Chapter 3
Joffrey POV
"Hurry up!" my mother yells from the rolled-down car window. Since I was a child, she's always insisted on driving me to school, and even though I'm sixteen now, it's a habit that hasn't ever really gone away. To be honest, the moral, environmentally friendly thing to do would be to walk, since it's a short and easy route from our mansion on Casterly Road to Iron Throne High, but since when are Lannisters people willing to take the moral option, when there's an easier way?
"I'm coming!" I reply, and as I head down the cobbled path through our meticulously maintained front garden, I take a minute to admire my surroundings. While some parts of the city of Westeros look like they need some tending to – cobwebs hiding behind corners, overgrown plants, front doors made of rotting wood that haven't been replaced in hundreds of years, and other examples of pathetic low maintenance I'd rather not describe – the suburb we live in, Lannisport, and especially Casterly Road itself, have an air of the fresh and new about them. Each identical, whitewashed house looks like it could have been built yesterday, no one likes to go too long without an unwashed car or clothes that are anything less than brand new, and everyone who lives here tries to maintain a feeling of exclusivity.
My mother and I aren't exceptions to the rule about exclusivity. All through my life, she's told me that I, and the rest of the Lannisters, am a step above the other prominent families in this city, and when they question this, I need to remind them that it's the truth. In fact, I remember her words to me on my first day of kindergarten. She pointed to the other kids waiting at the school gates, grasped me by the shoulders, and said: "These people aren't your friends. They're people who think they deserve what we have, and our job is to tell them different." And the last twelve years, that's the motto I've always endeavoured to follow. I've always tried to wear better clothes than those other people, designer brands instead of their generic hand-me-downs, get better grades than them, even if it occasionally involves not playing by the rules, and most importantly, only befriend people who can be used to help me get something I want. It's strange how easily tricked people can be.
We're just pulling over a couple of streets down from school – my mother doesn't like to park in the same place as everyone else – and my mother suddenly turns around to face me. She gives me her signature stern face that I've learnt to obey, and subtly rolls up her T-shirt sleeve to reveal her arm tattoo – a lion, which she always says is the animal every Lannister should aspire to be like.
"Joffrey," she says, after a second's pause, her tone not exactly angry, more commanding. "This year, there will be more people than ever who think they can be richer, smarter, more successful, better, than a Lannister. The Starks, for instance. Tell them their mistake." There's a smirk in her voice as she delivers the last line. As I turn to get out of the car, she calls to my back: "And if anyone ever does anything to hurt you, remember what I always tell you about paying your debts."
I nod. I always pay my debts.
Robb POV
I survey my classroom for my final year. When I was younger, having a new homeroom each year used to excite me, but now it doesn't feel like any change at all; every room in this building is the same, really, each with the same chairs, tables and bookshelves, just with different colour schemes, and sometimes varying in size. I think about what I have to do by the end of this year. Excel enough at school to bring honour to my name and to myself, and find a path to take afterwards that'll mean I eventually have some sort of importance in Westeros, to give the Stark name the prestige it deserves. But it's not surprising that that's what I'm aiming for. It's also what everyone else in my year is aiming for, and what everyone in the younger years will aim for when they reach my age. My other aim is the one that's possibly surprising for some: bring the Lannisters to justice. What they did was the natural way of things hundreds of years ago, not in this century where words like "freedom" and "prosperity" are thrown around in our city. It'll probably be years before I've done what is only right, but despite what my mother says about pretending I know nothing, the Lannisters are cleverer than us, and I know I have to start soon.
I could even start today.
I temporarily push the thoughts of vengeance from my mind, and have a look around at the others in my form. There's Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell, both from fairly prominent families, ostensibly in a relationship, but throughout the years I've known them, I've always felt there was something a little…fake about them, like everything they did together around other people was them putting on a show, rather than being genuine. Then there's Daenerys Targaryen. She's quiet and subtle, and from the outset her peaceful behaviour reminds me somewhat of my eldest sister, except with Daenerys, occasionally you feel like she's not that simple. As if one day, she'll do something so incredible you wish you'd noticed her earlier. The Targaryens, after all, have a tarnished reputation after the scandalous political career of Daenerys's father, Aerys, so maybe that why she's so quiet.
The only real friend I've had during my time at Iron Throne is Theon. His family, the Greyjoys, haven't had the best relationship with mine in the past, and still aren't particularly accepting of the Starks, but Theon seems to be the rare sort of person in this city who befriends people over who they are rather than who their family are, and makes his own values instead of trusting those of his ancestors. As I sit by him making idle conversation, I think of telling him about the Lannisters, but I dismiss the thought with the same excuse as I gave when talking to Jon: most of my family doesn't know yet.
But if all goes well, everyone will know soon.
I can't pretend I know nothing for very much longer. The Lannisters have to know that I won't make the same mistakes as my father, that I won't blindly miss their deceptions. If I don't take action now, they'll keep thinking they can pull off huge tricks right in front of our noses, and while I like to think my mother and I are more perceptive than my father was, chances are we'll fall for it again. And I can't let that happen.
I go through the motions of my first few classes, never properly zoning out, but I never fully engage my concentration, because my mind is always on the confrontation I'm planning. And then we finally get a short break between classes. Even in the crowded hallways, it doesn't take long to find him. He has a talent for making everyone focus on him, despite being too cruel to have anything close to a friend. Despite being over two years younger than me, he carries a vicious, manipulative authority that people want to be around, mainly because they fear it so much. His name, of course, is Joffrey.
This amount of hatred is not very Stark-like, considering we always do what is morally best, and the last time I checked, hating someone this much is not particularly honourable. But just looking at him, his Lannister blonde hair, his superior smirk, the expensive baseball jacket he not only wears, but flaunts, inspires hatred in me that I don't often experience, and nor do many members of my family. But even if hatred isn't honourable, bringing someone to justice definitely is, and that's why I do what I do next.
I grab Joffrey's jacket collar and push him against the rattling metal of the lockers. "You," I seethe, and I savour the look of abrupt fear on his face.