I've got to hurry, I've got to be faster, time is running out.
That night he dreamt about the armies of the Westerland, swarming out of the Golden Tooth and right into the slaughter of the Riverlands.
-.PD.-
"Joffrey, wake up sweetie!" said a voice.
"Hmmrghmm…" Gods, the last few months of even harder work than he'd done on the Swift Winds had given him a more subtle appreciation for sleep.
Someone was… dressing him?
He blearily opened his eyes to see the last servants putting a red cloak on his back, and the image of his worried Mother getting him out of bed and into the hallway.
"Wha-whats going on??" he mumbled as he tried to get enough saliva to moisture his dry throat.
"It's time for you to take your rightful place on the throne, Joffrey." She said as the side doors opened into the throne room.
"Oh fuck me…" he said slowly as he was guided into the most odious lump of metal he had ever had the displeasure of seeing.
Once seated, he face palmed. "How he died this time" he asked his mother, a heavy weight on his voice.
"Sweetie?" asked Cercei, not paying much attention as she supervised the Redcloaks moving into position in front of the Kingsguard.
"King Robert. How.did.he.die." he asked, dead serious. This was just too much coincidence, just as the war started between the Lannisters and the Starks, every time, Robert died for some reason. Often getting killed by a freaking pig, other times due to illness, and always right before the opening of the war. It was obvious who Robert and consequently the realm would align with in any confrontation, and that was Eddard Stark, Lord of the North and his best friend.
…
He slid down the throne slightly, not caring for the sudden jags of pain forming on his back.
Of course, you idiot.
It was so obvious in hindsight… Robert was getting killed, probably by Mother, in every life, thereby tilting the scales and giving the Lannisters the confusion they needed to win.
He gazed at Cercei, disgusted. Not only did she cuckold his husband, she killed him as well.
It didn't surprise him, not really. Knowing Mother, it fitted perfectly. She had always hated Robert, any other advantage gained from his murder was probably secondary behind the sheer satisfaction of the deed… Not that Robert had been a saint either, he'd seen the bruises and the whores. Gods, those two deserved each other.
"He fell of the stairs, my sweet boy. I'm so sorry." She finally cooed.
"I bet he did!" he spat back at her.
She looked nonplussed for a moment but there was no time to talk as the doors opened and Lord Stark entered the room, face solemn but hiding some kind of great anger that shook Joffrey to his core. He'd never seen Ned that angry.
He walked purposely towards the throne, followed by his undiminished house guard, no gold cloaks though, but behind him was…
Oh… That's new.
Slightly behind him was Renly Baratheon, fake uncle and Lord of Storm's End, along with a couple dozen retainers and several heavily armored knights and Lords.
Cercei was now desperately eying the sides of the room, no doubt wondering why her Gold cloaks weren't there.
Ned… no. Lord Stark stopped in front of the Red cloaks, his great sword Ice firmly held between his hands, sheathed… though he looked like he'd like nothing else but to take it out right now.
"Quite the way to come and kneel before your King, Stark!" Cercei said, taking refuge in spite in front of what was turning into a very bad situation.
"I see no King there, Lady Cercei. Only the spawn of incest." Said Renly, making the Kingsguard draw swords in anger at the insult.
Joffrey just raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm missing something. Lord Stark, would you please explain to me what you are going to do and why will you do it?" the calm and reasonable tone of voice seemed to disconcert both Ned and Renly. Renly was looking at Ned with an urgent look, but Ned ignored him. He nodded jerkily before speaking. "I have been investigating into your linage… you are not the son of King Robert, Joffrey." He said almost against his will, struggling to get the words out.
"I see, what else?" Joffrey asked as he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
Ned seemed even more confused, but continued all the same. "In the course of my investigation, the Lannisters" he said that last word like a curse while he looked at Cercei "tried to kidnap my wife, Catelyn. They… failed…" he bit out in obvious pain. "She… didn't make it." He almost whispered the last part. Joffrey was genuinely shaken, what the hells had happened at the crossroads inn?
Eddard nodded "It was soon after that, a few hours ago that King Robert was found dead from a convenient accident" he said, regaining control of himself. "We are already taking control of the Red Keep" said Renly, "It would be best if you dropped your swords" He said, "Now" he added with a smile, clearly relishing every moment of this.
Cercei was going to retort, probably with another spiteful idiocy, but Joffrey's temper broke right then and there.
"FOR FUCKS SAKE!!! AAAAARRRGHHH!!!" he screamed.
"Two more months! Was it too much to fucking ask?!" he asked to seemingly no one.
He looked between a shocked Cercei, nonplussed Renly and confused Eddard. " Mother is not going to give up and will probably get everyone here killed trying to resist, she's oh so intelligent" he bit out, tone dripping with contempt. "Then, I'll be locked inside the Red Keep like some dragon's egg while you idiots!" he shouted pointing at Renly and Eddard "Play the godsforsaken game against Tywin, Stannis, his red bitch, Mace Tyrell, his slippery siren of a daughter and her Grandmother too! All the while waiting for some bright idiot with a lust for gold to stab me in the night!!! Or for the fucking Martells to come and poison everyone, cause why the fuck not!"
"FUCK THIS! ILL PASS!" He screamed with all his being.
Stunned silence descended amongst the hall, and Joffrey seemed to deflate, supremely tired.
He took a deep, weary breath. "I think fate woke up with the wrong foot on this life. Ser Boros, your dagger please" he said.
A confused Ser Boros turned around and handed his dagger to Joffrey while the rest of the players took a few seconds to get the situation back on track.
"Thank you" said Joffrey as he took it. "I don't know what happens to you people after the purple, but if you keep existing, may you choke on this infinitely uncomfortable chair!" he spat out before stabbing himself right in the heart.
He heard screaming and drawing swords, but the purple soon enveloped.
It would have been terribly embarrassing if had missed… he thought as the damnable pain returned…
Man, fuck that life.
-.PD.-
He awoke on his bed with a sad sight on his chest.
His eyes hardened, resolve crystalizing inside him.
"I'm going to do it…" he muttered with conviction.
-.PD.-
"Tobho should have the last pieces ready for tomorrow, I'll need you to go and bring them here. I trust his work, but the last modification left the handle too fucking bent" She heard Joffrey's voice from the hallway.
Cercei stopped, smoothed her dress, and resolved to find out what was going on once and for all. Ever since they had returned from Winterfell all those months ago, Joffrey had been acting incredibly strange. Running in heavy armor all day and reading at the library when he was not dead tired, and consorting with blacksmiths and leather workers of all things! Even worse had been his demeanor, every time she tried to speak with her son she was just rebuffed by a disgusted snort. It was like she had lost her son overnight. Add to that the growing tensions between the Lannisters and the Starks… Cercei was having many a sleepless night.
Besides those she didn't spend with Jaime anyway.
She nearly had an attack when she turned and entered Joffrey's room. Joffrey was hanging upside down from a sturdy looking, tall cupboard. His legs were firmly grasping the top of the furniture, and his hands were tucked behind his head. He was shirtless, and every few seconds he rose as if to touch his knees, only to then relax his back and return to his starting, dangling position… only to repeat it again.
Beside him was a servant nodding as Joffrey finished talking " -and tell the Hound to pack his stuff and get ready for leaving tomorrow at noon" he said. The servant nodded and scurried out quickly, only muttering a small "m'queen" on the way out. Cercei didn't even notice him, so big was the earth shattering realization on her mind.
My son's gone insane! She thought, desperate.
-.PD.-
"What did you tell her?" asked the Hound, genuinely curious as they rode their horses out of the Mud gate.
Joffrey seemed to ponder the question inside his head before nodding "I told her that if she didn't let me go right away I'd go straight to Robert and tell him she'd been cuckolding him with my father Jaime for the last fifteen years" he said as he with a smirk as he fiddled with one of Tobho's artfully crafted castle steel forged scaling rakes.
The Hound was silent for a bit before grunting out an unwilling chuckle. "And she bought your bluff?" he asked, disbelievingly.
"She sure did" said Joffrey as his smirk deepened and he eyed the Kingsroad ahead.
-.PD.-
He was turning his sneaking away from the Hound into an art form.
Subtly get him drunk with wine, leave everything prepacked, don't startle the horses, and many other little details made the whole endeavor a task in of itself.
After that the week passed without incident, Joffrey found himself at the foot of the mountain again, flexing his muscles while taking a deep breath.
"Let's fucking do this" he said to no one in particular.
-.PD.-
Joffrey took a bite out of his beef jerky, munching mechanically and putting his shivering teeth to good use. He took another look to the looming cliff, experimentally tapping it with his rake.
