❝ 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
{ Joffrey }
✧✦✧
𝕯rumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Joffrey waited for the remainder of the Small Council to enter the room. He was tired and sore, after riding and hunting for the better part of two days, and he wanted to have a hot bath. Unfortunately, as soon as he had returned, he had been dragged into this Small Council meeting.
His grandfather was standing at the head of the table, as everyone congregated around him and his grandfather, Tyrion watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow. A tense silence fell across the table.
"Intimate. Lovely table. Better chairs than the old Small Council chamber," He pretended to inspect the room carefully, as Joffrey raised an amused eyebrow. "Conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it."
"What news of Jamie?" There was a pause for a second as no one spoke, and Joffrey took some joy in watching Littlefinger and Varys squirm under his grandfather's glare. "Twenty thousand unwashed Northerns have known about his escape for weeks. Collectively, you control more spies and informants than the rest of the world combined. Do you mean to tell me that none of you has any notion of where he is?"
"We are trying, My Lord," Varys began, glancing between Tywin and Joffrey.
"What do we have, then?" Joffrey rubbed his forehead, fighting a yawn. He was shattered, exhausted from the hunt, and the heat of the room was making it easier to drift off.
"Robb Stark, his wife and most of his bannermen are in Riverrun for the funeral of his grandfather Lord Hoster Tully," Varys read off of his notes in front of him, as Joffrey scribbled it down onto a piece of paper. Lyra would want to know how her brother was when they talked later. "In Stark's absence, Roose Bolton holds Harrenhal, which would seem to make him Lord of Harrenhal, in practice if not in name."
"Well, let him have it," Tywin stated, turning to look at Littlefinger. "The name suits our purposes far more than that useless pile of rubble. The Lord of Harrenhal will make a worthy suitor for the widow Arryn."
"For which I am extremely grateful to you, My Lord. Lady Arryn and I have known each other since we were children. She had always been positively predisposed to me," Littlefinger replied and Joffrey narrowed his eyes.
There was something suspicious about Littlefinger marrying Lyra's aunt, especially when the man was completely enamored with Lyra's mother and Sansa.
"A successful courtship would make Lord Baelish acting Lord of the Vale," The maester's croaky voice rattled around in Joffrey's ears, as he made another note.
