He's not the kind of king she wanted. The ironmen don't respect him, propped up by Lannisters on a chair he barely sits on and she doesn't either (could she ever, this fierce lovely brute of a queen). He likes to think she had a fondness for him, of sorts but as he watches her now, standing above him, curling around him like a snake, he wonders if that was courtesy too, Southron courtesy. He was raised at Winterfell, of course. He doesn't understand.
She'd done him the favor of fucking him beforehand, a final touch, he thought--lions were different from wolves, all games and touches and courtesies. Robb had been rough but he had never, tricked, never lied, never known how--but he is dead, dead and it doesn't matter. She had sunk her teeth into his shoulder, watched him as he collapsed on the bed afterward, sated and it was only after that he felt his breath grow tight.
She wouldn't stay in Pyke, he knows that, a queen would want to go back to King's Landing and how else? They say she murdered her first husband, but he never thought about that. He'd never cared.
He had taken her, roughly, her back to him, when he'd first heard about Robb, killed at the Twins, murdered. I should have been with him, he'd thought, I should have died with him, almost regretted his decision. But he was here, the blood of Pyke and it was empty and then later, weeks later (months? days?) he is lying on the bed and he thinks back to the drink Cersei had given him at dinner and fucking bitch, he thinks, as his breath goes but a queen will not stay in Pyke and I should have died with him.
He's not the kind of king she wanted. The ironmen don't respect him, propped up by Lannisters on a chair he barely sits on and she doesn't either (could she ever, this fierce lovely brute of a queen). He likes to think she had a fondness for him, of sorts but as he watches her now, standing above him, curling around him like a snake, he wonders if that was courtesy too, Southron courtesy. He was raised at Winterfell, of course. He doesn't understand.
She'd done him the favor of fucking him beforehand, a final touch, he thought--lions were different from wolves, all games and touches and courtesies. Robb had been rough but he had never, tricked, never lied, never known how--but he is dead, dead and it doesn't matter. She had sunk her teeth into his shoulder, watched him as he collapsed on the bed afterward, sated and it was only after that he felt his breath grow tight.
She wouldn't stay in Pyke, he knows that, a queen would want to go back to King's Landing and how else? They say she murdered her first husband, but he never thought about that. He'd never cared.
He had taken her, roughly, her back to him, when he'd first heard about Robb, killed at the Twins, murdered. I should have been with him, he'd thought, I should have died with him, almost regretted his decision. But he was here, the blood of Pyke and it was empty and then later, weeks later (months? days?) he is lying on the bed and he thinks back to the drink Cersei had given him at dinner and fucking bitch, he thinks, as his breath goes but a queen will not stay in Pyke and I should have died with him.
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YOU
ARE
RUINING
MY
LIFE
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AGH MY HEART
But really there is only one way this relationship could ever go and this is it
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