Must, he dare say must to her? Did she look like she was his servant? She would have slapped him for that, she wanted to slap him for it. She wanted to have his tongue cut out for thinking he could speak to her in such a way.
She could, after all. Cersei was the daughter of Tywin Lannister, she was the Queen. She was the Regent until Joff came of age and her word was the law of the realm.
But, the thought of Joff on a battlefield disquited her and for a moment, just a moment, she thought of what it would be like if Joff was on the battlefield, away from her protection and with no to hear him call for aid.
The Hound had abandoned him, he was out there somewhere now and Cersei hoped that soon enough his head would wind up on a stick for his treason but he was gone, and Joff was down a sword.
Cersei bit at her bottom lip, for a moment. “If I was to allow this, then I would say when it stops. I would say when to far was to far, do you understand me?”
he had plans, means of getting the king to focus on his need for survival, but they would be useless the longer it festered. overt care and pampering brought up a spoiled child, and that, the king still was. children did not deserve to be leaders, far too much responsibility to be put on their shoulders. one day, joffrey would have to grow up, and fast, or be killed for it. there was much lacking in the boy king, by both highborn and lowborn words. yet cruelty and hatred, he could shape, give some form perhaps ... as a weapon joffrey could use against his enemies and not his own people.
a faint tension left his shoulders at cersei’s words, some ease of mind coming to him. there was a good chance of success. if not, well, at least tommen was taking it all the best he could in stride. ‘ it is as you will it, my queen, ’ the knight’s head inclined slightly. platitudes. this is what was expected, to be heard and acted upon. but he had never been the soft kind. ‘ i have no intention of purposefully harming him, only t’push him as any good trainer would do. ’
there was another small nagging notion in the back of his head. he knew the answer, already, but royland wished to ask nonetheless. ‘ have y’ever wielded a blade, your grace ? ’
