The morning air was crisp as Joffrey made his way to the Ravenry. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls, mind still lingering on the previous night's activities with the Stark sisters. But business called - the kind that required delicate timing.
Grand Maester Pycelle was hunched over his desk, quill scratching against parchment when Joffrey entered without ceremony.
"My Prince," Pycelle straightened, joints creaking. "To what do I owe-"
"The ravens announcing Baelish's death," Joffrey cut him off. "Hold them."
Pycelle's wrinkled face crinkled further in confusion. "But Your Grace, protocol demands-"
"You opened the gates for my grandfather during the Sack," Joffrey stated flatly. "Do this for me."
Understanding dawned in the old man's eyes. He gave a slow nod, carefully setting aside the half-written announcement.
As Joffrey strode toward the Small Council chamber, he mentally mapped out the moves ahead. Timing was everything. The Vale would be a powder keg once news of Baelish's death reached Lysa Arryn. That unstable woman would immediately start pointing fingers, maybe even declare rebellion in her grief and paranoia.
And Renly... his ambitious uncle was already positioning himself. If word reached him of the vale starting a rebellion, he would be halfway across the realm trying to get with the Tyrells, he'd use the chaos as excuse to press his own claim. But the Tyrells will not extend the support if the letter and Lysa Arryn's hysteria is delayed.
Joffrey smirked. Let them dream of crowning Margaery. He had other plans for the Rose of Highgarden already put in place as Sansa wrote the letter to the rose and what he was about to do next. Perhaps she could be a second wife if he and Sansa wanted, or better yet - marry her to some sword-swallowing lord while keeping her as his personal broodmare. The possibilities were delicious.
He shook off the distracting thoughts as he reached the Small Council chamber. The usual faces looked up as he entered - Varys, Pycelle who'd somehow beaten him there, Renly lounging carelessly, and the ever-honorable Ned Stark looking uncomfortable as always.
Joffrey took Baelish's vacated seat - a new one, of course. The blood-soaked original had been burned along with its former occupant's body. His father's rage had been magnificent to witness, once Joffrey had carefully explained how Littlefinger had been deliberately exposing him to diseased whores, timing the infections to maximize opportunities for embezzlement during the inevitable recovery celebrations the rest was all Roberts own anger and rage.
Robert wasn't a complete fool - he'd known exactly what he was doing when he threw protocol to the winds and executed Baelish without trial. The king had simply stopped caring about appearances but even he did not want the realm to know the crown was embezzled because he got diseases from wenches, he would gain a name that would be remembered for eons as Robert the disease ridden. Why should he care for protocol in such cases?.
"Well well," Renly's smooth voice broke into his thoughts. "Settling into dead men's shoes already, nephew? Perhaps you'd make a fine Master of Coin yourself. With you handling the realm's finances and me by your side, the kingdom would surely prosper..."
Joffrey's head snapped up at the subtle barb hidden in those honeyed words. Renly was making inside jokes that only he would know, he thought himself king already then.
"The position of Master of Coin," Joffrey replied with a cold smile, "would hardly be suitable for the future king. Perhaps you'd prefer it, uncle? After all, your talents lie in... managing affairs."
Renly's perfect grin tightened at the double meaning. Everyone knew of his "close friendships" with men, though none dared speak of it openly.
"Indeed," Renly recovered smoothly. "But we must address the vacant position. The realm's finances cannot manage themselves."
"The Citadel could provide-" Pycelle began his usual simpering, chains clinking as he leaned forward eagerly as the Council officially started.
"With respect, Grand Maester," Ned Stark's stern voice cut through, "we need someone with practical experience, not theoretical knowledge and a Lord would be preferable. Lord Manderly has managed White Harbor's wealth for generations. His family's success with trade-"
"Lord Manderly might not be able to make it to kings landing what with his health currently" Varys tittered behind his perfumed hand. "My little birds sing that Lord Manderly should rest for a year or so to recover."
"And what of House Royce?" Ser Barristan suggested from his position by the door. "They've shown good judgment in the Vale's matters."
"The Vale is too isolated," objected Pycelle. "We need someone more connected to the southern trade routes."
"Perhaps someone from Oldtown?" another voice chimed in.
"What about the Lannisters? They have experience with gold-"
"Lord Tywin will not come unless requested by the King himself-"
Joffrey sat back, letting them exhaust themselves with suggestions and counter-arguments. He watched the verbal sparring like a mummer's show, noting how each lord pushed their preferred candidate while systematically destroying others' suggestions. The dance was as predictable as a whore's fake moans.
