[ VIDEO ] → ❝ pardon me sir gangster - your trousers are descending ❞
[ From the looks of it, this new face has been messing around with the Forge for upwards of twenty minutes. His face is twisted in a most unhappy expression that was probably brought on by waking up in this room and being greeted with such a poor explanation as to why he was here and then intensified by the fact he couldn't get this godforsaken
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[Offhand, he wonders whether this makes Robert the king or Joffrey, or... well, it's hard to tell, and not especially relevant, but really, when dead kings walk, who takes precedence?]
[And he ought to leave this to Robert Baratheon, but the Seven only know what Stark has told that drunken lout by now, and if Cersei were here...]
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[To look after her son.]
[Wasn't that his damned vow, even if he wasn't in King's Landing to see it fulfilled? So, very well.]
Your Grace.
[And then, more softly.]
...nephew.
[Perhaps it's too much to hope for that the horde of wolves and stags in the city will hold their damn tongues about the truth of that. At least for a time.]
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[ But for the moment you've beaten them, Jaime. No one's here to spill the beans, yet. ]
[ - that being said, however, your face is similar, but just... ]
[ Not the exact one he wanted to see. ]
[ Given, his uncle is knowledgeable enough and here at the moment as well. It takes him a couple seconds to reign in that displeasure that had been so evident in the original post, and even then it's not entirely successful and there's still a bite to his tone when he speaks. ]
Uncle.
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Though the world has seen fit to bring us any number of others claiming the title of king, or queen, or whatever horselords name their women.
[And others. Your father, for example - though whether he means the one you know, or the one you don't is questionable. Both, really.]
[How lucky you are.]
However, there is you, and me. And any number of other uncles. I expect they'll make themselves known quickly enough.
[Which isn't to say he's going to stay silent and let them spout whatever they like.]
Personally, I'd suggest you guard your ears.
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[ What did he want, counsel? ]
[ Perhaps he wanted her to cosset him and assuage his fears, which was something he would like to think he did not need. Not as a newly crowned king. Mothers were useless. ]
[ He nodded with almost some agitation. ]
I have counted three who wish to be kings, as well as a dead man with his head remounted.
[ How unhappy he is. ]
I know they are not kings, Uncle - you needn't warn me to ignore their idiocy.
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[You, for example.]
[You, whose entire reign he missed. You, whose death bells were ringing even as he stepped into King's Landing. The King is Dead! people said. The king is dead. Your son is dead.]
[...how much does he care?]
[Perhaps a question for another day. And in the end, the boy isn't his to coddle, even if he wanted to do so - not until he knows where Baratheon stands.]
I'd suggest, as well, that you guard your tongue. There are no kings, here, and the city is swarming with Starks, living and dead. And they are not the only ones. [Perhaps not even the most dangerous from their own world. That title he would leave to Stannis, and to that dragon girl.]
How old are you, nephew? You're rather younger than I last saw you.
[Lying on your bier, you looked so much like me.]
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[ Preferably an explanation, or a doorway back home like that which supposedly had brought them here. Herded them, he thought with a glower, eyes roaming up to the walls of the room... It was a deplorable chamber, and he hoped he was not expected to sit in it and rot for fear of emerging to find himself at the hands of one of the usurpers, or else an angry ghost. ]
[ ...Guard his tongue. That almost sounded like something his lady mother would say, only her words far more honeyed and familiar when falling upon his ears. ]
[ ...This city is disgusting. ]
Fourteen years, Uncle. [ ...is he daft. ] And my name day is approaching.
[ Or at least was back home. ]
- fourteen years, and I do not fear the Starks.
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[it means Renly still lives, in Joffrey's eyes, and so does the young wolf. It means he, himself, is still in chains, and his brother not yet a murderer. It means...]
You needn't fear them. I'll cut every last one to ribbons if they lay a hand on you. That is the vow, is it not?
[A vow he made when he was too young and stupid to know the meaning of it. But more importantly than that, a vow he'd made to Cersei. Silently, if not in words.]
But if you don't fear them then fear [...] your father.
Yes, Ned Stark walks, and so does the late king. You know well his fondness for wolves.
So, I say again... guard your tongue.
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[ Of what importance are vows and oaths when the titles to which they are sworn are apparently devoid in this foul land. While Joffrey himself would still hold to the title of king with an assured conviction and virulent determination, the title and right seemed to be...lacking in this setting; the importance sapped with the harsh greetings below, and the insistence that - ]
[ You have no right. If not said outright, implied, and their tones made Joffrey's eyes narrow and his hands curl into slight fists - ready to point at the usurpers - as he would have done at court - and announce the fate he would be most pleased to bestow upon them; a swift beheading. ]
[ Or perhaps less than mild torture, and then render head and body as two. ]
[ Wait, what had he said - ]
My Lord Father?
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[ But mention of the dead king's - was he still considered a dead king? or even a king if he had died and shown up in a realm that did not seem to give their kings much acknowledgement; surely, had she been here, his lady mother would have been able to decide these things...]
[ (and she would have sided with him, he was sure) ]
[ ...oh, yes - the dead king's presence instilled more doubt than all the crude words of the Starks combined. If Robert had beaten him bloody for that cat, there was little telling what he would do when he learned he'd had Eddard beheaded and his head mounted on the castle walls... ]
I assume - [ He licked his lips, almost thoughtfully, and spoke softly - as if practicing minding his tongue (while processing this). ]
...as this place has deemed it fit to return Eddard Stark's head to his shoulders, they have not sent my Lord Father to us gored and bloody.
[ ...God forbid he be healthy. ]
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[As good as he ever was. Which was to say drunk. He'd found a tavern before he even said hello.]
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[ There's something like contempt in his voice, laced with curiosity. ]
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There are entirely too many going about with claim to sovereignty over something, and the last thing any of us need is to watch them draw blades or claws or wings or whatever it is the people of this world like to draw in a contest for power.
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They are not actual gods, are they? Simply fools drunk on wine or their own idiocy. [ Much like kings. That realization hits a few moments after he says as much, but Joffrey does his best to not let the discomfort of recognizing these twins as kings with better luck, and no gods - new or old. ]
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[ either way, they don't seem well suited. (and Joffrey quietly broods about the fact he could do better). ]
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