Great Ascent

This is just a one-shot and just an idea I had while I was reading King Robert's death scene in the book GoT. I've thought about how Joffrey would have been a little different if several key characters had influenced him rather than just his mother doing it. Letjust see how it goes and review or PM if you have any questions or so.

Water Creation

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters.

Great Ascent

Joffrey Baratheon Lannister frowned as he gazed upon the much desired Iron Throne while, behind him, multitude upon multitudes of servants, knights, sworn swords, and House members ran in and out.

The Dragon Queen wasn't far from King's Landing. Joffrey was evacuating every single being in the city before he himself did so. But there was still a situation concerning the Iron Throne itself.

"Ser Lucas..." Joffrey called absently, his distant voice penetrating through the thick crowds and bringing forth said knight from its masses.

"Your Grace?"

The Iron Throne had only cut Joffrey thrice. The first had been when he was first crowned and Robert Baratheon had been declared dead; the second when Joffrey had given Cersei his poisoned wine; and the third when Joffrey had sent Jaime Lannister to his death in combat. All had been intentional cuts..

With those, he was more than sure the Iron Throne had its price and that despite it, many greedy and foolish men still wanted it. Joffrey would not consider himself out of the list for he was one of them...had been.

The Dragon Queen- Daenerys Taragyren- surely knew the price for it too. Why otherwise would she be here, almost banging upon the walls, if not for that? But it would be a mistake for Joffrey to make it so easy for her as to just enter King's Landing and take it so easily as a sweet from a babe's hand.

He could not fight with dragons eternally. But he was still a Baratheon and a Lannister.

"The Iron Throne will not belong to Daenerys Targayren so easily." He said, his words effectively putting a stop in the harried conversations and evacuations.

Ever so ready to serve, Ser Lucas never blinked. Joffrey remembered the Hound and the way the dog had always dipped his head to his orders. But Lucas had remained whereas the dog hadn't...Joffrey thanked his childhood friend for that. "What will you have me do, Your Grace?"

"Call our smiths." Joffrey ordered grimly, "Melt the Iron Throne."

Ser Lucas's eyes widened, "But Your Gra-"

Other men and women behind the two were so quiet, Joffrey almost forgot he had an audience. If his previous actions hadn't been recorded in history, this action alone would place him forever within the books. He hoped it would.

"Pour the iron in the seas. Daenerys' flames will burn out if she dares venture to retrieve the iron." Joffrey interrupted, turning back to the Iron Throne as he said so. "Melt it right now."

"But, what if it is not-"

"We do not leave before it is finished melting. If we have to, we die to buy more time." Joffrey commanded and with one sharp nod, Ser Lucas was gone.

Joffrey turned and made to his solar, feeling the crown upon his head a tad heavier than ever.

28 years ago...

"Idiots. Foolish of myself too, I tell you." Tyrion Lannister spat; taking a swig of his wine while trying to steadily ignore yet taking a glance at the crib by his table.

The blonde-haired babe curiously looked on before yawning and tucking a chubby hand under his cheek. Tyrion took another look and shook his head disappointedly, "I don't know what I did to deserve this but I assure you, I take no enjoyment in watching you laze around while I do all the hard work."

The babe cooed, opening his eyes once more and pouted. Tyrion sighed, "The day a tyke feels for me more than my own men is the day I finally believe I will grow."

Tyrion fumbled with the string of the purse that held written instructions but managed to open the drawstring. The paper tumbled out and Tyrion had to squint to find it within the candlelight. The worst thing Jaime Lannister had ever done to him up to now was drop a baby in the middle of the night so that Cersei, Robert and the rest of the knights could attend some event with the Tyrells.

My dear brother,

You will think me cruel but I swear on my blade that it is all for a good purpose. Please make sure to feed him every two hours or so and keep him well clothed and warm. Cersei would have written this but she despises you...

Good luck and may the Gods be with you.

Your Brother,

Jaime Lannister

"A dwarf wet nurse. My Lord father will be so proud. Joy." Tyrion snuck another look at the smug bastard in the crib, "You make any mess and I will feed you to the dogs."

The babe only cooed once more, unmindful of the threat.

"How in the world did you come out with blonde hairs?" He wondered, "Unless of course your mother went hard but I sincerely doubt that...King Robert doesn't seem like one to get beaten."

Unless of course, Cersei had done some brothel visiting of her own which he sincerely doubted since she held so much pride. There were other thoughts of course, but they all rounded back to Cersei's pride and he'd much rather leave that topic untouched.

