The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 4: The Great Feast
Inside one of Winterfell's many solars, the crown prince was preparing for the night's celebration. Looking in the large, wall-mounted mirror, Joffrey parted his hair, allowing it to flow seamlessly to his shoulders.
"Seriously, I need to get a haircut," he said to himself, annoyed by the length.
Looking himself over one last time, he had to admit that he certainly fit the description of a fantasy world's prince, despite his rather scrawny appearance. Tugging at the collar of his crimson doublet, he made a mental note to add textile upgrades to his ever-growing list of things to do back at the capital. Once he was sure his outfit was in place, he made his way down to the great hall. As he walked, he composed himself. It wasn't the first time he had attended a social event. In fact, he had been to many during his time at West Point and throughout his military career. Though this would be one of the few where he would be the center of attention.
Eventually, he entered the great hall and found the celebrations already underway. A singer played a lute in the corner, but was drowned out by the roaring fire, the clangor of plates and wooden mugs, and the voices of the many rowdy northmen. Looking to the side, he found his family and the Starks all seated at a great rectangular table, elevated on a dais above the others. Making his way through the crowds, he took a seat beside his mother.
"Glad to see you finally decided to join us, boy," Robert bellowed, looking at his son, annoyed by his tardiness.
"Apologies, your grace," Joffrey said, bowing his head. "It took longer than expected. I'm still a little sore from Lord Robb showing me how Northerners fight."
He shot Robb a smirk, which the future lord returned. Robert raised an eyebrow, looking between him and his friend's son.
"Ha! Good, glad to see you're finally putting some effort into becoming a man, boy!" He almost looked at his son with a hint of respect.
His mother, however, stared at the Heir of Winterfell with daggers in her eyes. It wasn't until her son held the back of her hand and gave her a reassuring smile that she relented. The feast carried on, with everyone eating and enjoying the party, until Joffrey looked up and noticed someone was missing.
"Excuse me, Lord Stark," Joffrey said.
Eddard turned to look at the young prince. "Yes, my prince?"
"Forgive me, but I don't see your son Jon anywhere. Where is he?"
The atmosphere immediately became awkward, as if Joffrey had stepped on a landmine. Looking around at the tense room, Ned Stark looked like he was having an internal battle, while his wife wore a scowl. The silence lingered longer than anyone liked, and Catelyn decided to answer.
"Jon is outside, getting some more practice in with his sword," she said as politely as she could, clearly unhappy with the subject.
Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes, he is quite a "diligent" young man."
The prince slowly gazed around the table and noticed the varying expressions of the Stark children. While Sansa, Bran, and Rickon seemed unbothered, Arya and Robb had disgruntled and bitter looks. Immediately understanding what was happening, Joffrey nodded.
"I see." He paused and looked Lady Stark in the eye. "Then he is a fool."
He then stood up and made his way out of the great hall as everyone watched. Confusion hung in the air until the prince returned a few moments later, his arm draped around Jon's neck, practically dragging him into the hall. He led Jon to the top of the platform and placed a chair for him to sit in, taking a seat beside him across from his family. Joffrey patted Jon on the back and snapped his fingers, ordering a servant to bring a plate of food.
Awkwardness filled the hall for an eternity while Joffrey continued to drink and eat, unbothered. Finally, Robert let out a loud laugh.
"Ha! More wine!"
The Northerners cheered and carried on with the celebration. Jon looked around sheepishly, while Arya and Robb looked on happily, since it was the first time Jon ever got the chance to eat with them like family. Bran and Rickon still looked oblivious, while Eddard looked somewhat thankful. Not everyone was pleased though, as both Catelyn and Cersei finally found some common ground and looked at the situation with clear anger.
As the night went on, Joffrey found himself in a merry mood, with the rambunctious Northern feast reminding him of celebrations he held with his men when they were deployed. It was much more entertaining than the "dignified" feasts he remembered from the south. As he drank ale with Robb and Jon, he saw his mother's disapproving scowl. Following her gaze, Joffrey spotted the drunk king getting handsy with one of the castle's servants.
