Author's note: Thanks to all the readers, especially Master of Dragons God, and DarthMihi, for all their help. To all the rest, I will mention you one day – all you have to do is review several times…

Remember – when brittle things crack, they crack hard.

Chapter 10:

It was a sunny day.

It was warm, there were no clouds, and the field was a deep, pure green.

It was a lovely day for a picnic, for a walk.

It was a lovely day for battle.

It was about two weeks after my coronation. A fortnight filled with oaths, with fear, with marching – all culminated to this day.

After the interrupted feast that night, we gathered in my solar, the moon eavesdropping on this most important conversation between the powers of this city.

There was me, of course.

Next to yours truly stood Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan, resplendent in their gilded armour and stoic expressions.

Ned Stark was standing opposite me, pale hands gripping the edge of the table, his gaze that of a rabbit caught between a wolf and car headlights. I guess going to war against his proper liege lord was difficult to do.

He would bear watching. I hadn't forgotten how easily he had given in the other night, simply by having his children threatened. And to go to war, against the real heir to the throne…well, I was half-expecting a dagger in the back.

Standing next to the giant Northern rabbit was Tyrion, tucked into a large chair and warming himself with a large flask of something incredibly alcoholic.

Beside the dwarf, hardly invisible – but very quiet – was the Hound, scowling at all he could see, and doing his best at everything he could not.

Finally there was Kevan Lannister, standing proud next to me. This one was reliable. He had done everything I had asked without hesitation so far. If anyone would be loyal, it would be him.

It was sad that I had to think about everyone like this, but I wanted – no, needed, to stay here, on this throne.

I wouldn't be kicked off by some up jumped noble thinking he was being honourable.

I tuned into what Tyrion was saying, hoping we had moved on from the issue of how many salted hams we would bring on the march.

"And so, that is why I say it is less ham we need, not more".

Well, maybe not.

We were all hunched over a large, ornate map of Westeros, looking at the valleys and fields we could use as battlegrounds in this civil war. I sighed. People didn't even know there was a war on, let alone that a bunch of nobles were deciding if they would fight and die in it or not.

I interrupted this pathetic debate, trying to move the wagon along. As a keen reader, I already knew many macho ways to end this rebellion, along with more…explosive…methods.

"This is irrelevant", I snapped at them. "Currently, 30,000 of Stannis' troops and easily more of Renly's are marching on King's Landing, whistling 'The Raines of Castamere' and considering how many of us they will kill. And all we are doing is working out what we will eat on our way there!"

I was quite irate, and more impatient. There was some longing at the base of my being, a monster in a cavern that wanted to be let out, which relished the slaughter and gore of war. I was scared of that monster, but it was part of me, and so I wanted some of that too.

And that was more worrying.

Abandoning my philosophical and possibly psychopathic musings, I looked up again. All the powers in King's Landing were staring at me, like a beetle discovered on a piece of furniture. Eventually Ned Stark voiced their concern.

"Your Grace, without wishing to cause offence, you are too young to go to war. It is too dangerous for one of your rank and prestige. This is a rebellion, not a royal event. You need not be there".

I was astounded. I was gobsmacked, shocked, amazed. Of all the things I believed would happen in the next few days, twiddling my thumbs next to the women and old men of this city was not one of them.

My shock gave way to anger, and I voiced it.

"What do you mean, 'too young'? I'm a king – your king! I…" I stopped suddenly. What was it Tywin said? Anyone who says they are king is not. I believe Margaret Thatcher also said something along the same lines. Who was I, thinking I had a divine right to do what I wanted?

Suddenly, it became too much. I was 14 years old, for God's sake! I had played along so far, doing what I wanted, playing in a little, make-believe world, away from concerns and danger.

I wasn't Joffrey. I was just a normal schoolboy, who should be out with my friends, or watching a film, or playing football. Not standing around in a bloody castle, with a bunch of medieval warriors, in a dark room that stank of piss and wine, in a bloody duvet made of furs, wearing a stupid, bloody crown, arguing about why I should be going to war!

I snapped, like a hot plate dropped into cold snow. I saw ten other people in the room, two dwarfs, two giant rabbits. I ripped off my royal cloak, sank down on my chair, defeated, flagging…

Slowly, my breathing became regular, and a feeling of calm passed over me.

For too long I had lived in my own bubble, learning 'how to fight with Jaime', 'how to make it up with Cersei', and how to fix every bloody, unimportant, selfish thing in my life. It was time to accept things, time to realise that there was only so much I could do in this world.

I understood it now. All those people who talked about how easy it would be to fix this world were wrong. It was impossible. That I now knew. I knew it because it happened when I was here, and seemed like it would happen anyway now that I was.

I gave up, as simple as that. All I had done hadn't affected the main source of trouble, so what was the point of trying? I could sit back and enjoy the life of a constitutional monarch, with the ability to know who was trying to kill me. It would be so calm, so easy, so…

Submissive.

That was the word. That was who I would be. A weak-willed, easily led, puppet of a child, preened over, made unaware of his own limitations. Was that who I was?

My answer was simple. I stood up.

I stood up, and I looked Stark in those cold, grey eyes of his.

"No", I said. It was all I thought.

"That's not who I was born to be. I vowed to look after this kingdom, and I'll be damned if you people keep me here like an injured pet, cared for and kept inside, out of the rain. I will fight, even if it be on my own, against all of the power of Renly and Stannis". Suddenly, a weight lifted off me, like a massive lead Bergan, the straps digging into my arms, that vanished in a unheard, invisible puff of smoke.

