The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 14: The Small Council's Dilemma
After Joffrey returned to the Red Keep, he was subjected to the rantings and ravings of the queen for nearly an hour. By the time it was finished, the prince had half a mind to throw himself from the highest tower rather than to listen to another word from the annoying, overbearing woman. But in the end, the other half won out, and the prince merely bowed his head to his mother and swore never to leave the castle unguarded again.
As he climbed the steps of the Tower of the Hand, Joffrey was forced to contemplate the crazed queen's words and warnings. And although he would never admit it to her, he had to concede she had made several good points about the needless dangers he had put himself in. All it would have taken was one desperate cut-throat or dumb enough sell-sword for him to have his throat slit and dumped in an alley.
So, as he took the final step, he made a promise to himself never to do something so blatantly stupid again. At least not in broad daylight. Putting his concerns to the back of his mind, Joffrey refocused on the task at hand: visiting his future wife and queen, Sansa Stark. As he made his way into the tower's inner chambers, he heard the voices of two women in the middle of a discussion.
"You wear your hair like a true southern girl now," the older feminine voice said.
"Well, why wouldn't I? We're in the south now," the other, younger voice responded.
Recognizing the voice that belonged to the one he was looking for, Joffrey stealthily made his way inside.
"It's important to remember where you come from. I'm not sure your mother would approve of these new styles," the old Septa replied as she continued to work on her needlework. Before Sansa could respond, the prince decided to make his presence known.
"Your Septa speaks wisely, my lady," he said as he entered the chamber with a steady stride. "Our origins are an important part of who we are."
Both of the women were surprised by the crown prince's sudden appearance and quickly put down the embroidery they were working on, standing to their feet.
"My prince," they both said simultaneously and followed up with a seamless curtsy.
"My lady," he responded with his own polite bow.
The prince quietly stared into the young northern girl's blue eyes that reminded him of the sea. Her Tully red hair was tied up into a new hairstyle very similar to his mother, with two braided pigtails reaching the collar of her blue gown. The naïve girl's cheeks grew rosy as the prince smiled.
"My lady, I've come to apologize for my behavior," he said in a very sincere tone.
"Apologize for what, my prince?" she asked, clearly confused.
"It's been brought to my attention that I have been somewhat neglectful of you these past few weeks." His voice was heavy with guilt.
"T-that isn't your fault!" she was quick to say. "The crown prince has many duties to fulfill; you can't be expected to—"
But before she could finish, Joffrey raised a finger to her lips, preventing her from speaking.
"Yes, and while that's true, it's no excuse for my behavior towards you."
Sansa didn't respond, her face only grew redder to the point it looked as though steam would come out of her ears.
"You're my lady," he continued. "One day we will be married, and you'll stand by my side as I sit the Iron Throne, as my queen. The lords and ladies all across the kingdoms will come to pay respect to me and to you."
Sansa's face broke into a smile at the thought of being the queen of all the kingdoms. Joffrey slowly reached up and caressed the girl's cheek, who leaned into his touch.
"Can you forgive me for my rudeness?" he asked, looking deep into her eyes.
"There's nothing to forgive," she answered, her gentle voice light as a bell.
The prince smiled, letting go of the girl's face and slowly bringing up the rectangular wooden box he had brought with him.
"With your permission," he then opened the box, revealing the gift inside.
Sansa and her Septa's eyes grew wide at the sight of the most beautiful necklace they had ever seen. The chain was sterling silver with intricate individual knots connecting seven leaf-shaped triangles with blue sapphires carved into teardrops.
"M-my prince, what is this?" She was mesmerized by the jewelry.
"My gift to you, my lady," he reached as he took the necklace into his hands. "With your permission, of course."
She quickly spun around and allowed Joffrey himself to tie it around her neck. Sansa reached down and caressed one of the sapphire teardrops between her fingers, all the while wearing a beaming smile.
"It's beautiful, my prince," she said as she turned back around to face her betrothed.
"Well, if you are to be queen someday, it's best you look the part," he replied with a kind smile.
