15 Books and smoke

Getting permission to go to the Reach (not that he needed it, but it made things infinitely easier) proved to be not exactly as hard as he thought.

Robert had just slapped him on the back with a happy smile and wondered out loud if he shouldn't just go with him 'to make sure he was alright', but a glare from literally everyone watching ended that notion. Later, when Joffrey was departing, Robert leaned into his ear and whispered "Doing the eight huh? Gods I'm proud of you boy!" before rubbing his head.

Lewd implications aside, Joffrey had to smile and rush out of the room, to try and hide the tears that ran through his cheeks.

To think he only had to die more than a hundred times to hear those words from the man he had thought his Father for so long…

His mother, on the other hand, had proved much more intractable.

"But I'll be able to sniff out the Hightowers for dissent amongst the Rechmen and—"

"Absolutely not! The Tyrells will--"

And on and on… until…

"Mother… just… let me go okay? It will all be just fine… and… and if you say no again I'll bring out the heavy artillery. You don't want to see the heavy artillery…" he had said dead serious, tired of the arguing.

She had been really angry at that, actually grabbing his ear. "That's it! It's dangerous out there! I will not--" but she was interrupted.

"I'll tell Robert I'm a spawn of incest between you and Unc… how should I call him anyway? Fathuncle Jaime?" he said bitingly.

Cercei dropped him like a hot fire poker, stumbling backwards and holding her mouth in shock.

"I'll take it I can go then" he said, as he smoothed his doublet and stalked off. Confronting her like that, especially with that little factlet… it always left a sour taste on his mouth, along with a truly foul mood.

Convincing Jon, it turns out, had been much harder. He had been stubborn as a mule, unwilling to abandon his deluded dream of joining the Night's Watch to guard against grumkins and snarks as Tyrion frequently said, not even temporarily. In the end, after much teasing, cajoling and the promise of a thousand swords for the Watch, he managed to convince him to live his life for a year before tossing it away. The Wall would still be standing there after all.

Sansa of course would have been happy to go with him, but one startled glare from Ned had deflated her immediately, and that was that.

Tyrion of course had been waiting him with his bags ready, not even waiting for Joffrey to say anything as he nodded briskly and mounted his horse with the help of a small ladder.

"Lets go, the morning waits for no one!" he said as he rode off.

Joffrey had followed him on his own horse, assaulted by a sudden suspicion.

"…. Uncle… what did you do?" he asked as he catch up, the startled Jon and Clegane not far behind him.

"I had no choice! I couldn't very well take a wagon full of lemons with me could I? We'd take months just getting to the Reach!" he said cheerily.

"Oh Gods… Where did you leave them all?" asked Joffrey, dreading the answer.

"Why, on Lady Stark's chambers of course!" he laughed as he stirred his mount again.

"What's the rush!?" shouted the Hound as him and Jon finally caught up with Joffrey.

"RIDE YOU FOOLS!" screamed Joffrey before his horse suddenly sped forward, as if the Stranger himself was on his trail.

The Hound was flabbergasted as he digested that, but Jon had learned his lesson last time and quickly followed, leaving Clegane behind and coughing off the dust.

"I swear the little shit---" he was interrupted by an uncontrolled roar of rage, as if some inner patience had been finally defeated.

The Hound dashed after the newly minted fugitives from Tully Justice.

-.PD.-

They made painfully slow progress first through the Riverlands, then the Westerlands and later through the Northern Reach, being hosted for a feast at every. Single. Nook and Cranny along the Roseroad. It got a bit ridiculous how every single lord he passed through road or keep tried to foist his daughter into him.

He just thanked the gods he hadn't thought about doing this in his first few lives.

Tyrion must have been enjoying the best days of his life, taking advantage of the frequent stops to work his evil wills on the general female populace, while paradoxically the Hound sweated like a pig trying to keep them all from trouble. Jon was thoroughly out of his depth, just taking in the sights and asking about anything and everything.

It had all been a great bonding experience for all of them, so much so that in one of the much more entertaining campfire nights, when they talked and laughed free of the meddling noses of Westerosi Nobilty, with only the stars and the fire to keep them company, Joffrey had made a proclamation.

Somewhere on the Ocean Road, after one too many cups Joffrey had drunkenly stood up and asked for quiet around the campfire, before stumbling down and promptly getting back up again.

"Mind the rocks Joffrey, FOOTWORK! When will you learn!?" roared the Hound as he laughed and the Imp stealthily stole his wineskin from beside him.

"Right! Quiet! I have a proclamation to make!" he announced, swaying from one side to the other. "You lot are… some of the best… friends I've ever… EVER seen, we are all just, y'know, travelling the Kingdoooomss—"

"Bedding some whores!" shouted Tyrion, only to be slapped in the head by Jon.

"Eating ALL the chicken legs!" shouted the Hound.

Jon laughed, "Come on let him finish or we'll be here forever!"

"Right, so, we, men who are nothing, make up a worthier bunch than any gaggle of asshole Knights!" Joffrey announced. "You are the scarred dog that wont accept a proper knightly title! And you Uncle are a halfman!" he slurred.

"Thank you Ser Obvious! And what are you?" shouted the Imp, as he tried to contain his amusement. "I was getting there! Right, Jon's the literal Bastard, obviously. And I, of course, am the stupidest, most imbecilic son of a whore to have ever been born! And so, because I'm a royal brat and can do whatever I want, do so proclaim us the Broken Knights!" he said as he raised his own wineskin to the night sky.

A whole lot of shouts of approval met him, and they spent the rest of the night in merriment.

In the morning, as Joffrey slumbered and the Hound was off searching for wood, Jon looked at Tyrion quizzically.

"Tyrion, why does Joffrey think so low of himself? In the time I've met him I've never seen him as such. He's many things, but he's not exactly stupid" he asked the imp.

Tyrion thoughtfully poked the fizzing fire with a stick, staring hard at it. "He doesn't show it very often, but my nephew is certain he's the second coming of Aeyris, mixed with that stable hand you got up in Winterfell" he mused out loud.

"What? You mean Hodor? Why would he think that?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, him" Said Tyrion as he looked at Joffrey, making sure he was still sleeping. He nodded before continuing in whispers. "And to tell you the truth, if you had asked me back before we left King's Landing I would have not disagreed, most likely"

"What?!" Jon stared.

"I know. But something changed, changed big. You know what happened about, hmm two days after your namesake, Jon Arryn, died?" he asked Jon.

Tyrion continued as Jon shook his head. "He made a tantrum. You could hear the screams throughout the whole Keep, ranting and raving about having to go meet the filthy northern savages and their trees, amongst other things."

Jon was nonplussed. "I can't even imagine him doing that! I think he loves the Weirwoods more than my Father…" he said, vaguely scandalized.

"I know! And then, the next morning a different person came out of his room. Well, obviously not another person, it was obvious it was still Joffrey, but his eyes… his entire mannerisms, the way he walked and talked and laughed. It was as if he had matured ten years in his sleep. And that's leaving out all the other strange things. The last time I had seen Joffrey fight before Winterfell had been a year ago when Robert had finally managed to get him back to the training yard with a sword" the imp said.

"And?" asked Jon, thoroughly intrigued as he scratched a gangly, sleepy Ghost in the ears.