Finally, when the circular debate had worn itself thin and frustration showed on every face, he spoke:
"Lord Mace Tyrell."
The chamber fell silent. Renly's perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up before a calculating look crossed his face, the man had not suggested the name himself as the claim would be dismissed because it came from him. Varys' hands disappeared into his sleeves, no doubt already composing messages to his informants.
"The Reach," Joffrey continued into the silence, "is the most prosperous of the Seven Kingdoms. Their trade networks stretch from Oldtown to the Free Cities. Their granaries feed half the realm. Who better to manage the crown's wealth than the lord of our most financially stable region?"
"The Lord of Highgarden?" Ned frowned, looking troubled. "Such a position might take him away from his responsibilities-"
"Responsibilities?" Joffrey scoffed, letting confusion coloring his tone. "The Reach's stability and prosperity would allow Lord Mace Tyrell to leave for a long while, it would only benefit the crown's coffers. Or would you prefer we continue struggling with debt?"
"I must agree with Prince Joffrey," Renly jumped in eagerly, exactly as predicted. His uncle probably thought this would help his own schemes with the Tyrells. "House Tyrell has shown exceptional skill in management. Their wealth grows while other regions struggle."
"Indeed," Varys added softly. "And having such a... substantial house invested in the crown's success could only strengthen the realm."
One by one, the other council members nodded their agreement. Even Ned Stark couldn't find a reasonable objection to the logic presented.
"Then it's settled," Joffrey declared with finality. "I'll draft the offer myself. The sooner we have proper management of the realm's finances, the better."
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of tedious details and minor decisions. Joffrey's mind was already racing ahead, planning his next moves. Joffrey made his way to the ongoing sewer project. The stench wasn't as bad now that they'd reached the wealthier districts near the Red Keep. The workers had developed an efficient system, digging and laying the stone channels with practiced precision.
"Admiring your shit river?" Tyrion's sardonic voice came from behind him. The dwarf waddled up, looking distinctly out of place among the laborers.
"Better than swimming in it like the rest of the city," Joffrey retorted, watching another section of piping being lowered into place. "At least until some noble cunt complains again."
Tyrion snorted. "About that... several of our esteemed lords are questioning the crowns 'investments.' Apparently, the gold we're spending isn't matching what's coming back."
"The sewers aren't even fucking open yet," Joffrey said incredulously. "What do they expect?"
"They'd find something to bitch about even if you were shitting gold into their coffers," Tyrion chuckled. "Speaking of bitching... your good-mother is on her way to King's Landing."
Joffrey's head snapped around. "And I'm just hearing about this now?"
"No one thought it important," Tyrion shrugged. "Though I found it curious, given she and I have a history of hating each other for no reason."
"Fuck." Joffrey ran a hand through his hair. "Catelyn Stark here, right after Baelish's death... this could go very wrong. I was expecting her to come later than this"
"Hardly anyone will shed tears for Littlefinger."
"No," Joffrey agreed, "not for Littlefinger. But for Petyr Baelish, the boy she knew in Riverrun? That's different."
"Getting sentimental about the man you helped kill?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"I couldn't give two shits about him personally," Joffrey spat. "But the mind we lost... fuck. The things he could have done for the realm if he wasn't such a greedy, treacherous cunt."
"Since when does the future king care so much about the realm?"
Joffrey looked out over the city sprawling below. "When you have everything, what else is there to work for but the realm? Being king means either sitting on your ass getting fat like my father, or actually making something of it."
"Careful nephew," Tyrion grinned. "You're starting to sound almost wise."
"And you're starting to sound like you need a whore," Joffrey shot back. "Speaking of which, how's the brothel handling the new tax they have to pay if they smell too much?"
Tyrion laughs saying "They showed their displeasure by increasing their prices but you are the one who has to pay my tab anyway"
They bantered back and forth as they inspected the progress, discussing everything from construction techniques to the latest court gossip. Despite his size, Tyrion had a giant's grasp of engineering, and his suggestions had improved the project considerably.
The sun was setting by the time they finished, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold. Joffrey found himself actually enjoying his uncle's company - when he wasn't being a smug little shit.
"Maybe," Tyrion mused as they headed back to the Keep, "having everything isn't so bad if you use it right. Though I suspect the more you do the less they get surprised of kindness, It might even become expected"
"It would," Joffrey snorted. "It's easier to surprise people when they expect nothing from you."
"Is that what you're doing? Surprising as many people as you could so you can be remembered?"
"No," Joffrey grinned. "I'm just showing them exactly what they should have expected from a king all along."
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