The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 17: A Failed Coup
As Joffrey awaited the coming storm, he felt an all-too-familiar stillness in the air—the deep breath before the plunge. It was an eerie silence he had felt dozens of times before, whenever he had been deployed to some foreign country. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he glanced down and noticed his right hand shaking unsteadily against the throne's armrest. As he clenched his fist and willed it to obey, the great hall's doors opened. In walked the Royal Steward, who had returned with his Small Council members, Stark men, and a force of roughly 200 Gold Cloaks in tow. The middle-aged man marched down the great hall until he stood atop the dais, to the left of the throne.
"All Hail His Grace!" he announced, his voice echoing across the hall. "Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
As the Royal Steward made his declarations, the Small Council members continued to make their way into the hall. Ned Stark marched at the point, with Littlefinger and Varys flanking him. Unsurprisingly, his uncle Renly was not among them. Behind them marched the Stark soldiers, all armed and armored to the teeth. As they walked, the Gold Cloaks fanned out and filled in both sides of the hall, while their commander made his way to the head of them, on the right side.
The marble floors echoed with each man's steps, though none more so than the Quiet Wolf himself, who moved forward with a powerful stride. Joffrey slowly took in the visage of the Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark. He was adorned in the simple but effective boiled leather armor that the Northerners all seemed to favor. He had two cold steel bracers on each of his forearms, while his long brown hair was tied back out of his face. Yet, the most distinguishing feature was the weapon he had slung over his shoulder.
House Stark's legendary Valyrian steel sword, Ice. It was a greatsword nearly as tall as Lord Stark himself, though much smaller and more practical than its show counterpart. Its guard and hilt were simple enough, with a plain grey steel crossguard and a long, two-handed wooden grip, which was capped with a round gold pommel. It was carried in a simple black and brown leather scabbard, rather than the wolf pelt that he remembered from the show. Seeing the lord carrying his house's most dangerous weapon, a certain uneasiness fluttered in his chest.
"That wasn't in the show," he thought, wondering if this was the result of him interrupting the duel between him and Jaime. "Maybe I should have let them fight."
While Joffrey had been contemplating the potential changes to the timeline, the Northern lord had finished entering the great hall with his forces, stopping a few feet from his Kingsguard who stood at the ready at the base of the dais. Seeing this was his moment, Joffrey straightened his back and followed his script.
"I command the Council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation," he declared, his voice still and carrying an air of authority. "I wish to be crowned within a fortnight, though today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal Council members."
Joffrey stared down from his high seat into Ned Stark's eyes, which had remained impassive at his words. Something flashed inside them that Joffrey swore was a hint of pity. Remaining silent and unresponsive to the new King's words, Lord Eddard glanced up toward his mother, who was seated beside the right side of the Iron Throne.
"Ser Barristan," he called out before giving the old knight his full attention. "I believe no man here could ever question your honor."
Eddard then pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from his sword belt and held it out towards the old knight. Seeing the parchment, Ser Barristan stepped forward and took the scroll into his hand.
"King Robert's seal, and it's unbroken." he announced before breaking the seal himself and unrolling it. "Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as Regent, until 'the heir' comes of age."
His mother went to move, but her son beat her to it.
"Let me see that letter, Ser Barristan." He said as he stood up from his chair and made his way down the throne's steps, much to the Queen's surprise.
Ser Barristan proceeded to walk forward, climbing the black stone steps and handing it to the young King who had made his way down the throne's iron steps. Taking the paper from the loyal knight, Joffrey read over the parchment's contents and noticed that it distinctly stated "the lawful heir" instead of his name. Smirking internally at the honorable man's attempt at being shrewd, Joffrey turned his attention back to his Kingsguard, as well as the Northern lord.
"Protector of the Realm, really?" he asked rhetorically with a raised eyebrow. "Was this supposed to be your attempt at sabotage, my lord?"
He asked before proceeding to tear the paper to shreds, to everyone's shock.
"Those were the King's words." Ser Barristan said, his tone carrying a degree of hurt at the flagrant display of disrespect.
"I'm your King now," he replied, his tone stern, leaving no room for argument.
Ser Barristan simply bowed his head and turned his attention back toward the Northern lord.
"Lord Stark, none can question your honor or loyalty. You have served the kingdoms well and faithfully. That is why I am giving you this one chance, in memory of my father. Bend the knee."
Lord Stark looked completely stoic, staring coldly into the Prince's eyes as Joffrey continued to speak.
"Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear me your loyalty, and I shall release you from your burden as Hand of the King and allow you to take your daughters and return to Winterfell."
Lord Eddard looked conflicted, looking around before staring into the boy King's eyes again, this time filled with resolve.
"I'm sorry, Joffrey, but you have no claim to the throne."
"Liar!" his mother shouted out in anger.
"Be careful, Lord Stark, for my mercy has its limits," Joffrey replied coldly. "This is your last chance, my lord."
The Hand didn't respond, but Joffrey could see with his narrowed gaze that the lord had already made up his mind.
"Very well, Ser Barristan, seize him."
Ser Barristan reluctantly stepped forward to take the Northern lord into custody, but as he did, two of the lord's household guards stepped forward to protect him, hands gripping their sword hilts.
"Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man. Do him no harm." Ned commanded his soldiers.
Ser Barristan slowly stepped backward, his hand slowly reaching up and gripping his own longsword hilt.
"Do you really think he stands alone?" the King asked, and at his words, his sworn shield drew his own sword, along with the rest of the Lannister soldiers and Kingsguard.
"Commander," he shouted out to Janos Slynt. "Take Joffrey and his mother into custody. Escort them back to their royal apartments, and keep them there under guard."
"Men of the Watch!" he shouted, and the Gold Cloaks all turned their spears toward the King and his family's soldiers.
"I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their swords. No one needs to die."
At his words, Cersei locked eyes with the Gold Cloak's commander, and as if on cue, the little worm turned to his men.
"Now!" he shouted, and his men turned their spears on the Northern soldiers, running them through like pigs.
Ned Stark looked around, shocked at the sudden betrayal, and pulled his sword off his back and drew the dark, smoky blade. All of the Stark soldiers followed suit and drew their longswords, beginning to fight with the Gold Cloaks as the Small Council members ran for cover. The Hound jumped off the dais and clashed blades with Ned's right-hand man, Jory Cassel.
Joffrey backed up, drawing his own sword, Lion's Tooth, from his hip and pushing his mother behind him whilst all of his Kingsguard began to engage the enemy soldiers. Ned Stark gripped his greatsword with both hands and began spinning and rotating the four-foot blade on both sides of his body, building up momentum before spinning forward, breaking spears and cutting through Gold Cloaks like a hot knife through butter, becoming a literal buzzsaw of death.
After watching the Northern lord kill nearly ten guards on his own, Ser Barristan drew his own longsword and stepped forward to defend his new King. The older knight locked blades with the greatsword before pushing off and going for a thrust at the Warden of the North's throat, which was easily swatted away. Joffrey watched with awe as the sixty-year-old knight moved with the skill and grace of a man half his age, dodging and weaving past the smoky black blade by a hair's breadth. Finally, the old knight made a mistake.
As he held up his longsword with both hands to block a blow aimed for his torso, he found his sword cut in half by the superior sword. Ned Stark didn't stop there and immediately spun, aiming to finish off the old knight with a slash aimed at his head, but to his surprise, Ser Barristan ducked underneath the blow, and did a front shoulder roll where he popped back up to his feet with seamless grace. Reaching down, he drew another sword from a fallen Gold Cloak and readied himself to re-engage the Northern lord.
At the same time, the Hound was finishing up his fight with Jory, swatting the much smaller man's blade away before decapitating him with a slash. The Northern soldiers continued to engage with the Gold Cloaks and, to Joffrey's surprise, were doing much better than they had in the original canon. As his Kingsguard and Lannister soldiers engaged with the enemy combatants, one actually managed to slip past the line of defense and stood ready to face the new King, whose mother stood shielded behind his back.
Joffrey remained calm and remembered his training, slowly bringing his sword up in a low guard. The bloody and furious Stark soldier charged forward.
"Die, Lannister!" the nameless soldier yelled as he swung his sword with both hands.
Joffrey raised his sword and blocked the blow with both hands on his sword's hilt. After a few exchanges, he forced the soldier's blade down before he reached and pulled out the dagger from his sword belt and drove it into the man's throat. The soldier's eyes went wide in shock as blood spewed from his mouth, splashing on the King's face and hair. Joffrey withdrew his dagger and pushed the dying man to the floor where he drew his last breath. He then turned his attention back to his mother, who was still shocked by her son's actions.
"Mother, are you okay?" he asked as he helped her up from the floor.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," she said rather shakily.
After confirming her safety, the King turned his attention back to the great hall that had quickly turned into a battlefield. He watched as Barristan continued his duel with Ned Stark, trading blows with the Northern lord, until finally he managed to slip past the giant blade and guided his blade between the Northern lord's arms. He guided his blade to his opponent's right hand, gripping the top of the sword, and with surgical precision, slashed his wrist, forcing him to drop his sword.