"Hmmm… seems solid enough" he mumbled before stabbing it completely with the other climbing rake, and scaling up with both the rakes as well as both of his steel bladed leather reinforced hide boots, steadily making his way up. Joffrey was like a machine, slowly but surely making his way up, methodically stabbing and rising, making use of handholds or cracks whenever he found them.
Suddenly his right rake slipped, leaving him hanging from his boots and his left rake. "Whoooow!!" he screamed through his bluish tinted lips and nose as the rocks tumbled down, and he struggled to purchase some grip with the hanging rake.
He roared as he stabbed the mountain again, finally hitting a more solid bit.
"Not solid enough!" he screamed to himself as he waited to see if it could hold his weight…
I admit it, book knowledge is simply not enough to learn the difference between scalable cliffs and deathtraps.
He waited…
Silence… until…
Crack
The whole piece of rock he had been attached to gave way under its own weight, and fell down at an incredible speed. Joffrey closed his eyes.
-.PD.-
He opened his eyes. He was on his bed.
"I'm going to climb this damned mountain, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me" he muttered to himself, before snapping out of bed with a shout "Servants!"
-.PD.-
He run around the Red Keep, his face set. He was fast, not a sprint by any stretch of the imagination, but still a respectable speed. Crossed above his shoulders and with his arms looped around them, he carried two broadswords.
His breathing was steady. In, out. In, out. In out.
-.PD.-
He walked through the cliff edge, following the "path" carved by nature, his shoulders crouched, trying to make himself a smaller target as the cold rain whipped past him, soaking him wet and barely letting him see forward. Suddenly an impossibly bright light flashed, Joffrey was sure, must have been right in front of him, illuminating the whole Vale of Arryn below him for a microsecond before leaving his eyes seeing pure white.
CCCHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA TUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG
The thunder was absolutely deafening, so loud it was Joffrey could swear they must have heard it in Braavos. The Lighting seemed to strike somewhere in front of him, shaking the very ground he was standing upon.
Joffrey grabbed the rock to his right for dear life as the rain kept buffeting at him. Or at least he thought he was grabbing the rock. Honestly he had lost the sense of touch from his feet two days ago and his hands were not too much better. Now with his eye sight gone as well as his hearing, he might as well have been sailing downwards at a hundred nautical miles per hour.
Slowly, the tingling, bell like sound left his ears, and the white in his vision slowly gave way to a wet rock.
"YOU'LL HAVE TO TRY HARDER THAN THAT!" He shouted at the storm and… he didn't know. Somewhere along the way this had become personal. This bloody mountain… everything he did didn't work. No matter what he did, it didn't change the outcome, he was incapable of reaching the summit.
In his mind, the mountain had merged with another concept.
Destiny, inevitability… Fate.
"I can do it… I have to…" he muttered as he kept trekking the slope, one feet after the other.
-.PD.-
He was shivering inside the small cave he had managed to find, tending the pathetic fire he had managed to start up with the sticks and one unlucky shrub. The wet sticks were having a hard time starting up, but even the trickle of heat they gave out was greedily absorbed by Joffrey.
He was a shivering wreck, he didn't even feel his nose or his little finger. He was looking horrified at his blue feet, experimentally touching with a stick and not feeling a bit.
"This… looks… bad…" he said between shivers. The howling wind outside seemed to agree as it redoubled in its intensity, its banshee like howling setting his teeth on edge. He had reached the snow 3 days ago… and he'd never felt more tired in his life. He didn't know if it was because of his feet or a lack of stamina, but he felt dead tired. It seemed the fire had helped with the general pain that had been plaguing his body for the last week though, he didn't feel it anymore.
He rested his back on the stone next to the burning sticks. Gods he was so tired, a quick nap right now sounded more delicious than a thousand feats. He had even stopped shivering!
Slowly his eyes drooped. Just 10 minutes, then I can keep going…. 10 minutes…
-.PD.-
Joffrey snapped his eyes open and sat up.
He was on his bed on the Red Keep.
…
He took a deep breath.
"Again" he said, his voice strange to his ears.
-.PD.-
Joffrey huffed as he hanged upside down from the cupboard, rising to his knees before lowering again. His chainmail jingled as he repeated the motion again and again.
Tyrion was sitting beside him on his desk, amused and confused with his nephew's antics. On his desk he had several drawing he had been drawing and preparing for a sturdy but as light as possible backpack.
Joffrey had been very insistent in getting his help… and his absurdly changed behaviors was a riddle he just couldn't resist. Puzzles were always his doom.
Beside him Joffrey kept at it. For the last hour he had been doing that, rising and back like a ship's pump. They had spoken at first while he did it, about the most miscellaneous things, chief of them being winter clothing. He had thought that after their trip to Winterfell with King Robert they boy would have been tired of the snow…
He had been quiet for the last 20 minutes though. He seemed to be devoting his entire strength to his exercises.
Up down up jingle, up down jingle, up down jingle. The sound of the tingling chainmail counted the repetitions.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure made his way through the snow storm, plowing through the rising snow and up the steep slope. Only one bit of skin visible out of his whole body.
His feet were covered in in leather reinforced hide boots, on his legs he wore heavy storm trousers, his chest was wrapped in wool below leather, and his back was covered by a big water proofed cloak. His hands wielded wickedly sharp looking rakes, and they were covered by thick gloves. A black hood covered the man's blonde hair, and a leather-woolen neck guard covered his mouth and nose.
The only bit of visible skin were his bright green eyes.
He was close, he could feel it. A heavy grumbling from his stomach made him crouch, one hand touching his belly.
Of all the things… food…
He looked up. There were a few momentary gaps in the blizzard, in between them, he could see the peak, high above, couldn't be more than a week away.
So close…
The backpack he had designed with the help of Tyrion, well, the backpack that Tyrion had designed with his help, was securely attached to his back, but its weight was harrowingly low.
He had no food left.
He took another step, and then another, and another. He felt so weak he wanted to cry, but didn't even have the energy to do so. He took another step.
Suddenly his left foot slipped under a rock below the snow. He tumbled forward, landing face first into the snow.
He spent a few seconds there before he put his arms below him, and pushed.
Nothing happened.
Come on, I've done this a hundred times before.
He pushed with all his strength. He could feel himself slightly rising as his face emerged from the snow and into the somehow even colder air.
His arms gave out from under him as he collapsed on the cold snow.
He gave a wordless scream of effort as he tried one last time with all his being.
Nothing.
His arms slumped to his sides… And he waited…
-.PD.-
A boy slept on his room.
Suddenly, his green eyes opened serenely, and the man rose from his bed.
"Again" said the man.
-.PD.-
"Hound, another one" he said, his face flooded with sweat.
They were on top of one of the main towers, overlooking Blackwater Bay. Joffrey was flat on his stomach, straight as a board, in the same position he had been the last time he died. On his back were half a dozen heavy tomes from the library.
Beside him was the Hound, looking thoroughly confused with the whole endeavor and vaguely alarmed. "Joffrey, I--"
"Hound, another one" said Joffrey with the same tone of voice. That shook the Hound, he had never seen the little shit with so much… determination. He didn't know what his obscure goal was, but apparently it meant becoming a cord of muscle and stamina.
Joffrey waited patiently, his forearms tucked against the floor, ready to tense, his back straight, balancing the books. "Pycell's going to want these back" muttered the Hound as he took another book from the pile and placed it on Joffrey's back.
He barely grunted under the additional weight.
Joffrey tensed, his face a rictus of effort.
He stayed there.
His face was red, and he had stopped breathing.
The Hound was going to stop all this madness when suddenly Joffrey roared.
"AAAAAAAArrrrrrrrrr" he shouted as he rose from the ground and stayed suspended, only touching the floor with his arms and legs for a full 10 seconds.
Suddenly he fell to the side, spilling all the books on the floor. But instead of the usual disinterested smirk, Joffrey had an anticipating and vaguely manic grin.
"I'm ready" he said ominously.
The Hound didn't want to ask for what.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure walked through the snowy slope. The small shrubs had ceased to exist a while ago, and the sun was now clearly visible through the clouds… or… it would if there where clouds. He had seemingly trekked past them a few days ago. The last of the cliff climbs was long behind him, and the only visible obstacle to the summit was a somewhat steep slope, peppered with ice and hard rocks.
He had never made it this far, and he had rationed his food as much as he could. It was still not enough though, he needed energy… he was starving.
He thought he had reached his limits in terms of carrying capacity. He couldn't simply lug more food through the climb, the weight was just too much for his body, at least not if he had only 9 to 12 months to prepare.
