The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 13: The Hand's Tourney
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Early the next day, the clang of steel echoed in the training yard as the crown prince sparred with Ser Aron Santagar. The young prince pressed forward, unleashing a barrage of savage blows that the older knight evaded with seasoned grace. Undeterred, Joffrey continued to pursue the Dornishman. Eventually, Ser Aron deflected a thrust and aimed a counter at Joffrey's unguarded neck. To the knight's surprise, Joffrey weaved his head out of the blade's path, spinning past the sword for his own counter slash.
Ser Aron quickly retracted his sword, blocking the counter with its hilt. After a tense moment where neither yielded, they were forced to separate. An awkward tension filled the air as Ser Aron stared into the prince's keen eyes. However, a smile grew across the Dornishman's face as he lowered his sword.
"Well done, my prince," he said with genuine praise. "I'd say you've reached yet another level."
"Thank you, Ser Aron," Joffrey responded, lowering his training sword.
They walked to the table for a drink from the bota bag, sharing it side by side. Once Joffrey finished his drink, he turned to his instructor.
"So, how many mistakes did I make this time?"
"Not many," Ser Aron said, wiping his mouth. "Your offense is good, and you've made tremendous progress in just a few weeks. I'd say your defense and your directness are currently the most pressing flaws."
"Directness?" Joffrey asked, tilting his head.
"Swordsmanship isn't just about power, my prince," Ser Aron clarified. "Sometimes, the more elusive fighters prevail. You favor an aggressive, straightforward approach."
Joffrey considered the knight's words. "Isn't that the easiest way to defeat my enemies?"
"Normally, yes," Ser Aron agreed. "Your aggression gives you great strength, but it also makes you predictable, easier to trick. An experienced knight could cut you down."
Joffrey swallowed audibly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his neck. Seeing the prince's anxiety, Ser Aron continued, "That's why tomorrow we'll move on to more defensive forms."
"Very well," Joffrey immediately agreed.
The Dornish knight had done everything to discourage Joffrey. Yet, the stubborn young man appeared each morning, ready for more. Realizing discouragement was futile, Ser Aron tested Joffrey's aptitude and was left flabbergasted.
The crown prince had a natural affinity for bladed combat, mastering moves within a few tries. He also adapted quickly, never falling for the same trick twice. Ironically, teaching Joffrey improved Ser Aron's skills, forcing him to develop new tactics. As the knight pondered his new role, Joffrey stood.
"Well, until then," he said. "Let's go another round."
The prince's words snapped Ser Aron back. This boy's going to work me to death, he groaned internally, feeling phantom bruises.
"As you wish, my prince," he said aloud.
As they entered the training circle, a servant hurried down the steps. "Apologies, my prince, but the king summons you to accompany him to the Hand's Tourney."
Joffrey looked annoyed, while Ser Aron was relieved.
"Oh, thank the gods—I mean, you'd best follow the king's summons, my prince," Ser Aron said, coughing.
Joffrey shot the knight an annoyed look before turning to the servant. "Very well. Inform the king I'll be there shortly, after I make myself presentable."
"Of course, Your Grace," the servant said, bowing and departing. Joffrey turned back to the overly relieved Master-at-Arms.
"I suppose we'll have to pick this up on the morrow, Ser Aron."
"So it would seem, my prince."
They exchanged polite nods before Joffrey headed towards the baths.
o-O-o
Once he finished washing away the dried sweat, Joffrey dressed himself in an elegant white tunic with gold-embroidered sleeves and collar, along with dark leather breeches, and matching boots. After giving himself a look over in his wall-mounted mirror he made his way to the great hall.
"'Bout time you got here, boy!" Robert bellowed, face red, clearly already drunk.
"Apologies, Your Grace. I was in the midst of sword training," Joffrey said, offering a slight bow.
"Ha! Doesn't matter," Robert waved off, seemingly pleased to hear his son was training. "Now let's go before the damn knights ride back home."
Joffrey nodded, following his parents and siblings.
The royal family arrived at the tourney grounds, the size of which shocked Joffrey as he dismounted. The arena was huge, roughly the size of a professional football stadium. Cheers and excited cries filled the air, mingling with the sight of numerous noble house banners. Joffrey trailed behind the royal couple, holding a nervous Myrcella close, away from the crowd. His younger brother, however, stared at the readying knights with wide, excited eyes, as if in a candy store rather than a soon-to-be bloody battleground.
Eventually, the family reached the royal box atop the platform, joining the other highborns. As they entered, all the nobles rose to greet the king and his family, including Ned Stark and his daughters. Ignoring the others with the exception of Ned Stark, the king took his seat with his family.
Joffrey sat slightly lower than the king and queen but still higher than the others, alongside his siblings. He was growing tired of the endless jockeying for status, but he understood its political significance. Once everyone was seated, Robert stood and bellowed to the crowd, "Enough already! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"
Cersei looked mortified, along with the rest of the royals. She looked ready to leave, restrained only by noble etiquette. Soon, two knights rode out, and Joffrey was immediately alarmed by one.
