Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Joffrey woke later than usual, the sun already high in the sky as it spilled through the window, casting warm light over his room. He stretched lazily, the lingering exhaustion from the day before still clinging to his muscles. He considered going down to the yard for training but quickly discarded the idea. He was late enough already, and there was something else on his mind this morning—something that tugged at the edge of his thoughts.

Skipping the usual routine, he dressed quickly, pulling on a tunic of Lannister red and gold. It was important to be seen today, but in a different light than the swordplay of the training yard. Today, he would play the game of charm and influence. He left his chambers and made his way to the Great Hall, his boots echoing off the stone floors as he walked.

When he entered, the hall was already buzzing with activity—knights, squires, and lords gathered for breakfast. Joffrey spotted Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun, seated at one of the long tables near the dais, chatting idly with some of his bannermen. A plan formed in Joffrey’s mind almost instantly. He strode over, deliberately taking the seat next to Edmure, flashing him a smile as he sat.

“Lord Edmure,” Joffrey greeted, his tone polite but laced with subtle authority. “I was hoping I could join you for breakfast.”

Edmure glanced over, somewhat surprised but pleased by the attention from the crown prince. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said, nodding in welcome. “Always an honor to share a meal with royalty.”

Joffrey picked up a slice of bread and casually tore it apart, letting the conversation ease in. “Riverrun’s a fine castle,” he remarked, glancing around the hall as if he could feel the history in its stone walls. “It must be a privilege to grow up surrounded by such beauty. The river, the lands. It’s a different kind of majesty from King’s Landing.”

Edmure chuckled, clearly enjoying the flattery. “Aye, Riverrun has its charm. It’s peaceful here, in a way that the capital could never be.”

Joffrey smiled, keeping his tone light and casual. “Peaceful, but you’ve got more than just beauty here. The strength of your house, the rivers that give life to half the region. It's no wonder Riverrun has such a strong reputation.”

They talked easily for a while, with Edmure loosening up, sharing stories of the lands around Riverrun and the adventures of his youth—particularly tales of getting into trouble by the riverbanks as a boy. Joffrey listened, occasionally throwing in a story of his own about life in King’s Landing, careful to balance the conversation so Edmure didn’t feel like he was being outshone. It was all part of the act.

But as Joffrey spoke, his gaze flicked toward Sansa and Myrcella at a nearby table. The two were seated together, close, exchanging looks that were… not as discreet as they likely thought. Myrcella’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and Sansa’s soft smile hinted at something deeper—something Joffrey didn’t like seeing. His stomach twisted for a moment, but he forced the feeling down. Whatever was going on between them would have to be dealt with later.

Returning his focus to Edmure, Joffrey leaned in, shifting the conversation. “You know, Lord Edmure, you’ve got the look of a man who knows his way around a battlefield. I’ve been told your skill with a sword is formidable.”

Edmure’s grin widened, clearly pleased by the compliment. “I do my best, Your Grace. We all have our strengths.”

“Perhaps we should spar sometime,” Joffrey suggested, his voice casual but edged with a challenge. “A friendly match, of course. It’s been some time since I’ve had a worthy opponent.”

Edmure raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You flatter me, Prince Joffrey. But I’d be honored to cross swords with you.”

Joffrey smiled. *Hooked.* “Excellent. After breakfast, then?”

They continued their meal, swapping stories of life in their respective castles—Joffrey weaving tales that mixed humor and authority, while Edmure spoke more freely about the lighter moments of Riverrun life. It was the kind of conversation that would leave Edmure feeling good, like they were equals, even though Joffrey was carefully guiding every word.

Once they finished, they made their way to the practice yard, where a few squires were already sparring. Joffrey motioned for them to fetch practice swords and armor, keeping the mood light, though the air between them hummed with the unspoken competition.

---

The sparring match started slowly, with both men feeling out the other’s strength. Edmure had the bulk of experience—his swordsmanship was solid, and he had a clear physical advantage. He pressed hard, his strikes heavy and relentless, and Joffrey had to work to keep up, his own movements quicker, more calculated. Edmure grinned with every clash of steel, clearly enjoying the friendly contest.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Edmure teased, stepping forward with a strong overhead strike that Joffrey barely deflected. “You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your men.”

Joffrey gritted his teeth but kept his expression calm, his footwork nimble as he parried another strike. “You’re stronger than I expected, Lord Edmure. I’ll give you that.”

But strength wasn’t everything, and Joffrey knew it. He waited for the right moment, a small slip in Edmure’s guard, and when it came, he struck—quick, sharp, and decisive. He disarmed Edmure with a swift twist of his wrist, sending the lord’s sword clattering to the ground. Joffrey stepped back, breathing hard but grinning.

“I’ve had some good teachers,” Joffrey remarked, his tone still friendly, though there was a hint of smugness. “Ser Barristan trains me religiously.”

Edmure’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of competitiveness igniting there. But he laughed, stepping forward to clasp Joffrey’s shoulder. “A fine victory, Your Grace. I’ll need to get better if I’m to face the likes of you again.”

Joffrey smiled, seeing that fire spark in Edmure’s gaze. He knew he’d left an impression—one that would keep Edmure pushing harder, but without any resentment.

---

Later, Joffrey made his way toward Myrcella’s chambers. The look he’d seen between her and Sansa during breakfast gnawed at him. He couldn’t shake the sense that something deeper was brewing, and he needed answers. The door to her room was slightly ajar, and Joffrey pushed it open without knocking, stepping inside.

Myrcella was sprawled on her bed, her back arched slightly as her hand moved slowly between her legs. Her eyes were half-lidded, a soft moan escaping her lips as she touched herself. Joffrey’s footsteps were soft as he approached, but she knew he was there. Her head tilted slightly, her gaze drifting lazily toward him, lips parted in a breathless grin.

“Enjoying yourself, sister?” Joffrey asked dryly, sitting down beside her on the bed. His eyes flicked to her fingers, watching as they moved rhythmically, wet and glistening.

Myrcella moaned softly, her voice thick with pleasure. “What does it look like, Joffrey?” she whispered, her breath hitching. She arched her hips, her fingers moving faster.

Joffrey’s brow furrowed, though he felt himself stirring at the sight. He leaned closer, his voice low and demanding. “You and Sansa. What’s going on?”

Myrcella grinned wickedly, her hips rocking against her hand as she gasped. “Exactly what happens between you and her, brother. We enjoy ourselves.”

Joffrey’s jaw tightened. His hand moved down, replacing hers, his fingers sliding inside her slick warmth, and he felt her body respond immediately. But his tone remained cold. “Why didn’t you invite me, then?”

Myrcella’s grin widened, her breath quickening as she pushed her hips into his hand. “You told her yourself,” she said with a breathy laugh, “that she can’t be seen with you. She’s been following your orders.” Her tone was smug, even as her body writhed beneath his touch.

Joffrey paused for a second, his fingers still deep inside her. He stared down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Sansa is being punished for not listening to me,” he growled. “But you… she should be dependent on *me* for pleasure.”

Myrcella let out a throaty laugh, her body trembling as he resumed moving his fingers. “Oh, brother,” she purred, her voice thick with amusement. “You’re the one punishing your soon-to-be lady wife, not me.”

Joffrey’s movements quickened, his fingers hooking inside her, pulling up sharply. Myrcella gasped, her hips lifting off the bed, her eyes fluttering with bliss. “Then what do you want?” he demanded, his voice harsh as he pressed his thumb against her clit, making her squirm beneath him.

Myrcella moaned louder, her body moving in a circle against his hand as she chased her release. “I want Mother,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “For the rest of the journey.”

Joffrey’s face twisted into a scowl, but he didn’t stop his movements. “No,” he growled, his voice firm. “You can have her for a moon or two. Nothing more.”

Myrcella bit her lip, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she moved harder against his hand, pushing herself closer to the edge. “Three moons,” she bargained, her eyes half-closed as her body arched. “It’ll take three moons to reach King’s Landing anyway.”

Joffrey’s fingers curled inside her, hitting that perfect spot, and Myrcella cried out as she came, her body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm. He didn’t stop until she was finished, her body slumping back against the pillows in a daze. Her eyes were wild, glazed with satisfaction, and Joffrey felt a twisted satisfaction at the sight.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, watching her closely. Then, without a word, he pushed them into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. Myrcella’s eyes widened, and she sucked on his fingers with a fervor that sent a pulse of desire straight to his groin.

But he wouldn’t act on it. He knew better. Myrcella wasn’t attracted to him like that. If he fucked her now, she’d be thinking of someone else—probably Cersei or Sansa—and that was a humiliation he wasn’t about to endure.

Joffrey stood, wiping his hand on the bedsheets before giving Myrcella a cold smile. “You can have her for three moons,” he said, his voice edged with finality. “Until then be a friend and only a friend to Sansa”

Myrcella smiled lazily, licking her lips as she lay back on the bed, completely unbothered by his warning. “Of course, brother. Whatever you say.”

Joffrey left her there, his mind swirling with dark thoughts, but he pushed them aside. He had more important things to deal with than his sister’s games. There were bigger moves to make, and soon enough, he’d have the power to do whatever the fuck he wanted without consequences until then he will wait and he will fold to the more reasonable demands.

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