Chapter 13: 12 Keys of fate
All in all, Joffrey felt cheery and rejuvenated when they left the North.
Him and Tyrion had kept going north after a brief period of convalescence after the battle of the ages at Last Hearth, and the Wall had been not only an incredible sight he was somewhat bemused he had never seen before, but also a treasure mine of all that was climbing. The Night's Watch didn't have that much of a tradition in it, but they had learned a lot from the wildlings which semi-regularly scaled the wall during the summers to raid south. He didn't see much of the wall proper or many of its inhabitants anyway, he spent most of his time there chatting with the stonemasons and some of the rangers, occasionally reading some of the books from Maester Aemon's library. He remembered hearing Tyrion talking about Ned's bastard son, and how they had spent some time together while he plumbed Castle Black for all that was climbing. He was somewhat glad he didn't see him here, all the Stark's brought on memories sometimes better left buried.
Mother's scolding… now that should have been recorded by a Maester as well. The torrent of invective had been mainly tanked by Tyrion, who had automatically assumed the position of scapegoat with nary a mutter except a couple of glances to Joffrey which seemed to convey something like 'You will get me all the Gold in the Arbor'.
Somewhat nice but disappointing was the reaction of Robert, or should it best be said, his non reaction. Joffrey thought he didn't even notice his absence.
Now though, he felt ready. He had bought the climbing gear at Last Hearth (which turned out didn't have that much experience with the whole climbing thing, but hey, he had been in the North anyway), and learned quite a few things at Castle Black. Now he knew what to expect on his great climb of the Mountains of the Moon. He was going to do something no one had ever done before, see a sight that no other human had experimented before, he was going to one up the Andals and the First Men… He was going to climb the tallest peak of Westeros' Mountains of the Moon.
In the more quiet nights, or when he meditated beside a Weirwood tree if he was lucky enough to find one, he thought about this whole endeavor on a slightly philosophical bent. He wasn't going to do this for fame or riches, even if such a feat would generate more awe from his future vassals than winning a great battle (which he doubted), it would all be swept aside when he died, forgotten to everyone but him.
No, he was going to do this because he had to. He had to see for himself if he could do something great, by his own hand, alone.
And what better symbol than a bested gigantic mountain.
Besides, he really wanted to see Westeros from the top of the world. 'Experience the world' he repeated the mantra on his head.
He couldn't wait to get started.
Bet I don't even die this time.
He justified his trip to the 'Riverlands' under the pretext of 'networking' (A term he was sure Tyrion had made up) with the River lords, something her mother had grudgingly accepted with a small hint of pride at his sons's 'ambition'.
Oh mother, if only you knew.
-.PD.-
He had escaped from his escort in the middle of the night when they had been camping near the Green Fork, and he had taken his horse through the rising hills towards the Vale of Arryn. He didn't take the High Road, he wasn't that stupid. Even a cursory reading about the Vale mentioned the hill tribes as the greatest hazard any traveler could face, possibly after the Shadowcats.
It was a good thing he'd be gone for a long time from King's Landing, possibly for the rest of this life. After his escapade into Last Hearth the Hound had been mightily pissed he hadn't taken him along, and only the risk of insulting the Umbers had prevented Mother from sending a squad of Redcloaks to get him back.
That didn't deter Tyrion though, he thought, amused. After this last stunt he would be lucky to exit the Red Keep ever again if they caught him.
So he made his way through the abandoned western slopes of the Vale, and he was pretty sure he could see the peak he had seen months ago with his uncle, his objective. The peak was roughly north-west of the Eyrie, but before even starting the climb he had to get to the base of it first. And so for the first week Joffrey and his horse made their way through deer tracts and small streams, savoring the solitude and beauty of the great pines and the crystalline water of the creeks and small waterfalls.
When he finally got to what could be called the 'foot' of the enormous mountain range, one thought dominated Joffrey's mind.
It looks bigger up close.
-.PD.-
The wind blew with the power of a million oars, its sound drowning all existence, and Joffrey curled against the cliff face he was hanging from. The wind buffeted him from side to side, as if trying to purposely dislodge him from the scraggy cliff.
He had been climbing for 5 days already.
He didn't think he was going to make it.
Five days of climbing, trekking, building pitiful fires out of small bushes and more climbing had left him absolutely drained. He simply didn't have the stamina to keep going.
He looked below him. It was a long way down... The infuriating thing was that he hadn't even reached the snow yet, heck, looking upwards it seemed he had hardly started climbing at all! This thing was fucking massive.
"Bollocks!!!" he cursed. His time with his sailor family (a familiar flash of pain stabbed him in the gut when he remembered them, just like when he thought of the sea) had taught him the hallowed art of proper 'cursin, and he used it to full effect here. It helped somewhat.
"You… fucking… cunt soaked… landlubbering… sad excuse for a fucking hill!!!" Joffrey cursed between breaths as he dislodged one of his climbing spikes and stabbed it above him, and then stabbed another piece of cloggy rock with his totally worthless iron bladed boots. In hindsight, he had been totally unprepared for this. His knowledge of climbing was basic to say the least, and his gear had proven thoroughly unsuitable for the task at hand. His backpack has snapped open two days ago and spilled half his supplies all over the Vale, and he was down to the last two climbing spikes. And to think he thought himself paranoid when he brought six of them. The Umber's iron didn't seem to have been made to resist this kind of stress.
He had been at this for five days, but already his Lannister like stubbornness had fired up... another charming trait Joffrey had discovered about himself. Scaling mountains to know thyself. Who would have thought?!
"I'M GOING TO REACH THE FUCKING SUMMIT EVEN IF IT'S THE LA--"He moved a bit upwards as he ranted, stabbing the cliff with his spike, when a sudden stream of chilly air blasted him at a right angle and interrupted his cursing.
"ST THING I'll--" Joffrey stopped as the wind's strength seemed to intensify a dozen times over, and a clean chink sound reached Joffrey's ear.
