What if Joffrey Died at The Battle of Blackwater скачать в хорошем качестве

What if Joffrey Died at The Battle of Blackwater

What if Joffrey died at The Blackwater? Let’s explore the depths of it in the video. Part 2:    • What if Joffrey died at The Battle of Blac...   Discord:   / discord   YT:    / @threeeyedtheorist   Voice Acting & Narration: Steven Waters @bobablackfly602 Green flame rolls across The Blackwater, a tide of wildfire splitting Stannis’ fleet apart. Whole galleys erupt into pillars of flame, their sails igniting in an instant, their masts collapsing into glowing ash. Screams rise from the water as men flail, thrash, and sink beneath the burning surface in their full plate. The stench of pitch, salt, and roasting flesh clogs the air, so thick that even the wind off the sea can’t carry it away. King’s Landing trembles with the chaos. Bells toll in the city behind the walls, a mournful, frantic chorus. Drums beat from the enemy lines, steady as a heartbeat. Every sound mingles into a terrible cacophony that rattles the stone of The Mud Gate beneath Tyrion Lannister’s boots. He only knows one thing: He must hold this gate, or the city will fall, and everyone he knows will be butchered. He stands upon the battlements, small against the towering walls, yet loud enough to be heard. His voice cuts through the noise as he commands men twice his size. His plan may have worked, and yet Stannis’ forces have yet to lose heart- Even with half of their fleet writhing in green fire. Tyrion: “Archers! Nock, draw- Loose! Again, Gods damn you, again!” A volley of arrows and bolts from his forces answer him, darkening the sky as they fall upon the muddy shores of The Blackwater. Fletching glints in the green firelight before vanishing into screaming men below. Men tumble back into the waves, some drowning, some burning. Still, Stannis’ soldiers surge forward. They leap from the wreckages of their burning ships, shields and swords high and voices raised for a rallying cry. Siege ladders slam against the walls of the Mud Gate with a hollow clang. The clash of steel rises above the din as Lannister defenders meet them with spears, swords, dropped stones, and boiling pitch poured. Lannister Soldier: “They’re climbing the walls! Shields! Push them back down!” Tyrion’s throat burns from shouting, his eyes watering from the smoke, but he does not allow himself to stop. He cannot stop. His father is not here yet, the city’s defense rests entirely on him right now…And Joffrey. The boy-king stands upon the walls in gleaming gold and crimson, the flame’s reflection dancing in his polished breastplate. His crown of branching golden antlers glitters upon his brow, but the sneer on his face is somehow even brighter in the firelight. Joffrey: “See how they burn! Look, Stannis’ curs howl like dogs. Ha! Let them come- let them taste my steel.” He waves his sword about in the air, though it trembles ever so slightly in his tight grip. He shouts down commands to the men with the loud bravado of a conqueror. Joffrey: “Fight for your King! Fight well, and I shall remember each of you!” The soldiers roar in reply, though whether from loyalty to The King or the desperation of the situation, Tyrion cannot tell. He grits his teeth, sweat streaking the soot covering his face and he reaches out towards Joffrey. Tyrion: “Your Grace- Your safety lies within the Red Keep. The men will fight harder knowing you live. Get down from those battlements.” Joffrey: “Silence, Imp! You would have me cower like some woman? I am their King. They must see me!” Tyrion (snapping): Very well, but get down from there atleast, Your Grace! It is not safe.” The words sleep out sharper than he intends due to the stress of the situation, but Joffrey’s answering scowl leaves no room for regret. The King’s green eyes glitter with venom, his mouth curling to form a retort- Then comes the sound. A faint whistling, almost delicate and cutting through the cacophony of battle. The first bolt grazes harmlessly off the stone beside Joffrey’s shoulder, bouncing to the floor after snapping. He turns to sneer. The second crossbow bolt finds flesh. It sinks into his throat with a wet, dreadful thunk. Blood sprays across his golden gorget, dark and hot as it wells up between Joffrey’s fingers as he reaches up to his throat. The boy-king staggers back, his sword clattering against the battlements, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Lannister Soldier: “Your Grace! Down-!” But it is too late. Joffrey collapses onto his back, clutching at the feathered shaft that now juts obscenely from his neck. Blood bubbles past his lips. His eyes are wide, terrified and now absent of all rage or will. Only the fear of a child whom Tyrion suddenly remembers with brutal clarity is so young. Tyrion moves before the thought can slow him. He throws himself to the boy-king’s side, hopelessly pressing his hands to the wound. The blood is hot, sticky, pouring too fast to stem. #gameofthrones #gameofthroneswhatif #whatif #joffrey #lannister