Chapter 50
It had been many moons since Joffrey had been forced into seclusion by his brother, and in all this time he had been confined to a single room at the edge of the Red Keep. He had no friends to call on, and the only visitor he had was his own mother.
Though she knew the monster that her eldest son was, Cersei Lannister was a mother, and her heart broke as she saw him withering away in the prison. She knew that Steffon was better suited to the throne, but it did not mean that she agreed with him on his treatment of his own brother.
He was her eldest, and she did not have the heart to forsake him, even as everyone else around her was happy to forget about him. She walked into the room and saw that it was a mess once more. The bed had been broken, and the floor was littered with broken chalices, dishes, and ornaments.
Joffrey sat in a corner of the room, and he was splattered on the ground with a half-empty flagon of wine by his side. Her eldest child had become a shell of his former self.
"Joffrey," she gasped at the sight of him, and he finally looked up at her.
"Mother," he called out in desperation, as she walked up to him, and once he was a mighty lion, yet the confinement had broken him. Her son was not made to live in such conditions, and each day he stayed confined to this room, a part of him died.
"Please," he pleaded, as he brought his together.
"You have to get me out of here," and he was begging her now.
"I will do anything. Anything," and of all the things he could have asked for, she could not grant him this. She could not, no matter how much it pained her heart.
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.
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STEFFON BARATHEON
The news of the marriage coincided with the word of victory from the North. Eddard Stark had led his armies to a great victory at the Moat as Howland Reed, despite being outnumbered, managed to keep the Ironborn from taking over Moat Cailin.
The North now had a stronghold in the Cailin, and their armies could easily walk into the North without much resistance. The armies had been led by Robb Stark, and Eddard Stark had come to the capital to walk his daughter down the Isle.
The marriage itself was a rather simple affair. His uncle may have managed to save the realm from the worst effects of his father's proclivities, but the treasury was still much hampered, and he would not empty it out of some form of vanity.
His mother had not been happy over his decision and wished for a more lavish affair, but he was King, and with the combined consent of himself and his Hand, there was little she could do to overturn that decision.
His grandfather had advised him to announce the lightened sentences along with the proclamation, and though he initially had no intention of revealing them, he believed it would help reassure the Lords and incentivize them to curry favor with him so that their own plight might be eased.
Sansa now sat beside him, as they struggled to survive the forty-nine-course meal that had been arranged for the feast. Sansa sat by his side now, clad in the yellow and black cloak of his family, while lords from all over the realm came to offer their tributes.
It was a somber affair, truly, and he felt Sansa still slightly as the retinue from the Reach came forward. It was well known that the Tyrells were not much pleased with his choice of a wife, but there was little they could do to change his mind.
"Greetings, your grace, and may the Gods shower you and your lady wife with their blessings," Lord Mace came and offered his greetings in his usual ornate way. He was a plump man, with little political sense, but the surprising thing about this was that the man was aware of it.
He knew that he was not the smartest man in the room, or even in his family. So, he was happy to delegate the intricate fields of politics and ruling to those around him while he lived a lavish life.
It was well known that his mother, Lady Olenna, was the one who ruled over the Reach. Their son Garland stood beside him, and he was stiff in his stature, probably because he still remembered that he had been the one to put down his younger brother during the rebellion.
The rest of the family greeted him as well, after Mace. Garlan and Lady Margaery offered simple words, but he did not miss the piercing gaze of Lady Olenna, whose terse lips barely hid her disappointment and fury.
"You have chosen yourself a beautiful wife," she began, and he knew well that the entire room was paying great attention to this exchange of words.
"That I have," Steffon answered as he reached for Sansa's hand and held it a bit tightly to reassure her.
"She has her mother's beauty. A good choice for a man, but not for a King," and he had expected this, and for a second the room stilled.
"Grandmother," Lady Margaery gasped, along with her son.
"Mother," but the older woman waved them away.
"I am an old woman with a loose tongue. I am sure the King and the Queen don't mind the ramblings of a woman such as me," and before Sansa could open her mouth, he answered.
"I actually do," he countered, and Lady Olenna was not expecting that answer.
"Really, a shame really. But I am not wrong," and she stepped forward with her cane, and he saw the Kingsguard tense up, but he motioned them to hold their position
"You have need of our grain and our men," and Steffon reached for his wine and took a sip, not taking his gaze away from the old woman's face.
"Indeed," he agreed with her.
"I indeed have need of your grain, but not any more than the one you have for your heads." Steffon's voice grew hard as he said those words, and he was not going to let the Tyrells become so self-important.
"I could make do without your grain, Lady Olenna," and he saw her son splutter at their banter as he strode forward to pull her away.
"But I can assure you, and your family would not be able to do the same without your heads," and Lord Mace came forward and tried to pull her away.
"Please, forgive her, Your Grace. Age has made her tongue loose," he apologized on her behalf, but Lady Olenna had not even a hint of remorse on her face.
