[The Following Day]

 

It was already mid-morning, the remaining members of the Small Council, as well as the royal family were gathered at the shoreline. In a skiff crowded with people, princess Myrcella accompanied by her sworn shield Arys Oakheart, a knight of the kingsguard, were departing for a ship that would take them to Sunspear. Currently the High Septon was giving her his blessings of the seven for safe travels. The fat pig wore his ridiculous jewel crown and expensive white robes.

 

“May the seven safety guide the princess on her journeys. May the mother give her health. May the crone give her wisdom. May the warrior protect her from harm.”  He rattled off.

 

Joffrey was currently standing on the largest rock with Sansa beside him. He wore a sad smile on his face as he watched his crying sister depart from the city. Sansa seeing his plight offered him words of comfort.

 

“Don’t appear so distraught, your grace.” She said as she held his cheek. “You’re doing this to protect her.”

 

Joffrey reached up and held her hand interlocking his fingers with hers.

 

“I know.” He responded with a hint of guilt. “But it doesn’t make it any less painful.”

 

He then kissed the back of her hand before turning his attention to his younger brother. Tommen was the youngest of the three Baratheon children and by far the most sensitive. He stood away from the council members and the royal guard, and was crying his eyes out. Joffrey just watched him giving him a sympathetic smile. The skiff was now out of view and the fat fool finished his ramblings. The group then turned and departed the shoreline and began making their way back to the Red Keep.

 

Joffrey made his way up the stone path of Flea Bottom. He was surrounded by his remaining Kingsguard and royal guard, and accompanied by Sansa, Tyrion, and Tommen. As the group made their way up the street the common folk parted on both sides of the street.

 

“Hail King Joffrey!” One man shouted out proudly.

 

“Seven blessings to you my lady.” One woman said who offered Sansa a blue flower for her hair.

 

Sansa gave the woman a grateful smile and took the flower placing it behind her ear. As the group walked the peasants continued to praise and cheer for the group and their armed escorts, all the while yelling words filled with admiration. As they walked Joffrey noticed Tommen was still crying and after a little nudge from Sansa made his way over to his little brother. He then draped his arm around his neck and buried his face into his chest. He used his shoulder capelet to shield his brother’s face from the gazes of the crowd. He held his head tightly as they walked side by side back to the castle, letting him weep without worrying about the public's scrutiny.

 

After exiting Flea Bottom the High Septon was returned to the Great Sept of Baelor, while the rest of the group returned to the Red Keep. Once back inside the castle walls, Joffrey released Tommen from his embrace. The boy stood there, his eyes red and puffy as Joffrey slowly kneeled down to check his condition.

 

“Are you alright now Tommen?” He asked now that he was eye level with him.

 

Tommen didn’t respond and just sniffled, before wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He then grew a frown on his face.

 

“Why did you send Myrcella away?” He asked with a pouting face.

 

Joffrey just looked into his brother’s eyes and gave him a sad smile.

 

“It was for her own protection.” 

 

“But why?! I don’t understand!” He began to yell, stomping one of his feet.

 

“When you’re older I promise you will.” He said, placing his hand on his shoulder.

 

Tommen furrowed his brow after hearing his words.

 

“No I won’t!” He shouted, knocking Joffrey’s hand away. “I hate you big brother!”

 

Joffrey then slowly stood up looking down at his little brother. He then turned toward one of the castle servants that was standing nearby.

 

“Escort the prince back to his chambers.” He said sternly.

 

The servant bowed her head and did as he commanded, taking the furious child down the hall. As the boy was led away Joffrey watched his back with an despondent expression. Once the boy was out of sight, Sansa came and hugged Joffrey from behind wrapping her arms around his stomach. He could feel her bosom push into his back as she held him tightly. 

 

“He’ll forgive you,” Sansa said soothingly. “ One day he’ll understand that you made the right choice.”

 

Joffrey didn’t respond and just stood silently as Sansa continued to embrace him.

 

“This must be how Robb felt.” He thought.

 

After a few moments passed Joffrey turned his head to look into Sansa’s eyes.

 

“Thank you, Sansa, I'm fine now.”

 

“Just promise you won’t be too hard on yourself ok?” She asked.

 

“Of course.” He said, giving her a genuine smile.

 

Sansa smiled back and placed a kiss on his cheek before releasing him from her embrace.

 

“We’ll if you’ll excuse me, your grace I have lessons to attend.” She said giving the king a curtsey.

 

“Of course, my lady.” He said, giving her a bow.

 

Joffrey watched as the young noble lady walked down the stone corridor. He then turned and started to make his way to the castle’s training grounds. His expression became stern and serious as he walked through the castle halls.

 

“I’ve got some stress to workout.” He thought as continued to walk down the stone corridor.

 

[Red Keep Training Grounds]

 

Joffrey had changed into a thick black training doublet with several straps down the right side. He took up a heavy blunted hand and a half sparring sword, as well as a round wooden shield. He then ordered his two kingsguard Meryln Trant and Preston Greenfield along with the royal Master at Arms Ser Alyn to meet him at the training grounds. They were the last of his Kingsguard with Arys Oakheart accompanying Myrcella to Dorne, and Mandon Moore and Boros Blount both killed by Great Jon Umber. 

 

At first he fought each of the men one at a time, but after realizing their shit skills he had ordered them to attack him at the same time. He thought it was more practical for actual combat since on the battlefield it was rare for fight to ever be just one on one. Though in Westeros there was an obsession with single combat especially for knights. Which made his knights' attacks uncoordinated and out of sync, turning their numbers into his advantage.  

 

As the three men laid groveling in the dirt, Joffrey made a mental note to add some collaboration training into their regimen once he finished replacing his current Kingsguard. Sure Jaime and Barristan were worthy and reliable to guard him, the rest however were practically useless. He would’ve liked to add Sandor to their ranks, but the hound had flat out refused knighthood. Mostly due to his animosity toward his brother who was practically a serial killer, but was commended and praised because he had been knighted.

 

Joffrey looked down at the whimpering men with disgust who were supposed to be the greatest knights in the seven kingdoms. As he was about to make a comment someone beat him to the punch.

 

“Pathetic” A male voice said with clear disdain in his voice.

 

Joffrey turned and saw Barristan Selmy standing near the stone steps that led back into the Red Keep. He was adorned in his distinguished pearl white kingsguard armor and white cloak. He held his helm in his left hand and wrested his right on the hilt of his sword. His brow was furrowed as he looked down at the two kingsguard who laid bloodied and beaten at their king’s feet.

 

“You two hold the sacred task of fighting and defending the king’s life. Yet here I find both of you groveling at the king's feet, disgraceful.” He shook his head with derision.

 

The two men looked at their lord commander with expressions that were a mix of frustration and shame. Before Barristan could continue his tongue lashing, Joffrey spoke out.

 

“Leave us.” He said sternly as the men got to their feet.

 

The men hesitated for a moment before they gathered their cloaks and helmets, bowed their heads, and then left the training grounds. He noticed the nasty look the two men gave Ser Barristan as they left with Ser Alyn. Though the old knight seemed to just ignore them. Once the three men left it was just Joffrey and his sworn shield in the courtyard. 

 

“I would say your skills have improved, your grace.” He said complimenting Joffrey’s Martial growth.

 

“Pretty easy to seem strong when you’re fighting weaklings.” Joffrey retorted.

 

“Fair enough.” Barristan shrugged his shoulders.

 

Barristand then walked to the wooden table that held all the training weapons. He placed his helmet down and then took off his white cloak. He then removed his sword which was still in its scabbard and placed it onto the table.

 

“Well, your grace.” He said as he picked up one of the training swords. “It's been quite some time since our last bout, let's see if you’ve improved.” 

 

He rotated the blunted sword in his hand becoming familiar with its weight and balance. Both men circled each other, before bringing their swords up at the same time, gripping them with both hands.

 

Joffrey struck first hacking and hammering at the old knight with lightning fast strikes. Barristan however remained completely calm as he parried all of Joffrey strikes, his face remaining still as a tranquil pond. Joffrey continued to push the offensive, driving back the old knight who held a look of surprise on his face. Barristan then effortlessly ducked under one of his swings, taking the center of the training ground and gaining some distance from the aggressive young king. 

 

“Impressive,” He complimented. “But your form leaves much to be desired, your grace”

 

“Barristan, how many times must I tell you when we’re alone you can address me as Joffrey.”

 

“Of course, your grace.” He said, slightly bowing his head.

 

“Now again.” His swordmaster ordered.

 

Joffrey raised his sword high aiming the point at Barristan’s chest. Before he could even make a strike Barristan spoke.

 

“Don’t grimace before you lunge, it gives away your intentions.” He spoke calmly.

 

Joffrey’s face became still, putting his stress from Myrcella leaving and Tommen’s anger to the back of his mind. His face then mirrored Barristan became still and calm. Barristan nodded his head in approval. Joffrey then surged forward stabbing and hacking at the seasoned knight, who continued to deflect and parry everyone of Joffrey’s attacks.

 

“Stop using basic attacks, use the advanced set.” He said as he continued to deflect Joffrey’s onslaught while back peddling.

 

Joffrey heeded his advice, adding more feints into his strikes as he advanced forward.

 

“How often must I remind you, control my center line.”

 

Joffrey then went for a slash for Barristan’s leg which he prepared to backstep, before switching midway and went for the old knight's neck. Barristan was forced to pivot and shift his body to the right.

 

“Good,” he complemented.

 

Joffrey spun forward. 

 

“Faster, disrupt my focus.” He said as he parried. “You're holding your sword too tightly.”

 

He then thrust his blade to the base of Joffrey’s and twisted with the flat of his blade. 

 

Clang.

 

His sparring sword rattled against the nearby stones. The tip of his blade was an inch from the young king’s undefended neck.

 

“Now too lightly.” He said with a sly smile.

 

Joffrey brought both his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Barristan lowered his sword, then planted it into the gravel.

 

“You’ve greatly improved your grace .” Barristan said, appraising the young king's sword skills.

 

Joffrey didn’t respond immediately; as he continued to stare at his Kingsguard. He never ceased to be amazed whenever he and Barristan trained together. The old knight’s technique was flawless utilizing only essential movements for maximum results. Everytime the pair would cross swords, Joffrey felt as if he was being led around by the nose. That the old knight seemed to be able to predict all of his moves before he could even make them. It was no wonder he was a living legend throughout the seven kingdoms for his skill.

 

As a wise man once said “fear the old man in a culture where men die young.”

 

“Thank you, Ser Barristan.” He finally responded. “Now what mistakes did I make today?”

 

“Hmm,” Barristan brought his hand to his chin as he pondered Joffrey’s question.

 

“Overall I would say your technique is excellent, both fast and powerful. You have great instincts for swordplay, but lack experience which is to be expected. I’d say your biggest flaw is your aggression.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You rely on both your strength and speed in order to dominate your opponent, and force openings in your opponent’s defense. But when an opponent is capable of fending off your onslaught, you become frustrated and begin to make mistakes and leave openings you otherwise wouldn’t if you’d just remain calm and patient.”

 

Joffrey was a little taken aback by Barristan's criticism. He closed his eyes and pondered his words for a few moments before speaking.

 

“Doesn’t anger help you fight better?”

 

“No,” He flatly denied. “It's about emotional content not anger.”

 

Joffrey remained silent as he listened to his advice.

 

“Anger can be a tool if you control it without letting it control you. Think of it like a flame, which if controlled can cook your food and warm your home. But if left unchecked will burn down your house and everything around you.” He said with a tone both serious and wise.

 

“I see.” Joffrey nodded his head.

 

“Now,” Barristan then walked over to the rocks and picked up Joffrey’s sparring sword.

 

He threw the sword over to him which he caught mid air.

 

“Let's try again.”

 

Joffrey smiled and grasped his sword and aimed it at the old knight who did the same. The pair continued to train for over an hour, till Joffrey had enough. He then made his way to the baths and let himself have a nice long soak, washing off the dirt and grime. After an hour of soaking in the hot stone bath, he got out and dressed himself in a plain white renaissance dress shirt and black leather breeches.

 

He then sent a servant out to fetch Tobho, the director of his Industrial sector. After some time the servant returned with Tobho in tow. He had a bald head with a well trimmed red beard with shades of gray. He wore an expensive black velvet cloak with silver hammers embroidered into the sleeves. Upon seeing the young king a smile broke out across his face.

 

“Leave us.” Joffrey ordered as he got up from his table to greet the old smith.

 

The servant bowed their head and exited his Solar, closing the door behind him. As Joffrey walked toward him Tobho went for a dramatic deep bow.

 

“Your Grace.” He said in an exaggerated tone.

 

“Knock it off you old shit.” He said with a laugh at the old man's overly dramatic display.

 

“Hey I’m not that old!” He defended.

 

“Uh huh.” He said as he looked him over. 

 

“Come.”

 

He then invited him to sit at his desk. They then began to go over some new blueprints Joffrey had drawn up. They shared a pitcher of wine as the discussion went deep into the evening. 

 

“Bang”

 

Suddenly the door of his room flew open and in walked his uncle Tyrion accompanied by his cut throat Bronn. Joffrey didn’t look up from his documents unlike Tobho. Tyrion marched all the way up to his desk standing before both Joffrey and Tobho with Bronn right behind him.

 

“I come with news, nephew.” He was clearly troubled.

 

Joffrey didn’t acknowledge him and just continued to write on his parchment with his quill. The atmosphere then became awkward at Joffrey’s lack of a response to Tyrion’s words.

 

“I said I bring urgent news, Joffrey.” He restated trying to fill the awkward silence that saturated the room.

 

“Is there something wrong with your hands?” Joffrey asked not looking at his uncle as he continued to write.

 

“Umm, no.” Tyrion was confused looking at both Tobho and Bronn.

 

“Oh so it was just rudeness that kept you from knocking.” He said as he tapped his quill in fresh ink.

 

Tyrion furrowed his brow upon realizing Joffrey’s point.

 

“Um if this is a private discussion perhaps I should excuse myself.” Tobho started to say with a nervous expression.

 

“Don’t move an inch, Tobho unlike these two you were invited here.” He said with a stern voice that left no room for argument.

 

Tyrion began to get annoyed at the young king's lofty attitude that appeared to look down on him.

 

“Oh I’m sorry.” He said with clear sarcasm in his voice. “I’ve just received news that affects everyone’s lives in the city. Pardon me for not taking the time to knock first.”

 

Joffrey’s face remained expressionless unbothered by his uncle’s annoyance. Finally looking up from his papers, Joffrey locked eyes with Tyrion’s. His expression was aloof and still. A clear mask not revealing a hint of his inner thoughts. As Tyrion stared into his emerald green eyes he felt a shiver run down his spine. They weren’t the eyes of the same spoiled little shit he had come to despise. They were cold and empty like a bottomless sea, the eyes of a predator staring at a dumb animal. There was no recognizable emotion within them, just cold indifference. He had seen those eyes before, whenever he stared into his father's eyes. 

 

“Very well.” He spoke slowly, setting down his quill. “What news do you bring, dear uncle?”

 

“I-i’ve just received word that Renly Baratheon has been killed.” He stuttered out. “His bannerman have flocked to Stannis’s side.”

 

Externally Joffrey’s expression didn’t change upon hearing the news. But internally he was smiling, and his eyes shone with a glint of anticipation. 

 

“Finally,” He thought.