don't leave me alone

. tommen baratheon . for blood and glory 15. london Carry your world, and all your hurt.

[tommen-lnnstr]

just give me more time | cersei and tommen [september 29th; afternoon]

[cersei-lnnstr]

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 she’d 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 doesn’t care if a few cd cases get shattered in the progress. She’ll buy him new ones. "I don’t 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. 

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, she’d rather he screamed and fought but stayed and faced the consequences than what he did, cowering before the truth. It’s harsh reality, but it’s 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 Tommen’s 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 Robert’s 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 brother’s roof, she feels tainted. She wants to leave, and never come back. Imaginary fingers close around her throat. She swallows. "Now."

[tommen-lnnstr]

  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.

[faaaaaangirling]

[tommen-lnnstr]

just give me more time | cersei and tommen [september 29th; afternoon]

[cersei-lnnstr]

Tyrion’s apartment is not far from their own building. On the same street, Lannister Street, but many blocks away, putting the greatest distance between himself and the rest of them but never fully escaping from the family name. It’s under surveillance like the rest of the street, but the guards are thickest around his place, just like they are around her house. It does little very against Cersei: when she steps out of the car they make room for her to walk right amongst them, followed by a small host of her own people. Five men; the Kettleblacks follow right behind her. She trusts those the most: she has seen the way the middle brother looks at her.

The door opens and the housemaid looks frightened upon seeing her, but most of all her eyes widen when the guards push past her and into the place, regardless of her feeble attempts at stopping them.

"No hard feelings," Cersei says as she does just the same, following the thugs. She carries herself more gracefully, but she has just as much determination as they do. She scans the hallway and scrunches up her nose: it’s small, just like her brother. Nothing to compare to the grandeur of Lannister Street, with its tall ceilings and rich brocades.

She knows Tyrion is not home, so she decided to take advantage of it. If there’s one thing her conversation with her vile little brother taught her it’s that he is too dangerous to let her son be in his clutches. She won’t stand by it a minute longer. Tommen must be safe, Tommen must be with her.

The hustle and bustle reaches her ears and she heads down a corridor, following the thudding that comes from the last door. She hears her son’s voice last, loud and demanding. Did my mum send you?, he asks. There’s some accusation in that, but this is no time to indulge his whims. He will understand, in time, that what she does is essentially for him, to make him stronger, to render him able to stand where Joffrey stood. And one day, where Joffrey would have stood. He will be Duke of Westminster, she reminded herself, regardless of succession rules and Jaime’s words. He needs to be schooled for that.

"She did," she deadpans appearing on the threshold. There’s no ounce of softness, not this time.

She’s tried to beg him to stay, and in turn he left anyway. Perhaps she was wrong all along, thinking she could leave him to grow up on his own. (Truth be told, she always thought he wouldn’t need this. Joffrey was the scion. Joffrey would one day inherit the title. What could Tommen want or need?) An iron fist might do her better. An iron fist was just enough for Jaime and herself.

"You’re coming home, I don’t want to hear a word about it."

The men she brought along gather all they can find, from books to cds; Osney Kettleblack is emptying the closet, throwing the clothes into a heavy bag. They dismantle her son’s life and put it into bags under Tommen’s powerless eyes, and he looks hurt, but there is something else that she cannot pin-point. Relief?

[tommen-lnnstr]

Even if there isn't a lot he had brought from home, there is something to be said about everything being stuffed carelessly, and all amounting to himself. Those items, the clothes, the books, the cds, they're his, and no one else's. The way the Kettleblacks don't care about the bent pages of a book they've just thrown into a black bag, or a scratch on a cd of a favourite band of Tommen's makes it hard to watch.

And there enters his mother, cool and supreme in the doorway. Her word, is law. It makes him hateful, of himself at how easily he feels cornered. How he's buckled under her will with no chance of escape. At first he wants to retort, to grab the bags from the men, and make her force him, because this...he can easily deny to go anywhere with them. 

Tommen's never been very assertive, not even when he was a child. Joffrey told him how to make people do what he wanted them to do, when he wasn't annoyed at Tommen's general existence. It didn't seem like the right thing to do. He only looks at his mother, his shoulders slumped, arms hanging limp as he watches them tear into the small piece of independence and solitude that Tommen himself had created. With her will she's brought it all down. And he can't fight her, not again, he doesn't want to fight, he hates it. 