Oh boy.
The right boot blade had snapped, the lower quality iron ore and leather tearing under the strain. The loss of balance applied even more force to the other 3 points of contact between Joffrey and the cliff, and almost as soon as the first one gave out the other two, ground down under heavy use, broke too.
Joffrey tumbled downward, spinning out of control.
"NonononononooooAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh"
Splat.
-.PD.-
"There he goes again" said one of the Redcloaks.
"You reckon' what's gone into him, Barrett?" asked the other Redcloak.
"Orland, I've honestly got no idea." Said the first Redcloak.
They looked at each other, pondered between entertainment and duty, and grudgingly decided to keep at their posts. 15 minutes later when they were finally relieved, they descended down the tower's stairs and encountered a group of five redcloaks sitting around a small table, all of them looking through one of the arrow slits.
"What the hells are you guys doing?" asked Barret.
One of the Red cloaks made a space for them, if only barely. "Quickly! He's coming again!" he said. Barret and Orland quickly made their way there, and saw the Prince trotting above the walls, dodging guards and servants, practically swimming in sweat. "He's still at it?!" asked Orland.
"He's been doing it for at least three hours" said one of the other Red Cloaks. "The Prince has been running and running around the Red Keep since I started my shift. He hasn't stopped."
The other Red Cloak looked at Barret "It's the crown, it makes them mad." He said with infinite wisdom.
The Prince passed below the slit, red, huffing for air and a steely look of determination on his face.
Orland, always the more quick witted of the group, asked the obvious question. "Why in the Seven'ells is he wearing heavy armor?"
-.PD.-
Joffrey had wracked his head searching for ways to quickly and substantially increase his stamina. Normally, for knights and men at arms this was achieved in the training yard after years of knightly training and jousting under heavy armor. It was effective, but it took a lot of time to build up, and Joffrey knew that the longer he lived on any given life, the higher the chance he would get killed by intrigue, combat or just plain bad luck and have all his precious progress undone… Joffrey didn't know any Master-At-Arms that focused only on endurance. So he needed a way to get in shape for the climb in just one year at the maximum, maybe a bit less if things got derailed sooner and the whole realm went tits up before its time, he couldn't assume he would have the freedom to do it after the so called War of the Five Kings started.
So, he had been improvising. He had started running every morning around the Red Keep's wall, and he could already feel he could run longer and longer after only a month of it. The Hound had initially run alongside him on his heavy plate, and Joffrey had struggled between telling him to stop and praising him for the great idea.
"What idea?!" had puffed an indignant Clegane, still not sure if this was some big practical joke of the little shit to get him to slack off and get punished by Cercei or something stranger.
"Armor of course!" Joffrey had told him.
And thus both the Hound and Joffrey had become quite the subject of rumor, each speculation more outrageous amongst the servants that tried to divine why the pair where running around like simpletons as if for the sake of it, clad in heavy armor.
Still, it was not enough. He doubled his run, doing another one in the afternoon, every day. It was absolutely crushing and Joffrey barely had the strength to nod and speak when he dined with his family. He felt the quality of the conversation didn't change much anyway. The pain was annoying, but laughably bearable after being burned alive, smashed to pieces, scalped (--not my finest moment--) and, really, after a couple dozen baths in the Purple, he barely felt bruises anymore.
-.PD.-
The memory of falling down the cliff fresh on his mind, he had made his way to Tobho Mott, one of Kings Landing's most renowned blacksmith and metal worker. The street of steel never slept, it appeared, as even late into the afternoon the forges were still lit, and the heavy clanging of hammer versus steel still rung strong as the sun steadily made its way downwards.
"Hello?!" he asked as he entered the shop, leaving his escort behind. The clanging suddenly stopped, and a man wearing a black velvet cloak with silver hammers embodied on its sleeves came out of the back door into the shop. "Welcome! Welcome! Whatever piece of weapon or armor you need you---" he stuttered to a stop as he saw Joffrey. He was quite used to this reaction, especially since Mother had caught him sneaking to Kings Landing and had demanded he wear something fitting for his station (including the horrendous golden lion embroidery, roaring on his chest), besides chugging the Hound AND four red cloaks on top of him.
"Tobho Mott, I presume? I'm Prince Joffrey, I'd like to order some costume tools if you have the time. " he told him, hoping that if he jumped straight to business the man would do the same. "But of course!" he recovered abnormally quickly "Please follow me this way, what do you need? A sword?" Said Tobho as he guided Joffrey to the smithy. "A dagger?" he speculated while Joffrey took off his heavy cloak inside the sweltering smithy.
"Climbing tools, actually" Joffrey told him. By his expression, Joffrey thought the man had never received such a request. "I brought some plans with me" Said Joffrey as he lay some parchments on the table, full of rough drawings that painfully showed Joffrey's artistic skill, or more accurately the lack of it. Most of the time he had not been exercising, Joffrey had been trawling the Red Keep's library for useful information that could help him on his project. It turns out there's a couple of books, one written by a man that prospected for gold all over the Westerland's mountains, and another, more technical tome written by a Maester that had followed him during his travels. They had proved to be a valuable fountain of knowledge, from how to prospect a cliff wall or mount to see if it was safe to climb, to possible designs they had proposed for more advanced climbing tools but had never been able to complete them due to a lack of funds.
For all his worth as a mountaineer, Jaime Hill had never found much gold.
Having devoured the books with an intensity which surprised Joffrey, he had made some recommendations on the partially incomplete diagrams, noting little useful additions that could make his life easier, some of them learnt during his brief climb last life, like the tiny hole on the edge of the pommel, made so he could tie the climbing rakes to his cloak and prevent them from falling off to infinity if he lost his grasp of them while not climbing.
Tobho called in a couple of his apprentices, one a small scrawny boy whose eyes hinted at intelligence, and another, a big youth with a shaggy black mane, his features oddly familiar though Joffrey couldn't for the life of him remember ever seeing him before.