Joffrey scowled at his father's blatant disrespect to his mother's honor as he kissed the middle-aged woman in front of everyone. Seeing the prince's growing anger, both Stark brothers grabbed him by both of his shoulders and dragged him away, distracting him from his father's lechery.
At the top of the raised platform, Catelyn attempted to converse with the queen. "Is it your first time in the North, your grace?"
Cersei peeled her eyes away from her drunken husband to answer. "Yes, it is. A very lovely country," she said unconvincingly, trying to maintain proper royal etiquette.
Cersei glanced down at Sansa Stark with a kind smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sure it must be very grim after staying in King's Landing. I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time."
Catelyn continued, trying to relate to the queen. Suddenly, Sansa stepped in front of them, smiling sweetly at her mother and the queen, not seeing the bitterness in Cersei's eyes.
"Hello, little dove," Cersei said with a kind tone to which Sansa curtsied.
"My, you're quite the beauty, aren't you? How old are you?"
"Fourteen, your grace."
"Also tall. Still growing?"
"I think so, your grace."
Cersei looked the young girl up and down. "Have you bled yet?"
Sansa's smile vanished and was replaced with a self-conscious expression as she looked at her mother for support. Catelyn gave her a knowing look for her to answer. Sansa turned back to the queen.
"Yes, your grace," she said, her tone anxious.
Cersei nodded. "Your dress, did you make it?" she asked, changing the subject.
Sansa perked up and nodded.
"Such talent. Please be sure to make one for me."
Sansa curtsied to her mother and the queen and slowly departed. Now alone, the two women resumed their conversation.
"I hear that we might share a grandchild someday," Cersei said.
"I hear the same," Lady Stark replied, her tone as bitter as Cersei's.
"Your daughter will do well in the capital. Such beauty shouldn't remain hidden up here all her life."
Catelyn looked at her daughter, her expression anxious and sad as she watched Sansa return to her friends. As Sansa started gossiping, Robb and Jon were explaining a drinking game to Joffrey.
"So, what's the point of this?" Joffrey asked as a man filled a horn with ale.
"It's a test of strength," one man answered. "The goal is to drink as much of the ale out of the horn as you can without stopping or puking. Whoever gets the furthest wins."
Joffrey looked at the giant horn anxiously as the drunk men made comments.
"He won't get past three gulps," one commented.
"Yeah, I bet after four, he'll be puking in his chamber pot," another agreed.
Joffrey, incensed by their doubts, decided to show them how hearty he could be. "Give me that horn," he ordered.
"That's the spirit, my prince," Robb laughed.
Relying on his time in Germany when his men signed him up for the yard-of-ale contest, Joffrey slowly raised the horn to his lips as the men watched. Drinking as much as he could, he slowly raised the horn. The men began to bang their mugs and hands on the tables, cheering him on.
"Go!" "Go!" "Go!"
They cheered louder as the whole great hall turned to look. He kept guzzling until he raised the base of the horn to the ceiling. Gulping down the last of the drink, Joffrey leaned forward, feeling sick, and forced down the urge to vomit. He looked up and raised the empty horn high as the shocked and impressed Northmen watched.
"Yeah!" they cheered, many of the older men patting Joffrey on the back and giving him nods of approval.
Robb draped his arm around Joffrey's neck as Jon Snow patted his shoulder. Everyone looked proud, even Robert raised his mug.
"Attaboy!" he cheered, raising his mug with his right hand as he groped the servant's ass with his left.
The only ones who didn't look pleased were the queen and the Lady of Winterfell. As Joffrey started to feel buzzed and was talking with the men, a voice drew his attention.
"By the gods, a southerner that can actually drink. Now I've seen it all."
Joffrey turned and found a darkly dressed man with a gaunt face, sharp features, and blue-grey eyes. His raven-black hair reached his shoulders in waves. Seeing the tall man, Robb and Jon became excited.
