Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 22 - "Thank You Shae"

"This young king is totally stuck" says Bronn behind me. "Balls like brains, everything is dirty."

"Do you think that if he soaks his biscuit, it will cure him of his illness?" asks Tyrion.

"When you're stupid, there's no cure..."

               I hastily wiped my tears and turned to the two men.

"Joffrey doesn't want to touch me. II don't see why he would want someone else. And if he does, it's surprisingly upsetting."

               I'm his wife, though.

"Also, I don't want a murder on my conscience."

"You don't think that..."

               My eyes are on Joffrey, still sitting on his throne on the other side of the room, rage distorts his features.

"It doesn't matter what I think. What I do know is that Joffrey is capable of the worst. Worse than you think."

"I've never heard you talk like that about him."

"Neither do I" I answer with a smile. "It's kind of fun to tell the truth. Gentlemen..."

               In one bow, I slip away. The time when I did not react is over. It is no longer a question of bowing to the king. It is no longer a question of obeying orders. The few times I tasted power, I liked it. So now I will give the orders.

♐︎

               After a good meal with Bronn, I go to the royal apartments. This day was emotionally very complicated. After the incident in the throne room, I spent long hours in the gardens contemplating the Blackwater Bay. I wondered how my father would have acted.

               Ned Stark was a man of honor who put his morals before anything else. The education he gave us was worthy of the great lords of the North: «the wolf alone dies but the pack survives». I must respect this teaching.

               I can't afford to take Ned as an example. His actions, though honorable, led him to where he is now: in a trunk towards Renly's encampment. I must follow my own code, my own morality. But, surprisingly, making the right decisions turns out to be complicated when your heart leans for a mad king.

               When I try to enter my room, the Hound blocks my way. The man guards our door alternately with Sir Meryn Trant. I am the only person they must not tell the king.

"It's getting late, I need some rest."

"No one can enter."

"Is the king ill?" I ask naively.

               I suspect not. If the king was sick, he would have called me, and Cersei would be by his side.

"Is he angry, then?" I insist.

"No, Majesty."

"Well..."

               But a scream stops me. There's someone inside the room moaning in pain. A woman.

"Did the king order you not to let anyone in?"

"No, ma'am."

"So, who?"

"No one"

"You decided it?"

               Taken aback, I look at the Hound. He knows very well what is going on but prevents me from entering to protect me from what I'll find there. A second cry comes to us, more distinct. That voice sounds familiar to me.