I had finally opened my eyes. No longer would I pretend I could do everything. That was stupid. That was not who I was. It was time to put away childish things, and accept things for what they were.

I couldn't save everyone. I couldn't stop this war, stop thousands from dying. But if I made one person better, even for a millisecond, even if it cost me my life and everything else, it would be worth it. I would do it. I will do it.

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow, and Tyrion smiled – hopefully out of pride and not mockery.

Surprisingly, it was the latter who spoke next, laughing and snorting the wine out of his nose.

"Well said, Joffrey!" Turning his attention to the rest of the group, he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"To be fair, Joffrey is right. You can hardly expect the smallfolk to follow their leader into a war – probably against their own family, depending on their view – and without knowing or seeing who they are fighting for".

He turned his overly large head round the room once more.

"No objections? Good. Now, with that over, I believe we were discussing hams…"

The arrangements were eventually completed that night, and I added some more requests, after the rest of them had gone, personal yet vitally important components. Whether it would work or not, I had no idea, but I was damned if I would just ignore the possibility.

The next morning, the civil war was announced to the world. Ravens, flying through the night, arrived at all the rookeries of Westeros, informing the nobles of the rebellion and imploring them to fight against it.

I didn't hold out much hope.

Oh yes, there would be ravens back. "We're on our way", "We'll gather our men", all of that.

It would be too late, though, was the important thing. Stannis had already begun to march, and Renly…well, he had instantly gone to the Tyrells, as suspected. His numbers mastered some 80,000, and soon they would march as well…

My nihilistic thoughts were useless, and would do naught but bad things if they festered. So for the next few days I worked, handing out mail and weapons to the new recruits from King's Landing, helping the soldiers train, working with some of the smallfolk on their farms, before battle would destroy the land. I was everywhere always, doing all I could. I was aware that it was little, but the effort was there, along with the desire to help those I met, interact with them, make someone miss me if I died.

And so it was in this way that a week passed, and soon the army was ready to march. All the nobility gathered to cry their goodbyes, and I was mirroring some of their actions as well – although I didn't let anyone see it.

Myrcella and Tommen walked up to me, both red-eyed. I suddenly felt awful. These were lovely, kind people, who deserved a nice, older brother to talk to them and take care of them, and instead, had just got the cold shoulder.

I hugged them, for how long I didn't know. When we separated, I looked in their eyes.

"I am so sorry for not being with you…whilst I could. I promise to you, when I come back, the first thing I'll do is spend every afternoon with you two. We're family, and I should have treated you as such". They nodded, crying gently. Myrcella was the first to break away.

"Look after yourself, brother. We need you. The realm needs you", she said with a sad smile, before turning away to walk regally to Cersei.

Tommen eventually broke off too, weeping as he asked me why he couldn't go with me.

Soon it was Cersei's turn, after my two siblings – for they were that, and no one would stop me saying that – had gone to their chambers. I bowed slightly, and kissed her hand.

"Joffrey-", she tried to say.

"Mother, I will be fine" I assured her. She turned her bright, beautiful green gaze on me.

"That wasn't what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that you had better kill Renly and Stannis before I will forgive you for this stunt". With that abrupt, grinding adieu, she wheeled around and disappeared, leaving naught but a trace of perfume and a small sense of disappointment.

As I turned around, I saw a commotion by the Stark section of the column. Lord Stark was sitting on his horse, along with Bran – who I also had neglected out of my own blinkered vision – both proud and tall. As I watched, one of the Stark men – Fat Tony? Fat Tom? I wasn't quite sure – marched up to Eddard, a squirming young squire in his grip.

It got better. As the guard began to speak urgently to Lord Stark, the squire lifted his head.

It was Arya.

I laughed quietly. Of course Arya would try to fight. I decided to go over and allow her to go along – she would probably turn up in the column anyway.

As I started to walk over, however, I stopped.

This wasn't my concern – it would be rude and stupid to bring Arya along – there was no way she would be allowed or even able to fight, and I would insult Eddard by going against his wishes and bringing her along.

Stupid me! There I was, going along, trying to change things. I would only make it worse. I was bring arrogant, foolish, a conceited boy in a world of wise men.

So, Arya was sent away. The last of the goodbyes was said, the last saddle packed, the wagons ready to go.

And go we did.

It was a sunny day.

It was warm, there were no clouds, and the field was a deep, pure green.

It was a good day. A day for battle.

A large field, located somewhere south of Bitterbridge, was our Colosseum, the pit where thousands would die, where once there would be crops grown and harvests gathered.

We had arrived late a few nights ago, and would stay here until Renly arrived, which, according to our spies, would happen somewhere in the next few hours. When we arrived, he was still feasting in Highgarden, but now he had began to move, and would soon arrive, with thousands of men and horses.

This field was probably the best location we had, so Renly would not be surprised that we were waiting here until he came.

Now he had. 80,000 men – at least – were spotted a few miles away. They would set up camp, content in the knowledge that only an idiot would charge it. Then, if we were lucky, a messenger would be sent out to negotiate. But after that, there would be fighting, and lots of it.

Thousands would die, and Renly thought they would be on our side.

This was because he expected the bulk of our tactics to be a pincer movement, some form of cavalry, maybe even a catapult or two.

He didn't realise that our best weapon, or rather, my best weapon, was underground, in a giant mound that men had been digging out for the past few days.

He didn't realise his destruction was lying in a few hundred empty ale barrels, almost crushed under the weight of each other.

But then, what did Renly know of gunpowder?