Chapter 8: 7 Whispers of Peace
Hm. That didn't work either. Still, its just a matter of trying. Thought Joffrey as he got up from his bed and walked up to the window. This didn't work last time, but maybe it's the Red Keep, he mused as he jumped through the window.
He landed in the courtyard, a twisted and bloody wreck. People all over shouted in alarm, and Robert himself went pale as a sheet as he got off his horse and run towards Joffrey. "Gods! Joffrey! My son!" Shouted Robert as he flailed around in a panic for two seconds before grabbing a nearby goldcloak and shoving him towards the main keep "You! Get the Grandmaester now!"
Robert, calm down, I'm not your son. Joffrey tried to say, but it only came out as a wet gurgle. "Oh, Joffrey, please." Robert struggled to say as he grabbed Joffrey and held him in his arms. Didn't knew he cared that much about me. More's the pity. Thought Joffrey as his sight faded away and the purple came back. As utter agony flooded him, Joffrey chuckled. This is the best you can do?
Try harder. He thought as he stretched his arms in the void and flew.
-.PD.-
Joffrey walked through the Red Keeps hallway. He turned a right and came up to the Queen's bedchambers, guarded by the Kingslayer. "Prince Joffrey" He said as he nodded.
"Father" nodded Joffrey. Jaime was so petrified he didn't even flinch when Joffrey slashed his neck with his dagger. He brought both gauntleted hands to his neck in surprise, trying to stem the flow with his hands as he fell on the floor. "Sorry Father, I'm trying to figure out what the bloody purple wants, this is just getting tiring, you know?" he said as he stopped in front of the door. "Though, maybe now…" he mused as he put the dagger in front of his chest. "Nah, better to make sure" he said as he lowered the dagger and opened the door.
"Hello Mother!" he said as Cercei stood up from her chair in surprise. "Joffrey! What--" her voice choked out as she witnessed the body behind Joffrey as he strolled into the room.
"Sorry about Father, but you really should have thought about things before fucking your own brother! Their offspring can fail pretty hard, just look at the Targeryens" he said as he approached her.
His Mother seemed to crumble, semi-crouching in the floor and holding a gut wrenching sob of incomprehension, both her hands covering her mouth. "Hey! Don't be like that! At least I'm not jumping into wildfire trying to turn into a dragon!" He said as he snorted, then seemed to pause for a bit. "Wildfire… hmmm" he pondered.
He nodded and then grabbed his Mothers hair. He could already hear screams from the hallway, better make it quick! "I'm just so tired by all this, there's got to be away" he muttered as he slit her throat. She didn't even resist, lax in his hands.
Ser Boros Blunt crashed into the room, sword drawn and seeking enemies. "Okay, here goes nothing" He said as he plunged the dagger in his heart. The last thing he saw before greeting the purple was Ser Boros slack face, it was really kind of amusing.
-.PD.-
Grand Maester Pycell leaned back on his seat, analyzing the Crown Prince, hiding behind the doddering fool façade that had served him so well for all this years. "A poison that seemed to strangle a person?" he muttered haltingly. The Strangler of course. But the question was, why?
Well, there was no harm in letting him hold it for a bit, its not like he could run away with the vial, he'd alert the King in that case and nothing ill would come of it, though the story of "having read it on a book and got curious" was laughable at best.
Still, he haltingly, almost shuddering, turned back, unlocked the cupboard and passed him the dangerous poison.
Joffrey took it, looked at it for a couple of seconds and promptly drank it.
The Grand Maester stumbled as he stood up, his chair flying back as he grabbed the prince with strong hands that belied their old age. THE GODSDAMNED FOOL! I'VE GOT TO MAKE HIM VOMIT BEFORE---
He stared dumbly at the dagger sticking out of his chest. "Oh get off old man" Joffrey said as he brushed him off. Pycell stumbled backwards and fell on his desk as he watched Joffrey stretch his limbs for a bit, and cracked a couple knuckles. "Bit too sweet I think. Some Maester's apprentice is slacking off… though it should still work… I hope." Muttered Joffrey as he walked around the room, flexing his arms again. Pycelle just tried to staunch the bleeding, and he was failing miserably in that front.
"Damn it Pycell, this thing should already be working, Fathe—Ah! Damnit! Robert should fire you and get an Alchemist instead. Said Joffrey impatiently.
Pycell said nothing as he struggled to reach the nearby cupboard that held his medicinal supplies. Need… to staunch… the bleeding… He thought as he fumbled for his keys. Joffrey didn't seem to mind.