Sniff. Suddenly, tears started welling in the young girl's eyes. Joffrey became confused and started to wonder where he had messed up, as he had followed Tobho's advice to the letter.
"What's wrong, my lady?" he asked, concerned.
"No, it's nothing, my prince," she stuttered as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeves. "It's just I thought you'd begun to hate me, and now you give me such a beautiful gift." She muttered between hiccups.
"How could you ever think I'd come to hate you?"
The young girl continued to hiccup and cry and seemed unable to find the words to answer him. Joffrey himself seemed to be at a loss for words, not knowing how best to proceed when he suddenly felt the cold eye stare of Sansa's Septa threatening to burn a hole in his back. So, with slow, careful movement, he reached up and wiped away the girl's tears.
"Sansa, I could never hate you," he said gently as he held her cheek. "That attack we faced in the woods was not your fault, and I will not allow you to carry on with acting like it was."
Sansa looked up at him with uncertain eyes.
"But the queen said—"
But before she could finish, Joffrey cut her off.
"I don't care what the queen said!" he said sternly. "In fact, I don't give a shit what anyone has to say about it. Listen to what I'm saying. It was not your fault, do you understand?"
The northern dove nodded her head weakly and looked ready to cry once again, this time out of happiness. The prince simply pulled her forward into a gentle embrace, burying her head into his shoulder as his right hand carefully grasped the back of her head, while his left arm held her tightly by the small of her back.
"Shh," he whispered into her ear as she surrendered herself to the embrace.
"It's not your fault," he continued to whisper. "Remember that none of it was your fault."
Looking up from the girl, the prince locked eyes with the old Septa, who was giving him a kind, grandmotherly smile. Joffrey simply tilted his head, to which the older woman nodded, curtsying the prince once again, before making her exit, leaving the two youths alone. Now alone, Joffrey continued to just hold the young girl tenderly, all the while whispering reassuring words into her ear.
[Timeskip]
His time with the young northern girl had taken longer than he had anticipated, but he was happy to know that by the end he had cleared up any misunderstandings between them that the queen had sown. As he made his way down the corridor, he crossed paths with the Grand Maester himself, who seemed to be in a hurry. Curious by the Grand Maester's sudden haste, Joffrey decided to speak with him.
"Grand Maester," he called out, getting the old man's attention. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"Oh, my prince, how are you on this fine day?" he muffled out.
"I'm fine," he responded, waving off the old man's inquiry. "Now, where are you going in such a hurry?"
"Oh yes, how forgetful of me," he continued to mutter. "I am heading to the Small Council chamber, my prince; the king has called an emergency meeting."
"My father?" Joffrey looked both surprised and confused.
"The same," he responded. "Apparently, the spider has learned some distressing news."
"Oh, I see," he thought with a smirk.
"Well then, we should get going," he actually said before turning his body and making his way toward the Small Council.
"Oh yes," the Grand Maester immediately quickened his pace to follow behind the crown prince.
Eventually, the prince arrived in the chamber and found most of the council members already there. The king was seated in his usually empty seat, clearly furious about whatever news the spider had told him. Taking a moment to look away from his cup, he became surprised by the sight of his son making his way into the chamber.
"What are you doing here, boy?" he asked while pointing his sausage finger at the prince.
"I heard there was a Small Council meeting called, your grace," he responded with an easygoing tone.
"Yes, exactly, so what are you doing here?"
Before the prince could respond, the spider beat him to it.
"The prince has been joining us whenever we have convened for the past month, your grace," he answered with his usual soft, silky tone.
Robert looked surprised by the revelation, raising an eyebrow when he looked at his son again.
"I thought it best I start learning how to run my future kingdoms, your grace," he answered the king's unspoken question.
The king seemed to ponder it for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders and gestured for him to join them at the table, which Joffrey promptly did. Taking a chair from a corner of the room and placing it in between Ser Barristan and the Grand Maester's seats. Eventually, Maester Pycelle made his way inside as well, and all the council members awaited the royal steward to bring the Hand.
After several minutes, Lord Stark finally arrived, who had a very uneasy air about him. Before the Hand had even finished making his way into the room, Robert immediately aired the reason for the meeting.