Still… he was so fucking close. He could see the peak in the middle of the day, so tantalizingly close.
So he trucked on, step, step, step, step.
He noticed he had to take deeper breaths than before, and more often too, as if the air itself didn't have the strength to fully reach up here.
The slope narrowed to a small path, and right next to it was a natural cave, perfect for spending the night before one final push.
As he got close, he heard a rumbling purr.
Suddenly out of the cave leapt an enormous feline, a female, her huge head sporting wickedly sharp fangs, her long, sinuous body swirling like a snake. Her coat was a shaggy white, and she seemed a bit starved as her blue eyes gazed at Joffrey intently.
Joffrey froze as the big feline tensed, 7 meters in front of him.
Shadowcat.
Joffrey gripped his climbing rakes, his knuckles turning white.
There was nowhere to run. But even if there was, Joffrey would not be denied. Not now.
"You are not going to stop me" he told it calmly as he crouched slightly, rakes held low but ready to cut.
The Shadowcat roared as she pounced at Joffrey, claws spread and her mouth open.
Joffrey partially dodged to the side but the bulk of the Shadowcat still slammed him to the snowy ground. He screamed as he felt its fangs burrowing into his left shoulder.
Joffrey roared as he lifted his right hand and stabbed the Shadowcat in the ribs with his climbing rake, using all his strength. The big cat yowled but didn't let go. Joffrey shouted as he kept stabbing as his ribs again and again. Finally the Shadowcat jumped back, searching behind her for its sharp enemy.
Joffrey stood up groggily, blood flowing freely down his torso. The Shadowcat whirled about and lunged at Joffrey again. This time, somehow, he managed to skip to the left in a water dancing feint, bringing his rake down and stabbing her in the back. The Shadowcat roared in pain and swiped at him, leaving a bloody gash on Joffrey's right arm.
He stumbled back, blood pooling all around him as both man and cat eyed each other. Joffrey had only one rake left, the other one had been lost with that swipe.
He didn't know if the lack of air or if the adrenaline of the fight was getting to him, but Joffrey snarled with primal rage at the guardian of Fate. The Shadowcat roared back.
It leapt and tackled Joffrey as it tried to sink his fangs into his neck. They both tumbled through the snow with the force of the impact. A tumbling that quickly turned into free fall as both of them fell back down to the Vale of Arryn.
-.PD.-
Joffrey breathed in slowly at the Red Keep's God's Wood. In, out. In, out. In, out.
He was sitting cross -legged in one of the positions he had learnt from the Yi-i Scroll, it had helped immensely with his concentration. He felt the wind around him, carrying the fresh scent free of the city's usual stink. It didn't have quite the edge that a real Godswood had, but it still helped him immensely. He already felt centered, as if one with his emotions. He knew the effect wouldn't last long, but the feeling of wellbeing would last a while longer than it.
Still… he was hesitant to leave the place. His preparations for the next climb were almost complete… but the futility of seemingly fighting against fate was getting to him. He had lost count of the amount of times he had tried, and a small corner of his mind was whispering seductively that he should just quit, that it was only a freaking mountain, that he had nothing to prove.
But Joffrey knew those whispers. If he gave in now, what about the next thing he did? Would he never be able to accomplish anything of his own effort? Would the voice keep whispering, shouting, for the rest of his lives?
The wind pattern is wrong.
Suddenly he opened up his eyes. His bright green eyes seemed paler in the reflected light of the afternoon, kind of with a steely gloss.
As soon as he opened his eyes he heard a gasp to his right and his danger senses screamed as he leapt to his feet effortlessly in one fluid motion that almost echoed of water dancing, drawing his dagger. After more than 8 months of the heaviest training Joffrey had devised without it actually killing him, he felt like a coiled spring ready for anything.
To his right was Sansa, covering her mouth, her eyes startled and quite a bit afraid. Joffrey shook himself as he sheathed his dagger. "I'm sorry for startling you my lady" he told her. She lowered her hands and shook her head, which was getting quite red. "No need my prince, I… I was actually spying on you" she suddenly confessed.
Joffrey looked bewildered at the sudden confession. "Me? Why?" he asked, genuinely confused.
She took a hesitant step forward. "It's just…" she seemed to be having a titanic battle within her as she spoke "you seem so… focused… driven… and it's as if you know something no one else here could even imagine…" she said with the uncanny insight that seemed to inhabit below the enormous outer layer of naiveté and innocence that Joffrey had detected only hints of in lives past.
"I'm sorry, I didn't-- " she suddenly started but Joffrey stopped her when he walked in front of her. "No… its… its true…" he said, searching for the right words. "There's… I guess you could call it a song, in life. It guides everything we do, everything that happens…" he said, his eyes unfocused.
"If one where to try and change a few keys of the song, it would devolve into improvisation for a while, sure, only to later return to the melody yet again. But the song… the song always stays the same, the song never seems to change… I can't change it." Joffrey said, somewhat desperately, already regretting his words.
Sansa however had an uncharacteristic focused look, peering at his face and trying to decipher his meaning. After a minute of silent staring, Sansa spoke.
"But, Joffrey… What is a different song if not a sequence of changed keys?" she asked him.
In his mind Joffrey saw the long sequence of events that led to his last climb. Running training, forging tools with Tobho Mott, hanging squats with his chainmail, designing the perfect backpack and winter clothing with Tyrion, endurance training in the sunny top of the Red Keep's main tower with the Hound, reading for information on the Mountain range and on the tactics of climbing.
Each of them a key on their own, worthless. But together… A string of keys could change the song, a string of events could change dealings of fate beyond petty politics or who killed who. They could propel him to stand atop the roof of the world itself.
And he could already see the last key he needed.
"Gods, I never knew you were this wise" Said Joffrey in the midst of his daze of realization as he gave her a heartfelt kiss on the cheek and went running towards the main keep.
Sansa stayed rooted in the Godswood, her face so hot and red she thought she was going to burst into flame.
-.PD.-
"I told you Ned! The Targaryen bitch needs to die!" bellowed King Robert at the small council in general and Ned in particular.
Eddard was about to object yet again when the doors bursted open and Robert's peculiar son, Prince Joffrey, entered the room with the look of a man on a mission.
"Robert" he said as he looked at his father.
"I'm busy boy! If this is about another one of your dresses--"
"Robert, I need your pig-sticker" he said, dead serious.
-.PD.-
The cloaked figure made his way through the slope, the snow not deep enough to make him falter. There was only one bit of skin visible out of his whole body.
His feet were covered in leather reinforced hide boots, on his legs he wore heavy storm trousers, his chest was wrapped in wool below leather, all covered by a light chainmail. On his back he sported a big water proofed cloak. His hands were hidden behind heavy winter gloves. A black hood covered the man's blonde hair, and a leather-woolen neck guard covered his mouth and nose.
The only bit of visible skin were his pale green eyes.
The man took off his back pack and opened it on the ground. The smell of food was still painfully present but there was none of that left. No, instead, the man took out 4 wooden poles the size of his forearm, each topped with an iron socket.
He snapped in place each segment, the smooth clicking sound after each fusion proof enough of Tobho Mott's master work. Finally, he took out one final piece which was covered in leather wrappings.
He snapped it to the last segment. The leather wrapping flew with the wind and revealed a wickedly sharp, castle steel forged broad dagger half a meter in size, gleaming with unfiltered sunlight on top of a 3 meter spear.
The man took an identical broad dagger and tied it sideways on his back, right above his hip. It was identical to the other, only differing in that this one had a handle instead of an iron socket.
The man left his backpack there and continued walking towards the only path available, one that passed right by a small cave…
Like clockwork, Fate's guardian leapt out of the cave with a purr and a growl, staring at the man. Her white shaggy mane served to hide her diminished form, though even in hunger the Shadowcat was majestic. Despite her great weight, she moved with an inherent grace and agility, slowly prowling sideways, moving around the man in a circle.
The man lowered the spear as he lowered his center of gravity, semi crouching in an eerie mirror of the Shadowcat's pose, footwork steady as he slowly pivoted to the side, always keeping the feline in front of his spear.
The man took another deep breath.
"If no matter what I do" he calmly told the Shadowcat as it kept prowling, "If I can't reach that summit… if the power of a thousand lifetimes can't reach it… it means you, me, everyone…" he muttered quietly. Despite his whispering, the words sounded unnaturally loud to Joffrey's ears. The wind had suddenly stilled, and the only other sound beside his voice was the soft crunch of slow boot or paw over snow.
The Shadowcat slowly raised her back, thick muscles cording for the jump.
"If I can't reach that summit… it would mean we are all puppets to fate… It would mean we are just its playthings, to be used and discarded again and again."
The Shadowcat growled as she went absolutely still, muscles tight, its vision centered on Joffrey.
His green eyes, the only part of his body visible, narrowed in concentration "I… I can't accept that. Better a hundred deaths by the purple. Better a million of them." He told the Shadowcat. Though his mouth was covered, the way his cheeks pulled upwards betrayed his serene smile.
Joffrey and the Shadowcat locked eyes, both as still as statues, the wind unnaturally quiet.
His mind was silent, still. His thoughts lay completely unmoving like if he were meditating on Winterfell's great Godswood, the small red leaves twirling around him. He could feel every wisp of wind against his body, the weight of his clothes, he felt every muscle of his body tense and relax.
He could see the Shadowcat in perfect detail, full of colour despite his white mane… petrified as if it were a statue.
They spent the next second like that, or eternity. Joffrey would never know which.
The Shadowcat's paw twitched.
"COME OOOOON!!!" Roared Joffrey as the Shadowcat let out a roar of its own and leapt faster than a bolt from a crossbow.
"AAAIIYAAAaaa" shouted Joffrey in exertion as he moved like lighting and stabbed the spear right above the Shadowcat's left forepaw. She yowled in pain as she retreated back, but Joffrey kept up the pressure, standing tall and aiming low, pushing to try and pin the Shadowcat to the floor.
She somehow scuttled back faster than Joffrey could follow, disentangling herself from the broad spear point and leaving a trail of blood as she sprinted like thunder to his left, trying to flank him. He pivoted hard, following the white blur with the spear. She was fast, too fast.
She ducked low and suddenly stopped, making Joffrey overcompensate to his left and leaving the spear out of position for when she charged right at him. He managed to slash her side, and the Shadowcat roared in pain as she turned to her side and clawed at the spear with all her strength.
A spear that had been modified for ease of transportation, losing a good part of its structural integrity in its conversion.
The spear snapped in two with a deafening crunch.
All of this Joffrey saw in slow motion. Without thinking, he tossed the broken spear aside and bellowed as he charged the Shadowcat, drawing the broad dagger from his back hip sheath. The Shadowcat roared as she turned to face him, but this time the momentum was with Joffrey as they tumbled through the snow in a feast of claws and steel, blood and bone.
Suddenly, the whirling blur stopped, revealing a crouched Shadowcat, her face pointing downwards, still as a statue again.
After a half minute, slowly, the Shadowcat tumbled to one side, then to the other. With a scream of strength emerging from below her, the Shadowcat sprawled to the side showing her bloodied neck and revealing the bloodied man in hard winter clothing that had been trapped below her. He struggled to his knees, holding a bloodied left arm, and stumbled towards Shadowcat. With a grunt of effort he pulled his broad dagger from the beast's thick neck, spraying the snow with even more blood.
-.PD.-
The slope got easier and easier, each step requiring less effort than the last, each step not as steep as the last one.
Until it was no more.
The slope suddenly gave way to a couple of meters of flat rock, and then…
Westeros beckoned.
To his right were the Riverlands, the great wandering trident and its tributaries stretched through a vast network of hamlets and houses, the greatest of which was mighty Harrenhall, which was barely visible with its enormous jagged towers, right beside the great lake that was the God's Eye. All around the rivers stretched great fields of crops, only identifiable by their color. Great swathes of yellow, brown and green followed the sides of the rivers, a swirl of colors that took Joffrey's breath away. To the front lay the bay of crabs, one big streak of blue that seemed to pierce into the heart of the continent, its waters never still, always crashing against the shore. To his left was the Eyrie, one great turreted thumb rising from the vale, surrounded by mighty mountains full of green forestry and grey slopes. Great as they were, none of them was as big as his.
All around him he could see the greatest mountain range of Westeros, rising in majestic beauty, sporting a desolate kind of allure in the form of mixing greens and pale greys, all topped with crowns of white. He could see them all from here, stretching north to south and into the Vale of Arryn, where they finally met a great blue blob right on the horizon that could only be the Narrow Sea.
It was beautiful.
"WWWWHUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!" roared Joffrey as he fell on his knees, his arms raised high atop the roof of the world.
I did it… I… I'm capable of forging my own destiny…
That thought swirled through his head like an intoxicating, almost sexual pleasure.
He suddenly noticed he was crying, and it with a start he realized that it was the best sensation he'd ever had in any of his lives.
-.PD.-
Joffrey took another bite.
It tasted…
It tasted of… blood and victory.
It tasted… good.
He took another bite out of the raw Shadowcat fillet, munching methodically as his feet swinged about in the air.
Eating raw shadowcat meat on the top of the Mountains of the Moon…
There's something surreal inside that thought.
He gobbled the last piece he had brought with him and lay back in infinite contentment, eying the sun as it made its way down.
"Take a nap at the top of the world, check" he said to himself, amused. The heady feeling of victory had not left him. It was there right at his core, like a warm hearth fire.
Joffrey smiled as he lounged, taking a long, drawn out nap.
…
…
…
-.PD.-
… Now what?
He looked behind him, then down below.
He swept back the veritable blonde mane that had grown from his scalp and proudly scratched his stubby blonde bear, only to stop as the pain from the huge scar that crossed his head from forehead to mouth pulsed in pain.
"Ouch… damned cat…" he muttered. The bleeding had been hell itself to stop, and he still found his wounds bleeding now and then. He was sure they'd get infected soon.
"Okay" he said standing up, and looked back down again. "Only one way down" he said with a nervous chuckle.
He stood back, run to the edge of the world and promptly stopped.
…
This is going to be harder that I thought.
It was a long, loooong way down. He got sick just looking right down.
After psyching himself up for the last 10 minutes, Joffrey finally nodded.
He licked his lips.
This one's for you uncle!
"Team Lannisteeeeeeeeerrrrrr!!!" he screamed as jumped out of the ledge.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh he screamed as he fell, faster than anything he had experienced on his lives before.
And then he promptly run out of breath.
And kept falling.
And falling.
And falling.
He spread his arms wide and tried to maneuver in the sky, to some moderate success.
"THIS IS UNBELEAVABLE!!! TAKE THAT FUCKING TARGARYENS!" He screamed as he tilted this way and that, fucking flying through the air.
In the midst of this joy, and as the ground kept getting closer and closer, one sudden, horrible thought crossed Joffrey's mind, thanks to a slapping weight tied to his belt.
Oh gods.
I didn't leave the bronze plaque in the summit.
"FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-- "
SPLAT.
-.PD.-
CHAPTER 13: BONES.
Chapter 13: Bones.
Tyrion was reading an interesting tome about Brandon the Shipwright on the small solar he had in King's Landing, eying the jug of wine nearby and debating the merits of taking a detour to Chataya's before the trip north, when he had the scare of his life.
His nephew Joffrey suddenly bursted into his cellar, sporting a manic green and looking for all the gods like the happiest man on earth, almost shaking with some inner power.
Oh shit. He just murdered someone, was his first thought.
When he looked about the small cellar and saw him, his grin stretched even more, and his eyes sparkled with joy.
· He's going to kill me, was his second thought.
"TEEAAAAM LAAAANISTEEEEEER" He shouted as he jumped and tackled Tyrion right out of his seat.
-.PD.-
The Lannister's table made a grim sight, as Cercei and Jaime ate in silence, giving each other looks of pure meaning and foreboding. Jon Arryn had been killed… and it hadn't been them. Tyrion had picked up the tension, and was playing without much energy with Tommen, who sat beside him. Both Tommen and Myrcella had absorbed the table's mood and were halfheartedly eating, or more like moving their food around with the cutlery.
"OMN" crunched Joffrey as he devoured a chicken leg, slowly munching it down, savoring every last bite. He had been like that since he'd last seen him, last night when instead of stabbing him to death the mad kid had gotten both of them drunk, with a happiness that had come out of nowhere. He'd been a bit embarrassed the next morning and had refused to elaborate on what exactly they had been celebrating (not that he needed an excuse)… but whatever it was it had left him as if he another person…
CRUNCH
With one last bite, Joffrey slid back on his seat with a self-satisfied smile and a faraway, calculating look.
Interesting… thought Tyrion.
He wondered what it was all about…
-.PD.-
The small kitchen was a humble place, a tiny recess tucked into one of the less frequented parts of the Red Keep. It had probably been originally built for the servants attending the White Sword tower. It barely had any food stored and the table looked like it could use a carpenter or two, but that hadn't stopped Joffrey. Whatever madness that had possessed the Prince, it had compelled him to clean up the place… and start cooking in the small stove for some reason.
