"Joff, take the tiller" he said as he made his way down, to his cabin probably. "Aye Captain" said Joff absentmindedly, taking the tiller as he kept staring at the horizon.
-.PD.-
The months kept stretching as Joff kept learning new things about sailing and the seas in general. Joff surprised himself discovering things about himself that he would have never even guessed about on his first life. He had discovered a newfound thirst for knowledge that eerily reminded him of uncle Tyrion… Only it was not about things learnt in books. No, books had always been a dry slog for him.
But learning things… experiencing them directly, was eliciting a sense of well being he was becoming addicted to. He found himself listening attentively and watching as the sailors kept teaching him the necessary skills to survive on a ship. How to survive and detect the coming of storms. How to guide a ship when there was no sight of land and only the stars high above Planetos guided the way.
Joff guessed this came in part because he was finally out into the world by himself, learning things not by force but by choice. There was no more obnoxious Grand Maester needling him incessantly about his letters or about House lore, it was just him, his sword, the crew and the ship, and his time was his to do as he pleased. That alone seemed to boost his learning skills a lot.
He could get used to that.
-.PD.-
They had been below decks and playing dice when he had finally managed to extract the inside joke the crew had been on apparently since Braavos.
"Hah! Double sixes! Pay up you wretches!" gloated Joffrey as Baleo, Tregarro and Maelys all grouched as they tossed him an eclectic mix of copper stars and Iron quarter-marks. "Did the Captain teach you how to spoil the dice too Joff?" asked Maelys as peered intently at the dice. "It wouldn't surprise me honestly, with all the stuff he's been cramming into my brain non stop" said Joffrey.
The three of them shared a knowing look as Joffrey huffed.
"Alright, that's it, you are going to spill the beans right now damnit. The joke must be incredibly good if it's lasted all this way since Braavos" said Joffrey, his tone brooking no nonsense.
All three sailors looked like surprised rabbits, and a flurry of knowing looks and exasperated sights followed quickly between them until both Tregarro and Maelys stared intently at Baleo, which only huffed.
"Fine!" he said, repressing a smile. "Well Joff, the thing is, the Captain is training you to take his place eventually" he finally spilled.
Joffrey's mouth was agape as Maerys triumphantly stole the dice from his hands. "My turn" he said as he shook them.
Joffrey finally reacted when he bellowed out a gaffaw, followed by a quick laugh. "Yeah right, good one!" he said shaking his head. Baleo however was quite serious and didn't even flicker his sight back to the dice when Maerys threw them. "Joff, its really kind of obvious. He's not only teaching you things every sailor should know in an emergency" he said the last part in an obvious ironical tone. "He's teaching you how to navigate and use charts, how to command a crew and even his own style of fighting."
Joffrey shook his head slowly "But… me?! I can think of at least 2 dozen people more capable of commanding this ship other than me! Even Voqo would do it better that I could ever dream of it!" he paused suddenly. "No offense Voqo" he added to the sleeping giant swinging on his equally big hammock a few meters back. A content grunt came from his direction as he resettled and kept on sleeping.
"You don't have the skills yet, that's true. Still, you have good judgment and a capacity to hear others and actually learn. That's really not a common talent, but that's just what I see. I've been sailing with the Captain for years and I know for a fact he's a good judge of character. He picked me after all" he said, amused. "If he thinks you'll make a fine captain, I'll believe him".
"That's true, all the other "cabin boys" never lasted more than a week" Said Maerys as he covertly stretched his hands and covered the dice he had just thrown. Tregarro nodded as he slapped Maerys hands, eying the 4 and the 2. "Pay up Maerys!" He said as he looked back at Joffrey. "Its common knowledge he's been searching for someone trustworthy so he can pass on the reigns for a while now. Someone who's actually had an education beyond dice cheating" he said, directing the last part at Maerys, who had the decency to look away as he scratched his neck.
Joffrey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This is absurd! Me?! Judgement?! I wouldn't trust myself to run a rowboat, much less a Fast Runner! " he said disbelievingly.
Baleo just shrugged as Maerys took the dice again. "You should speak to him about it tomorrow. He'll tell you his reasoning I'm sure" he said tossing the dice again. "I don't understand why you're so freaked out by the whole thing" he said.
"You bet I will" said Joffrey, still in disbelieve. "YES!" shouted Maerys as the dice landed on the table, a one.
Joffrey just shook his head.
"Where did the other one go?" asked Maerys, searching below the table.
-.PD.-
Joffrey tossed and turned in his sleep, only succeeding in tying himself up in knots within his hammock. He had run away from responsibility, only to crash head first into it. He struggled to disentangle himself from the hammock with little success as he kept thinking. Still, a ship was quite an order of magnitude below a Kingdom.
Surely he wasn't that inept?
The thought bounced for a while on his head before…
Yes, yes he was.
To have people depend on him for their lives again…
Nope.
With a small shriek of rage he finally disentangled himself only to land on the hard wood below. He yelped and cursed as he massaged the small bump that was slowly forming on his head.
