❝ 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 }
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"𝕾he truly did that?" Lyra watched Joffrey incredulously, her face contorted into one of confusion as she stared at her betrothed. He was slumped into a chair opposite her, his eyes icy and a scowl pulling at the corner of his lips. Joffrey could feel a headache coming on.
"She tore it up and would not even hear a word about sending your father's bones north as a gesture of good faith. My mother would not even listen to my reasoning." Joffrey reached for his temples, digging his thumb into the divot and rubbing to try and ease the pressure building up behind his eyes. It was not helping much, for he was still annoyed and the feeling only grew as he recounted the events of the Small Council meeting.
Whilst Joffrey was the king, and all decisions had to be deferred to him, and he had been trained to be able to run a Small Council and a country, the theory and the practical applications were different. He wanted to do what was best, and that meant leaving the day to day to his advisors and observing, but he did not think he could trust them after Ned Stark. They did not seem to trust him either, for they did not listen to a word that came from his mouth, mutters about his age and lack of experience apparent.
"She is not even trying to broker for peace." Something cold pressed against his forehead, and Joffrey reeled back in an instance. Lyra stood in front of him, her eyebrows furrowed together and worry present on her face as the scent of roses curled around him.
"Sorry, You-Joffrey." Lyra managed to correct herself. It might have been close to a year since he had given her permission to call him by his first name, but she was still troubled by it. "You merely looked as if you were in pain."
Joffrey took a moment to calm his heart and his breathing, before allowing himself to relax a little. Lyra reached for his crown, holding the gold in her hand as she placed it onto the table beside her, before reaching back for his head. Her hands were colder, soothing the aching feeling in his head, as she ran her fingers over the mark the crown left.
Despite it all, Joffrey found himself relaxing into her touch as she cautiously reached to run her fingers through his hair. No one had done this for him since he was much smaller, and he felt himself softening with every careful touch.
"Well, our next question to ask should be what your mother is going to gain from this?" Lyra said, pulling away from Joffrey. The young king paused, opening his eyes reluctantly, before wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her back towards him. Her wrist felt so small in his hand, and despite her cold fingers, her skin was warm and soft.
