CERSEI

The howls of sorrow coming from the Great Hall where weeping King Joffrey sat the Iron Throne could be heard throughout the Red Keep. He was bowed forward as if seated upon a toilet, with his head in his hands and his curls shaking with each sob. Cersei and Lord Tywin looked on with the other guests Joffrey had demanded attend him. The brothers of the Kingsguard stood quietly in a pair of clumps, and behind them were a collection of the Keep's maesters and smiths. For some reason Joffrey had even summoned a number of whores from the city's various brothels, and these women drifted awkwardly through the nobles and men at arms, clearly unsure which of their services had been needed, and for whom.

"I'm just so fucking sorry," Joffrey howled, lifting his head briefly, making terrible eye contact with a few people, and then lowering it back into his hands for another round of sobs.

"It's… all right, Your Grace," Ser Loras Tyrell mumbled. "There there."

"It's not all right at all!" Joffrey screamed. "Where is Sansa? I have so many apologies to make. Oh gods, what have I done? Why am I like this?!"

"We must give him dreamwine," Lord Tywin said quietly from the side of his mouth to Cersei. "Or a beating. Anything to quiet him down before he says something irrevocable."

"Bring me the gold cloaks," Joffrey roared. "Their service is at an end. Having weapons is wrong. There's no reason to keep these sharp things. This is all so fucked up. Everything we've built, all the trickery and lies, everything!"

"What will the gold cloaks do now, Your Grace?" asked Grand Maester Pycelle. "If they are no longer to guard."

Joffrey looked up in awe. The question had clearly blown his mind. "They will begin a new work," he decreed, climbing to his feet and beginning to hop up and down on the seat of the Iron Throne. "They shall be organized into Sorriness Brigades. A Sorriness Brigade shall be dispatched to each of the great houses of Westeros. To tell them how sorry I am."

Cersei and Tywin exchanged a look.

"Sorry for what, Your Grace?" Pycelle asked.

"For being such a stupid little shit," Joffrey admitted, then collapsed back into his sobs.

"He's lost his wits," Cersei whispered in horror.

"No, the stupid little shit is only high," Lord Tywin sighed. "He must have eaten the Spoor of Madness. I know of no other substance that can turn a man into such a blithering dunce. But who gave it to him?"

"Any man who won't accept my apology shall have his eyes pulled out and fed to him," Joffrey screamed. Then it dawned on him what he had said, and he screamed again, in mortal terror.

"The Imp," Cersei growled. "He has always hated Joffrey."

"At least we have all these new colors, though," Joffrey cried out in ecstasy. "Oh, thank goodness."

Cersei stalked off to commission a tiny crow's cage that would be suitable for dangling Tyrion from the walls of the Red Keep.