That's it. I'm talking to Nakarro now and I don't care if he's asleep or not.
He promptly strode out the room, dodging the swaying, sleeping forms of his fellow seamen. Once in the small hallway he made his way up to the Captain's room. Only it was already open.
That's strange. Joffrey thought in his sleep addled state. He entered the room, and promptly stopped cold. Inside was the Captain alright, he was still on his hummock, unmoving as the blood seeped out of him from his throat. Standing beside him was a back cloaked shape, his hand clutching a bloody axe.
Joff stood there, frozen as the figure turned around and titled its head in genuine surprise. "My my, look what we have here… my red pets will love to get a handle on you boy." Said the figure, dripping with contempt.
Joffrey snapped out of his trance, grabbed Nakaro's rapier on the nearby table and launched himself at the hooded assassin with a scream. He's axe moved unnaturally fast as he parried all of Joffrey's attacks with ease and countered with a painful hack at his arm that made him drop his sword. "Pathetic… To think your Father slayed the best seamen in history as if they were nothing…" he shook his head. "Come, you'll make a fine addition to my collection." He said as he advanced on him. Joffrey leapt back, clutching his bleeding arm as he run out of the cabin, shouting.
"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! TO ARMS!! TO ARMS!!!" he bellowed with all his being as he raced out into the deck. Outside lay the bodies of the night watchmen, and countless black forms scuttling about, searching and looting. He could hear fighting below the decks…
He felt a thundering pain on his back as he stumbled forward, feeling the flowing blood coursing down his backside. Behind him stood Nakaro's killer, illuminated by the pale moonlight. The strange smog that clouded everywhere seemed to clear for a few seconds, and Joffrey saw beside him a big longship, sporting one big black sail adorned with a red eye in its middle. "I love it when they run, but its time to meet the rest of your future crew, little prince." He said as he sheathed his axe and advanced on him, arms intent on grabbing him. Below, the fighting had obviously stopped, as the only sound he heard now was the eerie silent shuffling of the men under the assassin's command.
Joffrey stumbled back, thoughts racing at the speed of light. Who was this… man?! Where was the rest of the crew? How had they boarded without so much as a sound?!
Finally his back hit the railing, and Joffrey muffled a grunt of pain as his back flared. "They're all dead… Nowhere left to run little prince. It's me or the Drowned God now." He said as he flashed a cruel, anticipating smile. It was the only part visible between the darkness and the cowl.
Joffrey looked back to the strangely still water, then back at the man that had so effortlessly disarmed him. "I don't know who the hells you are or what you want to do to me, but I'll take my chances with the
Drowned God!" He said as he scaled the railing. The cruel smile turned into a brief "O" of surprise before snarling in anger as he tried to grab him.
Too late, thought Joffrey as he splashed into the ocean, sinking deeper and deeper.
It's been a while he thought as his lungs burned from the lack of air and the pain only deepened when the purple started to encroach again.
-.PD.-
He startled awake as his stomach heaved.
He took a few deep breaths, savoring the air like it was the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted. Funny how the simplest of things can be such a precious luxury, he thought, somewhat dazed.
Slowly, the events of the last few minutes seemed to catch up with him. "Oh gods…" he muttered as he rested his forehead on his palms. I guess I know now why it's so profitable to trade in the narrow sea… fucking pirates and madmen…
He stood up and took a cup of water some servant had left for him… last night probably, a dozen lifetimes away. He thought of Baleo and Voqo, of Nakaro and Merys, of all the colorful personalities that he had met in that life, spoken to them just a few hours ago from his perspective… and were now dead.
He threw the cup away in anger. What's the point in getting to know people if they always end up dead around me… His throat clenched when he thought about them, killed by fucking pirates.
He spent the next half hour between brooding and smiling, remembering their antics.
Except… they weren't dead, not really. They were alive again, with no memory of him, a stranger. And given the wandering patterns of fate and the weather, it was unlikely they would meet that mad man again… at least not if he didn't show up in Lys again and accelerated their departure like last time.
He gazed at the city from his window, the city that had come to symbolize the futility of his life. He still didn't want to touch the iron lump of misery and pain, in fact he still didn't want to be here in this city of plots and decadence.
Joffrey sat back on the nearby chair, for once not minding the stench of King's landing, so good it was to have air on his lungs again. Besides, after living for months on Braavos in the stench of the still canals this didn't really faze him.
What now?
For a moment he thought about going to Lys again and meeting up with the crew, but decided against it. It would be too painful for him to see them and not recognize him…
The veil of apathy and depression slowly left him as Joffrey pondered his options.
I don't have to stay here if I don't want to. Nakaro (he winced when he remembered his dead body) Gods, he's alive now, calm down. He centered himself again and kept thinking. He taught me the basics of sailing, I'm reasonably sure I can get employed on any ship here on King's Landing without relying on dumb luck like on Lys… and from there I can go anywhere. North, South, East, West… or all of them.
He slumped back on the chair of the small balcony, for once really thinking about his… curse? He didn't know what to call it. He had unlimited time to explore the whole world around him… and no matter what, he could always wake back up here, and keep going.
