Chapter 2:
The King's New Groove
Joffrey, or rather the man now wearing Joffrey's skin like a well-tailored suit, strode through the halls of the Red Keep with a swagger that would have made the old Joffrey look like a stumbling drunk. His trademark smirk played across his lips as he twirled a golden scepter in his hand, occasionally tapping it against his leg in a rhythm only he could hear.
"Well, holy shit," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the opulent surroundings. "Negan, you've hit the motherload of second chances."
As he rounded a corner, he came face to face with Cersei, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Joffrey, darling," she purred, though her tone held an edge sharper than Valyrian steel. "Your little... performance at the wedding has set tongues wagging. Care to explain yourself?"
Negan's mind raced. He knew he had to play this careful – one wrong move and he'd be up shit creek without a paddle, crown or no crown. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl that would have made his old self proud.
"Listen here, sweet cheeks," he said, watching Cersei's eyes widen at the unfamiliar term of endearment. "What happened back there was me taking out the trash before it stunk up the whole damn kingdom. You want to play the game of thrones? Well, Daddy's changing the rules."
Cersei's shock quickly morphed into a pleased smile. "Well, well," she murmured. "It seems my little lion has finally grown his claws."
"Oh, I've got more than claws, darlin'," Negan replied with a wink. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a kingdom to run and some dead fuckers to worry about."
As he walked away, leaving a bewildered Cersei in his wake, Negan's mind churned with plans. The white walkers were coming, and this time, he wasn't about to let a bunch of frozen corpses ruin his new gig. But first things first – he needed his own Lucille.
In the armory, he ordered the blacksmith to craft him a new weapon – a war hammer wrapped in Valyrian steel barbed wire. "Make it sing," he told the confused craftsman with a grin that was all teeth and promises of pain for those who crossed him.
Days passed, and whispers of the new, changed King Joffrey spread through the kingdom like wildfire. Some said he'd been touched by the gods, others claimed he'd made a deal with the Stranger himself. Negan didn't give two shits what they thought, as long as they fell in line.
When reports of White Walker activity beyond the Wall reached his ears, Negan knew it was time to act. He called a meeting of the Small Council, sauntering in with his new war hammer slung over his shoulder.
"Alright, you sorry sacks of medieval shit," he announced, slamming the hammer down on the table and making everyone jump. "We've got ice zombies knocking on our door, and I'm not about to let some frozen fucks with daddy issues turn my kingdom into a all-you-can-eat brain buffet."
Varys exchanged a worried glance with Pycelle. "Your Grace," the Spider began cautiously, "perhaps a more measured approach-"
"Measured approach?" Negan cut him off with a laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "Let me tell you something, Baldy. I've danced with the dead before, and let me tell you, they don't do the fucking waltz. We're going to hit them hard, hit them fast, and make those ice cubes wish they'd stayed in the freezer."
He turned to Qyburn, pointing the hammer at the disgraced maester. "You. I hear you like to play mad scientist. How about you cook up some wildfire grenades? Let's see how those popsicles like a taste of Greek fire."
As the council scrambled to keep up with their king's rapid-fire orders, Negan's mind drifted to the other threat looming on the horizon. Dragons. He'd have to deal with the Targaryen girl eventually, but for now, he had a different idea.
"And somebody get me a fucking raven," he barked. "I need to send a message to the Wall. Tell them good ol' King Joffrey's coming for a visit, and he's bringing the heat."
As the council dispersed, Negan leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table. He twirled his new hammer, a grin spreading across his face. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," he sang softly. "Catch a White Walker by the toe. If he hollers, burn the fucker. Eeny, meeny, miny... moe."
The game was changing, and Negan was holding all the cards. Winter was coming, but this time, it was going to meet a force of nature it had never encountered before. And God help anyone – dead or alive – who stood in his way.
As the sun rose over King's Landing, Negan-as-Joffrey stood at the window of his chambers, a wolfish grin playing on his lips. The events of the past few days had been a whirlwind, but he was nothing if not adaptable.
"Time to face the music," he muttered, cracking his neck.
