ASOIAF fic: Twixt Cup and Lip
for the asoiafkinkmeme prompt, Joffrey survives the wedding, and the wedding night. Warnings for dub-con, violence, and Joffrey. R. AU. Major character death.
"Drink up, Uncle," Joffrey says. "Drink to my reign!" He shoves the enormous goblet at Tyrion, who staggers, either from the weight or the wine he's already drunk.
"All hail Joffrey, first of his name," Tyrion says. "May you be as well-loved and long-lived as you are brave and virtuous." He hefts the cup and pours the wine down his throat, until Joffrey shoves him and sends the cup crashing to the ground.
Margaery places her hand on my arm, "My Lord," she says as gently as she can, "it was not an insult."
Joffrey shakes off her hand. "Bring me my sword," he shouts. "I'll show my uncle how kind I am." But even as he turns back Margaery can see that there is no need: Tyrion has fallen to his knees and is clutching at his throat and gasping. Garlan has leapt out of his chair and is slapping him on the back as if to dislodge something from his throat, but it is no use. Everyone who can see has frozen, everyone but the king. Joffrey is laughing. As Tyrion chokes out his final breaths, he kicks him. Garlan takes his arm and pulls him away. "Your Grace," he says, "stay back. The Imp has been poisoned." He points to the other side of the table, where a dog lies dead by the pool of wine.
Margaery doesn't have to feign weakness: she nearly falls, but Loras is there to support her. They had not told her the plan: it would be easier for her to respond naturally if she was surprised, her grandmother had said, but she does not need to see her face to know that it has gone very wrong. "Poison," Margaery says. "How?"
Cersei is there, holding Joffrey close to her side. She stares at Sansa Stark, who is twisting in Olenna Tyrell's grasp. She has never, Margaery thinks, looked so much like her son. "The Stark girl," she breathes. "We took you in, we made you one of us, and this is how you repay me?"
Sansa is sobbing too loudly to respond. At Cersei's command, Ser Meryn and Ser Boros drag her from the Hall. The guests watch in silence, already moving back from the tables, as if the feast was over. "Wait!" Joffrey says. "Only the dwarf died. Nobody cares about him." Margaery's gorge rises: surely they won't make her go back to her throne to eat that wretched pie, not with Tyrion dead and her family's plans in ruins. But Cersei's next words remind her that the pie is the least of her worries.
"No, Joffrey, no. Who knows what further plots have been hatched against you? The feast is done -- it's time for the bedding." The glance that she shoots Margaery is so full of hatred that she almost thinks that Cersei knows.
Loras and Garlan try to stay near her, but there are Lannisters all around, so many Lannisters, she thinks, ripping at her dress, pushing their hands beneath her clothes, lifting her up and digging their fingers into the white flesh her arms and legs. The Kingsguard is there as well: Ser Osmund grabs her left hand and rubs it against her crotch before Loras shoves him back. Ser Osney grabs at her breast through her shift: she cries "No!" as Loras makes to punch him. They are already on the stairs, the women ahead with Joffrey, behind her the older men, Lord Tywin and his brother Ser Kevan. It is Kevan who interposes himself between Loras and the Kettleblacks before a fight can start; Garlan pulls his brother back. Meanwhile the other men have pulled her out of her shift, have pushed her smallclothes down to her hips.
The men dump her in the bedroom. Joffrey is already there, half-stripped as well. She sees Loras' face, white and unsmiling, as the door is slammed behind her.
"So," Joffrey says. "Now I'll find out whether you really are a virgin."
* * *
Loras is still outside the door when she comes out. It is nearly morning, the sun just below the horizon, the sky pale grey. He looks at her gown, the long sleeves and high neck, and won't meet her eyes. "Margaery, I--"
She cuts him off. "Don't, Loras. You couldn't protect Renly. What makes you think you could protect me?" He just stands there as she sweeps past him. Tries to sweep, at least. Her stomach aches and her balance is wrong, somehow, her hips off-kilter. Her next step pulls a muscle in her thigh, but she forces herself to keep walking, slowly and carefully. She raises her hand to rest against wall, but her sleeve slides down to show the bruises on her wrist, so she lets it fall again. Loras is still by the door: it is his lot now, to guard Joffrey.
She should breakfast with Joffrey and the Queen, but Joffrey is still asleep. If anyone challenges her, she thinks, she will tell them that she is the Queen now. She is the Queen, and she wants her mother.
It seems a very long way to the Maidenvault,. The halls are empty but for the serving maids and boys who curtsy and bow and do not look at her. The first time she thinks, they know, they know, but she reminds herself that they are only servants, and she is the Queen. They might even be afraid of her. She forces her back straight and keeps going. It is still early when she finally reaches her family's quarters: the servants are stirring, but that is all. Erryk is leaning, half-asleep, against the wall by her grandmother's door. He blinks and straightens as she knocks at it and then lets herself in.