Slowly, a smile crept into Joffrey. So much to do, so many places to go… but there's no rush, I have all the time in the world. He thought as he closed his eyes and lounged on the morning sunlight.
-.PD.-
CHAPTER 11: OF ALE AND MOUNTAINS.
Thanks for the feedback everyone, please keep it up! Here's another one, short and sweet.
-.PD.-
Chapter 11: Of Ale and Mountains.
After spending months freewheeling between free city taverns with the crew of the Swift Winds, court life seemed so… boring and lifeless. Those were the words. Everything anyone with power did was worry, scheme and trade polite barbs in the never ending fucking game of thrones. They probably didn't spend all their time doing that, Joffrey was sure, but it sure as hells seemed as if that was what they did all day.
The highlight of the first day of this life was when he actually won a bout against the hound, fair and square. He had spurned the heavy padded clothing and opted for light armor, and he had used his reflexes and moves learned under Nakaro to land a storm of blows against a thoroughly surprised Clegane, winning the bout. After that the cat was out of the bag though, and Clegane made sure to be ready to his hybrid style, handily winning all the next bouts.
"Where the hells did you learn that?" asked the hound, slightly winded. He made a stark contrast next to Joffrey, who was groaning in the ground, breathing every last puff of air he could before exhaling and doing it again. "Here… and… there…" answered Joffrey, between breaths. "Gods… I didn't remember being… so unfit for this" he said before halfheartedly examining his hands. "They're so… smooth and white and weak." He said despairingly.
"Huh?" grunted the Hound.
"Never mind Hound."
The Hound raised one if his burnt eyebrows stoically. "If you keep practicing it should get easier with time." He said, privately wondering what had happened to the little shit last night that he seemed like another person.
"Yeah, until the bloody next time" he muttered before flopping his head back down into the mud and just staying there in front of the whole courtyard.
-.PD.-
The caravan started North again, and Joffrey didn't feel any need to escape just yet. He was still pondering on what to do when sudden inspiration struck him. Predictably, the imp had been the catalyst.
Tyrion had defrosted enough with his friendly demeanor that they had taken to riding out ahead of the main group, sometimes even taking detours and spending the night in sleepy hamlets or other, more interesting places. Joffrey thought that a big part of making him at ease so quickly could have been his frequent meditations. He had never quite left that habit from that fateful life with Ned, and it almost never failed to center him and sooth his sanity. The imp had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a week, but he had eventually given up and had even joined one or two times to find out what the deal was.
He had concluded he preferred whores.
"My reading is still shit, uncle. I really need some way to get it to improve beyond just sitting through Pycell's lessons. I think I came out of his study actually reading slower than I did before." Said Joffrey, shaking his head.
The imp hummed as they walked through the heavy forest, the slope had been getting steadily steeper as they kept walking, and the sun was already right above them. "What you need, Nephew, is a project" he said matter of factly as he grabbed his wineskin and tried to take a sip, only to find it empty. "Shit. This little trek took longer than I thought." He said. Joffrey snorted as he tossed him a second wineskin he had been carrying on his totally unprincely backpack. "I applaud your forethought Nephew!" Said Tyrion as he merrily took the clasp out and took a drink, only for his eyes to widen. "Arbor Gold? How did you-"
"You are a creature of habit, uncle." Said Joffrey, rolling his eyes. Tyrion gave him the stink eye for a few seconds. "What happened to my Nephew?" he asked, apparently serious.
"Bumped his head on the wheelhouse" replied Joffrey, not missing a beat.
"Not a problem for me, the ceiling can't get me" said Tyrion, glibly.
"No, the stairs are your enemy, that and his Bannerman, Dornish Red" said Joffrey, totally straight as they kept walking.
He looked back and saw the imp struggle for a few moments before a wheezing snort came out of his mouth and finally both of them shared a good chuckle.
"You win this time, Nephew" Said Tyrion, a hint of pride on his voice. "They grow so fast" he said supposedly for himself. "Faster than you!" said Joffrey, entering the game of wits again.
"Winning" his first verbal sparring against the imp had given him more satisfaction than all his years as King combined, though he sadly suspected the imp was going soft on him.
"Growing, as all things in life, must be taken slowly, to fully appreciate them" said Tyrion airily as he scaled a boulder that was in the middle of their path.
"Yes, your trip down the stairs was slow, now that I think about it" said Joffrey as if trying to remember a difficult math problem.
"Slower than the Dornish Red coming out of your throat, that's for sure!" Said the imp triumphantly as he looked at him and wiggled his eyebrows.
"GAAAHH" Joffrey guffawed as he shook his head. "Point, uncle. And remind me never to drink Dornish Red again."
"Believe me I will, those were my finest robes!" Tyrion exclaimed in mock anger.
"I only had 3 cups!" said Joffrey.
"Yes, that was the problem" said Tyrion instantly. Ouch, triple hit. Yep, he had been going soft on him.