"The whore is pregnant!" he roared.
"Just as I thought," Joffrey smirked internally but made sure his face remained impassive at the king's words.
Ned Stark looked taken aback by the news but immediately regained his bearing.
"You're speaking of murdering a child," he replied sternly. "A girl barely past—"
But before he could continue, the king cut him off.
"I warned you this would happen back in the north! I warned you, but you didn't care to listen! Well, hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both. And that fool Viserys as well, is that plain enough for you?"
"Robert, you'll dishonor yourself forever if you do this," Ned answered, trying to make his childhood friend see reason.
"Honor?!" he bellowed. "I've got seven kingdoms to rule! One king, seven kingdoms! Do you think honor keeps the peace? It's fear! Fear and blood!"
"Then you're no better than the Mad King!" he finally shouted back.
"Careful, Ned! Careful now!"
"You want to assassinate a girl because the spider heard a rumor."
Varys looked somewhat offended by the northern lord's insinuation.
"No rumor, my Lord," he defended. "The princess is with child."
"Based on whose information?"
"Ser Jorah Mormont. He is serving as advisor to the Targaryens."
"Mormont?" Ned nearly scoffed. "You bring us the whispers of a traitor, half a world away, and call it fact?"
"Jorah Mormont was a slaver, not a traitor," Petyr Baelish interjected. "Small difference, I know, to an honorable man."
"He broke the law, betrayed his family, then fled our lands," he retorted. "Are we to commit murder on the word of this man?"
"And if he's right?" Robert asked, growing angrier by his old friend's stubbornness. "If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army? What then?"
"The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I'll fear the Dothraki army when their horses learn to run on water."
"Do nothing?" he asked rhetorically, his face a mixture of bafflement and rage. "That's your wise advice? Do nothing until our enemies are on our shores! You're my council. Council! Speak sense to this honorable fool!"
Each of the council members looked at the king before they voiced their opinions.
"I understand your misgivings about this, Lord Stark, truly I do," Varys voiced in his usual gentle tone. "It is a terrible thing, a vile thing we must consider. Yet we who rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed."
"I bear this girl no ill will," the Grand Maester spoke up. "But should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? Is it not better, kinder even, to have her die now so that thousands more may live?"
"We should have killed them both years ago," Renly replied plainly.
"If you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, it's best to just close your eyes and get it over with," Petyr Baelish said crassly. "Cut her throat and be done with it."
Then Ser Barristan stepped up.
"I agree with Lord Stark," he answered, catching the king and the rest of the council by surprise. "I see no reason to drench our hands in the blood of innocents for something they haven't even done."
Ser Barristan wore a sad expression as he clearly recalled the last Targaryen children that had been slaughtered for Robert's ascension to the throne. Veins began to bulge on the half-drunk king's neck, but the old knight remained completely calm.
Joffrey watched the ongoing display but had remained completely silent. Internally, he knew it was best for any threats to his future reign to be snuffed out before they became a problem. Though he also knew through his otherworldly knowledge that this act is what ultimately causes Khal Drogo's intention to invade, and ultimately his death and the birth of dragons. He knew all of this, but there was another small part of him that couldn't help but feel like it was wrong. This feeling spread inside of him like bacteria, and forced the prince to offer his own opinion.
"Your Grace, if I may?" he asked, raising his hand. "I agree with Lord Stark and Ser Barristan; we shouldn't do this."
All of the council members were shocked by the prince's words, while the king flushed with anger.
"What did you say, boy?" he asked, his tone seething with rage.
"I said we should leave them be, at least for the time being," he answered. The king just continued to grow angrier by the moment. "I mean, we don't even know if she will have a son or not, and Lord Stark is right, the Dothraki have never sailed before and probably never will, unless we give them a reason to."
"And if they do, boy, what then?!" he bellowed. "What if the dragon whore convinces her horse lord husband to invade with his forty thousand screamers?! What do we do then?!"