They discussed the drawings in the strange arcane tongue of the Blacksmiths, swiftly pushing aside some diagrams aside, and scratching others. "Some of the characteristics are impossible to make my Prince" said Tobho as he eyed the plans, seemingly lost in a haze of possibilities and avenues of techniques. "But I think I could get them to work, if you can guide us a bit in regard to its uses…" Joffrey nodded.
"I will visit every day to check on your progress, and work out what we can make or not" Said Joffrey, a bit of Nakaro's tone when he commanded the crew slipping through his voice without him even noticing.
Any possible objections where silenced with a big, jingly thud as Joffrey deposited a hefty bag full of golden dragons. "This should cover any work expenses and buy me the finest quality steel this city has to offer" Said Joffrey.
The golden dragons glinted by the fire of the furnace, and Tobho Mott smiled slowly. "I believe they will" he said greedily.
"Good… oh I almost forgot" he suddenly said. "I want this one too, should be pretty simple." He said, handing him a diagram of a bonze plate. It showed a snarling lion on top of a mountain.
"It should pose no problems" said the bewildered armorer.
-.PD.-
Five months into this life, Joffrey was starting to get anxious. Rumors were trickling in about some sort of skirmish in the crossroads inn, and the death of a Noble Lord's son. That piece of news sent goosebumps all over Joffrey's back. If Catelyn Stark had somehow botched her attempt to capture his uncle and killed him instead, then it would mean instant war with the Westerlands, no 'mere' raiding by the Mountain and his band. If Tyrion had been killed… well, as much as it hurt Joffrey knew he could just stab himself and literally see him again within the next 20 minutes. It was the consequences that boded ill… he was not ready, not this soon. Why was fate so fucking intent on making the Starks and Lannisters kill each other?
He threw his hands up in frustration, and went back to read the scroll he had found in the library. It had been another excellent, if incomplete find. It was the translation of some Yi-Tish 'Way of Life' philosophy that an unnamed Maester had managed to decode from a half burnt scroll. Joffrey wasn't sure what the exact purpose of the scroll was, or if it even had a purpose. It was full of untranslated words which the maester had acknowledged he didn't have the skill necessary to decode, and the damaged nature of the original scroll meant that he was holding just a tiny piece of the full lore.
But what he did have was definitely interesting. Joffrey didn't know what kind of philosophy required body exercises, but this one certainly did. It seemed he had a window into the book from the last pages of a part titled "Soul Centering", which had breathing and thinking exercises eerily familiar to what he already did in the God's wood whenever he needed it, and extended to the what he guessed was the middle of "Body Centering". It was the latter that heavily intrigued Joffrey. Though Joffrey didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the image of Yi-Tish Maesters exercising to earn their platinum links, the exercises themselves were…
Interesting.
Sadly he only had about sixteen of them, and would have given a sizable amount of gold for the rest, but the few query's he'd sent to the Citadel had been responded by a long winded Maesterly equivalent of "huh?".
Yi-Ti… hmmmm… he pondered for a bit, then shook his head.
Another time.
He dropped to the floor, placed both arms below him and started pushing and letting himself fall, repeating it again and again.
I've got to hurry, I've got to be faster, time is running out.
That night he dreamt about the armies of the Westerland, swarming out of the Golden Tooth and right into the slaughter of the Riverlands.
-.PD.-
"Joffrey, wake up sweetie!" said a voice.
"Hmmrghmm…" Gods, the last few months of even harder work than he'd done on the Swift Winds had given him a more subtle appreciation for sleep.
Someone was… dressing him?
He blearily opened his eyes to see the last servants putting a red cloak on his back, and the image of his worried Mother getting him out of bed and into the hallway.
"Wha—whats going on??" he mumbled as he tried to get enough saliva to moisture his dry throat.
"It's time for you to take your rightful place on the throne, Joffrey." She said as the side doors opened into the throne room.
"Oh fuck me…" he said slowly as he was guided into the most odious lump of metal he had ever had the displeasure of seeing.
Once seated, he face palmed. "How he died this time" he asked his mother, a heavy weight on his voice.
"Sweetie?" asked Cercei, not paying much attention as she supervised the Redcloaks moving into position in front of the Kingsguard.
"King Robert. How.did.he.die." he asked, dead serious. This was just too much coincidence, just as the war started between the Lannisters and the Starks, every time, Robert died for some reason. Often getting killed by a freaking pig, other times due to illness, and always right before the opening of the war. It was obvious who Robert and consequently the realm would align with in any confrontation, and that was Eddard Stark, Lord of the North and his best friend.
…
He slid down the throne slightly, not caring for the sudden jags of pain forming on his back.
Of course, you idiot.
It was so obvious in hindsight… Robert was getting killed, probably by Mother, in every life, thereby tilting the scales and giving the Lannisters the confusion they needed to win.
He gazed at Cercei, disgusted. Not only did she cuckold his husband, she killed him as well.
It didn't surprise him, not really. Knowing Mother, it fitted perfectly. She had always hated Robert, any other advantage gained from his murder was probably secondary behind the sheer satisfaction of the deed… Not that Robert had been a saint either, he'd seen the bruises and the whores. Gods, those two deserved each other.
"He fell of the stairs, my sweet boy. I'm so sorry." She finally cooed.
"I bet he did!" he spat back at her.
She looked nonplussed for a moment but there was no time to talk as the doors opened and Lord Stark entered the room, face solemn but hiding some kind of great anger that shook Joffrey to his core. He'd never seen Ned that angry.
He walked purposely towards the throne, followed by his undiminished house guard, no gold cloaks though, but behind him was…
Oh… That's new.
Slightly behind him was Renly Baratheon, fake uncle and Lord of Storm's End, along with a couple dozen retainers and several heavily armored knights and Lords.
Cercei was now desperately eying the sides of the room, no doubt wondering why her Gold cloaks weren't there.
Ned… no. Lord Stark stopped in front of the Red cloaks, his great sword Ice firmly held between his hands, sheathed… though he looked like he'd like nothing else but to take it out right now.