They kept walking-kind-of-slogging through the thick sapplings and branches for a while until Joffrey asked again. "A project, uncle?"
"Aye, you told me you found reading for the sake of it interesting but incapable of holding your attention? But if it was something practical you'd learned it in no time?" Asked the Imp.
"Yeeeeeesss… kind of" said Joffrey, slowly.
"So, you make it practical. Set yourself a goal and convince yourself everything you study that's even remotely tied with it will help you reach it" Said Tyrion as if were the most obvious thing in the world.
"hmmm… Sometimes your intellect terrifies me" Said Joffrey as he dodged a particularly spiky branch.
"The whores never say that" said Tyrion.
"Ahh not again!" Said Joffrey, exasperated.
"They most definitively never say that!" said the damnable imp, not missing a beat.
Joffrey resolved to keep quiet for now lest he give his uncle more fuel, trawling his mind for possible "projects".
-.PD.-
"Making your own carriage?" tossed the Imp.
"No" said Joffrey.
"Visiting every whorehouse in the Riverlands?" asked the Imp.
"What? No" said Joffrey. The slope was now almost nonexistent, they were finally approaching the top of this hill.
"Look, I was thinking about something more… ambitious." Said Joffrey, carefully.
"hmmm… Make your Mother like me?" he asked tentatively.
"Not that ambitious" Said Joffrey trying to stop a totally unprincly snort.
They bulled through one last shrub and finally the thick forest was behind them.
"What a view…" said the imp with a light smile on his face.
From atop the hill they could see the winding rivers of the Riverlands, its fields and some of the small hamlets. To the other side was the Vale, with its mighty mountains of the moon in all their grey and green splendor, topped by manes of lustrous white.
Joffrey and Tyrion spent a while there basking in the early afternoon sun, eating the bread and ham they had brought with them and passing the wineskin between them.
"It's truly a magnificent view" said Joffrey, eying the titanic, steeply jagged mountains.
Tyrion took another gulp of Arbor Gold before tossing it to Joffrey "That it is, imagine how much more magnificent it must be from atop of it." He said with a dreamy smile.
Joffrey had been shaking the wineskin with his hand and noting with annoyance that the Imp had drained every last drop when he suddenly perked his head up.
"The top… Uncle you're a genius!" he said as he excitedly bounced back into his feet. "Gods, you could see the Vale, the Riverlands and the Crownlands all at the same time, maybe even the sea! The top of the world…" said Joffrey, his eyes in a haze.
Tyrion laughed out loud at that. "Aye, that'd be the view" he kept staring at the peak, then sneaked a glance back at Joffrey, who had stayed silent.
"… you're serious?"
Joffrey smiled. "I am" he said with quiet conviction.
-.PD.-
Joffrey stayed a grand total of 2 days at Winterfell, trying to avoid Lord Stark and the bittersweet memories he elicited. After paying the appropriate respects to the Starks, and feeling an immense sense of Déjà vu as he did, he finally rode out in the morning after one of the great feasts when everyone was asleep in a drunken stupor.
Cercei was throwing a fit of epic proportions, whirling about and shouting at Tyrion with her every breath. "I knew this would happen! I knew you would stray my son with your evil ideas and your wretched mind!"
Tyrion was seated on his chair calmly sipping his wine. "Please go on" he said amiably. Cercei's face turned even redder as she whirled on him again "And what in the seven hells is he hopping to find in Last Hearth?! A frozen tundra even worse than this one?!" she screamed.
Tyrion shrugged his shoulders innocently. "He said something about 'climbing gear'" he said glibly.
Cercei gave a wordless, muffled scream and stormed out of the room.
Tyrion smiled and gave a silent toast to rebel sons and amusing Nephews from all over the world.
-.PD.-
This was not how he envisioned his procurement expedition to Last Hearth.
"DRINK!" Bellowed the Smalljon as he slammed another mug into Joffrey's hand. It was bigger than his head.
The pale northern ale swirled inside the mug like a hypnotic miniature hurricane.
It was really mesmerizing.
…
Joffrey thought he was a bit drunk.
He frowned, pondering that thought for a while.
Was he?
Fuck it!
He downed the ale in one go and stood up, spluttering all over the Smalljon and his brothers who found the whole spectacle incredibly funny for some reason. Not that it stopped them from chugging down their own ales.
Joffrey shambled towards the Smalljon and grabbed him by the shoulders.
He had ridden here in an important mission, a project! He had to ask the Smalljon about their climbing tactics!
"Smalljon…. Mountains… their so beautiful!" he slurred.
He was rewarded with a titanic gaffaw and a blast of foul smell as the Smalljon seemed to open his big mouth and wheezed a rumbling chuckle that shook Joffrey's brain.
Suddenly the door creaked open, and everybody froze as a looming figure entered the room, walking sideways.
The silence was deafening as the Smalljon recognized his great uncle, Mors "Crowfood" Umber, his stoic figure walking unrelenting towards them.
Mors finally turned around to face them properly… that's when they noticed his beatific smile and the cask of ale under his enormous right arm.
