Mother's love . Father's pride
A.N : This chapter only describes the fight between Joffrey and Barristan from Cersei's perspective.
For those without any spare ducks to give , skip to the next chapter .
----------------
Cersei Lannister pov :
As I gazed upon the grand tournament unfolding before me, my heart swelled with pride and satisfaction.
The transformation that has taken hold of Joffrey since our departure from King's Landing was nothing short of remarkable.
Oh, how his demeanor has evolved, shedding the petulant child he once was to reveal the makings of a true king.
In the glint of his eye and the poise of his stance, I saw the seeds of my guidance finally coming to fruition.
His steps were no longer marred by arrogance alone; they now carried the weight of purpose and self-assuredness.
The cheers of the crowd that echoed through the makeshift arena were a testament to the awe and admiration he commanded, as if the realm itself recognized the metamorphosis he has undergone.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I watch Jaime's defeat at the hands of the Warden of the North.
The prideful confidence that seemed so unshakable in the privacy of our shared moments in the tower has been shattered, much like his sword in the duel.
Oh, Jaime, with his golden locks and swaggering demeanor, thought himself invincible.
He was a lion among men, or so he believed.
But here, on the grand stage of the tournament, that arrogance has been humbled by the blade of the Stark lord.
It's a sight to behold, the great lion brought down to earth by the Stark wolf, a reminder that even the most ferocious of creatures can be tamed by the will of fate.
I find myself savoring the moment.
It's a rare instance of vulnerability, a chink in the armor of his ego that I alone can witness.
And as he grapples with the unfamiliar sensation of defeat, I can't help but find a certain satisfaction in his discomfort.
Yes, Jaime may have been self-assured in our intimate encounters, but the world outside those chamber walls is a different battleground altogether.
Here, in the midst of the tournament, he's just another competitor, subject to the same uncertainties and challenges as anyone else. It's a reminder that no amount of confidence or bravado can change the rules of the game.
I suppress a smirk as I imagine the conversations that will inevitably follow this defeat. The whispers, the questioning glances, the rumors that will spread like wildfire throughout the court. Jaime Lannister, the renowned Kingslayer, brought to his knees by the Stark lord.
The very thought brings a wicked amusement to my heart, a secret joy that I will keep hidden behind the mask of a composed facade.
And so, as the crowd's cheers and jeers fill the air, I maintain my regal composure, my amusement hidden beneath a serene exterior. Jaime's loss, a delicious twist of fate, serves as a reminder that in this world, no one is truly invincible, not even the mightiest of lions.
As the day progresses and the grand tournament continues, I find myself eagerly anticipating the upcoming match between Joffrey and Barristan Selmy.
It's a calculated move on my part, a strategic decision I've made to ensure that my son's reputation remains unscathed.
I've seen the spark of ambition in Joffrey's eyes, his desire to prove himself as a formidable warrior, but I also know the limits of his skill.
Barristan Selmy, the veteran knight renowned for his mastery of the sword, is the perfect opponent to showcase Joffrey's prowess while also allowing him a noble defeat.
I can already imagine the clash of steel, the intensity of their confrontation, and the cheers of the crowd as they witness the young prince take on a legendary fighter.
Joffrey's potential is undeniable, and while he possesses talent with a blade, he's far from the level of a seasoned warrior like Lord Stark or even his own ,,uncle,, Jaime.
A victory against such opponents would be a stretch, and a loss could tarnish his reputation. But with Barristan Selmy as his opponent, Joffrey can showcase his skill, demonstrate his courage, and ultimately succumb to the expertise of a knight with decades of experience.
It's a carefully orchestrated plan, one that I've set in motion to ensure that Joffrey emerges from this tournament unscathed and with his reputation intact.
The whispers of his bravery and the audacity to face a seasoned knight will spread throughout the realm, bolstering his image as a worthy heir to the throne.
And even in the face of defeat, Joffrey will stand tall, his honor unblemished, as he yields to the mastery of a warrior like Barristan Selmy.
As I watch the arena from my vantage point, I can hardly contain my anticipation.
The arena's grandeur, the fervent cheers of the crowd, and the clash of weapons all come together in a symphony of excitement.
My heart races with the anticipation of the spectacle to come, the culmination of my careful planning.
And as the moment of truth approaches, I can only hope that my strategy will play out as envisioned, securing Joffrey's reputation and solidifying his place in the realm's hierarchy.
.
.
But as the first clash of steel echoes through the arena, my heart skips a beat, and a wave of fear washes over me.
This isn't how it was supposed to unfold. Barristan Selmy's strike against Joffrey was swift and forceful, catching me off guard and shattering the carefully orchestrated plan I had set in motion.
The crowd's gasps and murmurs reverberate around me, their shock echoing my own inner turmoil.
I watch with bated breath as Barristan's blade connects with Joffrey's armor, a resounding blow that leaves my son flying through the air.
The impact sends ripples of unease coursing through me, and I clutch the fabric of my dress tightly, my knuckles turning white.
This was not how I envisioned the match beginning, not the confident and controlled display of skill that I had carefully orchestrated.