"Quite the way to come and kneel before your King, Stark!" Cercei said, taking refuge in spite in front of what was turning into a very bad situation.
"I see no King there, Lady Cercei. Only the spawn of incest." Said Renly, making the Kingsguard draw swords in anger at the insult.
Joffrey just raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm missing something. Lord Stark, would you please explain to me what you are going to do and why will you do it?" the calm and reasonable tone of voice seemed to disconcert both Ned and Renly. Renly was looking at Ned with an urgent look, but Ned ignored him. He nodded jerkily before speaking. "I have been investigating into your linage… you are not the son of King Robert, Joffrey." He said almost against his will, struggling to get the words out.
"I see, what else?" Joffrey asked as he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
Ned seemed even more confused, but continued all the same. "In the course of my investigation, the Lannisters" he said that last word like a curse while he looked at Cercei "tried to kidnap my wife, Catelyn. They… failed…" he bit out in obvious pain. "She… didn't make it." He almost whispered the last part. Joffrey was genuinely shaken, what the hells had happened at the crossroads inn?
Eddard nodded "It was soon after that, a few hours ago that King Robert was found dead from a convenient accident" he said, regaining control of himself. "We are already taking control of the Red Keep" said Renly, "It would be best if you dropped your swords" He said, "Now" he added with a smile, clearly relishing every moment of this.
Cercei was going to retort, probably with another spiteful idiocy, but Joffrey's temper broke right then and there.
"FOR FUCKS SAKE!!! AAAAARRRGHHH!!!" he screamed.
"Two more months! Was it too much to fucking ask?!" he asked to seemingly no one.
He looked between a shocked Cercei, nonplussed Renly and confused Eddard. "Mother is not going to give up and will probably get everyone here killed trying to resist, she's oh so intelligent" he bit out, tone dripping with contempt. "Then, I'll be locked inside the Red Keep like some dragon's egg while you idiots!" he shouted pointing at Renly and Eddard "Play the godsforsaken game against Tywin, Stannis, his red bitch, Mace Tyrell, his slippery siren of a daughter and her Grandmother too! All the while waiting for some bright idiot with a lust for gold to stab me in the night!!! Or for the fucking Martells to come and poison everyone, cause why the fuck not!"
"FUCK THIS! ILL PASS!" He screamed with all his being.
Stunned silence descended amongst the hall, and Joffrey seemed to deflate, supremely tired.
He took a deep, weary breath. "I think fate woke up with the wrong foot on this life. Ser Boros, your dagger please" he said.
A confused Ser Boros turned around and handed his dagger to Joffrey while the rest of the players took a few seconds to get the situation back on track.
"Thank you" said Joffrey as he took it. "I don't know what happens to you people after the purple, but if you keep existing, may you choke on this infinitely uncomfortable chair!" he spat out before stabbing himself right in the heart.
He heard screaming and drawing swords, but the purple soon enveloped.
It would have been terribly embarrassing if had missed… he thought as the damnable pain returned…
Man, fuck that life.
-.PD.-
He awoke on his bed with a sad sight on his chest.
His eyes hardened, resolve crystalizing inside him.
"I'm going to do it…" he muttered with conviction.
-.PD.-
"Tobho should have the last pieces ready for tomorrow, I'll need you to go and bring them here. I trust his work, but the last modification left the handle too fucking bent" She heard Joffrey's voice from the hallway.
Cercei stopped, smoothed her dress, and resolved to find out what was going on once and for all. Ever since they had returned from Winterfell all those months ago, Joffrey had been acting incredibly strange. Running in heavy armor all day and reading at the library when he was not dead tired, and consorting with blacksmiths and leather workers of all things! Even worse had been his demeanor, every time she tried to speak with her son she was just rebuffed by a disgusted snort. It was like she had lost her son overnight. Add to that the growing tensions between the Lannisters and the Starks… Cercei was having many a sleepless night.
Besides those she didn't spend with Jaime anyway.
She nearly had an attack when she turned and entered Joffrey's room. Joffrey was hanging upside down from a sturdy looking, tall cupboard. His legs were firmly grasping the top of the furniture, and his hands were tucked behind his head. He was shirtless, and every few seconds he rose as if to touch his knees, only to then relax his back and return to his starting, dangling position… only to repeat it again.
Beside him was a servant nodding as Joffrey finished talking "—and tell the Hound to pack his stuff and get ready for leaving tomorrow at noon" he said. The servant nodded and scurried out quickly, only muttering a small "m'queen" on the way out. Cercei didn't even notice him, so big was the earth shattering realization on her mind.
My son's gone insane! She thought, desperate.
-.PD.-
"What did you tell her?" asked the Hound, genuinely curious as they rode their horses out of the Mud gate.
Joffrey seemed to ponder the question inside his head before nodding "I told her that if she didn't let me go right away I'd go straight to Robert and tell him she'd been cuckolding him with my father Jaime for the last fifteen years" he said as he with a smirk as he fiddled with one of Tobho's artfully crafted castle steel forged scaling rakes.
The Hound was silent for a bit before grunting out an unwilling chuckle. "And she bought your bluff?" he asked, disbelievingly.
"She sure did" said Joffrey as his smirk deepened and he eyed the Kingsroad ahead.
-.PD.-
He was turning his sneaking away from the Hound into an art form.
Subtly get him drunk with wine, leave everything prepacked, don't startle the horses, and many other little details made the whole endeavor a task in of itself.
After that the week passed without incident, Joffrey found himself at the foot of the mountain again, flexing his muscles while taking a deep breath.
"Let's fucking do this" he said to no one in particular.
-.PD.-
Joffrey took a bite out of his beef jerky, munching mechanically and putting his shivering teeth to good use. He took another look to the looming cliff, experimentally tapping it with his rake.
"Hmmm… seems solid enough" he mumbled before stabbing it completely with the other climbing rake, and scaling up with both the rakes as well as both of his steel bladed leather reinforced hide boots, steadily making his way up. Joffrey was like a machine, slowly but surely making his way up, methodically stabbing and rising, making use of handholds or cracks whenever he found them.
Suddenly his right rake slipped, leaving him hanging from his boots and his left rake. "Whoooow!!" he screamed through his bluish tinted lips and nose as the rocks tumbled down, and he struggled to purchase some grip with the hanging rake.
He roared as he stabbed the mountain again, finally hitting a more solid bit.
"Not solid enough!" he screamed to himself as he waited to see if it could hold his weight…
I admit it, book knowledge is simply not enough to learn the difference between scalable cliffs and deathtraps.
He waited…
Silence… until…
Crack
The whole piece of rock he had been attached to gave way under its own weight, and fell down at an incredible speed. Joffrey closed his eyes.
-.PD.-
He opened his eyes. He was on his bed.
"I'm going to climb this damned mountain, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me" he muttered to himself, before snapping out of bed with a shout "Servants!"
-.PD.-
He run around the Red Keep, his face set. He was fast, not a sprint by any stretch of the imagination, but still a respectable speed. Crossed above his shoulders and with his arms looped around them, he carried two broadswords.
His breathing was steady. In, out. In, out. In out.
-.PD.-
He walked through the cliff edge, following the "path" carved by nature, his shoulders crouched, trying to make himself a smaller target as the cold rain whipped past him, soaking him wet and barely letting him see forward. Suddenly an impossibly bright light flashed, Joffrey was sure, must have been right in front of him, illuminating the whole Vale of Arryn below him for a microsecond before leaving his eyes seeing pure white.
CCCHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA TUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG
The thunder was absolutely deafening, so loud it was Joffrey could swear they must have heard it in Braavos. The Lighting seemed to strike somewhere in front of him, shaking the very ground he was standing upon.
Joffrey grabbed the rock to his right for dear life as the rain kept buffeting at him. Or at least he thought he was grabbing the rock. Honestly he had lost the sense of touch from his feet two days ago and his hands were not too much better. Now with his eye sight gone as well as his hearing, he might as well have been sailing downwards at a hundred nautical miles per hour.
Slowly, the tingling, bell like sound left his ears, and the white in his vision slowly gave way to a wet rock.
"YOU'LL HAVE TO TRY HARDER THAN THAT!" He shouted at the storm and… he didn't know. Somewhere along the way this had become personal. This bloody mountain… everything he did didn't work. No matter what he did, it didn't change the outcome, he was incapable of reaching the summit.
In his mind, the mountain had merged with another concept.
Destiny, inevitability… Fate.
"I can do it… I have to…" he muttered as he kept trekking the slope, one feet after the other.
-.PD.-
He was shivering inside the small cave he had managed to find, tending the pathetic fire he had managed to start up with the sticks and one unlucky shrub. The wet sticks were having a hard time starting up, but even the trickle of heat they gave out was greedily absorbed by Joffrey.
He was a shivering wreck, he didn't even feel his nose or his little finger. He was looking horrified at his blue feet, experimentally touching with a stick and not feeling a bit.
"This… looks… bad…" he said between shivers. The howling wind outside seemed to agree as it redoubled in its intensity, its banshee like howling setting his teeth on edge. He had reached the snow 3 days ago… and he'd never felt more tired in his life. He didn't know if it was because of his feet or a lack of stamina, but he felt dead tired. It seemed the fire had helped with the general pain that had been plaguing his body for the last week though, he didn't feel it anymore.
He rested his back on the stone next to the burning sticks. Gods he was so tired, a quick nap right now sounded more delicious than a thousand feats. He had even stopped shivering!
Slowly his eyes drooped. Just 10 minutes, then I can keep going…. 10 minutes…
-.PD.-
Joffrey snapped his eyes open and sat up.
He was on his bed on the Red Keep.
…
He took a deep breath.
"Again" he said, his voice strange to his ears.
-.PD.-
Joffrey huffed as he hanged upside down from the cupboard, rising to his knees before lowering again. His chainmail jingled as he repeated the motion again and again.
Tyrion was sitting beside him on his desk, amused and confused with his nephew's antics. On his desk he had several drawing he had been drawing and preparing for a sturdy but as light as possible backpack.
Joffrey had been very insistent in getting his help… and his absurdly changed behaviors was a riddle he just couldn't resist. Puzzles were always his doom.
Beside him Joffrey kept at it. For the last hour he had been doing that, rising and back like a ship's pump. They had spoken at first while he did it, about the most miscellaneous things, chief of them being winter clothing. He had thought that after their trip to Winterfell with King Robert they boy would have been tired of the snow...
He had been quiet for the last 20 minutes though. He seemed to be devoting his entire strength to his exercises.
Up down up jingle, up down jingle, up down jingle. The sound of the tingling chainmail counted the repetitions.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure made his way through the snow storm, plowing through the rising snow and up the steep slope. Only one bit of skin visible out of his whole body.
His feet were covered in in leather reinforced hide boots, on his legs he wore heavy storm trousers, his chest was wrapped in wool below leather, and his back was covered by a big water proofed cloak. His hands wielded wickedly sharp looking rakes, and they were covered by thick gloves. A black hood covered the man's blonde hair, and a leather-woolen neck guard covered his mouth and nose.
The only bit of visible skin were his bright green eyes.
He was close, he could feel it. A heavy grumbling from his stomach made him crouch, one hand touching his belly.
Of all the things… food…
He looked up. There were a few momentary gaps in the blizzard, in between them, he could see the peak, high above, couldn't be more than a week away.
So close…
The backpack he had designed with the help of Tyrion, well, the backpack that Tyrion had designed with his help, was securely attached to his back, but its weight was harrowingly low.
He had no food left.
He took another step, and then another, and another. He felt so weak he wanted to cry, but didn't even have the energy to do so. He took another step.
Suddenly his left foot slipped under a rock below the snow. He tumbled forward, landing face first into the snow.
He spent a few seconds there before he put his arms below him, and pushed.
Nothing happened.
Come on, I've done this a hundred times before.
He pushed with all his strength. He could feel himself slightly rising as his face emerged from the snow and into the somehow even colder air.
His arms gave out from under him as he collapsed on the cold snow.
He gave a wordless scream of effort as he tried one last time with all his being.
Nothing.
His arms slumped to his sides… And he waited…
-.PD.-
A boy slept on his room.
Suddenly, his green eyes opened serenely, and the man rose from his bed.
"Again" said the man.
-.PD.-
"Hound, another one" he said, his face flooded with sweat.
They were on top of one of the main towers, overlooking Blackwater Bay. Joffrey was flat on his stomach, straight as a board, in the same position he had been the last time he died. On his back were half a dozen heavy tomes from the library.
Beside him was the Hound, looking thoroughly confused with the whole endeavor and vaguely alarmed. "Joffrey, I--"
"Hound, another one" said Joffrey with the same tone of voice. That shook the Hound, he had never seen the little shit with so much… determination. He didn't know what his obscure goal was, but apparently it meant becoming a cord of muscle and stamina.
Joffrey waited patiently, his forearms tucked against the floor, ready to tense, his back straight, balancing the books. "Pycell's going to want these back" muttered the Hound as he took another book from the pile and placed it on Joffrey's back.
He barely grunted under the additional weight.
Joffrey tensed, his face a rictus of effort.
He stayed there.
His face was red, and he had stopped breathing.
The Hound was going to stop all this madness when suddenly Joffrey roared.
"AAAAAAAArrrrrrrrrr" he shouted as he rose from the ground and stayed suspended, only touching the floor with his arms and legs for a full 10 seconds.
Suddenly he fell to the side, spilling all the books on the floor. But instead of the usual disinterested smirk, Joffrey had an anticipating and vaguely manic grin.
"I'm ready" he said ominously.
The Hound didn't want to ask for what.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure walked through the snowy slope. The small shrubs had ceased to exist a while ago, and the sun was now clearly visible through the clouds… or… it would if there where clouds. He had seemingly trekked past them a few days ago. The last of the cliff climbs was long behind him, and the only visible obstacle to the summit was a somewhat steep slope, peppered with ice and hard rocks.
He had never made it this far, and he had rationed his food as much as he could. It was still not enough though, he needed energy… he was starving.
He thought he had reached his limits in terms of carrying capacity. He couldn't simply lug more food through the climb, the weight was just too much for his body, at least not if he had only 9 to 12 months to prepare.
Still… he was so fucking close. He could see the peak in the middle of the day, so tantalizingly close.
So he trucked on, step, step, step, step.
He noticed he had to take deeper breaths than before, and more often too, as if the air itself didn't have the strength to fully reach up here.
The slope narrowed to a small path, and right next to it was a natural cave, perfect for spending the night before one final push.
As he got close, he heard a rumbling purr.
Suddenly out of the cave leapt an enormous feline, a female, her huge head sporting wickedly sharp fangs, her long, sinuous body swirling like a snake. Her coat was a shaggy white, and she seemed a bit starved as her blue eyes gazed at Joffrey intently.
Joffrey froze as the big feline tensed, 7 meters in front of him.
Shadowcat.
Joffrey gripped his climbing rakes, his knuckles turning white.
There was nowhere to run. But even if there was, Joffrey would not be denied. Not now.
"You are not going to stop me" he told it calmly as he crouched slightly, rakes held low but ready to cut.
The Shadowcat roared as she pounced at Joffrey, claws spread and her mouth open.
Joffrey partially dodged to the side but the bulk of the Shadowcat still slammed him to the snowy ground. He screamed as he felt its fangs burrowing into his left shoulder.
Joffrey roared as he lifted his right hand and stabbed the Shadowcat in the ribs with his climbing rake, using all his strength. The big cat yowled but didn't let go. Joffrey shouted as he kept stabbing as his ribs again and again. Finally the Shadowcat jumped back, searching behind her for its sharp enemy.
Joffrey stood up groggily, blood flowing freely down his torso. The Shadowcat whirled about and lunged at Joffrey again. This time, somehow, he managed to skip to the left in a water dancing feint, bringing his rake down and stabbing her in the back. The Shadowcat roared in pain and swiped at him, leaving a bloody gash on Joffrey's right arm.
He stumbled back, blood pooling all around him as both man and cat eyed each other. Joffrey had only one rake left, the other one had been lost with that swipe.
He didn't know if the lack of air or if the adrenaline of the fight was getting to him, but Joffrey snarled with primal rage at the guardian of Fate. The Shadowcat roared back.
It leapt and tackled Joffrey as it tried to sink his fangs into his neck. They both tumbled through the snow with the force of the impact. A tumbling that quickly turned into free fall as both of them fell back down to the Vale of Arryn.
-.PD.-
Joffrey breathed in slowly at the Red Keep's God's Wood. In, out. In, out. In, out.
He was sitting cross-legged in one of the positions he had learnt from the Yi-i Scroll, it had helped immensely with his concentration. He felt the wind around him, carrying the fresh scent free of the city's usual stink. It didn't have quite the edge that a real Godswood had, but it still helped him immensely. He already felt centered, as if one with his emotions. He knew the effect wouldn't last long, but the feeling of wellbeing would last a while longer than it.
Still… he was hesitant to leave the place. His preparations for the next climb were almost complete… but the futility of seemingly fighting against fate was getting to him. He had lost count of the amount of times he had tried, and a small corner of his mind was whispering seductively that he should just quit, that it was only a freaking mountain, that he had nothing to prove.
But Joffrey knew those whispers. If he gave in now, what about the next thing he did? Would he never be able to accomplish anything of his own effort? Would the voice keep whispering, shouting, for the rest of his lives?
The wind pattern is wrong.
