45 Ch. 14 Tools

I casually raise my longsword to receive the overhead strike from Joffrey's desperate assault. As Joffrey steps forward in some misguided attempt to increase the pressure on my sword, I grab the guard of his sword with my offhand and pivot, disarming the little prince.

Joffrey stumbles before catching his balance and turning a pair of frustrated and exhausted eyes on me. Half an hour of intense sparring has sapped the young teen of most of his energy, but he has refused to ask for a break. It is surprising to see him dedicating himself to... well, anything.

In an uncharacteristic display of maturity, Joffrey takes a deep breath before boldly standing up straight before me. I would typically instruct him on what he did wrong and how to prevent that same mistake in the future. Judging from the look in his eyes, he already knows where he errored.

Without saying a word about his mistake, I had both swords to the blond-haired prince. "Put those away and follow me," I command my squire.

Once Joffrey takes the blunt swords from my grasp, I move over to my sword and refasten it around my waist. Armed once again, I begin to make my way up a flight of stairs leading to the wall of the Red Keep. The hurried steps of Joffrey signal him catching up to me. Judging by the sound of his breathing, I can tell he's trying to use the breathing technique I showed him. I will say he's teachable. He's also a cunt, but a teachable one.

I remain silent as we move up the narrow steps. I'm trying to think out the best way to approach my next lesson for the psycho. Based on what I can remember, part of Joffrey's problem is his view on others. His cruel nature isn't something I can fix, but I might be able to make him see value in people. For his cruelty, I'll just have to try and teach him to direct it at the deserving.

When we reach the top of the wall, I step up to the battlement and look out over the city, and all its shit-smelling glory. I ignore Joffrey looking between the city and myself. After watching the smallfolk moving about on the streets below, I finally begin the lesson.

"What do you see?" I patiently ask.

"The city," Joffrey stated as if it was obvious.

I resist the urge to cup Joffrey over the ear and ignore him. While pain is an excellent teaching aid, I also have to make this spoilt little shite capable of using his brain every so often. So, I use one of Tywin's favorite tactics.

The silence stretches on less than a minute before Joffrey can't take it and caves. "I see buildings and smallfolk," Joffrey finally answered.

Closing my eyes in disappointment, I let out a short sigh. I can feel the anxiety building in my little squire. I now see why Tywin is so fond of these little games; the subtle manipulations are empowering.

"What do you see?" Joffrey asked me with a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

"Potential," I inform the future king before looking down at him.

Joffrey's brows are scrunched, and he is a picture of bewilderment and confusion. I watch as his eyes scrutinize the buildings and roadways. I patiently allow him the chance to figure out what I mean.

"The smallfolk," Joffrey uncertainly says as he looks up at me.

With a nod of my head, I look out over the city once more. "Our food, clothing, shelter, armies, and taxes are all produced from the blood and sweat of the smallfolk," I say in a heavy tone. "Everything in our society is built on their backs. When I look upon the smallfolk, I do not see individuals. I see tools and faceless potential waiting to be revealed."

Turning away from the city, I face my young squire. "That is what I see, and that is what you should see," I stress to the blond ponce.

Joffrey looks out at the city with a contemplative look, but doubt is evident in his eyes. Before the fool can misinterpret my words, I decide to elaborate. "I want you to think of a blacksmith working his forge," I speak loud enough to draw Joffrey's attention.

"A skilled blacksmith is able to take raw materials and see the potential hidden within," I continue as I lay my hand on Joffrey's shoulder. "Every leader, and king, should be like a blacksmith. He must know how to use the tools of his trade to bring forth that potential and create true pieces of art.

"To forge something, a blacksmith needs tools. Every tool in a forge has a purpose, just like every man and woman has a purpose," I tell Joffrey as I remove my hand from his shoulder.

"With the support of your lords and the aid of the smallfolk, you can forge a dynasty that will last the ages," I said as I draw Lionheart from its sheath. I move the sword so that Joffrey can see the rippled patterns along the blade. "With the right materials and tools, you can forge something truly legendary," I stress to the Crown Prince.

With a smooth twist, I resheath my sword. With the Valyrian steel out of view of Joffrey's greedy eyes, he looks back up at me. "But remember," I begin with an air of importance, "a blacksmith must take care of his tools. They must be used properly and maintenanced regularly.

"The same is true for the relationship between the crown and the lords. Treat them accordingly, and they'll do the same to you," I said as I begin to walk towards the stairs. "Just like a blacksmith without tools, a king without the support of his lords is just another fool with his cock in his hand."

I ignore the snort from Joffrey as he trails behind me. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I gain his attention once more. "Now, go and prepare to stand vigil for the Jon Arryn. I want you at the Sept of Baelor before the end of the hour," I order Joffrey.

With a bit of rebelliousness flashing in his eyes, "Why must I stand vigil for him?" Joffrey asked with a sneer on his lips.

Giving in to temptation, a solid smack is heard as I cup the idiot over the ear. "You are not standing vigil for a dead man, you fool," I berate the moron as he gingerly rubs his ear. "You are standing vigil for your reputation and for your father."

At the mention of the king, Joffrey stops nursing his ear and looks at me again. "My father?" Joffrey questions.

"The king left the Red Keep two hours ago to stand vigil for Lord Arryn," I inform the prince. "You will go to the sept and relieve your father of his watch over a man he seen as his father." Narrowing my eyes and giving Joffrey a hard stare, "I don't care what you think or how you feel about Jon Arryn. You will carry yourself with grace and speak respectfully of the deceased to your father," I command with a promise of pain in my words.

Joffrey quickly nodded his head in agreement. He is well aware of my willingness to bring him pain and suffering.

"Good," I said as I relax my stare. "Your father may not voice it, but your actions today will buy you a great deal of pride and respect. Don't waste this opportunity, boy," I say as I turn and walk away.

I think about my conversation with Joffrey as I traverse the halls of the Red Keep. Is Joffrey viewing everyone around him as tools for him to use any better than his unchecked cruelty? Only time will tell. Luckily, I'll have a massive amount of time with the idiot on our journey to Winterfell.

The swift-moving steps of slippered feet pull me from my thoughts. Turning around, I observe one of Cersei's handmaidens making her way to me.

"My lord," the short brunette said with a curtsy when she reached me. "Her Grace requests your presence, my lord," the young woman said with reddening cheeks.

"Lead the way, my lady," I say to the blushing woman.

As we make our way towards Maegor's Holdfast, a sense of dread builds in my stomach. The king is out of the keep, and the queen wishes to see me. This can't be good.