"STOP!"
Joffrey smirked at Olenna Tyrel's roar. He looked back at Margaery, her eyes were brimming with tears.
Then he looked back at Olenna and smiled even brighter.
Got you! You old bitch!
"What's the matter, Grandmother?" Joffrey inquired, his voice dripping with faux innocence. Yet his smirk and gleaming eyes revealed his true disdain. "Is it so scandalous for a husband to request that his wife join him for a goblet of wine?"
Absolute fear was visible in Olenna's eyes. They appeared sunken and horrified, her body shivering as she also noticed a smirk on Joffrey's lips.
"N-No, Your Grace. I was only recommending a fresh bottle of wine, a gift from my house—aged far longer than I," Olenna said, casting a knowing glance at her grandson and giving him a brisk nod.
Joffrey chuckled, now certain the drink was poisoned. So he continued to raise the goblet closer to Margaery's face, refusing to release his grip in case she were to throw it. "Oh, don't be tedious, Grandmother. I see no reason to delay. Let us be finished with this folly. Come now, my dear, have a sip. You wouldn't want to disappoint your husband, would you?"
"I-I…" Margaery mumbled and felt the cold goblet touch her lips. On the verge of tears, she looked at her grandmother for support, her breath ragged and her face wrinkled to an ugly mess.
"Go on." Joffrey raised the end of the goblet. "Drink some."
"Stop! Stop this instant!" Olenna snapped as she strode around her table and approached Joffrey with a steely glare. "She can't drink wine, not while she carries your child! Use what little sense you have left."
"Oh!" Joffrey exclaimed in false delight. "More a reason for celebration then! Now you have to take a sip, Margaery!"
"It can harm the babe!"
Joffrey sighed and looked back towards the table. Everyone had stood up and looked confused, but he gained a smirking nod from Tywin. That was enough to feel confident about his next course of action.
"Unusual!" Joffrey's voice rang out with a cruel edge, making sure all present could hear. "I've never seen you so restless, Lady Olenna. Perhaps you should sample the wine yourself to ensure it's fit for Margaery."
"H-How could I, Your Grace? It's yours," Olenna stepped backward.
"Then Margaery should." Joffrey put the goblet back to Margaery's lips and this time grabbed her by the waist and forced her lips to part. He raised the end and began pouring the wine. "Go on, my love. Drink it and sweeten it for your beloved husband,"
"Ummgh… Nnnng!"
Margaery tried to protest but Joffrey was far too strong.
"No! No stop! It's poisoned!" Olenna cried and tried to grab Joffrey's arm to take away the goblet.
Thud!
But one push of Joffrey's shoulder was enough to throw the old woman to the ground. All the while he continued to feed Margaery the wine. Some of it spilled out, but he remembered only having drank a few sips, and Margaery was beyond that already.
Watch it, you old bitch. Watch your granddaughter die like you killed me! Joffrey burned with rage at that moment. The suffocating sensation was something that awoke him to this day at night. Watch as I end House Tyrell.
"Stop him! Loras! Stop this fool!"
Clank!
Loras Tyrell tried to unsheathe his sword, but Jaime Lannister standing beside him, was quicker and landed his blade on the flower knight's nape. Similarly, many more clanks and sliding of swords echoed as multiple Tyrell men got bested immediately, a sword to all their napes. Even to the fat oaf, Mace Tyrell's neck.
Joffrey finished forcing the wine down Margaery's throat and threw the goblet away with a cruel smile adorned on his lips. "Poison? Where did that come from? Wait, how did you know about the poison, Lady Olenna? Wasn't this goblet meant for me?! THE KING?!"
At that moment, Olenna understood everything. Her plan was bare right from the beginning and the King merely played her in her own game. The Queen of Thorns, filled with fear and regret, stared at her granddaughter in horror.
"Ghk… Aghk! W-water!" Margaery cried all of a sudden, clutching her throat as if something was stuck. Her face began turning purple, veins popping up while her eyes turned bloodshot.
Die, you smirking whore. Die as I did! If only you had been a good bedwarmer and birthed me heirs. Joffrey didn't even bother to give her support and let her fall down with a thud that cracked a wound on her skull. You chose this… Margaery Tyrell.