He set the steaming bowl with a hopeful expression, apparently waiting for the Hound to say something.
Why is the prince of the Seven Kingdoms serving me rabbit stew…?
The Hound was definitely off balance with all of this. He would later try to use that fact to justify the long series of events that followed.
Fuck it, if he's expecting me to fall to whatever jape he's playing, he's got another thing coming.
He took a spoon, dipped it in the stew and promptly ate it.
He didn't know what he was expecting at this point, maybe to taste the worst flavor ever devised or maybe to have collapsed into a fitful bliss.
He munched some of the more solid bits. It was… too watery, and lacked almost any flavor. He'd definitely eaten worse on the march, but not too much worse.
The little shit seemed to pick up on his expression, and scratched his head. "hmm, it was too much to hope months of self-cooking for survival needs would mean better meals…" he said apparently to himself, then shook himself.
"Alright Hound…" he said, sitting on the table and spreading a pile of parchments all over the table. "Pick our fate" he said, gazing at his sworn shield rather ominously.
The Hound stared right back at Joffrey, but the kid's unwavering stare forced him to look back down… with a sight.
"Damnit, fine." He said as he gazed glumly at the pile of spread out parchment on the table. They were about 15 pieces, all of them face down.
He still didn't really know what sort of game the little shit was playing, but it would be best to indulge him and just get it over with. "Fine, fine… I'll take…" He hesitated.
This was harder than it looked. It was just a piece of paper right? His hand moved from one of the papers to the other, moving all over the table before hesitating between just two of them. He kept moving his hand between the two of them… one of them would be it.
His hand kept switching positions until he grunted. "Bah! Take this one" he practically tossed the parchment at Joffrey.
He picked it up dutifully and flipped it, revealing a name.
"Port of Ibben… hmm, interesting enough. Have your things packed up by tomorrow morning Hound." He said almost flippantly as he stood up and strolled out of the small kitchen, only to stop at the door.
"Ah, you might want look at the parchment you almost chose" he said with a mischievous smirk as he went on his way.
The Hound, still off balance with the whole experience, promptly flipped the piece he had been hesitant about.
'Summer Islands', it read.
The Hound's eye twitched.
-.PD.-
His breathing was steady, his eyes locked.
Wait for it…
Joffrey could hear the sway of the rigging as the cog crested another way, rising into the air…
Wait for it…
Only to come back down with a big roar. The Hound tumbled a bit to his left, losing his balance, and Joffrey pounced like a fevered cat, his sword slashing to the Hound's exposed back.
The Hound grunted as he barely blocked the incoming blow, his attention split between trying to keep his balance and the threat Joffrey presented.
"Dirty…" he said as he shoved Joffrey back. "Good" he muttered as he went on the offensive, delivering a storm of blows that Joffrey dodged around, with the occasional parry. CLANG CLANG CLANG. The metal screeched with each incoming blow as the Hound progressively trapped Joffrey against the corner, right below the ships tiller. With an inelegant yet efficient swish which spoke of the Hound's years of training and veterancy, he disarmed Joffrey with flick and a punch to the belly.
The sword clattered on the deck as Joffrey fell on his knees, hands clenched on his stomach. He spent a few seconds there before the Hound offered him a hand up.
"Didn't know you'd trained on a ship before" Said the Hound gruffly as Joffrey took his hand and was propelled up by the Hound's strength. Joffrey took a few more gulps of air, enjoying the feeling as a westerly breeze swept the deck. "Only… a couple… of times…" he assured him as he kept getting all the air he could into his burning lungs.
His rapid breathing was interrupted by an intrusive thought. Suddenly he looked at the Hound with a weary expression. "When have you fought on a ship before?!" he asked.
The Hound, naturally, let out another one of his trademark grunts. "You're not the only one with surprises here, Joff" he told him, his expression a bit wary as well. "Taht's enough lolligaging'! Ge' back t' work!" bellowed out a burly Valeman as he leaned on the rail in front of the tiller. "I ain't payin ya fer playing with swords, and tha'
includes you Joff! I want the jib squared 'way before we reach Braavos!" he bellowed once more as the dozen crewmen who had been sitting in crates spectating the duel groaned. "Aye Captain!" Said Joffrey as he stowed his tourney sword, experimentally touching the new bruises he'd acquired. "1 out of 5… I still can't believe you keep trouncing whatever trick I can come up with…" he told the Hound, exasperated. He turned around when he heard no response, only to find the Hound staring at him deep in thought.
This again… He'd been giving him that stare every time the Captain gave him an order, it was getting annoying.
"Cleg? Cleg?!" With that Clegane snapped out of his reverie, only to huff as Joffrey raised his eyebrows. "Mhrm" he said in Hound speak as he stowed his sword. Joffrey roughly translated that to 'Nevermind'.
The Cog crashed against another wave as Joffrey took a few moments before heading with the rest of the crew to take down the jib, enjoying his tensed muscles. It had become a kind of guilty pleasure every time he became relatively fit a bit after the start of a new life. Every time he woke up again he somehow felt a bit more depressed or anxious than mere moments before his death, but that feeling gradually went away after he got back up in shape in the current life. The difference had become notorious in what Joffrey had started to call 'the mountain run' in his mind, and his daily endurance exercises (at least the toned down version that didn't have everyone on the Red Keep considering whether to toss him to the tender mercies of Grand Maester Pycell) had become a standard routine for his new lives now.
Now, doing them every day plus the two weeks hard at work on the sea, Joffrey finally felt a bit more independent. It didn't matter if his technique kept getting good (and thankfully it was, now he could reliably defeat the Hound in one bout out of 5. Slow progress, but still…) if he didn't have the build for it, any difference he could make on a prolonged skirmish was negligible.
"Wha' ra' ya' wai'ing for! I don' pay you for star'in at ta' sea you scum!" Shouted the Captain. The burly Valeman had a horrendously backwater accent, and an explosive temperament that could give a drunk Robert a run for his money, but he had taken in 'Joff' and 'Cleg' as paid sailors without question, and for that Joffrey was too grateful to care.
He snapped out of his reverie as he dashed to the Jib. eHeeeeee"Aye Captain!" he said as the Valeman slowly shook his head, getting back to the tiller. -.PD.-
Lorath was not a big city, at least not compared to the rest of the Free Cities. It did have a kind of strange beauty in the form of its laberynthian alleys and streets, winding up and down, left and right in a kind of complicated pattern that seemed to hint of something… more. Hidden.
It was no surprise then when Joffrey learned it had actually been a maze, centuries ago. Unfortunately, time, hardship and a visit by a group of certain blond dragon riders had all ruined whole swaths of the ancient maze from which the city had been originally built up from. On the couple of days Joffrey had spent there, he had explored it relentlessly, trying to figure out the city's ancient secrets to some very moderate success.
He had uncovered ancient passageways that ranged from inconspicuous deserted alleyways to huge gaping caverns that opened up to the sea, and he had sometimes even discovered ancient marks or runes of some sort in some of those passageways, the ones he thought where the oldest ones.
Still, he had not forgotten his original objective. The mysterious Port of Ibben, inhabited by the strange and hairy Ibbenese, many of whom he had already seen wandering about the docks and the taverns. They were mostly fishermen, traders and the occasional whaler, but they were notoriously distrustful of strangers, preferring their own company.
Until now.
"Right, let's get in 'Cleg'." He told the Hound, who had been standing quietly behind him, seemingly thinking about his own things. He followed Joffrey with barely a grunt.
Joffrey guessed that after so many character breaking moments the Hound had finally decided to metaphorically fuck it and go with the flow (and the mad schemes of the 'new' Joffrey), a healthy sentiment that reminded Joffrey of calm breezes and twirling red leaves. He approved.
Turning his back on the grey skies to face the grey city, he made his way through the relatively busy street, following the road from the piers to the nearby tavern he had checked out yesterday. The perpetually grey and cloudy skies above Lorath seemed to always indicate a coming storm, and they didn't often disappoint. The prince and his bodyguard increased their pace as the first drops of rain started to pour down, quickly gaining intensity as they finally made it to a non-descriptive squat building, made out of thick grey bricks.
"The Dead Whale" was a tavern that didn't stand out much from its neighbors, if anything it was slightly more run down than the inn in front of it, where drunk Braavosi Bravos and laughing Pentoshi traders spiraled out to the streets, singing and cursing the rain. "The Dead Whale" in comparison was quiet from the outside, almost eerily so. Still, he was somehow certain that this place would be the key for getting to Ibb.
