Joffrey IV

"Your Grace," Maester Pycelle hung his head sadly, "I fear there is nothing more I can do. The Lord Hand will pass soon."

The three of them, Joffrey and Father and Lyra, who was pregnant again, were gathered in the tower of the hand outside Lord Jon Arryn's bedchamber. His father, the king, pushed past the old man and entered the room, which already smelled of death. There was a fire in the grate, though the hot air blowing in from the bay could be felt wafting through the open window, even in the darkness of the hour of the shadowcat.

"Stay back, Lyra, whatever Lord Jon has, you could catch it," Joff ordered.

"But Robert needs me!" she retorted fiercely.

"Father needs you healthy and alive. Return to your children in the Maidenvault. I'm sure the king will come to you after he's done here."

There was a defiant glint in Lyra's hazel eyes, but she must've read the determination in Joff's face. With one last longing look at the big man who was her husband in all but name, she turned and began the slow descent down the tower stairs.

Pycelle's prediction turned out to be correct, their prayers to the contrary. The Hand didn't have long. Robert clasped Jon Arryn's thin, white fingers in his own meaty ones, and the Lord of the Vale shortly breathed his last and stilled.

"Robert, the boy..." were his last words.

The prince didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. The only sounds were the fire roaring in the hearth and the soft weeping of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I'll leave you to your grief, Father. We can speak in the morning."

King Robert didn't look up from Jon Arryn's corpse for some time.

***

"What will we do?" Robert asked helplessly the next day. They skipped training in the yard. Nobody was in the mood.

"You're asking me?" Joffrey asked incredulously.

"Jon always knew what to do," Robert said bitterly. His eyes were misty, but he did not weep again. Seeing a man that big and strong crying was particularly uncomfortable for Joffrey. Death was inevitable, and Jon was old, but nobody was prepared for this.

"Well, my thirteenth nameday celebrations are cancelled, first of all," Joffrey stated emphatically.

"You never want to have any fun, Joff!" Lyra scolded him. She walked in with one hand clasped protectively over her belly. They really never stopped, just one after another. "Whenever we try to include you in something, you beg off. After a loss like this, a celebration of life is just what we need to pick up our spirits!"

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Robert smiled ruefully at his mistress. "Give it up, Lyra. My boy would rather supervise the royal ditch diggers."

"Am I really that boring?" Joff asked seriously.

"Dull and dutiful is our Joff," Lyra said, half lovingly, half mockingly.

"Well, if I'm so dutiful, I'd better live up to it. Father, you'll be needing a new hand, and I'm not quite old enough for it. Do you want a shortlist? The obvious choice is grandfather Tywin."

"Not him," Robert rejected the proposal at once.

"Then who?" Joffrey demanded.

"There's only one choice," Robert said. "Ned."

"What?" Joffrey couldn't believe his ears. "My brother is all of two years, going on three! He's barely walking and talking!"

"Not my Ned, silly," Lyra chided him. "He means Lord Eddard Stark, of Winterfell and the North. He was Robert's closest friend. They fought in the war together. He's told me so many things."

Oh, that made sense. Joff kicked himself for not catching on quicker. His mind was elsewhere.

"Aye," Robert confirmed. "He's the only man I completely trust."

"Even over your brothers?" Joffrey pressed.

"Even them."

Well, they both had seats on the Small Council already, Joffrey remembered. Appointing one to the Handship would just create a vacancy. A seat would have to be filled with someone new, one way or the other. "Should we send a raven?"

"No, Joffrey. This is too important. If I'm to ask Ned for this, I'll need to go up there and ask him myself."

"Autumn is already here, Father. The journey north will not be easy. My men work as fast as they can, and we've been filling up granaries one after the other. Mayhaps one more harvest or two might be brought in this far south, but in the North, it'll already feel like winter. Will Lord Eddard leave his home in such a state?"

"Let me worry about that, Joff." Robert took a breadroll and broke it in half, applying some butter on top. He offered one half to Lyra, who accepted the morsel with gratitude. As for Joffrey, he was a fast eater and had already finished his plate.

"You know, you haven't been on many royal progresses these last few years," Joffrey said.

"Can't take me anywhere," Lyra complained good-naturedly. "I'm always pregnant, and some lords might take my presence for a slight, or their wives might."

"Fuck 'em," Robert said. "But this time, you're right. There's no traveling in your condition. I'll have to go by myself." He looked at his son. "You don't have to come, Joff, but I'd appreciate it if you joined me."

"I'd love to see more of the kingdoms," Joff agreed. "If you need me, I'm with you."

Robert and Lyra broke their fast in silence for some time. Joffrey didn't want to leave them just yet, though there was an itinerary today. Tyrion mentioned something about the river flooding. They needed to be ready.

Still, it looked like there was something his dad wanted to say, but couldn't quite put into words.

"What is it, Father? If you're worried about preparations, I can handle it. We just need to summon the small council, inform them of your intentions, and get some guards and supplies together. We could be off in a few days, no point wasting time."

"Er, well, I know you had your heart set on the Dornish girl. I never liked them much, but you hardly ever ask me for anything. How could I say no? Since Prince Doran refused, I was wondering if you might be open to another match."

Joff thought he could sense where this was going. "Who?"

Robert swallowed his bacon and took a gulp of watered wine. "Ned has a daughter. I thought, to sweeten the deal, I'd offer a match with you, if it would persuade that iceman to venture south of The Neck."

"Is she pretty? Lyra asked excitedly.

"She would have to be," Robert answered. "Stark girls always are."

Just for a moment, a shadow passed over Lyra's face, but Joffrey caught it. Whatever could that be about?

"If that is what you think is best, Father, I'll do it."