"Aaah… N-Ngho…"
Olenna dragged herself to her dying granddaughter while the rest couldn't move thanks to the swords on their napes. Joffrey, with his hands behind his back, watched Margaery die soon after—pained, agonized, wriggling, and suffocated.
"Sansa!" Joffrey bellowed right then and looked at his northern bride. He warmly smiled at her, as if telling her 'look, didn't I tell you it'll be fine?'. But he had a bigger reason for calling her name. "Come here?"
Broken in mind, and timid by nature, Sansa confusedly walked around the table and approached Joffrey. Their daughter was still in her arms, the little girl looked around at everything in amusement.
A great pair indeed. He smiled, noticing Arya walking behind Sansa as if she was guarding her older sister. I'll have you soon enough.
"Sansa, come closer. I want to see the necklace the traitors gifted you."
Shocked, she did as asked and let her 'husband in all but name' reach for her neck. She felt his fingers fidgeting around the necklace and soon stopped.
"As expected." He murmured. "Sansa, did that insipid Olenna dare to approach you at any point during the wedding today? Did she lay her foul hands on your necklace?"
Sansa thought for a moment and nodded strongly. "Y-Yes, Your Grace. She approached me before the cake cutting and touched the necklace."
"A bead is missing!" Joffrey roared, his eyes blazing as he turned to Olenna, wailing over Margaery's lifeless form. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd "I'm gratified that you all came to my wedding. But I'm afraid you will now have to stand witness to the trial of House Tyrell against the charge of high treason!"
Loud murmurs among the guests ensued.
Joffrey once again looked at his old grandfather and nodded firmly. "Guards! Seize every last one of these traitors at once! Lock them away in the Black Cells until their trial!"
Like a marching army, the men of his Golden Legion, adorned in the finest golden armors, helmets, and spears, alongside Lannister men, entered the venue and arrested every single Tyrell man, woman, soldier, and even the servants.
The joyous occasion turned into an intense political arena in an instant. King's Landing was immediately put on lockdown, and the word of Tyrell treachery was quickly spread throughout the populace. A riot-like situation arose from it, the loyalty and devotion to King Joffrey was at an all-time high.
The King who had healed the wounds of the poor. Made their lives better. Fed their bellies and got rid of the god-forsaken stench of the city. How could the smallfolk not feel affected? Joffery's death could spell uncertainty for their future.
Joffrey had to come out and address the crowds of smallfolk directly, to calm their nerves. He relished the whole occasion, however. He remembered the riot in his past life, and in this life, the riot was in his adoration.
"My people!" Joffrey's voice cut through the murmur like a blade. "I am well, and the traitors now rot in the Black Cells! The treacherous whore that was Margaery Tyrell has met her end, her own poison the instrument of her demise. Justice shall be served! There shall be answers! And I won't stop until I have them both, even if I must go to war for them! Stand by me, and stand strong! Your king lives and stands stronger! The Seven have blessed us all! Celebrate this eve! Celebrate this blessing!"
With that, Joffrey turned back from the platform over the Red Keep's boundary wall and returned to the castle. He took the crown off his head and threw it at the nearest Kingsguard. Without stopping, he got rid of the cape that annoyed him, and finally, removed the high-heeled boots that made it difficult to walk.
Bam!
He stormed into the Small Council chamber. Everyone was already there, waiting for him. Thankfully, Tyrion had returned, understanding the seriousness of the matter.
"No need to stand up," Joffrey ordered and sat down. "I'm creating a new temporary position on the Small Council. My grandfather will be taking the place of Master of War. Any objections?"
Seeing everyone shaking their heads, he continued."Uncle Tyrion, I demand to know the full extent of our gold reserves and how much more we can gather. Account for every last coin, and prepare for the direst of situations. Lord Varys, provide me with detailed reports on any notable troop movements within the Reach. Clegane, you're entrusted with maintaining order in this city. Ensure that no idle gossip or trivial rumors are allowed to spread."
"Are we going to war, Your Grace?" Tyrion inquired.
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