They entered through the front door, taking care to shake their boots and coats beforehand. Joffrey managed to hear the quiet, bassy murmur of rasping conversation before it immediately stopped, and they soon found themselves stared at by the whole tavern's clientele, 95% of which were the somewhat squat looking, hairy Ibbenese. Their appearance, though Joffrey had seen them before, still sent a strange, uncanny feeling when he saw them, but that quickly gave way as he furiously thought about the situation.
Rapidly deciding that the best course of action was to carry on as if nothing, the Hound and him made their way to a table in the corner, whose nearby neighbors looked mostly harmless. They sat there in uncomfortable silence, Joffrey leaning back on his chair as if nothing were amiss (and vaguely failing, he thought) while the Hound sat stiffly on the other chair, which had a view of the whole place and incidentally left his back secured… he scanned the area constantly his hand tight on his sword.
That's what gave away a warrior. Joffrey reflected, Not their prowess, but the way in which they stayed informed of their surroundings. He briefly wondered if that was something one was taught, or if it was something that arose organically after surviving battles and wars.
A vaguely scowling Lorathi serving girl came to them, and Joffrey handed her a Braavosi Iron Mark as he ordered two mugs of beer. He was startled when the Hound suddenly leaned in and ordered some chicken too. When he looked at him the Hound just shrugged "I'm hungry" he said as if an afterthought.
Only when the serving wench reluctantly nodded at him and went on her way, did the conversation return to the rasping murmur it had been before.
"Fuck… When you said they didn't like foreigners I didn't think you meant it like that…" the Hound murmured. "Neither did I…" Joffrey whispered back. He leaned a bit backwards and spied both of their nearby neighbors. One of the tables had an Ibbenese man busily munching some kind of nuts as he taciturnly stared at his empty cup, while the other table was surrounded by a half dozen ibbenese sailors clad in heavy furs that made them look even more hairy. Joffrey noted they hadn't even looked his way when they entered the tavern.
His initial plan to buy everyone a mug of beer (courtesy of the Red Keep's treasury) seemed… impractical now, he would have to find another way to ingrate himself to some crew of Ibbenese sailors. Lorathi and even Braavosi ships regularly docked at the Port of Ibben, but their access to the city itself was often restricted to foreigners, or so he'd heard on Bravos. Arriving on an Ibbenese crewed ship however, would give him considerably more freedom.
That was the theory anyway.
The Hound grunted his approval as he tore at the chicken leg with the characteristic joy of a man who thought he'd eat fish for the rest of his life. Joffrey chuckled a bit at the sight, stealing one of the chicken legs for himself. "I'm hungry" he cheekily responded to the Hound's glare.
Before he could munch another bit, a rough, hairy hand slapped Joffrey's shoulder, followed by a threatening grunt. The Hound, fast as lightning, stood up and shoved the offending man away.
"Touch him again and your hand won't follow the rest of your body" he growled. Joffrey quickly got up from his chair and turned around, only to be confronted by 4 Ibbenese men, all looking at either him or the hound.
The one the Hound shoved sneered, an ugly smile filled with square teeth. He spoke then with the typical grunting lilt of the men of Ib as the other 3 spread around the table. Joffrey could spy daggers in their hips.
"Assassins?" Joffrey asked the Hound as he lay a hand on his arming sword's pommel.
"Nah… too public." Mouthed the Hound, his eyes constantly cycling between the 4 men. The one that had touched Joffrey said something, quickly followed by a sneer as he shoved Joffrey yet again.
Or at least tried to. As soon as he touched his chest, the Hound roared as he took out the arming sword he had under the table and slashed the man's neck. Despite not using his characteristic longsword, the Hound's strength managed to sink the blade through the neck and past the collarbone, spilling blood all over the chicken legs. To Joffrey's mind it seemed the combatants stared for half a dozen seconds after that, but it may have been just the one. The other 3 charged at them as Joffrey took out his own sword, and the fight was upon them.
Despite having the inferior weapon, the Ibbenese Joffrey faced off against proved to be a formidable knife fighter (to him at least), frequently dodging and stumbling against Joffrey's attacks. He even managed to dart in for a quick swipe at Joffrey's arm which almost made him drop his sword in pain.
If a Shadowcat couldn't make me drop it then neither will you, asshole! Joffrey thought furiously as he gripped it with renewed strength.
Meanwhile, the Hound was fighting off the other two sailors without much trouble, shoving one back with his shoulder as he cut the other one's knife hand.
Joffrey parried a slash that would have severed his windpipe and used one of the Hound's favorite counters, the sucker punch to the nose. The Ibbenese stumbled back, clutching his bloodied nose and trying to wipe the blood and tears that clouded his vision.
It was too late though, with a quick step Joffrey closed the distance and skewered him through the abdomen.
I think I'm actually getting better at this! He thought irreverently as he turned back and saw the Hound finish off the last one.
"CLEGANE BEHIND --" he screamed but it was too late. With a thung that to Joffrey's mind resonated throughout the whole inn, a crossbow bolt tip emerged from the Hound's throat. He watched, hands trembling, as the Hound grabbed his neck and the blood poured down his body… he coughed blood before he stumbled a step or two, collapsing on the floor.
A dozen meters behind him stood an Ibbenese with a crossbow, already reloading. Joffrey's hands had suddenly stopped trembling, and both the distance to the man and the man itself seemed to come into surreal focus, all other distractions falling by the wayside, his vision surrounded by a red hue.
His heart beat a steady rhythm, like a galleys oar drum as Joffrey dashed towards the man, his face a silent snarl. The man from Ibben cursed as he aimed again, but Joffrey could see perfectly the trajectory the bolt would take. With a smooth waterdancing move he'd trained a hundred times (though never for this purpose) he spinned to the side just as the man fired, the bolt harmlessly passing by his side.
The man panicked, tossing the crossbow aside and reaching for his sword, but Joffrey was already upon him. With a snarl he blocked the two pitiful attacks from the man's short sword, cutting off his arm with his riposte and shoving him into the ground with his whole strength.
The torrent of blood that spilled from the man's stump entranced Joffrey for a few moments, and he felt something he had not felt for quite a while… a particular type of pleasure, of ecstasy that only grew as some of the blood splashed on his face.
He snarled again as he started pounding the moaning man on the floor, cutting again and again with his sword, the fountains of blood propelling him to new heights, bringing sweet memories--
"He's dead! He's already dead!!!" suddenly shouted a voice in his ear in mangled Braavosi. Joffrey blinked heavily as the red fog lifted, the pleasure and hyper-reality of the moment passing away, leaving only the horrendously butchered remains of the crossbowman, surrounded by the tavern's clientele, most of which were hanging back in… fear?
As the strong arms that had been holding him finally let him go, Joffrey fell on his knees, wracked by nausea.
You really thought it would be so easy to change the core of your being? Whispered a treacherous corner of his mind.
Something deeply wrong…
He remembered the way his scalpel travelled through Eddard's body… and realized he still felt exhilaration at the memory of his blood dripping from the table.
His belly contracted itself in anguish as he vomited right there, and the room shrunk to a pinprick of vision.
"Let's get out of here" said someone in butchered Braavosi, before he lost consciousness.
-.PD.-
His awareness returned slowly, like a bubble emerging from the depths. He slowly blinked his eyes open, feeling the slight swaying of the floor…
He tried to get up, only to get entangled with a hummock. After extracting himself from it, and getting rid of the filth in his eyes, he found himself in a small room, illuminated by a small opened hatch on the side.
Shit…
He could hear the sound of feet on planks, and grunts of effort and exertion as rigging swayed and waves crashed, but the floor hardly moved. He was definitely on Lorath's pier, and one crewed by Ibbenese at that if he could judge the language.
Why aren't I dead? He thought as he scanned the room for anything useful. He spied his sword and the rest of his belongings by the side. Why would they hold him prisoner without disarming him?
He stopped scanning when he saw the Hound's sword, plopped right next to his. "Clegane…" he whispered, remembering the last few seconds… or had it been minutes? Clegane had dealt with the bastards easily; only to be cowardly shot from the back with a crossbow… cowardly crossbows… he tried not to think about the irony of that thought too much.
What had come next unsettled him much more. He remembered the joy and pleasure he'd felt butchering the man that had killed Clegane… how each spray of blood seemed to propel him to new heights…
He thought he had left that part of himself behind with the purple and the madness… Why? Why had it come back like that?
