8
He was walking through Winterfells courtyard again and petting Lion as usual, thinking about getting some wine--- his heart hammered away, his pulse quickened to unnatural speeds—Gods damnit, some ale. Only some ale. He thought as he petted Lion yet again. Joffrey didn't know how much he could hold on, each time more and more random thoughts seemed to trigger his… condition… and the despair about his madness itself seemed to feed into it, creating some kind of loop. Joffrey quickly moved his attention elsewhere, knowing the madness would come if he continued along that line of thought. …He couldn't even think about what was happening to him without….gods..--
Look somewhere, anywhere. He spotted a somewhat familiar figure, scaling the broken tower. That stupid kid, Bran. Let's check out why he slips on the same godsdamned rock every single time, why not, he thought with monomaniacal intensity, doing everything not to think about…
As the stupid boy kept scaling, Joffrey used the stairs as any sane person would. He scratched Lion's head as he walked up the stairs. Poor idiot's been falling from this tower since my first life… That slippery rock must be cursed by the gods themselves.
He finally arrived to the decrepit oak door that lay half burned. Opening it up, he saw his mother and uncle fucking each other.
Bran seemed to arrive a few moments later, they spoke a bit between themselves but Joffrey couldn't hear the words. There was a dull roar inside his head.
His uncle got up and pushed Bran off the ledge. Hmm, so that's why he keeps falling, he thought.
Hmmm
Even in his state, Joffrey could connect the dots easily enough.
It seems I was doing Stannis an injustice. It was I who was the real traitor! That thought manifested itself with unusual clarity in Joffrey's mind, which had lately been a bit sluggish.
I'm not Fath—Roberts true born son. Black of hair… indeed… black of hair… black of hair… black of hair…
The rumors where true… A bastard born out of incest… even the smallfolk's can sometimes get it right.
He hadn't moved at all since opening the door. He saw his mother's pristine nude body robing herself again, and uncl-- ….Father… putting on… his armor.
The dull roar inside Joffrey's head grew very quiet, almost imperceptible to his hearing. He snorted a quick laugh, finally getting the whole thing.
His Father and Mother snapped back to him, faces suddenly filled with sheer horror. "J-Joffrey?" asked his Father, dumbly. "How long have you been standing there, sweetie?" asked his Mother, her eyes looking franticly between her son and her lover. She had always been the more quick witted of the two, now that Joffrey thought about it.
Joffrey laughed out loud. "Oh Mother… Father! Thank you! This! This was the purpose! I understand now!" He said. He was suddenly filled with relief.
They stared, shocked into stillness by it all.
"This is why they kept bringing me back! I'm free now!" Joffrey struggled to say as he grabbed his belly, laughing like he'd just heard the best joke to have ever been told… though, thinking about it, he kind of had. He laughed so hard tears fell down his cheeks, and his belly hurt a bit because of the constant giggle that had overtaken him.
"S-sweetie--" Said his mother, taking a step forward only for Joffrey's laughter to abruptly and instantly stop, as if cut with a knife. "Stay away from me" he said almost conversationally as he took several steps back, lightning quick, bumping against the broken tower's wall.
His mother hesitated, putting her hand on his Father's shoulder as he tried to stand up. "Let me" she whispered quietly but urgently into Jaime's ear. It had been kind of obvious in hindsight, thought Joffrey. Didn't horses that bred with their families produce offspring that was… wrong somehow?
There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey, whispered Lord Starks deformed head in his ear.
Oh Stark, if only you kne…
…
He… had known, hadn't he?
He laughed out loud at that, startling his mother, who had been taking slow steps towards him. The arch traitor was actually not a traitor! Who would have thought about that! I should certainly apologies to Lord Stark the next time I see him! He thought ruefully-
"My son, I can explain--" started the sweet voice of his mother as she took another step, starting to stretch her hand out.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Screeched Joffrey with all his strength as he scrambled sideways. Wow, where did that came from? He thought as his heart seemed to beat a thousand times faster than it normally had, Yikes… I really should calm down a bit!
Well, it was over at least, he had that going on for him. "I think I've never wanted to lay down more than now!" he said with a snort as he popped his head out from a nearby window. "This whole multiple lives thing was even fun for a while, I have to admit, but still, I'm glad its over now. And to think!" he said as he stared back at them with a look of surprised bewilderment "It had been so simple!"
He left brave little Lion in the floor. "Take care of that cat, even if he's a bit lazy!" he said good naturedly. "Joffrey, Wha--" he Father started, but her mother as usual had figured it out first. She leapt into a sprint, barely meters away from Joffrey as she screamed "JOFFREY! DON'T!!!".
Pff, what a spectacle. He didn't understand why she was so distraught, he was ending the cycle!
With that thought in mind, he leapt off the window, only a handspan away from his mother's reaching form. He sailed through the air head first towards the ground.
Don't want to end up like poor Bran now, would we?
He could see a large crowd had already converged surrounding Bran's crumbled form. Those lucky bastards, now they get to see a live reenactment!
He shattered against the ground head first. He died instantly, and was greeted instantly.
The purple consumed him, twisting his neck and spine, crushing his internal organs and blocking his airways.
So.. its not over then, strange. Thought Joffrey in midst of the pain.
The purple swirled around him as his face crunched in on itself, shattering his eyes and grinding his teeth to nothing.
I can't believe I was so stressed out because of this! He thought, utterly bewildered. The pain wasn't that bad! It hurt a little, sure, but it was, in a way, even cleansing…
Yes… now that he thought about it, he was being purged… cleansed.
The shocking realization was so strong it was like a sledgehammer to the face for Joffrey.
The purple was helping me! All this time! He thought as his throat collapsed into itself, and his hands twisted towards his body, way past the limits of his ligaments
It was so obvious! You'd need to be blind not to see it!
Joffrey laughed. In the midst of the purple agony, Joffrey laughed.
-.PD.-
Joffrey woke up with a quiet sight, and got off his bed calmly enough. Huh, I didn't even vomit this time, he thought.
It's really strange, I was sure it should have ended… maybe a fall isn't enough to end the whole process.
"Now where did I leave that damned dagger…" He muttered as he searched his wardrobe, and then his bedchest.
"Aha! Found it!" he proclaimed loudly. "Now, lets see…" he muttered as he took it out of its sheath and stabbed himself in the heart. He collapsed on his knees, blood pooling all around him. It didn't even hurt that much.
He crumbled on top of the floor as the Purple greeted him again, almost like an old friend.
I can't believe I feared you! Thought Joffrey as he greeted the enveloping agony again.
-.PD.-
The Hound was laying his back on the wall, taking in a bit of the morning sunlight filtering through the window. He could hear the servants below rushing about their duties for the day, and the king bellowing and laughing, making ready for his next hunt, he guessed.
He had heard a bit of noise from the little shit's room for a while now, so he guessed he was already awake. Though why he hadn't called his servants to dress him was a mystery. Perhaps he forgot… I better remind him, I won't have the Queen haggling me because the little shit didn't arrive to his bloody meal in time…
He shifted his weight off the wall and knocked on Joffrey's door.
He could hear a faint squishing sound from the other side of the door, but it stopped as soon as he knocked. "Yes? Who is it?" asked the prince, amiably enough. Glad he's having a good day, thought the Hound.
"It's Clegane, my prince." He said, shifting his weight. Why can't he do this things by himself… sighted the Hound uselessly.
"Oh, come in Hound!" Said the little shit.
My my he's chipper this morning.
The hound opened the door, and had to get a hold of the doors frame as what he saw stole his breath away.