"They are right about you. You truly are the second coming of Tywin," and that was one of his newest monikers, and with that, she turned around and walked away as tension filled the Hall.
His own grandfather came afterward and addressed him with a knowing look.
"I warned you this would happen," he began, and Steffon shrugged.
"I do not care," he answered without much care.
"You should," but then he motioned for a servant who brought forward a long case.
"Well, I believe I have brought forth a gift for you," and he was a bit excited for it.
"I took your suggestion and had my men gather all the Valyrian Steel they could find," and most Houses in the realm had some old relics made out of Valyrian Steel. Daggers, spoons, and other knick-knacks.
He had found quite a few of them on Dragonstone, and so he had given his grandfather an idea. The servants brought forth the box and placed it in front of him.
"I found the smith you mentioned and had him commission this for the Crown," and so he opened the box, and in it lay a blade with a smoky pattern over its edge.
"Valyrian Steel," he recognized easily.
He grabbed it by its hilt and took out the blade as the entire room gawked at the sight. It was not a full great sword, but it was a sword enough.
It was light, and he did not need to test its edge.
"Thank you, grandfather," Steffon said as the old man left with a nod.
He placed the blade back into its sheath and passed it to his Kingsguard. With that, the feast lasted a few more hours, until it was time for the bedding.
He did not much like the tradition, but he had to relent, and so the lords came for him first, and he was hauled off to his chambers as they tore away his clothes. Sansa came some time later, covered only in mere scraps.
Her face was red, and she came and sat beside him as he offered her some wine. She took a small sip, and he knew that he had to break the silence between them.
"I received a letter from Ser Barristan earlier today," and he saw her perk up at that.
"He told me that they have made port at Braavos safely," and he saw her eyes light up at that.
"I am grateful to you for your mercy," she offered, and he shook his head.
"There is no need for this now. I will not deny that our two families have a troubled past, but once our fathers were brothers in all but name. I hope to see us return to such a time," and she nodded, as a subtle smile came on her lips.
"May I ask you a question?" she began, and Steffon nodded.
"Yes," and she looked at his face.
"Why?" she began.
"Why did you choose me?"
"Lady Olenna was right. The Starks are not as rich as the Tyrells, and even I can tell that Lady Margaery would make a far better Queen than I could ever hope to be," and her eyes fell to the floor, and he noticed her hesitations before she continued.
"Then there is Lady Arianne from Dorne. A marriage with her would have been a good match as well," and Sansa Stark had come to the capital, a fool.
But now, with the grief of her suffering behind her, she was beginning to learn the game. She was beginning to learn the politics that now ruled the realm.
"Because I like you," he answered, and felt her still with his words, and that was partly true. He had chosen her for political benefits as well, for though the North had little to offer in terms of tangible assets, this match helped him lean into the charisma and legacy of his own father.
The Rebellion had been won by the alliance of the Stag and the Direwolf, and if the Seven Kingdoms were to be together, then the two Houses must become allies once more.
But this was not the answer she needed right now. Not today.
"You are loyal, and you have the ability to love rather fiercely," he added, and this was all true as well.
"I am a young King, yet I am not lacking in enemies. Euron Greyjoy wreaks havoc in your homeland and desires my head. Viserys Targaryen prepared his ships in Essos so that he may come and burn us all to the ground," and though it was painful to admit, but this had begun to take a toll on him as well.
It had been about a year since he had taken the throne from his brother, and he had been fighting long before that. Each day had been spent either fighting a war or breaking down a hidden enemy.
"Margaery Tyrell would have made a good queen, but not a good wife. I cannot have a war in my own House, not while I have to fight so many wars outside," and she seemed surprised by the answer, but she was not done yet.
"What of Lady Arianne then?" and he had hoped the rumors would not spread, but Arianne Martell had a loose tongue.
"You need not worry about that. Arianne Martell means nothing to me," he assured her.
"I will not deny the rumors, but you will hear no more of them," and he looked her in the eye and slowly reached for her hands.
"I will never shame you, my dear. Never," and he saw her eyes tear up as the two of them slowly brought their faces together. She kissed him lightly, hesitantly, and he controlled his own urges to the best of his abilities lest he frighten her.
It was slow, but soon enough he was above her, as the two of them became one. She gasped slightly as she began to kiss the scars left on her by his brother, slowly reaching her face.
He was as gentle as he could be, and hours later the two of them lay asleep as Sansa clung to his form with both her hands. She had fallen asleep first, and he was drifting on the edge of sleep once more when he heard some commotion from the outside.
The sleep vanished quickly as he reached for the dagger under his pillow. Suddenly, the door to his chamber was pushed open, yet instead of an enemy, it was one of his own Kingsguard.
"Hahhh," Sansa rose with a shock as he gently wrapped his arms around her.
"It's fine. It's fine," he assured her as he turned towards the guard in rage.
"What the hell is going on out there!"
"Your Grace. It's your brother," and he felt Sansa still in his arms at the mention of Joffrey.
"He is gone..."
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