Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Joffrey rode in silence as the royal retinue made its way across the muddy roads of the Riverlands, the wheels of the wagons grinding over the uneven terrain. He was stewing, thoughts swirling darkly in his head, dominated by Myrcella’s ridiculous revelation. “I don’t like men,” she’d said, as if her moans and gasps under him had meant nothing. *Bullshit,* he thought, gripping the reins tighter, his knuckles white. She’d begged for it—*begged*—and now she wanted to pretend she was only into Cersei and Sansa? What kind of game was she playing?

Maybe she was right about some things. Sure, maybe she’d been thinking about their mother and that prissy Stark girl while he fucked her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying *him*. She wasn’t exactly holding back when he had her pinned to the bed, was she? The way she moved beneath him, the way she trembled when he got her off—that wasn’t a woman who didn’t like cock. Joffrey shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Fuck.”

The real problem, though, wasn’t just Myrcella’s confusing desires. It was the request she’d made. She didn’t want to marry, didn’t want to play the game every other noblewoman had to. And Joffrey knew why it would stir up questions. Refusing marriage wasn’t something you did quietly—not in a place like King’s Landing, not when the eyes of the realm were always watching. He’d have to fend off suitors from every corner of Westeros, all wanting a piece of her. It wasn’t like they’d just leave her be. And if she didn’t get married, people would talk. They’d whisper about why, and then eventually someone would figure it out. But he couldn’t let that happen, not while he was still weaving his own plans.

*Heirs,* he thought. He needed female heirs. Once he had them, he could use them as political pawns, tying them to powerful houses, cementing alliances when it mattered. No one would question Myrcella’s refusal if he had other options for the lords of the realm to pursue. For now, though, keeping her out of the spotlight would be a challenge. He couldn’t afford for people to start digging too deep into his family’s affairs.

But the matter of marriages was just a distraction. His mind drifted to a more pressing problem—Stannis. His uncle had been absent from King’s Landing since Jon Arryn’s death, and that silence didn’t sit right with Joffrey. Stannis was always scheming, always rigid in his sense of duty, but the man had no love for Robert, and Joffrey knew from his memories of the show that Stannis would make his move as soon as Robert was out of the picture. He had to be planning something. Otherwise, why take the royal navy with him to Dragonstone?

“Paranoid bastard,” Joffrey muttered, glancing up at the dreary sky as if it held any answers. There were only two other navies in Westeros, and neither of them were close enough to King’s Landing to protect the capital. That was the crux of it—Stannis had taken the one defense the city had by sea, and without it, the realm would be exposed the moment Robert’s heart gave out from all the wine and whores.

It was a perfect opening, really. He’d pit Robert and Stannis against each other, let their simmering hatred bubble over into something explosive. It wouldn’t be hard. The brothers already loathed each other. All Joffrey had to do was fan the flames.

With that thought in mind, he spurred his horse forward, drawing closer to Robert’s side. His father was as always lost in his own thoughts, no doubt reminiscing about the glory days of the Rebellion, or more likely, thinking about the next cup of wine he could get his hands on. Joffrey didn’t bother with pleasantries. He cut straight to the point. “Father, where’s Uncle Stannis?”

Robert barely glanced at him, his thick fingers toying with the reins as he slouched in his saddle. “Stannis? Probably off at Dragonstone, dipping his balls in the salty shore. Where else would he be?”

Joffrey laughed, though it lacked real humor. “What’s he doing there?”

Robert sputtered, caught off guard by the question. “Hah, fuck if I know. Left because he missed his wife and child or some nonsense.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Joffrey mused aloud, his tone casual as if he were simply passing the time. “Why didn’t he bring them to King’s Landing with him if he missed them so much?”

Robert frowned, his brows drawing together as if Joffrey had asked him something that actually required thought. “Hell if I know. Maybe he’s thinking of marrying that daughter of his off to someone.”

Joffrey nodded, acting contemplative. “Perhaps we should arrange a match for her, then. What about Tommen?”

Robert shot him a warning look. “That’s too close in the family, boy. You know that.”

