Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for your devotion to this fic. I can't tell you how much it means to me that I have eager readers to please with every posting. Thanks again for all of your reviews, faves, alerts, and everything! You all rock.

As always, I want to thank my beta, catzrko0l, for being so good and reviewing each chapter, correcting my errors. You make this fic work!

Chapter 67

Joffrey I

"You need to move your feet. That's more important than moving the sword!"

Joffrey grunted as the practice sword smashed into his ribs and he fell to the ground. He clutched at his side and glared up at Jory Cassel.

"I said no glaring. You begged me for this. Be grateful that I bother with an almost-kinslayer," Jory said, drawing his mouth into a firm line.

Joffrey's hand trembled in rage and he tightened his grip on his own wooden sword to hide it. If he lashed out again, they'd stick him with mucking the horse's stalls again.

After Lady Catelyn had discovered him in the bastard's room and raised the alarm, the denizens of Winterfell kept a healthy distance. Even Myrcella had joined them, her mouth trembling with rage and her eyes stony. Only Julianna seemed not to understand the scorn he received, and while she greeted him with a smile whenever she saw him, he only ever returned it with a scowl. He regretted even contemplating killing the babe.

They'd all learned of his existence when he showed up in the courtyard in the arms of the wetnurse. At first, Joffrey had been certain there was a misunderstanding, but his fears were realized when Myrcella and Julianna had squealed to him at dinner about it.

"He's adorable, Joffrey," Myrcella said with a wide smile.

"He's an abomination!" Joffrey shouted at her so loudly that she jumped and the noise in the hall had ceased its chatter as everyone turned to look at him.

His cheeks colored with embarrassment, but he continued glaring at Myrcella. "Our mother raped her brother, his father," he hissed. "Those who are born of incest are cursed by the gods."

"No, they aren't," she snapped. "He's just a babe. He's not responsible for his birth, just as we are not responsible for ours."

"No, but we're still not royal. No one gives a shit about bastards," Joffrey seethed.

"Watch your mouth! I'm sure Mistress Cassel would be thrilled to wash it with soap again. Maybe you won't visit him, but I will! He is our brother still. We're in this together. Besides, Uncle Jaime is Hand of the King. He's made sure we've been treated well so far and we'll continue to be."

Joffrey sneered. "It's easy for you to say. I was the crown prince! A single heartbeat from the throne! And now I'm nothing." He turned to the bowl of soup before him and had to restrain himself from flipping it over, otherwise he would be banished to his room and forced to go without food until he broke his fast the next morning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Myrcella's face soften. "What Mother did was not right. You deserved better Joff, but what's done is done. You can't change the past. You have options at least! Julianna and I are unlikely to marry or be of use to anyone. I have considered joining the Silent Sisters; at least they have purpose," Myrcella replied and sighed wistfully, staring off into the distance.

Joffrey rolled his eyes. You playing with the dead, sister? Don't make me laugh, he wanted to say, but the anger locked his jaw. He only seemed to be able to spoon food down his throat and then he had stomped back to his room.

Over the next few days, his anger had remained at a simmer as he turned it over in his head. This is Mother's fault. It's all her fault! If she just hadn't spread her legs for half of King's Landing, I would be king and there would be no doubt in my claim!

He wanted nothing more than to scream into his mother's face. He tried other outlets, including kicking a dog that wouldn't stop barking at him. There was an immediate pang of regret when it shrieked and whimpered, slinking off. The Kennel Master had growled at him and shoved him away. He hunched his shoulders and scurried off.

None of it was fair! How was it possible that Lord Stark had betrayed his king—My father, Joffrey thought—and revealed to the world that he'd hidden a Targaryen Prince under his roof? The Stark's bastard became king and the king's son became a bastard. It was like a fairy tale made in jest, only it had turned out painfully real.