Prince Joffrey was covered in blood… Both his eyes had been pierced by the bloodied dagger in his hand... and his scalp was over the bed, the blood mingling with the blonde hair.
"It still won't end Hound! Very annoying! I figured out maybe I can break the cycle by getting rid of the Lannister parts, make myself a bit more Baratheon so to speak!" He chuckled. "So we'll… well, I'll see how that works out" he seemed to think for a second, tilting his sightless, blood bathed head upwards a bit. "Eyes and hair, that's what Stannis always talked about. Can you think of any other Lannister traits?" he asked him.
Clegane took a deep breath as he felt his breakfast bubbling upwards through his throat. "N…No, my Prince" he said, walking slowly towards Joffrey.
Joffrey seemed to pout for a bit. "Oh, well it was a long shot anyway. I'll see how it goes as it is then" He said as he raised the dagger to his throat.
Clegane burst into a sprint, but Joffrey was already cutting. "See you on the other side Hound! Well, hopefully not, but you get the poinkkkkggggggggghhhh" he gurgled as he collapsed to the floor.
"GRAND MAESTER!" Roared Clegane with all his might as he got a hold of the bloody wreck that was Joffrey.
He shouldn't have bothered.
Joffrey seemed to smile as the blood seeped out of his cut throat.
-.PD.-
Chapter 7: Whispers of Peace.
Hm. That didn't work either. Still, its just a matter of trying. Thought Joffrey as he got up from his bed and walked up to the window. This didn't work last time, but maybe it's the Red Keep, he mused as he jumped through the window.
He landed in the courtyard, a twisted and bloody wreck. People all over shouted in alarm, and Robert himself went pale as a sheet as he got off his horse and run towards Joffrey. "Gods! Joffrey! My son!" Shouted Robert as he flailed around in a panic for two seconds before grabbing a nearby goldcloak and shoving him towards the main keep "You! Get the Grandmaester now!"
Robert, calm down, I'm not your son. Joffrey tried to say, but it only came out as a wet gurgle. "Oh, Joffrey, please." Robert struggled to say as he grabbed Joffrey and held him in his arms. Didn't knew he cared that much about me. More's the pity. Thought Joffrey as his sight faded away and the purple came back. As utter agony flooded him, Joffrey chuckled. This is the best you can do?
Try harder. He thought as he stretched his arms in the void and flew.
-.PD.-
Joffrey walked through the Red Keeps hallway. He turned a right and came up to the Queen's bedchambers, guarded by the Kingslayer. "Prince Joffrey" He said as he nodded.
"Father" nodded Joffrey. Jaime was so petrified he didn't even flinch when Joffrey slashed his neck with his dagger. He brought both gauntleted hands to his neck in surprise, trying to stem the flow with his hands as he fell on the floor. "Sorry Father, I'm trying to figure out what the bloody purple wants, this is just getting tiring, you know?" he said as he stopped in front of the door. "Though, maybe now…" he mused as he put the dagger in front of his chest. "Nah, better to make sure" he said as he lowered the dagger and opened the door.
"Hello Mother!" he said as Cercei stood up from her chair in surprise. "Joffrey! What--" her voice choked out as she witnessed the body behind Joffrey as he strolled into the room.
"Sorry about Father, but you really should have thought about things before fucking your own brother! Their offspring can fail pretty hard, just look at the Targeryens" he said as he approached her.
His Mother seemed to crumble, semi-crouching in the floor and holding a gut wrenching sob of incomprehension, both her hands covering her mouth. "Hey! Don't be like that! At least I'm not jumping into wildfire trying to turn into a dragon!" He said as he snorted, then seemed to pause for a bit. "Wildfire… hmmm" he pondered.
He nodded and then grabbed his Mothers hair. He could already hear screams from the hallway, better make it quick! "I'm just so tired by all this, there's got to be away" he muttered as he slit her throat. She didn't even resist, lax in his hands.
Ser Boros Blunt crashed into the room, sword drawn and seeking enemies. "Okay, here goes nothing" He said as he plunged the dagger in his heart. The last thing he saw before greeting the purple was Ser Boros slack face, it was really kind of amusing.
-.PD.-
Grand Maester Pycell leaned back on his seat, analyzing the Crown Prince, hiding behind the doddering fool façade that had served him so well for all this years. "A poison that seemed to strangle a person?" he muttered haltingly. The Strangler of course. But the question was, why?
Well, there was no harm in letting him hold it for a bit, its not like he could run away with the vial, he'd alert the King in that case and nothing ill would come of it, though the story of "having read it on a book and got curious" was laughable at best.
Still, he haltingly, almost shuddering, turned back, unlocked the cupboard and passed him the dangerous poison.
Joffrey took it, looked at it for a couple of seconds and promptly drank it.
The Grand Maester stumbled as he stood up, his chair flying back as he grabbed the prince with strong hands that belied their old age. THE GODSDAMNED FOOL! I'VE GOT TO MAKE HIM VOMIT BEFORE---
He stared dumbly at the dagger sticking out of his chest. "Oh get off old man" Joffrey said as he brushed him off. Pycell stumbled backwards and fell on his desk as he watched Joffrey stretch his limbs for a bit, and cracked a couple knuckles. "Bit too sweet I think. Some Maester's apprentice is slacking off… though it should still work… I hope." Muttered Joffrey as he walked around the room, flexing his arms again. Pycelle just tried to staunch the bleeding, and he was failing miserably in that front.
"Damn it Pycell, this thing should already be working, Fathe—Ah! Damnit! Robert should fire you and get an Alchemist instead. Said Joffrey impatiently.
Pycell said nothing as he struggled to reach the nearby cupboard that held his medicinal supplies. Need… to staunch… the bleeding… He thought as he fumbled for his keys. Joffrey didn't seem to mind.
Joffrey coughed, then smiled. The sight of that shook Pycell so much he dropped his keys. "Oh Gods" he mumbled as he crouched to pick them up again.
"Well that took its sweet time... Sweet… ha!" Joffrey's chuckle petered off as he fell on the floor, writhing and holding his throat.
Pycell finally got the right keys, but found out he couldn't get back up again.
Oh dear…
His vision blurred and the last thing he saw was Joffrey's face contorted in… annoyance?
What--- the---….
-.PD.-
Gods… so tired. I think I should rest for a while… but there's still a couple ways I should try first… I wonder if…
…
"I'll repeat myself again, okay? You need to torture me" He said to the gaol jailor and unofficial torturer of the Red Keep. The man stuttered dumbly as he looked around him, trying to find someone to help him in this outright bizzare, no, otherworldly situation. "Ah… I can't do that your grace…" he mumbled as he took a tiny step back.
The Crown Prince seemed to sight as he stepped forward and handed him his dagger. "Its really not that hard" he said, exasperated as he gripped the man's hand (now with the dagger) and stabbed himself all the way through the cheek. "See?" he said as he spat a mouthful of blood on the floor.
The man stumbled back, letting out a scream before running as fast as he feet could take him up the stairs.
Figures… Guess I'll have to do it myself. Didn't seem too hard when I did it to Stark… the angles may be tough though…
-.PD.-
"Right over here my prince" said Wisdom Hallyne as he guided Joffrey over the storage area. Tis been decades since we have been graced with a royal presence! For the good of the guild I must impress the prince.
He watched the prince carefully as they walked to the underground vaults were the substance was stored. People often looked down on the Alchemist's Guild, seeing them as nothing more than cheap tricksters. Fools, thought Hayllyne. The Targeryeans knew the true worth of our work, and the importance of it. Still, for want of a dragon, I'll take a stag.
