Joffrey IX

"Er, Jon," Joffrey ventured uneasily, "can you, that is, control that dragon?" They were out of the Kingswood, and with the lack of snowy treetops in the way, the giant flying lizard could not be missed.

Ser Jon thought for a moment, and Ghost thought with him. They had the exact same expression on their faces, something he'd noticed with Sansa and Lady as well.

"Somewhat," Jon answered. "A nudge this way or that is no trouble at all. I can feel him, and he can feel me, if you understand. We know what the other wants. It's like that with Ghost, most of the time. Some nights I dream as Ghost, taking full control. Mayhaps it'll be like that with this one."

"Yes, Sansa dreams as Lady sometimes, she even growls in her sleep now and again."

Sansa hit Joff for that one, and he deserved it.

There was a bit of panic when they reached the city, but Joffrey explained to the people that Ser Jon had snatched one of the Dragon Queen's dragons, and it was on their side. There was a lot of explaining to do that day. Joffrey had the most awkward conversation of his life with his father-in-law. Every Stark was there for it, even little Rickon.

Apparently, Jon wasn't Lord Stark's son at all, but his nephew. The Hand related an adventure worthy of an epic novel. He and his six companions rode against the last three men of Aerys' Kingsguard at a place called the Tower of Joy in Dorne. There were only two survivors, and the other one lived in the middle of nowhere in a swamp. Ned's sister Lyanna had run off with Prince Rhaegar and gotten with child. He made a solemn vow to her to protect her babe, and so claimed Jon as his bastard to keep his identity a secret.

"You never told me." Jon could not keep the hurt out of his voice.

"I could not risk it, Jon. With Robert so full of hatred for everything Targaryen, it was the only way to keep you safe. Your mother loved you; that much I can say. She fought as long as she could, staying alive for your sake, but the blood...it was too much."

There was a deal of weeping and hugging after that. It was a good thing Joffrey and his goodfather had a good long discussion about his own father's faults a while ago. Even so, Lord Stark was worried about how the king would react. Jon was a threat now, unmistakably.

"Your Grace," Jon said roughly, his cheeks red and swollen and wet with tears, "you know I would never..."

Joff put a hand on his shoulder. "I know. You're my wife's brother, and even if you're not, you are. We are family. Actually, this changes things, but in a good way."

"How so?" Lady Stark asked tightly. She'd been the most uncomfortable of all at these revelations.

"It means just any castle won't do. You're highborn, Jon, very highborn. Marrying you to my cousin Shireen and giving you Dragonstone is an option, or I might let you have Myrcella and Storm's End. We'll have to think on it. It's a pity Ser Davos couldn't get Shireen out. Last we heard, she still lives, but no more word has come out of Blackwater Bay."

"You would elevate him so high?" The Hand was clearly taken aback.

"Why not? I was seriously considering Arya and Tommen."

"But I don't want to get married!" the girl complained petulantly.

"Arya, you will have to wed sometime. I've had a long talk with Tommen. He knows you're special. You'll have every freedom, and he'll treat you kindly. It's a few years before he's a man grown, and if you hate the idea, I won't force you, but it's something I want you to think about seriously."

"...fine."

"Well, it's all for nothing if Daenerys Targaryen comes here and burns the whole place down. It's a straight shot up the Kingsroad from Storm's End to here, and Lord Brine says she has the last of the Dothraki and the lockstep legions of Old Ghis. We must call the banners. Marching in this weather will be hell, but I see no other option. Send ravens to every house in the Crownlands and Riverlands. Anyone further out won't be able to get here in time."

***

Twelve thousand.

That was all he could raise before they spotted the first black and red Targaren banner coming up from the south. Lord Edmure Tully brought the bickering lords Blackwood and Bracken. There were Pipers and Vances, and a goodly contingent from Harrenhal flying the bat banners of House Whent. From the Crownlands, they had Rosby and Stokeworth, Rykker and Hayford. Twelve thousand knights, men-at-arms, pikes, and longbows. It would not be enough. Few of the knights had their horses. There would be no noble, romantic charges with lances leveled today, just a brawl on foot. A foot of snow lay on the ground, but the day was bright and clear, the sun reflecting off the ground almost blinding white. Joffrey shivered in his steel, even under a heavy cloak. Most others had it worse.

