Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 31: Surrender

Arya gasped when she saw them. There were two Stark guards lying in pools of their own blood, their sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, their bodies sprawled before the door to her sister’s chambers. The men who had protected them since Winterfell, who had taught her to curse under their breath when Septa Mordane wasn’t listening, who had sneaked her extra meat pies when the cooks weren’t looking.

”Alyn! Jory!” She tore free from Joffrey’s grip and fell to her knees beside them, her small hands reaching for faces that would never smile at her again.

Joffrey moved quickly, pulling her up and covering her mouth before her cries could draw more attention. Her tears soaked through his fingers.

”Not now, little one.” His voice was low, urgent. ”Now is not the time for tears. Save them for later.”

He dragged her gently toward the door, placing his palm against the wood. A whisper of power, and the lock clicked open from within. Behind him, Ser Meryn and the gold cloaks exchanged uneasy glances, as they’d heard no key, seen no tool.

Joffrey pushed inside, Arya still in his grip.

”Arya! Joffrey!” Sansa sat huddled on a bench, her face a ruin of dried tears and fresh fear. Beside her, Jeyne Poole clutched a pillow like a shield. ”What’s happening? What are those men doing out there?”

Joffrey glanced back at the doorway where Ser Meryn and his men hovered uncertainly. ”You lot wait outside. I need a word with them in private.”

”But Your Grace, the Queen said—”

The door shut in his face. Leaving them no chance to respond.

Joffrey turned back to the girls. Sansa had pulled herself together slightly, though her hands still shook. Jeyne looked ready to faint. Arya had stopped crying, her face hardening and showing some maturity for her years.

”Septa Mordane told us to wait here,” Sansa said, her voice trembling. ”She said to lock the door and not open it for anyone. Then we heard... we heard fighting. Screaming. We didn’t know what to do. So we just...”

Jeyne crept closer, her voice a whisper. ”What happened to the Stark guards outside? Why are they fighting?”

”A rebellion is happening.” Joffrey kept his voice calm, measured. ”The Red Keep is tearing itself apart. Men are dying out there. If you leave this room, you may join them.” He paused, deciding what to tell them. The Septa was dead, but they didn’t need to know that yet.

”Where’s Father?” Sansa’s voice cracked. ”Is he all right? Please, tell me he’s all right.”

”He’s in the throne room. That’s where I’m going now.” Joffrey moved toward the door, then stopped. ”The three of you stay here. Don’t open this door for anyone but me. Do you understand?”

Sansa nodded, but her eyes were distant, haunted. He caught the edge of her thoughts...guilt, sharp and bitter. She’d gone to the Queen last night. She’d told Cersei everything about Father’s plans to send them away, about the letter, about some truth she didn’t fully understand but had repeated anyway.

She thinks this is her fault, Joffrey realized. Poor child.

Even if Lord Stark had the foresight to send his daugehrs away the night before deciding to wrestle control over the realm...it was too late already. The Queen had been watching every exit of the castle like a hawk.

If it weren’t for Joffrey’s abilities, he would also have had a hard time finishing his preparations.

”Please.” Sansa’s voice was barely a whisper. ”Please don’t let them hurt Father. Please, Joffrey.”

He met her eyes but made no promises. ”Seal the door behind me.”

Outside, he turned to the assembled guards. Ser Meryn Trant stood apart, his hand on his sword, his face carrying the expression of a man who thought himself above such duties.

”You.” Joffrey pointed at him. ”Stay here. Guard this door with your life.”

Ser Meryn’s face twisted. ”Guard Stark’s daughters? I’m a knight of the Kingsguard! My duty is to the King—”

”Your duty...” Joffrey’s voice dropped to something cold and terrible”...is to do as I command. You will guard those girls as if your life depends on it, because it does. If they suffer so much as a scratch, I will take your head myself. You hear?.”

Ser Meryn’s mouth opened and closed. He swallowed. Nodded. Nodded again. Three times.

”Good.” Joffrey turned and strode down the corridor. ”Keep up with my pace. I won’t slow down.”

The throne room was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Joffrey pushed through the doors and stopped, taking in the scene with eyes that missed nothing. Kingsguard in white stood near the throne, their hands on their swords. Gold cloaks lined the walls, outnumbering the Stark men who clustered near Lord Eddard, their weapons drawn but their faces uncertain. At the far end, atop the Iron Throne’s steps, stood the Queen flanked by Jaime Lannister, Uncle Kevan, and Maester Pycelle.

All eyes turned to him as he entered.

”Joffrey.” Cersei’s voice carried relief and something else; it was a hunger he recognized. ”Finally, you arrive. I was handling things in your name. This traitor,” she pointed at Ned, ”was trying to steal your birthright.”

Ned Stark’s gaze found him across the chamber. ”Prince Joffrey. You were there when the King dictated his final wishes. You saw him sign the letter naming me Protector of the Realm.”

Joffrey noticed the scraps of parchment scattered at the Queen’s feet. Ned had tried to present the letter. Cersei had torn it apart. Of course.

”Is this true, Prince Joffrey?” Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, his old face troubled. ”There are pieces here bearing the King’s seal. Did Lord Stark speak truly?”

”Lies!” Cersei’s voice rang off the stone walls. ”The words of a traitor who would steal the throne! Guards, arrest these men at once!”

Swords shifted in scabbards. Men tensed. The air grew thick with imminent violence.