"Here is one of the storage areas, as you see we have taken ample precautions" he said, gesturing at the rows of wildfire suspended above sandbags from below and above, ready in case of an unexpected detonation. Hayllene got one of them from the racks, twirling it carefully in his old, expert hands. The Prince eyed the substance with a strange mix of curiosity and apathy. "May I see it, Wisdom?" he asked.
The vacant look of the Prince sent a shiver of foreboding, but Hallyne quickly overrode it. We must get back our royal patronage! KingRobert had been less than amused when his predecessor had walked to court asking for more funding…
Wisdom Gobbard was lucky Robert didn't rent his head asunder with his hammer…
Carefully, he passed it on to the prince. He seemed to examine the green jar a bit as he carefully took the lid out. "Careful my prince…" said Hayllene, eying the Prince anxiously. The prince looked at him and snorted.
"It would be very ironic if I turned into a dragon… ha!" he said as he drank the jar's contents in one fell swoop.
Joffrey seemed to grunt as he bent a bit, semi crouched. This lasted 1 seconds as he then exploded in a green blast that devoured his body. A shocked Wisdom Hayllene shrieked as he turned his back to run at the door, but there was never time. The explosion seared his back and flung him to the side, crashing against more jars of wildfire. As more explosions rocked the building, the support struts of the room burnt as they were supposed to, and Wisdom, fire and Prince were buried under an avalanche of sand that descended from the ceiling.
-.PD.-
Joffrey felt each death a little faster, the memories of it a little more blurred, the pain diluted. In each life he talked a bit less, his deaths were a bit less creative or different. His emotions were being purged, and the crushing guilt and despair got a bit less overwhelming. He was also a lot more tired, and the last few lives he barely had the strength to get out of bed and jump out the window.
Its… working… he thought in a tired haze as he stumbled out of his bed and struggled to open the window. He barely felt his hands as they fumbled the lock. Exhausted… its… working…
He finally managed to open it, but he didn't feel the wind coming through it.
He fell more than jumped out the window, and he barely felt any pain as he crashed against the hard ground, even the purple barely even registered anymore. His thoughts were even slower now, and everything seemed to blur.
He lost himself in the blur.
-.PD.-
Joffrey floated in the blur.
He had lost all perception of time, all perception of everything really.
I am no more, he thought with detached disinterest. Even as he thought of that, the term "I" lost meaning, there was no more "Joffrey", just… a blur.
There was only the blur, sometimes interrupted by clouds of purple, like weather, that would come and go as the wind.
…
…
…
-.PD.-
…
…
…
And then, with a trickle, with infinite time, just like a pendulum reaching the zenith of its momentum… it started to come back. Joffrey felt himself slowly being built again, at a crawl. The Purple winds drifted now and then, swirling by as Joffrey… remembered.
I am…
I… am…. Joffrey.
Slowly at first, the memories came back. Crown prince…. No…
…traitor and bastard…
The haze lifted for a bit and he could see a blond haired woman, tenderly feeding him with some soup from a nearby bowl. Although Joffrey couldn't feel the flavor, or even his body, he could hear her soothing tune.
Mother…
The blur came back again, and Joffrey drifted in nothingness, uncaring, completely neutral. When it came back, he could see a tall, balding man with a gaze of iron. He was arguing with a beautiful red head which despite her appearance seemed to radiate an aura of danger.
Uncl---… Lord Stannis… King Stannis…
They intend to burn me again, thought Joffrey, though the thought of it didn't seem to faze him. The discussion got heated as the red woman extended a greedy hand towards Joffrey's face, only to be batted away angrily by Stannis, as he ordered some men to take her away from the room.
They wouldn't burn him, then. He didn't feel either relief or disappointment as the blur came back again. The blur would continue on, Joffrey didn't know for how long, intersped by bouts of purple. The moments when he could see again would be fleeting and rare, but mostly he saw servants, and his mother.
Is it sad to be so little thought of in your hour of greatest darkness?
He honestly couldn't answer that question.
-.PD.-
After a millennia of time, or a day, Joffrey seemed to land on his bed, the puffy feeling of floating in nothingness receding away like the morning tide… and staying in his edges. He rested there for a while, gazing at the dark ceiling.
With a monumental effort, Joffrey got up. He could barely feel his feet as he slowly limped towards the door. The Red Keep was dark, and the heavy sound of rain seemed omnipresent. Joffrey walked towards the main gate, using the occasional torch and the frequent lightning bolts to see his way.
The rain was so heavy that the guards didn't even notice him as he limped by at the same time a cart entered the main gate. Completely drenched, he made his way through King's Landing. The few smallfolks that noticed him in the dark, torrential night steered clear of his way, probably taking him for a beggar.
With single minded determination, a deep exhaustion heavy on both his body and mind, Joffrey walked into Baelor's Sept.
As always, the secondary doors were open, but the Sept itself seemed devoid of life. As Joffrey limped towards the Altar of the Father, breathing heavily from the exertion, his eyes began to water. Finally, with an effort of will, Joffrey lurched and landed at the feet of the Father.
Seven… please help me… Why… Why are you doing this to me?
The pounding rain kept on, interrupted by distant thunders. The heavy chandeliers barely keept out an oppressive, strangling darkness.
Please… no more… there is no… reason for me to live on...
Please…
Desperately, Joffrey lunged and grabbed the enormous feet of the Father's Statue, holding on to them franticly.
Father, I know my justice was an abomination, my scales where a mockery. But I only tried… Joffrey struggled to carry it through. Only tried to keep the peace…
But the excuse sounded hollow in Joffrey's mind, and an ominous thunder illuminated the silhouette of the Father, encasing Joffrey in his shadow for a brief moment.
The ideals of the Father, Justice and leadership… I had failed at them. I was no leader, only a tyrant, my justice a flimsy excuse. I only wanted power, power to rule, power to command… power to be cared by the father that never was.
In the end, he was an abomination in the Father's sight. The son of his uncle, how could he expect the Father to listen to him, if by rights he should have never been born. He had no true father, thus the Father Above would always be denied to him.
With that sickening realization crystalizing in his mind, he lurched to the next statue. The benevolent Mother gazed from above, caring and forgiving.
Mother please listen to me… have compassion… please Mother… PLEASE…
The gaze of the Mother Above seemed to turn cruel and unforgiving. He had reveled in his cruelty and hurt with wanton abandon. He would find no mercy here.
Silent tears streaming down, Joffrey limped to the next altar, where the stern Warrior stood vigilant. Through Joffrey's blurring vision, the menacing statue seemed poised to strike him down. When had he demonstrated strength? When had he shown true courage other than to save his life? When had he been brave?
He limped on, not willing to stand any longer below such a force. The Maiden seemed to sneer at him, her expression one of hatred.
Appropriate, Joffrey thought. I have flaunted her protection, I have killed girls and woman. His fevered mind leapt to a scene instantly, Joffrey holding Sansa's head steady, forcing her to look at the face of her dead father.
I have broken the innocence you strive to protect.
With a sudden shock of self-loathing, Joffrey dry heaved, but only saliva came out. Nauseous and shameful, he barely kept going.
Circling around the Great Sept, he stood before the Smith, but he couldn't even beg as his own head pummeled him, showing him images of the torture he had passed his servants through, of how he had never worked for a thing in all his lives.
Stumbling, he crashed to the floor, and crept towards the Crone. Her mysterious smile appeared to turn slightly down as he looked up, illuminated by thunderbolts. Wisdom, her ideal, had been perhaps the thing Joffrey most lacked. I killed those who tried to advise me, keep me on the right path. I rejected her light at every opportunity. Joffrey would find no wisdom from her today.
