𝕁𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕪 fortunately had no time to use his new-won information against us just yet, the reason being his impending wedding. An event meant to inspire peace and hope among the people was ill-suited for the reveal of such scandals. After the wedding, though... we'd have to think of something until then. Right now, though, it was the guests who presented what they had thought of concerning presents. Tyrion's squire was placing a large tome on the table with a thud. "A book?", Joffrey asked, intrigued by the curious choice of gift. "'The Lives of Four Kings'", Tyrion explained, "Grandmaester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read." Joffrey shifted in his seat and said nothing for a while, looking at his mother and grandfather. Finally, he replied: "Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom. Thank you, Uncle." He was unusually agreeable. Perhaps the prospect of getting married soothed some of his cruelty, at least for the time being. Tyrion nodded and returned to his seat beside Sansa, on whose left I was sitting. A Kingsguard carried a sword to the table and Tywin rose. "One of only two Valyrian steel words in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor." Joffrey looked up at his grandsire with an excited look on his face, becoming the little boy he must have once been for a second, and got up to walk around the table and retrieve the blade. Cersei, too, seemed to notice her son's giddy joy, because she smiled up at Tywin from his other side same as Joffrey. The latter unsheathed the sword in one wide swing. "Careful, Your Grace, nothing cuts like Valyrian steel", Grandmaester Pycelle warned. "So they say." Joffrey turned around, examining the smithwork. Suddenly, he spun back around to face the table and hacked the book still lying there into pieces. Everyone flinched back at the wild flurry of his hits. Joffrey's breath was already coming faster after the few seconds of exercise. "Such a great sword should have a name", he announced loudly, meanwhile staring his discontented uncle down. "What shall I call her?" Cersei exchanged uncomfortable glances with her father, as did I with Sansa, while the people shouted: "Stormbringer!" - "Terminus!" - "Widow's Wail!" - "Wolfsbane!" I tried not to scowl at the jab at my family's demise. "Widow's Wail, I like that." Joffrey chuckled. "Every time I use it, it'll be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again." Sansa squeezed my hand under the table, although she kept her face straight. I realized I had never asked how she was handling the grief, hadn't even wondered. I had been so caught up in my own problems that I failed to remember that she had lost her family just the same as I. Was it too late now?

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The wedding bells has long stopped tolling by the time all the guests had assembled for the feast held underneath the blue autumn sky. Firedancers and acrobats were entertaining the crowd while young servant boys passed out platters of food. I relished in the extravagance for the sole reason that it was paid for by the Tyrells, a glamorous reminder that my sister was no longer bound to that devious oaf sitting in the middle of the dais, next to his new bride. In front of them, a group of musicians performed a rather depressing rendition of 'The Rains of Castamere' - a song that was never particularly joyful to begin with. Joffrey, too, looked annoyed by their minor key lamentations while Olenna made her way over to Sansa. "You look exquisite, child", she said, "the wind has been at you, though." She walked around my chair and began fussing with her hair. "I haven't had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother." I looked down at my plate out of reflex, although the active pain had faded a while ago. I supposed that after a certain amount of loss, death stopped meaning as much. Sansa next to me kept her expression blank. "War is war", Olenna continued, "but killing a man at a wedding... horrid. What sort of a monster would do such a thing?" It was something in the way she said it that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up - as though she weren't entirely convinced by her own words. What reason would she have for believing such a crime anything but monstrous, though? Cersei was always telling me how untrustworthy the Tyrells were, but this made no sense to me regardless. Perhaps it was just a feeling. "As if men need more reasons to fear marriage", the House's matriarch was saying. Not a problem we have, I thought with a glance toward Cersei, who was watching her son's bored face. My view was suddenly blocked by Tyrion reclaiming his seat on Sansa's other side. "My lady. My lady. My lady", he muttered a greeting to all of us, sounding like a repititous parrot. "Lord Tyrion", Olenna replied, gesturing out at the celebrations that were beginning to pick up, "you see? Not as bad as all that." She turned to Sansa again while the other Lannisters' attention shifted to us at her raised voice. "Perhaps if your pauper husband were to sell his mule and his last pair of shoes, he might be able to afford to bring you to Highgarden for a visit. Now that peace has come and all is right with the world, it would do you good to see some of it. You must excuse me, it's time I ate some of this food I paid for." She turned and left without waiting on Sansa's reply.