Joffrey coughed, then smiled. The sight of that shook Pycell so much he dropped his keys. "Oh Gods" he mumbled as he crouched to pick them up again.
"Well that took its sweet time... Sweet… ha!" Joffrey's chuckle petered off as he fell on the floor, writhing and holding his throat.
Pycell finally got the right keys, but found out he couldn't get back up again.
Oh dear…
His vision blurred and the last thing he saw was Joffrey's face contorted in… annoyance?
What--- the---….
-.PD.-
Gods… so tired. I think I should rest for a while… but there's still a couple ways I should try first… I wonder if…
…
"I'll repeat myself again, okay? You need to torture me" He said to the gaol jailor and unofficial torturer of the Red Keep. The man stuttered dumbly as he looked around him, trying to find someone to help him in this outright bizzare, no, otherworldly situation. "Ah… I can't do that your grace…" he mumbled as he took a tiny step back.
The Crown Prince seemed to sight as he stepped forward and handed him his dagger. "Its really not that hard" he said, exasperated as he gripped the man's hand (now with the dagger) and stabbed himself all the way through the cheek. "See?" he said as he spat a mouthful of blood on the floor.
The man stumbled back, letting out a scream before running as fast as he feet could take him up the stairs.
Figures… Guess I'll have to do it myself. Didn't seem too hard when I did it to Stark… the angles may be tough though…
-.PD.-
"Right over here my prince" said Wisdom Hallyne as he guided Joffrey over the storage area. Tis been decades since we have been graced with a royal presence! For the good of the guild I must impress the prince.
He watched the prince carefully as they walked to the underground vaults were the substance was stored. People often looked down on the Alchemist's Guild, seeing them as nothing more than cheap tricksters. Fools, thought Hayllyne. The Targeryeans knew the true worth of our work, and the importance of it. Still, for want of a dragon, I'll take a stag.
"Here is one of the storage areas, as you see we have taken ample precautions" he said, gesturing at the rows of wildfire suspended above sandbags from below and above, ready in case of an unexpected detonation. Hayllene got one of them from the racks, twirling it carefully in his old, expert hands. The Prince eyed the substance with a strange mix of curiosity and apathy. "May I see it, Wisdom?" he asked.
The vacant look of the Prince sent a shiver of foreboding, but Hallyne quickly overrode it. We must get back our royal patronage! KingRobert had been less than amused when his predecessor had walked to court asking for more funding…
Wisdom Gobbard was lucky Robert didn't rent his head asunder with his hammer…
Carefully, he passed it on to the prince. He seemed to examine the green jar a bit as he carefully took the lid out. "Careful my prince…" said Hayllene, eying the Prince anxiously. The prince looked at him and snorted.
"It would be very ironic if I turned into a dragon… ha!" he said as he drank the jar's contents in one fell swoop.
Joffrey seemed to grunt as he bent a bit, semi crouched. This lasted 1 seconds as he then exploded in a green blast that devoured his body. A shocked Wisdom Hayllene shrieked as he turned his back to run at the door, but there was never time. The explosion seared his back and flung him to the side, crashing against more jars of wildfire. As more explosions rocked the building, the support struts of the room burnt as they were supposed to, and Wisdom, fire and Prince were buried under an avalanche of sand that descended from the ceiling.
-.PD.-
Joffrey felt each death a little faster, the memories of it a little more blurred, the pain diluted. In each life he talked a bit less, his deaths were a bit less creative or different. His emotions were being purged, and the crushing guilt and despair got a bit less overwhelming. He was also a lot more tired, and the last few lives he barely had the strength to get out of bed and jump out the window.
Its… working… he thought in a tired haze as he stumbled out of his bed and struggled to open the window. He barely felt his hands as they fumbled the lock. Exhausted… its… working…
He finally managed to open it, but he didn't feel the wind coming through it.
He fell more than jumped out the window, and he barely felt any pain as he crashed against the hard ground, even the purple barely even registered anymore. His thoughts were even slower now, and everything seemed to blur.
He lost himself in the blur.
-.PD.-
Joffrey floated in the blur.
He had lost all perception of time, all perception of everything really.
I am no more, he thought with detached disinterest. Even as he thought of that, the term "I" lost meaning, there was no more "Joffrey", just… a blur.
There was only the blur, sometimes interrupted by clouds of purple, like weather, that would come and go as the wind.
…
…
…
-.PD.-
…
…
…
And then, with a trickle, with infinite time, just like a pendulum reaching the zenith of its momentum… it started to come back. Joffrey felt himself slowly being built again, at a crawl. The Purple winds drifted now and then, swirling by as Joffrey… remembered.
I am…
I… am…. Joffrey.