Slowly crawling to the last statue, Joffrey grasped the dais were the Stranger stood. Dying again and again, Joffrey had thought he must have been under the Stranger's domain, but he now understood it was the exact opposite. Many people feared the Stranger, but his gift of death was exactly that. A gift. The end of suffering. Joffrey was anathema to everything the Stranger symbolized, he would never know the sweet embrace of death.
I am forsaken. Joffrey thought, curling up and leaning his back on the dais of the Stranger.
It was then a flash of insight, like the lightning that accompanied it rushed through his mind, a single, slowly crystalizing thought.
For the first time since he entered this place, Joffrey really saw the reality of the Sept. He filtered away the ominous darkness, the pounding rain, the enclosed yet open space.
He saw the towering, intimidating statues of the seven as they really were…
…They were statues.
The ominous feeling that had inundated Joffrey from the moment he entered through the door vanished, and he understood he was alone.
There's no one here.
This place was cold, lifeless. And the Seven would not help him… he was indeed forsaken, because the Seven did not actually exist. They. Where. Statues.
No one could help him.
The will that had kept his body moving disappeared, and Joffrey let himself go. He relaxed his muscles… his mind… and the purple swiftly moved over him.
He choked to death below the statue of the Stranger, but there was no one around to appreciate the irony.
-.PD.-
He awoke with a sight, and not a trace of the usual vomit. Joffrey would have stayed in that bed till the end of time, but something inside of him pushed him out, and he slowly put on his clothes.
Joffrey had come back… changed from the land of madness and purple. He felt he had only a small allotment of emotion to parcel around, and when that gave out an immense exhaustion took him over and he found it impossible not to lay down or sleep for the rest of the day.
The caravan moved North, following the inexorable paths of fate, and Joffrey accompanied them, only speaking when spoken to.
Again, his families reaction told him of his true nature. His mother, for all of her love for him, wouldn't help him. His fa… Robert would look confused from time to time, but he would soon find an ale to sooth it. His… father would look on as always, from a distance. His brother and sister would play joyfully and without worry when the caravan stopped.
Oddly enough, it was Tyrion who had approached him.
"Nephew" nodded the imp as he carefully walked into Joffrey's tent. Joffrey had been staring at the floor with a mug of ale, but strangely, he didn't seem startled by the sudden intrusion.
He looked at Tyrion. "Uncle" he said quietly as he took another sip from his cold ale. Tyrion took a chair and placed him in front of Joffrey's small table. He didn't stop him as the imp poured himself some ale. Tyrion waited patiently for Joffrey to break the awkward silence, but the moments stretched to minutes as he kept on sipping minute amounts of ale and staring now at the tent door.
"Nephew?" asked Tyrion. "Uncle?" responded Joffrey. Silence stretched for a while then.
The imp shook his head, and finally asked his question. "It's clear you are not enjoying this little trip. And there are days you can barely keep standing on your own feet…" said the imp, collecting his thoughts. "…Why?... Why are you barely respondent to the outside? Why do you keep yourself sequestered in this tent?" he asked with the exasperated tone of a Maester who couldn't find the answer to an obvious mathematical problem.
Joffrey seemed to genuinely ponder the question as he lazily rolled the mug in his hand. After a few minutes of silence, he shrugged.
"Why not?" he said, genuinely curious.
That answer shook Tyrion. After a few more minutes of silence, he downed his cup and exited the tent.
-.PD.-
"And this is my first borne, Ned" Said Robert as he gestured at Joffrey from the high table. The King hadn't found his increasingly elusive son when they arrived at Winterfell, so he introduced him at the feast.
Joffrey was silently picking at his food, immune to the puppy eyes Sansa kept sending his way, and any sort of distraction, really. He was just forking pieces of chicken, looking a thousand miles beyond the plate.
"He's so sad" wooed Sansa to Jeyne Poole, red flushing her face.
More than sad. That's the look of a man with nothing left to live for, thought Ned with increasing amounts of curiosity and mild alarm. "Are you sure he's… alright Robert?" he asked his old friend. Robert frowned for a second before taking another huge bite of the chicken leg he held in his hand. "Been like that for a few days, I think. He'll be fine." He chuckled as he made a move on a passing serving girl.
Ned was struck by a sudden memory, of him staring away at nothingness in the Eyrie, after receiving the news of his brother and father's death at King's Landing. He shook his head as he took a bit of chicken with his fork, trying to sooth the sudden pain that had assaulted him. Those were old wounds.
He found that he had lost his appetite, and he sighted quietly as he gazed at Joffrey.
-.PD.-
The next morning, Joffrey aimlessly wandered the outside of the main keep with a faint sense of déjà vu. His mind was almost blank when he saw Eddard Stark strolling through nearby, towards the Godswood.
A sudden, incomprehensible rage overtook him. He furiously stomped after him, entering deep into the Godswood. Joffrey quickly lost him in the tangle of trees, and had to retrace his steps to get back on the trail. Finally, he found Lord Stark kneeling in front of the heart tree, silent.
Joffrey stood there, huffing. He walked to one side of the clearing and to the next, shaking his fists. Finally, he lost it.
He screamed with all his strength at Eddard Stark, who leapt up from his knees, startled. He was at a loss for words as he eyed the Crown Prince, who was breathing heavily.
"You think they can hear you?! You think you can change the course?! There's no purpose Stark!!!" He screamed as he advanced on him, his eyes wild. Eddard seemed paralyzed by the sheer outpouring of emotion emanating from Joffrey, a gut wrenching stream of invective that seemed to feed itself on his very life and breath.
"No one can help us Stark!" he shouted in anguish at Eddard's face.
At that, the strength left him, and Joffrey crumbled on top of the light snow, weeping inconsolable.
Ned stared at the collapsed form of Joffrey in a near panic, not having a clue what was going on and what the hell he was supposed to do… so he did the only thing that came to his mind, almost a reflex, recalling a dark, stormy night when he had found a crying Arya alone on her bed.
Ned crouched and hugged Joffrey. His heaving and shaking form seemed to still itself for a microsecond, then his crying redoubled as he hugged Ned with all his strength.
-.PD.-
"Do you really hear them?" asked a red eyed Joffrey, sitting in one of the weirwood's branches.
Eddard pondered the question, sitting on another, nearby branch.
"Our Gods are not like the ones of the South, my prince." Said Ned, hesitantly. "No men can claim to hear the old gods speak, or speak in their name… but one can hear the echoes of their whispers." He said, somewhat awkwardly. Eddard was not the kind of person to simply lay out his beliefs out in the open out of a sudden, less to a stranger and even less to the man, well, boy that would someday be his liege lord, not under normal circumstances anyway.
Well, these are not normal circumstances, thought Ned, somewhat dazed.
Joffrey was completely captivated, and he leaned forward in rapt attention. "How?" he asked with painful longing. Eddard seemed to struggle with an answer, and he took his time as he mulled it in his head. He was ashamed to admit that a part of him wanted nothing else than the prince to huff in impatience and stomp away… but he could see there was no chance of that. Joffrey was still as a statue, waiting with a harrowing look as if he had nothing left to loose, the only sound coming from him was the odd sniff.
"Our minds are constantly filling us with… thoughts, memories, reflections…" Ned mused, his eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to verbalize what he felt and did when seeking the peace of the Old Gods. "It's a constant gallop, which fills our every waking moment." He said, explaining what he had felt but never really spoken of since he was but a boy, eying the great, ancient heart tree. "But when I'm here, I listen to the leaves gentle rustling… I gaze at the slow swaying of the branches… and then…"
Joffrey was staring at him, eyes red, his hands clutching one of the Weirwood's branches in a death grip. "And then?" he asked in a whisper.