Joffrey, it seemed, had finally had enough of the melancholic tootling. "Very good, very good. Off you go", he urged and hurled a fistful of coins at them. After their initial shock, they scuttled across the floor to pick up the money and left. Cersei was already glaring at Margaery again as the latter talked to Joffrey quietly and, the way I knew her, was probably contemplating stabbing her with her fork. Joffrey's fork, however, clinked against his glass as he stood up to get the people's attention. "Everyone! The queen would like to say a few words." He sat back down just as Margaery got up. "We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink. Not all among us are so lucky." Cersei's smile was frozen on her face. I knew exactly how the Tyrell girl's feigned benevolence disgusted her. "To thank the gods for bringing the recent war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers from our feast be given to the poorest in his city." The people applauded and let out noises of appreciation while Cersei ground her teeth. I watched as she left her place, kissed Margaery on the cheek as courtesy demanded and stopped Grandmaester Pycelle near the opposite end of the dais. Whatever they were discussing, she looked threatening enough even from a distance for me to be glad to not be in Pycelle's shoes at that moment. If only it were that simple with Joffrey. But there was no way Cersei would ever threaten him to ensure his silence, and I wasn't near menacing nor high-ranking enough to make an impression on him. His sympathy for his mother could not be counted on, either - he had been ready to rid himself of her more than once. I dreaded the end of the festivities, because by then, we would have to have a serious plan prepared for what to do about this, and right now, it didn't look like we would get much planning done. When I looked over to the place she had been standing again, she was gone.

I excused myself to go and relieve myself, when in truth, I was looking for Cersei. Where had she disappeared to? Now was the perfect opportunity to talk. As I scanned the open space, I suddenly felt my shoulder bumping into someone. I turned around and found myself face to face with- "Ser Jaime", I said, "I'm very sorry." "Lady Vallery", he replied, that amused, haughty sparkle in his eyes again, "it's quite alright." He seemed to grasp for a conversation topic. "Your sister looks very beautiful." "As does yours", I said, knowing exactly how my words would be conceived. He did not let his reaction show yet, though. "So, enjoying the wedding?" "Yes, very much", I replied. More so if I could find that beautiful sister of yours. His tone suddenly shifted - my slight had taken root at last. "If you were to marry Cersei, she'd murder you in your sleep." "Oh yes? I'm surprised she hasn't yet, then, she's had plenty of opportunities", I retorted. "Luckily for you", Jaime went on, unbothered, "this will never happen, because you'll never marry her." I looked him in the eye. "And neither will you", I said and left him standing there. I simply returned to my seat; although I hadn't found Cersei, I had to make a point of walking away from Jaime at least looking purposeful. So much for avoiding the conflict of your relationship becoming public knowledge, I scolded myself on the way back to the tables. I hadn't meant to get confrontational, but Jaime - he just made my blood boil with his swaggering arrogance and I-was-here-first attitude. "What was that about?", Sansa asked me quietly. "It was nothing", I said, "we just talked about the wedding feast." "It didn't look like just that", my sister said more pointedly, but I waved her off. "Really, it was nothing. What would we have to talk about, anyways? I've met him like once, and he was our brother's captive." Sansa winced at the mention of Robb. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you..." "It's okay", she said. "I'll have to get used to hearing him spoken of still." But I had a feeling it wasn't okay. I took her hand. "You have a right to grieve, Sansa", I said. "No matter how long it takes, no matter what others say - that pain is yours alone, and only you get to decide how to deal with it. Don't pretend that you're fine when you're not. You're not doing this for me, or anyone." She didn't say anything, but nodded at me thankfully with tear-rimmed eyes.