"He lasted 10 seconds. Went crying to his Mother and that was it. Then, 3 months ago out of nowhere my nephew is a competent spear fighter and even better with a sword, spinning and dodging about like he'd been doing it for years. A week ago, back in Lannisport I saw him haggling in Pentoshi for some pieces of bone, which he later used to carve animals and constellations on. Apparently he has at least one new hobby that he at least knows the basics of!" Said Tyrion, eyes slightly wild. "It's like a vexing riddle that can't get solved! At first I thought it was all part of a big prank, so I just played along. But no way he could be that patient. I briefly considered the more esoteric options, like him being replaced by a Faceless Man, but it just doesn't fit either! Why would an elite assassin like that break character in such obvious ways!" he whispered fiercely, before gazing back at Joffrey's sleeping form.

"Not that I don't like the change. Believe me the old Joffrey was a real asshole. New Joffrey is just an all-around fun and even kind person to have around, it's just that the why and how of the thing have me running in circles. And now… well, shore up relations in the Westerlands my ass! He's making a beeline for Oldtown, in search of Gods know what…" he shook his head as Jon tried to digest the whole revelation.

"So… about Aerys and Hodor…?" asked Jon.

"That's the thing, its as if he still thought of himself that way, but didn't realize he's completely different from what he used to be… but.. not?" Said Tyrion, shrugging and looking exasperated.

"Different from what?" thundered the Hound as he dropped a load of wood right next to them. Joffrey suddenly leapt out of the floor, arming sword in one hand and bone tablet on the other, blinking blearily as he looked all around him.

"By the Gods Clegane, please don't do that again!" He said as he collapsed back into the floor, rubbing his head.

"Gods… how much did we drink last night? I need water…" he said, looking about, only to see both Jon and Tyrion looking thoughtfully at him.

"What?" he asked, confused.

-.PD.-

The feastings and fake pleasantries had gotten ridiculous, and one day Joffrey had brutally reigned in his horse as the next Castle came into view. A tall and wide sprawling of bushes, trees and roses that surrounded a beautiful Castle-Palace, flanked by the Mander.

Highgarden, seat of the Tyrells, the Lords Paramount of the Reach. A hive of flattery and intrigue, of fake perfumes that hid poisons.

…

Nope.

-.PD.-

They dumped the banners and the fine clothing. Four more random travelers (and their dog) that sneaked right under the Tyrell's noses.

They made much faster progress after that, reaching Oldtown within days…

And what a sight it was.

The city was massive, truly the biggest he had ever seen in Westeros. According to the Maesters it was not only the biggest, but also the oldest city in the continent, founded by the First Men themselves, or maybe even earlier. The city sprawled across the Honeywine, even more chaotic than King's Landing, its twisting alleyways and smaller streets crowded but somehow free of the horrible stench of King's Landing.

As Joffrey and friends lost themselves in the city, taking in the sights, he couldn't help but be envious of it. Having lived in King's Landing his whole life, he could safely say that at least at first glance, the city looked a lot more cared for.

He frequently saw the City Watch patrolling the streets, keeping the law and clubbing anyone who disagreed. The streets were a lot cleaner, and the people themselves seemed a lot more prosperous than the smallfolk of Kings' Landing. Sure, he couldn't see the flagrant wealth of the Street of Silk or other very prosperous neighborhoods, but in average, he could see the people over here seemed slightly better cared for, and the City's mood seemed the better for it.

They soon found a place to relax for a while, trying to massage the cramps that had developed over their days of hard riding. They sat in an open aired tavern, full of people enjoying the clear afternoon. Above him Joffrey could see crisscrossing lines of banners and small triangular ship weather flags, probably left there by any number crews to show their appreciation. They gave the Understar a vaguely carnivalsesque, cheery atmosphere as patrons arrived or departed through the doorless street entrance or through small ships that frequently travelled up and down the Honeywine, kind of like Braavosi gondolas, only bigger and carrying small sails.

In the distance he could see the High Tower, rising from the city like one giant grey obelisk to dominate all else around it except for the Starry Sept itself, which was a small behemoth on its own right, a mix of black marble and beautifully arched windows.

"First timers huh?" Asked the serving girl as she appeared from behind them and twirled the Hound's hair.

Joffrey was nonplussed for a second before nodding, "Yeah. I'd have a round of your strongest Ale's" he said, before looking at the Hound and a pouting Tyrion. "Fine, add a plate of chicken legs… and an Arbor Red" he said.

"Okay, I'll be right back, in the meanwhile enjoy the show!" she said as she departed, leaving one of her hands just a second too long on the Hound's shoulder.

"… I think you've got an admirer" Said Tyrion, smirking.

"Bah! Must have confused me with someone else in the dark" he said, shaking his head.

"I don't think so… Anyway, what show was she talking about, I don't see any stands or cleared spots, unless they are going to do something in the river?" Jon said, looking around the place. The tables were full as the sun finally hid behind the aptly named Sunset Sea, the darkness slowly enveloping the city.

"I don't know" said the Hound, "But you'd think they would leave a couple more candles out here, soon you will barely be able to see the next table depending on the moon…" he said.

They spent a few minutes in silence, looking above and gazing at the star vaulted sky, a new star adorning the great dark blue mantle every time Joffrey blinked.

The slowly encroaching darkness was suddenly stilled by a distant light, which seemed to be growing in size.

"Is… is that…" muttered Joffrey.

"The High Tower" muttered the Hound as the huge flames atop the tower continued to rise, each one bigger than the last as it seemed to grow and grow and grow.

In a matter of minutes the entire city had been somewhat illuminated, providing a beacon to guide drunken commoners, steady sailors and high lords equally. The light was not all that strong, but in the middle of the night Joffrey could see it made a huge difference, even making the city feel a bit safer in the midst of the encroaching night. The spectacle was made even better when the pretty waitress arrived with the food and drinks, again brushing the Hound's hair almost absentmindedly as she turned and leaved.

"Unbelievable…" muttered Jon, by far the most entranced by the sight of the giant lighthouse-fortress. Tyrion, on the other hand, was making faces and getting laughs out of a rare group of armed and dangerous looking female sailors, who were now visible on a nearby table thanks to the light.

"Tyrion… I think those are pirates" Said Joffrey, worrying about the gleam on his uncle's eye.

"Aahh… That just makes it better" he said to Joffrey, but winked at the women, which of course caused them to laugh and blush.

"Your Uncle must have some sort of black magic working for him…" muttered Jon as he shook his head.

"We all have our talents Jon, and I think the broody, 'I'm a soul to be fixed' look is not entirely without merit, if the leftmost one clad with the double short swords is any guess" Said Joffrey cheekily.

Jon harrumphed in negation but quickly blushed after he sneak peaked at the one Joffrey had mentioned, and saw her staring fixedly at him while she caressed the pommel of one of her shortswords, her fingers tracing… interesting… patterns on the hilt.

"T-the members of the Night's Watch can bear no family" he recited as if from memory.

"But you are not exactly a member of the Night's Watch, are you now, eh Jon?" said Joffrey with an evil grin.

"Ah, no… b-but" He was suddenly filled with an inner steel. "I will sire no bastards" he whispered with conviction.