Eddard considered one of the red leaves of the weirwood, which had detached itself from it with the wind, and was now gently spiraling out of the clearing.
"Everything just… stops. Your mind… is silenced." Quiet conviction colored Ned's voice as he nodded to himself. "You feel yourself let go, and your mind is cleared, as if a fog had been lifted… Those are the whispers of the Old Gods" Ned said.
"Peace" whispered Joffrey.
"Aye, peace, if only for a moment." Eddard nodded.
Joffrey stood up, and anxiously twitched his hands again and again. He gazed at Eddard with desperate, lost eyes. "Would you teach me? Please…" he asked him.
Eddard Stark didn't even consider it, he knew what he would had said had Joffrey been his son… he would do nothing else. "Aye, if you wish it." He told him.
"Thank you" whispered Joffrey as he rushed Lord Stark and hugged him like a drowning sailor hugs some floatsam.
What have they done to this boy? Thought Ned in utter befuddlement as he returned the hug and gently patted Joffrey's head, ignoring the silent, wet streaks Joffrey left on his clothes.
Breath… in… out… in… out…
Joffrey felt his mind clear, slowly, his thoughts leaving him with the gentle wind. For a few seconds, his inner turmoil left him, and he felt at peace.
It was not the peace of the madness that had consumed him before, but a gentle calmness that didn't drown everything else, it just… grounded him in his self, a serenity of mind that soothed him to his core.
It only lasted two seconds, and Joffrey opened his eyes as the implacable weariness grinded on top of his shoulders and inside him yet again. Nevertheless, he smiled, a genuine, if bittersweet smile.
"That one was the longest yet" He said quietly to the man beside him. Eddard's grim features softened as he nodded at Joffrey. "It's not easy… honestly I'm surprised you've stuck to it this far" said Eddard with a small smile.
Joffrey snorted. "Nothing is going to stop me from this, not even death." He said with such finality that Ned had to reassess yet again the image he had of the prince in his head. At first he had had to restrain himself, he had wanted to rush Robert and smack him in the face for being so blind, and then hand him his warhammer and go searching out who had left the Prince in such a wrecked, lifeless state.
But in the following days, were they met in the morning and at noon, Eddard had slowly started to unravel the enigma that was Joffrey Baratheon. He had quietly inquired, and it seemed the prince had been this way since a few days before they left the capital, and there were no signs of physical damage on him. And yet, the abysmal pain and weariness within Joffrey seemed to reach into his very soul. Eddard wasn't sure if he'd seen anything like it before.
They had agreed to meet here the next day after Joffrey's breakdown, and to his vague surprise the Prince had come again, and he hadn't complained, not one bit at the silence and Ned's quiet tutoring.
Still, keeping at it for too long was worse than futile. So, like the other days, Lord Stark took the small basket he had brought with him and handed Joffrey some fresh bread from the ovens along with a bit of water. He had brought watered wine the first time, but Joffrey's reaction had stopped that idea in its tracks…
"Thank you, Eddard" Said Joffrey, grateful. He had somewhat regained his composure, but there were still moments when Joffrey seemed on the edge of hysteria, and along the course of the week there had been more than one moment when Joffrey had wordlessly shrunk on himself and cried in the serene privacy of the Godswood. Eddard had done the same as he had before, walking to him and comforting him wordlessly. Joffrey had never rushed him again, but he had not protested when Ned soothed him like he had done countless times before with his own kids, some years ago. It did seem to help though, as in those occasions Joffrey would relax and the crying would give way to quiet breathing.
He hadn't pressed him for details, he had found that if he just let him speak, the words would pour out in mildly incoherent torrents, and Ned would respond to them as well as he could, which would sometimes stretch their conversations well past midday or sun down, depending.
Much to Robert's mild exasperation, and to the frankly titanic envy of Sansa, he thought ruefully.
"How…" Joffrey suddenly said, after taking a sip from the waterskin. "How can you manage… everything when… " he struggled to verbalize the swirl of emotions inside him.
There was silence as Ned thought about the question. There was nothing out of the ordinary of it, their conversations would often be very vague, and the silence between the words seemed natural in the bosom of the Godswood.
How can you manage to live on when its not worth it, translated Ned in his head. The faint, barely audible bumping of thin weirwood branches echoed in the small clearing. Once again a pang of self-doubt needled Eddard. He was no sage or Greenmen… not even close. But it was clear the Prince had no one else to help him, so Ned did as always yet again, answering truthfully from his heart, something which had been getting easier with each meeting they had here. "I think that if you can't find the worth of living on outside of yourself, then you have to search inside of you" He said, pointing to his head, then at his heart. "And that starts by… two things, I think." He mused.
Joffrey stared with mildly unfocused eyes, his head resting on the Weirwood's strong trunk. "You have to learn, to find a deep respect for yourself. Not a kind of arrogance, but an understanding that you are who you are, and that only you have the means to change yourself." He said, not sure if the Prince understood what he tried to say.
Joffrey suddenly snorted. "Self-respect…" he muttered, eying his hands with disbelief. "And the other one?" he suddenly asked.
Ned grasped one of the red weirwood leaves, slowly turning it with his fingers. "The other, I guess, is to never lose your sense of wonder." He nodded as he spoke. "Wonder at the things you see, the things you don't understand, the things you love… To never let you fall into indifference, to always experience" said Ned with quiet emphasis, "each waking moment as if it were anew."
Joffrey swallowed a lump in his throat, beginning to understand. "I see…" he said, deep in thought.
They sat there in companionable silence for a while, with only the wind and the leaves as company.
"NEEEED!" Suddenly bellowed a deep throated voice. "Stop teaching my son to talk to trees and get your butt over here! We've got a deer to kill!" said the voice.
Eddard shook his head in good natured exasperation as he stood up. "My prince, duty calls." He told Joffrey with an amused smile. Joffrey seemed midly startled as he nodded at Ned. "Yes.. yes…" he said absently.
Joffrey sat there on the werwood branch for a while longer, trying to catch pieces of whispers and thinking about Lord Starks deep words. For a man that spoke so little, the words that did leave his mouth were each precise and profound… he couldn't believe how anyone South could have thought Ned Stark was a fool.
He guessed the memory of him breaking down in front of Stark again and again would have shamed his older self so much he would have sent assassins after him, but now he found he didn't care one iota. After everything he had gone through, the idea seemed ludicrously childish.
-.PD.-
He was still digesting Lord Starks words as he exited the Godswood, and as usual every time they ended their conversations, Joffrey thought it would take him a life time or ten to fully understand their meaning.
The sudden sight of Bran Stark climbing the Broken Tower sent a deep shiver down his spine. Ice curled on his belly as he thought of how events would degenerate and break the incipient peace Joffrey was striving so hard to find within himself. And the memories of Lord Stark's painful sadness as he heard about the news of Brans fall sent odd shivers of despair throughout his body.
He suddenly dashed towards the tower's derelict door, pushing it aside and running with all his strength upwards, shouting. "Mother!! Mother!!!!! MOTHEEEEER!!!!" He screamed desperately as he reached the floor beneath the last one.
A still panting Cercei creaked open the door carefully. The sight of her trying to discreetly straighten her dress threatened Joffrey's sanity, but he pushed that aside. "Joff, sweetie, what's going on?" she asked, red faced.