It was even more discomfiting because he still wore plush and fur-lined clothes befitting a prince, by the grace of his loathsome Uncle Jaime. For the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, he had been pathetically weak in fighting off his own sister. Was it really rape or did he simply say it was? It was detestable no matter the circumstances and it infuriated Joffrey that the incident had ended up a boon for his uncle. He deserved to suffer. His mother deserved to suffer for daring to fuck like a whore and have him stripped of his crown.

And yet, last he heard, his mother was secluded on Bear Island. Exiled there for the rest of her days. He had dearly hoped that he could see her one day and scream into her face about how she ruined them. Would she have pity for him? Her own firstborn? Did he matter to her?

If I had mattered, she wouldn't have been caught fucking her brother, Joffrey thought once more. Every day he passed the babe's door and he glared at it. A bastard born of incest; he is better off dead, he thought with a curl up his lips.

It was then that he stopped and stared at the door with a look of wonder and fear. It was only a babe, barely alive. A bastard born of a cursed relationship. Would anyone care if he killed it? Could he kill it? It would be easy. Babes were fragile. Baby animals had died all the time inside of the Red Keep and he heard of servant girls birthing stillborns on a regular basis. What was one more babe?

You're as mad as old King Scab, he lectured himself. He had abruptly turned away from the door and pulled on his cloak, hoping the rain and chill would clear his head. But once he stepped out into the yard, all he could see were instruments of death. A shovel was leaning against the door to the stables. All it would take was one blow to the head. The blacksmith was tossing scrap metal into a bin, sharp enough to slit a babe's throat. He abruptly turned away, gulping in air and shaking his head of the persistent thoughts. When he opened his eyes, they fell on a chunk of rock. It was no bigger than his fist and easy to conceal. No one would think twice about him picking up a rock.

Joffrey reached for it as if he was in a daze. He held it up and weighed it in his hand, for what reason, he wasn't sure.

The bastard's brand new. No one will miss him, the intrusive thoughts whispered into his mind. It's a kindness. A mercy. No one would want to grow up the bastard of a brother and sister. He will be abandoned, like all of the other bastards. Like I have been.

His fingernails dug into the rock and he turned to troop back inside. The only thing he seemed to feel was the chill of the rain as he blinked droplets out of his eyes that slid down from where they had accumulated in his hair. The hall felt eerily quiet as he passed no one.

Joffrey had turned the doorknob quietly and peeked in. The wetnurse was absent. He felt a thrill of fear and excitement at that. If he didn't want to be caught, he had to be quick; there was no telling when she might return. He slipped in and walked over to the crib, praying for it to be empty. But it wasn't. The babe was on its back, with only a small blanket to protect it against the chill of the North. Its mouth was slightly open as it breathed, but its face was soft in sleep with nothing to disturb its dreams.

It reminded him of Julianna when she was born. Tears sprang to his eyes. He could see her now, smiling toothlessly at him as she flailed happily. She had always been excitable, eager to move. Was this babe the same? If he were to awaken him now, would he smile or would he scream? Joffrey raised the hand without the rock and it trembled as he considered. He was certain that if the babe screamed, there would be nothing to stop him bashing its face in.

Leave. Leave, he commanded himself. He lowered his arm again, but he felt rooted to the spot. Do it now and it will be over before he knows it. He won't have to live as a bastard and I won't have to see him for the mistake he is.

That was when Lady Catelyn found him.

And the prevailing feeling to being caught had been...relief. The pestering desire to destroy the bastard had nearly overwhelmed him, but her screams and accusations had jarred the thoughts from his head. The relief was short-lived as guilt and shame bubbled up within him while the guards hauled him bodily out of the room.

He was barred from visiting the bastard. Lady Catelyn assigned two guards to escort him at all times. The only time he was allowed any privacy was in his room. Whenever he walked past the babe's room, he hurried by without even the guards having to prod him.

After a few days of the entire castle giving him a wide berth, he was surprised when one of Winterfell's other guests, Jojen Reed, sat next to him at meal time. He was quiet while he spread jam on his toast, but after he took the first bite, he turned to him and said, "I heard your half brother almost died."

Joffrey gave him a bewildered look that was still full of shame and anger. "Don't be stupid. I tried to kill him."

"Did you?"

Joffrey continued to stare at him, but Jojen Reed only seemed to be curious. However, when he replied, it was hesitant, "Yes…"

"But you didn't."

"What…?"

"If you had tried to kill Cassian, he would be dead. It takes little to kill a baby."

"I had the rock, I was moments away…"

"You had time. But you didn't. You didn't really want to kill him," Jojen replied.

The words felt stuck in Joffrey's throat and he turned away. He hadn't been able to do it, but he thought no one would understand and yet here this boy seemed to look right through him. "How did you know that?" Joffrey finally whispered.

"I can see. I can see that you're troubled. You have been dealt an awful hand. That's not your fault. But you don't have to be known as just the bastard son of a queen."

Joffrey arched his eyebrow in disbelief.

"You see Lord Bran?" Joffrey's eyes were drawn to the head table. Lord Bran was slowly eating, but talking spiritedly with Mira Reed. "He was going to be a knight before he lost his eyesight. He can't now, of course, but he still has options. He can still be of influence. And his options are considerably more limited than even yours."

Joffrey was quiet.

"Have you considered learning a weapon?"

"I'm decent with a bow," Joffrey replied haughtily.

"But the ones who shoot bows are not the ones recalled in song. To prove yourself, you will need to learn the sword. Your Uncle Jaime is the greatest swordsman in the land. You could have his natural talent. Even bastards can become landed knights and your family is still Lannister. They haven't forgotten you, despite what it may seem."

"How do you know this?"

Jojen smiled, but Joffrey was disturbed by the way it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're here and not elsewhere." With that, Jojen ate the rest of his toast and disappeared, leaving Joffrey staring after him in puzzlement.

That was how he found himself on the training grounds getting beaten to a pulp by the Master of Arms stand-in son, Jory Cassel. As much as it peeved him that he had no skills in the art of weaponry, it kept his mind from contemplating the murder of his bastard half-brother. It had helped, but his resentment at becoming a bastard himself only seemed to fuel his desire to hurt everyone around him.

Joffrey staggered to his feet and set his stance.

"Good. You've got that down at least," Jory said with a nod. He lunged forward. Joffrey was able to bring the wooden sword up to take the hits. His breathing was harsh and he could feel his feet sticking into the mud of the grounds as he tried to move as Jory instructed. He still couldn't see any open spots to jab at Jory.

After a time of simply blocking and meeting each sword thrust, Jory put all of his strength in a downward swing and Joffrey crumpled beneath him. "That's enough for today. You can't just keep blocking or that will happen every time. You're doing well for having just started a few weeks ago."

Just as they returned their wooden swords to the rack, a horn on the wall was blown.

A shout could be heard across the courtyard: "Inform Lord Bran!"

Joffrey watched Jory climb the wall and he couldn't resist following him.

"What's going on?"

"Lord Bolton and his men are coming up the road. He sent a rider ahead requesting to rest at Winterfell," the guard said.

Joffrey peered down the road to see a column of men on horse and on foot, bearing the standard of the Flayed Man. He frowned as he wondered why anyone would care to have such a symbol for their house. The lion was far more impressive. Were there no other animals in the North worthy of being a house symbol? He could imagine fewer animals sillier for a banner than a trout, but he would admit that there were few things more unsettling than displaying a clear affinity for torture.

Joffrey caught Jory looking at the sky and frowning in puzzlement. "I s'pose there's only a few hours left of daylight. It will be dark by the time they all march in. Looks like we'll be feasting tonight." He actually clapped Joffrey on the shoulder in camaraderie. Joffrey was surprised that such a simple gesture left him feeling warm and wistful at the same time.

"You best get cleaned up for the feast, not that Lady Catelyn's here to say otherwise," Jory said with a crooked smile and headed on down. Once he was gone, Joffrey noticed the other guards looked at him with baleful eyes and he beat a hasty retreat. At least no one expected a bastard like him to greet guests.

Joffrey hadn't had the privilege to meet Lord Bolton before, but it took all of his court training not to show his distaste. There was something about the man's pale eyes and stolid, silent bearing that so sharply contrasted with the joviality of the feast that it struck Joffrey as eerie. He caught Lord Bolton staring at him once or twice. From that far away, Joffrey couldn't decipher his intent, though he wasn't sure if he could sitting next to him either. He tried to ignore him.

Lord Bolton sat next to Lord Bran who was similarly jarring as he scanned the feast with his unseeing eyes. He at least smiled and his eyes appeared to fix on the people who came up to greet him as he answered them in kind. Lord Bolton only had small muttered conversations with Lord Bran. Jojen Reed sat on the other side of Lord Bran as a guest of honor. Joffrey appreciated that Jojen didn't flinch away from him and even seemed to regard him warmly, but he also had a habit of staring at him for an uncomfortably long time. Thankfully he was distracted by having his own conversation with Lord Bran.

Since he had made himself a pariah, no one engaged him except Julianna. Myrcella had deliberately taken the opportunity to sit on her other side so that Julianna was caught in the middle. However, she was oblivious to the tension between her siblings and whined repeatedly about how she missed Rickon. Lady Catelyn had taken her small boy and traveled to her old House of Riverrun to visit her father. Joffrey simply stayed quiet and tried to ignore both Lord Roose Bolton and Julianna.

Joffrey's irritation only grew as the evening went on and the feast continued unabated. Once he saw Julianna rubbing at her eyes, he stood up and commanded her, "Off to bed with you."

Myrcella stared up at him in shock. He was annoyed and ashamed at the awe and worry present in her eyes. He was reaching for Julianna all the same and began pulling her to bed. Any excuse to leave the thunderous crowd and chilling eyes of Lord Bolton was good enough for him. He handed Julianna off to a lady's maid who had remained waiting in the girls' room for their return and retired to his own. The guards assigned to follow him had remained dutifully on his heels. He left them at his door and retired to bed.

When he finally fell into sleep, it was restless. He tossed and turned as he tried to attack a dummy with the wooden sword only for it to turn into the bastard babe's face. He gasped in horror at the blood that ran down its face. Pale brooding eyes were transfixed on him and he felt paralyzed in their grasp. Then wooden dummies on either side of the original turned into Myrcella and Julianna. They struggled against the bonds that held them to the wooden posts. Against his will, he found himself walking over. Myrcella screamed, yet despite her cries he watched with horror as his own arm rose up with sword in hand and came down to strike her.

Joffrey sat bolt upright with a scream of his own, panting as he clutched at his heart, feeling it race. He started at the sound of the guards outside his door fighting. He heard the gurgling sounds of death cries, not knowing who was fighting or which side was winning. He cried out in horror and looked around his room, but he wasn't allowed any weapons. In a last effort, he huddled under his bed covers as he listened to the clashing of steel both in and outside of the castle. He glanced at the window and found it pitch black, indicating it was still the darkest part of the night.

Who's attacking? Is it the wildlings? The Ironborn? King Aemon? Joffrey was abruptly reminded of the tales of the slaughter of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. They said King Robert had laughed at their deaths. He could expect the same from the Targaryens, though he expected worse. Targaryens burned their enemies alive. Had the king finally decided to do away with him and his sisters?

The fight outside his door ceased and he trembled, whimpering in panic. But then he heard boots walk off and everything was quiet. Carefully, he peeked his head out from under his covers and stared at the door. The soldiers had moved on? He considered going out to check, but perhaps the guards thought this room was empty?

Yes, two guards standing in front of...an empty room, Joffrey scolded himself. It seemed that they had left him alive, but for what reason? However, the thought of checking made his throat go dry and he broke out into a sweat thinking about the grisly fate that could await him. He burrowed back under his covers and stayed there.