The Queen of Thorns is sitting on her bed, and from the look of her has slept no more than Margaery herself. She puts aside the book she wasn't reading and makes to rise. Margaery shakes her head, slightly. She didn't come here for comfort. So her grandmother settles back and looks at her, as if she can see every bruise hidden under her long sleeves and high neck, through to the pain between her legs and in her belly. "I'm sorry, my dear," she says.
Margaery nods. She is sorry too, but it would be cruel to say it.
"Where is Loras? We need to discuss what we will do next."
"Guarding the king," Margaery says.
Her grandmother stares at her. "Joffrey? Are you--"
"If he didn't kill him last night, he won't do it this morning."
"I see." Her grandmother is silent for a moment. "Come here, Margaery."
Margaery sits carefully on the edge of the bed. Her grandmother takes one of her hands in a light grip and runs her fingers gently over the back of it. "I am sorry. I never wanted -- none of us wanted -- for you to marry a cruel man."
"But we all wanted me to be Queen." Under her grandmother's even gaze, Margaery concedes, "I wanted to be Queen."
"What do you want now?"
Margaery laughs; it sounds bitter to even to her ears. "What does it matter? We can't undo this. We can't simply walk out of this alliance."
"We can try again," her grandmother says.
Margaery closes her eyes, but sees Joffrey's face above her, his hands pushing her down. "It's too late," she says. She has thought of this already, listening to Joffrey snore and waiting until she could leave the room. If he dies now, they will set her aside. She will not be able to remarry until they know whether she is pregnant and by then they will have found a new bride for little Tommen. "If he dies now, it will all have been for nothing."
Her grandmother drops her hand. "You are as great a fool as your father. But I will stay here and do what I can to help you."
She nods, and pushes herself up onto her feet. "I should go back. Talk to my father and Garlan for me, please." It hurts to stand, but she makes herself walk smoothly to the door. At the last moment she turns back to ask, "What will happen to Sansa Stark?"
"Someone will have seen her slip poison into Joffrey's cup." Garlan, Margaery thinks, so well-placed in case they needed a witness. "Winterfell can't save her life now."
* * *
Joffrey is awake when she returns to her room. "Where were you?" he asks. "I didn't tell you you could leave."
"I went to pray, your Grace."
"For a babe, no doubt," he sneers.
"Yes, your Grace. I do pray to bear you an heir."
"Get over here, then. I want to fuck you again. That should answer all your prayers."
She makes herself smile, and makes herself walk across the room to the bed. A baby, an heir, that would answer all her prayers. She is the Queen, and she will stay the Queen.
end
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comments. Please comment here or there, as you like.
"Drink up, Uncle," Joffrey says. "Drink to my reign!" He shoves the enormous goblet at Tyrion, who staggers, either from the weight or the wine he's already drunk.
"All hail Joffrey, first of his name," Tyrion says. "May you be as well-loved and long-lived as you are brave and virtuous." He hefts the cup and pours the wine down his throat, until Joffrey shoves him and sends the cup crashing to the ground.
Margaery places her hand on my arm, "My Lord," she says as gently as she can, "it was not an insult."
Joffrey shakes off her hand. "Bring me my sword," he shouts. "I'll show my uncle how kind I am." But even as he turns back Margaery can see that there is no need: Tyrion has fallen to his knees and is clutching at his throat and gasping. Garlan has leapt out of his chair and is slapping him on the back as if to dislodge something from his throat, but it is no use. Everyone who can see has frozen, everyone but the king. Joffrey is laughing. As Tyrion chokes out his final breaths, he kicks him. Garlan takes his arm and pulls him away. "Your Grace," he says, "stay back. The Imp has been poisoned." He points to the other side of the table, where a dog lies dead by the pool of wine.
Margaery doesn't have to feign weakness: she nearly falls, but Loras is there to support her. They had not told her the plan: it would be easier for her to respond naturally if she was surprised, her grandmother had said, but she does not need to see her face to know that it has gone very wrong. "Poison," Margaery says. "How?"
Cersei is there, holding Joffrey close to her side. She stares at Sansa Stark, who is twisting in Olenna Tyrell's grasp. She has never, Margaery thinks, looked so much like her son. "The Stark girl," she breathes. "We took you in, we made you one of us, and this is how you repay me?"
Sansa is sobbing too loudly to respond. At Cersei's command, Ser Meryn and Ser Boros drag her from the Hall. The guests watch in silence, already moving back from the tables, as if the feast was over. "Wait!" Joffrey says. "Only the dwarf died. Nobody cares about him." Margaery's gorge rises: surely they won't make her go back to her throne to eat that wretched pie, not with Tyrion dead and her family's plans in ruins. But Cersei's next words remind her that the pie is the least of her worries.
"No, Joffrey, no. Who knows what further plots have been hatched against you? The feast is done -- it's time for the bedding." The glance that she shoots Margaery is so full of hatred that she almost thinks that Cersei knows.