"Oh please, and you think they want to? What exactly is a pregnant probable pirate woman supposed to do on a ship? Look alive Jon, Moon Tea has been a thing for at least a million years" Joffrey said, fondly patting Jon on the shoulder as his sudden inner steel crumpled and he was blushing all over, looking red and vaguely horrified as her hand left the shortsword's pommel and started fondly rubbing the head of a small, gangly direwolf.

"Ghost!" strangled Jon, looking under the table and finding out his canine companion had indeed deserted his side. He was looking at Jon as if amused, head slightly tilted to the side and tongue lolling out in pure bliss as the woman positively massaged the happy direwolf's furry head.

"Gods, that's so wrong" said Joffrey, smirk threatening to go out of control.

"But so right" whispered Tyrion.

"What about you, eh Kid? They don't seem interested in me but I can see at least three that are eating you up harder than this chicken leg" said the Hound with a smirk as he tore off another bite.

Another burst of fond satisfaction took ahold of Joffrey as he heard Clegane call him kid. That one had taking him by surprise a few weeks ago… it really showed him how even the most weird or ambivalent relationships he had formed throughout his first life could be fixed for the better, if he worked for it.

It gave him an unrealistic hope that someday he would find the way to fix his relationship with his siblings.

"What, me? You must be delusional. Besides, none of them is the one" he said with conviction as he shook his head.

"The one?! When did you turn into such a romantic, nephew?" asked the Imp, thoroughly offended.

Joffrey just chuckled. "In my sleep Uncle… in my sleep" he said as he stood up.

"And... how will you know?" asked a suspiciously interested Jon.

"I'll just know" he responded immediately.

Apparently. Where did that confidence come from anyway?

He shook his head once more and stretched his arms. "Besides, I've got a whole new city to explore" he said as he nodded and walked away.

"And we've got work to do" said Tyrion as he stood up and grabbed Jon's wrist, walking with a beatific smile towards the other table like the cat that got the mouse.

The Hound just laughed and shook his head as the imp introduced both of them and shortsword girl started massaging Ghost's head with both hands.

"They left you here all alone? We can't have that…" whispered the serving girl as she appeared from shadows, behind Clegane.

The Hound raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm not the kind of man you'd like, pretty bird" he told her as he tilted his head a bit, so she could see his burnt face in the pale light of the Hightower.

"Oh but I like them rough" she said as she left her tray on the table.

The Hound gulped.

-.PD.-

Joffrey, sometimes alone, other times with one of his friends, would often explore the city, travelling through hooked alleyways and cramped streets. Sometimes he'd take the Honeywine and follow it to the sea, eating various Reacher dishes and fine wines in the city's harbor. Other times he'd visit the great Starry Sept, and contemplate the beautiful stained glass that adorned its great arched windows.

Soon enough though, he knew he had to continue with his original mission.

To find the true meaning of the tablet. And that meant visiting the Citadel.

He had found a mixed reception in the complex of buildings clustered around a section of the Honeywine. They were, of course, pleased that a Prince of the Realm was interested in them and their learning, but on the other hand they seemed slightly anxious about the Royal scrutiny.

Joffrey couldn't blame them. It must be pretty comfortable for them, to be generally away from the intrigue of the capital and only engage at it when they chose to. And now comes the royal brat with who knows what agenda?

He couldn't care less anyway. After much cajoling, threatening and begging he had been able to grab a hold of half a dozen acolytes to do his bidding for a few months, months he had spent to the fullest, searching through the Citadel's numerous libraries and repositories in search of clues.

Any clue.

Unfortunately, it had proven a failure. Or rather, the task had been a little more complicated than he'd thought.

"Aurgh…" he grumbled as he closed the heavy tome with a snap, startling a few of the acolytes around him that had been tirelessly looking for any vague description of the rune he'd shown them.

Tyrion had decided to lend him his head after he'd seen Joffrey grumbling about runes and bones in his sleep like some kind of madman, and the Hound of course had to 'keep an eye on him' so he didn't end up in any trouble.

"Still nothing?" asked Tyrion, raising his head from another dusty tome.

"Volumes one to thirteen of Archmaester Gorrion's 'On Westerosi Ancient Cultures' has nothing… absolutely nothing. What about you?" Joffrey asked.

"The descriptions of Old Braavos are nice, but it seems their written Valyrian was not even similar to the rune, or whatever that thing is" said Tyrion.

They must have searched less than 1 percent of the entire complex, and Joffrey was already tearing his hair out. Hours and hours, weeks of sitting through dusty tomes and stained parchment and he hadn't even been able to narrow down his search. He'd been getting slower and less concentrated the more time he spent there too… he was thinking he needed to vary the research with some kind of more practical projects, as usual.

Jon and Ghost had not been as helpful as Tyrion, but Jon had helped to, at least, clear the useless books. He knew how to handle himself in a library thanks to the many hours he had spent in Winterfell reading about many things (there were not exactly many things to do when there was a heavy snow storm outside and your stepmother was in a particularly foul mood that day.)

He was asleep over a thick tome about, of course, the Night's Watch, Ghost wrapped around his feet and as asleep as his master.

Joffrey took a drink from a nearby cup of watered wine as he wiped a bit of filth off his eyes.

"I think I'm going to do some more carving Uncle, this is getting nowhere" he said as he closed the book. He briefly looked at another book he had by his side, half opened. To call it a clue would have been generous, but…

They were the mind dumbing ramblings of a Maester that studied linguistics, of all things. In one part, he spoke about the first men runes, but that had not been what interested Joffrey. No, it was a very brief mention about something else, a myth of the First Men. Apparently, the magical runes and wards they built and used were nothing but the faintest of sketches compared to the 'Words of the Old Gods'. These ancient scripts, now lost to man, were said to have been the way in which the Old Gods influenced the world, meanings and commands given physical form.

Of course, all examples of said mythical language had disappeared millennia ago. Their 'interesting' linguistic connotations had been the only reason the Maester had written about a dead legend now forgotten apparently even amongst the surviving First Men.

It was a stretch, but…

Could the tablet be a way the Old Gods are using to communicate with me?

It didn't make sense though. One would think beings as supposedly powerful as the Old Gods would be more effective at communicating with him… that would have been appreciated in his first life… or hell any one after that.

If indeed that was what it was. After all, the legend did not even hint at the strange connection he shared with the Whalebone Tablet, and that struck him as a pretty important piece of information that would get repeated or recorded. He'd given up on testing the range of his strange, uncanny intuition when he' had Jon hide it on the other side of the city.

Jon might as well have constructed a second Hightower where he left the tablet, blazing beacon and all, and it wouldn't have made any difference to Joffrey. He just knew where it was, instinctively, if he just listened.

He took a deep breath as he sighted again. This would take longer that he thought.

"I'm going to get my tools, call for me if--" he started, but he was interrupted by a loud growl from Ghost.

The direwolf was now the size of an adult dog, and he was staring intently at the door to the little study they had conquered. Jon raised his head groggily and petted Ghost's head as he tried to make a sense of his surroundings.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled as he massaged his face. "Gods, some books can make even the best of subjects a godsaweful mud tread" he said as he stretched and several of the nearby acolytes discreetly moved away from Ghost.

Ghost was now on his haunches, and his growl had not diminished. In fact it was even stronger now, his teeth bared and his fur standing on end.

