When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. It is all because I am a woman. Because I cannot fight them with a sword. They gave Robert more respect then they give me, and Robert was a witless sot. She would not suffer it, especially not from Jaime.
When he heard Cersei’s scream, he knew that it was over.
I should leave. Now. Instead he waddled toward her.
His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son’s body. Her gown was tom and stained, her face white as chalk.
“The boy is gone, Cersei,” Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter’s shoulder… “Unhand him now. Let him go.”
She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor.
But, if it weren’t for my children, I’d have thrown myself from the highest window in the Red Keep. They’re the reason I’m alive. Even Joffrey.
Did it ever occur to you that I might be the one who deserves your confidence and your trust, not your sons? Not Jaime or Tyrion but me. Years and years of lectures on family and legacy. The same lecture really, just with tiny, tedious variations. Did it ever occur to you that your daughter might be the only one listening to them, living by them? That she might have the most to contribute to your legacy that you love so much more than your actual children?
darknesstohislight 