So he contented himself to entertaining the royal heir to the throne, "Do you think a woman should have good-"

Present...

Joffrey held as much dignity as those who came before him and he showed it with the rigid schedule he took himself upon following every day; no matter what. Not even if Westeros was being spilt in half and burnt to the ground.

His raven-colored horse kept the steady pace even with the crowds of people passing by Joffrey. They spared him a bow and a quick heartfelt thank-you before returning to their previous worries.

Truly much had changed since the incestuous relationship between Cersei and Jaime had been known and flung at Joffrey like a pack of rotten tomatoes.

The king stopped his horse and faced the bay. He already could see the boats and ships leaving the shipyard with dozens of passengers and their belongings.

"Your Grace!"

King Joffrey ignored the voice until the clatter of hooves stopped beside his horse and he heard the deep pants of the rider's horse. He just contented himself to observing the small folk moving around. For a minute, he could believe in fooling himself back to the golden ages of his teenhood.

But...

"Your Grace, an important raven has been received."

But those days were over. Over and long forgotten so efficiently, it was another life and another burden upon his shoulders.

"What is it?" Joffrey asked.

"From the Dragon Queen herself."

24 years ago...

"Fools do not rule, Nephew."

Joffrey Baratheon nodded at his uncle as studiously as he could, making it seem as if he was paying attention at the dwarf and not at the bloody scene in front of him. "Yes, Uncle Tyrion."

"And neither do cripples and dwarfs." Tyrion grinned, holding out a goblet of wine to the four year old, "If you grow taller, then perhaps you'll amount to something other than a chip of the uncle's shoulder."

"Does Mother allow you to be handing me goblets and not cups?"

Tyrion waved away the unconcerned prince, "What the Queen doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Unless she knows..." Joffrey mentioned, feeling like cowing his uncle into sobriety as he nonchalantly held the goblet out for Cersei to easily see.

Tyrion jumped and pushed the goblet away, "You flea, she will make the court jester look like a fool if she sees. The scandal of that woman!"

"I did not take you for a craven, Uncle Tyrion. Especially from your own sister." Joffrey said, eyes brushing past the blood and the body to where the scrambling servants trying to clean up the mess. Tyrion frowned at the horribly concealed disrespect the prince felt towards his own mother.

"You need a woman." Tyrion remarked, "Ever since I have taught you, I have sought for the perfect woman for you, mind you."

"I'm still small Uncle." Joffrey smiled toothily, "You must be a very lonely man. Pathetic if you ask me."

Tyrion sat back, motioning for the servant girl for more drink. She bowed and went to the kitchens to bring out more liquid. "The smell of your shit kept them away, I'll say. I think it even keep away some rats away too."

Humming noncommittally, the young prince sat taller on his seat, trying to catch a sight of his King father near the other side of the gallows. Normally, decapitation would have served the old ways good but Cersei had wanted some enjoyment and the bored King Robert had not said anything when a temporary but hasty gallows had been built in the courtyard.

"How was he a fool, Uncle?"

Eyes darkening a bit and hand tightening his goblet a bit more than necessary, Tyrion looked down to the young boy in silk and satin.

The prince had been largely ignored with the coming of his sister about a year and months ago. Tyrion had just kept doing what he had done since that first time Cersei had hoisted the child upon him.

Now four, the prince often came to him for everything ranging simple courtesies Tyrion would never be bothered to follow or sword training. He would never admit it, but Tyrion felt a son in the prince.

"What do you think?"

The boy followed his gaze to the dark alcove where Cersei and Robert were seating with a child in between them. "Me?" Why did his opinion matter anyways? Surely Uncle wasn't asking him, was he?

"Yes, you!" Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"I..." Joffrey hesitated, "I believe...he shouldn't have crossed the Baratheon and Lannister names."

Tyrion shook his head and Joffrey deflated, reading the disappointment in the Lannister's eyes. "Ah but that is not the reason. Names are just names- worth shit- in some occasions...all bark but no bite. An idiot does not know the distinction. And you don't want to be a fool, right?"

"No, of course not!" Joffrey glared indignantly, "What do you take me for, Uncle!?"

"A small grown pint barely out of his nameday suit?" Tyrion suggested amusedly, holding an apple in his hand from the table in front of him and taking it into the other as he ignored the childish rage- but rage nonetheless- coming from the Baratheon beside him. "So you have to bite."

"How do you bite, Uncle?" Joffrey questioned, temporarily forgetting the jest.

"Depends on the poor soul. It can be with enjoyment...like biting a woman's tit or with ferocity like biting that succulent chicken over there."