"Jon. I think something's wrong with your 'dog'. You sure you fed him?" asked Joffrey, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes yes" he said as he stood up and petted Ghost in the head. "Ghost! What's the matter boy? What's the matter?" he asked as he stared quizzically at the door.

"I don't think he's going to answer you" quipped Tyrion as he plopped down from his chair.

Jon rolled his eyes. "That's not--"

TOCK-TOCK-TOCK.

Everyone jumped when someone knocked on the door, and stared at each other for a second…

Then bursted out chuckling.

"You can't growl at anyone that comes to the room, Ghost" said Joffrey as he gazed meaningfully at the dumb wolf. Ghost didn't care though, he was poised as if ready to jump and tear the wooden door to pieces.

Joffrey just rolled his eyes. "What is it?" he shouted as he stashed his books on his backpack. He'd return them on the way out.

"Prince Joffrey? An urgent rider has arrived from your Grandfather that needs your presence" said a voice from the other side of the door.

"Maybe the pup thinks horses are tasty?" the Hound said dryly as he moved to open the door.

The spittle and pure hate that Ghost seemed to be emanating made Joffrey a little queasy.

"Clegane? Just a moment" muttered Joffrey as he raised his hand.

"Of course, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" asked Joffrey out loud.

"My Prince, the messenger has ridden all the way from the Westerlands, you must see him at once!" said the voice, slightly agitated.

"Why would they not just send a raven? Maybe it's too important?" pondered Tyrion. Jon was petting Ghost harder now, himself a bit agitated.

"I asked you a simple question, my good man. Surely you would spare such a simple courtesy to a Prince of the Realm" asked Joffrey, using his mother-taught courtly manners usefully for what he thought must be the first time in his life.

The voice seemed to hesitate for a second or two before answering. "It's Ser Elmar, My Prince. Captain of the Eastern Gate" he said.

"Any rider from the Westerlands would have arrived through the North Gate, not the East" Tyrion observed quickly. "Then why send someone from the East Gate?" pondered the Hound as he made sure the small, almost ceremonial bar was still in place on the door.

There was silence after that for a few seconds.

Joffrey stood still for a second, thinking. Nakaro, Art and a ghostly Clegane were all shouting on his head that this smelt of a setup, a trap.

Damnit what would they do if its true?! Think, think!

"Ser Elmar, if you would humor me, from what House do you hail from?" asked Joffrey as he quick walked towards the heavy oaken tables that flanked the door, gesturing at Jon and Clegane.

"Tyrion, check the window" he told his uncle as he moved the table just to the side of the door.

"My House-? Prince Joffrey, the message--"

"Yes, what House Ser Elmar! Are you deaf? Or perhaps just a simpleton? Incapable of answering simple questions?!" Joffrey said scathingly as him, Jon and the Hound pulled the table with all their strength, flipping it and leaving it just to the side and perpendicular to the door.

"House Tyrell, My Prince! House Tyrell!" shouted Ser Elmar angrily from the other side of the door.

"There's your answer Clegane" Joffrey said as they finished moving the other table. Now both flipped tables made a 5 meter corridor between themselves, bottling the entrance to the room.

"There's at least twenty Tyrell Armsemen surrounding this wing! And they don't look like an honor guard!" shouted Tyrion from the window.

They'll rush us hard, we need to box them in so they can only come in one, two at a time, Joffrey thought quickly.

"Clegane, you stand at the end of the 'corridor' and keep them pinned, make use of that plate and your longer reach!" said Joffrey as he dashed to the back of the room and got two swords from their resting place on the wall.

"Prince Joffrey!!! Open the door!!!" Shouted Ser Elmar, the sound of pounding boots getting louder each time.

Joffrey dashed back and tossed the bastard sword to Jon. Both unsheathed them almost at the same time as the door buckled with a large crash.

"Clegane will pin them down at the end of the bottleneck! You and I will engage anyone that passes his guard!" shouted Joffrey as he stood a bit back and to Clegane's right. The Hound gave a half nod as he took out his long sword, waving at the terrified acolytes, "You lot! Go to that corner and stay put if you value your lives!" he told them as they scrammed out of the way.

Jon nodded shakily as he positioned himself to the Hound's left. "Fuck, another river barge just hit the docks, I'm counting eight… fifteen… twenty six arms men" shouted Tyrion.

The door buckled again, the small brass bar bulging from the impact. "OPEN THE DOOR IN THE NAME OF KING RENLY!" shouted another voice from beyond the door, this one far more excited, almost brutal.

"Ah, treason, if you want to assault a Crown Prince why not go all the way?" quipped Tyrion as he nervously stared through the window, occasionally inching a bit outwards to get a better view at something.

"Jon…. Jon!" shouted Joffrey. Jon looked shaken, his face a sheen of sweat as he kept rearranging his grip on the pommel. "Remember the training yard? Jon, remember the yard?" he told him as he grabbed his shoulder.

He nodded shakily, "Good, it's the same thing, just don't stop for anything and keep hitting them till you see their brains!" he shouted in his face as he shook him.

Jon took a deep breath and nodded, looking determined at the door as it buckled again, whining and splintering at the center. "Jon, can Ghost harass anyone trying to cross over the tables? We need to keep em pinned on the bottleneck!" he asked him.

Jon nodded, breathing hard, "Y-yes! Ghost! Come here!" he said, lowering as he grabbed the wolf by its scruff and whispered something into his ears.

"The whole thing will depend on you Clegane! You need to keep em trapped so that Jon and I can kill them!" said Joffrey.

The Hound snorted "Don't worry kid, these summer knights can't tell a sword from a bottle of Arbor Red. Just make sure they don't hit you, you don't have armor" he said seriously.

"Will do, Tyrion! Keep a view out for more reinforcements!" he shouted to his back.

"Got it! It's like counting green and gold sheep but instead of sleeping the reward is not dying!" the half man shouted back, prompting small chuckles and tense half smiles from the group.

Damnit, the imp keeps his wit even in the most terrifying of moments, Joffrey though in envy as he rose his sword to his nose and let the smooth cold steel cool his forehead.

The door buckled brutally one more time, part of it fracturing through the middle, splintering heavily and leaving the brass bar hanging awkwardly from one side only. The crack on the middle revealed the vaguely flat head of a steel tipped handheld ram, already retreating from view.

"The door won't hold another one!" announced the Hound. He cracked his neck sideways, numerous pops resounding from within him as he steadied his feet on the wooden floor. Jon was praying silently to the Old Gods, staring at the door and not moving an inch as Ghost dashed frequently in a semicircular motion, patrolling the perimeter made by the tables and growling almost like a shadowcat. Tyrion kept looking by the window, eyes moving frequently as he silently moved his mouth, thinking and talking to himself.

Joffrey took a slow, deep breath as he closed his eyes.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

He opened them.

The door bent for a fraction of a second before rupturing down the middle, both pieces tumbling to the ground, revealing a huge knight in full plate tossing a handheld ram to the side. Behind him was a smaller, red faced knight who took a quick peak at the room before edging back and waving at the dozen or so Tyrell armsmen that stood behind him.

"Get the Prince and the Imp, alive. Kill the bodyguards" Said the huge knight as both him and the smaller one stepped aside, unleashing a veritable flood of gold and green armsemen.

"WINTERFELL!!!" suddenly shouted Jon as the armsemen rushed the room, pushing and shoving each other as they squeezed through the narrow confines of the makeshift corridor.

