Ting!
Ting!
The bells of the Great Sept of Baelorja rang continuously as Joffrey entered King's Landing through the King's Gate with his army marching behind him.
He hadn't expected anything, but now that he saw it, he felt his ego stroked just the right way. The throngs of smallfolk standing on both sides of the road, their faces thrilled with excited smiles, some shouting hails to him. The kids ran at the sides, alongside the marching army's pace, waving hands.
To top it all off, the buildings on both sides had their windows open, and smallfolk threw flower petals at him. Scentful, gentle, falling on his shoulders.
Seven hells! What did uncle do to make them this happy? Joffrey pondered, the memory still haunting him from his past life when the same smallfolk had caused a riot and dared to try and end his reign. Someone certainly did something right.
So, Joffrey raised his right arm and waved to the people, showcasing his bright smile. He had been gone for slightly over a year, and much had changed. His body had gone through more tempering as he lived in the harsh, cold North while continuing his training. His hair had grown a little, his frame more of a man now than a mere boy.
Oh! Joffrey particularly liked seeing a lot of pretty women, mature and young, blushing whenever he looked at them and waved. Interesting… Perhaps it's time to look for a few more personal bed warmers.
But for now, Joffrey paraded towards the Red Keep. The road was straight, but they didn't rush and let the people show their love for the King. Certainly, the tales of King Joffrey's victorious battles up in the North didn't go unnoticed. The proclamation of the end of the war had already been spread to every corner of Westeros.
"How are your studies going, Ser Arthur?" Joffrey asked his most valued knight beside him.
"I have learned to read, Your Grace. Not as fast as a native, but I am no longer blind to the parchments," Ser Arthur answered.
"Excellent." Joffrey scratched his chin and gazed up at the sky. With the sun still high, there was ample time before the dinner feast. "Summon the maester at once. I wish to have ravens dispatched to every noble house in the Stormlands. They shall be given a fortnight to respond, attend my court, and bend the knee to their rightful king."
"Should it be written as a threat, Your Grace?" Asked, Ser Arthur.
"No, they ought to know what I mean by now."
"Understood." Ser Arthur quickly summoned his trusted captain from behind and passed the order.
Meanwhile, Val, riding on Joffrey's other side, gazed at everything with eyes full of awe. She hadn't even dreamt of a city as big as this, let alone see one. The number of people around, the buildings, and above all, the extravagant reception for the King himself left her speechless. She couldn't help but wonder if she made the best, greatest decision of her life following this man.
"Eh…" But there was one thing she disliked. "This stench."
"Hah, if this bothers you, you would have perished in King's Landing before. The last king? He didn't give a damn about keeping this place tidy. Didn't see the point in spending gold on it when he could spend it on whores." Joffrey replied, finding no stench in the air anymore. "This is the finest this city has ever been… at least in the past few decades."
"Your Grace, you speak naught but the truth," Jaime Lannister interjected, his steed trailing just behind Joffrey's. "How did you manage this feat? Look at them. They adore you."
"Just a couple of noble gestures and appointing a competent imp the Hand. Easy."
"Tyrion?!" Jaime exclaimed. "Didn't father sto—"
"I'm the King, Ser Jaime," Joffrey snapped, his voice dripping with authority. His irritation at being challenged was palpable, more so than ever before. After all, he had conquered kingdoms, quelled rebellions, and basked in his own glory. "And rightfully so."
Ting!
Ting!
Eventually, the army reached the imposing Red Keep. It being Joffrey's personal army, everyone was allowed to enter the vicinity of the Red Keep and set up a camp near every single entrance to the castle.
In no time, the Golden Legion, by the orders of the King, replaced the Gold Cloaks, sending them all out to work in the city instead. Only the elite Kingsguard was allowed to remain behind as they protected the royal family.
As Joffrey walked up the stairs and reached the main entrance, he noticed a few familiar faces waiting for him there. Tyrion, Sansa, Cersei, and a few more faces that he recognized. Is that Arya Stark? She grew up fine.
However, Joffrey noticed a little bundle of clothes in Sansa's arms, and he already knew what it was. So he approached Sansa before meeting anyone and looked into her arms.
The young lady looked like a true woman now. Her face flushed, her complexion healthy pale, and her red hair neatly combed and tied behind her head. Her clothes were noble, and Sansa looked quite delectable to Joffrey with her fuller bosom.
"Welcome home, Your Grace," Sansa whispered softly, blankly staring at Joffrey, who looked so different now. "Your daughter…"
"My daughter?" Joffrey exclaimed and extended his arms. It was rare for Joffrey to show a genuine smile, but this was one of those moments. "Did you name her yet?"
Sansa handed over the baby to him, and Joffrey stared at the little girl in his arms. Her hair was something between blonde and auburn, while her eyes were deep blue. Pale as snow, she was going to be a famed beauty one day, he had no doubt.
"We were waiting for you, Your Grace," Sansa said. "Please name her."
Joffrey nodded and, without much thought, proclaimed the name of his firstborn. "Joanna… Joanna Stark… No child of mine will be called a bastard. Lady Catelyn has agreed to this."
Hearing Joffrey, the three Lannister siblings stared at him dumbly. They knew where that 'Joanna' name was inspired from—the only person for whom Tywin Lannister used to smile.
For a short while, Joffrey continued to stare at the little baby. Then he gave her back to Sansa and glanced at Arya, her stature still much shorter than him, but her eyes were ferocious. She was wearing men's clothes—a tunic and leather pants with boots, a thin, needle sword dangled by her waist.
"Your mother and Jon Snow handed me letters for you two," Joffrey said and raised his hand towards the back, receiving a small bag from Ser Arthur. "If things go well, Jon will be coming to King's Landing later this year. I invited your mother too, but she wishes to rebuild Winterfell first."
He handed the two sisters letters with their names on them. Unsurprisingly, while Sansa was more interested in Catelyn's letter, Arya was more excited about Jon's letter.
No doubt, she'll be hard to tame. Joffrey could see it from her attitude. Arya's short hair and proud, unyielding eyes were proof enough. It'll be an interesting game.
"Uncle," Joffrey looked at Tyrion. "Order the Small Council to gather. I shall hold a meeting right away. You can meet with Ser Jaime later."
Tyrion shrugged, looking to the side where Cersei was busy speaking with Jaime, her face overcome with delight. "He's occupied in any case."
With his incestuous whore, nonetheless. Joffrey saw Cersei's reaction, too, only to feel more hatred for her.
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