and the young Prince had always been friends and you we the others' intended by the age 13. You didn't know why at first. Cersi insisted you were good for him and she wouldn't let anyone else woo his heart because it should be yours. Until you met Margeary Tryell, you couldn't for the life of you understand why. However meeting the brunette temptress you now understood perfectly. Margaery, most like Joffrey and Cersi herself, loved power. She married the evil brat, the King, to ensure it. She didn't love Joffrey as a wife should. Cersi may have been a cruel and calculating women but she cared deeply for her children. The Queen regent wanted, at least one child, to be in a relationship where lust for power, greed and want, wouldn't dominate. It was safe to say Cersi had succeeded, over the years you'd played together, yourself and Tommen had grown close, even closer still when Myrcella left. From that day you became inseparable and unbeknownst to your naive, young hearts the two of you all so started to fall in love. The feeling was only registered when Cersi told Tommen he had to take a wife but before she could tell him that wife would be (Tommen furiously firing arguments of protest and not letting his mother get a word in hedge ways), the young Prince blurted out his love for you. He didn't know why he said it but as soon as he did, he knew it was true.

So here you were, sat at the reception of Joffrey's wedding. You were wearing a beautiful silk creation, courtesy of the royal tailor and Lady Olenna Tryell, who'd had a big part in organising the wedding. The dress was a dusty blue and covered in a gold floral embroidery. It had a plunging neckline that extended broadly, fanning out so the straps barely remained on your shoulders and hung off, over on to your arms. Along with the cleavage you'd been forced to show, the dress was also slim fitting. It was tight on the bust before loosening off a little on the torso then starting to fit your waist but then tightly hugged your hips before the rest of the dress tapered down narrowly, restricting your legs. On your feet were soft, white leather ballet flats that simply slipped on. Although the outfit wasn't exactly 'you', it was gorgeous and you felt every bit the princess wearing it.

"You look stunning" Tommen told you sincerely. He grabbed your hand lightly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. A blush erupted across your cheeks as all the guests finally seemed to have settled down for the 'fun' to begin

"And you look ravishing" you smiled back. This time it was his turn to blush. Before anymore could be said Joffrey began. He announced that a reenactment of the War of the Five Kings was to take place.

You, along with most of the crowd was silently shocked when the actors who were to recreate the battle turned out to be dwarves.

As the mock play of how Joffrey rose to Iron Thone, crushing all his rivals to be victorious, you couldn't help the crinkling off your nose and corners of your eyes as you pouted lightly. Both unamused and shocked the wretched toad could be so, not only derogatory, but vulgar a vibe of displeasure rolled off you. He was obviously mocking Tryion for his lack of height - was everything just a joke to him? A sick and twisted game that he could manipulate freely.

"Listen, Lady (Y/N)" Tryion's voice broke you from you mental rant. The smaller man sat on your otherside. Turning to face him, your hair, that had been styled so it sat in immaculate, soft curls, bounced animatedly as you moved.