Dexter Kills…
King Joffrey Baratheon
He's nervous as I speak to him, I can tell. Flickers of emotion, however subtle, are something I've gradually trained myself to notice over time, I find it helps ease a guilty conscience when my brain decides to malfunction, go into overdrive. Sometimes I picture their faces, right before I kill them, hear their last words replay over and over in my head, and it makes me feel…terrible. It's conflicting as I know I don't care for these people, in fact I've accepted that a small, human part of me may actually hate them, whatever likeness they may bare to me. I don't care for my victims because frankly I believe they get whatever it was coming to them. Well, that's what the code taught me anyway. This concept keeps me sane; it keeps my life in order. But I digress, this isn't about me, this is about Joffrey Baratheon, and his acute lack of deserving to live.
"You say you have news from the West?" He asks, gesturing for a nearby servant to top up his glass. We sit on the porch, it's a bright, sunny day, clear skies and a shimmer that hits the castle and the balcony we sit on with an imposing glare.
"Yes." I reply, taking a customary sip of my wine as I look back at him, hoping the alcohol will at least be effective in masking my disgust. "I feel that these matters are…unsafe….to discuss here in full, however." I lean in, placing my glass down as I do so. "A private meeting, " I explain, "Tomorrow. You must come alone, for I fear not all is as secure as we once believed."
He nods in acceptance, his repugnant cowardice creeps through with every contorted expression. It seems the only instance this monster presents an inch of humanity is when he is afraid.
The plan runs smoothly. Flawless, almost. Joffrey was always a weakling; it just took the megalomaniacal spoilt brat persona to be stripped from him in order to reveal this. Alone, he is more or less helpless as I knock him out, laying him against the ground as I insure no last minute accomplices have been instructed to follow him or keep watch, his mother Cersei is incredibly overbearing after all. Several hours later, he awakes in my kill room, which has been arranged and tailor made for his presence.
His eyes snap open, beads of sweat already gathering at his forehead, strands of his blonde hair sticking fast to his face in his panic. His eyes search frantically around the room, and when they at last set upon the faces of the former king's hand Ned Stark, his daughter Sansa, the unfortunate whore Ros, and countless other faces drawn to resemble those he murdered, tortured, and tormented the panic sets in. It sets in because he knows, he knows what is coming, probably some part of him even accepts that he deserves this.
"You traitorous cunt! I'll have your head for this! I'll have your goddamn head for this, you hear me?!"
Perhaps not.
"No, Joffrey." I say, skimming my blade against his cheek. He screams in pain as I do so. "You see, this is the end, this is your end. You've lived a life of evil…" I say, opening my knife set and bringing out one of my particularly sharp blades. "…a life of sadistic desire…a life of unmentionable abuse and wrath, and now…" I hold the blade just above his chest, "…your life has come to an end."
"No!" He sobs, tears filling his eyes, although his voice remains enraged and bitter. "You insolent fool! You don't understand! I did it for the good of the realm! All for the good of this realm! People respond to…they respond to violence! To war! To punishment! It's…it's all they know! Please, I'm begging you! Please don't kill me!"
I laugh.
"All hail King Joffrey Lannister, son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister." I say, with a smile.
His eyes widen in horror and what I can only assume is rage.
"No! No! That isn't true, you fucking swine! You liar! You—"
I press the blade down into his chest, and his eyes remain in their wide, glaring position. I watch the blood trickle from his mouth, as he rasps out his last breath.
King Joffrey is dead, and my job is done.
