After sitting there for two full hours, Joffrey finally finished the first Small Council meeting of his life.
He had only one evaluation.
Utterly boring.
Under the feudal system, most trivial matters were handled by local lords. If they could not resolve something, they brought it to their liege lord.
Only major crises such as war, famine, or plague ever reached the king.
So for a realm as vast as Westeros, the Iron Throne directly governed only the Crownlands and the half a million souls of King's Landing.
The reports presented today were laughable.
A brawl in Flea Bottom that left two men dead.
A merchant vessel that docked poorly and smashed part of the harbor.
At most, a petty dispute between two minor nobles, with the loser crying beneath the Iron Throne demanding compensation.
In the end, it was always about money.
After hours of such nonsense, Robert finally waved everyone away.
Then he grinned at Joffrey.
"Now you see why I hate this."
After sharing a midday meal with his father, Joffrey returned to Maegor's Holdfast, yawning and ready to resume testing his new ability.
The Hound was already waiting outside his chamber.
His expression was strange.
"Did you finish it?" Joffrey asked.
Sandor nodded.
Then shook his head.
"Someone's inside," he muttered, giving Joffrey a subtle look.
Joffrey scratched his head, thought for a moment, then pushed the door open.
Of course.
His mother.
Cersei sat by the window, gazing out over the city. One hand supported her cheek. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders like molten sunlight.
"That old goat works fast," Joffrey muttered under his breath.
Pycelle had slipped out of the council early. Joffrey had already guessed he would run to complain.
He just hadn't expected Cersei to arrive this quickly.
"Joffrey, what were you thinking?" Cersei turned, her eyes blazing like a lioness ready to strike.
"I worked hard to persuade that drunkard to appoint your grandfather when he arrives."
"And you dragged that old wolf into it."
Joffrey quietly shut the door and walked behind her, gently squeezing her shoulders.
"Mother, calm down. Let me explain."
"Don't placate me," Cersei snapped, twisting slightly. "You linger at the funeral, question the Grand Maester about herbs. What game are you playing?"
"I am thinking about House Lannister's position in King's Landing."
Joffrey chose his words carefully.
"Father agreed too easily. Doesn't that seem suspicious?"
Cersei frowned. "What are you implying?"
Joffrey leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Father has never liked Grandfather. Yet today he asked the council openly. That is not his usual way."
"I believe he was testing the waters, seeing who supports House Lannister."
"That drunk would never think so far ahead," Cersei scoffed, though her tone softened slightly.
"Perhaps not. But others advise him," Joffrey replied. "Varys. Littlefinger. Even my uncles. They watch us constantly."
"If Grandfather became Hand, we would become the court's primary target."
Cersei opened her mouth, then fell silent.
"We need a shield," Joffrey continued. "Eddard Stark is ideal."
"He is rigid and honorable. Let him stand at the forefront. He will absorb most of the attacks."
"And his weaknesses are obvious. He values family and reputation. His actions are predictable.
As long as we do not push him too far, he becomes a stabilizing force. And when necessary, he can be guided."
Cersei said nothing.
She stood and walked to the window again.
"And why provoke Pycelle?" she asked, calmer now. "Why inquire about Tears of Lys?"
Joffrey exhaled.
"I am investigating Jon Arryn's death. It was too sudden. Someone will eventually question it."
"Mother, what you did was not flawless. If exposed, it could be used against us."
Cersei spun around, eyes wide.
"What do you mean? Pycelle? That old fool!"
"He did not confess," Joffrey said quickly, pouring her a cup of Arbor gold. "I deduced it."
He sat down and asked evenly, "Mother, how deeply were you involved?"
"Why prevent proper treatment? Did Jon Arryn threaten us?"
Cersei studied him carefully.
After a long silence, she spoke softly.
"You have grown, Joffrey. Faster than I expected."
She returned to him, her posture regaining its usual regal composure.
"Do not dig further into Jon's death," she said firmly. "Some mud cannot be washed away once stepped into."
She stroked his hair.
"You are the future king. Everything I do is so that you may sit securely upon the Iron Throne."
"I would sacrifice anything for that."
"Even your uncle means nothing compared to you."
Joffrey lowered his head.
"Yes, Mother."
She looked at him once more, her gaze unreadable, then left.
The door closed.
Joffrey sat quietly for a while before releasing a long breath. Being caught between them was exhausting.
His father loved him.
His mother loved him.
But repairing the rift between them was harder than asking them to kiss a White Walker.
After finishing two cups of wine, Joffrey gathered his thoughts.
The confrontation had gone better than expected. Cersei had accepted his reasoning and allowed his plan regarding Eddard Stark to proceed.
She had not fully discussed coordination, likely because of his age.
He was only twelve.
Joffrey pushed the thought aside.
"Dog! Get in here!"
Sandor entered slowly, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the wall.
Joffrey narrowed his eyes deliberately.
"You heard everything?"
"No," Sandor replied quickly.
That meant yes.
At least three people knowing did not trigger any obvious danger. One never knew where Varys' little birds might be hiding.
Joffrey decided not to pursue it.
He returned to the matter at hand.
An entire day had passed, and he had yet to test his new ability.
"Well?" he asked.
"How did it work?"