Chapter 9: 8 Stumbling Steps
Breath… in… out… in… out…
Joffrey felt his mind clear, slowly, his thoughts leaving him with the gentle wind. For a few seconds, his inner turmoil left him, and he felt at peace.
It was not the peace of the madness that had consumed him before, but a gentle calmness that didn't drown everything else, it just… grounded him in his self, a serenity of mind that soothed him to his core.
It only lasted two seconds, and Joffrey opened his eyes as the implacable weariness grinded on top of his shoulders and inside him yet again. Nevertheless, he smiled, a genuine, if bittersweet smile.
"That one was the longest yet" He said quietly to the man beside him. Eddard's grim features softened as he nodded at Joffrey. "It's not easy… honestly I'm surprised you've stuck to it this far" said Eddard with a small smile.
Joffrey snorted. "Nothing is going to stop me from this, not even death." He said with such finality that Ned had to reassess yet again the image he had of the prince in his head. At first he had had to restrain himself, he had wanted to rush Robert and smack him in the face for being so blind, and then hand him his warhammer and go searching out who had left the Prince in such a wrecked, lifeless state.
But in the following days, were they met in the morning and at noon, Eddard had slowly started to unravel the enigma that was Joffrey Baratheon. He had quietly inquired, and it seemed the prince had been this way since a few days before they left the capital, and there were no signs of physical damage on him. And yet, the abysmal pain and weariness within Joffrey seemed to reach into his very soul. Eddard wasn't sure if he'd seen anything like it before.
They had agreed to meet here the next day after Joffrey's breakdown, and to his vague surprise the Prince had come again, and he hadn't complained, not one bit at the silence and Ned's quiet tutoring.
Still, keeping at it for too long was worse than futile. So, like the other days, Lord Stark took the small basket he had brought with him and handed Joffrey some fresh bread from the ovens along with a bit of water. He had brought watered wine the first time, but Joffrey's reaction had stopped that idea in its tracks…
"Thank you, Eddard" Said Joffrey, grateful. He had somewhat regained his composure, but there were still moments when Joffrey seemed on the edge of hysteria, and along the course of the week there had been more than one moment when Joffrey had wordlessly shrunk on himself and cried in the serene privacy of the Godswood. Eddard had done the same as he had before, walking to him and comforting him wordlessly. Joffrey had never rushed him again, but he had not protested when Ned soothed him like he had done countless times before with his own kids, some years ago. It did seem to help though, as in those occasions Joffrey would relax and the crying would give way to quiet breathing.
He hadn't pressed him for details, he had found that if he just let him speak, the words would pour out in mildly incoherent torrents, and Ned would respond to them as well as he could, which would sometimes stretch their conversations well past midday or sun down, depending.
Much to Robert's mild exasperation, and to the frankly titanic envy of Sansa, he thought ruefully.
"How…" Joffrey suddenly said, after taking a sip from the waterskin. "How can you manage… everything when… " he struggled to verbalize the swirl of emotions inside him.
There was silence as Ned thought about the question. There was nothing out of the ordinary of it, their conversations would often be very vague, and the silence between the words seemed natural in the bosom of the Godswood.
How can you manage to live on when its not worth it, translated Ned in his head. The faint, barely audible bumping of thin weirwood branches echoed in the small clearing. Once again a pang of self-doubt needled Eddard. He was no sage or Greenmen… not even close. But it was clear the Prince had no one else to help him, so Ned did as always yet again, answering truthfully from his heart, something which had been getting easier with each meeting they had here. "I think that if you can't find the worth of living on outside of yourself, then you have to search inside of you" He said, pointing to his head, then at his heart. "And that starts by… two things, I think." He mused.
Joffrey stared with mildly unfocused eyes, his head resting on the Weirwood's strong trunk. "You have to learn, to find a deep respect for yourself. Not a kind of arrogance, but an understanding that you are who you are, and that only you have the means to change yourself." He said, not sure if the Prince understood what he tried to say.
Joffrey suddenly snorted. "Self-respect…" he muttered, eying his hands with disbelief. "And the other one?" he suddenly asked.
Ned grasped one of the red weirwood leaves, slowly turning it with his fingers. "The other, I guess, is to never lose your sense of wonder." He nodded as he spoke. "Wonder at the things you see, the things you don't understand, the things you love… To never let you fall into indifference, to always experience" said Ned with quiet emphasis, "each waking moment as if it were anew."
Joffrey swallowed a lump in his throat, beginning to understand. "I see…" he said, deep in thought.
They sat there in companionable silence for a while, with only the wind and the leaves as company.
"NEEEED!" Suddenly bellowed a deep throated voice. "Stop teaching my son to talk to trees and get your butt over here! We've got a deer to kill!" said the voice.
Eddard shook his head in good natured exasperation as he stood up. "My prince, duty calls." He told Joffrey with an amused smile. Joffrey seemed midly startled as he nodded at Ned. "Yes.. yes…" he said absently.
Joffrey sat there on the werwood branch for a while longer, trying to catch pieces of whispers and thinking about Lord Starks deep words. For a man that spoke so little, the words that did leave his mouth were each precise and profound… he couldn't believe how anyone South could have thought Ned Stark was a fool.
He guessed the memory of him breaking down in front of Stark again and again would have shamed his older self so much he would have sent assassins after him, but now he found he didn't care one iota. After everything he had gone through, the idea seemed ludicrously childish.
-.PD.-
He was still digesting Lord Starks words as he exited the Godswood, and as usual every time they ended their conversations, Joffrey thought it would take him a life time or ten to fully understand their meaning.
The sudden sight of Bran Stark climbing the Broken Tower sent a deep shiver down his spine. Ice curled on his belly as he thought of how events would degenerate and break the incipient peace Joffrey was striving so hard to find within himself. And the memories of Lord Stark's painful sadness as he heard about the news of Brans fall sent odd shivers of despair throughout his body.
He suddenly dashed towards the tower's derelict door, pushing it aside and running with all his strength upwards, shouting. "Mother!! Mother!!!!! MOTHEEEEER!!!!" He screamed desperately as he reached the floor beneath the last one.
A still panting Cercei creaked open the door carefully. The sight of her trying to discreetly straighten her dress threatened Joffrey's sanity, but he pushed that aside. "Joff, sweetie, what's going on?" she asked, red faced.
Joffrey paused. "Ah, I d--, I mean, Lady… Stark is looking for you, urgently." She eyed him curiously. "Lady Stark?" she asked. "Yes! Its urgent!" he told her as he nervously twitched his fingers. "Okay sweetie." She said as she straightened and carefully opened the door so only she could get out, and then she was descending through the stairs, holding one of Joffrey's hands and making him come down too. She released him when they were outside, and when she was out of sight and he saw Bran Stark smoothly scaling down he let out a long sight of relief.
"Lannisters are all weird" muttered Bran as he walked on, not noticing Joffrey.
Can't argue with that, thought Joffrey as he laeaned back on the tower.
"JOFFREY!" screamed an angry Cercei from somewhere beyond the main keep.
Shit.
-.PD.-
Joffrey had learnt that their stay at Winterfell each life varied greatly according to F-.. Roberts whims, and Robert's whims seemed to vary each of his lives for no apparent reason. In a happy coincidence, their stay here was almost a full month, to the dismay of both his mother and Lady Stark, who eyed the prodigious amounts of food the King ate with increasing panic.
A month where Joffrey shamelessly monopolized as much time as he could take from Lord Stark. Eddard himself didn't seem too bothered about it, Joffrey suspected he had never quite had this chance to lay out his… philosophy for lack of a better word, and his children were all obsessed with everything except the deep stillness of the Godswood.
Still, all good comes to an end eventually, a fact of life that Joffrey had internalized for a while now. The caravan made its way south then, in a bit of a happier mood than other times. Bran had found a friend in little Tommen, and both of them, Lion and even sometimes Arya would play unending games each time the caravan stopped, much to Sansa's annoyance.
Speaking of Sansa, she had done her best at filling the time Eddard had left open as the King increasingly demanded his attention more and more. Joffrey, having nothing better to do, would accompany her on walks through the changing scenery of the Kingsroad.
Joffrey found she wasn't quite as stupid as he had thought before. She was just incredibly, no, monumentally naive and innocent, and Joffrey had to resist the temptation to slap her, Ned and even himself at the ludicrousness of someone as wise as Ned Stark rearing such an oblivious daughter.
Ironically, Joffrey's just as monumentally cynical mind found Sansa's happy chattering an oddly and perplexing relaxant, as they strolled through the woods and plains of the Riverlands. As they reached King's Landing he mused that Sansa was not exactly stupid, there was something deeper beneath her… he shuddered at the memory of her fainting at the death of Lord Stark, not only at the scale of cruelty he was only now, barely beginning to grasp, but at the fact that the memory still sent a tingle of pleasure when he thought of her face contorted in horror.
Memories like that would sometimes assault him when they walked, and Sansa would be left alone and confused when he awkwardly dashed off, hiding his shudders. He remembered she was not exactly without a spine either, certainly she had more than him. In one of his lives she had stabbed and killed two guards trying to escape before she was killed in turn, against impossible odds. No, not exactly stupid, he guessed she just needed a bit of prodding to get out of her self-constructed shell… An interesting enigma, one that Joffrey had not the faintest will to investigate.
Still, Sansa fulfilled a breathtaking need for human contact Joffrey hadn't known he possessed, aching deep inside him. He was self-conscious of approaching Lord Eddard with that again, and the thought of being held by his mother and her golden locks brought forth memories that made him want to puke. He had found that just holding Sansa's hand as they walked drastically reduced the amount of nightmares he would have every night, and her curiously strong grip on his hand sent odd flutters in his stomach that Joffrey had trouble identifying.
Even with the their shortened time, he still met with Lord Stark in secluded locations, and their conversations still left Joffrey pondering and thinking deep into the night. To his surprise, when they arrived at the capital, he found out he didn't want to be back here again at all.
-.PD.-
"It seems we have a new player in town" mused Varys aloud as he ambled through the empty throne room, engaging in one of his favorite past times these days… exchanging subtle barbs, wit, and even gleanings of useful information with what had been up to now his only real rival in the game... and today the barbs were sinking into poor Petyr in such a delightful way.
"Yeeesss… It seems we have severely underestimated Lord Stark" said Littlefinger's oddly raspish voice, apparently unconcerned, walking beside Varys. "A delightful turn of events, don't you think, Lord Baelish? Things had been getting a bit dull over here, but a formidable new player certainly lightens things up" Said Lord Varys, good naturedly.
Baelish shifted a bit, uncomfortable and trying to hide it from Varys keen eyes. "I'm sure the reports are exaggerated" he said, trying to convince himself more than Varys. "Oh but I saw them just today, cruel, spiteful Prince Joffrey following Lord Stark around with the look of an adopted puppy" Varys said with relish. "Two months and he is not already the friend of the King, but has the ear of the next one too… he works quite fast, our Hand… I thought, given your past experience with Starks, that the family in particular boasted of other… skills." Varys twisted with happy abandon as he subtly gazed at the scar that popped out of Littlefinger's doublet.
Lord Baelish couldn't contain himself and a small shudder went through his chest and the old wound that lay there. "Yes, the Stark are… full of surprises" he said, subtly eying the door. For Varys he might as well have been screaming to let him go. He nodded magnanimously "Until next time, Lord Baelish"
Baelish nodded back "Lord Varys" he said as he quickly fled the room. Varys had to contain a little giggle as he kept walking. Moments like this made the Great Game so worth playing.
-.PD.-
Despite Lord Stark's numerous demands on his time as Hand of, now that Joffrey thought about it, a very absent King, he still found time to guide Joffrey every couple of days, and though the Red Keep's Godswood was a very poor copy of the great Godswood of Winterfell, Joffrey found out it served its purpose well enough. His lone meditations by the heart tree every morning had been doing wonders for his fractured psyche, and he felt "recharged" every morning thanks to it. When he missed it for whatever reason, he would find himself slowly reverting to the despairing wreck of before… something that obviously Joffrey wanted no part off.
He also stared to apply some of Lord Stark's wisdom on his daily routine. While the thought of "respecting" himself was for some reason so funny it bordered on hysteria, his words about never loosing his… "wonder"… had helped immeasurably in centering back together the various scattered bits of his personality…
He knew that what had come back from the madness was not exactly what had gone there in the first place, for instance he was a lot shyer around people for some reason, but he didn't care that much about it. Instead, he let himself rediscover simple pleasures that curiously enough hadn't been at all prominent on his first life.
He started early in the morning meditating in the Godswood, were his still raw and somewhat shaky mind slowly pieced itself back together after the nightmares he'd had that night. Then, he'd spar with the hound, though this time with minimal training armor as the pain of the wooden swords that had seemed so intense lifetimes ago now felt more like a tickle for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Still, the exercise left him in a good mood, something rare this past, oh fifty years Joffrey reckoned. That would have been reason in and of itself to keep training, the Hound grudgingly telling him he was a slightly better than the average solider from a destitute keep was just an added bonus.
He'd lunch with Lord Stark and his family whenever he could, which was most of the time, much to Eddard's hidden enjoyment. He'd really grown to like their conversations, and the thought of having serious, meaningful conversation that didn't involve pulled hair and thrown food seemed a godsend to Eddard, or at least that was how it looked to Joffrey. Sansa too would greet him joyfully enough, which often confused him. What had he ever done to earn such admiration? He reckoned that, beside his rank, he had literally nothing going for him, besides maybe the stereotypical Lannister good looks, and even that he doubted. To be the subject of such undeserved devotion kind of freaked him out now.
Arya mostly looked at him curiously with a kind of intense stare, trying to find more things to tease Sansa about, he suspected.
By far the most uncomfortable of the bunch was Bran Stark, who eyed him with deep suspicion and unease, always vigilant. Bran had made fast friends with Tommen, and his little brother had most likely been feeding horrid tales to Bran for a while now. He didn't blame him, probably in Tommen's mind he was just preparing a subtle and cruel prank to play on everyone, which, from his perspective would be the most probable thing that should happen these days.
After lunch he would often read at the royal library, though the heavy tomes the imp seemed to favor were a bit too much for him. It was especially gratifying if that mornings bout with the hound had been more tiring than usual, it made the relaxed reading, basking in the afternoon sunlight by the royal library's balcony all the more enjoyable. He mostly read somewhat lighter tomes such as the tales of the dragon knight or other, more accessible books. He suspected he was just starting to develop the skill, and that it was as underdeveloped as his pathetic swordsmanship had been in his first life. It was a rather depressing thought.
After that, the late afternoon would be "free". He'd walk through the busy streets of Kings Landing, just watching, learning about the city he was supposed to rule. He'd go through the street of steel and watch the constant pounding of hammers on swords or tools, or the Street of Silk, where he'd enjoy watching the wares, though he never partake, it brought memories of pounding hearts and deep chest pains better left buried. Sometimes he'd walk with the imp, enjoying their discussions that, granted, were of a decidedly more practical and amusing nature than Lord Starks, but had their own kind of wisdom. Again, things Joffrey had never considered before seemed obvious to his uncle, and yet again he felt like an infant grasping basic meanings. His "sense of wonder" as Stark put it, was certainly getting a work out, and Joffrey found he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Sometimes he would muse about what lay beyond the Capital and the Seven Kingdoms…
At night he would sometimes talk, well, more like listen to Sansa's tales of knights and chivalry, something that, to his mild horror, he was able to make descent conversation about thanks to the books he had been reading. He would eat then with his "family", who was the only downer to an otherwise nice day. He didn't know if this life had left everyone sloppier or he was just a bit more perceptive this time around, but the constant death glares Cercei shot Robert, Robert's frequent passes at serving girls, and his brother and sister's silent eating left a stifling and oppressive atmosphere on his mouth. When his, father, was taking his turn guarding the family, Joffrey lost most of his appetite and wouldn't even make it to the main dish before excusing himself. Seeing his progenitors together in the same room awakened deep-… something wrong with you Joffrey..—better left buried too.
-.PD.-
Months passed by in this happy state of affairs, and Joffrey gradually felt the unending despair lifting off his shoulders, slowly.
Tension had, nevertheless, been rising amongst the Lannisters and the Starks. He didn't know what was the cause this time, but he could see it in the way Lord Stark's household guard tighten their hands on their pommels every time a Redcloak passed by, or in the way his… father smirked disdainfully when he saw the Northmen.
He had been with Lord Stark one day in the early morning, talking as usual, when Eddard finally brought up the question which must have been plaguing him for a long time. "Joffrey…" He had finally managed to rid him of the constant "My Prince", which had been getting tedious by the time they arrived at the Capital. "I know you don't like to speak of it, but… I think there something deeply inside of you, I don't know, something that's eating you away, would you--" he had suddenly stopped when he saw Joffrey staring at the ground.
"There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey" Echoed Ned Starks moribund voice inside his head.
"…Joffrey" asked Ned, confused.
His hands were shaking, and he was breathing harder than usual.
"I-…I have to go. Lord Stark" he nodded quickly as he trotted off.
He run through the Red Keep, finally stopping at a section of the wall that seemed deserted.
Haven't had one of this for a while. He thought as he leaned a bit and crouched down. The shakes where not nearly as bad as last time, but it still sent painful memories reeling through his mind.
Think of the weirwood, gentle swaying, slow winds.
He was returning slowly from it, but the thing that really snapped him out of it was the reassuring grip on his hand. He turned back, somewhat dazed.
"Sansa?" he asked, confused. "Its o-okay" she said with only a hint of doubt as she gently took his hand again, with both of hers. "You d-don't have to--" he spluttered, but she interrupted him. "Its okay" she said again as she looked towards the sea. Joffrey said nothing as he looked in the same direction, watching the dawn. The strong, warm grip on his hand seemed to push his demons away, and Joffrey found himself letting out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding.
When he calmed down the imp screamed in his head to say his courtesies. "Ah, thank you milady" he said awkwardly. Sansa just smiled demurely as he looked at him then promptly kept staring at the ocean, the morning sun lighting her hair in an odd way. He was feeling very confused again, but this time in a somehow good way… very confused…
Of course, he had somehow stupidly forgotten this was fucking Westeros.
The bells inside the Red Keep tolled… and they didn't stop. The pounding sound started to spread out throughout the area, and Joffrey paled.
I know that sound.
"Get behind me Sansa!" he told her as he took out his dagger. "Joffrey?" she asked in confusion and mild alarm. "Lets move, follow me" he told her as he grabbed her hand and trotted back down the wall's staircase. In the courtyard the Red Cloaks had closed the gates and everyone seemed to be dashing somewhere in a haste, many of them seeming to search for something or someone… and some of them seemed to be going to the Stark's residence.
Oh no.
He run after them, never letting go of Sansa as they passed the doors. He stopped at the strange scene ahead of him. Several Redcloakes had surrounded soldiers of the Stark household guards, which had drawn swords. When they saw him one of the shouted "Let 'er go Lannister!".
"That's the Prince you're speaking to!" Snarled one of the Redcloaks. Everyone tensed up as Joffrey snarled in frustration. "What's going on damnit!" he asked the Stark guard. "Is the King dead?!"
The guard seemed confused for a moment as he grunted. "The King?! What are you talking about?" he said. Sansa here leapt to the fore, "Let us through Lewin!" she told him. Some of the tension left them as they lowered their swords a bit. Sansa was the one guiding him as she shoveled through the guards, carrying Joffrey behind her. She seemed in a near panic as the both of them followed the line of Stark Guardsman and servants that seemed to come and go from a single direction.
They stopped outside Bran Starks room, where grim faced guards stood watch and a few servants cried in the corner. "M' lady… you shouldn't.." stumbled one of the guards, but Sansa was not listening to him, a mounting horror clear in her face as she entered the room, Joffrey right behind her.
On his blood soaked bed, the body of Bran Stark stared blankly at the ceiling. He had multiple stab wounds on his chest, and his direwolf was feasting on the remains of a man in the floor, his hand tightly clutching a dagger.
That wasn't me, thought Joffrey, disconcerted.
It was then Lord Stark entered the room, and somehow let out a wordless, soundless scream of disbelief and horror.
-.PD.-
Things had only gone downhill from there, and at a furious velocity. A few days later Jory Cassel, Eddards Guard Captain had been killed under dubious circumstances in some kind of bar fight, and a day later a Redcloak was found dead at his guard post. Brandon Stark's assassin had taken the name of his benefactor to the grave, or rather to Summer's stomach. In typical Westerosi fashion, King Robert had fallen ill due to some bug on his food and Pycell apparently had him up to the gills with milk of the poppy.
Things had been very somber those days, and he hadn't been able to talk to any of the Starks. He dreaded what he knew was to come now.
-.PD.-
Sure enough, he was woken up by his mother in the middle of the night. "Come on sweetie, its time you assume your rightful place" she told him as hurried servants dressed him. "Mother, what happened?!" he asked as they almost rushed towards the throne room. "Your Father's pain is gone and he finally rests in peace." She told him soothingly as she practically pushed him on top of the iron throne. The room was lit by numerous torches, and the Kingsguard was already there, 6 white cloaks arraying itself around the throne. Redcloaks quickly stormed through the room and arrayed themselves in two protective blocks of ten in front of the Kingsguard.
It's happening fucking again, he thought desperately.
Soon after that, the main doors opened, and Lord Stark entered the room, followed closely behind by Lord Baelish who seemed way, way more nervous than past times, anxiously swiveling to Lord Stark's back and then to Cercei, as if trying to convince himself of something. With Stark entered a portion of his guard, must have been more than 30 men. And of course, Slynt and a sizable contingent of Goldcloaks marched by the Northmen's flanks, something which would surely again prove to be a fatal mistake. Even Varys was looking more interested than last time.
The multitude of armed men stared at each other with barely repressed hostile intent. Joffrey swallowed a lump. It all goes to shit after this… again.
"Bend the knee Lord Stark, and you will be allowed to return to the grey waste that you call your home, back with your trees" she sneered. "I want to be crowned within the fortnight" Joffrey almost blurted out of sheer reflex. I just can't catch a fucking break.
Instead of immediately handing the letter, Eddard seemed to doubt for a bit, his face contorting in strange angles. The silence stretched for a bit as he stared at Joffrey. Joffrey nodded at him tiedly "Just do what you think is right… Ned." At this Eddard seemed to compose himself, and took out a letter. "Ser Barristan, no man alive here could question your honor." He said.
Ser Barristan took the letter respectfully and went back to his post. "King Robert's seal, unbroken." He said for all to hear. "I, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, hereby name Lord Eddard Stark Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm until my son Joffrey comes of age".
His mother leaned forward. "Ser Barristan, if--" Joffrey interrupted her abruptly. Not this time, fate.
"Ser Barristan, pass me the letter please." Cercei seemed mildly shocked as Ser Barristan swiveled and gave it to him instead. Joffrey took his time as he read the short but powerful parchment.
After what seemed an eternity to the soldiers everywhere, Joffrey folded the letter carefully and put it in his pocket. "The orders of my late F-Father are clear, come and assume your rightful position, Lord Stark." He said with a deep calmness. No more senseless deaths, fuck the game.
From here he could see how the blood seemed to flee Lord Baelish's head, and Varys actually smirked. The various soldiers stared at each other in confusion. Eddard himself seemed a bit shaken, and conflicting emotions warred within him as he took a tentative step forward.
Bet the fuckers didn't expect that.
"Lord Baelish!" Screeched his mother. Eddard turned back and eyed Baelish in confusion as Littlefinger took a small step back, mixed awe and horror clouding his face as he gazed at Lord Stark "..you..knew" Baelish blabbered before snapping out of it. "C-Commander Slynt!" he shouted. Slynt shook his own head, lowered his helmet and bellowed.
"MEN OF THE WATCH!"
With a roar the Goldcloaks lowered their spears and charged the Stark men, who had already been watching them and edging away. Both forces met in brutal melee, and despite having a bit of a warning this time it was obvious the Stark men would not be able to hold off for long. Baelish took out a small dagger in panic and tried to stab Lord Stark as he was in the process of drawing his longsword, facing him down.
"SER BARRISTAN!" Joffrey all but screamed. "PROTECT THE LORD REGENT!"
"Aye your Grace" Selmy said as he drew his sword without hesitation, gliding forward with some kind of unhurried stride that seemed to eat distance faster than a sprint, brutally stabbing a Goldcloak through the back. "What are you waiting for?! Help your Lord Commander!" Joffrey bellowed at the rest of the Kingsguard. The 5 heavily armored knights (Jaime wasn't there) were startled out of their confusion and promptly charged the Goldcloaks, or at least tried.
"NO! Guards, hold them!" shouted Cercei. One befuddled Redcloak followed the order a bit too far as he stabbed Ser Meryn Trant through his visor with a dagger. The other Kingsguards drew their swords and started chopping up Redcloaks and the melee below descended into an unrecognizable madness.
Joffrey promptly leapt out of the throne and charged down with his piddling dagger, ignoring his mother's frantic commands. "Joffrey don't-!" but he was already through. His smaller size and lack of armor helped him dash between the combatants quickly, although the situation had kind of descended into an indistinct free for all, and the wild, blind swinging and stabbing were taking a toll on his unarmored body as he run through the madness. He saw a Redcloak slashing down a Goldcloak, a Stark men being killed by a Kingsguard and even two Goldcloaks fighting between themselves. It was pure, distilled chaos.
Although the pressure of so many fighting men confined to a relatively small space was overwhelming, Joffrey finally managed to get to the center. There he spotted Lord Stark, who was clutching several bloody spear wounds all over his body and surrounded by dead Goldcloaks… and Baelish. It seemed Baelish, for all his political skills wasent that good a figther, he lay on the floor gutted like a fish from neck to hip, a permanent rictus of horror and fear etched on his still factions.
"Eddard!" shouted Joffrey as he grabbed one of his arms, trying to share his weight, a weight that was rapidly becoming heavier. "Joffrey" whispered Ned as his legs gave out. Both of them crashed on the floor, and Joffrey found out not all of the blood pooling around them was Eddard's… it was also his. "I-I S-should have… done… nothing… it was all… so fast…" Eddard blabbered incoherently, each time weaker. "Hold on you bloody fool!" hissed Joffrey desperately as he looked around him for help, but there was only the wild, disorganized melee around them. "Joffrey" Eddard suddenly said as he grabbed Joffrey's arm in a steel grip. "There's… something… deeply inside of you…" muttered Stark, and Joffrey felt his blood freeze solid as an old, titanic despair made itself felt again on his belly, and memories of old lives and blood assaulted his mind, memories of Lord Stark being disemboweled to death.
"Deeply inside… of you… a good heart…" muttered Eddard, his eyes half closed. "What?!" screeched Joffrey as he felt tears suddenly welling on his eyes. Every half breath Ned's voice came out shallower. "You… just… have… to… use… it…" he whispered, but his eyes were already closed, "…you---" but he couldn't finish as he seemed to exhale for the last time.
Joffrey stared at Lord Stark's increasingly blurry body, and let out a shrill roar. He jumped back on his feet with his dagger, and charged the nearest blurry soldier like a madman. He felt his rage consume him as he fought and fought and fought until he was suddenly on the floor again, and the purple began to encase him.
He raged at the unfairness of it all before his neck started to wreath again, and his nerves flared in purple agony.
-.PD.-
The Hound was guarding the little shit's room when a sudden, ragefull scream startled him out of his spot on the wall. He drew his longsword as he smashed into the door shoulder first but… there was no assassin.
Joffrey was pacing around the room grabbing stuff and throwing it away in a rage that the Hound didn't think Joffrey had been capable of. This didn't look like one of his usual tantrums… at all. His face was vaguely disfigured as his puny muscles strained, and he tossed the chest down the room. "Fuck Littlefinger!" he shouted. The Hound was beffudled as he thought about what the hell was going on. "Fuck Varys! Fuck mother! Fuck Tywin and fuck Stannis" he shouted as he paced and paced. "Fuck the Game! Fuck the Throne! Fuck Westeros! Fuck em AAAAALLL!!!" bellowed Joffrey with all his might, pushing the rage out of him like a physical force.
The Hound had been slightly nodding at those last statements in grim approval without noticing, but then Joffrey stopped. "… They want it so much? They can FUCKING have it!" he screamed at no one in particular. "That lump of rusted steel has brought on nothing but death, pain and misery!"
Suddenly he gazed at the Hound with a considering and slightly maniacal look.
"Hound… say… how is Lys this time of the year?"
The Hound looked dismayed.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone