Chapter 152: The Reunion

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

Chapter 152: The Reunion

Joffrey appeared in the guest chambers without a sound.

One moment, he was in the garden; the next, he was here, in a room of stone and silk.

The transition was instant and effortless for his part.

 He did not need to concentrate, did not need to visualize the destination, did not need to speak a word. He simply thought of where he wanted to be, and he was there.

He stood in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, watching.

Myrcella was by the window, her back to him, her arms wrapped around herself. She was staring out at the city below…the pyramids, the winding streets, the distant glimmer of the sea. She had not heard him arrive. She did not know he was there.

Joffrey studied her for a moment. She looked older than he remembered. She also looked thinner and very tired. There were shadows under her eyes, and her shoulders were tense, drawn up around her ears. 

She was carrying a burden that had been pressing down on her for a long time.

'She has been through so much,' he thought. 

He felt a pang of guilt. He had left her in King's Landing, had returned her to Cersei's care, had believed she would be safe. He had been wrong.

He stepped forward, out of the shadows.

"It's very different from King's Landing, right?"

Myrcella spun around.

Her hand flew to her chest, her heart pounding. Her green eyes went wide…not with fear, but with shock. 

"Joff-" The name died in her mouth.

She stared at him but could barely recognize him. 

Joffrey watched her take him in. She was looking directly into his eyes.

He saw the moment she noticed them. Her breath caught. Her lips parted. Her hand dropped from her chest.

"You look..." She could not find the words. "Are you... are you okay?"

Joffrey smiled.

It was not the smile he used to wear. Not the cold, calculating smirk of the old him. It was a warm and genuine one.

"Better than ever before," he said.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled her into a hug. Her body was tense for a moment, stiff with surprise. Then she relaxed, her arms wrapping around him, her face pressing into his shoulder.

"I should be the one asking that," Joffrey said, pulling back to look at her. "You activated the portkey I left with you. The one meant for emergencies."

He paused, his golden eyes flickering with concern. He could feel it…the distress radiating from her like heat from a fire. 

The fear, the worry, the exhaustion, they clung to her like a shadow, dark and heavy. 

"I can feel the distress on you," he said. 

Myrcella's throat tightened. "I have a lot to tell you."

Joffrey guided her to a chair, his hand gentle on her arm. "Then tell me. I'm listening."

She told him everything.

Joffrey listened. He did not interrupt her, nor did he move from his spot. He simply sat there, his golden eyes fixed on her face, absorbing every word.

She told him about the coldness of their mother, the hatred in Cersei's eyes whenever his name was mentioned. She told him about the whispers, the rumors, the growing fear that gripped the Red Keep.

She told him about the secret conversation she had overheard…the conversation between Cersei and Euron Greyjoy.

"Euron Greyjoy," Joffrey repeated, his voice calm, betraying nothing.

'The Iron King,' he thought. 'The man I humiliated in Astapor. The man whose brother I killed. The man whose fleet I stole.' He was not surprised to hear about him plotting for revenge. 

"He came to King's Landing," Myrcella said. "He offered an alliance to the crown. He brought designs for some strange weapons. They called it scorpions, and they are designed to kill dragons. He wants revenge against you and Daenerys."

"Dragon-killing weapons, huh?" He felt a flicker of interest.

She told him about the plan to build these weapons, to position them along the walls of King's Landing, as well as mounting them on their largest ships. They want to use them against Daenerys's dragons. 

She also told him about the Golden Company, the mercenaries Euron intended to hire.

But despite everything he heard, he felt no fear. Only a calm, detached interest. It was as if he were reading about a war in a history book, not hearing about a plot to kill him.

And then she told him about her attempt to escape. Her failed plan. The Gold Cloaks who had caught her. The punishment that had followed.

"She locked me in some chambers," Myrcella said, her voice trembling. "She took everything. My letters, my jewelry, my..." She clutched at the necklace around her throat, the portkey Joffrey had given her. "She took this too. But I got it back. With help."

By the time she finished, her voice was hoarse, and her eyes were red with tears she had not realized she was crying.

"She hates you so much," Myrcella whispered. "She wants you dead. She wants Daenerys dead. She wants..." She trailed off, unable to continue.

Joffrey was silent for a long moment.

He thought of Cersei. His mother. The woman who had given birth to him, or to the original Joffrey, at least. The woman who had raised him, shaped him, turned him into the monster he had been.

'I could have done things differently,' he thought. 'When I returned to King's Landing, when I brought Myrcella and Tommen back... I could have been gentler. I could have treated her with more dignity and respect.'

But he had not. He had been cold and arrogant. He had humiliated her in front of her court, had demonstrated his power, had made her feel small and weak and powerless.

"I didn't think our mother's mind was so deeply affected," he said, sighing. "And it's partly my fault, I recognize that."

Myrcella looked at him, confused. "Your fault?"

"I could have done things differently," Joffrey said. "When I returned to King's Landing, when I brought you and Tommen back... I could have been... gentler. I could have treated her with more dignity and respect."

He looked away, his golden eyes distant. "Back then, I only cared about myself and my own goals. I didn't care what others wanted or thought. Not truly."

Myrcella stared at him. This was not the brother she remembered. He had never apologized for anything. He had never admitted fault.

But this man... this was someone else.

"You..." Myrcella's voice was barely a whisper. "You've changed."

Joffrey looked back at her, and his smile was sad. "I have. You were one of the first, you know. One of the first people who made me care. Made me want to be better."

'You and Tommen,' he thought. 'You were the first cracks in my armor. The first people I truly wanted to protect.'

Myrcella felt fresh tears prick at her eyes. "Joffrey..."

"But you must stop worrying about those nasty affairs," Joffrey said, his voice lightening. "Mother, Euron, their weapons... none of them pose a serious threat to me. And Daenerys is under my protection."

He reached out and took Myrcella's hand. His grip was warm, firm, comforting.

"And so are you now," he said. "So ease your mind and relax. You are completely safe here. Nothing can harm you now."

He felt her tension ease. Her shoulders dropped. Her breathing slowed. The fear that had been radiating from her like heat began to fade, replaced by a deep sense of peace.

He looked toward the door, his golden eyes flickering with amusement. He could feel them…the presences approaching. 

"I suppose he couldn't wait any longer," Joffrey said.

A knock on the door. A voice from beyond, one of the guards.

"Prince Joffrey? There are s-"

"Let them in, Red Wasp. I will see them now."

Myrcella blinked. "Red Wasp?"

"Oh, that's just-"

The door opened. An Unsullied stood in the doorway, his face hidden behind his bronze mask. Behind him were two figures.

The Unsullied looked at Joffrey with wide eyes. "The Prince knows this servant's name?"

"Of course," Joffrey said. "Names are important. You all deserve to be remembered."

'You were taken as children,' he thought. 'You were stripped of your names, your identities, your homes. You were made into tools. But you are still men. You still deserve to be remembered.'

He made a gesture with his hand. "You can return to your duties, Red Wasp. I will see to these guests. I believe they have something important to share with me. They have journeyed from very far away to do so."

The guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing Bran and Jon to enter. The door closed behind them.

Joffrey gestured to two empty chairs. "Sit, please."

Bran did not take his eyes off Joffrey. He moved slowly, carefully, as if approaching a dangerous animal. His grey direwolf, Summer, padded silently beside him, its amber eyes fixed on the golden-eyed prince.

'He is afraid of me,' Joffrey thought. 'Or perhaps not afraid. Wary. Cautious. He has seen things. He knows what I am capable of.'

Jon sat down next to Bran and looked at Joffrey with curiosity.

"You have changed a lot since I last saw you," Bran said.

Joffrey tilted his head. "I could say the same about you, Brandon Stark. I can feel the ancient magic of the North seeping deep into your very being. The Three-Eyed Raven... you carry his power now."

Bran's expression did not change. "You can feel that much?"

"I can feel many things," Joffrey said. "The world has become... clearer to me. I see the threads that connect all living things. I hear the whispers of magic that flow through the air. I feel the pulse of life in every creature, every plant, every stone."

"That sounds... overwhelming," Myrcella said.

"It was, at first," Joffrey admitted. "I am still learning to control it. But I am getting used to it."

Jon spoke for the first time. "Didn't you have green eyes?"

Joffrey turned to look at him. "I did."

"And now they're gold."

"So they are."

Jon's jaw tightened. "What happened to you?"

Joffrey studied him for a long moment. He could feel Jon's emotions, the suspicion, the fear, the grief. He could feel the grief most of all, clinging to the man like a second skin.

"You, Jon Snow," Joffrey said, "you have matured a great deal since I last saw you at the Wall. You have also suffered a great loss. I can feel the grief on you, clinging to your soul like a second skin."

Jon flinched. "How did you-"

"He can read your mind," Bran said quietly.

"Something like that," Joffrey said. He made a small gesture with his hand. "I apologize. I don't mean to intrude. But my magic works differently now. The mind creates weaves around you…threads of thought, memory, and emotion. My magic reads those weaves and gives me the information, even if I don't ask for it. It's an automatic process."

He looked at Jon again, his golden eyes softening. "I am sorry about Ghost. He was a loyal companion. A true friend. His loss is a wound that will not easily heal."

Jon's jaw tightened, and then he nodded.

Bran leaned forward in his chair. "You said you could feel the ancient magic in me. What else can you feel?"

Joffrey was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I can feel the weight of the knowledge you carry. The visions. The memories of a thousand years. The burden of being the Three-Eyed Raven."

He paused. "And I can feel the warning you carry. The message you came all this way to deliver."

Bran's eyes narrowed. "You already know what I came to say?"

Joffrey leaned forward, his golden eyes locked onto Bran. "You came all the way to ask me about the Primordial Light… isn't that right?."

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