Chapter 2: 2 Dealing with Future Traitors
Joffrey had been escorted out to his room, despite his strident orders and incessant mewlings, and had finally been sedated by Grand Maester Pycell with milk of the poppy.
When Joffrey had awoken he hadn't been pleased to say the least, but he had decided to bide his time for the day… and plan.
There were two traitors that had ensured the downfall of Joffreys righteous reign. His evil uncle, Tyrion, and the Starks, particularly the wolf barbarian Robb Stark. The Arch-traitor Eddard Stark would die anyway at his command, but Robb Stark had made a mokery of his reign, winning victory after victory against the incompetent commanders of his family. Take those two out, and his Baratheon uncles would waste each other, leaving him to pick apart the winner like last time, and his reign would be unchallenged.
Easy.
But now he had to deal with the closest traitor, the freaking imp.
Plan decided, the next day Joffrey went to Pycell's study and found the doddering fool reading from some parchments. "Grand Maester" He commanded his attention.
Pycell took an eternity lifting his chin to face him "Ahh, My Prince, I trust you are feeling better today?" He asked haltingly and almost in a whisper. How could someone so weak and frail hold the position of Grand Maester?
"Yes yes, but that's not what I'm here for today. You see Pycell, I was reading a story the other day about a man who got poisoned, and I'd like to know the poisons name. Its effects were like having one's throat…" Here Joffrey staggered a bit. "Crushed, it wouldn't let him breath…" Joffrey took some deep breaths before continuing "Do you understand?"
Pycell looked at him vacantly, until he finally nodded. "Aye, It sounds like The Strangler, my prince."
The Strangler.
A shudder crossed Joffrey body. So that was its name… the name of his killer.
"Show it to me" He commanded. If he didn't know any better he would a sworn Pycell was staring at him shrewdly, but the moment passed and his face deflated once more. "Of course my prince" he said as he stood up, went to a nearby cupboard and took out a small vial with a black-prurplish liquid. "This is it. Skilled alchemists in Essos can even make it in a solid, inactive state." He said as he showed him the vial.
Joffrey eyed the vial greedily. But he wouldn't take it now, that would be obvious. "Thank you Maester" He said as he took off, hiding his sadistic grin.
-.PD.-
The wait was almost too much for Joffrey, but he made it to the night, savoring the eventual, ironic death of the imp in his mind time and again. Finally at midnight, he got off his bed, still clothed, and took off in direction of the Grand Maester study. His unfaithful hound followed him. He would have ordered him killed already because of his betrayal, if he wasn't so useful as a sworn shield… for now.
They got up to the tower and right to the Maesters study. There was only one problem.
It was locked.
Joffrey gave it a kick with all his force, only for him to rebound off and crash into the floor, clutching his knee and barely managing not to sob. "Hound.. I… Take down the door!" He commanded.
His unfaithful hound looked at him askance. "DO IT! Your Prince commands it!" he commanded once more. He would have the rabid dog flogged if he didn't comply, but that would delay his plans for the imp…
The hound snorted. "Fine, on your head be it." He said, resigned as he shouldered the heavy door. It took 3 times to finally break the lock, and the rightful King was in. Joffrey quickly went to the cupboard Pycell had shown him, and took the flask. "You'll die like you wanted me to, treacherous imp" he muttered as he came down the stairs.
They found two guards jogging up, probably to see what the noise was all about. "Return to your posts" he commanded them. The two guards looked between them, then back to their rightful King. "But m'prince, we heard—" "I COMMAND you get back to your posts! Do I have to flog you to make you understand?!" Joffrey almost yelled at them. The guards seem to look at each other, probably cowering in fear, before excusing themselves and going back down.
Joffrey kept going, straight to the Imp's solar. "Wait outside Hound." He said as he entered without knocking, hoping to startle the traitor.
"Nephew?" asked Tyrion, clearly startled. He was comfortably laying in a long chair in front of his desk, reading a book like always, surrounded by candles and a half full bottle of Dornish red. "Uncle" Said Joffrey, briefly savouring Tyrions surprise before taking a seat opposite to him. Oh if only he knew...
"What can I do for you at this late hour? Shouldn't you be in bed?" Tyrion asked him. Joffrey seethed with anger. He dares to insult his future king!?. He had to take deep breathes again to hold himself in check. Only the prospect of imminent revenge served to sooth him. "I've decided you shall keep me company now, uncle." He told him.