The men of house Umber cheered so hard Joffrey thought his ear drums would rupture. He forgot what he had been thinking on at that very moment, but the ale barrel bigger than his torso that Mors deposited right in front of him seemed to hide the answers within itself.
"There's only one way to know" said Joffrey as the Smalljon and his brothers nodded solemnly, gripping their mugs like Knights before the charge.
-.PD.-
Pain….
UNBEARABLE PAIN.
Joffrey turned to the side and emptied the contents of his stomach.
That's funny… I don't remember dying…
That's when he noticed his vomit had landed right on a sleeping Osric, the Smalljon's "smaller" brother.
…
How did I get here again?
The migraine that assaulted him right then obliterated that thought, and Joffrey spent the next hour composting on the chair he had awoken upon as he tried to remember what happened yesterday.
He had arrived at Last Hearth because of the rumors about the tools they used for climbing some of the steeper cliffs of their lands, or for when they had to go and speak with the mountain clans in the middle of winter.
He had arrived at midday and had spent a while speaking with the small village's blacksmith, who seemed to know his stuff and dazzled Joffrey with different tools and metal gadgets he could only guess at their function.
That's when an enraged Smalljon had bursted into the smithy and demanded to know why a Prince was visiting his home without presenting himself first. Joffrey had spluttered a few apologies before the Smalljon demanded he present himself properly to mend the insult, practically manhandling him towards the Castle.
It was only when he noticed that the small room he was shoved into was not the main keep, and not until he saw the Smalljon's presumably smaller brothers entering through another door with barrelfulls of ale that Joffrey had realized the truth.
It's a trap.
Still, he stoically decided to brave the famous Umber gregariousness and use this opportunity to learn more about climbing.
His memory got a bit spotty after that.
His introspection was suddenly interrupted when Osric woke up suddenly and tried to get up, incidentally grabbing Joffrey's chair for support and shaking it a bit in lateral motion.
Oh boy.
Joffrey's face turned into an unhealthy shade of green and poor Osric didn't have the chance to grunt a confused "huh?" before another face full of vomit impacted him right in the nose.
-.PD.-
After cleaning themselves, the Umber boys were chastised by the Greatjon in the main keep, right in front
of Joffrey, to both his and their eternal chagrin. The Greatjon had struggled to maintain a serious façade as he scolded his sons and welcomed Joffrey properly into his keep. Though even the Lord of Last Hearth laughed out loud with his sons when a suspiciously clean and composed Mors Umber, face totally straight and composed, speculated out loud that Joffrey was probably already under guest rights given the contents of his belly.
There would be a feast tonight, much to Joffrey's exasperation. He was sick of feats. Apparently a Crown Prince of the seven kingdoms had never in history visited Last Hearth, and that was a Big Deal, worthy enough for a great feast for the merriment of all.
Merriment that apparently started with a 'small' lunch right now, accompanied, of course, by a mug of ale bigger than his head.
Oh boy.
-.PD.-
Joffrey's carefully thought out timetable was blown to pieces when the Umbers managed, not entirely against his will, to make him stay there for a full week. Things only got worse when a one man rescue party (or half-man rescue party as he liked to call himself) arrived at Last Hearth to "make sure he was alright".
Things degenerated completely when Tyrion somehow managed to orchestrate a double team drinking competition between him and Joffrey against the Jon's.
It had been an epic encounter worthy of being written in by a Maester and stored in the Citadel for future generations to come. They must have been surrounded by the entire living population of Last Hearth as the main keep's table resounded with each empty ale mug crashing against it, Lannisters facing off against the Umbers. Joffrey had completely lost control of his motor skills but had still somehow managed to see the whole thing. He had been taken out early and Tyrion had withstood the Great and Small Jon's tag team for a straight hour before he drunk the Smalljon under the table and only the Lord of Last Hearth remained, eying the half man as one would survey an enemy commander.
The battlefield was a table filled with empty tankards and barrels, spilled beers, and the bodies of the fallen that had joined one side or the other.
"Uncle… don't!" had muttered Joffrey, pleading with his groggy eyes from his chair next to the Imp.
Tyrion had a small serene smile as he gripped his tankard, wobbling from side to side. "Lannister's never quit, Nephew" He said with a faraway look.
The Greatjon nodded with infinite respect as they both toasted their tankards, and downed them in one gulp.
Fifteen seconds passed as the two contestants watched each other, and the hall was silent as everybody looked on in expectation.
Suddenly, the Greatjon rolled his eyes and his head bumped against the table, fast asleep.
Tyrion, face absolutely serious, raised both his arms in silent victory, not having the strength to say anything.
The keep went absolutely fucking mad.
-.PD.-
Remember to comment!
TYRION DRINKS WELL (ART OMAKE)
And the last scene being depicted for the last paragraph as Tyrion prevail over the Great Greatjon..
Baurus ..SB CF CH11a - Chapter 11: Of Ale and Mountains.
Tyrion Drinks Well
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Last edited: Dec 21, 2016
CHAPTER 12: KEYS OF FATE.