Slowly at first, the memories came back. Crown prince…. No…
…traitor and bastard…
The haze lifted for a bit and he could see a blond haired woman, tenderly feeding him with some soup from a nearby bowl. Although Joffrey couldn't feel the flavor, or even his body, he could hear her soothing tune.
Mother…
The blur came back again, and Joffrey drifted in nothingness, uncaring, completely neutral. When it came back, he could see a tall, balding man with a gaze of iron. He was arguing with a beautiful red head which despite her appearance seemed to radiate an aura of danger.
Uncl---… Lord Stannis… King Stannis…
They intend to burn me again, thought Joffrey, though the thought of it didn't seem to faze him. The discussion got heated as the red woman extended a greedy hand towards Joffrey's face, only to be batted away angrily by Stannis, as he ordered some men to take her away from the room.
They wouldn't burn him, then. He didn't feel either relief or disappointment as the blur came back again. The blur would continue on, Joffrey didn't know for how long, intersped by bouts of purple. The moments when he could see again would be fleeting and rare, but mostly he saw servants, and his mother.
Is it sad to be so little thought of in your hour of greatest darkness?
He honestly couldn't answer that question.
-.PD.-
After a millennia of time, or a day, Joffrey seemed to land on his bed, the puffy feeling of floating in nothingness receding away like the morning tide… and staying in his edges. He rested there for a while, gazing at the dark ceiling.
With a monumental effort, Joffrey got up. He could barely feel his feet as he slowly limped towards the door. The Red Keep was dark, and the heavy sound of rain seemed omnipresent. Joffrey walked towards the main gate, using the occasional torch and the frequent lightning bolts to see his way.
The rain was so heavy that the guards didn't even notice him as he limped by at the same time a cart entered the main gate. Completely drenched, he made his way through King's Landing. The few smallfolks that noticed him in the dark, torrential night steered clear of his way, probably taking him for a beggar.
With single minded determination, a deep exhaustion heavy on both his body and mind, Joffrey walked into Baelor's Sept.
As always, the secondary doors were open, but the Sept itself seemed devoid of life. As Joffrey limped towards the Altar of the Father, breathing heavily from the exertion, his eyes began to water. Finally, with an effort of will, Joffrey lurched and landed at the feet of the Father.
Seven… please help me… Why… Why are you doing this to me?
The pounding rain kept on, interrupted by distant thunders. The heavy chandeliers barely keept out an oppressive, strangling darkness.
Please… no more… there is no… reason for me to live on...
Please…
Desperately, Joffrey lunged and grabbed the enormous feet of the Father's Statue, holding on to them franticly.
Father, I know my justice was an abomination, my scales where a mockery. But I only tried… Joffrey struggled to carry it through. Only tried to keep the peace…
But the excuse sounded hollow in Joffrey's mind, and an ominous thunder illuminated the silhouette of the Father, encasing Joffrey in his shadow for a brief moment.
The ideals of the Father, Justice and leadership… I had failed at them. I was no leader, only a tyrant, my justice a flimsy excuse. I only wanted power, power to rule, power to command… power to be cared by the father that never was.
In the end, he was an abomination in the Father's sight. The son of his uncle, how could he expect the Father to listen to him, if by rights he should have never been born. He had no true father, thus the Father Above would always be denied to him.
With that sickening realization crystalizing in his mind, he lurched to the next statue. The benevolent Mother gazed from above, caring and forgiving.
Mother please listen to me… have compassion… please Mother… PLEASE…
The gaze of the Mother Above seemed to turn cruel and unforgiving. He had reveled in his cruelty and hurt with wanton abandon. He would find no mercy here.
Silent tears streaming down, Joffrey limped to the next altar, where the stern Warrior stood vigilant. Through Joffrey's blurring vision, the menacing statue seemed poised to strike him down. When had he demonstrated strength? When had he shown true courage other than to save his life? When had he been brave?
He limped on, not willing to stand any longer below such a force. The Maiden seemed to sneer at him, her expression one of hatred.
Appropriate, Joffrey thought. I have flaunted her protection, I have killed girls and woman. His fevered mind leapt to a scene instantly, Joffrey holding Sansa's head steady, forcing her to look at the face of her dead father.
I have broken the innocence you strive to protect.
With a sudden shock of self-loathing, Joffrey dry heaved, but only saliva came out. Nauseous and shameful, he barely kept going.
Circling around the Great Sept, he stood before the Smith, but he couldn't even beg as his own head pummeled him, showing him images of the torture he had passed his servants through, of how he had never worked for a thing in all his lives.
Stumbling, he crashed to the floor, and crept towards the Crone. Her mysterious smile appeared to turn slightly down as he looked up, illuminated by thunderbolts. Wisdom, her ideal, had been perhaps the thing Joffrey most lacked. I killed those who tried to advise me, keep me on the right path. I rejected her light at every opportunity. Joffrey would find no wisdom from her today.
Slowly crawling to the last statue, Joffrey grasped the dais were the Stranger stood. Dying again and again, Joffrey had thought he must have been under the Stranger's domain, but he now understood it was the exact opposite. Many people feared the Stranger, but his gift of death was exactly that. A gift. The end of suffering. Joffrey was anathema to everything the Stranger symbolized, he would never know the sweet embrace of death.
I am forsaken. Joffrey thought, curling up and leaning his back on the dais of the Stranger.
It was then a flash of insight, like the lightning that accompanied it rushed through his mind, a single, slowly crystalizing thought.
For the first time since he entered this place, Joffrey really saw the reality of the Sept. He filtered away the ominous darkness, the pounding rain, the enclosed yet open space.
He saw the towering, intimidating statues of the seven as they really were…
…They were statues.
The ominous feeling that had inundated Joffrey from the moment he entered through the door vanished, and he understood he was alone.
There's no one here.
This place was cold, lifeless. And the Seven would not help him… he was indeed forsaken, because the Seven did not actually exist. They. Where. Statues.
No one could help him.
The will that had kept his body moving disappeared, and Joffrey let himself go. He relaxed his muscles… his mind… and the purple swiftly moved over him.
He choked to death below the statue of the Stranger, but there was no one around to appreciate the irony.
-.PD.-
He awoke with a sight, and not a trace of the usual vomit. Joffrey would have stayed in that bed till the end of time, but something inside of him pushed him out, and he slowly put on his clothes.
Joffrey had come back… changed from the land of madness and purple. He felt he had only a small allotment of emotion to parcel around, and when that gave out an immense exhaustion took him over and he found it impossible not to lay down or sleep for the rest of the day.
The caravan moved North, following the inexorable paths of fate, and Joffrey accompanied them, only speaking when spoken to.
Again, his families reaction told him of his true nature. His mother, for all of her love for him, wouldn't help him. His fa… Robert would look confused from time to time, but he would soon find an ale to sooth it. His… father would look on as always, from a distance. His brother and sister would play joyfully and without worry when the caravan stopped.
Oddly enough, it was Tyrion who had approached him.
"Nephew" nodded the imp as he carefully walked into Joffrey's tent. Joffrey had been staring at the floor with a mug of ale, but strangely, he didn't seem startled by the sudden intrusion.
He looked at Tyrion. "Uncle" he said quietly as he took another sip from his cold ale. Tyrion took a chair and placed him in front of Joffrey's small table. He didn't stop him as the imp poured himself some ale. Tyrion waited patiently for Joffrey to break the awkward silence, but the moments stretched to minutes as he kept on sipping minute amounts of ale and staring now at the tent door.
"Nephew?" asked Tyrion. "Uncle?" responded Joffrey. Silence stretched for a while then.
The imp shook his head, and finally asked his question. "It's clear you are not enjoying this little trip. And there are days you can barely keep standing on your own feet…" said the imp, collecting his thoughts. "…Why?... Why are you barely respondent to the outside? Why do you keep yourself sequestered in this tent?" he asked with the exasperated tone of a Maester who couldn't find the answer to an obvious mathematical problem.
Joffrey seemed to genuinely ponder the question as he lazily rolled the mug in his hand. After a few minutes of silence, he shrugged.
"Why not?" he said, genuinely curious.
That answer shook Tyrion. After a few more minutes of silence, he downed his cup and exited the tent.
-.PD.-
"And this is my first borne, Ned" Said Robert as he gestured at Joffrey from the high table. The King hadn't found his increasingly elusive son when they arrived at Winterfell, so he introduced him at the feast.
Joffrey was silently picking at his food, immune to the puppy eyes Sansa kept sending his way, and any sort of distraction, really. He was just forking pieces of chicken, looking a thousand miles beyond the plate.
"He's so sad" wooed Sansa to Jeyne Poole, red flushing her face.
More than sad. That's the look of a man with nothing left to live for, thought Ned with increasing amounts of curiosity and mild alarm. "Are you sure he's… alright Robert?" he asked his old friend. Robert frowned for a second before taking another huge bite of the chicken leg he held in his hand. "Been like that for a few days, I think. He'll be fine." He chuckled as he made a move on a passing serving girl.
Ned was struck by a sudden memory, of him staring away at nothingness in the Eyrie, after receiving the news of his brother and father's death at King's Landing. He shook his head as he took a bit of chicken with his fork, trying to sooth the sudden pain that had assaulted him. Those were old wounds.
He found that he had lost his appetite, and he sighted quietly as he gazed at Joffrey.
-.PD.-
The next morning, Joffrey aimlessly wandered the outside of the main keep with a faint sense of déjà vu. His mind was almost blank when he saw Eddard Stark strolling through nearby, towards the Godswood.
A sudden, incomprehensible rage overtook him. He furiously stomped after him, entering deep into the Godswood. Joffrey quickly lost him in the tangle of trees, and had to retrace his steps to get back on the trail. Finally, he found Lord Stark kneeling in front of the heart tree, silent.
Joffrey stood there, huffing. He walked to one side of the clearing and to the next, shaking his fists. Finally, he lost it.
He screamed with all his strength at Eddard Stark, who leapt up from his knees, startled. He was at a loss for words as he eyed the Crown Prince, who was breathing heavily.
"You think they can hear you?! You think you can change the course?! There's no purpose Stark!!!" He screamed as he advanced on him, his eyes wild. Eddard seemed paralyzed by the sheer outpouring of emotion emanating from Joffrey, a gut wrenching stream of invective that seemed to feed itself on his very life and breath.
"No one can help us Stark!" he shouted in anguish at Eddard's face.
At that, the strength left him, and Joffrey crumbled on top of the light snow, weeping inconsolable.
Ned stared at the collapsed form of Joffrey in a near panic, not having a clue what was going on and what the hell he was supposed to do… so he did the only thing that came to his mind, almost a reflex, recalling a dark, stormy night when he had found a crying Arya alone on her bed.
Ned crouched and hugged Joffrey. His heaving and shaking form seemed to still itself for a microsecond, then his crying redoubled as he hugged Ned with all his strength.
-.PD.-
"Do you really hear them?" asked a red eyed Joffrey, sitting in one of the weirwood's branches.
Eddard pondered the question, sitting on another, nearby branch.
"Our Gods are not like the ones of the South, my prince." Said Ned, hesitantly. "No men can claim to hear the old gods speak, or speak in their name… but one can hear the echoes of their whispers." He said, somewhat awkwardly. Eddard was not the kind of person to simply lay out his beliefs out in the open out of a sudden, less to a stranger and even less to the man, well, boy that would someday be his liege lord, not under normal circumstances anyway.
Well, these are not normal circumstances, thought Ned, somewhat dazed.
Joffrey was completely captivated, and he leaned forward in rapt attention. "How?" he asked with painful longing. Eddard seemed to struggle with an answer, and he took his time as he mulled it in his head. He was ashamed to admit that a part of him wanted nothing else than the prince to huff in impatience and stomp away… but he could see there was no chance of that. Joffrey was still as a statue, waiting with a harrowing look as if he had nothing left to loose, the only sound coming from him was the odd sniff.
"Our minds are constantly filling us with… thoughts, memories, reflections…" Ned mused, his eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to verbalize what he felt and did when seeking the peace of the Old Gods. "It's a constant gallop, which fills our every waking moment." He said, explaining what he had felt but never really spoken of since he was but a boy, eying the great, ancient heart tree. "But when I'm here, I listen to the leaves gentle rustling… I gaze at the slow swaying of the branches… and then…"
Joffrey was staring at him, eyes red, his hands clutching one of the Weirwood's branches in a death grip. "And then?" he asked in a whisper.
Eddard considered one of the red leaves of the weirwood, which had detached itself from it with the wind, and was now gently spiraling out of the clearing.
"Everything just… stops. Your mind… is silenced." Quiet conviction colored Ned's voice as he nodded to himself. "You feel yourself let go, and your mind is cleared, as if a fog had been lifted… Those are the whispers of the Old Gods" Ned said.
"Peace" whispered Joffrey.
"Aye, peace, if only for a moment." Eddard nodded.
Joffrey stood up, and anxiously twitched his hands again and again. He gazed at Eddard with desperate, lost eyes. "Would you teach me? Please…" he asked him.
Eddard Stark didn't even consider it, he knew what he would had said had Joffrey been his son… he would do nothing else. "Aye, if you wish it." He told him.
"Thank you" whispered Joffrey as he rushed Lord Stark and hugged him like a drowning sailor hugs some floatsam.
What have they done to this boy? Thought Ned in utter befuddlement as he returned the hug and gently patted Joffrey's head, ignoring the silent, wet streaks Joffrey left on his clothes.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone