Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

The night was settling in as Joffrey and Cersei left the feast, the campfires flickering dimly against the darkening sky. The royal retinue had been back on the Kingsroad for three days, traveling steadily south, and while Riverrun had its share of politics and intrigue, the road had been dull so far. They strolled quietly, the echo of the feast still buzzing behind them. Cersei was teasing him lightly, something she enjoyed doing when she had the upper hand.

"Myrcella got you, didn't she?" Cersei grinned, her golden hair shimmering under the soft moonlight.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, clearly not in the mood for his mother’s jests. "And I lost two beautiful women for the rest of this damned journey because of her little game."

He wasn’t laughing. Myrcella had played him, leveraging her desires and winning more than he expected. Cersei, amused by his frustration, stopped and gently placed her hand on his cheek, her thumb rubbing affectionately along his jawline. “Aww, you called me beautiful,” she cooed mockingly.

Joffrey took her hand in his, pulling it down softly but keeping it clasped in his. "You know it too well to be surprised."

Cersei chuckled, her eyes gleaming. "Yes, it’s true." She gave him a playful, teasing look as if daring him to keep up with her.

They walked a few more steps before Joffrey turned to her, his mood still sour. "What was that about earlier? Talking down about that old knight’s daughter?"

Cersei smiled, a sharp edge to her lips now. "That little wench has been spreading some unfortunately false rumors about me."

Joffrey raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Oh? What kind of rumors?"

Cersei gave a theatrical sigh, clearly enjoying the drama. "Apparently, she’s been saying she’s more beautiful than the queen herself. Imagine that—boasting to anyone who will listen."

Joffrey smirked, shaking his head. "You’re really letting yourself be bothered by some girl’s boasts?"

Cersei’s smile thinned, turning cold as she stared into the distance. "Maybe I wouldn’t, if she hadn’t also called me an ugly bitch while she was at it."

Joffrey snorted, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Should I have her tongue removed then?"

Cersei slapped his shoulder lightly, though her gaze didn’t lose its sharpness. "Not everything needs to be solved with violence, Joffrey. Let her talk. In a few days, after enough whispers about her ‘ugly’ hair, she’ll chop it off herself. Mark my words."

Joffrey gave her a sidelong glance, muttering, "You’re evil."

Cersei smiled proudly. "I’m just a lioness marking her territory."

Joffrey inwardly noted how cunning his mother could be. She was someone who used influence like a weapon, cutting without ever wielding a blade. If he weren’t using her, he’d have distanced her from his plans long ago. He considered that once they reached King’s Landing, her games would likely start interfering with his more strategic moves. He wondered if it would be better to include her in his plans and let her mess them up, or exclude her entirely and watch as she wrecked things from the sidelines.

But before his thoughts could linger too long on that, a sudden, sharp shout rang out from the camp behind them. Joffrey spun around, eyes narrowing in the dark as he caught sight of a horse, its saddle engulfed in flames, wildly bolting through the camp. The fire lit the beast’s back like a beacon, flickering against the chaos as it tore through the tents.

Without thinking, Joffrey grabbed Cersei’s arm and yanked her aside, pulling her out of the horse’s path as it thundered past. He spotted a nearby pot of water and hurled it at the horse’s saddle, the flames dimming slightly though the fire still clung stubbornly to the animal. Someone else in the camp managed to grab the horse’s reins and brought it to a halt.

Joffrey looked toward where the horse had come from, realizing there was a larger fire raging near the tents. His instincts kicked in.

“Bring the horse closer,” he barked at the knight holding its reins. Once the knight obeyed, Joffrey gave a quick, cold order. "Guard the queen. Get her away from the fire."

Cersei, still catching her breath from the sudden chaos, looked at Joffrey, worry creeping into her voice. "Come with me, Joffrey."

Joffrey shook his head, his expression hard. "I need to make sure Father is safe."

He turned without waiting for her to protest, sprinting toward the blaze. As he neared, the flames from one of the larger tents lit the night with a hellish glow. It was his father's tent. His heart quickened, but his face remained stoic as he scanned the area, spotting one of the wine boys standing nearby, frozen in terror.

“Is the king still in there?” Joffrey shouted, already moving closer to the inferno.

The boy shook his head, stammering, "I-I don’t know, Your Grace!"

Joffrey paused, staring into the flames licking the edges of the tent. His thoughts raced. If Robert was dead, the war of five kings would be upon them sooner than expected. He clenched his jaw, wondering briefly if this was the inevitable moment when his father’s reign ended and his rule began.

But a shrill cry cut through his thoughts.

“Help! Somebody!”

Joffrey's head snapped in the direction of the voice, recognizing it immediately. Arya Stark. Her voice came from one of the other burning tents—Lord Stark’s.

Without hesitation, Joffrey sprinted toward Arya’s voice. When he reached the tent, the flames were already roaring, the structure groaning as it threatened to collapse. He saw Arya, trapped inside, her face pale with fear as she clutched a small sword. Needle.

“Joffrey! Help me!” she screamed, her voice raw with panic.

Joffrey scanned the area, looking for a way in, but the entrance was engulfed in flames. His mind raced, weighing the risks, but he knew he had no time. With a sharp exhale, he grabbed a pot of water from a passing maid, dumping it over himself before charging through the burning entrance of the tent.

The heat slammed into him like a wall. The fire singed his skin, burning his hands as he shielded his face. He gritted his teeth against the pain, ignoring the way his clothes began to smolder as he reached Arya.

She ran into his arms, clinging to him in terror. “Save me!” she cried, her voice trembling.

“Let go,” Joffrey said firmly, prying her off him so he could move freely. He spotted Needle lying beside her and grabbed it, his mind calculating the quickest way out.

The tent material was thick, resisting the blade at first. He tried cutting a square, then a circle, but both shapes were slow going. In frustration, he reverted to a simple triangle, slicing through with more force. Once he had enough space, he wrapped his arm around Arya, holding her close.

“Stay low,” he ordered, his voice sharp.

With a final push, Joffrey dove through the opening he had made, dragging Arya with him. They tumbled onto the ground outside, Arya coughing as the fresh air hit her lungs. Joffrey's back was on fire—literally. The flames had caught his tunic, spreading rapidly as the heat seared his skin.

Joffrey dropped to the ground and rolled, but the flames clung stubbornly to his clothes. He stood, panic creeping in as he felt the fire gnawing at him. He sprinted toward the river, the flames lighting his way in the dark as his tunic burned bright. He plunged into the water, the shock of the cold extinguishing the flames instantly.

Darkness swallowed him as the fire died, and for a moment, he was blind, his body aching from the burns. Struggling to stand, Joffrey dragged himself out of the river, peeling off his charred clothes, bits of skin sticking painfully to the fabric. He winced but tore the remains of the tunic off, knowing it had to be done before the burns healed.

Once he caught his breath, Joffrey made his way back toward the camp. The fire was still raging, though more controlled now as soldiers rushed to put it out. He saw a knight riding past, bringing water to douse the flames, and stopped him.

“Give me the horse,” Joffrey ordered.

The knight, recognizing the prince’s authority, dismounted without hesitation. Joffrey swung himself onto the saddle, the pain in his back sharp but manageable as he surveyed the camp from above.

“Tear down the tents ahead of the fire!” he commanded to a group of soldiers. “Stop it from spreading any further!”

He turned to a group of maids scrambling nearby. “Set counterfires. Put out the flames in controlled tents so they burn themselves out!”

As the soldiers and maids scrambled to follow his orders, Joffrey glanced up at the sky. Clouds had begun to gather, thick and heavy. Rain was coming. Relief washed over him, though he didn’t show it. Joffrey was so grateful he took that class on cloud formations in his last life as he pondered If he should make up a speech to improve his image and quickly decided on his next course of action

His back throbbed, but he kept himself upright, his voice strong as he addressed the men around him. “If the gods are watching, let them hold back the rain If they believe I deserve this, If my father deserves this, If my people deserve this! Let them test my devotion to the Seven and only rain if they beleive in me!”

A cheer erupted from the nearby soldiers, their spirits lifted by his bold words. They turned back to their work with renewed energy, the fire slowly losing its hold on the camp as more men and women joined the effort to save the tents.

Joffrey rode toward the Maester’s tent as the first drops of rain began to fall. He dismounted with a wince, the adrenaline beginning to fade as the pain in his back grew more insistent. The Maester rushed to him, already preparing supplies as the storm rolled in.

Lying on a makeshift cot, Joffrey accepted the cup of milk of the poppy the Maester handed him. As the rain began to pour outside, Joffrey’s eyelids grew heavy. He smiled to himself, knowing the timing had been perfect—reading the clouds had paid off. The gods weren’t testing him after all.

His body relaxed as the drug took hold, the pain fading into a distant throb. His last thought before sleep claimed him was simple.

*I’m getting good at this.*

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