Joffrey took air and promptly closed his mouth. He almost shouted out of reflex, but he found out he felt no particular allegiance he felt comfortable enough to proclaim out loud.

For the Seven Kingdoms? Hells Renly could have had the fucking chair if he'd just asked! He thought a bit whimsically before the green tide crashed.

Then there was no more time to think.

There was only enough space for two men to fight at the same time, and the Hound made heavy use of that adavantage. Clad in plate steel armor and with his longer sword, he mainly defended, holding both men in place with his frequent parrying and shoving. He immediately gave a step back, slightly overwhelmed by the force of a dozen or so men pushing from behind, all the while trying to parry the blows from the two front armsmen.

But he bought precious seconds as Joffrey darted in quickly and stabbed through the armpit of the man in front of him, unleashing a torrent of blood as he screamed and fell to the ground. Another one quickly stepped in to take his place, parrying another of Joffrey's blows, and then one from the Hound. He did not parry the third one from Joffrey, who jumped a bit higher and with a quick, controlled thrust pierced his neck on the side, unleashing a pinprick wide spurt as the man tried to hold his neck and fell to the ground.

I just love that move, thank you Braavos, thought Joffrey in a haze as he attacked the next one on the pile.

Several of the enemy armsmen were trying to climb the tall tables, but Ghost was all over them in an instant, blooding hands and faces and making them fall down back on the corridor.

"Like a perfume shop Clegane! Roses come in, smashed pulp comes out!!!" roared Joffrey as he jammed his sword through the lower jaw of an armsmen, the adrenaline making him euphoric. Yes! Tyrion cant be the only one in Team Lannister with the situational quips! He thought as he kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. Gods, I'd give a leg for a spear right now, so much stabbing…

The Hound roared in laughter at the quip as he cleaved in half someone's skull, but that left him vulnerable to a quick swipe by an axeman, denting his plate and leaving blood oozing down his arm.

"Damnit Hound! Forget your instincts, defend only!" shouted Joffrey.

"Its harder than it looks damnit!" the Hound grunted as he was forced to take another step back, leaving more space for the Roses.

The fight must have lasted 15 seconds up to that moment, but to Joffrey they felt like half an hour. He risked a quick glance to his left and was alarmed to find Jon bleeding from one arm, a pile of Tyrell armsmen dead in front of him as he still fought.

The last 4 or so soldiers were eying the Hound warily as the huge knight and the small one, which he thought must be Ser Elmar, finally deigned themselves to enter the room.

"THEY'RE JUST TABLES YOU SONS OF WHORES!!!" roared the big knight as he bulled through the left side, smashing the table aside and charging through, followed by Ser Elmar.

"They're flanking us!" shouted Jon as him and Ghost charged at the big knight. "Jon wait!!" shouted Joffrey as he managed to dodge a sword blow, quickly cutting the offending Tyrell hand.

The Hound was now up against the remaining three, bloodied and battered, but he hadn't even slowed down. "Go! I'll hold here!" he shouted at Joffrey.

Joffrey wasted not a second as he run to the left side, were Jon's back was up against a corner, the big knight trapping him. The brute had a big longsword, not quite two handed but still a fearsome weapon. His chest sported a white sun-and-chevron on orange. Must be House Ashford, he thought quickly, for once Grand Maester Pycell's lessons being used for something vaguely useful.

Ghost was snapping and biting at the knight's back, but before he could join him with a stab or four he was shoved hard to the side.

"Drop your sword Prince Joffrey! Before you hurt yourself with it!" shouted Ser Elmar. The impact sent Joffrey tumbling against the wall, knocking the air out of him. However, before Ser Elmar could close in and disarm him, Joffrey leapt back up, sword swinging in for slash at the man's neck. He wasn't expecting that, going by the panicked expression on his face as he barely parried and stood back, now clearly sizing him up as an opponent.

"Drop your sword and your person will not suffer any more harm!" shouted Ser Elmar.

"You think I care?! Out of the way!" he shouted as went into a whirlwind of stabs, searching for the weakspots on the plate. It occurred to him that this was the first time he fought to the death with a Knight.

Ser Elmar parried them, taken off balance by the unusual style. But soon he started to go for the kill, his life more important right now than whatever riches or tortures House Tyrell as a whole had promised him. He slashed to the side, and Joffrey whirled to the other one. Joffrey countered with a cut that dented Ser Elmar's gauntlet and likely broke some fingers, only to bend down and let a horizontal slash sail by above his head.

FOOTWORK! Thundered the Hound inside his skull.

He bent his knees and leaned forward, and when the next attack came he just ducked as he jumped forwards, tip of his sword slamming under Ser Elmar's jaw and almost coming out from the top of his skull.

Ser Elmar dropped his sword as he tried for a second or two to grab the sword that killed him, but soon after that he started to convulse, coming down on the floor and shaking like a man possessed.

Joffrey felt bile rising from his throat, but managed to keep it in as he remembered what he had to do. He looked back at Jon and prepared to skewer the Ashford Asshole through the.. back..

No…

Ghost was to the side, belly open from neck to legs, eyes still fixed on Jon.

… And Jon…

He was on the floor, back leaning on the wall, his sword discarded and a river of blood slowly coming out of his mouth. His eyes were closed.

The knight stepped back from his work to look at him, a huge smile on his face. "I see you were underestimated, your highness." He said with a rumbling chuckle as he walked towards Joffrey.

"A good enough showing, I reckon. But its over. You should drop that ---"

The brute's rambling slowly zoned out of Joffrey's mind, replaced by a steadily louder and louder chime. The white noise drowned every other sound in the room as Joffrey's hands stopped shaking and he calmly walked towards the knight. He tried to pommel Joffrey in the head, but Joffrey craned his neck just right and dodged the blow, brutally stabbing Knight with all his force. The blow didn't puncture the steel plate, but the man did stumble back, pained. He slashed at Joffrey but he dodged again, sword delivering a thundering crack on the man's sword hand, breaking bone. As he dropped his sword Joffrey followed up with a blow to the other hand, barely finding the joint in the armor and rupturing his lower wrist.

The knight clutched his hands as he tried to bull charge Joffrey, but he just stepped to the side and delivered a slash to the man's hip, making him stumble to the ground.

And then Joffrey was upon him.

First he reduced his hands to pulp, so he couldn't fight back, then his legs. He was lightning quick, his hand like a ship's pump, up and down, up and down as the Knight mouthed the same word again and again, but Joffrey couldn't hear him.

He felt… so…good. He smiled as he admired the pattern the blood he'd left on the ground, in his hands---

"—rey! Nephew!!! Joffrey!" shouted someone suddenly in his ear.

He shook his head as he regained his bearings. Tyrion was shaking him, eyes filled with fear and despair. "He's dead! Another boatload of Tyrells arrived half a minute ago, we got to go!" he shouted in his face.

Joffrey stared at him dumbly before gazing back at the… thing he was astride in.

He was sitting on top of the remains of Ser Ashford. Joffrey still had his bloodied sword, which appeared to be in the midst of another cut.

He stumbled back, empting his stomach on the wooden floor. Gods not again… later… think later…

He stood up as he scanned the room again. The Hound was on one knee in the floor, using his sword as a walking stick as he tried to get up, bleeding from multiple wounds. "Go help Sandor!" he told the Imp as he pushed him that way.

