| 𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆 | Game of Thrones

- 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

┏━━━━━━━━┓
THIRTY-EIGHT
┗━━━━━━━━┛

𓃬
CHAPTER XXI
A NEW BEGINNING

❝A King murdered at his own wedding. Never had it happened before. A great many Kings had succumbed to unnatural circumstances. Whether it was drinking Wildfire with the belief one would be reborn as a dragon, or being stabbed to death by your own King's Guard, on your own throne. But the death of King Joffrey, First of His Name? That was a peculiar one. Most say he choked to death on a piece of his own wedding pie. But a small handful — me included — believes it was an assassination, a succeeded one as well.❞

⤷ Grandmaester Ferdinand, Chapter XXI of The Raging Lion, King of Kings.
𓃬

—————

       THE DAY OF THE WEDDING HAD FINALLY COME. It had been months since the planning had started, and now it would finally blossom. Joffrey would get his desired bride, Cersei would try her hardest not to strangle her, and Cassius had to make sure no one would kill each other.

He was not looking forward to today, far from it. If it was up to him he would stay in bed until the wedding would truly begin, and he'd make a nice and late entrance. But sadly, that was no option. Like Joffrey attended his breakfast, he had to attend the king's breakfast. Thankfully he would have Arianne by his side, but even then the event seemed unbearable.

Not even because Joffrey was to marry a woman Cassius loved. No, it was because Cassius felt guilty. He felt guilty having to show himself to Tyrion, and to Cersei. He felt guilty knowing that he would be part of a scheme that would ruin Tyrion's life, that would kill Joffrey, and would take away Cersei's son. He still held no love for Joffrey, but the love he held for his brother and sister was immeasurable. Sometimes it felt as if the guilt would eat him up whole.

The only thought that would console him the tiniest bit was realising that all of this would be done for the good of the Seven Kingdoms. The Kingdoms would not last peacefully with Joffrey as their king. He had to be disposed of, and killing him was the only way of doing so.

That was the though that he repeated in his head as he dressed himself. A white satin blouse with over it a sleeveless doublet of velvet crimson and cloth-of-gold which reached just mid thigh. He tied his black woollen breeches next, and laced up his brown boots. On his left shoulder he pinned a crimson half cape embroidered with golden lions and dragons, the lion head brooch with ruby eyes glittering in the morning sun. He tied his hair up with a satin ribbon of crimson, gathering it up into a knot at the base of his neck. His beard he had groomed the night before, the silver blond hair no more the mess it was before.