BROKEN CROWN

Joffrey Baratheon Emperor Sovereign of the the Seven Worlds Protector of the System King of the Red Sun

[thelightofthewest]

do monsters make war or does war make monsters? / cersei and joffrey, september 1st

[thelightofthewest]

Her son had always shared her contempt for the northeners. Their reasons might be different, but the result was in similar reluctance to the tasks ahead. Cersei didn’t want Joffrey to marry the Stark girl, no more than he himself wanted to.

Following Jon Arryn’s death, Robert had dragged them all to the farthest corner of the westerosi system, all the way to the planet of the Winter; he hadn’t seen fit to tell them why, but not a soul alive had forgotten of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark’s friendship. When the old Arryn had died, Robert’s choice would be in the North.

Granted, Eddard Stark wouldn’t have been Cersei’s first choice: Arryn’s wife was a Tully, sister ot Eddard Stark’s own wife, and Jon Arryn had already posed a threat with his inappropriate questions, long before his demise. The death had been a mercy on her, and Cersei had been thankful to whoever had freed her of that burden. One more day and Jon Arryn might have learnt the whole truth.

Still that meant she was destined to break bread with the Starks and the likes of them, and that didn’t sit well with her either. (There had been that whole accident, back on the planet of the Winter, the one with the child. Jaime had taken care of that, rash and stubborn.) The point her son was making was not without fundament, but it dripped juvenile arrogance and a green idea of power.

“The North is dangerous,” she agreed, “they are wild, most of them savages. Most of them are not that different from those people beyond the Belt.”

Cersei remembered Winterfell; a great station, but stern and rigid in its exterior, lacking the lush and luxurious elegance of the Red Keep. Everything on-world had been just as bland, dreadfully boring to say the least. Sansa Stark had stood out, that much she remembered: when compared to her younger sister, Sansa was almost out of place. Pretty enough to marry the future emperor. Robert had proposed a joinery without consulting her, but she could not have denied it even if he had.

“But they are loyal, and not to us. You may force them to supply forty-thousand men to the Imperial Army, but If you raise their taxes, they will rebel. And if that happens, who do you think those people will fight for, the emperor or their lord?”

[brokenscrown]

“Their emperor,” Joffrey said immediately, without so much an ounce of thought, without much consideration as hinges heavily (with desperation) on the idea that these northern savages would dare fight for someone else. 

He looked at Cersei almost incredulously, but it was fleeting and Joffrey reminded himself, even in front of his own mother, that the idea of rebellion doesn’t frighten him.

Robert ruled with a heavy hand, and under his father’s reign in the Celestial Seat, the system had seen little rebellion. No would dare, Joffrey thought. He would be feared and admired; and his reign shall be known as the Golden Age of the westerosi system.

(Fitting, of course because he was Baratheon and Lannister — a crowned stag on a field of gold, a golden lion on a field of crimson)

Still, the North was dangerous, wild. No matter what the requirement entailed in sending a certain number of citizens every year to join the Imperial Army and Fleet, the North had their own. Caution, they say, to defend the inner system as it sits so closely to the edge, near the belt from any attacks of the enemies beyond. But the Northern fleet could rise to match the Imperial Fleet and should a rebellion breakout... His mother is right, they are loyal, and not to us --

Joffrey was quick to push the thought away. What is the North, after all, to his entire Empire? 

"But the North can't be ruled and persuaded by an outsider," he says slowly. "And when I marry the Stark girl they have no choice but to fight for me." Joffrey takes a step down from the platform. Sansa Stark is but an accessory in securing his position in the Celestial Seat, in avoiding any dissent, in keeping the savages in the North in their place. Father knew what he was doing, Joffrey thinks quietly as he traces the tips of his fingers with his golden cufflinks. 

[brokenscrown]

wow thanx, joff, i am a spirited conversationalist. i am superrrr well versed in fairy stories for example

/yawn.

who cares abt fairy tales i can make all ur dreamz come tru

[thelightofthewest]

do monsters make war or does war make monsters? / cersei and joffrey, september 1st

[thelightofthewest]

The plain dismissal in his voice was not enough to make her falter; she understood it, even cherished it as a sign of that peculiar arrogance of youth. Cersei had been determined and adamant as well, when she was a child, not at all unlike her son.

