A Crown of Green Ambition

Chapter 52 – A Crown of Green Ambition

298 AC - Kingslanding

Joffrey's Desire

Joffrey Baratheon stood atop the Red Keep's battlements, watching the Blackwater burn. The wildfire raged across the bay, a sea of unnatural green flames devouring ships, men, and dreams alike. The screams of burning soldiers filled the air, but Joffrey paid them no mind. His emerald eyes glowed, mirroring the inferno below.

"I want more of that weapon," he murmured, gripping the stone parapet.

It was beautiful—destruction in its purest form. The way it ate through wood and flesh, how it turned the night sky green, and how it left only ash and ruin. Joffrey thought of the armies that stood against him, the enemies who defied his reign. If he had enough wildfire, none of them would stand a chance.

Behind him, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Osmund Kettleblack stood silently, watching their young king with wary expressions.

"Did you see that?" Joffrey turned to them, his face alight with excitement. "That is the power of a true king. I should have them make more. Much more."

Ser Osmund smirked. "A fearsome sight, Your Grace."

Joffrey grinned, pleased. Fear. That's what makes kings.

---

The Victor Returns

The throne room of the Red Keep was filled with lords, knights, and banners. The air smelled of smoke and sweat, of blood and victory. At the far end, upon the Iron Throne, Joffrey sat impatiently, his golden crown gleaming.

The great doors opened, and Tywin Lannister entered, his golden armor untarnished despite the battle fought in his name. He walked with measured steps, his emerald eyes cold as he approached. Behind him followed Kevan Lannister, Leyton Hightower, and several lords of the West and Reach.

Joffrey straightened on the throne. "Lord Grandfather."

Tywin stopped before him and knelt on one knee. "Your Grace, the city is saved. The battle is won."

The hall erupted in cheers, but Joffrey barely heard them. He already knew he had won. Tywin was the hero, but Joffrey was the king.

---

A New Proposal

Once the celebration settled, Tywin gestured, and a woman stepped forward. Joffrey's eyes widened as he took in her form.

She was tall and elegant, with long silver-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes—the mark of Old Valyria. She wore a gown of deep blue, the fabric soft as silk but embroidered with pearls and silver thread.

Tywin introduced her. "Your Grace, this is Lady Ceryse Hightower, daughter of the late Lysenne Hightower and Tregar Ormollen of Lys."

Joffrey's breath caught. She was beautiful—more so than Sansa. He could hardly believe she was real.

Ceryse curtsied. "Your Grace."

Joffrey turned to Tywin. "Why is she here?"

"The Hightowers have fought for the realm," Tywin said, his voice firm. "Their banners marched in our name, their fleets harassed Stannis' forces. Now, it is time to honor their allegiance."

Joffrey frowned. "And what do they want in return?"

Ceryse met his gaze, her blue eyes unwavering. "I would marry you, Your Grace. To join our houses in strength and blood."

For a moment, Joffrey was speechless. Then he laughed. "I am betrothed to Sansa Stark."

Pycelle, standing nearby, cleared his throat. "A betrothal can be broken, Your Grace. The girl is a traitor's daughter. The Faith will not object."

Joffrey considered it. Sansa was meek, frightened, and boring. Ceryse was bold, confident, and undeniably beautiful.

"Very well," he said, smirking. "Sansa Stark is nothing. I accept."

Ceryse smiled gracefully. "You will not regret it, Your Grace."

Tywin watched, pleased. This marriage was more than just an alliance—it cemented the Hightowers to the Lannister cause, gave them influence over the Faith, and through Ceryse's father, a claim to Lys. The West Bloc Alliance was stronger than ever.

Joffrey, however, was thinking of something else entirely. Ceryse was his. The most beautiful woman in the court. And soon, he would have more wildfire. More power. More fear.

And Westeros would burn before him.