In an instant, all of the noise surrounding her ceased to exist as she ran up to him to try and help in any way that she could. She needed to help him, to save him, to bring him into her warm embrace. The action; however, didn't bring any sort of merit with it.

The blood had already stained her hands, marking her, like a red imprint of death.

He was dead, her king, her firstborn, her Joffrey… oh her sweet baby Joffrey… was dead. No. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

She had whored that bastard Baratheon for more than a decade and then took him out of the picture risking her own life and the well-being of her family just to let her precious son ascend the throne.

But now it all seemed for naught. The Seven insulted her.

She wondered if this is what her father had felt when he had lost Joanna. She had only been seven and did not remember much but she imagined this was indeed what it had felt like. There he was lying in her fragile pale arms, bright red Lannister blood oozing from his ears, mouth, nose and eyes as she was screaming out for someone to god-damn help her.

Nobody approached her. They were all frozen in shock.

His eyes were wide open, his beautiful and bright green orbs staring at the bright and cheerful sky above.

They were lifeless.

They were dead.

How could this have happened? How could Joffrey be… dead?

One moment everyone was happy as that murderous dunce, Tyrion went around being the silly idiotic clown that he was, she even had one of her rare smiles on her face as she watched her first-born child, her son, her pride and joy, her king, getting married to the rich Tyrell girl.

She didn't approve of the match but the monetary problems they were experiencing due to the depleting mines of the Westerlands and their new dependence on the Iron Bank of Bravos was unsettling and so the match was made. The alliance didn't hurt either in these uncertain times.

The music was loud, the jesters amusing, Tyrion embarrassed in front of everybody; the day couldn't have gone any better but then…

Tyrion.

Tyrion had given Joffrey the cup.

He was the one to put the poison there.

That Imp. No, that monster… had killed her son. First her mother, now her baby - that monster was trying to fulfil the prophecy!

"Are you happy now Tyrion, are you happy now that you have killed him!" She half-screamed and half-sobbed at Tyrion as he remained in place, mouth agape. He was the best actor in the Seven Kingdoms.

That monster.

"Guards! Arrest him! He has killed the king!" She yelled with all her might at the men around her.

At last they dared to make a move.

Those cowards.

Following the Queens orders, they closed in and swiftly grabbed and chained the monster, leading him away to the dungeons while she continued to sob onto Joffrey's golden robes adorned with the cursed Baratheon Stag that never truly belonged on him.

She closed her eyes in grief, wishing for it to not be real. For it all to be just one horrendous nightmare.

A terrifying nightmare that would pass as soon as she would awaken to the songs of the songbirds flapping through the windows of the Red Keep.

But when she opened her eyes, the image hadn't changed.

He was still lying there with blood dribbling softly from his skin all over her favourite emerald satin dress.

He was still dead.

Her Joffrey was still dead.

Her King, her son, her life… was gone.

No amount of tears was going to change that fact.

Her brother was going to die.