"Fine. But I'll pack my own things. He says sternly, hardening his gaze. He won't let her completely rule, not after how much he's won already. Though as to when it became a battle of fighting and losing and winning, Tommen doesn't know. 

[tommen-lnnstr]

just give me more time | cersei and tommen [september 29th; afternoon]

  For as long as Tommen had been away from home, he was restless. He hadn't seen much of his family, only glimpses of his mother and Myrcella at the Gala. How angry was Myrcella still? Did she hate him now, perhaps forever for leaving? She was angry at Joffrey when he had left with Robert, but that was different. Tommen never said he'd be gone for good, hell, he never even said that he was leaving at all. It was just a sudden thought, a scheme brought forth in his mind, strengthened by grief or what have you that led him to actually pack his bags and leave Lannister Street.

It was shame and embarrassment that kept him away. 

He couldn't just, go back, could he? Then he'd have to admit that he made a mistake, and well, that wouldn't go over well. Joffrey would never, was his only reason for why he did it in the first place. What Joffrey would, or wouldn't do often filled the young man's mind, as if he were trying to live up to his big brother's shadow. Tommen didn't know why, exactly; Joffrey wasn't always the best of brothers, hardly even a brother come to think of it. Though he was what Tommen looked up to, without even realizing it, his big brother, Tommen was meant to be like him, right?

A soft laugh echoes across the room. Tommen would never live up to Joffrey's large shadow. He wasn't brave enough, or smart enough. He wasn't even mean enough, but that had never been Tommen, the boy discovered long ago.

All he wanted to do now, was to go home, to lock himself in his room and wait out whatever...this was. The more he thought about it however, the longer it cemented in his mind that he couldn't go crawling back like a child, like a scared little boy and cling to anyone, to admit that he's made a mistake, no, he can't. He's made this bed, and he'd rather be dragged back than crawl back of his own accord.

Soft footsteps pad up the stairs as Tommen stands up from his bed once more. The least he can do is...visit, maybe apologize to his sister. He didn't mean it, and he's sure that she didn't either. They are family after all.

He reels backward from the men that come barging in his room, "Who the hell are you?" He swears, but it's unneeded, he can see clearly by the crest, by the uniform they're Lannister men, guards, but why a- Oh, of course. Seems like he might get dragged back after all.

Though they start grabbing things, and Tommen has to protest, they'll break something, not that he's brought a terrible lot with him, "Stop, don't touch, come on." He complains in quick succession, but he's powerless to stop them, "Did my mum send you?" He asks, eyebrows raised as he looks one of the men moving over to the small dresser, "Well did she?" 

[tommen-lnnstr]

screen your worry from what you won't ever find | myrcella and tommen [october 2005]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

She lay wake in her bed, staring at her bedroom door left ajar. From downstairs, Myrcella could hear the faint sound of a glass shattering on the marbled tiled floor, the louder, clearer sounds of her father’s voice, and the much more distant, hoarse where the words are stuck and scratching at the back of her throat from her mother. 

The noise doesn’t alarm her — Downing Street is loud and bustling during the day, its door opening and closing far too frequently, and her father’s return and presence never quite enough. It’s the sharpness honed behind the firing shots, the way the walls seemed as though it shook, even the darkness of her own room.

People fought all the time, she reminded herself. Her parents were no different. (This certainly wasn’t the first time, and Myrcella knew even then that it wouldn’t be the last) It was in the same way she and her brothers would fight — her and Joffrey more often her and her little brother, Tommen. Oh no, not Tommen. He was kinder than Joffrey, sweeter, and preferred her company best while Joffrey only pushed her away and mockingly told her to play with her stupid dolls. 

And just as people fought all the time, they made up too.

This was normal.

She made her way out of her bedroom as quietly as she could, one arm clinging on to a stuffed unicorn doll (Mr. Unicorn, as Arys had one named it). Myrcella wasn’t sure if she was being loud, or if her parents could even hear the soft patter of her feet against the cold floor as she made her way to Tommen’s room at the other end of the hallway. 

(She doubted they would)

“Knock, knock,” she whispered as she pushed the door open, loud enough for her brother to hear.

[tommen-lnnstr]

As the silence engulfed him, it was as if his ears were playing tricks on him. Someone was coming down the hall, they suggested, but surely not. Still in his fear he laid back down in haste, ramming his eyes shut. If someone looked in on him and saw him awake, well, that wouldn’t be good. 