Joffrey walked forward, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence. He passed through the lines of armed men as if they weren’t there, as if the threat of bloodshed meant nothing to him.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lord Stark.” His voice was calm, almost bored. ”But this doesn’t need to end in blood. Tell your men to lay down their arms. You’re outnumbered. You can see that much.”

Ned’s face went white, then red. ”You... you were there. You heard him. The throne does not belong to—”

”You’ve already lost.” Joffrey cut him off, his voice flat. ”The only question now is how many of these loyal men die before you accept that.” He gestured at the Stark soldiers. ”Do you want their blood on your hands? And what of your daughters?”

Ned’s eyes widened. ”What have you done with them?”

”They’re safe. For now.” Joffrey met his gaze without flinching. ”Your eldest is not very good at keeping secrets, Lord Stark. She told my mother everything. The plans. The letter. All of it...she did not make it far.”

”You bastard.” Ned’s hand went to his sword, Valyrian steel, sharp and ready for blood. The blade came free, pointing at Joffrey’s chest.

Joffrey didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. An invisible layer of his magic ensured his protection. ”Careful, Lord Stark. You’ve made many poor choices. This would be your last one.”

The sword trembled in Ned’s grip. Around him, his men watched, waiting for a signal that didn’t come.

”If you want your daughters to live to see another day,” Joffrey extended his hand, palm up,” then surrender.”

Their eyes met. Grey ice against green fire.

”I said...SURRENDER!,” Joffrey repeated , and this time, the word carried weight that had nothing to do with sound, a powerful command that could not be ignored by any mortal man.

The Valyrian sword clattered to the stone floor.

Stark men gasped. Weapons wavered. Ned Stark sank to his knees, his face a mask of defeat. ”We...surrender.”

One by one, the northerners dropped their swords. Gold cloaks surged forward, grabbing arms, pulling men away. The clank of iron shackles filled the hall.

”Take them all to the black cells!” Cersei’s voice was triumphant, vicious. ”And him especially!” She pointed at Ned, her green eyes blazing with years of suppressed hatred.

Joffrey said nothing. The black cells were no place for a high lord. They were damp, dark, and crawling with rats and despair. Ned Stark would suffer there. This made things easier in the long run.

He ignored his mother’s smug expression as she watched the northern lord being dragged away. She thought she’d won. She had no idea what she’d just set in motion.

”Do you truly have them?” Jaime asked once the hall had cleared, leaving only Lannisters and the most trusted Kingsguard. ”The Stark girls?”

”Locked in their chambers. Ser Meryn guards the door.” Joffrey’s eyes drifted to the floor, where Ser Barristan was carefully gathering the torn pieces of the King’s letter.

”Why would Lord Stark lie?” the old knight murmured, almost to himself. ”The man was always so honorable...”

”Excellent!” Cersei clapped her hands. ”I want those girls watched day and night. As long as we have them, those Northerners will not dare to act.”

”Was it wise to put Lord Stark in the black cells?” Kevan Lannister’s blunt face creased with concern. ”That’s no place for a lord. The North will—”

”The North can rot.” Cersei’s voice was ice. ”He committed treason. He should be executed.”

”Executed?” Kevan paled. ”That would mean war. We should wait for my brother before any rash decisions are made.”

Jaime nodded. ”Father should know what’s happened here.”

”Fine.” Cersei waved a dismissive hand. ”Send word to Casterly Rock. But we must act quickly; we have to summon every lord and lady in the castle and have them bend the knee to Joffrey. And send ravens to all the great houses. The coronation must happen as soon as—”

”It can wait.” Kevan’s voice was firm. ”The King died last night. His funeral is in three days. Joffrey’s coronation should be at least a fortnight away. Anything sooner would be seen as disrespectful.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, but before she could argue, Joffrey spoke.

”Kevan’s right.” All eyes turned to him. ”Having the nobles here acknowledge me as heir is reasonable. But the coronation can wait until after Father is buried.” He paused, listening to distant sounds; battles were still raging elsewhere in the keep. The Stark men outside this room hadn’t gotten the message about surrender. ”I’m tired. I’m going to my chambers.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Cersei pointed at the nearest Kingsguard. ”Ser Barristan. Guard your King. I won’t have him wandering alone.”

The old knight bowed and hurried after him.

They walked in silence through corridors that still echoed with distant combat. Joffrey led, Barristan followed, until they reached a stretch of hallway empty of guards, empty of servants, empty of anyone at all.

”So you’re stuck with me now.” Joffrey glanced back at the old knight.

”It is my duty, Your Grace.”

Joffrey stopped, turning to face him fully. ”Tell me, Ser Barristan. What do you truly think of what happened today?”

The knight’s face was carefully blank. ”I don’t know what to think, Your Grace.”

”Of course you do.” Joffrey smiled, a thin expression, devoid of warmth. ”You’re just not sure if you should say it aloud. But you can. I won’t have you whipped for offending me. I’m not that sort of prince.”

Barristan studied him for a long moment. ”They say you’re honorable, kind, and that you never punish servants for honest mistakes.” He shook his head slowly. ”Still. I would prefer to keep my opinions to myself, if Your Grace doesn’t mind.”

”That’s answer enough.” Joffrey turned and continued walking.

After a few paces, Barristan spoke again. ”Your Grace? This isn’t the way to your chambers.”

”No.” Joffrey kept walking. ”It isn’t.”

Barristan followed without another word, his old hand resting on his sword hilt, his old eyes watching everything. Whatever he thought of this strange prince who spoke like a man twice his age and moved through chaos like water through rocks, he kept it to himself.

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