Blood and Fire Foretold

Magic had stirred his ambition.

But reality was reality.

Early the next morning, twelve-year-old Joffrey still had to obediently heed his mother's orders and report to the dining hall on time.

As usual, breakfast was unremarkable today.

The Queen, Joffrey, and his younger brother and sister—and King Robert, absent and off carousing.

Before a lavish breakfast and his warm family, Joffrey set aside his many worries and schemes and enjoyed this fleeting, peaceful beauty.

Especially his younger siblings.

His beautiful seven-year-old sister Myrcella was innocent and lively. His chubby six-year-old brother Tommen was kind and obedient.

They were both good children.

Joffrey gave them a friendly smile.

Yet the two children lowered their heads and wolfed down their food as though they had seen a demon.

Of the four seated at the table, Queen Cersei held the highest status. Yet Myrcella and Tommen feared their elder brother most, rather than their mother, who seemed stern but actually doted on her children.

Cersei seemed never to have noticed the strange relationship between her children.

"Children, tomorrow we're returning home with your grandfather Tywin. Do you still remember the Hall of Heroes at Casterly Rock? Once we get there, you can play to your hearts' content. No lessons at all."

Hmph. We'll be in the Westlands then. Let's see what Old Jon can do about it!

His younger brother and sister obediently agreed, their faces full of delighted smiles.

Joffrey calmly agreed as well. He already had the confidence to deal with any unexpected crisis.

Its mysteries were gradually beginning to reveal themselves.

During this time, Joffrey's mind and thoughts had grown more energetic and active by the moment. He felt no drowsiness or fatigue at all, while its presence steadily grew stronger.

He had a feeling that once he crossed a certain threshold, he would be able to use it to create Valyrian Steel—and perhaps do even more.

Of course, he still could not disregard the enemy's strength and threat. He still had to follow the rules.

The role Joffrey would play next would not change.

He would still stand by and watch Petyr eliminate Jon Arryn, who had diligently served as Hand of the King for over a decade.

What a pity, Jon. You knew too much, and asked too many questions.

Joffrey had no choice but to turn a blind eye.

Hand of the King Jon knew the truth of Joffrey's birth and was gathering support around King Robert's second brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon, intending to destroy the Lannisters—including Joffrey, the Crown Prince.

The Hand of the King had to die.

But his death would also become a fuse, igniting the immense hidden dangers and conflicts buried throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Driven and incited by ambitious men both inside and outside the realm, The North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Westlands, the Stormlands, The Reach, and Dorne—the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros—would no longer remain peaceful.

He put down his knife and fork. "Mother, will it only be us going to Casterly Rock this time? What about my uncles?"

Cersei replied with a hint of delight, "Jaime will be traveling with us."

If something changes and we truly tear off the mask, let them vent all their rage on that dwarf!

Joffrey remained silent.

Tyrion really was staying behind in King's Landing. Perfect—he could leave this matter to him.

Joffrey had not fully seen through just how many schemes and undercurrents were at work these past few days. But he knew it was best for him to join this trip to Casterly Rock.

Why not?

When the Hand of the King died soon enough, he would be on the road to Casterly Rock.

When the King decided to head north to Winterfell, he would still be on the road.

He would perfectly avoid the chaos in King's Landing.

"I'm finished eating."

Joffrey rose to his feet. "Mother, where is Uncle Tyrion? I need to speak with him."

Cersei frowned as if by reflex.

"Where else could that fellow be? Either drinking himself senseless in his little den or at a brothel. Whatever you do, don't learn from him."

"I know."

Joffrey waved a hand, left the room, and headed straight for Tyrion's quarters.

The Red Keep was much livelier during the day. People were everywhere.

Gate guards, patrolling City Watch Gold Cloaks, Stag House and Lion House guards hurrying about, nobles gathered in twos and threes, male and female servants scrubbing walls and floors, carrying things, and trimming flowers and grass.

Everyone who saw him bowed respectfully and greeted him.

But Joffrey knew these smiling faces did more harm than good.

If someone grew up in such an environment without careful guidance from elders, they would inevitably become self-centered and extreme.

Even he had gradually grown accustomed to ignoring these living, breathing people who were everywhere around him.

As a royal noble, how could he possibly go without a few servants at his side? Much less do manual labor himself.

Joffrey did not want to be like that.

Having people attend to him was certainly convenient, but having every word and action exposed before others felt terrible.

For now, he could only strive to adapt, put on a mask, hide his true thoughts, and take pleasure in the act.

Just like now: Joffrey appeared utterly composed, but inwardly, he was weighing candidates for Commander of the City Watch.

The City Watch numbered around two thousand men and was famous for every member wearing a gold cloak.

These Gold Cloaks were responsible for guarding the Red Keep, defending and enforcing the law in the capital. Their status was similar to that of the royal guard.

Their numbers might not seem great, but since the royal family maintained no other standing forces, there truly was no armed force in the Crownlands capable of competing with them.

Moreover, only half a year later, when King Robert died, the Gold Cloaks would prove their strength in the coup.

As the future King Joffrey, he naturally attached great importance to such a force.

The choice of commander, expanding recruitment, strengthening training, dismissing the weak and redundant, rectifying their conduct—until they became a truly powerful iron-clad army that could intimidate the Seven Kingdoms.

The current commander, Janos Slynt, was greedy, corrupt, and unreliable in his loyalties. Naturally, he could not be retained.

Joffrey settled on several candidates.

It would depend on who proved most loyal and useful when the time came.

He had reached his destination.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he immediately saw Tyrion reclining sideways on the bed.

Joffrey stepped closer, and the heavy stench of alcohol struck him at once.

"Uncle, are you still conscious?"

Tyrion shook his head and struggled into a sitting position.

"Joffrey! Have you come to visit your poor uncle? How touching."

"Drink less. Don't drink your brain into ruin."

Tyrion did not take it seriously.

"Wine is a wonderful thing. Wine makes men wise, ale makes men calm, and spirits make the mind more active. How could I part with such treasures?"

Joffrey said nothing more. He went to the table, poured himself a cup of wine, and savored it slowly.

The sunlight streaming through the window shifted slightly.

"My dear Prince, what are your instructions?" Tyrion's voice was much clearer now.

"Grandfather is returning to Casterly Rock tomorrow. You're staying in King's Landing?"

"Of course." It would be best if he and I never met.

The walls had ears, so Joffrey did not waste words. He took a rolled parchment from his clothes and handed it to Tyrion.

"Then keep an eye on Littlefinger. My Dragon Eggs still haven't arrived."

Tyrion agreed loudly as he unrolled the parchment.

Observe and record the entire process of the Death of the Hand.

Time limit: half a year. Recruit personnel. Secretly gather information on everyone in King's Landing. Prioritize Littlefinger's and Varys's people?

Interesting. Was Lord Jon really about to be murdered?

"Handle this well. Once I become King, perhaps I'll make you a minister." Master of Coin would be a fine position.

Tyrion thanked him repeatedly and continued reading.

Time limit: one month. Plant covert agents near the targets: the King's brothers Stannis and Renly, City Watch Commander and other officers. Await further orders and act when the opportunity arises.

Covert agents.

For what purpose?

Tyrion knew perfectly well.

But he had not expected Joffrey's designs to be so aggressive and bold.

Even if Hand of the King Jon died and Lord Stark succeeded him, there was no need at all to touch these people.

Unless...

A terrifying thought flashed through his mind like lightning.

Tyrion jolted and became fully awake.

Something would happen to King Robert!?

The mere thought filled him with deep worry.

After all, only a little more than a decade had passed since the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty, and many among the people still longed for the previous dynasty.

The newly established Baratheon Dynasty was far from stable.

Though King Robert was addicted to wine and women, excessively indulgent, indifferent to state affairs, lavish in spending, and had incurred six million Golden Dragons in debt—equal to three years of Royal Treasury revenue.

Though Robert still bore the nickname of the Usurper.

He was, after all, the founding monarch who had personally won this vast kingdom in war.

The seven great lords, hundreds of lesser lords, and tens of millions of commoners were bound to have conflicts and disputes. But King Robert's generosity, courage, and glorious achievements were universally acknowledged.

It was on that foundation that the Seven Kingdoms had once more united beneath the Iron Throne, allowing Westeros to maintain its rare peace and prosperity.

Once the King died suddenly.

Would the Seven Kingdoms continue to submit obediently after the young and utterly unprestigious Joffrey ascended the throne?

Tyrion did not think so.

Joffrey understood the consequences of the King's death even more clearly.

In the century since the Targaryens lost their dragons, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms had grown increasingly powerful. They had long become accustomed to ruling independently, and their reverence for the Iron Throne had greatly diminished.

Rules and order had become ever more fragile, while the lords revered strength above all else.

Under such circumstances, once King Robert died, the Stag, Wolf, Fish, Eagle, and Lion Five Kingdoms Alliance that had existed for only a little over a decade would be weakened at best and collapse completely at worst.

Within the Five Kingdoms Alliance, the Wolf, Fish, and Eagle Houses of The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale were bound by marriage and even closer to one another. They could entirely stand apart from the royal family;

Stag House of the royal family had two ambitious royal uncles. Renly possessed the Stormlands, while Stannis held Dragonstone, with the Crownlands directly controlled by the Iron Throne caught between them. Stag House was divided into three;

Joffrey's greatest support—the Lannisters of Lion House in the Westlands—were royal in-laws, but they had joined the War of the Usurper last and had a poor reputation. The Wolf, Fish, and Eagle Houses, even Stag House of the royal family, did not think highly of them. They had almost no influence over the Five Kingdoms Alliance.

The other two kingdoms were even more troublesome.

Dorne lay at the southernmost end of the Seven Kingdoms. It was hot and dry, with vast deserts. Its people had always been fierce and difficult to conquer.

Its economy, culture, and politics were also relatively independent, and the Iron Throne's influence there was at its weakest.

The Reach was the most fertile, with a population of more than ten million—nearly one-third of the Seven Kingdoms. Its abundant grain could feed both the Stormlands and Dorne at the same time.

Beyond that, major lords such as the remnant Targaryen forces of the previous dynasty and the Greyjoy family of the Iron Islands all had their own demands and ambitions.

Once the King's pressure was gone, every conflict would erupt at once like a monstrous flood.

The Seven Kingdoms were bound to bleed.

But at the same time, the power of the flood could wash away filth and refuse, allow a stable landing, and build a new world.

"In any case, remember my Dragon Eggs. Don't let Littlefinger try any tricks."

After that final reminder, Joffrey turned and left directly, making his stance clear.

He believed Tyrion would handle these matters well—and that he was capable of doing so.

Tyrion watched Joffrey's retreating back with a grave expression, his mind full of thoughts.

Was Westeros about to be plunged into war?

Who would murder King Robert? Robert's two brothers, his venomous sister, or even Joffrey, who knew the truth?

Would the stag's Iron Throne change hands once more?

Most importantly, was the current Joffrey worthy of trust and reliance?

Tyrion looked at the final line on the parchment: Funds: 5,000 Golden Dragons. Reimburse through the Hound.

Heh. What choice does someone like me have?

He could only accept it.