Before his opponent could recover, he brought his sword to the Hand's throat. Ned slowly raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, and at the same time, the Lannister soldiers had finished off the rest of the enemy soldiers. Soon the stench of blood and guts filled the hall's air as over thirty Stark soldiers lay dead or dying on the white marble floor. Seeing all the needless bloodshed, a single thought entered the newly crowned King's mind.
"What a waste," he thought, unhappy with the avoidable bloodbath.
Though he refused to show any weakness before his new subjects. Stepping out onto the dais, Joffrey addressed the soldiers.
"Ser Meryn Trant, escort Lord Stark to the black cells and keep him there under guard."
The Kingsguard obeyed, stepping forward and taking the Northern lord into custody before escorting him out of the hall. Joffrey then turned his attention to the Commander of his Kingsguard, who wasn't even breathing heavily despite the intense duel.
"Ser Barristan, you shall have the command." At the King's words, the old knight straightened his back. "You will take these men to the Hand's Tower and take the Stark family and their servants into custody. Kill any who resist, but I don't want needless bloodshed; harm none that surrender peacefully."
"As you command, Your Grace."
"Also, none are to harm the Stark girls, their direwolves, the Septa, or their sword instructor Syrio Forel. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Your Grace." They all responded at the same time.
"Good. Now go."
The Gold Cloaks and Lannister soldiers did as they were commanded and followed Ser Barristan out of the hall and toward the Hand's Tower. Now alone in the Throne Room with only his mother and his remaining three Kingsguard, Joffrey slowly sat down on the cold black stone steps and gazed out across the room, which was filled with the corpses of the City Watch, Lannister soldiers, but mostly Stark's men. Bitterness filled him as the stench of death and guts permeated the air. Seeing her son's disgruntled disposition, the Queen slowly made her way over to the seated young King.
"You did well, my dear," she said as she stood over him to his right. "Though you shouldn't concern yourself with the lives of some lowly savages." She practically scoffed.
"Excuse me?" he asked, looking up toward his mother.
"Yes, it's true the Stark girls need to be kept safe; they'll be valuable hostages, after all. But as for the rest: the servants, the wolves, the Septa, and even that ridiculous sword instructor—they're all meaningless."
Hearing his mother's rather apathetic remarks, the King became silent and slowly got to his feet.
"A King must show strength and ruthlessness against those that stand against him, therefore you shouldn't—"
But her words caught in her throat as Joffrey stepped toward her, his eyes hollow and filled with a cold anger.
"I'm simply trying to limit the amount of needless deaths that's all." he said evenly, his voice barely hiding his disgust. "I think there has been enough killing for one day, don't you?"
"Y-yes," she stuttered out, having not seen this side of her son before.
"Good, now I want you to take Ser Preston and Ser Arys and head to the Maidenvault and stay with Tommen and Myrcella until this is all over."
Cersei wanted to argue, but something in her son's eye made it clear that this wasn't up for discussion. Letting out a sigh, Cersei turned and made her way out of the throne room with two of the Kingsguard flanking her on both sides. The King then turned his attention to his last Kingsguard.
"Ser Moore," he called out, getting the thirty-year-old knight's attention.
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"I want you to gather some servants and have these bodies cleaned up. I want them treated with care, since we'll have to return their remains to their families in the North."
"At once, Your Grace," The knight then bowed his head and left through a side door to fulfill his King's command.
Now mostly alone in the bloody Throne Room, he looked over the massacre one last time before making his way back up the iron steps of his throne. As he slowly strode up the platform and sat back in the ugly monstrosity of a throne, Joffrey thought over the events that had played out just moments ago and all the pointless death that could've been avoided. Not only that, but the countless deaths that were still to come all thanks to one high lord's stubborn pride, and that today's massacre was the first of many.
"God damn it," he muttered as he leaned back into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.
o-O-o
At the same time the new King was coming to terms with the inevitable conflicts just over the horizon, the sounds of fighting filled the Red Keep's halls. Lannister red cloaks clashed with Stark soldiers, the song of steel filling the air. Outside, the household servants filled the carts with the Stark family's belongings to be transported to the ship awaiting them in the harbor that would return them to Winterfell.
"Careful, you twats," an older servant called out to two men carrying a wooden trunk. "You break anything and the Septa will have my head."
Suddenly, Lannister guards swarmed them from all sides, holding swords and daggers at their throats. All the men threw their hands up and immediately surrendered, whilst Ser Barristan walked up, flanked by more Gold Cloaks and Lannister soldiers. Tilting his head to the guards, Ser Barristan signaled for the men to take the household servants into custody. The old knight then turned his head to the guard to his right.
"I want you to take half your men and surround the residence," he commanded, looking the young man in the eye. "I want all exits and entrances covered, no one in or out, is that clear?"
"Yes, Ser," The man all but saluted.
"Then go," the young man then took his men and did as he was commanded, while Ser Barristan turned his attention to the rest of the men. "The rest of you are with me."
The Kingsguard then marched forward into the main entrance accompanied by the rest of the guards. At the same time fighting was unfolding in the castle walls, Sansa and her Septa were inside her room packing up the young girl's belongings.
"I still don't understand why I must go?" she whined as she packed one of her dresses. "I'm meant to be the new Queen, to give my lion lots of little babies."
"Sansa, we've already been over this." Her Septa replied, exasperated by the young girl's stubbornness. "It was your father's command, and a good and dutiful lady must obey their father's wishes."
"A good and dutiful lady must also stand beside her husband," she responded defiantly.
"Well, it's a good thing you're not married just yet, isn't it?"
"Well, I would be if I didn't have to go on this stupid boat!" She continued to protest, much to the Septa's annoyance.
"Sansa, my dear, please just try to—"
Suddenly, she stopped speaking as the cries of bloodshed and clashing steel became louder and louder. Fear and realization began to fill the Septa's face as an oblivious Sansa turned, wondering why she had stopped mid-sentence.
"Septa, why did you—" But the old woman silenced her.
"Hush, child," she said, covering her mouth and listening carefully as the cries of pain from outside became louder and louder.
"What's happening?" the young girl asked tearfully, fear filling her chest.
"Hush, child!" she said sternly, grabbing her by her hand and leading her deeper into her chamber.
Making it into the girl's bedchamber, the Septa opened the girl's large armoire wardrobe and pushed her inside.
"No matter what you see or hear, my child, don't scream." She said sternly before shutting the two cabinet doors. The old woman then carefully grabbed a sewing pad and sat down in a wooden chair in the corner of the room and began to work on her embroidery. The screams and clashing steel continued to grow louder and louder, before it suddenly went silent. The silence was soon replaced with the sounds of loud footsteps that echoed across the stone room. Soon the chamber's wooden door flung open, and the Hound made his way inside accompanied by a couple of guards.
As he made his way inside the chamber, he raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted him. A lone Septa sitting in a wooden rocking chair, working away on an embroidery pad. Stepping forward slowly, the Hound stopped just in front of the little old woman.
"Where's the girl, hag?" he asked as he loomed over the frightened old woman whose hands began to shake uncontrollably.
Seeing her not respond or even acknowledge his presence, Sandor reached down and grasped the still sitting woman by the collar of her robe and hoisted her to her feet.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked, annoyed. "Where is the Stark girl?"
"I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell a monster like you." she responded defiantly before spitting on the half-burnt giant's face.
Sandor chuckled at the stubborn woman's courage and slowly reached down to his sword belt and drew his dagger. He slowly brought the blade up and pressed it into the frightened woman's neck. He stared into her eyes as he increased the pressure to the point a small cut appeared and a single drop of blood leaked out from her neck. Still, despite the threat and the clear fear the woman was experiencing, she remained silent and kept her eyes locked with the Hound's. Letting out a tired sigh, Sandor sheathed his dagger before addressing the woman.
"You should really thank the boy King the next chance you get, you old bitch," he said before backhanding her and rendering her unconscious. "Take her." He ordered before tossing the limp old woman's body to one of the guards.
The guard did as he was commanded and escorted the woman out of the chamber to be taken with the others. Looking around the room one last time before he turned to leave, he suddenly heard a slight creak from the corner of the room. A small smirk grew on the Hound's face as he glanced back over his shoulder. Sansa was busy trying to fiddle with her dress when she suddenly looked up to lock eyes with the giant through the crack in the wardrobe's doors.
"Hello, little bird," he said with a crooked smile before he opened the doors and grabbed her.
At the same time the Hound was wrapping it up with the older Stark girl, Ser Barristan was making his way to the Tower's training hall, where Arya was in the middle of a session with the First Sword of Braavos. The pair were going over a more advanced set of sequences of Water Dancing when the Kingsguard and five Lannister soldiers made their way inside. The pair stopped training and looked confused at the suddenly assembled men.
"Practicing swordplay, I see," the old knight nodded, giving the young girl an approving, grandfatherly smile. "Come with me, Lady Arya, your father would like to have a word with you."
Arya stepped forward to comply when Syrio blocked her with his arm.
"And why is it Lord Stark is sending Lannister men instead of his own, I am wondering?" he said as he pushed the young girl behind himself.
"I have no quarrel with you, good sir, but I'm afraid the girl will be coming with us." he replied calmly, taking in the new opponent.
"My father wouldn't send you," she said defiantly before picking up her large wooden sword. "And I don't have to go with you if I don't want to."
Ser Barristan let out a tired sigh; he truly didn't take any joy out of scaring a young girl. He reached down and drew the replacement longsword that he had been carrying with him. As Arya took a few steps back away from the Braavosi, eyeing the other five Lannister soldiers wearily, Barristan looked over the foreign man's strange sideways stance, which reminded him of a fighter he faced in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
Seeing the wooden practice sword in the dancing master's hand, Ser Barristan turned and pulled a longsword from one of the Lannister soldier's sword belts. He rotated the sword in his hand before throwing the sword to the surprised Braavosi, who dropped the wooden sword and caught it mid-air. Syrio and Arya both looked at the old knight with clear confusion.
"The dance of steel must be fair," he responded, answering their silent question.
"Ha," he laughed jovially. "Just so."
Ser Barristan gestured for the Lannister soldiers to stand down and not to interfere. Slowly, the two opponents circled each other with their swords at the ready. The Braavosi moved first, jabbing his blade out, aiming for the gap in the knight's gorget and helm. The seasoned knight responded by deflecting the blade and going for a riposte in the same fluid motion. The dancing master twisted his body, just avoiding the enemy knight's blade, while going for a lunge.
The two continued their back and forth dance. Their movements were so swift and beautiful that one might have mistaken it for a waltz rather than a fight to the death. Unfortunately, Syrio made the first mistake. After parrying the older knight's blade, the dancing master switched directions mid-strike and aimed for the older knight's exposed underarm, just under his armpit. However, Barristan knew exactly what he wanted and brought his sword's hilt back, trapping Syrio's sword arm against his armor's breastplate.
Then with one motion, he disarmed the water dancing master of his sword and held the tip of his blade beneath his chin. Arya, seeing this, wanted to step forward, but her eyes locked with Syrio's, who was silently telling her to run. Biting back tears, Arya turned and ran out of the room as fast as her feet could carry her.
"You have your orders," he called out to the other five guards, who immediately pursued the young girl.
Now alone in the Tower's inner hall, the dancing master slowly sank to his knees.
"Please, kill me quickly," he said with labored breaths, exhausted from the short but intense duel.
Barristan didn't respond, just slowly walking until he was behind the Braavosi body with his sword still inches from his throat. He then looked down and noticed that for the first time in a long while, he was actually breathing heavier than usual.
"Sir, what was your name again?" he asked, surprising the still kneeling foreigner.
"I am Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos." he responded proudly.
"I'll remember it," he said with a nod of respect. "It's been a while since I met someone with your level of skill. As for your previous request, unfortunately for you, my King doesn't wish for needless bloodshed."
Suddenly, more Lannister guards entered along with Gold Cloaks and brought pairs of irons with them.
"Take him." he ordered without looking back as he followed where Arya had run off to.
After walking a short distance, he found Arya in the hands of four of the five Lannister soldiers, each pushing her back and forth between themselves, while the fifth lay dead on the ground with a small, thin sword sticking out of his throat. As he walked closer, he began to hear the petty and vindictive taunts the grown men shouted at the eleven-year-old child.
"Come on, wolf girl," one taunted.
"Yeah, come on, show us more of your fangs," another laughed.
When the third tugged and tore her shirt, exposing some of her undeveloped chest to the world, the girl spun and punched the soldier in the eye. The soldier yelled in pain before he backhanded Arya across the face. As he reared up to go for another punch, he found his wrist squeezed in a vice-like grip. Turning his head, he locked eyes with a furious Ser Barristan, who seized him by his throat.
"If you ever strike a child like that again in my presence, honor will demand blood."
His voice was calm, but everyone could feel the cold fury that was barely held back by the older knight's sense of duty. While his cold gaze sent shivers down all of the young guards' spines, the craven soldier just nodded his head dumbly before the old knight shoved him away, making him fall onto the floor, and then proceeded to pull off his white cloak and wrap the young girl in it. Picking the girl up into his arms, he turned and made his way down the stone corridor.
"Calm down, little one." he said kindly as he held the squirmy girl tightly in his arms. "I've got you."
Ned Stark was still held in the black cells after his injured wrist had been treated, while the Stark girls and their Septa were each held in tower chambers far from one another, leaving each of them alone and isolated. All in all, Joffrey was quite pleased when Ser Barristan gave him his full report.
"Excellent, the worst outcome had been averted." he thought as he took a delicate sip from his chalice. "Now I just have to let the Spider spin his little tale."
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