Am I sliding back into the madness?! I don't feel so, but would I know if I was? What if-
His ruminations were suddenly interrupted as the door opposite to the hatch opened, revealing a short, stocky Ibbenese (though that could be said of them all) wearing a heavy cloak. Joffrey frowned in recollection as he inched towards his arming sword.
"That won't necessary" he said in Braavosi, leaving a heavy cloak on the nearby chair. Joffrey was suddenly aware of how cold this place actually was, but he shoved that thought away… that man…
"I've seen you before…" he said as he stopped moving towards his sword. Neither the man nor the situation looked to turn into immediate danger, so he waited, for now.
"I'm Art Moggat, I one who stopped… the killing" he said. "You're the one that got me out of there…"Joffrey nodded slowly "Yeah, I remember you, you where the one on the next table, eating some sort of… nuts?" He nodded at that.
"After… incident, got you to this ship, need extra crewmembers." He tried to explain, but his Braavosi was frankly atrocious to Joffrey. He would have to learn the Ibbenese language one way or the other if he wanted to have a meaningful conversation.
Wait, ship?
"You needed to replace the crew? What happened to them?" he asked, stalling for time as he finally put on the heavy coat, he was freezing to death in this room.
"Yes, you killed them" Art said with a nod, signaling Joffrey to follow him up.
"Oh" he said.
-.PD.-
It turned out there was a good reason why it was so gods damned cold.
Being in the middle of the Shivering Sea did that to you. The snow on the deck was a good clue too.
It turns out the men that had tried (to kill him or just to beat him up Joffrey did not know) had been crewmembers on this ship… so Art had brought him to the Captain, not to exact revenge, but to help fill the empty spots. Incredibly convenient to Joffrey, and afforded a bit of insight into how the Ibbenese thought.
Apparently, the Captain (who Joffrey hadn't met yet) didn't care a wit about what happened in port, and if part of his crew got killed in a tavern brawl then as long as his ship continued to work smoothly he didn't care a rats ass about their fate. That left the crew, who it turns out hadn't liked the quintet of assholes very much, and seemed to regard Joffrey with a smooth indifference, if they noticed him at all.
Being noted at all was a tall order when the ship the Ibbenese crewed was the most gigantic vessel Joffrey had ever seen.
The huge whaler was at least 4 times as big as the Eastern Winds. The ship did not crash against the waves in so much as the waves crashed against it. Its elongated central section had the remains of a dead whale, in the process of being butchered by swarms of men in search of oil, meat, bone and more.
The floating castle ponderously travelled throughout a deep, dark blue sea that stretched as long as the eye could see, the dark blue only disturbed by the dark and grey clouds that seemed to be as eternal as the sea itself, blanketing his surroundings with cold snow.
The Shivering Sea… and apt name, he thought.
When he asked about the Hound's body he was told it had been dropped into the sea, as was the way of the Ibbenese, followed by a few mumbled words in the common tongue that a charitable person would have called a passage from the book of the Stranger.
Joffrey had shaken his head at that. I'll see you in the next life, Hound. Maybe one day I'll tell you all this and we'll have good laugh about it.
Overall, things didn't look so bad. He had his ship to Ibb, and he'd get there sooner or later, there was just one inconvenient fact.
The men he and the Hound had killed had been working on stripping chunks of frozen meat out of the whale carcass…
Joy.
-.PD.-
Joffrey wiped some off some burnt tar from his eyes, trying to get the substance from hell off the deck… and failing.
This seems oddly familiar… he thought morosely. Only there's no Baleo to pass the time.
He stopped for a moment, rising from his knees to take a breath of fresh air. Fortunately the ever present smell of burnt tar was absent, so he enjoyed the clean, bone chilling breeze of the Shivering Sea.
"Should'a picked the Summer Islands Hound" he grumbled as he kept rubbing the perpetually dark deck.
He was next to the middle section of the ship, where they "stowed" the dead whales, though there was rarely more than one on the deck at the same time. The freezing air ensured the carcass did not rot, and the ample working space helped with the job itself.
Now though there was no carcass, they had finished it up a month ago and the ship was now on course to the Port of Ibben for some well-earned rest and resupply.
The couple of months Joffrey had spent on the fat bellied Ibb-Wogan had been of a rather solitary nature. The Ibbenese had difficulty opening up to a stranger, and that task was compounded by the difficult language they spoke. Getting the right tone and pronunciation when half of the words seemed like nothing more than grunts and huffs was a task worthy of a team of Maesters. As it was he barely had a friend within Art, a consequence of his constant pestering to learn his difficult tongue.
Still, he had spent the last month's solitude well. Meditating (most times literally, up on the mainmast) about what had happened on the tavern, and remembering some of the more… questionable things he had done in his first few lives. He was disappointed and somewhat angry he could still recall the sharp joy of those moments. It seemed that under all his self-denial, there was still a piece of the old Joffrey… deep inside him.
He didn't know what to think about that, much less what to do about it.
Often, that quiet questioning gave way to a more benign curiosity about his condition in general. About his infinite lives and his purpose here. Was there even a purpose anyway? Perhaps he was some kind of freak cosmic accident, or perhaps the reason was far more mundane and he was still choking on his wedding day, his fevered mind conjuring up wild scenarios before his true death.
Luck smiled upon him when found a strange hobby that helped direct his ruminations in a more helpful manner, and from the unlikeliest of sources.
Whalebone carving. It turns out that harvesting a dead whale left a lot of unusable bone fragments, too damaged or not pretty enough to sell on Ibb. He had found the Captain one night next to the wheel, a small oil lamp lighting his hands as he worked on a piece of whalebone, carving all kinds of animals and shapes. When he asked Art the next day he was told it was a somewhat common pastime among some Ibbenese. And yes, he did have an old set of carving tools somewhere.
He had given Art the Hound's helmet for those, he was sure he'd understand…
If he was watching him now from the afterlife, that is.
Under the study (more like relentless watching) of various sailors (and under the threat of further pestering) Joffrey had managed to learn a few things about the peculiar craft, and he had found they made for a wonderful concentration aid, as well as being oddly relaxing.
"Argh!" he grunted, tossing the sponge at the deck and standing up. He needed to clear his mind for a bit or he'd dream of tar for the rest of his lives. He made his way to the central deck in search of amusement, and quickly found it.
Clack clack clack.
He could hear cheering and sharp clacks the closer he got to the central deck. The snowing and the mind numbing chill had lessened somewhat as they travelled further south back to Ibb, and it seemed the crew had deemed the weather fresh enough that they'd stripped to their pants and where… bashing each other with sticks.
Joffrey quickly spotted Art, who was sitting on top of a crate, part of the circle of bored sailors with nothing better to do. "Hey Art! What's going on?" he asked in Ibbenese as he nodded towards the fighters. The man sitting next to Art broke out in laughter as Art shook his head with a slight smile. "What?" asked Joffrey, nonplussed.
As Art scooted to the side so Joffrey had space to sit, he revealed the joke. "You just asked me what's going through my belly… probably a lot of cooked whale" he said, rising one of his bushy eyebrows. "Ahh" Joffrey said eloquently, noting the error as Art quickly explained which part of the sentence had gone wrong (or more like which had gone right). Joffrey had taken to expanding Art's Braavosi in exchange for Ibbenese, though he did seem to be improving much faster than Joffrey. He guessed it was because Art already knew the bare rudiments of the language while Joffrey was starting from scratch.
The two men on the impromptu arena had finished bashing each other, and where replaced by another pair who promptly nodded at each other and proceeded to charge. Their pants and their shaggy chests seemed to be their only protection against the cold, but they didn't mind. They clashed right at the middle, swinging and stabbing with their heavy spears. The fighting style was different to what Joffrey was accustomed to, almost the antithesis to water dancing. Each move was heavy, deliberate and ponderous. That was not to say they were slow, but Joffrey could feel each blow as they both used tip, butt and shaft of their spears in a multitude of ways and moves which clearly made a formal style of its own. Their footwork was grounded and heavy, each blow emphasized and augmented by the whole inertia of the body, landing painful blows in key areas when they weren't parried. Joffrey would have preferred more dodging, but he still found the whole style intriguing.
"I didn't know the Ibbenese favored spear fighting" he told Art.
"Most prefer axes nowadays… But in the old days, when iron was scarce and there wasn't a difference between tools and weapons… those heavy whale spears served as both" he said as one of the Ibbenese managed to catch the other one in the head with the butt. He fell on the floor, unconscious.
"Ouch" said Joffrey as they the man's friends dragged him away and promptly spilled a bucket of ice cold water on him. "I never learned how to use spears, despite their superior range most Westerosi Nobles prefer the long sword." He said, wistfully remembering hot days in the Red Keep.