Robert had lacked many things in the marital department, but what he had lacked as a ruler was the strength to be such. Not a physical strength — he had too much of that; he lacked the motivation, and the vehemence that would have brought the kingdoms to heel. He had relied on charisma for too long a time,and for some five years it had been enough to earn him support. After he had won the kingdom at last he had kept relying on that charisma, long after it was dead and gone, along with Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark and all those epic tales of love and vengeance that had etched his name across the galaxy, a hero.

No one saw a hero in Robert Baratheon anymore, not when he stumbled drunk from the Celestial Seat or when he stared openly and avidly at women’s tits. Joffrey was different.

Joffrey was elegant in his movements, and aristocratic in its well-spoken words; no one would make fun of him, and no one would laugh behind his back like they had with her late husband. Her son’s crown rested on a golden trestle, beautiful and lean, and way more dangerous than Robert’s; Cersei could picture it on Joffrey’s head already, a display of what an emperor should be.

Young, brave and valiant, an emperor whose rule would shake the system and remind even the farthest planets of the Lannister’s real power. The Red Keep would be feared, as would his commander, and no one would ever dare rebel again. Fear was a powerful determent.

“You will be married soon enough,” she began, with a smile meant to cover her contempt. A poor attempt really. “One year maybe? It would give us time to prepare the greatest feast the Red Keep has ever seen. We will ask your grandfather for a pride of lions, from the Rock. Real lions, not those terrible holos.”

One year, Cersei wagered, would be just enough to think of other options. Or maybe she would use the extra time to submit Sansa Stark to her whims, and be sure she would not be a hinder when she was crowned. The crown might rest on the young Stark’s head, but the power would reside in Cersei’s hands.

[brokenscrown]

You will be married soon enough —He deterred his gaze away from his own reflection, on to his mother’s catching her green eyes in the mirror. It bothered him a little, that she would bring up the subject of a wedding at the day of his coronation but his mother was a woman, and it seems as though the extravagance of lions and champagne are all that seemed to preoccupy her mind. He smirked. Funny how, stood on the platform that elevated him the ground as the tailors had worked on his suit earlier, he was but a bare inch taller than Cersei. 

"You mean, marry the Stark girl," he said fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. (Lion shaped, golden cuffs to match his stag brooch). Joffrey raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Cersei.

The reminder of his betrothal to Sansa Stark leaves him indifferent. It had been his father’s idea in the beginning, of course; a marriage to secure the alliance with the North, between his family and Ned Stark’s, and Joffrey, ever so determined to please Robert, had agreed then. After all, an emperor needed an empress and Sansa Stark was, he supposed, pretty enough to do.

(Pretty, but boring. But if his own parents could endure years together without an ounce of affection, he could endure a lifetime with the Stark girl. Robert had whores to bed, plenty enough to keep him satisfied.)

"We allow the northerners too much power," he continued. That had been his father's mistake, being too closely affectionate with Ned Stark. "First Eddard Stark as the Imperial Hand and his daughter as future empress."

He grimaced, before turning to look at Cersei now. It was a pity; that he should be stuck with the Stark girl as if that was the only choice he had. Future Emperor of the Seven Worlds and it seemed as though his options were but very limited. There was the younger Stark girl. She was enough trouble at is. For now, of course. 

"They think themselves equal to us. Once I'm Emperor, I will show them what it means to be truly loyal to the crown," he added. "I'll double their taxes, and command them to supply men to the royal army."

[thelightofthewest]

do monsters make war or does war make monsters? / cersei and joffrey, september 1st

The imperial palace was buzzing with the loud chattering and persistent noises of various machinery; beneath her feet she could feel the pulsating vibrations of the soul of the Red Keep, the wheels whirring and the fuel burning in the engines, perpetual and steady. The entire ship seemed to be alive with the expectant bubbling that preceded the beginning of a brighter day, the coronation of a new emperor, and with it the dawn of a new age.