When he heard his door whisper however, he stayed as still as could be, his eyes closed so tight a crease formed between his brows. I should’ve turned away from the door, Tommen thought after the fact. Still, he allotted one eye to open just a smidgen, so he might know who in fact made his door move. He had heard the door speak as well, but he was too out of sorts to successfully identify it. He hoped it was his mother, she’d tell him there was nothing to worry about, and that she loved him, and that he was her little lion after kissing his head. That would make him feel better.

He saw a golden figure in the doorway, but she was considerably shorter than his mum. Squinting in the face of the light blinding his face as the door opened more, he saw his sister. “Myrcella?” He questioned, the tone of his voice sounding more awake than anything. Myrcella carried with her Mr. Unicorn as she entered his room. 

"What are you doing?" He squirmed in his bed. Hopefully his sister will believe that he had been asleep instead of awake during the ruckus. "Is everything alright?" 

[tommen-lnnstr]

screen your worry from what you won't ever find | myrcella and tommen [october 2005]

Tommen awoke to the shouts and the bellows once again. He looked to the door, a crack of smiting light shining through the wood. He couldn’t hear the words, what exactly the two adults were saying, but it was heated. The young boy never liked it when his parents fought, the deep bass of his father contrasting with the shrill of his mother.

His ears grew hot as his heart sped up in fear. He didn’t move however, only burrowed deeper into his blankets. He’d go to sleep eventually, if he tuned it out, he’d drift off while his parents fought.

He tried, he really did, but the sharp yelling of his mother awakened a fright for her sake. What if something happened to her? What if his dad got really mad like he was prone to do? Tommen buried his face into the pillow, willing the burning of his ears to stop.

It wasn’t as if he could do something about it. He wasn’t big enough, nor brave enough to stand up in defense of his mother to anyone let alone the burly man that was his father. Is this what it’s supposed to be like? The fear of his father was paired by a queer admiration, Tommen knew he’d be like him one day. Powerful, but terrible. He wasn’t sure if he could be either of those two, nor if he wanted to.

Something seemed to shatter upon the floor, making Tommen jump. He sat up in bed now, and clamped his hands over his ears. In the dark everything seemed more sinister, especially the silence that followed the thing that had shattered. Should he look outside? Maybe he could sneak down to Myrcella’s room, if he was quick enough. He could hide in her closet if she happened to be asleep.

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

[There’s something Tommen doesn’t tell her; something he keeps to himself. A thought, a remark better left unspoken — maybe he knows; and maybe he could see right through Myrcella’s uncertainty earlier. Would it be foolish of her to try and mar the truth about Joffrey? To try and make of what he’s done and make herself belief otherwise —

She pushes the chair back and stands; dropping the spoon on the countertop makes the silverware clatter.] Was. How he was, [She quickly corrects herself. Right — of course, was. She had meant was. In the minutes before she stood behind the podium at the chapel, she repeated the word over and over again. Was. The past tense is unsettling. 

Myrcella is rummaging through drawers and cupboards again, for the sake of doing something.] Do you want tea? I can make you tea … I just need to — [she stops, finding the kettle] boil some water. 

[tommen-lnnstr]

[It’s difficult to describe what happens. The kitchen falls silent for a brief moment, then clangs of silverware along with the screeching of chair legs across the floor ring out, a chaotic clash of pain and panic. Tommen flinches as both of these things happen, looking up as his sister detracts from their sitting positions. She’s abandoned the ice cream as well and it’s as if she seeks to disrupt her thoughts, thoughts that Tommen himself have caused.

He watches her scavenge the drawers, only for a moment before he faces away from her. His eyes felt worn in their sockets as he balled his hands up into fists. He listens to his sister muttering on, and before he knows it, he’s pushed his chair back, and un-balled his hands. Tommen’s heart begins searing with the pain of not just his own grief, but his sister’s that he’s appropriated for her.]

Stop. [His voice is quiet as he faces her, and quickly wraps his arms tightly around her. He tries his hardest to keep back the tears, knowing that he’ll have to be stronger now, but he cannot stop the wetness around his red-rimmed eyes any more than he can stop anything else in this bloody godforsaken world.] 

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

Yeah, [Myrcella nods slowly.] Me too. 