Thanks for the comments everyone! Now prepare yourselves, update incoming!
Chapter 12: Keys of Fate.
All in all, Joffrey felt cheery and rejuvenated when they left the North.
Him and Tyrion had kept going north after a brief period of convalescence after the battle of the ages at Last Hearth, and the Wall had been not only an incredible sight he was somewhat bemused he had never seen before, but also a treasure mine of all that was climbing. The Night's Watch didn't have that much of a tradition in it, but they had learned a lot from the wildlings which semi-regularly scaled the wall during the summers to raid south. He didn't see much of the wall proper or many of its inhabitants anyway, he spent most of his time there chatting with the stonemasons and some of the rangers, occasionally reading some of the books from Maester Aemon's library. He remembered hearing Tyrion talking about Ned's bastard son, and how they had spent some time together while he plumbed Castle Black for all that was climbing. He was somewhat glad he didn't see him here, all the Stark's brought on memories sometimes better left buried.
Mother's scolding… now that should have been recorded by a Maester as well. The torrent of invective had been mainly tanked by Tyrion, who had automatically assumed the position of scapegoat with nary a mutter except a couple of glances to Joffrey which seemed to convey something like ' You will get me all the Gold in the Arbor'.
Somewhat nice but disappointing was the reaction of Robert, or should it best be said, his non reaction. Joffrey thought he didn't even notice his absence.
Now though, he felt ready. He had bought the climbing gear at Last Hearth (which turned out didn't have that much experience with the whole climbing thing, but hey, he had been in the North anyway), and learned quite a few things at Castle Black. Now he knew what to expect on his great climb of the Mountains of the Moon. He was going to do something no one had ever done before, see a sight that no other human had experimented before, he was going to one up the Andals and the First Men… He was going to climb the tallest peak of Westeros' Mountains of the Moon.
In the more quiet nights, or when he meditated beside a Weirwood tree if he was lucky enough to find one, he thought about this whole endeavor on a slightly philosophical bent. He wasn't going to do this for fame or riches, even if such a feat would generate more awe from his future vassals than winning a great battle (which he doubted), it would all be swept aside when he died, forgotten to everyone but him.
No, he was going to do this because he had to. He had to see for himself if he could do something great, by his own hand, alone.
And what better symbol than a bested gigantic mountain.
Besides, he really wanted to see Westeros from the top of the world. ' Experience the world' he repeated the mantra on his head.
He couldn't wait to get started.
Bet I don't even die this time.
He justified his trip to the 'Riverlands' under the pretext of 'networking' (A term he was sure Tyrion had made up) with the River lords, something her mother had grudgingly accepted with a small hint of pride at his sons's 'ambition'.
Oh mother, if only you knew.
-.PD.-
He had escaped from his escort in the middle of the night when they had been camping near the Green Fork, and he had taken his horse through the rising hills towards the Vale of Arryn. He didn't take the High Road, he wasn't that stupid. Even a cursory reading about the Vale mentioned the hill tribes as the greatest hazard any traveler could face, possibly after the Shadowcats.
It was a good thing he'd be gone for a long time from King's Landing, possibly for the rest of this life. After his escapade into Last Hearth the Hound had been mightily pissed he hadn't taken him along, and only the risk of insulting the Umbers had prevented Mother from sending a squad of Redcloaks to get him back.
That didn't deter Tyrion though, he thought, amused. After this last stunt he would be lucky to exit the Red Keep ever again if they caught him.
So he made his way through the abandoned western slopes of the Vale, and he was pretty sure he could see the peak he had seen months ago with his uncle, his objective. The peak was roughly north-west of the Eyrie, but before even starting the climb he had to get to the base of it first. And so for the first week Joffrey and his horse made their way through deer tracts and small streams, savoring the solitude and beauty of the great pines and the crystalline water of the creeks and small waterfalls.
When he finally got to what could be called the 'foot' of the enormous mountain range, one thought dominated Joffrey's mind.
It looks bigger up close.
-.PD.-
The wind blew with the power of a million oars, its sound drowning all existence, and Joffrey curled against the cliff face he was hanging from. The wind buffeted him from side to side, as if trying to purposely dislodge him from the scraggy cliff.
He had been climbing for 5 days already.
He didn't think he was going to make it.
Five days of climbing, trekking, building pitiful fires out of small bushes and more climbing had left him absolutely drained. He simply didn't have the stamina to keep going.
He looked below him. It was a long way down… The infuriating thing was that he hadn't even reached the snow yet, heck, looking upwards it seemed he had hardly started climbing at all! This thing was fucking massive.
"Bollocks!!!" he cursed. His time with his sailor family (a familiar flash of pain stabbed him in the gut when he remembered them, just like when he thought of the sea) had taught him the hallowed art of proper 'cursin, and he used it to full effect here. It helped somewhat.
