Love and Control - A Game of Thrones Fan Fiction

Chapter XIII - Arienne

Here's the next chapter, enjoy!

Two chapters in one day, the things I do for my fans!

Warning, towards the end, there is quite a brutal scene. If you don't like that sort of thing, I'll add some asterisks at the start, and you can just skip to the next chapter.

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I stumble into an awkward curtsey, unable to believe my violet eyes. It's Joffrey. Joffrey who left me the note, who told me to meet him here.

Joffrey who has fallen in love with me.

He laughs at my clumsiness, but makes no attempt to hide the fact that he is nervous too. He holds out his large hand for mine, and breathes my name in a loving whisper. "Arienne." I wait for him to embellish, but he doesn't, all he does is stare bewildered into my eyes.

Here, in the serenity of the Water Garden, with the maze around us to conceal us from everyone, he doesn't seem like a King. His crown is absent from his golden head, his fine brocade covered clothes replaced by the simple garments of a regular young man. And a dashing one at that.

"Your Grace, I received your note," I stutter. He smiles, as if to say, of course you got the note, you wouldn't be here otherwise. But I ignore his cockiness and find myself smiling back at him. "Your note was beautiful, did you write it yourself?" I realise after I've said it how my question must sound, rude and doubting that he has the mental ability to concoct such a declaration of love. Anyone else would be executed on the spot for insulting the King, but I am apparently no longer in that bracket of people. Joffrey just smiles at me again, and sits down on the stone bench on the other side of the pond. "Every word." He replies warmly.

I stand awkwardly, unsure whether to remain where I am, or to go and sit down next to him. He sees my confusion, and stands again, before striding around the bath of lilies and standing before me. He is tall, like his father as I am told, but I find it difficult to see why people are so terrified over him. He isn't much taller than a regular man, and though he is strong, he wouldn't be particularly difficult to defeat on the field. But it isn't him who carries out his brutal sentencing and murders. He has his Kingsguard for that.

Joffrey must seem like some bloodthirsty murderous beast to them, invincible with his guards and power to protect him. He can do what he wants and nobody, except Sansa's brother and his uncle Stannis of course, would say otherwise.

Yet in front of me stands a young man, just a normal man. His azure eyes are full of longing and admiration, aimed at me, and I know that despite the sword hanging from his belt, he will not harm me. He raises a hand to my cheek and strokes it gently, and I gasp as the place he has so lightly brushed with his fingers tingles. He feels it too, he lets out a small sigh of contentment. "Arienne, I don't know how you have done it, but you have succeeded where others have failed." He leans in close to me, pressing his lips against my ear, and my whole body longs to wrap my arms around him. But I can't.

I pull away slowly, staring with apologetic eyes. "Your grace..." I start, but he interrupts, "call me Joffrey, my Lady." His emphasis on the word 'my' tells me all I need to know, he's made up his mind.

It's a fact of life, King's have their wife and then they have their mistresses. These women who are friends, companions and lovers to Kings and rich men. They are their wives in all but name. They carry their children, stay with them at night, and receive all of the benefits of being in the Kings favour. Then they are discarded when he finds another, prettier specimen, and they are left with a tarnished reputation and a broken heart. Why would Joffrey be any different? He is a King too, the only difference between him and the King's of old is that he isn't yet married.