Cersei had finally returned, and before she sat down on her own place again, she came over to me, making Sansa's eyes go wide with shock as the queen - now Queen Mother, I supposed - walked past her. "Meet me after this in my chambers?", Cersei muttered while pretending to admire my dress, then went right to casual conversation at a normal volume. "Such a beautiful color of silk. Where did you get this?" "Thank you, Your Grace. My sister's seamstress found the fabric in a store near Visenya's Hill", I replied with a discreet nod. "I'll have to send my own seamstresses there some time", Cersei smiled and turned around to leave. Diverting my attention back to the spectacles held for public entertainment, I saw a fool being pelted with various fruits on Joffrey's orders. The young king then stood to make another announcement. "Everyone, silence! Clear the floor. There's been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement." My heart dropped into my stomach for a second. Did he mean to...? "A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords, my ladies, I give you..." A large golden lion's mouth was opened with a crank and a red carpet rolled out in place of a tongue. Out of the gaping hole rode forth a dwarf - or rather, walked, with a costume of an antlered lion around his legs. "King Joffrey!" The crowd cheered. "Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy!" The four dwarves were dressed as their respective king counterparts, with each having a different mount, resembling in order Loras, the red priestess Melisandre, a horse and a kraken. A morbid part of me was relieved by the presented mockery of my brother, just because it meant our secret was safe for another day. "The War of the Five Kings", Joffrey concluded. The dwarves began dancing around the ring, shouting various catchphrases while the crowd erupted at the sight. Joffrey sat down with a grin, and his younger brother, too, was laughing until Tyrion shut him down with an angry glance. "Let the war begin!", one of the dwarves shouted, and they reenacted the battles of the recent war with ridiculous travesty. Cersei was smiling as well as she reached for her wine cup and looked over to her son, and that smile was more hurtful than any of Joffrey's farce itself. Because that was not just her family's story being told there, it was also that of mine, being dragged through the mud for the amusement of the privileged. Just when I thought we were on the same page about our loyalties... Her eyes met mine, and I didn't bother to hide a single bit of the disappointment and pain dwelling there. The corners of her mouth sank and she blinked a few times before averting her gaze.

Loras, enraged, stood up and left, and I was of half a mind to do the same, but then I saw Sansa's face. She needed me right now, I couldn't leave her alone with this. Margaery, to her credit, looked equally horrified by the display, but whether it was solely for her brother or because she also found the whole concept despicable, I could not tell. Tyrion next to Sansa beckoned his squire closer. "Pay each of them twenty gold when this is done", he instructed the boy. "We'll have to find another way to thank the king." The 'battle' was over, Dwarf-Joffrey had won and the real Joffrey was laughing and clapping loudly. The victorious dwarf picked up the fallen wolf head Robb's actor had been wearing and pretended to hump it, resulting in more laughter. Joffrey spat out his wine laughing. I silently wished he would choke on it. "Well fought, well fought", he declared. "Here you are. Champion's purse." He extended a leather bag, then pulled back. "Though... you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all the challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to question my reign?" He looked over to our side of the table, and again, dread filled me. But then he said: "Uncle. How about you? I'm sure they have a spare costume." Tyrion rose, speaking calmly. "One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight him." The crowd that had been laughing at both their jokes a moment ago fell silent. "This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne." This implication alone was dangerous enough, but Tyrion kept going. "Be careful, though - this one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night." I thought for sure my heart stopped beating upon hearing his taunt. The sheer audacity- Joffrey's face was contorting with anger, scanning the audience for anyone who might dare to show amusement, which obviously, nobody did. Cersei shifted in her seat uncomfortably, sensing what was about to go down. Joffrey picked up his wine cup and slowly made his way over to Tyrion, who in turn drank from his own cup. He dumped the contents of the golden chalice over his uncle's head, who, impressively enough, did not react apart from closing his eyes to keep the wine from running into them. He smelled the wine on his hand. "A fine vintage", he said, "shame that it spilled." "It did not spill", Joffrey replied with deadly calm, that cocksure grin wiped off his face. Margaery called from the other end of the table, attempting to defuse the situation: "My love, come back to me! It's time for my father's toast." 

