"Jon Arryn is dead. Murdered by the Targaryens and that dumb bitch refuses to send the knights of the Vale to avenge him! Has she lost her mind? This is treason! She will send her knights or I will come to the Eyrie and drag her back to King's Landing and throw her into one of the Black Cells!" King Robert raged. His Small Council merely watched, their expressions detached, almost undisturbed by the possibility of more lords siding with the remaining dragons.

Joffrey, the king's eldest son and heir, had not expected the first council session he would be forced to attend to degrade into another eruption of his father's temper. His father had been back for less than a day, but his rage and the whispers of war had already caused a panic among the servants in the keep and the people in the city.

The rumors had traveled much faster than the king himself. Oh the vile things that Joffrey had heard from the people. Whispers of fire and death. And murder. The prince would have cared little about these rumors. As it was, there had always been rumors about the king. About his bastards and schemes in the castle. Joffrey had ignored those rumors, passing them off as vile lies to shame his royal father. At least in public. He knew that there were a whole lot more children that shared his blood, though he refused to think of them as siblings. Lowborn scum, born from his father's ill suited pursuit of easy girls. They were not royal, they would never be. But whereas these rumors were true, Joffrey couldn't bring himself to believe those traitorous whispers about what his father had supposedly done before he had left Highgarden.

But one of those rumors truly worried him. The rumored death of his cousin, Joanna. The few encounters he had with the girl were less than pleasant and her remarks had infuriated him more than once. But her death left him with a foreign feeling that he couldn't really describe. Not to mention that she has supposedly been killed by a member of the Kingsguard. Ser Boros Blount. The very Kingsguard he had seen his mother talking to, just before they had left to return home. The way his mother had talked to the knight had been... conspiratorial and from what he had heard his mother say before, he wouldn't doubt that she might have had a hand in his cousin's death, though it was his father who got the blame for that.

"HE HAS WHAT!" His father's next outburst reminded Joffrey of where he was and this was not the place to let his mind wander off to form treasonous theories about his parents' guilt. He looked over to his father, whose head was beat red now.

"We have just received the answer from the Casterly Rock and Lord Tywin refuses to call his banners. He wants the Westerlands to remain neutral..." Grand Maester Pycelle said, his scrawny fingers playing with a piece of paper that had most likely been delivered by a raven.

The other councilors remained silent, not that there had been many of them left to begin with. The Hand of the King was dead. The Master of Laws, his uncle Renly, had not returned to King's Landing. Instead he had run for Storm's End, his castle in the Stormlands. So far he had also failed to answer to King Robert's summons. His other uncle, Stannis, had left the capital this morning, to gather his troops at Dragonstone. So that only left them with the Master of Coins, Petyr Bealish, and the Master of Whispers, Lord Varys, a plump eunuch who had disturbed Joffrey on more than one occasion, when he tried to follow pursuits deemed unworthy of a royal son. Strangely enough, the Lord Commander of his father's Kingsguard had not returned with his king. No one had mentioned why so far.

"On a brighter note, Lord Hoster has already sent his answer and it was a positive one. He will gather his troops and send them to us as soon as possible. Sadly though, his health has deteriorated so far, that he won't be able to lead his army himself. His son Edmure will do it in his stead, once the boy has returned home." Baelish said with a fake enthusiasm that would have fooled Joffrey, had their situation not been so dire.

"Send my brother one last warning. Tell him that he either comes here and proves his loyalty or I will have his head on a spike. If he conspires with that dragonspawn he is no brother of mine. And send similar messages to all the lords in the Stormlands and the Vale." King Robert ordered angrily.

They all knew better than to try their luck with the lords of the Westerlands. They were more afraid of Lord Tywin than the king, so they wouldn't move, unless Tywin Lannister ordered them to.

"And what about the North? With Lord Stark as your... esteemed guest, they will have to follow your summons." Baelish said silkily. Joffrey couldn't help himself but scoff.

"Have you ever seen those northern lords, Lord Bealish?" Joffrey asked scornfully, "I have. They will gather their army, yes, but they will march on us to free their lord and not against our enemies. Keeping Lord Stark as a prisoner is a dumb thing to do."

"The northern lords love the Starks, yes, but they will do what they have to, in order to keep them safe." Baelish replied looking oddly pleased by the situation. Joffrey wondered why.

"They..."

"ENOUGH, Joffrey," Robert barked angrily. "This is a war council and not a lesson for impudent children. Leave."

"Father, this is..."

"I have heard enough. Do you truly believe that I am pleased with the entire situation? Ned is like a brother to me and I am to him. We will talk and we will get end this argument. The North will march for us then." Robert declared, as he gave his son a dark look. "But you, you disappointed me, Joffrey. You ran away with your mother, like some scared child. You are a Baratheon of Storm's End. We are warriors. Fierce and unbeatable. We do not cower under our mother's skirts."

"I did not run..." But once more he wasn't able to finish his sentence, much to his growing ire.

"Leave," Robert growled. But Joffrey only looked defiantly at his father. "I said leave! You know nothing about war yet. I shall teach you. But right now you are in the way. Leave!"

"I have been taught how to fight and how to lead troops. Lord Stark was very thorough..."

"You are but a child. Never killed a man, never fucked a girl. What do you know about the trials that await us? You are a child. Out with you." Robert said disdainfully. In situations like this, Joffrey wondered whether his father would ever care about what he was capable of. This disregard he had to endure, only culminated in the fury that his ancestors had been so infamous for. Ours is the fury indeed.

In a moment of rage, the prince jumped up from his chair, knocking it over in the process. He looked at his father with unbridled fury, as he knocked everything in his reach from the table. Glasses shattered as they hit the floor, wine spilled from the jug. The entire small council chamber was silent thereafter, before Joffrey raged.

"I AM NOT A CHILD!" But his declaration lost its rage filled strength, when he saw his father's unrelenting look. He stormed off in his anger, pushing the doors open with a loud bang that should have woken even the prisoners in the darkest cell of the keep.

But as he left, he heard his father's last remark, which lessened the hatred, albeit only marginally. "He's is my son after all. Not hers." There was a smugness in the king's exclamation, but Joffrey dared not turn around and look whether his father had a similar expression on his face. It would be too humiliating to hesitate now.

He ran aimlessly through the Red Keep, as he tried to cool his temper. But with little success. His father's words still echoed in his head. A child. To his father he would always be a child, unless he killed a man and pissed on his corpse as it seemed. It would be the only thing that Robert Baratheon would respect.

It was in this state of anger and loathing, that he happened upon his little brother. Tommen. Docile little Tommen. The boy was never the target of his father's scorn and mockery. He could live his peaceful little life, filled with unimportant tasks. He wasn't the heir, he wasn't important. Oh how he envied and despised the boy for that. The young boy was so content with his lot in life. It was sickening. But another voice also whispered other, more treacherous thoughts. Tommen may be able to live the life he wants, but because of that his father couldn't care less whether he exists or not. Some days it was questionable whether Robert Baratheon even knew that Tommen exists.

"Brother," The boy exclaimed happily, as he stood up from the ground. "Look. One of the kitchen cats had some kittens and I was allowed to keep them." The boy smiled happily at his brother, as he scooped up a kitten to show it to him. A small ball of orange and white fur, that squeaked in surprise.

Allowed. "Allowed!" Joffrey repeated the word angrily.

Tommen nodded happily, unaware of his brother's volatile mood. "The cook said I can have them, since they have enough cats to keep the rats away."

"ALLOWED! Your are the king's son. By the gods, you should have demanded them, not asked! Princes don't ask, they take!" Joffrey bellowed angrily, before he grabbed the kitten from his brother's hand. Tommen teared up as he saw the dark look his brother gave the small animal, clearly afraid of what Joffrey would do to it. And he had all reason to. In his anger the prince contemplated throwing this offendingly cute ball of fur out of the nearby window. A sixty foot drop onto the cliffs beneath the keep.

But it did not come to that. "Your grace, your brother did not mean to offend you. Surely you can forgive him. This once."

Joffrey turned around and had to face a tall knight in Kingsguard armor. Ser Arys Oakheart. And the man scrutinized him, not with the same loathing that his father would have, but with an admonishing look that made him reconsider what he was about to do.

"Of course not," Joffrey scoffed, before he tossed the kitten at his brother and walked away. Neither Tommen nor Ser Arys followed him. He was glad for that, as he realized what he would have done in his anger. He had lost control and he did not like the consequences his actions would have had. No, he did not like this at all.

He really needed someone to talk to about this. But who? His father? No, he would only encourage fury... after he had beaten him senseless for his cruelty to one of his siblings and the dishonorable act of picking a fight with a far weaker opponent. But who else could he talk to? He wouldn't go to his mother, it would only increase the mocking from his father. But there was one more person here, who he could talk to. Eddard Stark, the man who had fostered him for the last six years.

So he made his way to the dungeon, before he remembered. His father would never send his best friend to the black cells. No, he would have him under house arrest, somewhere within the keep. But where? It was hard to say, even for him. And he quickly realized that he was no longer able to find his way in the Red Keep. After six years in Winterfell, his father's keep felt oddly foreign.

After nearly an hour, he gave up, extremely frustrated by his lack of success. Despite the stinging feeling of humiliation, he asked some guards whether they knew where his father had kept Lord Stark. Oh how he hated it. This was supposed to be his home, but he wasn't able to find anything, not even a well guarded chamber with one of the most important lords in Westeros in it.

But once he had gotten over his humiliation, he quickly followed the directions, which he had gotten from a maid who had supposedly brought Lord Stark his supper not long before. And soon enough he found the room and it was, as he had suspected, heavily guarded. Though he had not expected to see two men of the Kingsguard here. Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield.

Both men watched him carefully. It was almost as if he was a threat whose strength they had yet to determine. And as Joffrey got closer, both men blocked his path, keeping him from entering the room.

"I am sorry, my prince, but you are not allowed to enter." Ser Preston said, an apologetic look on his face as he watched Joffrey's reaction.

"What? How dare you bar me entrance to this room. Just who do you think you are?" Joffrey replied, feeling incensed. His anger just wouldn't leave him alone on this day.

"The king himself has given us orders to not allow anyone inside." Ser Preston said patiently, careful not to offend the impudent prince any more than he already had.

Joffrey wanted to rage, when he heard his father's own booming voice from inside of the room. "Dammit, Ned. Don't be so damn stubborn. We are at war and it will only end once we have annihilated that dragonspawn and her ilk." The door opened then and the king left the room, his back still turned towards his heir and the knights. "And no matter what you say, we will join our houses, just as we have agreed on before." Robert turned around then and saw Joffrey. But the boy couldn't be sure whether his father was displeased to see him here or not. There was only the hard, unrelenting stare that Joffrey had seen on his father's face so many times before. And the king left swiftly, with both knights in tow, leaving only a hand full of normal guards to keep Eddard Stark in his room.

And those guards did not even try to keep Joffrey outside. So the prince entered the room. There he saw Ned Stark, the man who had raised and trained him for those past six years of his life. He looked older than before, a grave look in his eyes, his face marred by a worried frown. The northern lord still sat at a table, where he had obviously shared his meal with the king.

It came to no surprise to Joffrey, that his father would rather eat with his best friend, than with his wife and younger children. It only then occurred to Joffrey, that he had missed supper in his search for Ned.

"Prince Joffrey," Ned acknowledged the prince, his voice as grim as his expression. "I had not expected your visit so soon. Come, sit with me." He gestured towards a chair, that king had likely just vacated. His father had obviously left in anger, as he had not finished his food. But it didn't matter to Joffrey, that he had to sit down in front of his father's half eaten supper. "What can I do for you, my prince?"

"What did you and my father talk about?" Joffrey demanded to know. He cringed as he heard how harsh his own voice sounded here. He respected this man, maybe even more than his own father. But his own emotions governed his actions more often than he was comfortable with.

Ned sighed, as he looked at the prince, "The war. He is frustrated that things are not proceeding as well as we had planned all those years ago. His own actions have made it... difficult. His hatred for Rhaegar Targaryen's legacy blinds him to many things that he should take care of."

Joffrey nodded, as he listened to this. The lord of Winterfell had always been bluntly honest with him, something that he appreciated greatly. But hearing his father's shortcomings was still very frustrating. He sighed, as he ran a hand over his black hair.

"Tell me, prince Joffrey. How bad have your father's actions at Highgarden been? I had to leave too early to see and Robert wasn't very forthcoming with this information."