"You… fucking… cunt soaked… landlubbering… sad excuse for a fucking hill!!!" Joffrey cursed between breaths as he dislodged one of his climbing spikes and stabbed it above him, and then stabbed another piece of cloggy rock with his totally worthless iron bladed boots. In hindsight, he had been totally unprepared for this. His knowledge of climbing was basic to say the least, and his gear had proven thoroughly unsuitable for the task at hand. His backpack has snapped open two days ago and spilled half his supplies all over the Vale, and he was down to the last two climbing spikes. And to think he thought himself paranoid when he brought six of them. The Umber's iron didn't seem to have been made to resist this kind of stress.
He had been at this for five days, but already his Lannister like stubbornness had fired up… another charming trait Joffrey had discovered about himself. Scaling mountains to know thyself. Who would have thought?!
"I'M GOING TO REACH THE FUCKING SUMMIT EVEN IF IT'S THE LA--"He moved a bit upwards as he ranted, stabbing the cliff with his spike, when a sudden stream of chilly air blasted him at a right angle and interrupted his cursing.
"ST THING I'll--" Joffrey stopped as the wind's strength seemed to intensify a dozen times over, and a clean chink sound reached Joffrey's ear.
Oh boy.
The right boot blade had snapped, the lower quality iron ore and leather tearing under the strain. The loss of balance applied even more force to the other 3 points of contact between Joffrey and the cliff, and almost as soon as the first one gave out the other two, ground down under heavy use, broke too.
Joffrey tumbled downward, spinning out of control.
"NonononononooooAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh"
Splat.
-.PD.-
"There he goes again" said one of the Redcloaks.
"You reckon' what's gone into him, Barrett?" asked the other Redcloak.
"Orland, I've honestly got no idea." Said the first Redcloak.
They looked at each other, pondered between entertainment and duty, and grudgingly decided to keep at their posts. 15 minutes later when they were finally relieved, they
descended down the tower's stairs and encountered a group of five redcloaks sitting around a small table, all of them looking through one of the arrow slits.
"What the hells are you guys doing?" asked Barret.
One of the Red cloaks made a space for them, if only barely. "Quickly! He's coming again!" he said. Barret and Orland quickly made their way there, and saw the Prince trotting above the walls, dodging guards and servants, practically swimming in sweat. "He's still at it?!" asked Orland.
"He's been doing it for at least three hours" said one of the other Red Cloaks. "The Prince has been running and running around the Red Keep since I started my shift. He hasn't stopped."
The other Red Cloak looked at Barret "It's the crown, it makes them mad." He said with infinite wisdom.
The Prince passed below the slit, red, huffing for air and a steely look of determination on his face.
Orland, always the more quick witted of the group, asked the obvious question. "Why in the Seven'ells is he wearing heavy armor?"
-.PD.-
Joffrey had wracked his head searching for ways to quickly and substantially increase his stamina. Normally, for knights and men at arms this was achieved in the training yard after years of knightly training and jousting under heavy armor. It was effective, but it took a lot of time to build up, and Joffrey knew that the longer he lived on any given life, the higher the chance he would get killed by intrigue, combat or just plain bad luck and have all his precious progress undone… Joffrey didn't know any Master-At-Arms that focused only on endurance. So he needed a way to get in shape for the climb in just one year at the maximum, maybe a bit less if things got derailed sooner and the whole realm went tits up before its time, he couldn't assume he would have the freedom to do it after the so called War of the Five Kings started.
So, he had been improvising. He had started running every morning around the Red Keep's wall, and he could already feel he could run longer and longer after only a month of it. The Hound had initially run alongside him on his heavy plate, and Joffrey had struggled between telling him to stop and praising him for the great idea.
"What idea?!" had puffed an indignant Clegane, still not sure if this was some big practical joke of the little shit to get him to slack off and get punished by Cercei or something stranger.
"Armor of course!" Joffrey had told him.
And thus both the Hound and Joffrey had become quite the subject of rumor, each speculation more outrageous amongst the servants that tried to divine why the pair where running around like simpletons as if for the sake of it, clad in heavy armor.
Still, it was not enough. He doubled his run, doing another one in the afternoon, every day. It was absolutely crushing and Joffrey barely had the strength to nod and speak when he dined with his family. He felt the quality of the conversation didn't change much anyway. The pain was annoying, but laughably bearable after being burned alive, smashed to pieces, scalped (-- not my finest moment--) and, really, after a couple dozen baths in the Purple, he barely felt bruises anymore.
-.PD.-
The memory of falling down the cliff fresh on his mind, he had made his way to Tobho Mott, one of Kings Landing's most renowned blacksmith and metal worker. The street of steel never slept, it appeared, as even late into the afternoon the forges were still lit, and the heavy clanging of hammer versus steel still rung strong as the sun steadily made its way downwards.
"Hello?!" he asked as he entered the shop, leaving his escort behind. The clanging suddenly stopped, and a man wearing a black velvet cloak with silver hammers embodied on its sleeves came out of the back door into the shop. "Welcome! Welcome! Whatever piece of weapon or armor you need you-- " he stuttered to a stop as he saw Joffrey. He was quite used to this reaction, especially since Mother had caught him sneaking to Kings Landing and had demanded he wear something fitting for his station (including the horrendous golden lion embroidery, roaring on his chest), besides chugging the Hound AND four red cloaks on top of him.