While the dwarves finally left, Joffrey complained: "Well, how does he expect me to toast without wine?" He gave a theatrical contemplative sigh. "Uncle, you can be my cupbearer, seeing as you're too cowardly to fight." "Your Grace does me a great honor", Tyrion replied. "It's not meant as an honor", Joffrey hissed. Tyrion got up from his chair, looking at Sansa apologetically, and joined Joffrey in front of his table. But the king dropped the cup just as his uncle was about to take it. Tyrion bent down to pick it up and the boy kicked it away. "Bring me my goblet", he said impatiently when Tyrion straightened again. Sansa, kind girl that she was, retrieved it herself so Tyrion wouldn't have to crawl under the table. The dwarf handed the chalice to Joffrey, but he wouldn't take it. "What good is an empty cup? Fill it." How were Cersei and her father actually still smiling at this torture? I may not have liked Tyrion, but this was unnecessarily cruel. Then again, both their histories with him went much deeper than mine. It was at the very least more understandable than her smile earlier, that I couldn't seem to get out of my head... When Tyrion had filled the cup and once again extended it to Joffrey, the latter commanded: "Kneel." Tyrion looked down into the cup unwaveringly. "Kneel before your king." But he remained standing, defiant. "Kneel." Tyrion met and held his gaze, unflinching. "I said... kneel!", Joffrey shouted. I did not know what else would have happened had Margaery not called: "Look, the pie!" Applause rose and you could practically feel the tension breaking away. I exchanged a glance with Sansa. Joffrey would not let this go, we both knew that. Unsheathing his sword, the king strode over to the golden-baked pigeon pie. When he cleaved into it, a swarm of white doves exploded from it, one unlucky bird sticking in bloody pieces to the inside of the pastry. Sansa turned to Tyrion while the first slices of pie were served. "Can we leave now?" "Let's find out." She looked at me inquiringly, and I pulled back my chair, but Joffrey interrupted us. "Uncle", he called between bites, "where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?" "I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace." "Oh, no, no, no. You're perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine." Sansa remained standing where she was while Tyrion walked back to Joffrey and Margaery. "Well, hurry up. This pie is dry." Joffrey set aside his plate, took the cup Tyrion offered him and drank. "Mm, good. Needs washing down." Tyrion cleared his throat. "If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired-" "No", Joffrey cut him off and coughed. "No, you'll wait here-" He coughed again. "Un-" Another coughing fit shook him. "Your Grace?", Tyrion asked, stepping closer. "It's nothing", Joffrey panted and drank more of the wine to unblock his throat. Cersei leaned forward, looking slightly worried now. 

Joffrey was clawing at his throat, gasping for air. "He's choking", Margaery screamed. "Help the poor boy!", her grandmother shouted. "Idiots, help your king!" Cersei rushed out from behind the table at the same time as Jaime pushed through the crowd on the other side of the venue. "Move away!" They arrived together at their son's side, who was now spitting bile and blood onto the floor. Poison, it shot through my mind. Was it the pie? Gods above, had Cersei eaten from that? The two Lannisters were bent over their choking son, muttering to him. Cersei actually pushed Jaime away and cradled Joffrey's head in her lap. His face was turning purple, blue eyes nearly bulging out of his head as streaks of vomit covered his chin and blood ran out of his nose. I turned from the scene only briefly to see my sister had disappeared, but I was too overwhelmed to really care in that moment. Again, that morbid voice inside of me spoke up, That's one way of dealing with the problem, but I immediately pushed the thought away when I saw the pure pain and desperation in Cersei's face. Joffrey pointed with his last strength at Tyrion, who was investigating the discarded cup. Both his mother and I understood immediately: the cupbearer, who better to poison a king? Especially after being publicly humiliated by him moments before. I recalled his words: We'll have to find another way to thank the king. Then Cersei's sob cut through the air, and Joffrey was dead.