𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 | Puppeteer

{ Joffrey }

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"𝖂hat did you just say to me?" Joffrey growled, stopping to turn and look down at his mother with narrowed eyes. He hoped that his ears were deceiving him, but one look at her face told him that what she said was true. "I am the acting ruler of this country and I do not want, or need, you interfering."

"I am only trying to help you," Cersei reached up, resting her hand on Joffrey's jaw as the man tensed up immediately. Even at the best of time, Joffrey despised people reaching towards his face, and he hated his mother touching his face most of all. "You must be so stressed, what with having to deal with, well, everything."

"I'm fine,"

"I can see how tired you are," Her grip grew tighter, as Joffrey's breathing began to pick up. "I'm trying to help you, Joffrey, don't be so ungrateful about it."

"I'm...I'm not," He hissed. "But this is my kingdom, so don't meddle in matters that do not concern you."

"Joffrey, don't use that tone with me," Her grip tightened, and Joffrey finally managed to yank himself away, stepping away from the woman quickly. "I am your mother..."

A growl cut her off, as Elia came padding around the corner to wind herself around Joffrey's waist. 

"I thought you were getting rid of that beast?" Cersei's tone was sharp, as Joffrey leant into Elia for strength, knowing that Lyra, or Tylar, would not be far behind the wolf.

"Why would I do that?"

"It is of the North,"

"So is my wife," Cersei's eyes flashed and Joffrey didn't like the gleam that she had in her eyes. It was at that moment Lyra swept around the corner, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Joffrey. "I don't want to have to have this conversation with you again."

Cersei said nothing, stalking off, as Joffrey felt Lyra's arm slip through his. Her eyes were narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"What was that all about?"

"Hopefully nothing," Joffrey murmured, before turning back to look at Lyra, who was looking paler than usual. "Are you alright, My Love? You seem pale."

"Just feeling a little under the weather, but nothing too serious," Lyra smiled up at him, one that took Joffrey's breath away, as she allowed him to lead her back towards their chambers. "But, please, what was that all about?"

"Mother is pushing for the Mountain to be our champion during the Trial by Combat," He murmured, glaring at some guards that leered at his wife. He would have an eye removed from each of them later.  "But she has no right to do anything of the sort."

"No," Lyra nodded in agreement at his words, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he opened the door to their chambers and led her in. "But she does bring up a valid point. Who is to be our champion?"

Joffrey sighed at his wife's words, removing his crown from his head as he turned to face Lyra. She was sitting at the dining table, Elia's head in her lap as she thought.

"We cannot choose Jaime Lannister, and it is expected of us to use a member of our knights," Lyra mused, as Joffrey poured her a glass of water, still thinking. "I don't want to ask Tylar to do that, nor do I trust Ser Meryn Trant not to go on a rampage and accidentally kill Tyrion under Cersei's orders. If that be the case, then who are the options left?"

"Oberyn Martell," Lyra hummed in agreement. "and then yes, the Mountain."

"We should start considering which one will be our champion, and quickly," Joffrey sighed again, before nodding and leaning down to press a kiss to Lyra's forehead.

"But, you must feel better first. I can not think of anything else but you and you well being at the moment," Lyra hummed, leaning forward so that her head hit Joffrey's chest, allowing him to un-braid her hair and run his hands through it. "What can I do to help?"

"Hold me," Joffrey smiled down at her, reaching down to pick the smaller girl up and take her back towards their bed. Placing her down, he pulled the covers back and put her inside, before taking off his jacket and lying down beside her. "Your presence is remedy enough."

He grinned, before groaning as Elia clambered up onto the bed, lying across the top of their legs with a sigh.

"Elia, you are too big for this!" The wolf rolled over onto her back, stretching out further, as Lyra giggled and turned to look at her husband.

"She's just doing that because she loves you," He shifted his legs, so that Elia was no pressing against his joints, before looking down at Lyra's face once more.

"What is it?"

"What happened to your jaw?" Joffrey tensed at the question, as Lyra carefully traced her finger along the bruises. Her touch was like a feather, compared to the talons of his mother, but still, Joffrey pulled his head gently away from her. 

"It's nothing to worry about," One look at Lyra told him that she did not wish to drop the subject, but she sighed and relented at his stare. 

Lyra reached up once more, gently pulling his head down so that she could press her lips to the sore area, kissing each one individually as Joffrey finally relaxed.

✧✦✧

Joffrey traced patterns onto Lyra's bare shoulder, watching the canopy above their bed and the embroidery on it. A knock sounded on the door, and Joffrey glowered as Lyra shifted in his arms.

"What?" The oak creaked open slowly, as Arah appeared in the doorway.

"Your Grace," She curtsied, before placing a tray down on one of the cabinets, drawing their curtains closed and reaching over to feel Lyra's forehead. "How is she?"

"Nauseous," Joffrey whispered, trying not to wake his wife up. "She says that she feels quite faint, as if she might collapse any minute."

"You might have a better chance of this than me, Your Grace," Arah murmured, leaving a drink by Lyra's bedside. "But try and convince her that resting tomorrow will help her."

"I will," Arah nodded, before Joffrey thought of something and turned back to her. "Is there any news tonight?"

"Oberyn Martell has stepped forward to fight as Tyrion's champion," Joffrey chewed on his lip, before nodding at the thought. "They are waiting for you to choose a champion before announcing when the fight shall take place."

"I see," Arah nodded, before bowing her head once more, as Joffrey tightened his grip on Lyra once more. He was expected to choose from a pool of knights for this fight, but Oberyn had been his top choice and now he was left with limited options, and not enough time to make an informed decision about it. If he chose wrong, then Joffrey could lead two men to their death, or destabilize his own position as ruler.

As much as he might have been blaming the stress of this fight for his anxiety ridden thoughts, his conversation with his mother that morning was the main source of his panic and with Lyra ill as well, there seemed to be nothing going his way.

Hiya

The next chapter is one that I'm kind of looking forward to. I hope you like it and let me know what you think,

Love Li xx