Joffrey himself stumbled towards Jon, who was now laying sideways on the floor. He propped him up, leaning his back against the wall once again. Before he could do anything else, his eyes snapped open, the gurgling blood still coming out from his mouth. "Jon! Jon!!! Hold on, wait ---I-" Joffrey mumbled, looking helplessly at the brutal stab that Jon sported on his chest.

Should have studied medicine-should have studied medicine-should have studied medicine-should have studied medicine---

Jon gurgled something, mouth moving as barely a sound came out. "r—br..ts…"

"What!? Jon?!" screamed Joffrey helplessly.

"Br…" he seemed to take a big, harrowing breath, eyes completely wide in delirium as a small, bloody smile emerged. "Brokheeenn…. Knightssss….." he whispered with his last breath.

Joffrey let out a shrill, shuddering scream as he shook Jon again and again, but no other words came from him, only blood. So much blood…

Joffrey almost jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "We need to go" whispered Tyrion sadly, the Hound limping beside him.

Joffrey stood almost drunkenly, before grabbing his sword and taking a deep breath. "Right… lets… lets go…" he said.

They stepped over the bodies of their slain enemies, exciting the study that now reeked of death. The hurried through multiple corridors, following the Imp as he led them to where he thought there would be the least resistance.

Soon they started hearing pounding footsteps behind them.

The Hound was pale and leaving a trail of blood when he suddenly stopped. "I'm just slowing you down, go!" he said as he leaned on the wall and rose his sword back to a guard position.

"Absolutely not! Clegane, we will need all the help we can--" Joffrey explained as rationally as he could when he was interrupted by a grunt.

"We both know that's a load of bollocks. You and the Imp can outrun them. I'll buy you time" he said, a calm certainty enveloping him like a mantle.

"Sandor please--!"

"Ha! You never call me Sandor. Go on Prince Joffrey, live well." He said as he pushed him back and started limping towards the pursuing armsmen, a couple of which they could see at the end of the corridor. "Come taste a broken knight, eh you sons of whores?!" the Hound roared.

Joffrey kept running against his will, the sound of battle slowly fading as they dropped through a set of stairs and excited to the Citadel's south river harbor.

He felt hollow as Tyrion and him run out of the building, down a set of open aired stairs and unto a small stone plaza just before the small pier with a few rowboats tied next to it.

They were on the middle of it when Tyrell armsmen sprinted in from the sides and a rowboat full of crossbowmen docked at the small pier.

A Knight in stripped black and yellow heraldry with three beehives centered on his shield stepped forward.

"Prince Joffrey and Lord Tyrion! Lay down your swords now! There is no need for further bloodshed today!" he shouted, apparently honestly.

Enough bloodshed?! I'll show em bloodshed… I'll turn the Honeywine red before the dogs take me down!!!

Joffrey was ready to leap at them with a roar when he remembered his uncle. He was constantly switching places to look at, tightly clutching a dagger and keeping up a continuous narrative for Joffrey's benefit, telling him about possible alleyways and strategies ranging from turning back to the building to making a run for the Honeywine and jumping in. Of course none of them would work, but the imp never gave up. That was one of the things he loved about the bastard.

He just wanted to die, to get rid of this nightmare that had taken over a beautiful and cheerful life… but then he'd be responsible for the death of his uncle. And if he said that didn't matter, then why was there a dark pit in his stomach right now, why was he crying for the death of his friends, if none of their lives mattered at all.

He just wanted to lay down and cry, instead he tossed his sword to the ground.

"Be careful when you give that to Renly, he may confuse which sword he's supposed to swallow" he spat as the weapon clanked on the ground.

…

-.PD.-

The feast, and really the whole of Renly's army had all the hallmarks of the South's pomposity. There he was, a pretender to the Iron throne in the midst of a war, marching at a snail's pace and holding a feast at every stop. A hundred thousand swords they had said in the capital, many years ago. Joffrey wondered if the idiot would-be-king had read Maester Therron's 'War of the Conquest', or hell, any book regarding warcraft.

He wondered if the idiot would-be-king understood the basic concept that a hundred thousand swords where also a hundred thousand mouths. Joffrey had never been (and hoped he never would) on a campaign, but he knew enough to imagine either the 30 mile wide trail of burnt houses and starving smallfolk, or alternatively the chests upon chests of gold being funneled through the army's logistics. Most likely, both were going on right now.

Every day.

Just to please Renly's ego.

Joffrey had never been a defender of the smallfolk, that was for sure. But even he paled at the sheer wastefulness of it all. Renly should be marching towards the Capital like a mine cart with no breaks, forget the feasts and the tourneys.

He played a bit with his food as Renly stood up to give yet another speech, praising his Leal lords yet again for their wisdom and generosity. The honey in his words was so much Joffrey felt he was going to puke.

And they thought--- think he can make a good King?! He thought in disbelief.

He was seated as a 'guest of honor' almost right besides Renly, but Joffrey's part of the table was lower, giving the impression of seniority to Renly. A premeditated stratagem, no doubt. The man himself was now standing up and gesturing with one hand as the guests made appreciative noises, smiling wide and joyfully as Renly bestowed gifts and titles to a handful. Another practice he repeated every. Single. Day.

They'll eat him alive in the Capital, he thought.

Sure, he was a better option than himself, but that was hardly a worthy recommendation. It was of no use being better than the competition if you would still fuck up the kingdoms…

And fuck them he would. He could already see, literally, the way Maergery whispered into his ear, delivering ideas and plans and making him think he'd thought about them in the first place. The queen of thorns was seating discreetly in a nearby but out of the way table, the real master behind the puppet. She was looking directly at Joffrey right now, though.

He stared back at her for a while, until his prolonged hollow stare made her crane her neck innocently, breaking line of sight.

No, if giving gifts and being charming was all it took, Robert would have left the Seven Kingdoms as prosperous and peaceful as they would ever be…

From what he remembered from his first life, all the ones after that and the weeks of feasting that had followed the skirmish at the Citadel, Joffrey felt he could accurately predict what would happen to Renly in King's Landing.

Eaten alive.

He'd grown there after all. Charm could only take you so far, and half the Crownlander Lords would happily smile at his japes as they rearranged the realm at his back. And that was not even counting Baelish, Varys, Tywin and the rest of the freaking realm. Renly thought he had this ruling thing in the pocket, the notion that there were people immune to his wits and charms and perfectly capable of hiding it until the time was right had probably never occurred to him.

As for gifts… well, Robert had been busy for the last twenty years, and he certainly hadn't been ruling. Every time Joffrey passed by the treasury after a new life he was struck by how empty the vault looked. The whole thing actually looked somewhat diminished after he stole his two customary gold bags. He remembered some talk about it from his first life, not the words, but the tone he remembered had been pretty urgent. Or even panicked.

He eyed the knights and lords sitting in the huge tables, laughing and jesting, merry and happy. Where they so entranced by Renly's splendor that they couldn't grasp the consequences? Didn't they understand the war was just the beginning? Didn't they see the path that following this fool would take them down to?! A war of influences between the enormous Reach and the rest of the realm, a broke kingdom--

A shudder run through Joffrey's skin.