Joffrey shrugged, unfazed. “It would bind Stannis closer to us. Keep him loyal. Isn’t that worth a little discomfort?”

Robert barked out a rough laugh. “Closer? What more do you need? He’s already my damn brother! And besides, that girl of his has greyscale.”

Joffrey conceded with a slight nod, but he wasn’t done yet. “And Stannis’ wife, she’s become a follower of R’hllor, hasn’t she?”

Robert winced, clearly uncomfortable with the mention of Melisandre’s foreign god. “They can practice whatever bloody religion they want,” he grumbled.

“But the royal navy is with Stannis,” Joffrey pointed out. “And ever since Jon Arryn’s death, none of his people are in King’s Landing.”

Robert’s face darkened, a heavy scowl setting into his features. “He wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.

Joffrey leaned closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. “He wouldn’t dare now, but what about after you’re gone?”

Robert’s breath came out in heavy bursts, his massive chest heaving as he struggled to keep his temper in check. “You want me to be a kinslayer, boy?” he whispered harshly, his words barely audible over the clatter of hooves and the wind.

Joffrey placed a palm on Robert’s arm, feigning reassurance. “No, of course not. That’s why I suggested the marriage. Stannis can’t refuse without looking suspicious.”

Robert grunted, though the tension in his jaw remained. “And what if it puts your life in danger?”

Joffrey shook his head, his tone firm. “I’ll have a will written that legitimizes all your bastards. It’ll give them all a claim, make sure the realm is stable.”

Robert snorted, almost spitting. “You’d make yourself the worst king in history, boy. The chaos alone would ruin generations—like the War of the Ninepenny Kings.”

Joffrey grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I’ll be dead, so I won’t care.”

Robert laughed then, a deep, throaty sound that was more genuine than anything Joffrey had heard in a while. “Fine, fine. We’ll propose a betrothal between Tommen and Stannis’ girl. But that’s it.”

“And Renly,” Joffrey added quickly, sensing the opportunity. “We should marry him off to someone far from the Reach.”

Robert scowled again, his amusement fading. “Why?”

Joffrey glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to hear. “He’s got a peculiar relationship with one of the Reach’s heirs. If we tie him to Dorne, they’ll be more forgiving of his proclivities.”

Robert bristled, his face turning red with anger. “The Dornish still piss on my throne! I won’t give them a way into the royal family.”

“They’ll get half their revenge through Clegane,” Joffrey argued smoothly. “And we’ll gain a royal match. They’ll settle. Dorne always settles when they know they’re getting something out of it.”

Robert grumbled, clearly torn. “If Stannis does rebel, Renly might join him or form his own faction. That’s dangerous.”

“Dorne won’t support either side unless they’re certain of their victory,” Joffrey pointed out. “They’re cowards in their own way.”

Robert sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the weight of the decisions piling on him. “And what about the Reach?”

Joffrey smirked. “The Reach will stay loyal if they think they have influence over the king. We could give Sansa Stark a new handmaiden—Margaery Tyrell.”

Robert groaned, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything to do with that prickly old woman.”

“It’s what we need to control the Reach,” Joffrey said simply.

Robert let out a long, weary breath. “Fine, but enough of this courtly bullshit for now. Let’s talk about it later.” He pulled a cigar from his pouch and lit it, taking a long drag before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

Joffrey gave a small nod and urged his horse forward, leaving his father to brood in peace.

---

Two hours later, they arrived at Riverrun. The red sandstone walls of the Tully castle loomed ahead, and Joffrey could hear

his father growing more vocal the closer they got to the Trident. He let Robert ramble about his time at the river and the glories of his old victories, but Joffrey’s mind was elsewhere. As soon as they were inside, he accepted the salt and bread from their hosts before slipping away to the room he had been assigned.

The moment the door was closed behind him, Joffrey stripped off his clothes, his muscles sore from the long ride. He stood there, naked, feeling the cool air against his skin as he waited for the bath to be prepared. When the Tully maid finally knocked and informed him the water was ready, he grinned and followed her to the tub, already imagining the heat of the water easing the tension from his body.

He sank into the hot water with a satisfied sigh, the heat enveloping him like a lover’s embrace. “Clean me,” he ordered lazily, leaning back against the edge of the tub.

The maid, a shy thing with auburn hair and downcast eyes, moved quickly to obey. She dipped a linen cloth in the water and began washing his arms, her touch light and efficient. Joffrey watched her work, his gaze drifting over her slender frame. She wasn’t much to look at compared to the women he’d been with before, but there was something about her submissive nature that stirred something dark inside him.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of command that made her flinch slightly.

“J-Jane, your grace,” she stammered, her eyes never meeting his.

“Tell me about yourself, Jane,” he said, watching her intently as she moved the cloth over his chest.

She hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether he was truly interested or if this was some kind of test. But when he gave her an encouraging smile, she began to speak, her voice soft and hesitant as she told him about her life in Riverrun. As she talked, Joffrey let his hand slide beneath the water, his fingers grazing the edge of her skirt. She didn’t stop him. In fact, she seemed to be getting bolder the longer she spoke, her hands moving over his muscles with less hesitation, her touch lingering as if she couldn’t help herself.

He smirked, enjoying her growing confidence. “You can touch all you want,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, “but I don’t like my hands being empty.”

Her cheeks flushed, and after a moment’s hesitation, she let the linen cloth fall from her hand, lowering the top of her dress to expose her breasts. Without a word, she placed one of her round, heavy breasts into his hand. Joffrey’s fingers closed around the soft flesh, squeezing lightly as she continued to explore his body, her hand drifting lower beneath the water.

When her fingers brushed against his hardening cock, Joffrey let out a quiet grunt of approval, his grip tightening on her breast. He was about to make some teasing remark when he noticed something strange. His palm was wet—slick with something other than water. He lifted his hand, frowning as he stared at the white liquid dripping from his fingers. It took him a moment to realize what it was.

“You’re lactating,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

The maid froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard by his observation. Then she blushed deeply and mumbled, “My son… he’s sick. He might not survive. I have too much milk.”

Joffrey stared at the liquid on his hand, feeling a strange mix of emotions he couldn’t quite place. Without thinking, he brought her breast to his mouth and sucked, drawing the warm milk from her. It wasn’t like anything he’d tasted before—thinner than water, with a strange sweetness to it. But he didn’t mind. He kept sucking, his hand guiding hers to stroke him faster beneath the water.

“You should’ve told me,” he murmured between mouthfuls, his voice muffled against her skin.

She hesitated for a second, then continued stroking him. “I’m sorry if I offended you, your grace.”

Joffrey stopped her hand, gripping her wrist tightly as he stared into her wide, fearful eyes. For a moment, he felt something—a flicker of guilt, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it came. He let go of her arm, and she resumed stroking him, her hand moving faster now, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants.

After a while, he grunted, pushing himself out of the tub. He grabbed a few coins from his clothes and handed them to her. “Next time, ask if you need something before offering yourself. Some would’ve paid you even if you hadn’t done this.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile—it was tired, worn down. “You didn’t ask me to stop, even after you knew.”

Joffrey stared at her, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in his chest. She was right, of course. He hadn’t stopped her. He hadn’t even considered it. He’d been too caught up in his own needs to care about hers.

When she left the room with the coins in her hand, Joffrey sat on the edge of the bed, feeling more conflicted than he’d ever admit. He had the power to take from these women because they didn’t resist—because they needed something from him, because they were desperate. He could have any of them, anytime he wanted. But what did it mean if they only gave themselves to him for coin?

He thought about Lyla, about Marian. He’d believed they wanted him, that he’d charmed them into his bed. But now, after the maid’s quiet accusation, he wasn’t so sure. How many of them wanted *him*, and how many of them just wanted what he could give them?

That night, Joffrey lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. By morning, he’d made a decision. From now on, he’d ask the women what they wanted before anything happened. If they still wanted him after he gave them coin or favors, fine. But if they left, then so be it. At least he’d know. At least he wouldn’t feel like a damn dildo, used for their own gain.

It was a small change, but maybe it’d help him sleep a little easier at night.

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