[If this is sadness that she felt, then; then yes, she can’t help but be sad about it too. For all the shit that Joffrey’s done — to her, to Tommen, to anyone who was even remotely close to him —, she was still his sister, and he, her brother it wasn’t just as simple as turning her back, saying that she would not miss him. Myrcella would. They’re faint memories, but she’d like to think that there was a time before Joffrey became to what he was.

She thinks about Robert then. Unconsciously, she frowns a little, and the grip she has around the small, dainty spoon handle tightens. As for Robert — she’s missed him enough times when her father had been alive that she’s passed immunity. Perhaps, missing him dead wouldn’t be any different.

(She misses Arys more — but she tries not to think about him. It’ll be him, she’s sure, that’ll send tears brimming around her eyes. 

No, Tommen can’t see her that way.)

Myrcella looks up, and nudges her brother lightly on his arm.] I’m sure he cared about you, Tommen. [Actually, she wasn’t sure — but she liked to believe that he must have.] In his own way. [Myrcella adds, smiling weakly] You know how he is — too much like dad.

[tommen-lnnstr]

[He doesn’t know if hearing his sister agree with him makes him feel any better. Maybe a little bit less alone in his sadness. He looks down at the counter beneath him, thinking of all the times that Joffrey had ever done anything for him, for Tommen. They were very few and far between, scattered into shadowy memory. Were some of them even real? Dreams, perhaps, of Tommen’s in which helped instead of pushed him down. Surely they were, but there had to be a few instances that broke through to reality. Tommen can’t think of any at the moment, he doesn’t want to.

Listening to his sister as she nudged him, Tommen looks up at his sister. She doesn’t know for sure either. He probably didn’t care about you as well, Cella, he thinks regretfully. He can’t look at her for long though, as she continues on. There’s something wrong with what she’s said, it’s not true. It should be true, and it shouldn’t bother him that much, but he can hardly stop himself from correcting her,] Was. 

[itsbetterthananal]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

[Her mouth gapes as Tommen jumps to where she’s sat, digging his own spoon into her tub of ice cream. Unbelievable — but it’s not as though she  had the heart to push him away even if it is all in good fun.] It’s pistachio. [She says in a matter-of-fact voice as she moves over to one side to give her brother more room beside her.

It’s quiet for a while. The ice cream is there, between them. Earlier, it had just been a way for her to find some way to spend time with Tommen. It’s partly because she didn’t know how to deal spending another moment alone in her room; and partly more because she’s concerned about him.]

Do you remember when we were little — [She starts quietly, taking a small scoop of ice cream from the tub] we’d spend Christmas here at Eaton Hall? And it’d be my birthday… and Joffrey used to get so mad that I had more gifts than him.  [Shaking her head, Myrcella chuckles softly before muttering under her breath,]  He was such an arsehole…

[tommen-lnnstr]

[Pistachio isn’t his favourite, but he still finds it quite good despite that. Still. he wonders if there’s some mint ice cream, or even plain chocolate deep within the freezer. No, pistachio will do for now, he tells himself as he digs his silver spoon in again. He leans sideways, so that he can face Myrcella better as they eat ice cream together. 

The silence soon engulfs them, but it isn’t deafening, nor strained. Still, Tommen finds he doesn’t like the quiet right now, no matter how comfortable it is. Luckily it’s his sister that breaks it, but with her words about Joffrey…he’s not sure if it’s right. Though the memory sticks out clear to him, their brother was always jealous, of any attention, anything that his younger siblings received that he did not.] Yeah,  he’d take one of my presents after they’d all been unwrapped; the one he liked best. I didn’t mind any, it was like I was giving him a present for Christmas.[Tommen sticks his spoon in the ice cream and slides his hands under the opposite arms. 

He doesn’t know what to say, agree that he was an arsehole? Well he was, and Tommen nods with a half-smile to show that he does in fact concur with his sister. But it brings upon something deeper, that had him in it’s grips before Myrcella had knocked on his door.] He was never nice to me, you know? He’d always make fun, or be a little too rough, but that’s all normal, that’s how brothers are to each other, I guess. Still, he never seemed to like me, or care much...[There was a reason Myrcella offered ice cream instead of talking in his room, and it wasn’t so that he could just vent his grief that he shouldn’t have. Tommen licks his lips and leans on his arms more,] I can’t help but be sad about…it. [He was our family despite it all.]