When next he jolted awake, a gray light was spilling through his window. He glanced over at the door. Had it all been a dream? Did he dare check? The rumble in his stomach reminded him that he couldn't stay hidden for much longer if he cared to eat. He hurriedly threw on his clothes from the day before and stood behind the door. His hand continued to tremble as he slowly placed it on the handle. He opened it a hair to peer out and his eyes instantly fell on one of his guards who was sprawled across the floor, there was a hole in his side and his throat was slashed open. A large puddle of blood spread across the stone floor.

Joffrey shivered and felt the bile rise in his throat. He rushed to his chamber pot and retched into it, flinching against the burning in his nose and throat. He gagged again at the awful taste it left in his mouth and desperately tried to wipe the vomit from his face and nose with a hand towel.

They left me alive for a reason. There has to be one, Joffrey thought to himself. I have to go and see what has happened to the others. He sucked in air as if it was bound to be his last and then opened the door. The second guard also lay sprawled on the other side of his door. His throat was open like the other and his eyes were wide and staring in surprise.

Joffrey clenched his fists and then reached down and quickly closed the man's eyes. He couldn't take the cold judgment of the dead. A shuffling noise made him jump and he flattened himself against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest as he spotted a pair of soldiers with the Flayed Man of Bolton on their chest. He could hardly see their expressions under their helmets, but they were silent and grave.

When they remained still, Joffrey opened his mouth and words came spilling out. "P-please don't hurt me. I don't want to die. Please."

As they continued to remain silent and distant, Joffrey felt his ears grow hot in humiliation that they had witnessed his begging. He stood up straighter, smoothed out his clothes, and said, "What has happened here? Why are these Winterfell soldiers dead?" Joffrey of old would have demanded an answer and threatened their heads, but in the intervening months he had been mocked and derided for such demands. Not even the servants respected nor feared him. No one answered to him anymore.

Joffrey turned with a sigh of frustration and relief as the guards continued to remain silent. He began walking down the hall and started at the footsteps behind him. He whipped around and the soldiers stopped, continuing to remain quiet and cold.

He glanced down the hallway and thought, Are Myrcella and Julianna okay? Is the babe? His eyes fell on the bastard baby's door but he wrenched them away to look at Myrcella's and Julianna's room. He knocked and received no answer. When he opened it, the screeching of the hinges was enough to put his teeth on edge and he glanced around hoping it hadn't alerted anyone. He peered in and found the room empty. Did that mean they were alive? Or dead?

He moved as softly across the stone as he could manage and peered around corners as if he were a thief. The two guards continued to follow him and he felt foolish for even bothering to sneak around, yet he couldn't find the courage to walk casually through the slaughter. There were other soldiers' bodies sprawled across the floor. Nearly all of them had the Stark's direwolf sigil, but he saw one or two with the Flayed Man of Bolton. He frowned. Joffrey knew little about the arrangement, but the Starks had left a bare minimum of soldiers to guard whereas Bolton had arrived with his entire army of a few thousand men. Had his men repelled the attack from the invaders? Were Stark men more ready to give their lives for their liege lord than Bolton men?

As he was walking towards the Great Hall, he heard a woman crying behind a pillar.

He carefully made his way and peered around the edge. It was a servant girl and mighty sobs shook her as she curled up as though she were trying to hide in the very walls.

"What happened?" Joffrey whispered. He couldn't bring himself to speak louder.

The woman jolted and stared at him with wide, weeping eyes. Then she gave a shriek and ran off back the direction Joffrey came from. He stared at her and looked towards the Great Hall, once more doubting his resolve. As he approached the door, he heard soldier's footsteps and the scraping of armor against rock. Joffrey placed a hand on another pillar and leaned around it to see.

There were bodies everywhere and splashes of blood on the walls and floor. Bolton men were clearing off corpses, grabbing them in pairs and hauling them out. Servant girls with buckets of water were weeping as they scrubbed the blood away. They cringed in fear every time a soldier came near them.