Joffrey hesitated. All he had heard were rumors. But those rumors had been bad. "His men have started a fire. I wasn't there to see it either, but from what I've been told, the fire spread quickly and many people died. A member of the Kingsguard, Ser Boros, did not return. And there have been people of importance amongst the other victims... They say my cousin, Joanna Lannister, has perished in the flames. I don't know if it is the truth or not, but grandfather denied my father any support in this war." And again he did not know what he was supposed to feel. He barely knew the girl, but she was family. And if there was one thing that the Starks have taught him, than it was that family is the most important thing to have.

The grave look on Eddard's face only intensified, if that was even possible. "Then it is even worse than I had expected. Tywin Lannister is a dangerous man to cross. And if there was one thing we could obviously see at the tourney, it was that he was very invested in the future of his grandchildren. He will not act to safe Robert, even if it was in his power to preserve your father's place on the throne."

"And you, lord Stark? Won't you support my father? Your best friend?" Joffrey asked pointedly.

"I can't. Not when he discards his honor for the sake of his ill fated revenge on a man who has died over fourteen years ago. Not when he still mourns a love that has never existed mutually." Ned said somberly. "When we throw away our honor, we will loose everything in the end."

"I see," Joffrey replied cryptically. He had never really understood this man's concept of honor. It seemed impractical, a hindrance in moments when a show of unrelenting strength could break the enemy for ever. He would choose ruthless efficiency over honor any day, though he tried his hardest to see the northern lord's point.

"Tell me, my prince, have you heard of my sons?"

"No," Joffrey replied honestly. "I have not seen them since the day I left Highgarden. No one here knows where they are. But knowing them, they are most likely on their way back to Winterfell. They wouldn't stay in the south for long and we would know, should the Targaryen loyalists have them. Of your children only Sansa is here in King's Landing. My mother has taken her under her wing."

Ned sighed, as he looked away. He remained silent for some more moments. A silence that Joffrey dared not to disturb. Seeing this man so deep in thought, was oddly calming and in these silent minutes, Joffrey could feel how his temper cooled considerably. The northern lord had this strange effect on him. His father was like a flame, that only fueled his own fury, but Eddard Stark was like the ice of the north, cooling the hot Baratheon blood in his veins.

"Lord Stark, what was my father's last comment about? The thing he said before he had left?" Joffrey finally asked, as his fury was gone.

"Before the tragic events at the tourney, Robert and I had talked about a possible alliance for both our houses. He wants to send a sign to all other high lords, that the Houses Baratheon and Stark stand united until the end of time. To do that, we have talked about a betrothal."

"Betrothal," Joffrey echoed, "Whose?" He really hoped that it would be for Robb and Myrcella or Tommen and that wild girl Arya... He did not even want to entertain the only other possibility. He really did not like Lord Stark's oldest daughter. The girl would swoon every time he would enter the room and for the first few years of his fostering in the North, the girl had barely been able to exchange more than two words with him. He really did not like such weak willed girls.

"Robert has decided that you and my daughter Sansa will wed as soon as she is able to give you children," Ned said, "Though I do not like that he has decided this on his own now, it is still the best prospect she could ever hope for. And I trust you with her safety."

Well he wouldn't, would he know what Joffrey really thought of the girl. But the northern lord's trust was something that made Joffrey feel honored. Immensely so. "I see..."

"But you surely have come for a different reason and not to talk to me about your father's plans. So tell me, what can I do for you?"

"It... it no longer is of any importance," it really wasn't. The anger was gone now and Joffrey was thankful for that. "But there is something I would like to know now. In this situation, this war, what would you have me do?" It was a question that bothered him now. His father did not tell him what to do, so he asked the next best man who could give him a satisfactory answer.

"Be the better man. Your father is a good man, but I'm afraid he isn't a good king without Jon Arryn. Be the prince your people need you to be, for I fear that the realm will have need of you soon. Be the man that your father cannot be. Maybe that is the only hope we can have for peace. For this war will only destroy us all, should your father allow his thirst for vengeance to guide his hand." Ned implored him calmly.

Be the prince your people need you to be... but what kind of prince did his people need? And was he even able to be that person, when his own fury smoldered in his blood, only waiting for a flame to ignite the unrelenting fire? Lord Stark had given him much to ponder. With a quick thank you he left the lord alone, to find his answer. What kind of prince did his people really need.