"Tobho Mott, I presume? I'm Prince Joffrey, I'd like to order some costume tools if you have the time. " he told him, hoping that if he jumped straight to business the man would do the same. "But of course!" he recovered abnormally quickly "Please follow me this way, what do you need? A sword?" Said Tobho as he guided Joffrey to the smithy. "A dagger?" he speculated while Joffrey took off his heavy cloak inside the sweltering smithy.
"Climbing tools, actually" Joffrey told him. By his expression, Joffrey thought the man had never received such a request. "I brought some plans with me" Said Joffrey as he lay some parchments on the table, full of rough drawings that painfully showed Joffrey's artistic skill, or more accurately the lack of it. Most of the time he had not been exercising, Joffrey had been trawling the Red Keep's library for useful information that could help him on his project. It turns out there's a couple of books, one written by a man that prospected for gold all over the Westerland's mountains, and another, more technical tome written by a Maester that had followed him during his travels. They had proved to be a valuable fountain of knowledge, from how to prospect a cliff wall or mount to see if it was safe to climb, to possible designs they had proposed for more advanced climbing tools but had never been able to complete them due to a lack of funds.
For all his worth as a mountaineer, Jaime Hill had never found much gold.
Having devoured the books with an intensity which surprised Joffrey, he had made some recommendations on the partially incomplete diagrams, noting little useful additions that could make his life easier, some of them learnt during his brief climb last life, like the tiny hole on the edge of the pommel, made so he could tie the climbing rakes to his cloak and prevent them from falling off to infinity if he lost his grasp of them while not climbing.
Tobho called in a couple of his apprentices, one a small scrawny boy whose eyes hinted at intelligence, and another, a big youth with a shaggy black mane, his features oddly familiar though Joffrey couldn't for the life of him remember ever seeing him before.
They discussed the drawings in the strange arcane tongue of the Blacksmiths, swiftly pushing aside some diagrams aside, and scratching others. "Some of the characteristics are impossible to make my Prince" said Tobho as he eyed the plans, seemingly lost in a haze of possibilities and avenues of techniques. "But I think I could get them to work, if you can guide us a bit in regard to its uses…" Joffrey nodded.
"I will visit every day to check on your progress, and work out what we can make or not" Said Joffrey, a bit of Nakaro's tone when he commanded the crew slipping through his voice without him even noticing.
Any possible objections where silenced with a big, jingly thud as Joffrey deposited a hefty bag full of golden dragons. "This should cover any work expenses and buy me the finest quality steel this city has to offer" Said Joffrey.
The golden dragons glinted by the fire of the furnace, and Tobho Mott smiled slowly. "I believe they will" he said greedily.
"Good… oh I almost forgot" he suddenly said. "I want this one too, should be pretty simple." He said, handing him a diagram of a bonze plate. It showed a snarling lion on top of a mountain.
"It should pose no problems" said the bewildered armorer.
-.PD.-
Five months into this life, Joffrey was starting to get anxious. Rumors were trickling in about some sort of skirmish in the crossroads inn, and the death of a Noble Lord's son. That piece of news sent goosebumps all over Joffrey's back. If Catelyn Stark had somehow botched her attempt to capture his uncle and killed him instead, then it would mean instant war with the Westerlands, no 'mere' raiding by the Mountain and his band. If Tyrion had been killed… well, as much as it hurt Joffrey knew he could just stab himself and literally see him again within the next 20 minutes. It was the consequences that boded ill… he was not ready, not this soon. Why was fate so fucking intent on making the Starks and Lannisters kill each other?
He threw his hands up in frustration, and went back to read the scroll he had found in the library. It had been another excellent, if incomplete find. It was the translation of some Yi -Tish 'Way of Life' philosophy that an unnamed Maester had managed to decode from a half burnt scroll. Joffrey wasn't sure what the exact purpose of the scroll was, or if it even had a purpose. It was full of untranslated words which the maester had acknowledged he didn't have the skill necessary to decode, and the damaged nature of the original scroll meant that he was holding just a tiny piece of the full lore.
But what he did have was definitely interesting. Joffrey didn't know what kind of philosophy required body exercises, but this one certainly did. It seemed he had a window into the book from the last pages of a part titled "Soul Centering", which had breathing and thinking exercises eerily familiar to what he already did in the God's wood whenever he needed it, and extended to the what he guessed was the middle of "Body Centering". It was the latter that heavily intrigued Joffrey. Though Joffrey didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the image of Yi-Tish Maesters exercising to earn their platinum links, the exercises themselves were…
Interesting.
Sadly he only had about sixteen of them, and would have given a sizable amount of gold for the rest, but the few query's he'd sent to the Citadel had been responded by a long winded Maesterly equivalent of "huh?".
Yi-Ti… hmmmm… he pondered for a bit, then shook his head.
Another time.
He dropped to the floor, placed both arms below him and started pushing and letting himself fall, repeating it again and again.