Joffrey VI

Sansa's fierce hug actually hurt more than any blow from a tourney sword.

Ouch! He was sure to be covered in bruises tomorrow. When those little bastards got behind him, he felt like a drum getting continuously beaten on. Joffrey looked up from the auburn hair that was buried in his shoulder and noticed the crowd was going wild, lords and commons alike. He didn't feel like he did particularly well. At about the midway point of the melee, he completely gassed out and had to be economical with his counterattacks, letting lesser boys touch him when they shouldn't have. Working on his conditioning needed to be a priority going forward, a nice winter project.

His betrothed's hands ran over Joff's armor, searching for wounds. "So many dents and scratches," she observed. "Does it hurt very badly, my love?"

"Starting to," he answered. This far out, they could understand each other easily. When they were talking in the stands, he thought he caught every other word. "Let's get out of here. I'm going to need someone to pry me out of my armor, most like."

So they left the muddy tourney ground and followed the river to the camping area where the high lords kept their pavilions. As befitting royalty, House Baratheon's was the largest. A huge tent, bigger than a merchant's house, all of cloth-of-gold, stood proudly in the choicest spot, with a heavy iron-banded shield with a crowned stag painted on it hung in front. Joff and his father were sharing it. Renly had his own smaller, snugger tent, all of green silk. Stannis didn't bother, and Tommen was too young.

Joffrey dropped his half-splintered shield at the entrance and called for a smith. A servant ran off to fetch one, and another held open the tent flap for them both.

"Oh, hey, Lyra," he greeted his father's mistress. She was reclining on a couch with little Alys on her lap. Young Ned Waters played with toy soldiers at her feet. She wasn't allowed to be by the king's side at a tourney, but this close was fine.

"Did you win, Joff?" the woman asked. She even dared wear Baratheon colors, bundled up in a woolen dress of black and gold. It'd been a few months since she lost her babe, so he was giving her space to grieve. Mostly, she and the king stayed inside.

"In grand style!" Sansa answered for him. "None could stand against my prince!" Lady barked her agreement. Ah, he'd forgotten the wolf, so silent she was.

The children looked frightened, so Joffrey bent over, ouch again, and lowered his voice. "Lady is perfectly safe, Ned. Do you want to pet her?"

The boy looked unsure, but at his mother's encouragement, he walked up and gave Lady a few tentative, experimental strokes. When nothing happened, he grew bolder and started scratching her behind the ears like a dog. He had to stand on his tiptoes and reach, for the wolf was taller than he was.

Soon, the smith arrived with a tool to loosen the joints of Joff's armor, and before long, Joff had freed himself from his gauntlets, greaves, and breastplate. His shoulders ached terribly as he lifted off the coat of mail he wore underneath. Changing into something more comfortable would be heavenly.

Sure enough, Sansa was already in his trunk, picking out his clothes. "Let's see...something that matches my dress for the feast..." Lady looked over her shoulder, almost like the wolf could help. Sometimes that creature acted almost human, so close was their bond.

He waited patiently for her to decide until someone else barged into the tent.

"Joff, are you hurt?" Mother rushed to him in a swirl of red silk, touching him searchingly, much like Sansa did. Her fingers made him wince, and he looked down to see what was the matter.

Oh, I'm covered in ugly, purple bruises. Well, he did sign up for this. Nobody to blame but himself.

Mother ignored Lyra and the children as if they didn't exist, which was a mercy, but when she noticed Sansa and the wolf, her face changed. Those pretty green eyes, so similar to his own, burned with green malice, wildfire green. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Sansa rose with deliberate slowness after laying out his clothes. "Seeing to my love's hurts, what else?" There was no warmth in her voice, and Lady looked similarly unamused at her side.

"Joff, you must not keep that animal about you. It's unsafe," Mother said.

Why did Mother pick today of all days to come back into my life? he lamented. She and Sansa not getting along could really complicate matters. Family drama had a way of interfering with his projects.

"I'm perfectly safe, Mother," he assured her, trying to be diplomatic.

"Safe," the queen sneered in contempt. "The beast keeps you a hostage. It could devour you at any time if you do ought the wildling girl mislikes."

"Lady would never!" Sansa retorted fiercely. "Lady would protect Joff with her life!"

Mother snorted in quite unladylike fashion. "And what in seven hells are you doing here? My son has not even a tunic on!"

It was cold in here, Joffrey realized, despite the burning brazier. He hadn't thought anything of stripping down for a quick change of clothes. "Mother, she is to be my wife," he explained slowly. "What matters if she catches a glimpse of my bare chest? It's quite ugly and bruised just now, as you can see."

"My son isn't married yet," Mother declared, "and this Northern marriage was Robert's notion. There are other options. Come back with me, and we can discuss matters with your grandfather."

Yeah, not happening. She was talking to him like he was a kid again. "It's decided, Mother. I'll see you at the feast."

He was terribly conscious of the death glare Mother was sending his way while he dressed. When Sansa buttoned up his doublet for him, the nice one with embroidery she made herself, he thought the queen might scream.

"So you're choosing her over me, your own mother?" Her voice dripped with quiet menace.

Joff really wanted to say something mean in that moment, but he controlled himself with great effort. "You are my mother, and she will be my wife. You are all my family, and shouldn't be fighting."

With one final ugly look at Sansa, Cersei Lannister turned and stormed out of the royal pavilion, saying not another word. Hopefully, she wouldn't regress after this. Going outside was a great first step, and he wanted to praise her for it. Mother just needed to learn he wasn't hers to command.

Joffrey sighed. "Come on, Sansa. We don't want to miss the last jousts. Bye, Lyra, Bye, kids."

***

When Loras rode by to present Sansa a blue winter rose from his cloak, Lady growled at him. The young knight's poor mare bolted, and he nearly lost his seat. It was the funniest thing Joffrey had seen all day, a bit of levity after the argument with his mom. He even dropped the rose before he had a chance to hand it off. Joff leaned over the railing and picked it up to hand to her.

"I mislike that boy," Sansa said at his side. She sniffed the rose and held it out for Lady to do the same. "He is far too familiar."

"Loras is harmless," Joffrey said. "It's just a little game to him. He presents a different lady with a flower every time he rides, means nothing."

Joff had seen Loras ride in enough tournaments to know nothing ever came of it. He hardly ever talked to girls, actually, and he would be popular if he tried. Fighting was his life, and he was a third son besides. Maybe he was angling for a place in the Kingsguard.

"If you say so, my love," Sansa said uncertainly. Yes, she was much more reasonable than Mother. The queen didn't bother to stick around, which he was somewhat grateful for. The feast would be awkward with her mad at him.

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Arya cried out in astonishment when Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, entered the lists. She and Jon sat directly behind them on the next level of benches. "How do you beat someone like that?"

"Speed and skill, little sister," Jon answered. "That horse looks a pony beneath him, though he's the largest destrier I've ever seen. It's a firm seat, but you could unsettle him if you struck just so."

"Yeah, I've seen the Mountain lose before," Joffrey said conversationally. "He doesn't win every time. It'll be tough for Loras, though. Size matters, I'm sorry to say."

"Not that sorry," Jon said bitterly.

"If you ate more, you might grow taller, Jon. There's a feast tonight, I hear," the prince said as the two riders took their places.

The Master of Revels gave the signal, and a trumpet blew a fanfare. Both Loras and the Mountain couched their lances and spurred their horses forward.

Strike!

Loras hit him perfect and square, and his lance broke in two, but Ser Gregor hardly budged. The force of the exchange could be felt in the stands, making Joffrey wince in sympathy, or maybe his bruises were hurting worse.

They did five more passes with neither man falling, but it seemed that Loras was like to win on points when they readied themselves for the seventh and final run. Every lance he broke was perfectly placed and snapped cleanly, right on target, center of the shield. Ser Gregor's three dogs had lost one of their number, the wood chipped off by Ser Loras' precision strikes.

Alas! The Mountain's lance rode up, avoiding the Tyrell knight's shield entirely and striking him full on the helm, knocking him senseless. He reeled in the saddle and slumped, unconscious. The horse beneath him continued running, and he eventually slipped loose and fell to the ground in a heap.

There were screams from the crowd, mostly feminine, but Sansa seemed not to care at all. Arya thought the crushing blow the most exciting thing she'd ever seen, cheering loudly, but Jon shushed her. Loras didn't move for some time, and Joff began to worry. Two maesters checked him and summoned a litter, but just as they were about to carry him off, Loras came to and was able to walk away under his own power. Joffrey breathed a sigh of relief. He and Loras weren't that close. The Tyrell was more his Uncle Renly's friend, but they trained together sometimes and discussed horseflesh once or twice. Deaths in tournaments weren't exactly rare, but he was glad today wasn't Loras' day to die.