A swirl of emotions washes over me as I witness the unexpected turn of events.
Confusion takes hold as I watch Joffrey rise from where he had been knocked down, his body battered and bruised, yet his eyes alight with a maniacal gleam.
The sound of his laughter reverberates through the arena, a chilling contrast to the pain he must surely be feeling.
My brow furrows as his words reach my ears, and my initial confusion morphs into a mixture of disbelief and a dawning realization.
It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in. Fighting Barristan for real was his goal all along?
The plan I had carefully constructed, the strategy I had devised to ensure his reputation remained untarnished, was shattered by his audacious decision to challenge the most skilled knight in the realm.
A bitter taste of both frustration and pride settles on my tongue.
Frustration at his defiance of my well-intentioned efforts to protect him, and pride at his audacity to take matters into his own hands.
In his actions, I see a spark of the Lannister spirit, the determination to prove his worth, even if it means stepping into the ring against an opponent who should, by all accounts, be far beyond his capabilities.
As his maniacal laughter fills the air, I find myself torn between conflicting emotions.
His resilience and willingness to face adversity head-on stir a complex blend of emotions within me.
I can't deny that there's a part of me that admires his courage, his refusal to back down from a challenge, no matter the odds stacked against him.
It's a characteristic that I know runs deep in our bloodline, a trait that I both resent and respect.
Yet, there's also a gnawing uncertainty that accompanies his reckless actions.
The unpredictable nature of his decision leaves me questioning his motivations, second-guessing the depths of his determination.
It's a reminder that the boy before me is not as easily controlled as I had hoped, that he possesses a fire and a will of his own that refuse to be extinguished.
.
.
As the battle unfolds before my eyes, my fear and panic intensify with every blow that Joffrey receives.
Each clash of swords reverberates through my being, a painful reminder of the danger he willingly placed himself in.
The sight of him battered and bloodied, his body contorting with the force of the blows, sends a surge of helplessness coursing through me.
It's a stark reminder that my carefully crafted plan has spiraled out of control, and I am powerless to halt its progression.
Anger simmers beneath the surface of my growing panic.
My ire is directed at Barristan Selmy, the once-revered knight whose ferocity has become a source of my frustration.
The strikes he delivers, while undoubtedly skilled, feel cruel and excessive as they land on Joffrey's already battered form.
The realization that he is not holding back, that he is determined to win regardless of the cost to my son, ignites a furious fire within me.
With every injury Joffrey sustains, my anger grows, mixing with my fear to create a volatile concoction of emotions.
The sight of his blood staining the ground is a visceral reminder of the fragility of life, of how easily everything I hold dear can be snatched away.
The feeling of powerlessness gnaws at me, a bitter taste that I struggle to swallow.
As the match continues, my desperation reaches its peak.
Panic clutches at my heart as I see Joffrey falter, as his movements become slower and more labored.
It's a nightmarish scenario playing out before me, a reality that I never wanted to face. The realization that I am unable to protect him from the very danger I orchestrated fills me with a sense of dread that I can hardly bear.
In the midst of my fear and anger, a desperate resolve forms within me.
I can't watch any longer, can't bear to see my son suffer in this brutal contest.
My voice, laced with urgency and a hint of desperation, rings out above the crowd as I call for the end to the match.
The words are directed at the man I was forced to marry, the man I have come to resent for his perceived indifference to our family's struggles.
"Stop this madness!" I demand, my voice carrying the weight of my fear and anger. "Stop it now, you fat pig!"
In that moment, my desperation overrides any lingering sense of pride or decorum.
My only concern is for the safety of my son, for his well-being and survival.
The crowd's cheers and jeers blur into a cacophony of noise, a backdrop to the chaos and uncertainty that has consumed me.
And through it all, the image of Joffrey's battered form remains etched in my mind.
.
And then I heard a shout...no...a roar so strong that I felt my very bones trembling...
.
"𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙐𝙍𝙔"
.
As the resounding war cry echoed throughout the arena, Cersei Lannister's heart skipped a beat.
Her eyes remained locked on the spectacle before her—the sight of her son, Joffrey, standing amidst the chaos with a manic grin on his blood-streaked face.
The golden hair that had once shone so brightly was now matted with sweat and blood, a stark contrast to the innocence he had once embodied.
A chill ran down Cersei's spine as she realized the true depth of Joffrey's transformation.
The ferocity in his eyes, the fervor of his shout, and the gleeful madness that seemed to have taken root within him—it was all a grim testament to the darkness that had consumed him.
She saw it clearly now: the boy she had raised was no longer the same, and the monster that stared back at her had no semblance of the innocence he had once held.
Her fear and panic, the doubt and confusion that had plagued her throughout the fight, were gradually replaced by a chilling sense of resolution.
Cersei's fingers curled into tight fists at her sides, and her gaze remained unwavering as she took in the unsettling sight before her.
In that moment, she understood that the child she had borne, the one she had nurtured and protected, had spiraled down a path of darkness.
And yet, amid the chaos and the bloodshed, a pang of a different emotion clawed at her heart. She watched as Joffrey stood defiantly, his wounds and injuries seemingly insignificant in the face of his newfound fervor.
