The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 3: A Duel in the Snow
As Joffrey followed Maester Luwin, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander, appreciating the castle's gothic architecture.
"The Starks sure have a beautiful home," Joffrey complimented earnestly as the pair continued down the stone hallway. "I can see why the Starks reigned as kings before Aegon's Conquest."
The old maester looked over his shoulder at the young prince, who was trailing behind him.
"Thank you for your kind words, my prince."
Joffrey simply shrugged.
"It's easier to give compliments when you're just speaking the truth."
Luwin didn't comment, but a small smile grew on his face. After a few more minutes, the pair arrived at the entrance to the castle's library. Luwin pushed one of the large, dark wood doors open and gestured to Joffrey.
"After you, my prince."
As Joffrey made his way inside, he was astounded. Rows and rows of bookshelves stretched as far as the eye could see. It was at least five times the size of Moat Cailin's library. Seeing the endless ocean of books, he couldn't imagine a man ever living long enough to read them all.
"Well then, my prince," the old Maester said, turning to leave.
Joffrey held up his hand. "Maester Luwin, if you wouldn't mind, could you help me pick out some books? I'm afraid I would become lost in this maze without your help."
The old man's expression brightened. "Of course, my prince," he said, smiling. "What type of books interest you?"
Joffrey listed several subjects. Eventually, the maester selected texts he believed would satisfy the crown prince. He was pleasantly surprised by the young man's manners and interests. He had heard rumors from the capital of the king's son being an inept little twat, whose only indulgences involved senseless cruelty. Now, seeing the charming man before him, he thought perhaps those were baseless slanders.
When he held up one of the dusty tomes, the Maester inquired, "If you don't mind my asking, my prince, why do you have such an interest in the Age of Heroes?"
Joffrey paused his flipping to look up at the old man. "Because that was the time the north stood united as one and fought back the horrors of the far north, saving humanity from certain destruction."
Luwin's eyes widened slightly. "Are you referring to the Others, my prince?"
"Yes, them, along with some other horrors, I suppose."
The Maester almost scoffed.
"Do you believe those ancient stories of ice demons and their undead steeds?"
"I do," Joffrey confirmed. "Are you telling me that you don't?"
"Forgive my frankness, my prince, but that was nearly eight millennia ago. Who knows what really happened."
"True, but then again, I'm sure many in Westeros believed the tales of Old Valyria's dragons were a mere myth, until Aegon the Conqueror used them to burn their castles and holdfasts."
Joffrey said nonchalantly, making the Maester pause.
"My point, Maester Luwin, is that you shouldn't discount something just because everyone agrees it isn't true."
"…Hmm," Luwin seemed to ponder the prince's words. He was one of the few Maesters in the Citadel to earn a Valyrian steel link to his chain, though he fervently believed the days of magic and giants died with the Targaryens' dragons.
"You make an interesting point, my prince. Clearly, you are wise beyond your years."
Joffrey almost scoffed. "With respect, Maester Luwin, I do not possess wisdom."
The old Maester fell silent as the prince continued. "Wisdom comes from experience, which I, a boy of sixteen, have none. The only thing I have is perspective and the instinct not to put too much stock in the cowpie that is collective wisdom."
Luwin looked at Joffrey with astonishment.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me to my studies, I would be very grateful."
"Of course, my prince."
Winterfell's Maester bowed before swiftly exiting the library. Joffrey resumed reading, indulging his thirst for knowledge as he attempted to read each tome cover to cover. After making it halfway through the second book, Joffrey's stomach growled. He realized he had been in the library for hours and was probably violating noble etiquette.
Standing, Joffrey stretched, his joints popping from their prolonged stillness. He quickly made his way to the exit, ordering a servant to have the remaining books transported to his chambers. Slowly, he walked down another stone corridor when a sound caught his attention.
Clang!
The faint sound of clashing steel piqued his curiosity, and so he decided to followed it. As he got closer, the sounds became louder.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Rounding the last turn, Joffrey found himself in Winterfell's training yard. Two young men were clashing swords, dressed in robust training gear and wielding blunted steel. Joffrey recognized the two combatants as the Warden of the North's sons, Robb Stark and Jon Snow.
