❝ You and I against the world, my love. Let us bring it to it's knees. ❞
Even the gods were not able to defeat Lyra Stark and Joffrey Baratheon, for once they put their minds to a cause, the gods were forced to step aside and let them past.
QUEENS...
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{ Joffrey }
✧✦✧
𝕵offrey stood in front of the mirror as he was fitted for his wedding clothes. Normally this would be done closer to the time of the wedding, but with the war still raging and Joffrey being pulled in and out of Small Council meetings, he decided to have it done earlier. It would mean only small alterations would have to be made closer to the date.
Looking into the mirror, Joffrey pulled the jacket closer around his chest, before looking back at the tailor.
"Make it tighter here," The tailor pinned the fabric into position, as Joffrey nodded in agreement.
"That's better," Cersei sat in the corner, drinking wine, as she watched what was happening. Joffrey was unsure why she was there, but it was putting him on edge. "It makes you look very strong."
The tailor showed him another set of fabric, and Joffrey shook his head before looking at the remainder of the fabrics, his eyes narrowed.
"No flowers. Do you think that you could bring some other fabrics?" The tailor's eyes widened, as he nodded. "Dark blue or gold?"
The tailor nodded, bowing his head, before he left the room and Joffrey undid the jacket, pulling it off slowly not to disrupt the pins or hurt his shoulder again. He placed it down over the back of a chair in his room, before pulling a shirt from the closet.
"That looks like a Tyrell rose. Give it to Margaery for a gown," Cersei hissed and Joffrey turned, narrowing his eyes at his mother's words. "Should be more than enough fabric."
"If you have something to say, say it," Joffrey ground out, walking back over to the mirror so that he could check his shoulder. The scar was red, standing out against his skin and the young king rotated his shoulder to see how intense the pain was, before pulling his shirt on.
"Tell me what you think of her," Cersei watched him, her eyes almost hawk like as Joffrey tried his best not to tense up.
"Who?" He tucked his shirt into his trousers, before leaning over the dining room table and beginning to look through the papers that he would need for his Small Council meeting.
"Margaery," Joffrey sighed, unsure of where his mother was taking the conversation, and how she wanted him to answer.
"Lady Margaery seems like a lovely woman and it would be best if we married her or her brother into the family. With the Tyrells behind us, our position would be even more secured. They have a large amount of resources that we need," He murmured, before pulling a quill towards him and scribbling out a note that Lyra had made, replacing it with something else.