Joffrey paused. "Ah, I d--, I mean, Lady… Stark is looking for you, urgently." She eyed him curiously. "Lady Stark?" she asked. "Yes! Its urgent!" he told her as he nervously twitched his fingers. "Okay sweetie." She said as she straightened and carefully opened the door so only she could get out, and then she was descending through the stairs, holding one of Joffrey's hands and making him come down too. She released him when they were outside, and when she was out of sight and he saw Bran Stark smoothly scaling down he let out a long sight of relief.
"Lannisters are all weird" muttered Bran as he walked on, not noticing Joffrey.
Can't argue with that, thought Joffrey as he laeaned back on the tower.
"JOFFREY!" screamed an angry Cercei from somewhere beyond the main keep.
Shit.
-.PD.-
Joffrey had learnt that their stay at Winterfell each life varied greatly according to F-.. Roberts whims, and Robert's whims seemed to vary each of his lives for no apparent reason. In a happy coincidence, their stay here was almost a full month, to the dismay of both his mother and Lady Stark, who eyed the prodigious amounts of food the King ate with increasing panic.
A month where Joffrey shamelessly monopolized as much time as he could take from Lord Stark. Eddard himself didn't seem too bothered about it, Joffrey suspected he had never quite had this chance to lay out his… philosophy for lack of a better word, and his children were all obsessed with everything except the deep stillness of the Godswood.
Still, all good comes to an end eventually, a fact of life that Joffrey had internalized for a while now. The caravan made its way south then, in a bit of a happier mood than other times. Bran had found a friend in little Tommen, and both of them, Lion and even sometimes Arya would play unending games each time the caravan stopped, much to Sansa's annoyance.
Speaking of Sansa, she had done her best at filling the time Eddard had left open as the King increasingly demanded his attention more and more. Joffrey, having nothing better to do, would accompany her on walks through the changing scenery of the Kingsroad.
Joffrey found she wasn't quite as stupid as he had thought before. She was just incredibly, no, monumentally naive and innocent, and Joffrey had to resist the temptation to slap her, Ned and even himself at the ludicrousness of someone as wise as Ned Stark rearing such an oblivious daughter.
Ironically, Joffrey's just as monumentally cynical mind found Sansa's happy chattering an oddly and perplexing relaxant, as they strolled through the woods and plains of the Riverlands. As they reached King's Landing he mused that Sansa was not exactly stupid, there was something deeper beneath her… he shuddered at the memory of her fainting at the death of Lord Stark, not only at the scale of cruelty he was only now, barely beginning to grasp, but at the fact that the memory still sent a tingle of pleasure when he thought of her face contorted in horror.
Memories like that would sometimes assault him when they walked, and Sansa would be left alone and confused when he awkwardly dashed off, hiding his shudders. He remembered she was not exactly without a spine either, certainly she had more than him. In one of his lives she had stabbed and killed two guards trying to escape before she was killed in turn, against impossible odds. No, not exactly stupid, he guessed she just needed a bit of prodding to get out of her self-constructed shell… An interesting enigma, one that Joffrey had not the faintest will to investigate.
Still, Sansa fulfilled a breathtaking need for human contact Joffrey hadn't known he possessed, aching deep inside him. He was self-conscious of approaching Lord Eddard with that again, and the thought of being held by his mother and her golden locks brought forth memories that made him want to puke. He had found that just holding Sansa's hand as they walked drastically reduced the amount of nightmares he would have every night, and her curiously strong grip on his hand sent odd flutters in his stomach that Joffrey had trouble identifying.
Even with the their shortened time, he still met with Lord Stark in secluded locations, and their conversations still left Joffrey pondering and thinking deep into the night. To his surprise, when they arrived at the capital, he found out he didn't want to be back here again at all.
-.PD.-
"It seems we have a new player in town" mused Varys aloud as he ambled through the empty throne room, engaging in one of his favorite past times these days… exchanging subtle barbs, wit, and even gleanings of useful information with what had been up to now his only real rival in the game... and today the barbs were sinking into poor Petyr in such a delightful way.
"Yeeesss… It seems we have severely underestimated Lord Stark" said Littlefinger's oddly raspish voice, apparently unconcerned, walking beside Varys. "A delightful turn of events, don't you think, Lord Baelish? Things had been getting a bit dull over here, but a formidable new player certainly lightens things up" Said Lord Varys, good naturedly.
Baelish shifted a bit, uncomfortable and trying to hide it from Varys keen eyes. "I'm sure the reports are exaggerated" he said, trying to convince himself more than Varys. "Oh but I saw them just today, cruel, spiteful Prince Joffrey following Lord Stark around with the look of an adopted puppy" Varys said with relish. "Two months and he is not already the friend of the King, but has the ear of the next one too… he works quite fast, our Hand… I thought, given your past experience with Starks, that the family in particular boasted of other… skills." Varys twisted with happy abandon as he subtly gazed at the scar that popped out of Littlefinger's doublet.
Lord Baelish couldn't contain himself and a small shudder went through his chest and the old wound that lay there. "Yes, the Stark are… full of surprises" he said, subtly eying the door. For Varys he might as well have been screaming to let him go. He nodded magnanimously "Until next time, Lord Baelish"
Baelish nodded back "Lord Varys" he said as he quickly fled the room. Varys had to contain a little giggle as he kept walking. Moments like this made the Great Game so worth playing.
-.PD.-
Despite Lord Stark's numerous demands on his time as Hand of, now that Joffrey thought about it, a very absent King, he still found time to guide Joffrey every couple of days, and though the Red Keep's Godswood was a very poor copy of the great Godswood of Winterfell, Joffrey found out it served its purpose well enough. His lone meditations by the heart tree every morning had been doing wonders for his fractured psyche, and he felt "recharged" every morning thanks to it. When he missed it for whatever reason, he would find himself slowly reverting to the despairing wreck of before… something that obviously Joffrey wanted no part off.
He also stared to apply some of Lord Stark's wisdom on his daily routine. While the thought of "respecting" himself was for some reason so funny it bordered on hysteria, his words about never loosing his… "wonder"… had helped immeasurably in centering back together the various scattered bits of his personality…
He knew that what had come back from the madness was not exactly what had gone there in the first place, for instance he was a lot shyer around people for some reason, but he didn't care that much about it. Instead, he let himself rediscover simple pleasures that curiously enough hadn't been at all prominent on his first life.
He started early in the morning meditating in the Godswood, were his still raw and somewhat shaky mind slowly pieced itself back together after the nightmares he'd had that night. Then, he'd spar with the hound, though this time with minimal training armor as the pain of the wooden swords that had seemed so intense lifetimes ago now felt more like a tickle for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Still, the exercise left him in a good mood, something rare this past, oh fifty years Joffrey reckoned. That would have been reason in and of itself to keep training, the Hound grudgingly telling him he was a slightly better than the average solider from a destitute keep was just an added bonus.
He'd lunch with Lord Stark and his family whenever he could, which was most of the time, much to Eddard's hidden enjoyment. He'd really grown to like their conversations, and the thought of having serious, meaningful conversation that didn't involve pulled hair and thrown food seemed a godsend to Eddard, or at least that was how it looked to Joffrey. Sansa too would greet him joyfully enough, which often confused him. What had he ever done to earn such admiration? He reckoned that, beside his rank, he had literally nothing going for him, besides maybe the stereotypical Lannister good looks, and even that he doubted. To be the subject of such undeserved devotion kind of freaked him out now.
Arya mostly looked at him curiously with a kind of intense stare, trying to find more things to tease Sansa about, he suspected.