His first order of business was to deal with the fallout from the wedding. As he strode into the throne room, he spotted Cersei engaged in hushed conversation with Jaime. Negan's grin widened.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite pair of star-crossed lovers," he drawled, approaching them. "Don't stop on my account. I'm sure Uncle Daddy here has some *fascinating* insights to share."
Jaime's hand instinctively went to his sword, but Cersei placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Joffrey, darling," she said, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes hard as flint. "I thought we agreed to keep certain... matters private."
Negan leaned in close, his voice a low purr. "Oh, mother dearest, haven't you heard? I'm turning over a new leaf. No more secrets in this family. We're going to be as open as a brothel on payday."
He turned to Jaime, clapping him on the shoulder. "And you, Uncle Dad. How's about we have a little chat later? I've got some ideas about our Kingsguard that I think you'll find... disarming."
As Jaime and Cersei exchanged worried glances, Negan's attention was drawn to a commotion at the entrance of the throne room. Tywin Lannister strode in, his face a mask of barely contained fury.
"Ah, Grandpa!" Negan called out cheerfully. "Just the man I wanted to see. How about we take a walk? I've got a proposition that'll make your head spin faster than a whore in a windstorm."
Without waiting for a response, Negan led a bewildered Tywin out to the gardens. Once they were alone, he turned to the older man, all traces of joviality gone from his face.
"Listen up, you old lion," Negan growled. "I know you think you're the one pulling the strings around here, but let me make something crystal-fucking-clear. I'm the king, and from now on, we play by my rules."
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "And what rules might those be?"
Negan's grin returned, sharp as a knife. "Rule number one: we're going to shore up our defenses. The dead are coming, and I'm not talking about your tax collectors. Rule number two: we're going to make some new friends. The Tyrells might be out, but I've got my eye on a certain Dragon Queen across the sea."
"You can't be serious," Tywin scoffed. "The Targaryens are our enemies."
"The enemy of my enemy is my new best friend," Negan countered. "And trust me, we're going to need all the firepower we can get. Which brings me to rule number three: you're going to start treating Tyrion with a little more respect. We need that big brain of his, and I won't have you pissing all over our best asset."
As Tywin opened his mouth to protest, Negan held up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. I'm not finished. Rule number four: we're going to have a little chat about succession. I think it's high time we cleared the air about certain... family matters."
Tywin's face paled slightly, but before he could respond, a guard approached, looking nervous.
"Your Grace," the guard stammered. "We've received word... Lord Baelish has disappeared."
Negan's eyes glittered dangerously. "Well, well, well. Looks like our little mockingbird has flown the coop. No matter. He'll turn up eventually, and when he does..." He patted the war hammer at his side meaningfully.
Turning back to Tywin, Negan's voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "One last thing, Gramps. Sansa Stark is off-limits. She stays here, unharmed. Consider her our... insurance policy."
As he walked away, leaving a stunned Tywin in his wake, Negan's mind raced with possibilities. Littlefinger was in the wind, but that was a problem for another day. Right now, he had a kingdom to fortify, alliances to forge, and a certain Mother of Dragons to woo.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," he sang under his breath as he made his way back to the castle. "Catch a dragon by the toe. If she hollers, make her an offer. Eeny, meeny, miny... moe."
The game was changing, and Negan was determined to be the one holding all the pieces when the dust settled. Let the others play checkers – he was playing three-dimensional chess, and he intended to win.
As night fell over King's Landing, Negan stood on the balcony of his chambers, looking out over the city. In the distance, he could almost imagine he saw the flicker of dragon fire on the horizon.
"Bring it on," he murmured, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Winter, dragons, dead men walking – doesn't matter. They're all just different kinds of fuel for the fire I'm about to start."
With a chuckle, he turned back to his room, where a nervous-looking servant waited with a quill and parchment. It was time to send a message to a certain khaleesi. After all, every king needed a queen, and Negan had a feeling this particular union would be explosive in all the right ways.
"To the Mother of Dragons," he dictated, his voice filled with anticipation. "How'd you like to play with fire?"