❝ 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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{Lyra}
✧✦✧
𝕷yra was unsure of how she was going to do this.
The door in front of her looked like a looming pit of darkness, and she tensed as she stood in front of it. Behind her, Tylar and Arah shared a look, both of them holding onto the royal children as Rolan approached Lyra's side cautiously.
"Your Grace." Lyra turned her head, as Rolan sent her a sad look.
"I don't know if I can do this." Lyra whispered, trying not to let others hear how her voice cracked. Rolan nodded, smiling sadly. "Is he...Does he look...?"
"He looks like he's sleeping, Your Grace." Rolan sent her a smile. "He looks peaceful."
Lyra took a deep breath, letting it out shakily, before smoothing out her black dress and taking tentative steps into the room. The dark swallowed her, and she almost ran back out, but she continued on as she saw the fires from the braziers. Emerging from the corridor, Lyra stopped in the doorway, resting a hand against the door frame as she closed her eyes.
The antechamber was quiet and the only other person in there was the body on the plinth. Lyra shook her head, hating her husband's religion even more at this point, as it demanded that he be kept on a plinth so that the courtiers and other viewers could pay their respect. Lyra despised it. Drew had been buried in a style similar to the Old Gods, in the forest of the Red Keep, but Joffrey was part of the New Gods so that couldn't happen.
Taking another shaky step closer, Lyra came to a stop by her husband's body as more tears formed in her eyes. Joffrey was dressed in a dark tunic stitched with gold, much like the one he wore at their wedding, and breeches. His boots were polished to perfection, and his blond hair had be cleaned so that it looked like gold once more. Over his eyes were two stones, painted with blue eyes, and they'd done their best to cover all the wounds on his body.
Rolan had been right. Joffrey looked like he was asleep.
His sword was in his hands, pointed down, the lion handle glimmering in the fire, and his crown above his head. Lyra's own crown felt like a chain, reminding her that she had lived and Joffrey had died.
"Joff..." Lyra trailed off, a lone tear slipping down her face as she knelt beside his body, letting her head fall forwards. "I don't think that I can do this without you. I know that I cannot. Please."
She knew that it was a useless plea, as her husband was already well and truly dead. Rolan had made the decision to have him embalmed, as Lyra had been in an unresponsive state for days after the incident. She'd only left her bed for her children, keeping them close and protecting them.