Suddenly he opened up his eyes. His bright green eyes seemed paler in the reflected light of the afternoon, kind of with a steely gloss.
As soon as he opened his eyes he heard a gasp to his right and his danger senses screamed as he leapt to his feet effortlessly in one fluid motion that almost echoed of water dancing, drawing his dagger. After more than 8 months of the heaviest training Joffrey had devised without it actually killing him, he felt like a coiled spring ready for anything.
To his right was Sansa, covering her mouth, her eyes startled and quite a bit afraid. Joffrey shook himself as he sheathed his dagger. "I'm sorry for startling you my lady" he told her. She lowered her hands and shook her head, which was getting quite red. "No need my prince, I… I was actually spying on you" she suddenly confessed.
Joffrey looked bewildered at the sudden confession. "Me? Why?" he asked, genuinely confused.
She took a hesitant step forward. "It's just…" she seemed to be having a titanic battle within her as she spoke "you seem so… focused… driven... and it's as if you know something no one else here could even imagine…" she said with the uncanny insight that seemed to inhabit below the enormous outer layer of naiveté and innocence that Joffrey had detected only hints of in lives past.
"I'm sorry, I didn't--" she suddenly started but Joffrey stopped her when he walked in front of her. "No… its… its true…" he said, searching for the right words. "There's… I guess you could call it a song, in life. It guides everything we do, everything that happens…" he said, his eyes unfocused.
"If one where to try and change a few keys of the song, it would devolve into improvisation for a while, sure, only to later return to the melody yet again. But the song… the song always stays the same, the song never seems to change… I can't change it." Joffrey said, somewhat desperately, already regretting his words.
Sansa however had an uncharacteristic focused look, peering at his face and trying to decipher his meaning. After a minute of silent staring, Sansa spoke.
"But, Joffrey… What is a different song if not a sequence of changed keys?" she asked him.
In his mind Joffrey saw the long sequence of events that led to his last climb. Running training, forging tools with Tobho Mott, hanging squats with his chainmail, designing the perfect backpack and winter clothing with Tyrion, endurance training in the sunny top of the Red Keep's main tower with the Hound, reading for information on the Mountain range and on the tactics of climbing.
Each of them a key on their own, worthless. But together… A string of keys could change the song, a string of events could change dealings of fate beyond petty politics or who killed who. They could propel him to stand atop the roof of the world itself.
And he could already see the last key he needed.
"Gods, I never knew you were this wise" Said Joffrey in the midst of his daze of realization as he gave her a heartfelt kiss on the cheek and went running towards the main keep.
Sansa stayed rooted in the Godswood, her face so hot and red she thought she was going to burst into flame.
-.PD.-
"I told you Ned! The Targaryen bitch needs to die!" bellowed King Robert at the small council in general and Ned in particular.
Eddard was about to object yet again when the doors bursted open and Robert's peculiar son, Prince Joffrey, entered the room with the look of a man on a mission.
"Robert" he said as he looked at his father.
"I'm busy boy! If this is about another one of your dresses--"
"Robert, I need your pig-sticker" he said, dead serious.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure made his way through the slope, the snow not deep enough to make him falter. There was only one bit of skin visible out of his whole body.
His feet were covered in leather reinforced hide boots, on his legs he wore heavy storm trousers, his chest was wrapped in wool below leather, all covered by a light chainmail. On his back he sported a big water proofed cloak. His hands were hidden behind heavy winter gloves. A black hood covered the man's blonde hair, and a leather-woolen neck guard covered his mouth and nose.
The only bit of visible skin were his pale green eyes.
The man took off his back pack and opened it on the ground. The smell of food was still painfully present but there was none of that left. No, instead, the man took out 4 wooden poles the size of his forearm, each topped with an iron socket.
He snapped in place each segment, the smooth clicking sound after each fusion proof enough of Tobho Mott's master work. Finally, he took out one final piece which was covered in leather wrappings.
He snapped it to the last segment. The leather wrapping flew with the wind and revealed a wickedly sharp, castle steel forged broad dagger half a meter in size, gleaming with unfiltered sunlight on top of a 3 meter spear.
The man took an identical broad dagger and tied it sideways on his back, right above his hip. It was identical to the other, only differing in that this one had a handle instead of an iron socket.
The man left his backpack there and continued walking towards the only path available, one that passed right by a small cave…
Like clockwork, Fate's guardian leapt out of the cave with a purr and a growl, staring at the man. Her white shaggy mane served to hide her diminished form, though even in hunger the Shadowcat was majestic. Despite her great weight, she moved with an inherent grace and agility, slowly prowling sideways, moving around the man in a circle.
The man lowered the spear as he lowered his center of gravity, semi crouching in an eerie mirror of the Shadowcat's pose, footwork steady as he slowly pivoted to the side, always keeping the feline in front of his spear.
The man took another deep breath.
"If no matter what I do" he calmly told the Shadowcat as it kept prowling, "If I can't reach that summit… if the power of a thousand lifetimes can't reach it… it means you, me, everyone…" he muttered quietly. Despite his whispering, the words sounded unnaturally loud to Joffrey's ears. The wind had suddenly stilled, and the only other sound beside his voice was the soft crunch of slow boot or paw over snow.
The Shadowcat slowly raised her back, thick muscles cording for the jump.
"If I can't reach that summit… it would mean we are all puppets to fate... It would mean we are just its playthings, to be used and discarded again and again."
The Shadowcat growled as she went absolutely still, muscles tight, its vision centered on Joffrey.
His green eyes, the only part of his body visible, narrowed in concentration "I… I can't accept that. Better a hundred deaths by the purple. Better a million of them." He told the Shadowcat. Though his mouth was covered, the way his cheeks pulled upwards betrayed his serene smile.
Joffrey and the Shadowcat locked eyes, both as still as statues, the wind unnaturally quiet.
His mind was silent, still. His thoughts lay completely unmoving like if he were meditating on Winterfell's great Godswood, the small red leaves twirling around him. He could feel every wisp of wind against his body, the weight of his clothes, he felt every muscle of his body tense and relax.