…Or do they know? Could they, in fact, be counting on it? Maybe they were just humoring Renly, making him believe he's in charge while the plots amongst them were already underway, happily siphoning off gifts and not caring a whit about what would happen down the road?

Where they the Summer Knights or the Plotting Cabal? He didn't know which one was worst.

In a way, Renly was Sansa's male counterpart. An unfair comparison, sure, as Sansa had a beautiful mind just waiting to breach out, while he was sure Renly had nothing but wine and honey inside him.

And in the end, that was what convinced Joffrey that Renly would not be a good King. It was only an intuition, but one that had been reinforced the more he thought about it and the more he studied Renly. Nobody wanted to speak to the captured soon-to-be-deposed prince, but Joffrey had ears, and he'd sat on every feast since he'd got here.

It was a somewhat amusing and vaguely terrifying thought.

Renly lived in a fairy tale.

Maybe he didn't even realize it, so good was the way his whole vision fit with his personality… but the way he spoke, the things he did even when in a war that would cost him his head if he lost, the frequent gifts and tourneys, the grandiose gestures, the pleasurable smile he wore every time he got to sit on a makeshift throne and play King as he arbitrated a dispute between Lords… the hundreds of silly banners he loved to surround himself with every time he parlayed with another Stormlord, heck even his Kingsguard was special! His 'Rainbow Guard', each one flying a distinct color like an especially bad, silly maiden's tale.

He was the righteous King in Sansa's fairytales, backed by fortune itself to take the throne whenever he pleased, assured that everything would be alright… No wonder he was the first of the 'five kings' to die.

Or maybe I've got it all wrong, I'm clearly no expert in politics, after all.

Maybe I'm an idiot that wouldn't know politics if it stared at him in the face.

Maybe I had too much Arbor Gold while waiting for Renly to finish with his damned speech.

Maybe I'm just chasing my tail while waiting for that imbecilic Fossoway to lean just a tiny… bit… more to the left…

That's it… just a bit more… just one dagger to the throat and I'll be back on my godsforsaken research…

"Not liking the feast, Nephew?" Renly suddenly startled him. He was eying him like a trophy, smiling smugly as the closest lords hushed to see the fake prince (or would it be king?) humiliated. The bastard had been eying him and his wine for hours for some reason.

"I'm not your Nephew!" Joffrey spat against his will. "The only one here that can call me that is gagged and sitting outside, enjoying your grandiosity" he said.

Renly shrugged, slightly raising his hands as if apologetic. "His insults were too much for our exalted company…. But…"

He smiled like the cat that got the sparrow. "Not your Uncle? It's interesting you would say that, because I've heard such slanderous rumors… rumors that it would seem… might put your claim in doubt…" he delivered with perfect timing as there was a lull in the conversation. Now every lord and knight was riveted on both of them, waiting for Joffrey to respond to that.

Joffrey harrumphed… three times in quick succession. Finally he couldn't hold it, and burst out laughing.

"BUAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Joffrey laughed, clutching his belly.

Renly smirked again, though this one looked a tiny bit more forced "I wouldn't find that f--" he tried to say but Joffrey cut him off with another laugh.

"This is what you wanted? All along? You've been dragging me through the Roseroad for ages just to get me drunk enough to slip?!" he asked, dumbfounded.

Renly just opened and closed his mouth for a second, for once not having the right word right away. He would have most likely recovered it in another second, but Joffrey didn't give him the chance.

"You should have just asked! And then leave me the fuck alone!" he said in between a scowl and a giggle.

He stood up "Okay everyone, listen up. I'm a bastard! A pretender! A fake!" he proclaimed.

Everyone was gobsmacked, even the Queen of Thorns, something that gave him quite a bit of satisfaction.

"I hereby renounce to any claim I may have on the Iron throne! Good on you Renly! Sadly though I don't think Stannis is a bastard too, so no luck on your claim" he said as he gulped what was left of the Arbor Red.

"I d-"

"You want the fucking throne? You can have it! You can swallow all the swords on the Iron Throne and choke on them!" he yelled.

Come on you apple headed idiot, lean left! Just a bit more!

The dagger was almost upon his hand when suddenly Lady Olenna appeared beside him and gently shoved the Fossoway Knight out of the way. "I think the prince's had a bit too much wine" she said as she gestured at her… bodyguards?

"The hell with the wine! You think you're smart enough to win the game you old crone?! No one can! The game will eat you up and chew out pain and misery as always, along with all the flowers in the Reach! Let me go damnit! You're all leisurely marching to a perfume shop you idiots, flowers—come—in… pulped.... people come out!!!" Joffrey's ramblings diminished as he was forcibly carried away.

Renly sat in silence, slowly shaking his head in incomprehension. Then, as if a spark had lighted up inside his head and the world was suddenly filled again with light and colors, he smiled. The correct words reached him.

"Another proof of the quality of men in King's Landing, they can't hold their wine!" he said as the lords and knights raised their cups in cheer. "Not like us!" he said as he raised his. "For King Renly!" shouted one before drinking, quickly followed by the others. "King Renly! King Renly! King Renly!" they cheered as Renly let out a joyful smile.

-.PD.-

The pace had picked just a tiny bit after his outburst, but it was still pretty much the same leisurely stroll through the Reach and into the Stormlands. The company had improved immeasurably though, now he ate with the imp in a medium sized storage tent nearby Renly's own.

It had been worth it.

He tore off another chunk of stale bread and munched methodically. If Renly thought he was going to somehow break him with bad food, he had another thing coming. He'd eaten almost-raw whale meat for more than six months, he had started to consider bread a rare delicacy after that particular life.

He was musing about how much damage he could inflict on himself (and the amount of pain he'd had to withstand) with the pewter spoon they'd given him, and if that'd be enough to kill him before they got to him, before his uncle interrupted his chain of thought.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I said Renly must have blown Stannis off, by the way both sides reacted" he said.

"I guess, he did… Argh! Tyrion!!!" he shouted as he smacked his head, just then processing the double entendre. "You have a dirty mind, nephew." The imp said cheekily.

It was late at night, and Stannis and Renly had parlayed a few hours ago. The whole camp had been on edge since then. A confident edge, but nervous all the same.

Renly had brought his entire army with him, trying to relieve Storm's End from Stannis's siege. The parlay had been a failure, or at least those were the rumors around the camp. It seemed that battle was inevitable. He wondered how Renly rationalized his decision to basically jump his brother in the succession and possibly kill him tomorrow, with his grandiose and generous persona.

The whole thing was probably an act anyway.

He continued eating the broth and bread, thinking about what to do when this life was finally over. He'd have to mix up more practical projects with his investigation, otherwise he'd die of boredom and get nowhere.

He was thinking about that nice book about the construction of the Hightower he'd started reading before the whole thing went to hell, when a shrill roar cut through the air.

Joffrey and Tyrion stopped eating as they strained to hear anything else.

Quiet.

Then, madness.

The noise gradually rose in intensity as pounding boots on mud and calls for a maester were heard all throughout the camp.

Joffrey finally couldn't resist it anymore and walked out of the tent, bowl still in one hand.

He was nonplussed at the scene, a vaguely surreal feeling at the strangeness of it. The torches cast a macabre light on a circle of people, all watching in horror or crying. At the center was Ser Robar Royce 'the red' of Renly's ridiculous 'Rainbow Guard'. He was on top of his naked Lord Commander, Ser Loras Tyrell, absolutely destroying his face with his gauntleted fists.