With a quick sweep of her hand, she threw the trail of her red gown behind her, as she walked across the main hall fast.paced and purposeful, followed by two members of the White Band. Jaime was not one of them. They reached the Celestial Seat room, but walked right past it, and her steps grew quicker. The guard on her left was breathing heavily, and Cersei glanced over her shoulder to see him red in the face.

"Trant, you do not seem to fare well in that white suit."

"No, your grace. I mean, yes, your grace. I fare-"

"That was not a question, Trant."

Cersei stalked down the corridor with long strides, burdened with a destination and a proper meaning. When she saw the large door of Joffrey’s chambers she slowed down, realizing soon enough those would become the emperor’s chambers. For such a long time her chambers had held that title, and it felt bizarre that her son would rob her of that. She didn’t dwell on that, as it would serve her nothing. No one dared to stop her when she waltzed right in: her son might be on the cusp of a coronation, but he was still a boy of fifteen, and Cersei was now the Empress Regnant. More so, she was his mother.

Inside, Joffrey was surrounded by a small crowd: three tailors, all crouched by the emperor’s feet for any last-minute fixes to his outfit; the imperial smith, an old man of seventy-three who had modelled the new crown on Robert Baratheon’s old one, adding a twist of claws across the branches; a counsellor, repeating the ceremony steps one by one, as if her son had any intention of listening or paying attention. There were other people too, an impressive amount of lackeys and servants of any kind. They all spread and let her walk through the human sea. 

She seized her son up and down, clasping her hands at her breast with a soft sigh; she brushed her fingers against the golden brooch on her son’s chest, ignoring the annoyance on his face. He was a boy, after all, struggling and striving to get rid of her mother’s grasp. It was natural, she kept repeating to herself every time he shrugged her off. It was normal.

"A true ruler," Cersei said at last.

"May I have a moment with the emperor?" she added, turning to the present company with a steely smile that promised no compromises. They swarmed like flies to the door, leaving the room in a single wave. When they were alone Cersei allowed herself one last proud look.

"Have you learnt your lines?"

[brokenscrown]

Joffrey was not nervous.

There was the slight shakiness in his hands as he clasped the golden brooch on his chest (and then had failed to do as it slipped just past his fingers, he yelled, asked a servant maid with her head low to pin it for him), but he was not nervous. He took his racing heart for adrenaline, impatient that he had to wait till the highest point of the sun before he could be coronated.

Nerves were of the woman’s frailty after all, and he, dawning the black and gold of his father’s house, was born to be seated in the Celestial Seat, the true heir, soon to be Emperor of the Seven Worlds.

Sooner or later, Joffrey knew this day would come eventually. And since his father’s funeral, he accepted that it had been sooner. He was fifteen now — soon-to-be sixteen in a couple of months — and he was outgrowing child’s play. 

He eyed the crown from the mirror, just past his reflection as the imperial smith smoothed the surface. Joffrey straightened himself (shoulders back, chin up, head high) as he adjusted the fit of his suit round his torso. From the corner of his ears, he could hear the counsellor drawling out the steps of the ceremony like he didn’t already know them, but it was drowned by the ghost of Robert’s voice ringing in the back of his ear. Look at me now, father, he thought with a slight smirk. Look at me. You were great; and I will be greater. 

He felt the prick of a needle at his elbows, and it was enough to unsettle his nerves. “I will have every single one of your fingers cut off,” he hissed, the threat cut short as he caught his mother’s figure enter the room. He curled his fist into a ball as Cersei approached him, sighing at the sight of him. (Joffrey noted that his mother had never reacted at the sight Robert this way and that pleased him) Still, he flinched away from her touch, scowling at every motherly touch as if he was just a boy. 

“Learnt my lines?” he repeated, the tone of his voice slightly edging on to mockery and arrogance.

(The truth was, he learnt his lines. Memorized them, know them off by heart? That was different. What if he fumbles, stumbles, forgets? He doesn’t dwell on it because if it does, it will happen) 

“You think I’m a child…” he frowned, but Joffrey was not looking at Cersei. His gaze remained fixed on his own reflection. “Of course I know them, mother.”

[brokenscrown]

Well, this is awkward.

u fucked up dude

[divinedemoniac]

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