Joffrey leaned against the doorway and watched the "brothers" engage. It became pretty clear after a few exchanges that Jon was the better swordsman.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
They hammered at each other, each dodging the other's blow by a hair's breadth. Finally, they locked swords, and Jon seized Robb by the collar, kicking his leg out from behind him, making him land flat on his back. Jon lowered the blunted blade to his brother's throat.
"Yield!" Jon exclaimed.
Robb held up his hands. "I yield!"
Jon pulled the sword away, looking down at his brother.
"I win again, Stark," he said solemnly.
"It would seem so, Snow," Robb responded, equally grave.
The atmosphere was awkward, with clear tension. Suddenly, a smile broke across both brothers' faces, and laughter filled the courtyard as Jon offered Robb his hand, hoisting him to his feet.
"Well done, Snow," Robb said, clasping his half-brother by the shoulder. "You get better every time we cross blades."
"Thanks. It's getting harder to beat you, Stark," Jon said, smiling.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Sarcastic clapping filled the training yard as one of the most infamous knights in the Seven Kingdoms made his entrance. Joffrey and everyone else turned to gaze upon the approaching knight. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, had arrived.
Here we go, Joffrey thought, a smirk growing on his face as he remained hidden.
The rest of the castle's hosts frowned as Jaime strode up to the pair of brothers.
"Oh, please don't stop on my account," he said, wearing an arrogant smirk.
"What business does a Kingsguard have here, southerner?" the old man who was mediating the match asked.
Jaime turned to the old man, whose hair was tied beneath his chin.
"What business does any knight have in a training yard, Ser Rodrik?" he asked sarcastically. "We've been on the road for over a month. I need to keep my skills sharp."
Ser Rodrik grunted, while the Stark boys looked at him with disdain.
"Are you asking for a spar against me, then?" Robb asked.
"While I will admit I was originally interested in testing the skills of the future Lord of Winterfell, after that display, I'm afraid I wouldn't even get a proper warm-up."
Robb scowled, tightening his grip on his training sword.
"No, no, I'm much more interested in Ned Stark's bastard now," Jaime said, eyeing the sixteen-year-old like prey.
Jon looked surprised but became serious. More and more of the castle's servants stopped to watch the standoff. Seeing the tension, Ser Rodrik tried to intervene.
"While that is generous, I don't think we should-"
"No, Ser Rodrik," Jon interrupted. "If Ser Jaime is interested in seeing how us Northerners fight, I am happy to accommodate him."
Jaime smirked as Ser Rodrik sighed. "Very well," he said, turning to Robb. "Lord Robb, give him your training blade."
Robb reluctantly handed the blunted sword to Jaime, who held it in his right hand, rotating it and practicing a few swings. "Really? A sparring sword? I haven't used one of these since I was nine," Jaime said.
Jon gritted his teeth, picking up on the insult. "Aren't you going to change into the proper attire, my lord?" he gestured to Jaime's elegant tan and red leather coat.
"Oh, don't worry, boy. It's not like you'll actually hit me."
"We'll see, Kingslayer," Jon responded.
At the moniker, a vein bulged on Jaime's neck, his cocky facade cracking. The two opponents went to opposite ends of the training circle as the rest looked on anxiously. Jon raised his longsword high, pointing its tip at the seasoned knight while maintaining a defensive stance. Jaime held his sword casually.
"Begin!" Ser Rodrik shouted.
Jon surged forward, eager to put the arrogant knight in his place, while Jaime hung back.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
After a short exchange, Jon went for a two-handed thrust, which Jaime easily parried before slamming the pommel of his sword into Jon's face, snapping his head back.
"You shouldn't wince before you thrust, bastard. It gives away the game," Jaime said nonchalantly, as Jon spat blood onto the frozen dirt.
Jon, to his credit, wasn't discouraged, raising his sword again. The two clashed again, exchanging vicious blows, but Joffrey could see that Jaime was toying with him. With Joffrey's understanding of hand-to-hand combat, he knew Jaime could have killed Jon a dozen times over if it had been a real fight.
Growing bored, Jaime went for a half-hearted thrust to Jon's torso. Jon reacted faster than anticipated, twisting his body out of the way and bringing his sword down with both hands toward Jaime's neck. Jaime reacted immediately, blocking just in time. Before he could counterattack, Jon reared back his left hand and struck the Kingslayer across the face with a backfist.
