Uncle. Where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?
I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace.
No, no, no. No, you're perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine. Well, hurry up. This pie is dry. [He hands the cup to Joffrey, who gulps at it] Mm, good. Needs washing down.
If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired.
No. [coughs] No, you'll wait here... [coughs again] un-- [continues coughing]
Your Grace?
[short of breath, he takes a gulp of wine to try and alleviate his coughing] It's nothing.
He's choking!
Help the poor boy. [Joffrey staggers away from the table, choking frantically.] Idiots, help your king.
Move away! [He pushes his way through the crowd and runs towards Joffrey as he collapses, choking and vomiting.] Joffrey! Joffrey!
Help him! Someone help him! Joffrey!
[in the confusion, court fool Dontos Hollard appears behind Sansa]
[to Sansa] Come with me now.
Joffrey! Joffrey!
[to Sansa] If you want to live, we have to leave.
Don't touch him! Joffrey. Please, Joffrey. Joffrey, what is it? Help him!
[Joffrey begins to bleed from his nose and eyes; after managing to point at Tyrion inspecting the cup, he wheezes out his last breath and finally dies.]
My son! [sobbing]
He's gone. Our king is gone!
[turning to glare at Tyrion with rising anger] He did this. He poisoned my son, your king. Take him. Take him! TAKE HIM! TAKE HIM!
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