A giant of a man, making even Robert look average. His arms were massive, his shoulders as thick as tree trunks. He wore a dented suit of dull grey armor. Over it, a gold surcoat depicted three hunting hounds. Joffrey knew instantly: Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides. The prince's mouth hung slightly open at the brute's sheer size.
My god, what is with this world and giant men? he thought. First Robert, then Sandor, and now this beast?
As Joffrey pondered the world's height standards, the Mountain's opponent rode before the king. A smaller man of average height looked tiny beside Ser Gregor. His armor was a gleaming double steel plate, pristine. He wore a blue surcoat trimmed with crescent moons.
Joffrey instantly pegged the young knight as green as grass, the armor likely brand new. He recalled Tobho complaining about the new knight of the deceased Jon Arryn badgering him for his armor in time for the tourney.
Fate truly does piss on this one, Joffrey thought, shaking his head derisively as the two rode to their positions. What a fool.
The royal steward blew the horn. The knights lowered their lances as their horses charged forward, the crowd cheering. Tragedy struck as the Mountain's lance rode up and pierced the new-made knight's throat.
Ser Gregor rode on as the Vale knight fell. Everyone in the royal box rose, the ladies crying out. Even Robert looked surprised at such an early death. Joffrey stared at the dying knight, a chunk of wood protruding from his neck, blood spurting as he clawed helplessly, before slowly drowning in his own blood.
You stupid boy, he thought sadly, feeling a sliver of pity.
Murmurs filled the royal box as cheers died. Joffrey comforted his frightened sister, shielding her eyes. The Mountain shamelessly rode by again, his visor open, taking in the nobles' fear. As he neared the royal box, Joffrey locked eyes with the beast, who seemed to be trying to frighten his siblings.
The Mountain looked surprised by Joffrey's cold stare, meeting it with his own. A shiver ran down Joffrey's spine as he felt he was staring into an empty pit. Refusing to back down, he seemed to incense the Mountain. Before the giant could act, Sandor Clegane stepped forward, his hand firm on his sword hilt. Ser Gregor simply huffed, kicked his stallion, and rode out. As the giant rode away, a single word left Joffrey's lips.
"Monster," he muttered. Only the Hound seemed to hear.
"Indeed," Sandor nodded.
Joffrey released Myrcella, sending her back to her seat before facing the Hound. "Thank you, Sandor."
Sandor tilted his head and resumed his position by the queen, while Joffrey sat. Soon, the next two knights rode out, repeating the procedure. Joffrey eventually grew bored watching the pompous display, doubting many had seen any real combat. His mind wandered to his new design for Tobho when he suddenly felt eyes on him.
Looking around, he met the gaze of Sansa Stark. She wore an elegant dark blue dress that complemented her icy blue eyes, her auburn red hair flowing past her shoulders in gentle waves. She was seated beside her sister and their old septa.
The young northern girl smiled sweetly at the prince. Remembering his conversation with Senelle, Joffrey gave his best "prince charming" smile and winked. Sansa's face flushed red, and she quickly looked away, gossiping with her friend. Then, Petyr Baelish approached his betrothed and her companion.
Littlefinger happily introduced himself and sat beside Sansa, a little too close for Joffrey's liking, causing his eye to twitch. Everyone knew of Baelish's infatuation with Catelyn Stark, and with Sansa's close resemblance it made his intentions perfectly clear. Surprisingly, for the rest of the tourney, Sansa paid little attention to Littlefinger, stealing glances at Joffrey when she thought he wasn't looking.
Joffrey chuckled to himself at the young girl's crush. The remainder of the games continued without incident, except for his mother leaving after the king's boorish behavior embarrassed the family. The preliminary rounds finally ended, and with it the next day's opponents were already set. Thankfully everyone departed the Tourney grounds without any incidents.
[The Next Day]
The following day, Joffrey feigned a stomach illness to avoid attending the tourney. Once the castle cleared, he slipped away from the castle to speak with Tobho.
Arriving at the top of the Street of Steel, Joffrey entered the large wooden shop and was surprised to see the large Bessemer process and blast furnace already constructed and operated by five of Tobho's workers. Joffrey watched with pride as they poured red-hot pig iron and scrap into the Bessemer converter. As one worker controlled the hot air blast, Tobho approached.
"Ah, Prince Joffrey, welcome to my humble abode."
"Hello, Tobho," Joffrey said with a polite smile. "Do you have somewhere we can talk privately?"
"Oh yes, yes. Right this way." Tobho nodded, leading Joffrey to his private office/bedroom, closing and latching the door behind them. They sat at the blacksmith's desk, pouring glasses of wine.
"So, how does the construction go?" Joffrey asked, sipping his arbor red.
"Excellent, my prince," Tobho said happily. "Ever since I implemented those scheduling reforms along with the hour breaks, production works round the clock now."
The old blacksmith referred to the 8-hour workday Joffrey had implemented. Tobho had been hesitant, but the prince explained that three shifts would make production run like clockwork. Joffrey wasn't worried about other shops adopting it, as only Tobho had the manpower to actually implement it.
"Was there any pushback with the sudden changes?"