"Uncle Benjen!" they shouted.
"Hello, boys," he said with a wide smile, hugging both men.
Joffrey gazed at the man, who looked like a younger, skinnier version of Eddard Stark, and reached out his hand. "A pleasure to meet a brother of the Night's Watch."
Benjen looked surprised before taking his hand and shaking it. "You as well, my prince."
"Just out of curiosity, do you hold a high position within the Watch?"
"Aye," he nodded. "I'm the first ranger of Castle Black. Why?"
"No reason. I wish to discuss a few things with you before we return to the capital. Please find me before then."
Benjen and the Stark sons looked confused.
"Anyway, I'm sure you have some family catching up to do, so I think I'll retire for the night," Joffrey said.
"Ah, already? But the night is still young, my prince," Robb teased.
"Piss off, Stark," Joffrey joked back, moving away from the men.
As he made his way out of the hall, he received more pats on the back from his future subjects. Oh, I'm going to regret that horn tomorrow, he thought as he staggered down the stone hallway back to his chamber.
Just as he predicted, he experienced the worst hangover of his life the next day. His head was killing him, and he had to ask Maester Luwin for whatever passed for Aleve in this world. For the rest of the day, he took it easy and avoided the training yard, locking himself in the library.
As he read through texts pertaining to Winterfell and the different Kings of Winter, he heard a creak at the door. Joffrey turned to see one of the doors of the library open. The prince raised an eyebrow as the family member he was most anxious to meet made his way into the cold library.
He was shorter than his dwarf actor in the TV show, with stunted legs and stubby fingers. His hair was long but thin and almost white. His most distinctive feature was his eyes. He had heterochromia, with one eye being green and the other pitch black.
As the dwarf entered, he stopped as soon as he spotted Joffrey. Surprise filled his face before his expression cooled into a cocky grin, not too different from his older brother's. He slowly waddled over to the prince.
"Ah, beloved nephew, what brings you into such a dark and cold place?" he asked, stopping a few feet away. "Did you by chance get lost while trying to hunt down a cat or something?"
Joffrey ignored the quip and looked into his mismatched eyes. "Hello, Uncle. Glad to see you could make it," he said nonchalantly, looking back at his book.
Tyrion looked at the pile of books beside his wretched nephew. "So, are you going to tell me what you're reading, or do I have to guess?"
"I don't know. Are you actually going to ask? Or are you just going to continue to stand there like a dried-up stump?"
Tyrion's eyes widened slightly before he chuckled. "Oh, great crown prince, could you please inform your poor, ignorant uncle what parchment has grasped your interest?" he asked, giving an exaggerated bow, his voice filled with false politeness and mockery.
Joffrey sighed and closed his textbook. "You know, Uncle, I always forget how much you hate me until I'm in your presence. Not that I haven't earned that ire," he spoke aloud, mostly to himself.
The dwarf looked befuddled. He had heard from Jaime that Joffrey had been acting differently ever since his "incident" at Moat Cailin. Personally, he thought the sadistic boy should have stayed dead, but the rumors confused him.
Before he could ponder further, Joffrey spoke. "And to answer your question," he turned the book so Tyrion could read the cover. "The Great Histories of Winterfell and the Winter Kings Who Ruled Them."
Tyrion read aloud. "Since when do you have such an interest in the North or its past rulers?"
"Since I realized that the best way to rule over a people is to understand them and their leaders."
Tyrion fell silent, surprised by the actual intelligent answer coming from the young man. Joffrey saw his uncle's confused and bewildered expression but didn't feel inclined to continue the discussion.
"Well, if you'll excuse me," he said, standing and taking the thick textbook. "Please inform a servant to have those books transported to my chambers."
He strode by his still-bewildered uncle and slowly made his way out of the library, closing the door behind him. Tyrion watched the prince disappear, gazing upon him like a new puzzle he needed to solve.
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