just give me more time | cersei and tommen [september 29th; afternoon]
Her youngest is a far cry from the child she lost. Tommen lacks the strength and the determnation that Joffrey was filled with, and he lacked the ambition. Cersei tries to picture Joffrey in his stance, how he would have reacted if sheâd barged into Downing Street in July and demanded he came home. He would have laughed in her face, told her he was capable of looking after himself. That was why she did not try, because she knew it would be a lost battle: yet sometimes she still lies awake at night and wonders if she might have saved him.
"These fine gentlemen will help you," she says, unmovable. She wants her son home, and she wants him home within the next hour. She simply doesnât care if a few cd cases get shattered in the progress. Sheâll buy him new ones. "I donât have all day," she adds, checking her wristwatch.
The time for coddling is long gone, Tommen made sure of that the day he left home. If softness did not work, perhaps a sterner parenting will. Perhaps what Tommen needs is a good scolding and some rules to put him back within his place, stop the rebellion before it oozes outside the boundaries.Â
Truth is, she is disappointed in him and she cannot hide it. Running away the way he did, it was irresponsible and cowardly. Regardless of the reasons behind it, sheâd rather he screamed and fought but stayed and faced the consequences than what he did, cowering before the truth. Itâs harsh reality, but itâs reality: the sooner Tommen accepts it, the sooner he can make it his strength. She wonders if he sees the perks: one day he might be duke, if she gets her way.
How can it be so reproachful, she asks herself remembering the looks of Myrcella and Tommenâs faces when they both confronted her on the issue of their paternity. She denied it over and over again, and she will continue denying it if asked once more, but at the end of the day she sees no flaws in what she is and what she does: the thing that seemed to be so scandalous was the one thing that kept them together. We shared a womb. Would Tommen and Myrcella prefer to be Robertâs children, knowing they were nothing but the result of a duty to be fulfilled?
"Just grab the essential," she presses on, looking around. There, under her brotherâs roof, she feels tainted. She wants to leave, and never come back. Imaginary fingers close around her throat. She swallows. "Now."
 He knows he's not strong enough to retort back. His mother's will is absolute, stiff.  He feels like a child again, but even as a child he had held some sort of sway, right? Some sort of control. It could be brought on with a quivering lip, or a hopeful, cheerful eye. No longer would those be options, it would seem.
 Shrinking underneath his mother's gaze, he bolts backwards, grabbing a backpack and filling it with the essential. His laptop, some comic books as well as the novel of the month come to mind as he carefully piles them into the satchel. It's ridiculous how keen he is to obey her, even when he had stood strong. It only took a fair few minutes in her presence to remind him that she was his mother, and their relationship was different. It took his mother saying no to remind him that he wasn't Joffrey.
         That he could never be Joffrey.
 He grabs his thin jacket, bracing it against his shoulders as he threads his arm through one of the straps on the bag. Now. His mother calls and he avoids her gaze...all of their gazes. He's embarrassed, this stint of rebellion, of freedom had failed, and Tommen suffers the losses. He can already feel the looks he'll have to avoid once they arrive back home.
 Tommen keeps his head up but his eyes down as he hastily exits, not stopping until he's outside his Uncle's apartment. He races down the steps, telling himself it doesn't matter that his mother's won, or that he'll see Myrcella once more. He should be excited, and hopeful about seeing his sister. Instead he feels overwhelming dread.