"Not really. Once they learned they'd be paid hourly and get a one-hour break, most jumped right on board. In fact, I've never seen them work harder."
"People aren't mules, Tobho," Joffrey replied, sipping his wine. "Treat them like humans, and you'll be shocked by what they can accomplish."
Joffrey nodded, pleased.
"A few tried to slack off, but I ended up letting them go."
"Some people no matter how much you give them will always want more," Joffrey shrugged. "You followed my instructions for the Bessemer process, right?"
"Yes," Tobho confirmed. "No one worked on more than one part at a time, and no one besides you and I know about the limestone flux."
"Good. You've completely exceeded my expectations, Tobho," Joffrey said with an approving smile.
"You flatter me, my prince—"
"Tobho, for the last time, when we're alone, just call me Joffrey. You're a business partner, not a servant. I get enough of that arse-kissing as it is."
Tobho flushed with pride. "Thank you, Joffrey," he finally said.
"You're welcome. Now, we have other business."
"Oh?" Tobho perked up. "New designs?"
"Indeed," Joffrey replied, pulling out a scroll.
Tobho's eyes lit up like a child in a toy store. He reached for the parchment, but Joffrey pulled it back. "Ah ah ah," he said with a sly smirk. "I have conditions. I'll need you to take full credit for its creation."
Tobho's mouth nearly dropped. After a lengthy debate, he agreed after Joffrey explained the need for discretion due to court politics.
"Very well, I understand."
Joffrey smiled, unrolling the scroll. Tobho's smile widened as he read.
"What do you call this one, Joffrey?!"
"It's called a Beehive oven, and it's the last piece to the Bessemer process."
Tobho read the notes detailing the conversion of coal to coke and coke's superiority as fuel for the blast furnace. The capital had ample coal and iron. Gazing at the blueprints, Tobho looked up, eyes wide.
"My prince, you're a genius!"
No, Tobho, I'm just a filthy cheater, Joffrey thought.
"So, how long before it's fully operational?"
Tobho rubbed his beard. "A few weeks. A month at most."
Joffrey was pleased. Soon, he'd have a fully functional Bessemer process. He clapped his hands together. "Enough about business. I have another matter I need your help with."
"What kind of matter?"
Joffrey explained his situation with Sansa, omitting the parts about the queen's influence. Tobho burst into laughter.
"Hey, I'm serious! It's not funny!"
"I know, I know, my prince," Tobho said, wiping a tear. "It's just… you can invent things that will reshape the world as we know it, but you can't handle a fourteen-year-old girl."
Joffrey flushed. It was difficult to admit that he had zero aptitude for romance. And while he was sleeping with Senelle their relationship was… different. Slowly he drank some arbor red.
"Though I don't know why you're asking me. You have a father up at that castle, don't you?" Tobho said, sipping his wine.
Joffrey gave him a blank stare.
"Oh, right," Tobho nodded understandingly.
"Yeah," Joffrey replied.
"Well, it shouldn't be too difficult. Have you tried getting her jewelry?"
"Yes, but she's the eldest daughter of a great house. She probably has more jewelry than I can imagine."
"You could try Allia's silver shop by the Hill of Rhaenys."
"Allia's? Are they any good?"
"By the gods, yes! Small shop, but her work is second to none. Unique pieces for each buyer."
Joffrey seemed to considered it.
"Oh, speaking of Lady Stark, her father visited my shop the other day," Tobho remembered.
"Did he? What did he want?"
"He asked about what Jon Arryn had wanted."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth. He always came to see me about Gendry."
The pieces clicked. Ned was starting to sniff out Robert's bastards.
"Gendry?" Joffrey feigned ignorance.
"Aye, strong lad. Works hard."
"Did he say what he wanted with the boy?"
"No. Just asked about Jon Arryn's questions. Then said to send Gendry his way if he wanted to be a soldier, before leaving."
"I see," Joffrey nodded.
"Why is it a problem, Joffrey?" Tobho asked, seeing his expression.
"What? Oh, no, no," Joffrey waved off. "Just an old man's curiosity, I assure you."
Tobho nodded, clearly unconvinced.
"Don't concern yourself with court schemes, Tobho," Joffrey said seriously. "Just focus on the task at hand."
"Yes, my pri—Joffrey," Tobho agreed quickly.
"Good," Joffrey's kind demeanor returned. "If that's all, I have to get back."
Joffrey stood, Tobho following.
"If you run into any issues, bring them straight to me."
"Of course."
"Well then, until next time, my friend." Joffrey smiled as Tobho walked him out.
Before exiting, Joffrey pulled his hood up, obscuring his face, and blended into the crowd, heading towards his horse. He noticed an unusual number of Lannister soldiers and Gold Cloaks patrolling.
Great, looks like someone noticed my absence, he groaned internally, bracing for the lecture that was sure to come.
Mounting his steed, he decided to stop at Allia's before returning to the Red Keep, sensing he wouldn't be leaving alone again anytime soon. As he rode down the busy street, he faintly noticed a small pair of eyes following him despite his disguise. When he turned, they were gone. Knowing who it likely was, Joffrey remained unbothered and urged his horse forward.
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