Art looked thoughtful for a moment before he smiled, his square teeth boding ill for Joffrey. "Then what are you waiting for!" he said as he shoved him to the center of the rough circle of spectators.
"Wai- bu- " he blabbered before his reflexes screamed and he grabbed the spear Art tossed him. He then said something to another of the Ibbenese spectators, who promptly got up with a spear of his own.
Gods this thing is heavy, He thought as the man grunted something at the audience, making the circle laugh out loud as he twirled his spear expertly. "Wait, you're not fighting me?" he asked Art, who was already shaking his head. "I'm pretty bad at it, but I'll talk you through…" he said again with the square smile.
"Uh- huh" said Joffrey, dubiously eying the other combatant. "What did he say before?" he asked Art as he tried to get a handle on the spear, swinging it experimentally. "He said he'd go easy on the foreigner, but that he feared your weak skull would crack and splatter your brain across the Shivering Sea." He said, straight faced.
"Charming" muttered Joffrey as the man charged at him.
They could have at least given me some pointers, he thought.
-.PD.-
He had a natural talent.
For having his skull bashed against the deck, that is.
Over, and over, and over again.
"That was… bad. Really bad." Said Art as he handed Joffrey another lump of ice. "What did you bloody expect?" he said, cursing the freezing ice as he placed it yet again on his bruised head. At least the repeated blows to the head seemed to have helped his Ibbenese. Somehow.
He was trying to be optimistic.
"I thought you Westerosi were masters at every weapons of war?" asked Art, genuinely confused.
Joffrey snorted. "Long swords, Art. I already told you, long swords…" he said as he shook his head, which proved to be a horrible idea. "99% of the time, the most common use for a spear in Westeros is being dropped to the ground as panicked levies get hammered by a heavy charge… Or at least that's what the Hound says."
"Ah… I think you meant 'used so say'" Said Art with a slight wince. "Nono, I think I got the pronunciation ri… ah. Nevermind."
They spent a while in ankward silence as the Ibb-Wogan slowly made its way to the Port of Ibben, reaching for the massive docks that seemed costume made to receive this kind of ship.
"What are they going to do with those?" Asked Joffrey, pointing at a pile of bone fragments and looking for a way to end the awkward silence.
Art turned back and gazed at the pile as it grew bigger with each cart load. "Those? Whalebone fragments too small to be made of something useful. Normally we would sell them anyway, but right now we are in season and they're not worth the hassle" He said.
Joffrey had originally been looking for a convenient distraction, but that pile seemed genuinely interesting all of a sudden. "But what about that one?" he asked, pointing at a smooth rectangular slab the size of his hands.
"Ah, the Sorib. We use that bone to make goodluck charms, but Wegath fucked up with the chistle. What you're seeing there is actually the cracked upper half. Worthless." He said dismissively.
"Hmm, still, with a bit of cutting and a good rubbing you could carve something interesting with it, couldn't you?" he asked Art. The thing was… Joffrey didn't know, he felt he could make something nice with it, eventually. Its white gloss had an intriguing appeal.
Art gave an uncommitted shrug, but seemed to eye the piece once again, considering.
They spent a while then, this time in compensable silence until they passed the breakwater and were into the inner bay.
The Port of Ibb was big. As the last known proper metropolis before the grand expanses of the Shivering Sea to the East and North, and to the Thousand Islands to the South-East, it was a hub of vibrant commerce and trade. Huge whale ships docked and departed at every moment, never stopping as dockhands boarded, unloaded, repaired and even re crewed the ships. Joffrey could spy several other ships in the port proper. Braavosi galleys and Lorathi traders where the most common, followed by a myriad other smaller ships that Joffrey guessed came from various Lorathi and Ibbenese colonies, along with the occasional… raft?
How where those things even floating?
"Welcome to Ibben, Joff" Said Art with a smile.
-.PD.-
When they finally docked, Joffrey spent about 3 days in various jobs, all sharing one outstanding trait: haste. They emptied the huge cargo hold as fast as possible, loaded up new supplies and sounded the ship for possible cracks or tears. When they were done a new crew was rotated in and the Ibb-Wogan set sail again, in search of the ever elusive whales.
It seemed the Port of Ibben was so busy it was cheaper to hire rotating crews than to spend a month in port while the original crew rested.
So, three days after docking, Joffrey was free to do whatever he wanted.
And he was feeding seals. Because honestly, why not?
Joffrey gave another small step, moving the small fish on his hand tantalizingly closer.
"Come on… you know you want it" he whispered as the big seal looked at him quizzically, a meter away now.
"Nice, raw fish… just… for… you…" he whispered as the enormous animal finally opened up its huge maw and Joffrey tossed the fish right in the middle of it. The seal flapped his flippers wildly about, snorting happily before jumping down the beach and splashing into the water. Joffrey actually giggled a bit at the small spectacle, and felt a small weight lift from himself.
He smiled to himself. This little beach in between the smaller docks would be a good spot to see the sundown. When he turned around to get his cloak he was confronted with a paler than usual Art Moggat, opening his mouth and closing it over and over again.
"A-Are you insane!" he finally shouted.
"Ehh, not for a while… I think. Why?" he asked the man, curious.
Art slapped his head before jumping down from the small wooden walkway to the beach, walking towards Joffrey. "Then merely ignorant! That seal could have taken your arm in a heartbeat! And that if you had been lucky!"
"Come on Art! He wasn't going to eat me!" Snorted Joffrey.
"How could you possibly know that? Those seals are regarded as more dangerous than sharks around these waters!"
"I-I just felt that--" Joffrey started but stopped when Art finally got to him and slapped him in the shoulder. The blow stung, but Joffrey didn't mind, he had discovered that physical movement was a common part of the Ibbenese language.
"What? Are you an animal tamer or something?" Asked Art, but by now he was starting to smile with his square teeth again, a sure sign that his anger had given way to amusement.
"Ha, very funny Art" Joffrey said as he shook his head. Animal tamer… funnily enough, animals had always been a bit too slow around him, when he had been a child it had been the only way he had been able to catch rats and the occasional rabbit for… experimentation… Shows what they knew…
There's the godsdamned weight again, thought Joffrey morosely.
He shook his head before speaking again. "Anyway, I thought you were at the Long Bones with the rest of the crew, waiting for ale and those forsaken nuts you like so much" he told him.
Art smiled yet again before taking out a small object from his bag and offering it to Joffrey.
Disentangling the thing from the small blanket it had been wrapped around, Joffrey finally saw it. It was an unnaturally smooth piece of bone, flattened like a small tablet. It was less than a centimeter in height, but it had about twice the width of his hand and was about as long. Essentially, it was a largish rectangle he could grab with one hand.
"Wow… thanks Art, I thought they had tossed this overboard with the rest of the fragments. Did you carve the dimensions?" he asked him.
"With the help of the others, they felt your relentless pursuit of the fine art could not go unrewarded, but this is not just any whalebone, remember? It's a piece from the Sorib, the bone that holds the whale's heart. They say it brings good luck… and that it cures hangovers, so you may want to keep it out of view of drunken sailors"
Joffrey laughed at that. "Will do Art, please tell the rest of the guys I appreciate it, I'll tell them myself later when I see them too"
"I will, and please stop feeding those things or you'll end up a limbless beggar in the Lampway" Art responded as he climbed the nearby wooden stairs back up to the street.
Joffrey snorted as he stowed the beautiful tablet, he was nowhere near the skill level to draw something worthy of such raw material. He'd have to wait until his skill grew.
He took out a blanket from his leather backpack and deposited it and himself on the sand, waiting for dusk.
He had been there for a while when he smelled that peculiar odor again. A hauntingly familiar smell that had first assaulted him when he first arrived at Ibb. It smelt of wind and static, of something great and terrible.
He sat up suddenly, eyes riveted on the horizon as heavy goose bumps travelled all around his body, shaking him for a full second before disappearing without trace.
The horizon was the same as yesterday, grey and gloomy, and Joffrey shook his head for the fifth time.
Yep, must be going crazy again, he thought.
-.PD.-
AN: For your viewing pleasure, try listening both at the same time.
The city fitted a lot with the atmosphere of the Shivering Sea, Joffrey thought. It was built upon several steep hills that went progressively higher the farther you went past the docks. Its bricks and cobblestones had a distinctly gloomy, grey gloss that meshed quite nicely with the grey clouds and freezing seas of the Shivering Sea. It gave it some kind of desolate splendor that Joffrey had never seen before.