At that age and at that time, Joffrey wouldn't understand what his uncle had tried to convey even though he pretended otherwise. He would not know until he was older that his uncle used the Lannister name for gain more often than he used force. Yet he would never and could not forget the words his uncle had so aptly spoken in a rare moment of seriousness.

"Why are you always talking about women, Uncle? What's so great about them?"

Present...

"She...asks...for our complete surrender before she enters the bays and takes the city." Grand Maester Pycelle announced grimly and morosely.

At the foot of the long oaken table, Joffrey stood in full armor and as his advisors turned to him, he in turn only gazed at the Maester.

The Maester had served well in all of his years. Joffrey wondered how those years he had served under Aerys had been compared to the madness of these ones. Was the Maester laden with sorrow for all those times or did he hold some sort of hope in seeing all this fixed?

It didn't matter, he supposed, because in the end it all came back to the king.

"What does she plan to do to those who surrender?" Ser Carto asked angrily, "Make us serve under her like the slaves she honeyed up?"

Ser Lucas shook his head, "She offers her protection and a chance for escape via exile. And for the king..." The knight slumped, looking away.

"Death is plentiful nowadays," the Maester grieved, "The King's fate can only be imagined. You must leave before us, Your Grace."

Joffrey's green eyes snapped back fiercely and glared at every single pair of eyes in front of him, "Until every single one of the inhabitants is out and until the Iron Throne is at the bottom of the ocean, I will not leave." He repeated like a mantra.

"It is not safe, your Grace." Ser Hugo stressed heavily.

"And when has King's Landing ever been safe? My fate at Daenerys hands cannot be imagined because it is already certain." Joffrey faced the Maester when he said this, "For the sake of the blood before her, she will kill the heir of the Baratheon line and the Lannister line for the involvement those Houses had in the desolation of her House and their reign."

Ser Lucas was wound tightly, hands balking into fists and visage of one like the lions he Lannister House paraded around. "My King, forgive my impertinence, but do not be a fool-"

"Fools do not rule." Joffrey cut in sharply, "Had I not taken the precautions I did, half the city would already be in ruins by just the inhabitants alone."

"I understand, Your Gra-" Ser Lucas protested mildly before being interrupted.

"She asks for our surrender. Does she not know that the price for the Iron Throne already had us on our knees?" Joffrey persisted, "I will compromise with you however, if you are so adamant."

Ser Osus tugged at his whiskers and wondered, "What are your conditions?"

King Joffrey Baratheon Lannister stood his ground and opened his mouth.

23 years ago...

If Joffrey had felt abandoned by his own parents before, now he was forsaken. And it was all for the crinkled bundle of cries in the upper rooms of the hold.

It didn't matter to him either way. His mother Cersei had given him his milk, like Uncle Tyrion said, and had given him the attention of two years. That was all Joffrey needed. He was alive and he was making sense of the time granted to him.

Every time he looked back his months, he laughed at the naivety he lost little by little. If only he was a bit more grown up so he could laugh at his lost childish stupidity. But he didn't tell anybody that particular piece of thought; Myrcella would laugh if he did, saying that he was the stupid one and not her.

But he knew- he believed with all he had- he wasn't stupid. He wasn't mightily smart either, but he wasn't a fool neither.

He just had to prove it every time his uncle contradicted himself, every time Joffrey picked up a wooden sword, every time he read a tome and every time he looked upon his new brother.

His brother would be a threat. Uncle Tyrion had said so jokingly, but with the dwarf, everything joked was to be taken seriously Even if the man started speaking about talking trees. He had even said that there might be a time when Joffrey would take the crown that he would need to silence his brother if necessary.

Possibly.

Seeing the ugly and wrinkled thing upstairs, he had doubted his dwarf uncle for a bit before the words struck back, 'Fools do not rule.'

Joffrey had to rule. He would. It was destined for him.

Until then, he would take every lesson from his tutors and treat it like a stepping stone to the Iron Throne, no matter how tiresome it might sound. He would be like his Uncle Jaime Lannister in terms of strength and as Tyrion Lannister in terms of intelligence. Maybe even better.

He had been awakened from his childhood when he had seen a cat stalk a hurt crow and felled it in one swift blow simply to feed. The game Uncle Tyrion spoke of suddenly made more sense now.

It was necessary to have predators and hunters. It was necessary to have the Game of Thrones. That realization brought forward his born bloodthirsty instinct. There was no softness within his own family and there wouldn't be weakness within the court.

For the Iron Throne, even children became monsters.

"Oh, Prince Joffrey! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" The smith asked pleasantly with an amused smile plastered on his face.

"Show me the best steel you have."

Until he was crowned, he would take up every single resource he could to achieve glory.

Present...

Ser Lucas Bywater had only gaped numbly as King Joffrey set his terms and the rest of the knights could only agree other lest their king do something stupid.

He was relieved in some way that the king still sought to live. In history, the kings didn't always survive the usurping of their kingdom. Some took their own lives- preferring to die free than under shame put upon by the new kings. Others died at the hand of their conquerors.

When doing certain actions, King Joffrey had a fire Lucas didn't remember from childhood. ...Joffrey had changed too much for him to keep up and in the end, Lucas now noticed the apathetic solitude Joffrey encased himself in. Joffrey had advanced too much for anyone to keep him company and now...he was alone in the top. The King had been much jaded these past days and it was a surprise the King still had a head full of blonde hairs and not one of grey.

Sometimes, Lucas even believed Joffrey to be dreaming...it was as if the king was living in the past.

"The iron will be ready tomorrow, Your Grace."

Joffrey sipped at the ginger water, absently waving away gnats and flies with a free hand. "Good. Thank you, Ser Lucas."

Lucas stayed, not minding the clear dismissal. At first, it didn't seem like the King noticed him because his gaze focused and blanked out over the horizon where the balcony overlooked the courtyard.

It only just further solidified Lucas' beliefs about the hopeless situation they would all be if their King fell.

Ever since the late Queen Cersei had died poisoned and Jaime Lannister via combat, Joffrey had shown a side to him he had never seen.

There was a quality hardness and willingness to do anything for his realm that made Joffrey a dangerous person. He combined the Baratheon stag and the Lannister lion to make a fierce force to be reckoned with.

Ever since Joffrey had taken the reigns of the kingdom, Lucas had to admit that more money had come into the coffers and that Robert Baratheon had been a child in the throne compared to Joffrey.

Somehow, the weak and cowardly little brat he had known had transformed into the perfect ruler. And the worst part was that he didn't know how it happened despite Ser Lucas being just beside the man himself.

"You are still here." Joffrey noted duly, "Why?"

Taking care over his words for he was unsure of how a simple question could be taken for, Lucas ventured cautiously into deep waters, "What did you mean, My King, when you mentioned that fools don't rule?"

Joffrey chuckled abruptly, throwing back the rest of the drink and pushing the cup back. "Wise words from Tyrion Lannister. Straight from the mouth of a drunk dwarf."

"What was he trying to say?"

"Nothing symbolic if that's what you mean." Joffrey assured with an absent glance, "The Lannisters I knew personally were as blunt as a stick."

Lucas nodded knowingly, taking a seat by the king, and waited for the rest of it. The twenty-eight year old king was in one of his rare sentimental moods- he could tell.

At first, Joffrey maintained his silence, doing nothing more than staring beyond King's Landing. Until a crow landed and Joffrey smiled, "He knew I would also find myself playing the race to the throne. So he told me the most important thing he could ever tell me. You see, he never desired the Iron Throne like I did or even Deanerys. He wanted it by only to experience the feeling and not to rule from it. Strange man that Tyrion was."

It was strange how King Joffrey spoke about his own kin. At first glance, there was no connection between- one could safely assume both of them to be passing acquaintances- and they never made an effort to clear it up.

"He showed me in a tourney, where the blood caked the ground, and told me that Andros Nightglade had been an idiot for the way he had attacked the crown." Joffrey said, "The rest is history as you might say."

Lucas never once received a straight and honest answer to his question.

16 years ago...

They told him it was prudent to say goodbye now than later, otherwise his father would never tell him his last words. At first, Joffrey wondered why people insisted he heard Robert Baratheon's last words for him.

Joffrey had no more affection for his father than he had of the next servant. It was the truth; the harsh truth, but Robert had never spent enough time with Joffrey to build up more than that. Once, Joffrey might have wanted- craved- the King's attention. That had been once and so very long time ago.

Strangely enough, Joffrey didn't hate Robert for it and even stranger; Joffrey found he could garner a small sliver of temporary affection for the downed king. Maybe it was pity. How pitiful.

But it didn't matter. What did matter was the looming responsibility over him that would become his life from now on as soon as the King drew his last breath. Biding time and hiding behind the cold and arrogant attitude yet slightly mad and idiotic mask was something he would have to forgo as soon as the crown touched his head. Or perhaps not.

His uncle had told him about the huge debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos. Joffrey would have to remedy that. His strike at the Stark family would sooner or later be found out and he'd have a war on his hand. All for good reason of course, other than the need to see something bloody and violent.

Yes, maybe he did transfer all blame to his favorite uncle but like his mother said, 'If you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.'

The Iron Throne mattered so much to him, he never thought of anything else other than it. He was obsessed. Every thought and action, he did it for the Iron Throne. His sword training revolved on having the strength to win it by force if necessary. His lessons included winning it by cunning if he had to.

He wasn't very good at swordsmanship but he made up for it with his bow and arrow. And he found that with a little prompting, he was great at strategy. It was the little things that counted most of the times, however.

It was hard work and blood all mixed in together but he had to persevere and insure not even Tommen- his own kin- could even be suggested for the throne.

It was only him...he alone could only be in the throne.

He wondered how it would feel. King Robert had said it had been a pain 'in the ass' to sit on the throne. Joffrey could only hope the Iron Throne would not treat him as it had with Robert.

'Imagine having no limits...'

When he finally hears the sweet words he has wanted to hear ever since Queen Cersei had whispered stories in his ear, he feels empowered and wonders why Eddard Stark refused to sit upon the Throne.

"All hail His Grace, Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Joffrey looks around him; meeting naive Sansa Stark's eyes, meeting Tommen's eyes, and keeping his mother's own green eyes at hold as the Royal Steward reads his decrees.

She smiles as her name is mentioned as Regent and he returns his own slightly bitter smile. It would have been his Uncle Tyrion, but he wasn't there. Last he heard of the Imp was his questionable companies with Lady Catelyn Stark. His mother is too dangerous and he is reluctant to give her more power.

Being a puppet-boy king was the last thing he wanted to be known as. For the Iron Throne, though...he is willing to do everything to assure his position as its ruler. He leaves the Throne Room with a foreboding reluctance, after he noticed all the Lannister color around the Red Keep and he heads for his solar.

By midnight, after a very trying talk with his mother, he wraps a woolen cloak around himself; dark gray, and stumbles outside to the dungeons Cersei mentioned.

He had to speak with Eddard Stark.

Present...

Eddard Stark's faked death had taken much trouble to be performed, earned Sansa Stark's eternal hatred, brought the desired war that much closer, and placed him in the Throne as a puppet that had equally matched Aerys' madness in his first month of ruling.

'But it was all for the Iron Throne...all for a good cause,' he kept reminding himself. It made it so easy to bear the hidden mockery the fools had thought he couldn't see.

Now, the Iron Throne was liquid in the heavy cauldrons being towed to the edge of the bay just over a cliff at the order of its master. Teams of four horses towed the platform through the streets, ignorant to the curious people flocking to the edges despite the orders of Joffrey's men to keep away.

"How much longer until the metal truly begins cooling?" Joffrey asked the smith who traveled alongside him.

"I suspect several minutes, Your Grace." The man replied, twitching nervously at Joffrey's attentive glares. "We've been keeping it hotter than it should already."

"Ser Lucas, I want every smallfolk here gone. Use force if necessary." He ordered, not wanting to deal with the repercussions of his people understanding exactly what had been that metal.

The Dragon Queen wasn't too far off now. If he tried hard enough, he could already imagine the smoke trailing behind her ships and the cries of victory upon seeing the unspoiled land of King's Landing. He could almost picture the snarl on her face when she discovered she would still be met with resistance.

At last they reached the edge and at his order, strong men looped logs under the platforms and hefted them to the edge. As soon as they touched the edge, the men tilted the platforms and liquid fire dripped down below. The color of the molten fire almost reminded him of the comet on the morning of his nameday.

King Joffrey's comet...how quaint. He liked it. He always did.

When the cauldrons were sufficiently lighter, the men dropped them unto the sea to join the remnants of the iron already at the bottom of the water. Joffrey felt sufficiently satisfied and happier now that he knew Daenerys would never have a claim on the Iron Throne. She could build a newer one if she wanted, but she would never conquer the Throne the Baratheon line had taken from her ancestors and that was all that he cared about.

There was a great turmoil within however, because he wasn't sure if this meant...that he had won...if he had won the Game of Thrones. How every single one of his enemies would roll their graves... But if they were dead and he was alive, then that meant he had played well. Now that the Throne was gone-because of him nonetheless- it was the end of the wretched game the upper nobles played.

He wondered if he had lived further upon the Throne like Robert, he would have died of paranoia. Margaery Tyrell and her treasonous family, as exiled as they were, could always strike back but now that there was nothing to fight for except ruins and ash, he was safe.

He won the game of thrones. He won.