A Young Lion
The weeks dragged by, and Joffrey grew more and more aware day by day. His body remained small and helpless, but his mind was something else. He was beginning to understand the world he had been born into, a world of power and politics, of alliances and betrayals.
King's Landing was a mixture of two extremes: the glory of the Red Keep, with its huge, towering walls and commanding halls, juxtaposed against the squalor of Flea Bottom, in which the people just about managed to survive. Being a prince, Joffrey was spared from everything miserable in this cruel world, outside the walls of the palace, but he was very sharp-witted and observant.
Cersei was always near him; her being there could not be an inevitable factor in his new life. Her ambition for him was limitless, and she frequently talked to him about his future.
"You will be a great king, Joffrey," she whispered one evening as she cradled him by the window. The setting sun bathed the room in a warm, golden light. "Greater than Aegon the Conqueror. You will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and all of Westeros will bow to you."
Joffrey listened to her words, absorbing the import, feeling the weight of her expectations. His old life, of camaraderie and battle, of honor and duty, went—therefore, this new life, so filled with privilege and power, went with the pitfalls that might be in front of him. He must be cunning, strong, and ruthless to thrive and survive.
King Robert paid little attention to the nursery. His visits were infrequent but overpowering. Robert Baratheon was a man of huge build, and his laughter boomed through the halls. He held Joff awkwardly, unconvinced of this idea of bonding with his delicate newborn son.
"Look at him, Cersei," Robert chortled, twinkling blue eyes filled with mirth. "He looks like a lion cub. Fierce and golden."
Cersei threw him a smile, yet her eyes betrayed no deceptions. "He will be a lion, Robert. A great king, strong and powerful.".
Robert nodded absently, already losing interest. He handed Joffrey back to Cersei and left the room, his mind on other matters—hunting, feasting, and the company of women. Joffrey watched him go; the man was barely paying him any attention anyway. Respect and camaraderie were best won on battlefields, in his old life. Here, amongst kings and queens, was a different kind of battle.
And one afternoon, as Joffrey slept in his crib, the door creaked slowly open and inside to his room stepped Jaime Lannister. Jaime, the Kingslayer, the white cloak of his mother's brother draped about his shoulders, a secret father to Joff as well. And in the sconced glow of that room, his hair, that bright golden color, set his face off, shone on deeper green eyes, bright and clear, with a kind of watchfulness. He crossed the little chamber to where the crib lay and looked down, a small smile on his lips, at Joffrey.
"He looks strong," Jaime murmured, holding out a finger for Joffrey to grab. "A true lion."
Not far away, Cersei smiled upon them, proud. "He is strong, Jaime. He will be a great king and do what needs to be done."
Jaime's face grew guarded. "Let's hope he does it better than the rest of us."
It was weird, then, with Jaime's finger pressing lightly on one of his own. In a way, there was something comforting about Jaime himself, the feeling of protection and loyalty far beyond blood. The guy—sharp eyes and easy power—was one he could count on. Maybe even trust.
The following months saw Joffrey grow stronger. Watching and learning all manner of things about the world, his mother's whispers of power and ambition filled his thoughts, but so did the memories of his old life: the comradeship of his fellow marines, the sense of purpose they'd shared. How could he reconcile the two?
He would have to move around in this new world very cautiously, for which he would have to be clever so he would be able to play the game of thrones with skill and precision. He would have to conceal the sharpness of his mind beneath the child face's innocence.
It was one evening, as Cersei held him out the window, waving to the city below, that he made a silent promise: not to be a good king, but a king to revere and fear. A king who would change the fate of the world. With the knowledge and experience of two lifetimes, he would forge his destiny in the fires of ambition and power.
The world of Westeros was dangerous, full of plots and intrigues, but Joffrey Baratheon was no ordinary child: he was a prince with the soul of a warrior, one who would let nothing step in his path. The way ahead was murky, but he was determined to yank his destiny by the reins.
In any event, he was content to watch and learn, to bide his time for the present. He would grow, and he would remember. And when the time came, he would be ready.