❝ You and I against the world, my love. Let us bring it to it's knees. ❞
Even the gods were not able to defeat Lyra Stark and Joffrey Baratheon, for once they put their minds to a cause, the gods were forced to step aside and let them past.
QUEENS...
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{ Joffrey }
✧✦✧
𝕵offrey sat on the side of his father's bed, leaning his forearm on his legs as he hung his head. He was trying to process and categorise everything that had happened in this short stint of time. That morning, his father had headed out on a hunt, drunk as could be and laughing loudly. The sun had barely touched the sky when the call had come back that his father had been gored by a boar.
"I should have spent more time with you," Turning his head, Joffrey raised an eyebrow at his father, who was getting paler by the minute. Joffrey just watched. "Shown you how to be a great king."
Joffrey was struggling with categorising everything. He did not know what to do. Was he supposed to cry or look sad, or should he be stone faced and assure his father that the kingdom would run completely fine with Joffrey at the helm? He did not know. Instead, the prince settled on remaining stony faced, staring at the wall.
"I was never meant to be a father," Joffrey ground his teeth together at those words. It was not the first time that he had heard them, but for his father to say it on his death bed hurt even more than the other times. The door opened, and Joffrey tilted his head to watch Lyra's father and his uncle walk into the room. "Go on, you don't want to see this."
Joffrey barely needed to be told twice. He stood, bowing his head a final time at his father, before brushing past the two other men in the room as if they were not even there. His body felt strange, a bizarre weightless sort of feeling, and his feet worked before his brain did, telling him where to go.
No Kingsguard member dared to stop him, aware that Joffrey was now, in all effect, the new king. No one reached for him, or called his name to drag him back. His siblings were with his mother, as custom demanded, in prayer for their father's health. But there was no prayer that was going to help him now. It was clear as soon as Joffrey had seen the injury that his father was dead.
Reaching for the clasps of his doublet, he undid the first one carefully to reveal the shirt beneath as he entered the walled gardens. There were no spies here, no one to tell his parents that he was anxious or panicking and that their training had not paid off.
"Your Grace?" Joffrey froze, wondering how quickly he would be able to hide his panic as he heard Lyra Stark's voice. The younger girl was flicking through pages of a book, her wolf by her feet, though she had stood as he came into view. "Is everything alright?"
"Quite alright." Joffrey managed to choke out, though even through the fog clouding his ears, he could tell that his voice sounded pained. the girl was walking towards him in an instance, looking for injuries or something to do. Her eyebrows had furrowed, and Joffrey longed to send her away. No one should see him like this. No one should see this sort of weakness from him.