They would draw up their battle line before the walls of the city, facing south across the frozen river. It would prove no barrier at all to the Dragon Queen. Taking counsel from his lords bannermen, King Joffrey positioned his troops in three battles. Lord Edmure Tully took the left, Lord Stark the center, Ser Jaime Lannister the right. Joffrey had the reserve, defended by his Kingsguard and all four wolves. The left and right battles had their pikemen, while he would concentrate their dismounted knights and men-at-arms in the center. Of course, everything depended on their archers. Their force was majority archer. Every man who could bend a bow and shoot a straight shaft was in formation today.

For a good month, the king had set every able hand in the city to fletching arrows. They broke up the dragon skulls in the cellars of the Red Keep to be worked into three hundred bows of tremendous strength and range. These, Joffrey awarded to their very best shots. They practiced hitting moving targets shot into the air via catapult.

"Okay, Jon, I told you, I want you to be a 'dragon-in-being'," Joffrey explained. They'd managed to rig something of a saddle for him, but Jon was still a bit clumsy in the air.

"Dragon-in-being, Your Grace?"

"Just fly over us. The threat of you is the main thing. While you fly, Daenerys will not risk herself. Keep her away from us. If you can, lure her over the dragonbone archers. See there, in the rear? They're under the banner with the crossed arrows. That's not a house sigil, just a label. Their one job is to fill her mount's belly full of arrows. Don't let her get too close to you, not unless you have to."

They clasped gauntlets, and Jon swung his legs over Rhaegal's back. He took off and settled into the holding pattern they'd agreed on. The king held Sansa's hand while he watched Jon ascend. His wife wasn't showing yet, but she'd grown even fiercer since finding out a little one was on the way. She would not leave his side, even now. Arya begged to join the battle, but her father forbade it. Queen Sansa was different. She made her own rules.

The first of the Targaryen vanguard was trudging forward in loose array. Joffrey wondered if they would stop to rest when the Targaryen host reached the south bank of the Blackwater Rush in force. There was a pause, but only briefly, to form up into a line of their own. They came on, but not quickly, trudging through the deep snow with heavy, lethargic steps. Hardly a horse could be seen, and it was difficult to guess their numbers. The sun on snow played funny tricks with his eyes, blinding Joffrey and leaving him with multicolored dots dancing across his vision if he looked too intently upon the ground.

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Above it all, Daenerys Targaryen herself could be seen astride a black dragon she hadn't brought to the parley. Lord Brine said there were two dragons, and this time the king was unhappy at his Master of Whisperers' efficiency. She made no move to dive bomb his lines and seemed wary of Jon, which was the point.

With a final blast of warhorn and fanfare of trumpets, the dragon army crossed over the ice. They were packed tight with locked shields. Angry points of steel glittered at the end of pikestaffs, pointing menacingly at his army.

At Joffrey's signal, the longbows loosed, both those on the ground and from hoardings on the city walls. Lord Edmure on the left was situated under the Red Keep itself, and much fire from above decimated the men approaching him. As for the rest, it was difficult to guess the effectiveness of his longbows. Thousands of arrows flew, grey goose shafts streaking through the air like waves of sleet, but did they find their mark?

As Daenerys' host pressed on, it seemed their formation grew looser, and their advance became uneven, or so Joffrey hoped.

"Pour it on! Volley fire!" he cried, his voice echoing further than he would've imagined, cracking the chill air like a baby bird tearing itself out of its egg. The king worried they would fire back, especially the Dothraki. Horse archers were his worst nightmare, but they were nowhere to be seen. Had they perished in the cold, or did the Targaryen queen detach them to attack somewhere else?

There was no use speculating. Her soldiers arrived at last, closing with his line, and it came to push of pike. His men held their ground well, for now. He ordered his archers to shift fire to the center. There, Greyjoy and Mormont banners could be seen. Lord Eddard shouted shrill commands himself and raised Ice high.

A brawl, Joffrey thought, a slugfest in the snow. Much of it was new powder that fell in the last day or two. Camping out in that couldn't have been pleasant.