After that, his Uncle Jaime defeated Ser Barristan the Bold in a hard-fought battle, and, predictably, the Mountain yielded the field to him, and thus the champion's crown. It was his uncle's custom to declare his mother the Queen of Love and Beauty whenever he won, but she was nowhere to be found. After a short scan of the crowd, Ser Jaime presented the token to Sansa, which pleased Joffrey greatly. She deserved it for being so cool about everything. He put an arm around her, making her blush, and cheered with all the rest.

***

That night at the feast, there was an endless parade of well-wishers and, frankly, flatterers.

Sansa sat to his left, and he served her chivalrously, cutting her meat for her and always serving her the choicest morsels. Courtly etiquette really wasn't that complicated, and she appreciated the little gestures, so he was glad to play the gallant for her. It would be a pleasant evening if people didn't keep interrupting!

"My prince," this, "my prince," that, Sansa got her fair share as well. They complimented him about the city, how he fought in the melee, and Sansa for her beauty and spirit. The first few times it was nice, but the torrent didn't let up. It was driving him crazy. It was like every lord and lady in the Seven Kingdoms was lining up to kiss his ass.

"Why are they doing this?" he whispered to Loras at his right. The guy was definitely hurting, stiff, and sore. Renly was fussing over him and hovering like a mother hen, so Joffrey thought letting Loras sit with his crew would be a nice change of pace.

"You two are to be the next king and queen, my prince," Loras answered with slurred speech. "They mean to curry favor. There will be a song about your love within a fortnight. I'm sure of it."

Joffrey was afraid Loras was concussed until he saw how heavily he was drinking. "Slow down, buddy. There are still a dozen courses to go."

"Oh, Joff, when you picked me up and spun me around, that was the happiest moment of my life! Do you think they will really write a love song about it?" Sansa said brightly.

"It's happened before, I think," he answered. "Singers are always looking for new material, and a lot of them came to this tournament."

Loras sighed sadly and held out his goblet for a servant to fill again. Joff felt sorry for him. Losing sucks.

The wolves were feasting as well, sharing half an ox between the three of them. People looked on, in horror or fascination, he couldn't say, but Joff at least thought they were cool, huge, and expensive to feed, but definitely cool.

Uncle Renly looked upset as he walked by; maybe he lost money betting against Uncle Jaime. The two sides of his family didn't always get along; in fact, they mostly didn't.

A servant with a platter of lemon cakes walked by, and Joff flagged him down. Those were Sansa's favorite. He was about to serve her when a drunken knight with a dark badge Joffrey couldn't quite make out in the firelight walked up to Loras, brandishing a knife.

"What did you mean by it?" he grumbled.

Loras didn't look up from his wine goblet, likely too drunk to hear. That made the knight angrier.

"You gave my lady a rose, right in front of me!" He raised his knife.

Joffrey stood up at once and put himself between the two men. Loras was in no condition to defend himself, and drunken stabbings at the banquet board over petty slights were a common enough occurrence. He needed to talk the knight down.

"Ser, please, I'm sure Loras meant nothing by it."

"Piss off!" His breath stank of sour wine, and the knife flashed.

Joff had had a bit to drink, but not nearly as much as these others. They wrestled for the knife as he continued trying to de-escalate the situation. Frankly, he was surprised this was the first time a jealous man had issues with Loras' antics.

The wrestling match became a proper fight, and soon the knight was slashing at him, trying to get to Loras. Joff took a few shallow cuts on the forearms, but hardly felt them. This was getting out of hand!

He was about to be forced to draw steel himself when the wolves reacted. All three together pounced and started ripping the man apart, right there in front of everyone. The knight didn't have time to scream. Joff didn't even know what house he belonged to. Well, he was dead now.

Chaos erupted. Guards flooded down to restore order. They feared getting too close to the wolves, though. Father wasn't here, likely spending time with Lyra, so it was up to him.

"Stop!" he commanded, and the wolves stopped. The man they were ripping apart was a bloody ruin, but at last Joffrey recognized the sigil, the blue towers of House Frey, soaked through with thick black blood. One of the men-at-arms started asking questions, and Joffrey explained that the Frey knight had tried to stab Loras Tyrell. Technically, he'd struck a prince, so he was dead even if the wolves hadn't gotten involved.

"You're hurt!" Sansa screeched. It was true; his sleeves were bloody.

The feast ended with Sansa insisting he see a maester at once. They'd deal with this tomorrow.