A Good King - A Joffrey Baratheon Insert

Wench

Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I set my mind to going through the ever-present mountain of paperwork that was on my desk. Endless sheets of reports about one part of the kingdoms or another, missives from my Small Council, lords moaning to me, when really they should write to their liege, and other such things. Once, Lord Hawick had written to me about an infestation of rats, as if that was something that was of pressing concern to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Nonetheless, I made an effort to respond, or at least have someone respond in my name, to every letter I received. Even if it was just to tell them to stop wasting my time.

I had just finished reading a report from Lord Wylde about how the new Ironborn ships were faring in their trials when a shot of pain made itself known in my injured leg. I bit on my tongue to stop myself crying out. I breathed heavily once the pain had subsided. This happened more times than not when I sat still for a long enough time. I braced myself on my desk and forced myself to my feet, crying out as my right leg straightened.

Ser Preston stormed into the room, sword unsheathed, clearly thinking I was under attack. "At ease, Ser." I said, wincing, "I am fine."

He sheathed his sword and looked sheepish. "I apologise, Your Grace."

I shook my head. "It is fine, Ser Preston. I would prefer you to respond like that every time I cry out, and it always be my leg, then to not do so, and it be an assassin ripping out my guts."

He seemed shocked at my rather vivid description of my own demise, but I gave him no time to dwell on it as I grasped my simple-looking cane and started to leave the room. "Come, Ser Preston. I am in need of a walk."

We made our way through Maegor's Holdfast, towards the exit, heading in the direction of the White Sword Tower, the home of the Kingsguard. Along the way, we came across Tommen, flanked by Ser Boros.

"Tommen!" I said cheerfully. "How are you brother?"

"Joffrey!" He exclaimed, seemingly shocked to see me. "I have a lesson with the Grand Maester."

I pulled a face and he giggled.

"Why don't you come with me? I'm going on a visit into the city. We could bring mother and Myrcella along?"

He grinned with excitement. "Can we go and see the glasshouses?" He nearly shouted.

I thought about it exaggeratedly. "I don't know if we have time."

He laughed and punched me playfully. Trying, and failing to keep the laughter out of my voice, I said, "Ser Preston, this man has attacked your king! Arrest him at once!"

The knight of the Kingsguard unsheathed his sword and took a step forward, grasping Tommen's arm. Tommen, squirming in a vain attempt to get free from Ser Preston's grip, reached under his arm and produced a dagger, before raising it towards the throat of the man from House Greenfield.

"Tommen, Ser Preston, stop!" I ordered, suddenly finding the situation a lot less funny. It may have started as a joke, but if Tommen actually decided to try and use the blade, things could escalate quickly.

The two separated swiftly and as we continued on the way to the Kingsguard's tower, I asked my brother, "where in the name of the Seven did you get that blade?"

"Mother gave it to me", he said, shrugging, "said that I'd need it if someone ever tried to hurt me because of my status."

I cringed; clearly my injury has set off Cersei's paranoid-overprotectiveness again.

"Well, there's no point in you having a blade if you can't use it properly. If Ser Preston had wanted to, he could have disarmed you before you even raised it. If you like, I could arrange for someone to teach you to use it?"