By far the most uncomfortable of the bunch was Bran Stark, who eyed him with deep suspicion and unease, always vigilant. Bran had made fast friends with Tommen, and his little brother had most likely been feeding horrid tales to Bran for a while now. He didn't blame him, probably in Tommen's mind he was just preparing a subtle and cruel prank to play on everyone, which, from his perspective would be the most probable thing that should happen these days.
After lunch he would often read at the royal library, though the heavy tomes the imp seemed to favor were a bit too much for him. It was especially gratifying if that mornings bout with the hound had been more tiring than usual, it made the relaxed reading, basking in the afternoon sunlight by the royal library's balcony all the more enjoyable. He mostly read somewhat lighter tomes such as the tales of the dragon knight or other, more accessible books. He suspected he was just starting to develop the skill, and that it was as underdeveloped as his pathetic swordsmanship had been in his first life. It was a rather depressing thought.
After that, the late afternoon would be "free". He'd walk through the busy streets of Kings Landing, just watching, learning about the city he was supposed to rule. He'd go through the street of steel and watch the constant pounding of hammers on swords or tools, or the Street of Silk, where he'd enjoy watching the wares, though he never partake, it brought memories of pounding hearts and deep chest pains better left buried. Sometimes he'd walk with the imp, enjoying their discussions that, granted, were of a decidedly more practical and amusing nature than Lord Starks, but had their own kind of wisdom. Again, things Joffrey had never considered before seemed obvious to his uncle, and yet again he felt like an infant grasping basic meanings. His "sense of wonder" as Stark put it, was certainly getting a work out, and Joffrey found he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Sometimes he would muse about what lay beyond the Capital and the Seven Kingdoms…
At night he would sometimes talk, well, more like listen to Sansa's tales of knights and chivalry, something that, to his mild horror, he was able to make descent conversation about thanks to the books he had been reading. He would eat then with his "family", who was the only downer to an otherwise nice day. He didn't know if this life had left everyone sloppier or he was just a bit more perceptive this time around, but the constant death glares Cercei shot Robert, Robert's frequent passes at serving girls, and his brother and sister's silent eating left a stifling and oppressive atmosphere on his mouth. When his, father, was taking his turn guarding the family, Joffrey lost most of his appetite and wouldn't even make it to the main dish before excusing himself. Seeing his progenitors together in the same room awakened deep-… something wrong with you Joffrey..—better left buried too.
-.PD.-
Months passed by in this happy state of affairs, and Joffrey gradually felt the unending despair lifting off his shoulders, slowly.
Tension had, nevertheless, been rising amongst the Lannisters and the Starks. He didn't know what was the cause this time, but he could see it in the way Lord Stark's household guard tighten their hands on their pommels every time a Redcloak passed by, or in the way his… father smirked disdainfully when he saw the Northmen.
He had been with Lord Stark one day in the early morning, talking as usual, when Eddard finally brought up the question which must have been plaguing him for a long time. "Joffrey…" He had finally managed to rid him of the constant "My Prince", which had been getting tedious by the time they arrived at the Capital. "I know you don't like to speak of it, but… I think there something deeply inside of you, I don't know, something that's eating you away, would you--" he had suddenly stopped when he saw Joffrey staring at the ground.
"There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey" Echoed Ned Starks moribund voice inside his head.
"…Joffrey" asked Ned, confused.
His hands were shaking, and he was breathing harder than usual.
"I-…I have to go. Lord Stark" he nodded quickly as he trotted off.
He run through the Red Keep, finally stopping at a section of the wall that seemed deserted.
Haven't had one of this for a while. He thought as he leaned a bit and crouched down. The shakes where not nearly as bad as last time, but it still sent painful memories reeling through his mind.
Think of the weirwood, gentle swaying, slow winds.
He was returning slowly from it, but the thing that really snapped him out of it was the reassuring grip on his hand. He turned back, somewhat dazed.
"Sansa?" he asked, confused. "Its o-okay" she said with only a hint of doubt as she gently took his hand again, with both of hers. "You d-don't have to--" he spluttered, but she interrupted him. "Its okay" she said again as she looked towards the sea. Joffrey said nothing as he looked in the same direction, watching the dawn. The strong, warm grip on his hand seemed to push his demons away, and Joffrey found himself letting out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding.
When he calmed down the imp screamed in his head to say his courtesies. "Ah, thank you milady" he said awkwardly. Sansa just smiled demurely as he looked at him then promptly kept staring at the ocean, the morning sun lighting her hair in an odd way. He was feeling very confused again, but this time in a somehow good way… very confused…
Of course, he had somehow stupidly forgotten this was fucking Westeros.
The bells inside the Red Keep tolled… and they didn't stop. The pounding sound started to spread out throughout the area, and Joffrey paled.
I know that sound.
"Get behind me Sansa!" he told her as he took out his dagger. "Joffrey?" she asked in confusion and mild alarm. "Lets move, follow me" he told her as he grabbed her hand and trotted back down the wall's staircase. In the courtyard the Red Cloaks had closed the gates and everyone seemed to be dashing somewhere in a haste, many of them seeming to search for something or someone… and some of them seemed to be going to the Stark's residence.
Oh no.
He run after them, never letting go of Sansa as they passed the doors. He stopped at the strange scene ahead of him. Several Redcloakes had surrounded soldiers of the Stark household guards, which had drawn swords. When they saw him one of the shouted "Let 'er go Lannister!".
"That's the Prince you're speaking to!" Snarled one of the Redcloaks. Everyone tensed up as Joffrey snarled in frustration. "What's going on damnit!" he asked the Stark guard. "Is the King dead?!"
The guard seemed confused for a moment as he grunted. "The King?! What are you talking about?" he said. Sansa here leapt to the fore, "Let us through Lewin!" she told him. Some of the tension left them as they lowered their swords a bit. Sansa was the one guiding him as she shoveled through the guards, carrying Joffrey behind her. She seemed in a near panic as the both of them followed the line of Stark Guardsman and servants that seemed to come and go from a single direction.
They stopped outside Bran Starks room, where grim faced guards stood watch and a few servants cried in the corner. "M' lady… you shouldn't.." stumbled one of the guards, but Sansa was not listening to him, a mounting horror clear in her face as she entered the room, Joffrey right behind her.
On his blood soaked bed, the body of Bran Stark stared blankly at the ceiling. He had multiple stab wounds on his chest, and his direwolf was feasting on the remains of a man in the floor, his hand tightly clutching a dagger.
That wasn't me, thought Joffrey, disconcerted.
It was then Lord Stark entered the room, and somehow let out a wordless, soundless scream of disbelief and horror.
-.PD.-
Things had only gone downhill from there, and at a furious velocity. A few days later Jory Cassel, Eddards Guard Captain had been killed under dubious circumstances in some kind of bar fight, and a day later a Redcloak was found dead at his guard post. Brandon Stark's assassin had taken the name of his benefactor to the grave, or rather to Summer's stomach. In typical Westerosi fashion, King Robert had fallen ill due to some bug on his food and Pycell apparently had him up to the gills with milk of the poppy.
Things had been very somber those days, and he hadn't been able to talk to any of the Starks. He dreaded what he knew was to come now.
-.PD.-
Sure enough, he was woken up by his mother in the middle of the night. "Come on sweetie, its time you assume your rightful place" she told him as hurried servants dressed him. "Mother, what happened?!" he asked as they almost rushed towards the throne room. "Your Father's pain is gone and he finally rests in peace." She told him soothingly as she practically pushed him on top of the iron throne. The room was lit by numerous torches, and the Kingsguard was already there, 6 white cloaks arraying itself around the throne. Redcloaks quickly stormed through the room and arrayed themselves in two protective blocks of ten in front of the Kingsguard.
