Imagine being best known as a great fighter and Joffrey forcing you to fight for him.
——— Request for anon ———
The tournament had brought you to King’s Landing. Your skills as a fighter allowed you to take your place in the competition, but you had only expected to get what rewards you could to then return home with. You’d had no intention of staying longer than the tournament’s term.
But the longer this audience with the King lasted, the more you realized he had no intention of allowing you to return home, “King’s Guard?”
“I bestow upon you a great honor,” King Joffrey smirks, quite proud of himself for nabbing such a renowned fighter for his personal guard. The look he gives you suggest he’s just given you an offer you can’t refuse.
“I do not know if I am qualified,” you try, only to wipe the smirk from his face to be replaced with a cruel sneer.
“Do you think my judgement in fighters incorrect?”
“Of course not!”
“Then, it’s settled. You shall remain in King’s Landing to do your service to your King.”
Imagine being Cersei and Robert’s only true born child and Joffrey being obsessed with you.
——— Request for anon ———
You had been the black sheep of the family for as long as you could remember, to all but your father. It was said quite literally considering your hair was the only to stand out in the sea of blonde that was your other siblings.
And Joffrey, worst of all, teased you for it, always seeking you out, “There’s my favorite black sheep. I trust you haven’t been too useless today.”
You frown in annoyance, but don’t make to move away as he reaches to stroke a finger down your cheek, “I had been being quite productive until you interrupted, brother.”
He left the room with his eyes burning and his daughter’s wails echoing in his ears, and found the direwolf pup where they chained her. Ned sat beside her for a while. “Lady,” he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.
Shortly, Jory brought him Ice.
When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”
“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.
“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”
She stared at the stunted legs, the swollen brutish brow, the green eye and the black one, the raw stump of his nose and crooked pink scar, the coarse tangle of black and gold hair that passed for his beard. Even his manhood was ugly, thick and veined, with a bulbous purple head. This is not right, this is not fair, how have I sinned that the gods would do this to me, how?