Joffrey shivered when he saw the startled expression of Jory Cassel on one of the bodies being carried out. A rivulet of blood trailed from his mouth, but there was even more dripping off of his side and trailing across the floor. Joffrey felt the bile creeping up his throat again, but he swallowed it back down.

As he gazed around, he caught the eyes of a soldier and froze like a rabbit. But the soldier merely stared at him briefly and then returned to hauling bodies outside. There were no sudden moves, violent or otherwise. With much hesitation, Joffrey left the cover of the pillar and was perplexed and pleased that the soldiers merely ignored him.

He walked into the Great Hall and stopped to stare. Everyone was seated around the table as usual, however Lord Bran was not eating and looked glum. Jojen and Meera Reed were dour and glared at Lord Bolton. Only Lord Bolton himself was unperturbed by the death surrounding him as he sliced his ham. Myrcella was trembling and pale and Julianna was crying as she sat at the table, not even attempting to eat.

"Joffrey," Myrcella whispered to him. For the first time since the incident with the babe, she looked relieved.

"Ah, Your Grace. Please, have a seat," Lord Bolton waved to one of the many empty chairs.

Joffrey swayed on his feet and stared. "Your Grace?"

"Yes, you are my king. Not that bastard pretender Stark foisted on us all."

"King Aemon is not a bastard," Bran shot back. "My father would never lie about that."

"Is that so? Then why did he lie about Jon Snow being a bastard to begin with? I thought Starks were known for their honor," Lord Bolton replied casually. If Lord Bran's words had any impact, he didn't show it.

"I am a bastard too," Joffrey replied. "I don't understand."

"You're a bastard only by the Stark's words."

"That's a lie," Bran shouted. Meera reached over and grabbed his hand, whispering into his ear.

"You're alive now, Bran Stark, because I need you alive. That doesn't mean you have to be free. I would choose your words more carefully."

"But it's true," Joffrey replied. "My mother herself admitted we were bastards."

"She lied. The Starks forced her hand. She was still queen and she is still known to have lain with the king. There is nothing to say you cannot still be his children," Lord Bolton replied.

"But we don't look anything like him."

"And the Targaryen pretender bears none of the characteristic Targaryen traits. He has no way of proving that his claim is true but one man's word. The Starks have been in power for too long and they overstepped their boundaries when they went for the crown. I am here to break that power and bring the North into balance with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

Joffrey slowly made his way to the table and sat. His mind was racing. He was the crown prince again. It was what he wanted, to have his name restored, but he only felt confusion. His own Uncle Jaime had confirmed them as bastards. He was Kingsguard, he would've known! It had been to his detriment to admit that when he had mistakenly claimed them as his own to prevent them from being beheaded with their mother.

None of this makes sense, Joffrey thought. The Starks had been nothing but kind to him. Lady Catelyn was cold, but the other children had treated them warmly enough when they were still there. He'd had a few conversations with Lord Bran and he'd held no ill will. Before the incident with the bastard babe, Bran had even cracked jokes with him during their lessons to break up the tedium.

After a moment of silence, he looked at Lord Bolton again and said, "You called me 'Your Grace.' Only the king is called that."

Lord Bolton stared at him with a deadly calm that made him shiver. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised the Starks didn't tell you. King Robert Baratheon is dead. We have reason to believe the Bastard Usurper had him killed."

Myrcella gasped but otherwise there was a deadly silence around the table.

"Joffrey, this is the first I've heard of this," Lord Bran said. It chilled Joffrey to see him stare into nothingness towards him, not quite finding his eyes.

"Well, if I'm king, shouldn't I be escorted to King's Landing?"

Lord Bolton chuckled and gave him a small smile. "Not yet, Your Grace. The Bastard Usurper is still entrenched in King's Landing, but not for long. Lord Tywin has a plan of rooting him out. And then you will be restored to your throne, as is your right." Despite the clear proclamations of joy, his eyes remained unnervingly calm and without emotion.

Joffrey should have been thrilled, ecstatic at hearing such news. Yet there was only dread in the pit of his stomach.