It's happening fucking again, he thought desperately.
Soon after that, the main doors opened, and Lord Stark entered the room, followed closely behind by Lord Baelish who seemed way, way more nervous than past times, anxiously swiveling to Lord Stark's back and then to Cercei, as if trying to convince himself of something. With Stark entered a portion of his guard, must have been more than 30 men. And of course, Slynt and a sizable contingent of Goldcloaks marched by the Northmen's flanks, something which would surely again prove to be a fatal mistake. Even Varys was looking more interested than last time.
The multitude of armed men stared at each other with barely repressed hostile intent. Joffrey swallowed a lump. It all goes to shit after this… again.
"Bend the knee Lord Stark, and you will be allowed to return to the grey waste that you call your home, back with your trees" she sneered. "I want to be crowned within the fortnight" Joffrey almost blurted out of sheer reflex. I just can't catch a fucking break.
Instead of immediately handing the letter, Eddard seemed to doubt for a bit, his face contorting in strange angles. The silence stretched for a bit as he stared at Joffrey. Joffrey nodded at him tiedly "Just do what you think is right… Ned." At this Eddard seemed to compose himself, and took out a letter. "Ser Barristan, no man alive here could question your honor." He said.
Ser Barristan took the letter respectfully and went back to his post. "King Robert's seal, unbroken." He said for all to hear. "I, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, hereby name Lord Eddard Stark Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm until my son Joffrey comes of age".
His mother leaned forward. "Ser Barristan, if--" Joffrey interrupted her abruptly. Not this time, fate.
"Ser Barristan, pass me the letter please." Cercei seemed mildly shocked as Ser Barristan swiveled and gave it to him instead. Joffrey took his time as he read the short but powerful parchment.
After what seemed an eternity to the soldiers everywhere, Joffrey folded the letter carefully and put it in his pocket. "The orders of my late F-Father are clear, come and assume your rightful position, Lord Stark." He said with a deep calmness. No more senseless deaths, fuck the game.
From here he could see how the blood seemed to flee Lord Baelish's head, and Varys actually smirked. The various soldiers stared at each other in confusion. Eddard himself seemed a bit shaken, and conflicting emotions warred within him as he took a tentative step forward.
Bet the fuckers didn't expect that.
"Lord Baelish!" Screeched his mother. Eddard turned back and eyed Baelish in confusion as Littlefinger took a small step back, mixed awe and horror clouding his face as he gazed at Lord Stark "..you..knew" Baelish blabbered before snapping out of it. "C-Commander Slynt!" he shouted. Slynt shook his own head, lowered his helmet and bellowed.
"MEN OF THE WATCH!"
With a roar the Goldcloaks lowered their spears and charged the Stark men, who had already been watching them and edging away. Both forces met in brutal melee, and despite having a bit of a warning this time it was obvious the Stark men would not be able to hold off for long. Baelish took out a small dagger in panic and tried to stab Lord Stark as he was in the process of drawing his longsword, facing him down.
"SER BARRISTAN!" Joffrey all but screamed. "PROTECT THE LORD REGENT!"
"Aye your Grace" Selmy said as he drew his sword without hesitation, gliding forward with some kind of unhurried stride that seemed to eat distance faster than a sprint, brutally stabbing a Goldcloak through the back. "What are you waiting for?! Help your Lord Commander!" Joffrey bellowed at the rest of the Kingsguard. The 5 heavily armored knights (Jaime wasn't there) were startled out of their confusion and promptly charged the Goldcloaks, or at least tried.
"NO! Guards, hold them!" shouted Cercei. One befuddled Redcloak followed the order a bit too far as he stabbed Ser Meryn Trant through his visor with a dagger. The other Kingsguards drew their swords and started chopping up Redcloaks and the melee below descended into an unrecognizable madness.
Joffrey promptly leapt out of the throne and charged down with his piddling dagger, ignoring his mother's frantic commands. "Joffrey don't-!" but he was already through. His smaller size and lack of armor helped him dash between the combatants quickly, although the situation had kind of descended into an indistinct free for all, and the wild, blind swinging and stabbing were taking a toll on his unarmored body as he run through the madness. He saw a Redcloak slashing down a Goldcloak, a Stark men being killed by a Kingsguard and even two Goldcloaks fighting between themselves. It was pure, distilled chaos.
Although the pressure of so many fighting men confined to a relatively small space was overwhelming, Joffrey finally managed to get to the center. There he spotted Lord Stark, who was clutching several bloody spear wounds all over his body and surrounded by dead Goldcloaks… and Baelish. It seemed Baelish, for all his political skills wasent that good a figther, he lay on the floor gutted like a fish from neck to hip, a permanent rictus of horror and fear etched on his still factions.
"Eddard!" shouted Joffrey as he grabbed one of his arms, trying to share his weight, a weight that was rapidly becoming heavier. "Joffrey" whispered Ned as his legs gave out. Both of them crashed on the floor, and Joffrey found out not all of the blood pooling around them was Eddard's… it was also his. "I-I S-should have… done… nothing… it was all… so fast…" Eddard blabbered incoherently, each time weaker. "Hold on you bloody fool!" hissed Joffrey desperately as he looked around him for help, but there was only the wild, disorganized melee around them. "Joffrey" Eddard suddenly said as he grabbed Joffrey's arm in a steel grip. "There's… something… deeply inside of you…" muttered Stark, and Joffrey felt his blood freeze solid as an old, titanic despair made itself felt again on his belly, and memories of old lives and blood assaulted his mind, memories of Lord Stark being disemboweled to death.
"Deeply inside… of you… a good heart…" muttered Eddard, his eyes half closed. "What?!" screeched Joffrey as he felt tears suddenly welling on his eyes. Every half breath Ned's voice came out shallower. "You… just… have… to… use… it…" he whispered, but his eyes were already closed, "…you---" but he couldn't finish as he seemed to exhale for the last time.
Joffrey stared at Lord Stark's increasingly blurry body, and let out a shrill roar. He jumped back on his feet with his dagger, and charged the nearest blurry soldier like a madman. He felt his rage consume him as he fought and fought and fought until he was suddenly on the floor again, and the purple began to encase him.
He raged at the unfairness of it all before his neck started to wreath again, and his nerves flared in purple agony.
-.PD.-
The Hound was guarding the little shit's room when a sudden, ragefull scream startled him out of his spot on the wall. He drew his longsword as he smashed into the door shoulder first but… there was no assassin.
Joffrey was pacing around the room grabbing stuff and throwing it away in a rage that the Hound didn't think Joffrey had been capable of. This didn't look like one of his usual tantrums… at all. His face was vaguely disfigured as his puny muscles strained, and he tossed the chest down the room. "Fuck Littlefinger!" he shouted. The Hound was beffudled as he thought about what the hell was going on. "Fuck Varys! Fuck mother! Fuck Tywin and fuck Stannis" he shouted as he paced and paced. "Fuck the Game! Fuck the Throne! Fuck Westeros! Fuck em AAAAALLL!!!" bellowed Joffrey with all his might, pushing the rage out of him like a physical force.
The Hound had been slightly nodding at those last statements in grim approval without noticing, but then Joffrey stopped. "… They want it so much? They can FUCKING have it!" he screamed at no one in particular. "That lump of rusted steel has brought on nothing but death, pain and misery!"
Suddenly he gazed at the Hound with a considering and slightly maniacal look.
"Hound… say… how is Lys this time of the year?"
The Hound looked dismayed.