Loras and Garlan try to stay near her, but there are Lannisters all around, so many Lannisters, she thinks, ripping at her dress, pushing their hands beneath her clothes, lifting her up and digging their fingers into the white flesh her arms and legs. The Kingsguard is there as well: Ser Osmund grabs her left hand and rubs it against her crotch before Loras shoves him back. Ser Osney grabs at her breast through her shift: she cries "No!" as Loras makes to punch him. They are already on the stairs, the women ahead with Joffrey, behind her the older men, Lord Tywin and his brother Ser Kevan. It is Kevan who interposes himself between Loras and the Kettleblacks before a fight can start; Garlan pulls his brother back. Meanwhile the other men have pulled her out of her shift, have pushed her smallclothes down to her hips.
The men dump her in the bedroom. Joffrey is already there, half-stripped as well. She sees Loras' face, white and unsmiling, as the door is slammed behind her.
"So," Joffrey says. "Now I'll find out whether you really are a virgin."
* * *
Loras is still outside the door when she comes out. It is nearly morning, the sun just below the horizon, the sky pale grey. He looks at her gown, the long sleeves and high neck, and won't meet her eyes. "Margaery, I--"
She cuts him off. "Don't, Loras. You couldn't protect Renly. What makes you think you could protect me?" He just stands there as she sweeps past him. Tries to sweep, at least. Her stomach aches and her balance is wrong, somehow, her hips off-kilter. Her next step pulls a muscle in her thigh, but she forces herself to keep walking, slowly and carefully. She raises her hand to rest against wall, but her sleeve slides down to show the bruises on her wrist, so she lets it fall again. Loras is still by the door: it is his lot now, to guard Joffrey.
She should breakfast with Joffrey and the Queen, but Joffrey is still asleep. If anyone challenges her, she thinks, she will tell them that she is the Queen now. She is the Queen, and she wants her mother.
It seems a very long way to the Maidenvault,. The halls are empty but for the serving maids and boys who curtsy and bow and do not look at her. The first time she thinks, they know, they know, but she reminds herself that they are only servants, and she is the Queen. They might even be afraid of her. She forces her back straight and keeps going. It is still early when she finally reaches her family's quarters: the servants are stirring, but that is all. Erryk is leaning, half-asleep, against the wall by her grandmother's door. He blinks and straightens as she knocks at it and then lets herself in.
The Queen of Thorns is sitting on her bed, and from the look of her has slept no more than Margaery herself. She puts aside the book she wasn't reading and makes to rise. Margaery shakes her head, slightly. She didn't come here for comfort. So her grandmother settles back and looks at her, as if she can see every bruise hidden under her long sleeves and high neck, through to the pain between her legs and in her belly. "I'm sorry, my dear," she says.
Margaery nods. She is sorry too, but it would be cruel to say it.
"Where is Loras? We need to discuss what we will do next."
"Guarding the king," Margaery says.
Her grandmother stares at her. "Joffrey? Are you--"
"If he didn't kill him last night, he won't do it this morning."
"I see." Her grandmother is silent for a moment. "Come here, Margaery."
Margaery sits carefully on the edge of the bed. Her grandmother takes one of her hands in a light grip and runs her fingers gently over the back of it. "I am sorry. I never wanted -- none of us wanted -- for you to marry a cruel man."
"But we all wanted me to be Queen." Under her grandmother's even gaze, Margaery concedes, "I wanted to be Queen."
"What do you want now?"
Margaery laughs; it sounds bitter to even to her ears. "What does it matter? We can't undo this. We can't simply walk out of this alliance."
"We can try again," her grandmother says.
Margaery closes her eyes, but sees Joffrey's face above her, his hands pushing her down. "It's too late," she says. She has thought of this already, listening to Joffrey snore and waiting until she could leave the room. If he dies now, they will set her aside. She will not be able to remarry until they know whether she is pregnant and by then they will have found a new bride for little Tommen. "If he dies now, it will all have been for nothing."
Her grandmother drops her hand. "You are as great a fool as your father. But I will stay here and do what I can to help you."
She nods, and pushes herself up onto her feet. "I should go back. Talk to my father and Garlan for me, please." It hurts to stand, but she makes herself walk smoothly to the door. At the last moment she turns back to ask, "What will happen to Sansa Stark?"
"Someone will have seen her slip poison into Joffrey's cup." Garlan, Margaery thinks, so well-placed in case they needed a witness. "Winterfell can't save her life now."
* * *
Joffrey is awake when she returns to her room. "Where were you?" he asks. "I didn't tell you you could leave."
"I went to pray, your Grace."
"For a babe, no doubt," he sneers.
"Yes, your Grace. I do pray to bear you an heir."
"Get over here, then. I want to fuck you again. That should answer all your prayers."
She makes herself smile, and makes herself walk across the room to the bed. A baby, an heir, that would answer all her prayers. She is the Queen, and she will stay the Queen.
end
This entry has also been posted at http://vaznetti.dreamwidth.org/27791.html, where it has
comments. Please comment here or there, as you like.