Now that the foe was closer, the king noticed they were outnumbered, but perhaps not by as much as he feared, two to one at worst. The Targs would be cold and tired. His men, though fewer, were rested and well fed, with a strong position.

Jon and Daenerys played a little game overhead, daring one another to chase while staying out of bowshot of archers on the ground. She was more timid than Joffrey expected for a dragon queen and would-be conqueror, almost reluctant to push her dragon hard. Sadly, on the ground, they were being pushed hard.

The melee had degenerated to the point that their archers could not get clear shots at the enemy, save for some up high. His left was strong, but the right and especially the center were sorely pressed. It was time to join the battle.

"Honey, can you send the wolves in? Have them crawl under the enemy spearpoints and spring up, surprising our friends from across the sea."

"No trouble at all, my love."

The four of them: Lady, Ghost, Nymeria, and Rickon's Shaggy all sprinted for Lord Stark, which was to be expected. Since the left held strong, Joff supposed he could break them in the center, then wheel right to take the pressure off Uncle Jaime. He hefted his black axe and started wading through the snow. Every step sapped energy from him. However had Daenerys' men marched in this?

He stepped over soldiers dragging wounded men to the rear and followed the wave of chaos and fear the wolves created. It was open enough for him to find a spot at the front. A Greyjoy man in black ringmail thrusted a spear at him, but it was a timid, low-energy attack. Joffrey batted it away easily and stepped inside his guard. The man made no sound at all when Joff brought his black axe down, biting deep into his shoulder. When the king wrenched his weapon free, the man fell, boneless and bloodless, pale as death.

There were no formations now, just mobs cutting and thrusting at each other, crunching snow underfoot, and trying to keep facing in the right direction.

"YOU!" Lord Eddard screamed with red rage, sounding nothing like the man Joff knew. Ice was flying and biting faster than a blade of that size had any right to. He was laying into an enemy knight with fury worthy of a Baratheon.

Joff's Kingsguard were at his side, cutting down men as well, not only Ironborn, but men who looked a little like Greek hoplites. Were these the lockstep legions? They were definitely not holding together like a unit. Once broken up, they seemed confused and passive, easy to cut down. Joff cut a few down himself.

Another one, a lord of the Ironborn by his set of full plate, tried to get behind Lord Stark, but he was slow. Joffrey got in his way and shattered his kraken shield with a single swipe of his black axe. When he saw Joffrey, he swung his waraxe like a madman. They slashed aggressively at one another, the deep snow making evasion all but impossible. With a few overhead hammering blows, the king was able to shear off the decorative tentacles around his helm and beat him down into the snow. With one last grunt of exertion, Joffrey brought his axe down on the man, striking fatally. When he looked up, he saw Lord Stark had killed his man as well.

From there, it was easy. They drove the enemy back in the center. These didn't break like normal; they hadn't the energy. It was more like they staggered off and collapsed into the snow to freeze and die. Ser Loras kept Joffrey pointed in the right direction when they wheeled, rolling up the rest of the Targaryen line.

Then a black meteor plummeted to the ground right in front of him. No, not a meteor, a dragon!

"Get up! Get up!" Daenerys Targaryen cried piteously. She was chained to the saddle. The reptile under her looked like a pincussion. It tried to raise its head once, then collapsed and went still. "No! Drogon! Please!"

Joffrey realized her army had ceased to exist. He'd been too focused on what was in front of him to take stock of the full battle. Everywhere he looked, banners sworn to him flew proudly.

Ser Balon Swann escorted Sansa to him from the rear. "I see the queen has graced us with her presence," his queen said sardonically.

"I yield!" Daenerys shouted. She'd stopped trying to free herself from the saddle chains, which looked stuck. "You've won. My army is beaten! My horses are all dead and frozen! Every man I have is sick and dying! We haven't eaten in days! I yield!"

Sansa tsked sadly. "Dany, can I call you Dany?"

The silver prisoner nodded slowly.

"Dany, when you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die."

Daenerys looked genuinely confused. "Game of thrones?"

"Yes," Sansa said firmly. "The game of thrones. But the truth is, the game was rigged from the start. Lady, KILL!"