He could see the Shadowcat in perfect detail, full of colour despite his white mane… petrified as if it were a statue.
They spent the next second like that, or eternity. Joffrey would never know which.
The Shadowcat's paw twitched.
"COME OOOOON!!!" Roared Joffrey as the Shadowcat let out a roar of its own and leapt faster than a bolt from a crossbow.
"AAAIIYAAAaaa" shouted Joffrey in exertion as he moved like lighting and stabbed the spear right above the Shadowcat's left forepaw. She yowled in pain as she retreated back, but Joffrey kept up the pressure, standing tall and aiming low, pushing to try and pin the Shadowcat to the floor.
She somehow scuttled back faster than Joffrey could follow, disentangling herself from the broad spear point and leaving a trail of blood as she sprinted like thunder to his left, trying to flank him. He pivoted hard, following the white blur with the spear. She was fast, too fast.
She ducked low and suddenly stopped, making Joffrey overcompensate to his left and leaving the spear out of position for when she charged right at him. He managed to slash her side, and the Shadowcat roared in pain as she turned to her side and clawed at the spear with all her strength.
A spear that had been modified for ease of transportation, losing a good part of its structural integrity in its conversion.
The spear snapped in two with a deafening crunch.
All of this Joffrey saw in slow motion. Without thinking, he tossed the broken spear aside and bellowed as he charged the Shadowcat, drawing the broad dagger from his back hip sheath. The Shadowcat roared as she turned to face him, but this time the momentum was with Joffrey as they tumbled through the snow in a feast of claws and steel, blood and bone.
Suddenly, the whirling blur stopped, revealing a crouched Shadowcat, her face pointing downwards, still as a statue again.
After a half minute, slowly, the Shadowcat tumbled to one side, then to the other. With a scream of strength emerging from below her, the Shadowcat sprawled to the side showing her bloodied neck and revealing the bloodied man in hard winter clothing that had been trapped below her. He struggled to his knees, holding a bloodied left arm, and stumbled towards Shadowcat. With a grunt of effort he pulled his broad dagger from the beast's thick neck, spraying the snow with even more blood.
-.PD.-
The slope got easier and easier, each step requiring less effort than the last, each step not as steep as the last one.
Until it was no more.
The slope suddenly gave way to a couple of meters of flat rock, and then…
Westeros beckoned.
To his right were the Riverlands, the great wandering trident and its tributaries stretched through a vast network of hamlets and houses, the greatest of which was mighty Harrenhall, which was barely visible with its enormous jagged towers, right beside the great lake that was the God's Eye. All around the rivers stretched great fields of crops, only identifiable by their color. Great swathes of yellow, brown and green followed the sides of the rivers, a swirl of colors that took Joffrey's breath away. To the front lay the bay of crabs, one big streak of blue that seemed to pierce into the heart of the continent, its waters never still, always crashing against the shore. To his left was the Eyrie, one great turreted thumb rising from the vale, surrounded by mighty mountains full of green forestry and grey slopes. Great as they were, none of them was as big as his.
All around him he could see the greatest mountain range of Westeros, rising in majestic beauty, sporting a desolate kind of allure in the form of mixing greens and pale greys, all topped with crowns of white. He could see them all from here, stretching north to south and into the Vale of Arryn, where they finally met a great blue blob right on the horizon that could only be the Narrow Sea.
It was beautiful.
"WWWWHUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!" roared Joffrey as he fell on his knees, his arms raised high atop the roof of the world.
I did it… I… I'm capable of forging my own destiny...
That thought swirled through his head like an intoxicating, almost sexual pleasure.
He suddenly noticed he was crying, and it with a start he realized that it was the best sensation he'd ever had in any of his lives.
-.PD.-
Joffrey took another bite.
It tasted…
It tasted of… blood and victory.
It tasted… good.
He took another bite out of the raw Shadowcat fillet, munching methodically as his feet swinged about in the air.
Eating raw shadowcat meat on the top of the Mountains of the Moon…
There's something surreal inside that thought.
He gobbled the last piece he had brought with him and lay back in infinite contentment, eying the sun as it made its way down.
"Take a nap at the top of the world, check" he said to himself, amused. The heady feeling of victory had not left him. It was there right at his core, like a warm hearth fire.
Joffrey smiled as he lounged, taking a long, drawn out nap.
…
…
…
-.PD.-
… Now what?
He looked behind him, then down below.
He swept back the veritable blonde mane that had grown from his scalp and proudly scratched his stubby blonde bear, only to stop as the pain from the huge scar that crossed his head from forehead to mouth pulsed in pain.
"Ouch… damned cat…" he muttered. The bleeding had been hell itself to stop, and he still found his wounds bleeding now and then. He was sure they'd get infected soon.
"Okay" he said standing up, and looked back down again. "Only one way down" he said with a nervous chuckle.
He stood back, run to the edge of the world and promptly stopped.
…
This is going to be harder that I thought.
It was a long, loooong way down. He got sick just looking right down.
After psyching himself up for the last 10 minutes, Joffrey finally nodded.
He licked his lips.
This one's for you uncle!
"Team Lannisteeeeeeeeerrrrrr!!!" he screamed as jumped out of the ledge.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..........................." he screamed as he fell, faster than anything he had experienced on his lives before.
And then he promptly run out of breath.
And kept falling.
And falling.
And falling.
He spread his arms wide and tried to maneuver in the sky, to some moderate success.
"THIS IS UNBELEAVABLE!!! TAKE THAT FUCKING TARGARYENS!" He screamed as he tilted this way and that, fucking flying through the air.
In the midst of this joy, and as the ground kept getting closer and closer, one sudden, horrible thought crossed Joffrey's mind, thanks to a slapping weight tied to his belt.
Oh gods.
I didn't leave the bronze plaque in the summit.
"FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--"
SPLAT.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone