Magic had stirred his ambitions.
But reality was reality.
Early the next morning, twelve-year-old Joffrey still had to obey his mother and show up for breakfast on time.
As usual, breakfast was nothing out of the ordinary.
The queen, Joffrey, his younger brother and sister, and King Robert, absent and off carousing.
Faced with a lavish breakfast and the warmth of family, Joffrey set aside his worries and calculations and enjoyed the simple pleasure of the moment.
Especially his younger siblings.
His pretty seven-year-old sister Myrcella was innocent and lively. His six-year-old brother Tommen was a chubby little boy, kind and obedient.
They were good children.
Joffrey gave them a friendly smile.
The two children acted as though they had seen a demon, keeping their heads down and concentrating on their food.
Of the four at the table, Queen Cersei held the highest position, yet Myrcella and Tommen feared their elder brother most, not their mother, who looked stern but doted on her children.
Cersei seemed never to have noticed the strange relationship between her children.
"Children, tomorrow we're going home with your grandfather Tywin. Remember the Hall of Heroes at Casterly Rock? Once we're there, you can play all you like. No lessons at all."
Hmph. Once we're in the Westlands, let's see what Old Jon can do!
His younger siblings obediently agreed, their faces bright with smiles.
Joffrey agreed calmly too. He now had the confidence to face whatever unexpected crisis came his way.
The mysteries of "it" were gradually revealing themselves.
Lately, Joffrey's mind had grown sharper and more active by the moment. He felt neither sleepy nor tired, and the presence of "it" grew steadily stronger.
He had a feeling that once he crossed some threshold, he would be able to use it to create Valyrian steel—and perhaps do even more.
Of course, he could not yet ignore his enemies' strength or the threats they posed. He still had to play by the rules.
The role Joffrey would play next remained unchanged.
He would still stand by while Petyr killed Jon Arryn, who had served diligently as Hand of the King for more than a decade.
What a shame, Jon. You knew too much and asked too many questions.
Joffrey had no choice but to look the other way.
The Hand knew the truth of his birth and was drawing King Robert's younger brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon, into a plot to destroy the Lannisters—including Joffrey, the crown prince.
The Hand had to die.
But his death would also become the spark that ignited the vast, buried tensions and conflicts across the Seven Kingdoms.
With ambitious schemers inside and outside the realm fanning the flames, the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Westlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne—the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros—would know peace no longer.
He set down his knife and fork. "Mother, are we the only ones going to Casterly Rock this time? What about my uncles?"
Cersei replied with a hint of delight, "Jaime is coming with us."
If things go wrong and we really have to break with them, let them take out their anger on that dwarf!
Joffrey said nothing.
Tyrion was staying in King's Landing after all. Perfect—Joffrey could leave the task to him.
Joffrey had not fully unraveled all the plots and undercurrents of the past few days. But he knew he would be better off going on this trip to Casterly Rock.
Why wouldn't he?
When the Hand died soon after, 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 avoid the chaos in King's Landing altogether.
"I'm finished."
Joffrey stood. "Mother, where's Uncle Tyrion? I need to speak with him."
Cersei frowned almost reflexively.
"Where else would he be? Either drinking himself senseless in that little den of his or at a brothel. Don't you dare take after him."
"I know."
Joffrey waved a hand and headed straight for Tyrion's quarters.
The Red Keep was far livelier by day. People were everywhere.
There were gatekeepers; patrolling City Watchmen in their gold cloaks; guards of Stag House and Lion House hurrying about; dignitaries walking in twos and threes; and servants scrubbing walls and floors, carrying things, or tending the flowers and shrubs.
Everyone who saw him bowed respectfully and offered their greetings.
But Joffrey knew those smiling faces did more harm than good.
Anyone raised from childhood in such surroundings, without careful guidance from their elders, could easily grow self-centered and extreme.
Even he was gradually getting used to ignoring the living, breathing people all around him.
Born into royalty, how could he go without a few servants at his side? Let alone do menial work himself.
Joffrey did not want to become like that.
Being served was pleasant, certainly, but having his every word and action on display felt anything but pleasant.
For now, he could only try to adapt, put on a mask, hide his true thoughts, and appear to enjoy it.
At that moment, for instance, Joffrey looked perfectly composed, but inwardly he was weighing candidates for commander of the City Watch.
The City Watch numbered around two thousand and was known for the gold cloaks worn by every member.
These Gold Cloaks guarded the Red Keep, defended the capital, and enforced its laws. Their position was much like a royal guard's.
Their numbers might not seem large, but since the royal family maintained no other standing army, there was no armed force in the Crownlands that could rival them.
And when King Robert died just six months later, the Gold Cloaks would prove their strength during the coup.
Naturally, the future King Joffrey took such a force seriously.
He needed to choose a commander, recruit more men, strengthen training, weed out the weak, and clean up their conduct until they became a truly formidable army, one that would command the respect of the Seven Kingdoms.
The current commander, Janos Slynt, was greedy, corrupt, and unreliable in his loyalties. He certainly could not be kept on.
Joffrey settled on several candidates.
When the time came, he would see which of them proved most loyal and capable.
He reached his destination.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door and immediately saw Tyrion reclining on the bed.
As Joffrey drew closer, the strong smell of alcohol hit him.
"Uncle, are you still lucid?"
Tyrion shook his head and struggled to sit up.
"Joffrey! Have you come to visit your poor uncle? How touching."
"Drink a little less. You'll ruin your brain."
Tyrion brushed it off.
"Wine is a wonderful thing. Wine makes a man wise, ale keeps him calm, and spirits quicken his thoughts. How could I give up such treasures?"
Joffrey said nothing more. He went to the table, poured himself a cup of wine, and sipped it slowly.
The sunlight streaming through the window shifted slightly.
"My dear prince, what can I do for you?" Tyrion's voice was much clearer now.
"Grandfather's returning to Casterly Rock tomorrow. You're staying in King's Landing?"
"Of course." The less I see of him, the better.
The walls had ears. Joffrey wasted no words, pulling a rolled parchment from inside his clothes and handing it to Tyrion.
"Then keep an eye on Littlefinger for me. My Dragon Eggs still haven't arrived."
Tyrion agreed loudly as he unrolled the parchment.
Document every step of the Death of the Hand.
Within six months, recruit personnel and secretly gather information on everyone in King's Landing. Prioritize Littlefinger's and Varys's people?
Interesting. Is Lord Jon really going to be killed?
"Do a good job. Once I'm king, I might make you a minister." Master of Coin would suit him.
Tyrion thanked him repeatedly and read on.
Within one month, place covert agents close to the targets: the king's brothers Stannis and Renly, the Gold Cloaks' commander and other officers. Await further orders and act when the opportunity arose.
Covert agents.
For what?
Tyrion knew perfectly well.
But he had not expected Joffrey's plans to be so bold and aggressive.
Even if the Hand died and Duke Stark succeeded him, there was no need to move against these men.
Unless...
A terrifying thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
Tyrion jolted fully awake.
Something's going to happen to King Robert!?
The mere possibility filled him with deep concern.
After all, only a little over a decade had passed since the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty, and many commoners still spoke fondly of the old regime.
The new Baratheon Dynasty was far from secure.
King Robert might be lost to drink and women, indulgent to a fault, indifferent to affairs of state, and so extravagant that he had amassed debts of six million Golden Dragons—equal to three years of the royal treasury's income.
Robert might still bear the nickname "Usurper."
But he was the dynasty's founding king, a man who had personally won a vast realm in war.
The seven great dukes, hundreds of lords, and tens of millions of commoners inevitably had their conflicts, but all acknowledged King Robert's generosity, courage, and glorious record in battle.
That foundation had brought the Seven Kingdoms back together under the Iron Throne and kept Westeros in a rare period of peace and prosperity.
If the king died suddenly...
Would the Seven Kingdoms continue to submit obediently after the young, unproven Joffrey took the throne?
Tyrion doubted it.
Joffrey understood the consequences of the "king's death" even better.
In the century since the Targaryens lost their dragons, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms had grown ever stronger and long since grown accustomed to governing themselves. Their reverence for the Iron Throne had greatly diminished.
The rules and the order they upheld were growing more fragile, and the lords valued strength above all.
In such a world, King Robert's death would at best weaken the Five Kingdoms Alliance of Stag, Wolf, Fish, Eagle, and Lion, which had existed for barely a dozen years. At worst, it would tear the alliance apart.
Within that alliance, the Wolf, Fish, and Eagle Houses of the North, Riverlands, and Vale were bound more closely by marriage and could stand entirely apart from the royal family;
The royal Stag House had two ambitious uncles to the king. Renly held the Stormlands, while Stannis occupied Dragonstone, with the Crownlands directly ruled by the Iron Throne caught between them. Stag House was split three ways;
Joffrey's greatest support—the Lannisters of Lion House in the Westlands—might be his mother's family, but they had joined the War of the Usurper last and had a poor reputation. The Wolf, Fish, and Eagle Houses, and even the royal Stag House, looked at them askance. They held almost no sway over the Five Kingdoms Alliance.
The other two kingdoms posed even greater problems.
Dorne lay at the southernmost end of the Seven Kingdoms. Hot, dry, and covered in vast deserts, it had always been fiercely resistant to conquest.
Its economy, culture, and politics were also relatively independent, leaving the Iron Throne with the least influence there.
The Reach was the most fertile kingdom, with a population of over ten million—nearly a third of the Seven Kingdoms. Its abundant grain could feed both the Stormlands and Dorne at once.
Then there were the Targaryen remnants of the former dynasty, the Greyjoy family of the Iron Islands, and other great lords, all with their own demands and ambitions.
Once the king's authority was gone, every conflict would erupt at once, like a devastating flood.
The Seven Kingdoms were bound to bleed.
Yet the force of that flood could also wash away the filth, allowing him to bring things safely to rest and build a new world.
"In any case, remember my Dragon Eggs. Don't let Littlefinger pull a fast one."
With that final reminder, Joffrey turned and left, making his position clear.
He trusted Tyrion to handle these matters, and trusted that he could.
Tyrion watched Joffrey's retreating figure gravely, his thoughts in turmoil.
Was Westeros about to be engulfed in war?
Who would murder King Robert? Robert's two brothers, my venomous sister, or even Joffrey, who knew the truth?
Would the Iron Throne pass from the Stag once more?
Most importantly, could Joffrey as he was now be trusted and relied upon?
Tyrion looked at the final line of the parchment: Expenses of 5,000 Golden Dragons, to be reimbursed by The Hound.
Heh. What choice does someone like me have?
I suppose I'll have to go along with it.
Before you continue