[j-lannisters]

history will ask for a rain check / jaime & tommen / september 10th

Cersei would not like it if she knew he was here. All his life she’d done her best to make Tyrion feel as unwanted as possible, as if their father didn’t do enough of that himself. Fortunately his younger brother had never been quite so unwelcome to Jaime and so this visit would look anything but suspicious to an outside viewer.

But he wasn’t there for Tyrion; Jaime walked right through his brother’s front door without so much as a knock so that he could see Tommen. Sparse as his paternal concern may have been (and it wasn’t even that now, if he thought about it), someone had to check on the kid. Rather, someone had to make sure Tommen was handling this news properly.

(It could be worse, he supposed. His son could’ve fled to any number of people and they remained lucky enough that it was a member of their own family. A trusted member, no matter what Cersei liked to claim in her rants. His son – the words still sounded strange even just in his thoughts.)

“Mr. Lannister – “ Tyrion’s butler greeted him, draping his dusting rag over his wrist in the process. “I’m afraid Mr. Lannister left and won’t return until later this afternoon.”

“What about the kid?” Jaime inquired, the butler appearing taken aback in response. Thankfully the man gathers himself in a matter of seconds to point down the hallway, a flight above where they stood. “Second door on the left, sir.” A flick of his wrists after he clears the staircase gave three knocks, Jaime rolling his shoulders back. He hardly expected a warm welcome. “Hey, Tommen. It’s your Uncle Jaime.” Too soon?

[tommen-lnnstr]

Ever since he had closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed his Uncle allotted him he knew he was a coward. He'd run away, it was as simple as that. Tommen didn't want to deal with anything, let alone what Myrcella had told him. It simply wasn't true. And how could she even wonder like that? Robert was their father, through and through, simply because she didn't like the man didn't change that. 

Tommen had to admit, he never favoured him either, but you couldn't choose who your father was, and if Robert was, then well, everyone should deal with it, including Myrcella. Still, now that the notion was in his head he couldn't get it out. He couldn't stop thinking about it, Jaime being their father, their true father. It was...absurd. Uncle Jaime, that's who he was, that's who he was meant to be, and...It just made no sense for Myrcella even to bring it up, even in a what if situation.

It had made the boy angry, and muttering like a mantra in his head came the words, Ours is the Fury, and he was furious. He had snapped at his sister, something he'd never done, not in that tone. And so, he'd fled, because it was what Joffrey would've done, something Robert would've been proud of. Although he couldn't run to either of those people now. 

So Tyrion had made sense at the time, and he always had this way of knowing what to do. Although Tommen hadn't said anything specifically other than, 'I'd like to stay here a few days, to get out of the house', he wondered what his Uncle would say if he told him. Not wanting to risk it, he didn't.

He had been sitting on his bed, some light music coming from his laptop as he surfed the internet. Avoiding social media all together, mostly because he didn't want to deal with his friends messaging him at the moment, Tommen pushed his laptop off his lap and made to stand. He however froze when knocks came at the door. 

What was he doing here? Was his first thought, not exactly in favour of his fath- no, uncle, Uncle still being anywhere near him at the moment. In haste, Tommen got off his bed, standing a bit defensively before the door. Did he have to answer? No, he didn't...Jaime didn't know if he was actually here. He might've gone out, somewhere. "Yeah?" Betraying himself, he spoke before he thought it out completely. 

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

[She’s watching him sidelong as he walks beside her at the tip of his toes, feigning an expression of annoyance. Groaning, she tells him,] Stop it, will you? [Her hands find his shoulders and she tries to push him back down. Even in jest, she hasn’t yet quite figured out how to handle the idea of Tommen being taller than herself. It would change things —

There’s that fear; and although she never thinks too much about it, it’s there now, lingering in her mind. Tommen will grow older, taller, and stronger than her and there’ll come a time when the idea of having his sister protecting him would not exactly bode well. There’ll come a time when he won’t need her like the times he did, when Joffrey had no qualms picking on him when they were younger.

As they both set foot into the kitchen, Myrcella walks pass by him and holds out her tongue; a bit childlessly]I can get it myself. [She remarks, making her way to the freezer and taking out one tube of ice cream. She starts rummaging through the kitchen drawers, wondering exactly where the housemaids placed the silverware.]

I was going to share but — [She hums, smiling when she fishes out a spoon inside one of the drawers and settles down on of the kitchen chairs.]  Since you’re sooooo tall, you can get your own.

[tommen-lnnstr]

[All he can do is stare at her, it’s horrible, watching her keep the entire ice cream tub to herself. It’s downright selfish! He quirks his lips to one side and narrows his eyes at her] That’s just cruel, dear sister. I didn’t think you could be as cold as ice cream. 

[He looks at the freezer, but dismisses thoughts of getting his own tub. Myrcella’s already opened her tub, and there’s no sense in opening two. They can share, they will share, he thinks, quickly turning to the drawer of silverware. Tommen grabs a spoon and jumps over to where his sister sits and digs his spoon into the ice cream.

With a laugh, Tommen pulls out a spoon full of the stuff and places it greedily in his mouth.] Ha, now we’ll have to share. [He nods pointedly a grin present on his face. His mind turns to Joffrey, of what he would’ve done. ‘It doesn’t matter, leave me alone’, he tells the thoughts in his mind.‘You don’t belong here.’] …What flavour is that, it’s good.

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

Perfect! [The remark is tempered with too much excitement, writ with too much lightness that conflicts with the heaviness gripping at her chest. Too wrong and too out of place it seems. But Tommen laughs; and it’s bright and familiar, and happy and maybe it’s better this way —

What comfort could she give her brother? Assuring him that everything would be fine would not be anywhere near the truth and Myrcella doesn’t have the heart to give him anything less than. Ice cream may only be brevity but it’s enough for now.]

Come on, [she gestures towards the hallway, one hand still gripping at the doorknob, the door left ajar before them. She waits for him to walk out before her and shut the door.

Eaton Hall had always been big and quiet. But there’s something different as they walk through the hallway. A bigness that edged on empty, a quiet that seems colder.

Myrcella walks closer to him, furrowing her brows a little as she realizes that there wasn’t much of a heigh difference between them. She scrunches up her nose] You’re taller…

[tommen-lnnstr]

[For a moment, Tommen can forget about all that’s befallen their family. As he passes Myrcella through the doorway, it’s as if nothing has even happened. That slowly decays as the pair walk through the silent halls, and it’s as if Eaton Hall can tell that something’s happened. Tommen has always thought of the place as light, and safe, somewhere that any Lannister can go to and be met with solitude and peace. Though the silence hangs heavy in the dead air, and the steps on the carpeted halls swallow the footsteps instead of give them life. 

He wants, just for a second to retreat back into his room, where he won’t be met with the enclosing solitude this place seems to give off now, but he looks to his sister next to him and knows that he’s not alone, no matter how big and vacant this place feels.]

Oh, am I? [His voice is quiet, dampened by the long halls of Eaton and he hasn’t even notice how much he’s grown in the summer. Too focused on other things, he thinks, more important things. He gives her a bright smile however, at her scrunched up nose. She doesn’t seem to like that her little brother is gaining on her in height.

He attempts to make himself taller, by walking down the halls on the toes of his feet. It’s rather odd to think that he might be looking down on his big sister soon, but it is only right. He might be the little brother, but no one would think of him as such if he were taller than her. Then no one would think of hurting her. If only he were as intimidating as Joffrey…]

Maybe you’ve shrunk. [He smiles again at her, easier this time as the continue down the silent halls, towards the staircase. In time, they make it down.] Do you want me to get the stepping stool, Cella? [Tommen jokes as they enter the kitchen and gestures to the freezer.]

[carriehopefuls]

Birthday dinner at The Wolseley (x)

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

[She leans her head against the doorframe, relieved. She had expected a different response; and fearing the worst, she expected no reply at all. Her fingers twist around the neck of the doorknob before pushing it and stepping into Tommen’s room.]

Hey, I wanted to see if you were — [Myrcella halts, finally catching a glimpse of Tommen. In the brief glance she took earlier to see him, he remained straight faced and rigid, even sitting so close to Tywin Lannister. Okay, she finishes in her mind and she receives her reply then without the need of wasting one’s breath. 

Tommen’s eyes are red. Marks left even when she knows he’s wiped the tears away. It worries her; but she doesn’t mention it. Myrcella turns a blind eye to her brother’s grief — not to completely ignore it, but at a lost for words, she finds herself searching for what would be the right thing to say. Nothing comes to her. 

To ask the obvious would be futile, so she settles for something else and clear her throat,] If you’ve settled just fine. [She smiles and leans against the door] If you wanted to sneak in to the kitchen and get some ice cream… like we used to.

