Joffrey

"Remind your father that I am the King and I order him to return with to the capitol with his host."

"I can think of no better way to ensure that my father won't do something then for me to tell him that you ordered him to do it," replied the Imp.

"I...am...THE KING! That bastard can't just take my army and fight whoever he wants. I'll have his head on a spike for this!" Traitors! They're everywhere! I'll kill them all!

"Your Grace, mayhaps it would be wise to set aside the matter of your Grandfather until you have dealt with Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark."

"I suppose you're right; I'll deal with that traitor later. Now that you're Lord of Harrenhal, I might as well name you Lord Paramount of the Trident."

"Thank you, Your Grace," replied Lord Baelish. "It is an honor, although not half so great an honor as it is to serve a King as wise, brave, and noble as yourself. If ever Westeros had a truly great King, surely it was you. Give me leave to travel to the Eyrie, Your Grace, and I can promise you that I will return with an army of Vale knights ready to follow you into battle." The Spider sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. I'll gouge your eyes out if you ever roll them at me again, you cockless cock.

"WHAT? Why would –"

"Mayhaps you didn't know, my Lord, but Lady Lysa has always been quite favorably disposed towards me."

"Yes, Yes, very well. Lord Baelish shall sail for Gulltown tomorrow morning," replied the King with a yawn. Pity. Lord Baelish is the only loyal man on the Small Council. I'd have preferred to keep him in the capitol.

"But...he...very well, Your Grace," seethed the Imp. "Tell me, does it concern you in the least that your granduncle is dead?"

"Dead? You mean the Starks killed him," asked the King. Kevan Lannister was a useless old man to be sure, but his execution was treason all the same. Would even Robb Stark dare to do such a thing? No, he's just a green boy and a mere pretender besides. This was his mother's work; she put him up to it. That much is certain. The fool's bitch mother rules the North through him, most like. It matters not at all; so long as I am King, treason shall never go unpunished.

"No, I mean they gave him a foot massage. Of course, I mean the Starks killed him. Ser Kevan was your bloody granduncle, you should at least pretend to care." Once I've dealt with Stannis, I'll put your head on a spike for that. How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I suppose that traitor is far too dangerous to punish right now, but soon...

"Why? The man was nothing to me. The House Stark's treason will be punished, but Devan –"

"Kevan."

"Right, that's what I said."

"You said...never mind." That's right, you little monster. I'm the King and mother says that means the truth is whatever I want it to be. If I say that I said "Kevan," then that means I said "Kevan."

"As I was saying, Kevan would have probably fallen off his horse and died within a fortnight anyway. We're better off without him. With any luck, my cunt of a grandfather will keel over next."

"Your Grace, Lord Tywin is a wise and honorable man. The Seven themselves could not have blessed you with a better counselor," blurted Pycelle. Tywin's not even here, you senile, old fool. Pycelle has gone soft in the head, the King decided. Either that or he is simply a half-wit. Why else would he sing that Lannister craven's praises rather than my own. A blind man could see that I am the beginning of a dynasty that will last a thousand years. Lord Baelish realized it. He said Lannister name shall soon be lost in the sands of time, while the name Joffrey Baratheon will live on forever.

"Grand Maester Pycelle, I charge you with wasting my time. The penalty for this sin is death. You, dog, escort the Grand Maester to the black cells. Leave him there until he starves to death."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But...But Your Grace, I...I..."

"The Small Council meeting is over. I think we've accomplished a great deal, my Lords," said the King with a smile as the Hound dragged away the Grand Maester. One less traitor on the Small Council. It is still far to big for my liking. Lord Baelish is the only loyal man among them. If he continues to serve me well in the coming days, I shall name him Hand of the King once I've slain Stannis Baratheon in single combat.

...

It took several hours, but everything was finally ready. All that's left now is to wait for that dumb bitch to wake up. The King stood near Sansa Stark's bed and watched her as she slept. Good, she's rolling around. She'll be covered in blood when she wakes up. That was the real reason Pycelle had to die: so there would be blood to spread across Sansa's bed once she'd fallen asleep.It had been difficult to get into the room without waking her and Ser Meryn had to remove his armor beforehand. Is he...no, I must be seeing things. Ser Meryn can't possibly be drooling. It just looks that way because there's so little light in the room, most like. Even so, mayhaps it would have been best to have the Hound assist me with this task instead. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Seven Hells, this is taking too long. I'm sick of waiting...

"WAKE UP, YOU STUPID CUNT," screamed the King. Sansa opened her eyes and found herself staring directly at the rotting head of her father. Her scream was the loudest thing that Joffrey had ever seen in his life and nothing had ever pleased him more than the look of terror on the bitch's face. That should teach your traitor brother not to execute my kin.