Everyone gasped as Jaime's head snapped back. Jaime looked confused for a moment as the taste of copper filled his mouth, he slowly reached up to touch his freshly split and bleeding lip. Anger flooded his face as he assaulted Jon with a barrage of vicious blows.
"Do you yield, bastard?!" he asked, pummeling the young man.
Jon didn't respond, blocking as many strikes as he could.
"Yield, bastard!" Jaime screamed, slamming his sword across Jon's midsection.
"Yield!" He forced Jon's sword down, seized him by the hair, and slammed his knee into his face.
Jon kneeled, blood pouring from his nose. Jaime stood over him, raising the blade to his chin.
"Yield," he said, his tone as cold as the Wall.
"N-no," Jon responded, his voice muffled.
Jaime's brow twitched. Either out of anger for his split lip or defiance from a mere bastard, he slowly raised his sword into the air with one hand. Many wanted to intervene. Robb and Ser Rodrik were about to step forward, but the hand that reached out belonged to someone none of them expected.
Seized by the wrist, Jaime turned to see his "nephew," the crown prince, staring back at him.
"That's enough, Uncle," Joffrey said, his voice cool and expression stern.
"Let go of me, Joffrey," Jaime responded.
Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "Is that any way to speak to your prince, Kingsguard?"
Jaime's anger subsided as he looked at the witnesses and the countless blunders he had committed.
"No, it is not. I apologize, my prince."
Joffrey could tell he wasn't sincere, but he couldn't blame him, remembering the cruel acts the real Joffrey had committed.
"Good," Joffrey responded, taking the training sword. "The queen requests your presence in the great hall."
Jaime didn't know if his sister really wanted to see him, but he decided to take the out the crown prince offered.
"Well, I shouldn't keep her grace waiting," he said, bowing to Joffrey and then slightly to Robb Stark before exiting the training yard.
Joffrey turned to the castle servants who had sat back and done nothing.
"Don't you all have a feast to prepare?!" he shouted, making them scurry away like roaches, leaving only himself and the three shocked Northerners. "Are you alright?" Joffrey asked, holding out his hand to the collapsed man.
"I didn't need your help," Jon responded, his voice bitter and frustrated.
"What are you talking about?" Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "I was merely relaying a message from the queen."
Taking the hidden meaning and appreciating the gesture, Jon finally took Joffrey's hand and was hoisted to his feet.
"It's nice to meet you, my prince. My name is Jon Snow," he said, going for a clumsy bow.
"I know who you are, Jon," Joffrey said, chuckling. "You're Lord Eddard Stark's son."
Jon raised an eyebrow, surprised and delighted that the crown prince hadn't referred to him as a bastard. A sentiment shared by Robb and Ser Rodrik.
"I would apologize for my uncle," Joffrey said almost sheepishly. "He's a good warrior but needs a serious lesson in manners."
"Oh, this?" Jon gestured to his nose, which thankfully wasn't broken. "It's just a scratch. I've had much worse."
Joffrey picked up on Jon's false bravado and chuckled.
"Really?" he asked, looking Jon up and down. "You Northerners sure have it rough, huh?"
"Aye, that's why Northerners are the most ferocious warriors in all seven kingdoms," Ser Rodrik said with pride.
"Indeed," Joffrey nodded. "I've heard many tales of the North's fearlessness, and based on the courage I just witnessed, I can see they weren't overblown."
Robb, Jon, and Ser Rodrik laughed, enjoying the company of the crown prince, who they had heard was a royal prick, and were relieved that those rumors proved to be false.
"Now then," Joffrey removed his cloak and set it on a nearby table holding training weapons. "How about you men show me more of that Northern ferociousness you boast about?"
He walked to the training circle, rotating the sparring sword like his "uncle" had done. It was lighter than his longsword, Lion's Tooth. The three Northerners looked at each other uncomfortably. Joffrey understood immediately why, as no one was eager to harm the crown prince.
"Consider it a royal command," he said with a reassuring smile. "Northerners are known for keeping their oaths, after all."
Robb smiled and stepped forward, deciding he would be the one to show the southern prince a thing or two. The training carried on for over an hour, with Joffrey taking his first steps in learning the way of the sword. More importantly, he took his first steps in building a better, more healthy relationship with the North, its future liege lord, and its hidden dragon prince.
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