The imp seemed a bit wary at this, eying him carefully. There was a minute or two of uncomfortable silence in which Joffrey twirled his fingers, trying to think something to say. Finally, the imp spoke. "Well then, I guess I better give you a cup, you didn't take it from me though." He said as he refilled both his cup and an empty one.
Perfect.
They drunk from their cups, the silence heavier with each passing moment. Finally Joffrey made his move. "Uncle, what are those books?" He asked him. The imp seemed startled by the question, turning back to his small library behind him. Joffrey fumbled with the vial, trying to leave only a few drops, but his clumsiness ensured the whole contents of it were spilled on the cup. He sat back up quickly. "Well, yes… they are books… where you thinking about one in particular?" asked his uncle as he turned back towards him. "Uhh, No." He said. The imp raised an eyebrow, and grabbed his cup, looking at it curiusly. He then gave him a suspicious look after settling it down. The imp suddenly looked behind Joffrey, "Did you bring more people Nephew?" he asked puzzled.
No no no if someone else came the plan would be ruined! He looked backwards, but spotted no one, the door was still closed. He sighed with relief as he turned back to the imp. "There's no one there uncle, but enough of this!" It was time to end this. "A toast, for the Lannisters!".
The imp was staring at him incredulous, before downing his cup in one fell swoop. "Aye, for the Lannisters… Nephew".
YEEESSS!!! Joffrey downed his cup too, though the wine was remarkably sour for his taste, he couldn't care less, the traitor would die and he would see it with his own eyes. He could already fel the excitement take him, the same kind of excitement that seem to fulfill him, propel him when he dissected small rats, or later when he practiced his aim on the crossbow with the smallfolk.
His uncle was staring at him, bemused. Joffrey let his cruel smile break out as he savored the moment.
The Imp eyed him carefully as Joffrey coughed once, then twice, three times.
"I know this flavor" He thought in mounting horror. He started grasping his throat, trying to get some air, but failing as his throat started to collapse upon itself.
The imp's bemused smirk seemed to seep out of him like rainwater. "Just what the hells were you going to feed me?!" He asked in a panic as he got from his seat.
Joffrey couldn't answer, he slid down his chair, convulsing on the floor, his hands tearing at his throat.
"Oh no oh no oh no" Said Tyrion as he run towards Joffrey grabbing at his throat but clearly not knowing what to do.
"HELP! Someone call the Grand Maester!" Tyrion shouted in a panic.
Joffrey's vision was turning black, but the pain was not like last time, last time when all was near black, the pain had started to fade away… but here it was only growing stronger, it was as if his throat was a snake coiling upon itself, shredding his neck.
The last thing he saw was the hound bursting into the room, trying to help the imp before shaking his head.
"Shit... The Queen will have your head for this, imp."
"But—but—Joffrey was the one ---I--…" The imps panicky defense was the last thing he heard.
Darkness
Purple
Pain
Please… AAAAAIIIIIIRRRRRR
Joffrey had never felt such pain in his life.
Help…
-.PD.-
He was throwing up on the floor… again?
He struggled as the Hound helped him up, and sat him on his bed. Joffrey shook his head, looking at his hands. He was… alive again..? He had been killed and resurrected again?!
Joffrey let that thought percolate throughout his head for a while. As the Hound arrived again, this time with the Grand Maester in tow, one thought dominated Joffrey's mind.
I'm Immortal.
I'm fucking Immortal.
He didn't see it, but both the Grand Maester and the Hound were looking at his sadistic smile with differing levels of wariness.
-.PD.-
Joffrey didn't know why, but it seemed he had all the time in the world. If he was killed he would just come back again, and kill the ones that killed him, simple.
With that in mind, Joffrey sat on his bed, pondering his plans. Trying to kill the Imp in such a convoluted way had been… not the best idea he'd ever had. Besides, he could just wait until he was king, then he could just order him behead, or better yet, force fed the Strangler.
Joffrey's chain of thought was interrupted by an unwonted shiver.
Well he would see how the imp would die, but that would come later. There was one person however who wouldn't be in his grasp when he was crowned. The Arch-Traitor's son, Robb.
His last plan had failed because it was too complicated, he would go at it simple this time. He could hardly wait for the caravan to depart North…
-.PD.-
The journey North had been as boring and tedious as he remembered, possibly even more so. By the Neck, he could hardly restrain himself, wanting to shoot at every smallfolk farmer they passed. As it was he had quietly sneaked away at night and dissected a few rabbits he had managed to "acquire" from a nearby farm. It had worked, a little.