"How could you!? By the Seven Above how could you!?" roared Ser Robar as his fists kept pumping, shattering Ser Loras's face again and again. "He was our King! And you killed him! Why?! Oh why?!?" he screamed as he kept punching him, clearly having lost all control.

"By the Old Gods!" shouted Joffrey, the Lord's and Knights around him jumping.

"He's going to kill him! You! Help your Lord Commander!" he shouted at the blue one, couldn't remember his name. He had been staring at the tent entrance in some kind of trance before snapping out of it and hauling Ser Robar away with superior strength.

Then it was like as if a spell had been broken. The Lord's and Knight's all started to give out contradicting orders, shouting and gesticulating, generating even more chaos.

Joffrey stopped cold at one word though.

"Shadow…. Shadow… shhss… shadow…" mumbled Loras again and again as he was hauled up by a couple of knights and taken away.

Shadow…

It was ridiculous.

It had to be.

But more than three lifetimes? The same godsdamned rumor?! And now at first hand!?

It's impossible!

Joffrey was in a daze as he walked out almost without seeing, entering a big tent in front of Renly's, filled with maps and symbols.

Stannis turning into a shadow daemon?! Stannis Baratheon a shadow daemon?!

He sat in one of the chairs at the back, shaking his head.

Stranger than an immortal Prince Joffrey living his life again and again…? Whispered a corner of his mind.

…

"Oh… fuck…" he whispered.

He just sat there, trying to digest that idea.

There's no way to be sure, but maybe the rumors were unto something…

He kept eating the broth out of reflex. Out there in the seas one ate whenever a meal presented itself.

He was vaguely aware of a duo of voices discussing agitatedly.

"By dawn the whole army will have melted into infighting!" said someone.

"That's why the time to act is now! Act now and save your family, Because Stannis will have no mercy" said another voice, vaguely familiar.

"This whole scheme sounds suspiciously planned, Lord Baelish. My grandson would have never hurt Renly…" said… Olenna?

He recognized that other voice, that slimy bastard! Littlefinger!

… But that meant…

Oh no…

"Be as it may, there is only one choice unless you want to plant your head on a pike be it either on Dragonstone or Casterly Rock. Fortunately for both of us--" said Baelish as him and Lady Olenna entered the tent.

"Absolutely not! No way!" said Joffrey as he stood up, frantically searching for an exit behind him.

There was no way Baelish knew he was in this particular tent, but his surprise lasted less than a second as he continued as if the whole thing had been planned. "--you have a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms right here!" he said as pointed at Joffrey with both hands, palms open.

"There is absolutely no way I will consent to this" Joffrey said, dead serious.

-.PD.-

The whole feast had a vaguely surreal feeling, something that had become somewhat common during the last day. The occasional empty seats, denoting the Lords and Knights that had deserted to Stannis or failed and fallen into the justice of Lord Tarly were a harrowing reminder of what exactly the stakes were. The Summer Knights were smelling winter, and they hadn't liked that… not that they had any choice.

When the whole army failed to simply disintegrate, Stannis had already lost the opportunity for a morning attack. He'd been very confused when, in a new parley attempt, he'd been received with the flags of the Baratheons of King's Landing. Apparently he'd been apoplectic when he heard that instead of defaulting to him, the bulk of the army had proclaimed Joffrey Baratheon as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. The rest of the day had been a series of skirmishes and maneuvers as both sides again sought the better ground, this time it seemed battle would really be inevitable in the morning. To wait any more would only invite more desertions for Stannis.

Not that Joffrey cared, he'd left all the military stuff to Lord Tarly and he was waiting patiently for the feast to end so he could go to his room, ask for a sword (they couldn't deny their King a sword, right?) and end this clusterfuck once and for all.

He was sitting beside Maergery, who looked for the entire world like the charming princes. One would be forgiven for forgetting that her previous betrothed had died last night, and her brother sat in a (comfortable) stockade awaiting judgment. She was all smiles and charm, magnitudes more effective than the late Renly, at least with other people. The whole assembled lords chatted amicably and ate, as Joffrey sat in the makeshift throne Renly had carried with him everywhere he dined.

This… this is ridiculous. The lords have no shame.

Maergery had been giving him suggestions, insinuating herself and generally pondering out loud about some ideas… He knew exactly what she was doing, that was not what bothered him.

What bothered him was the sheer…

She suddenly leaned to his side, "You'll be a great King, your highness, loved and feared by the lords and smallfolk alike" she whispered.

He stared at her, waiting for her to get on with it.

She looked mildly confused for an instant before smiling again "But you'll need competent people to help you. King's Landing will be full of treachery, but I've known my brother, Ser Garlan, since infancy, and he's a talented fighter. As Lord Commander…" she trailed off as Joffrey kept staring at her, mouth open in shock.

"Surely you don't think I'm this stupid?" he enunciated very slowly.

Before she could open her mouth Joffrey continued. "I've seen you do better than this Maergery, a lot better, so it's definitively not a matter of skill…" he said almost to himself.

"You really think I'm this vapid, this… imbecilic!!!" he shouted suddenly. Maergery was eying her grandmother pleadingly, as if saying this wasn't supposed to turn this way!

Joffrey stood up, throwing his cup to the floor as he roared. "YOU PEOPLE KILLED MY BEST FRIENDS BARELY A MONTH AGO! AND YOU EXPECT ME TO DRINK UP THE PLATITUDES AND… AND… FUCKING START GIVING OUT SMALL COUNCIL SEAT!?" Joffrey roared, his face red in anger.

"Surely you people didn't think I was this stupid! This, spoiled! This Arrogant! So blind that with a few compliments I'd FALL ALL OVER YOU!?" he roared, furious. Angry with them, angry with himself.

There was a heavy silence after that, and Joffrey seemed to deflate.

"You really thought that, did you?" he asked no one in particular. "This… this is why I leave Westeros… its… its just disappointing…" he said to himself as he strolled out of the feasting tent, were another King had dined barely a day ago.

It was very late when he reached his tent and spent a while there, thinking about his first life and the person he had been… the person he was.

Had he really changed, after all these lives? Or were the Summer Knights right? He sat on his bed, hands over his face, feeling thoroughly hollow inside.

He felt a dusty breeze flying above him, smelling of smoke, so he rose his head to tell the 'guards' outside to close the tent flap.

When he raised his head, he saw Stannis floating above the ground, his face a rictus of hate and anger, his body a shadowy smoke that was coiled upon itself, as if ready to strike. It was like looking at a distorted silhouette of Stannis, but twisted and corrupted, as if distilled into pure shadow.

"S-S-S-S-Stannis?!" Joffrey stuttered, looking at the apparition from the hells.

As soon as he looked at him, the figure extended an arm, fast as lightning as it punctured his heart with a muffled, shrilly scream. Joffrey felt a deep agony inside of him, as the pain seemed to multiply and spread throughout his whole being.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH…." He screamed, clutching at his chest, his hands uselessly passing through the smoke that still had him pinned to his bed, right through his heart.

The whole encounter between him first seeing the shadow and it disappearing soon after must have not been longer than 5 seconds. The shadow dissipated, and Joffrey felt to the ground, his face a twisted rictus of agony, eyes fixed.