She realized that no matter how monstrous he had become, no matter how deeply the madness had taken hold, he was still her son.
A bitter mixture of acceptance and resignation settled within Cersei's chest.
The boy who had once been a source of pride, the heir to the Iron Throne, had transformed into something she could no longer fully comprehend. The very thought that her son had become an instrument of terror and chaos chilled her to the bone, yet an unbreakable thread of maternal connection still bound them together.
As the tumultuous cheers of the crowd resonated around her, Cersei's resolve hardened.
No matter the darkness that consumed him, she knew that she could not abandon him entirely.
In her eyes, he was still her son, flawed and monstrous as he may have become.
And as she watched his manic grin and unwavering stance, a solemn vow formed in the depths of her heart:
"No matter how monstrous you are, how much madness or bloodthirst you possess, you will always be my son."
------------------
Third person pov :
King Robert Baratheon sits on his padded chair, his normally jovial countenance now transformed into a mask of intense concentration.
His eyes are locked onto the arena, unwavering and fixated on the unfolding battle.
His wife's presence beside him goes unnoticed, her voice drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
As the fight between Joffrey and Barristan Selmy rages on, Robert's gaze remains unwavering, his attention consumed entirely by the brutal spectacle before him.
The clashing of swords, the grunts of effort, and the resounding cheers of the crowd seem to fade into the background as he watches his son's every move.
His knuckles clench into tight fists, his grip on the armrests of his chair so strong that his knuckles turn white.
The tension in the air is palpable, and Robert's own tension mirrors it.
His lips are drawn into a tight line, and his brows furrow in a mixture of concern and determination.
In this moment, everything else fades away.
The intricacies of court politics, the burdens of ruling a kingdom, and even his wife's presence seem to dissolve into insignificance.
All that matters is the fight unfolding before him, the brutal dance of steel and flesh that holds his undivided attention.
As the battle rages on, Robert's heart beats in time with the rhythm of the combat.
Every clash of swords feels like a blow to his own body, every hit that lands on his son feels like it's landed on him as well.
His breath catches in his throat with every close call, and his pulse quickens with every strike that connects.
The arena becomes a microcosm of his world, a place where his hopes and fears collide.
He watches as his son's body takes blow after blow, his face a mask of concern and determination.
He yearns to intervene, to rush into the arena and put an end to the fight himself. But he knows he must stay seated, his role as king forbidding such an act.
And so, he sits there, a portrait of both strength and vulnerability.
His eyes remain locked on the battle, his heart in his throat, and his hands clenched in a white-knuckled grip.
.
As Barristan Selmy's voice cuts through the air, asking the question that has been echoing in King Robert's mind, a sense of anticipation hangs in the air.
The question seems to resonate not only with Barristan but also with the king himself. Robert's furrowed brow relaxes slightly as he considers the same inquiry that has been tugging at the edges of his thoughts.
"Why do you still fight?"
The words echo, a challenge and an invitation rolled into one. Robert's eyes remain locked onto the arena, the arena where his son, bloodied and battered, stands resolute.
He listens for Joffrey's response, a response that might reveal more than mere words.
And then it comes, a shout that resonates through the air, strong and thundering like a storm. "OURS IS THE FURY!" Joffrey's words ring out, the words of House Baratheon's war cry.
The very words that have been a part of their history, a declaration of strength, pride, and unyielding determination.
King Robert's heart swells with pride, a fierce surge of emotion coursing through him as his son's voice fills the arena.
In that moment, all doubts and worries are set aside, and the weight of his concerns falls away. The pride of House Baratheon, the very legacy he himself carries, echoes in that shout.
A triumphant smile tugs at the corners of Robert's lips, his chest swelling with a mixture of fierce pride and profound relief.
He can't help but be moved by the sight of his son, standing tall in the face of adversity, and proclaiming their family's motto with such unbridled passion.
As the cheers reverberate through the arena, following ser Barristan admitting defeat , Robert's gaze remains fixed on Joffrey, a mixture of emotion in his eyes.
Pride, admiration, and a father's love mingle in that gaze, a testament to the complex bond they share.
And in the midst of the chaos and intensity of the tourney, King Robert Baratheon feels a surge of hope for the future of his family and his realm.
---------------
A.N :
"The words 'I Am' were simple and easily spoken when you could think and talk, when the vibrations of air could generate sound and electrical impulses help form conscious ideas, when boundaries were made real in Malkuth, but what separates one entity from another above that?
The mind? Perhaps that could sustain you for a time, but what about when you reach above
the mind in the heights of the Sephirot?
What of when you transcend them entirely in the Light?
The Light was something that was, perhaps, infinite and all-encompassing.
It existed in all things, in all states of things, divided and separated by the emanations of the Sephirot.
If you remove all those, what separated one thing from another?
You.
You did-and absolutely nothing else.
Not your body, not your mind, not your memories or feelings or emotions, not your hopes or your dreams or desires, but just you.
Who you were when, paradoxically, everything you were was gone."
-The Games We Play by Ryugi