A/N - This chapter is based on the song 'Boys Don't Cry' by the Cure. I hope you all enjoy it.
When you had first visited the Capital you had been certain that you would hate your betrothed. He was a pompous little arse, far more interested in playing the perfect prince than ever bothering to show you a moment of kindness. In all honesty, you had wanted to leave the day you had arrived. You were tired and anxious from your weeks of travel, and the first thing he had done was look you over like you were some prized pig, deciding whether you were fit for his table or not. It had left you feeling queasy, and you had shot him an uneasy glare when his eyes had finally found yours.
After that, things had remained uncomfortable. You had been practically begging your father to allow you to return to Winterfell, pleading with him in the hopes that he would call of the engagement and free you from a lifetime spent resenting your husband. It hadn't worked, not that you ever truly thought it would, and you'd resigned yourself to the torture of courting.
"Do you enjoy riding, Your Grace?" you had asked one evening, watching him carefully in the hopes that the sheltered facade would drop and reveal a kind man behind it.
"No." It was a simple answer and one that drew a heavy sigh out of you. You slumped back in your seat, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. "Did you not like my answer?"
You opened one eye, peaking over at him. "Not particularly," you grumbled, returning to your faux sleep until you heard him chuckling. "It seems my frustration pleases you, though, Your Grace." Another snort of laughter followed, and you sat up again, opening your eyes fully and staring at him in sheer vexation. "You're an emotionally stunted prick," you muttered.
He raised an eyebrow at your comment. "My mother tells me that men aren't supposed to be so open with their emotions. That's for women and children."
"With all due respect, Your Grace, I think your mother is a fool," you uttered, catching his eyes with yours for a moment, and watching as a frown began to blossom on his lips. "My brother Robb has cried to me on many occasions, and you're no more of a man than he is," you added, praying that you weren't digging yourself into a hole you wouldn't be able to climb out of.
"He isn't a prince-"
"No, but he'll be the leader of one of the Great Houses of Westeros, and the Warden of the North," you paused for a moment, watching as his scowl faded slightly. "Men are as entitled to their emotions as women are, Your Grace. Personally, I would much rather be with a man who can express his love for me than one who plans to spend his life hiding away from it."
Joffrey looked a little shocked at your confession, his eyes darting down to the surface of the table as you crossed your arms across your chest. There was a moment of silence between you, the air so still that you allowed yourself a moment of self doubt. Perhaps you had pushed a little too hard, after all, he was going to be a King, and if you couldn't hold your tongue now there was no way he would want you for a wife.
"I've never truly enjoyed riding," Joffrey murmured, breaking the silence effortlessly. "My father took me with him a few times when I was a child but he would just drink and berate me for not being good enough. I've avoided it ever since."
You swallowed around the lump that had formed in your throat at his confession, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. "Perhaps we should go some time," you finally uttered. "It would be good for you to replace the not so pleasant memories with something nicer," you added, watching as the tightness in his shoulders unwound slightly.
He nodded, glancing up at you with a small smile. "I would enjoy that." He looked as though he wanted to say something else, hesitating for just a moment before shaking his head. "I know you didn't want to come to the Capital, and I know you don't want to marry me, but I will do all I can to make it easier on you," he uttered, watching as your face softened slightly.
You had taken his hand in yours a moment later, squeezing it slightly. "Thank you, Your Grace-"
"Please don't call me that," he interrupted, watching your brow furrow slightly. "I-" he paused, shaking his head at himself. "I'm going to be your husband soon, and I would quite like us to be on a first name basis before that happens."
"Okay," you answered, letting out a light chuckle at his comment. "Well, then you may call me Y/N," you started, a brazen smirk pulling at your lips. "Or 'My Love', and when you are feeling particularly happy, you can call me 'Angel'."
Joffrey let out a snort of laughter, his hand releasing yours as he shook his head at you. "And what will you call me, Angel?"
You hummed slightly, pursing your lips as you considered his question. "I think I will call you 'Dearest'," you murmured, glancing up at him with a wide smile. "And on special occasions, you can be ' Sweetness'."
"I like the sound of that," he uttered. You were certain he had never looked so happy before, nor so relaxed, and you couldn't help the pride that swelled in your chest at the achievement.
"You know, I think this is one of those special occasions," you drawled, leaning back in your seat slightly as your smile continued to beam. "This is the first time I've actually looked forward to our wedding, Sweetness."
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