"Simple. We'll defeat them in the field and toss them back into the sea," he replied flatly, making Robert go silent. "It might actually prove to be beneficial in the long run in regards to relations between each of the kingdoms. Let's be honest, the kingdoms have been fractured ever since the civil war sixteen years ago. A foreign enemy known for raping, pillaging, and enslaving might be just the thing that unites us as one kingdom again. After all, as a wise man once said, nothing unites a people like a common enemy."
Each of the small council members looked surprised by the prince's intelligent reasoning, having seen the potential disaster as an opportunity.
"And what about her son, eh?!" Robert continued, unwilling to accept Joffrey's reasoning. "A Targaryen male heir at the head of forty thousand men. What do you imagine will happen when those cowards who still call me usurper decide to join him?!"
"I highly doubt that will happen," he countered. "The little dragon princess has compromised herself by marrying and being deflowered by the horse lord. Now she's ineligible to marry any actually powerful lords here and gain their influence or armies. As for her son, do you really think the lords of Westeros will support or adhere to a boy descended from a foreign people who are known for lying with their own horses, no matter his hair color?"
The prince's crude remark drew suppressed laughter from some of the lords. To the prince's surprise, Robert actually seemed to be considering his words. Seeing the opportunity, Eddard decided to push a little further.
"I followed you into war, twice," he said as he walked forward slowly before placing both his hands on the large rectangular table. "Without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. Please be the man I used to know; do not do this."
Robert looked down at the table, closing his eyes as if to consider all of his options. He slowly opened them and raised his head, staring directly into the wolf lord's own.
"She dies," he said coldly as the quiet wolf's face twisted into a grimace of disgust.
"I'll have no part in it," he replied coldly.
"You're my Hand, Lord Stark; you'll do as I command, or I'll find a Hand who will."
At those words, the northern lord reached up, pulling the badge off of his chest.
"Good luck to him," he said as he tossed the metal badge onto the table. "I thought you were a better man." His voice dripped with disappointment.
"Out! Out, damn you! I'm done with you!"
At his words, Ned turned and marched out of the chamber as Robert continued his ranting.
"Go on, run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool! You think you're too good for this?! Too proud and honorable?! This is a war!"
He continued to shout despite the lord's clear departure. The stag king continued to stand there, seething in rage at his friend's rejection. Turning his head, he looked down at the still-sitting spider.
"Make the preparations; I want her dead."
Varys merely bowed his head at the king's command. The others, even Ser Barristan, seemed ready to drop the matter, knowing there was no use in trying to change the drunk king's mind. Though the prince refused to stand down.
"Father, you're making a mistake," he voiced desperately. "He's right; we shouldn't do this."
"Quiet, boy! That's enough outta you!" he said, turning his head away from his son.
Joffrey stood up and made his way around, forcing the king to look at him.
"Please, do not be blind here, I beg you," his voice practically begging. "You're about to cause the very thing you want to prevent! Stop being blinded by your bloodlust for just five minutes, and you'll see the stupidity in this!"
Robert whipped around to face his son.
"I said!" He reared his right hand back. "SHUT UP!"
He then backhanded the prince across the face. Although unlike up in the north months prior, this time the blow only made the prince stagger. As the impact of the blow echoed inside the large chamber, silence filled the room as the prince hadn't reacted yet. Slowly, the prince looked up, his expression stoic and impassive, as he looked the king in the eyes, before spitting a wad of blood on the floor.
"I apologize for overstepping, your grace," he said calmly, his tone cold and robotic.
Robert's face immediately showed his conflict, but he refused to show regret or weakness in front of the others.
"Go. Now," he ordered.
Joffrey merely bowed his head and exited the chamber without looking back. Once the prince was gone, Robert turned back to the spider.
"Have it done," he commanded.
"At once, your grace."
"Good, now everyone get out!" he ordered, making all the still-sitting members rush to their feet and out of the room.
Now alone in the chamber, Robert turned, grabbing the wine pitcher before hurling it at the wall, making the bronze jug crush against the wall like a soda can. As the crushed piece of tin skidded across the floor, Robert paced anxiously back and forth.
"What did you do? What did you do?" he asked himself as he slumped back down into his chair, holding his brow with his hand. "Why did you do that?"
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