When they reached Winterfell his fat Father had already gone to the wolf bitch's tomb or whatever, and the Lady Catelyn was introducing her children to the rest of the Lannisters.
Joffrey barely managed not to slap the traitors useless daughter, Sansa. To think that he would be required to act the "courting prince" again made his stomach curl. But he would bear it, all for the revenge. After all, it wasn't too far now.
The spineless bitch had been the same as last time, wooing and cooing at whatever fake flattery left Joffrey's mouth. Margaerey had been a much better at pleasing him, her words always the right ones, praising him as was her duty. She was even more beautiful than the Northern whore. If she imagined Sansa was Maergery it made his duty a tiny bit more bearable. In truth he could hardly wait until the Tyrells smashed Stannis forces and brought him his prize.
He had not been as… hostile Joffrey guessed was the word, this time around. He had kept up to his good graces and acted like Mother had wanted him to, though it had been hard, and maybe a few of the northerns doubted something…
In any case, it had been worth it. He had been watching Robb and his bastard brother Jon in the training yard. He watched as the bout ended, surprisingly, in the bastards favour. The boys heartily shook each other's hands, jesting and laughing. A sudden stab completely unexpected pain seemed to claw at Joffreys heart for a second. Why couldn't he have a family like that?
Bewildered, Joffrey shook his head. Just as it had come, the feeling was gone. It was time.
Robb entered the armory a few meters away from the training yard. Jon was following close behind, but Joffrey got to Jon before he entered. "Jon… Your Father wishes to speak to you" He told him. The bastard looked at him a bit confused. Belatedly, Joffrey realized he hadn't spoken to him before… ever. Seeing Jon's doubt, Joffrey insisted. "He said it was urgent, something about…" think think "Arya, I think was her name?". At this Jon was instantly alert "Has something happened to her?!" he asked Joffrey, shaken. At his shrug Jon took off in the main keeps direction.
Joffrey nodded to himself, grabbing the crossbow he had left stashed right next to the door.
Inside, Robb had already removed his armor and was cleaning his sword. "I'll get you next time Jon, you'll see" Said Robb, still giving him his back as he continued to clean his sword. Joffrey checked around the armoury… there was no one. The crossbow was already cocked, and he carefully aimed it at Robb as he slowly walked forward.
Don't screw this up, don't screw this up. He thought as he steadily got closer. 8 meters. 7 meters… 6 meters…
"Whats going on Jon? Intimidated?" Laughed Robb as he stood up and turned around, freezing at the sight of Joffrey with a crossbow aimed at his heart.
Robb looked at Joffrey.
Joffrey looked at Robb.
The distance was 5 meters.
THUNG
The Bolt impacted Robb just above the heart, sending him crashing down against the sword racks behind him. Sudden sadistical elation filled Joffrey to the core of his being as he reloaded.
"You really thought you could plan your treason just like that? Young Wolf" He said his name with all the sneer he could muster. Robb was trying to speak, but no sound would come out of his mouth.
"Die Traitor!" Whispered Joffrey with all his being as he fired again, this time the bolt hitting Robbs head, leaving it a bloody mess.
"ROBB NOOOOOO!!!!" Someone screamed. Startled, Joffrey turned around to see the bastard of Winterfell staring at Robb's body, then at Joffrey.
Jon roared as he took a sword from the racks and charged him.
"I command you to stop!!!" Joffrey shouted, to no effect.
"I-I-Im the prince!!!" He screamed as he dropped the crossbow and fumbled for a sword. He would have to hold until the Hound found him!
Jon reached him just as Joffrey took a sword. He parried the first blow. The second blow chopped off his sword hand.
Joffrey stared in mild incomprehension as the stump squirted blood everywhere. He looked at it for maybe 2 seconds before the bastard rammed his sword through his chest. He tried spitting at him, but his body was unresponsive…. He had been defeated like an infant.
He could hear distant screams as the darkness seem to take him… and a pungent, sour smell seemed to take a hold of senses.
No… no…
He hadn't even died by the Strangler this time, but he could feel its effects, crushing his windpipe and twisting his neck like a coiled snake. Air burned in his lungs as he drowned again, the piercing, jagged pieces of his traquea stabbing him from the inside.
PAIN.
UNBEARABLE PAIN.
The purple consumed him.
-.PD.-
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