[tommen-lnnstr]

[He hopes that his sister can’t tell that he’s been crying, or if she has, that she won’t say anything about it. It’d be worse if she tries to comfort him, but Tommen thinks about how strange that is. After the death of two prominent figures in their life, and he thinks it’s worse of her to comfort him than to ignore him.

He shakes it off, miming a smile, but his cheeks hurt from his jaw being clenched for so long.] Yeah, yeah, I’ve…I’m fine. [A lie, of course, but saying that he’s fine makes him feel better. His sister looks completely unphased and he wishes that he could be more like her. 

Like we used to, she says and Tommen actually laughs. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he’s laughing and even though it doesn’t feel as genuine, there’s happiness and brightness in his tone. He smiles again, easier, feeling his cheeks relax and he nods, perhaps a bit too much.]

I-I’d like that. [He wants to wrap his arms around her and hug her because he’s figured it out. Ignoring grief, is the best way to deal with grief. He can clearly see how well it’s working out for Myrcella, and if he defects his feelings with this mission of ice cream, it can work for him too. ]

[myrcella-lnnstr]

you can't make homes out of human beings → dialogue [with: tommen baratheon, 02/08]

[Eaton Hall is a void. Empty and lacking. There’s a still quietness left over by the Lannister guests that attended the funeral. Myrcella leaves it that, unwilling — or unaccepting just yet — to think of it as belonging to anyone; of belonging to Joffrey’s.

She stands by the vanity in one of the upstairs room that she’s claimed as hers from when she had been old enough to remember first memories in the place shared with Joffrey — a time before Tommen was born. And, one of the times instilled in her mind, that she remembered Joffrey sharing, laughing, and smiling.

She drops Aunt Genna’s old lion brooch on the surface before making her way to Tommen’s room. The last time she had seen him that day had been when she stood behind a podium, talking of what Joffrey had been as if it could somehow shed some warm light in the cold limestone and marble and granite. She stayed for idle conversations after, and stood by her grandfather and Uncle Tyrion to see them all away before retreating to her own room. But of all the people she’s exchanged words with, not one had been Tommen.

Too afraid, she admits quietly to herself as she stands in front of the door to Tommen’s room. Too afraid to have to face the reality that there was only them.

(But it had always just been them. Somewhere, and at some point, Joffrey strayed too far and lost himself to Robert Baratheon’s fury and became a shadow of their father. All rage and petulant demands)] 

Tommen? [Hesitantly, she knocks and waits for an answer] May I come in?

[tommen-lnnstr]

[He’s stiff, as if he’s been frozen for days, every movement unnecessary. His muscles ache with exertion that has not been performed, a dull burning behind his marrow. Grief, is the emotion, he tells himself, but why? Joffrey had always made his life hell. And when he heard that he had died, he cried. 

Tommen’s jaw clenches as he sits on his bed, brooding. He hasn’t been able to pick up a book in days. He can only sit, and stare at the unadorned wall on the far side of this room. Sure it’s his, ever since he had been born it was his but there’s a fire in his bones telling him it’s not. He hasn’t been able to meet the eyes of his family since the news. He caught his sister’s glance once, but since then it was shuffled gazes, unreturned stares.

He just…can’t look at them, and he can’t understand why. He, if anything should be…unresponsive to his brother’s death, but it’s been the opposite. His eyes burn in their sockets, when he realizes his eyes have gone wet. What is wrong with him? 

There’s a knock at the door, and Tommen swallows heavily. His sister. No, he wants to say back, he’s a stupid little boy, who’s crying over someone who probably never gave a damn about him. No, you cannot come in, Myrcella. 

His hands collide together, knuckles cracking as he stands. His knees ache in protest, his whole body negating association with what his mind wants, or is doing. Open the door, his brain says, and bouts of shudders crawl up his hand as he reaches up for the knob. He blinks rapidly, remembering that even if he was still young, he was a lion to boot, and then a stark realization. He’s the last male in their small pride. 

Tommen hastily wipes his eyes, willing his blood to be his strength, the crimson blood flowing in his veins, no more than liquid strength.] Hel-Myrcella, you…you can come in. [He backs away from the door, muscles screaming to shut it in her face and walk away. That’s what Joffrey would’ve done, he thinks. But he is not Joffrey.]