The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 22: Attack in the Streets
After walking deeper into the city and away from Flea Bottom, the king and his group made their way to Visenya's Hill and into Eel Alley. They eventually found the restaurant Joffrey was so eager for Sansa to try. Approaching the medium-sized building, they were greeted by a woman in her early forties.
"Hello and welcome to the Lion's Delight, how may I…"
She froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she recognized her royal patron.
"Hello, Nana, how are you?" Joffrey greeted her warmly.
Nana, who was none other than the local butcher's wife, helped her husband run their butcher shop and their new restaurant.
"Your Grace!" she exclaimed excitedly, bowing her head. "You honor us with your presence."
Joffrey simply smiled at the older woman's enthusiasm. "Nana, I'd like a cheesesteak, and please prepare one for my fiancée as well."
"Coming right up, Your Grace," she said, her smile wide. "Hanna! Help His Grace and his lady to their table!"
A girl a few years younger than Sansa hurried over. "Right this way, Your Grace," she said, smiling as she turned to lead them inside.
"Can we get a table outside?" Joffrey asked, stopping her. "I don't think my lady's pet will appreciate all the noise."
Following the king's gaze, the young tavern girl came face to face with a three-foot-tall direwolf, its auburn fur adorned with a number of braids. The girl's visible nervousness spread to the other customers, who stared at the large beast.
"C-certainly, Your Grace," she stuttered, still staring.
Leading the group to one of the outside tables, the young girl quickly left as Joffrey and Sansa took their seats. Sandor and Barristan both stood at attention with their backs to the young couple, remaining on guard. Lady, the direwolf, made her way under the small round table and curled up at Sansa's feet. A tinge of jealousy pricked Joffrey—he wished he could have a direwolf of his own, but knew it would probably be impossible.
Soon, Nana arrived, carrying two plates with two steaming sandwiches. The king requested a glass of dark beer with his meal, while Sansa chose lemon water. With their order complete, the king paid the woman with a single Silver Stag.
"Keep the change," he said.
With a wide smile, the older woman bowed once again before returning inside, leaving the two to their privacy. As they waited for their food to cool, a soft breeze blew against Joffrey's skin. Despite the long summer nearing its end, the weather was more than acceptable for dining outside. He took a moment to enjoy the peace, wishing only that he could do something about the lingering smell of human waste in the air.
Sansa had not said a word since they left the orphanage, her mind preoccupied with how the beliefs she had been taught her whole life seemed to be unraveling. She had been observing Joffrey, and his behavior was nothing like she had expected from a king. Though he was at the peak of the nobility, he treated commoners as if they were equals—a bizarre and unsettling thought.
As doubt began to settle in, a small voice whispered in her mind, Could I have been wrong this whole time?
Despite her questions, she pushed them to the back of her mind, choosing to simply enjoy her time with her betrothed. When the sandwiches were cool enough to be eaten, she looked at the plate, confused. There was no cutlery. She looked up at Joffrey, a question in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" He asked, tilting his head. "Do you not like it?"
After a moment of hesitation, she finally spoke. "There's no cutlery."
"Oh," Joffrey smiled, having forgotten that no nobility had ever seen a sandwich before. Chuckling slightly, he decided to lead by example, taking the roasted beef with his hands and biting into it. Sansa was mortified, watching her future husband eat in such a barbaric way. The words of her Septa and mother replayed in her head: "Remember you must always dine with dignity, my lady. Back straight, elbows back, and slow, deliberate movements."
Those words echoed in her mind, but as she watched Joffrey eat with such a happy, contented expression, her hunger and curiosity got the better of her. It's not like they'll ever know, she thought, and hesitantly took the sandwich into her own hands. She held it with her light, delicate hands, as if it might explode, and took a small, tentative bite from the end. Joffrey had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at her cautious movements.
But as the thinly sliced steak and melted cheese touched her tongue, Sansa's eyes lit up with astonishment. All thoughts of proper eating etiquette flew out the window. She devoured the rest of the sandwich with ravenous hunger, much to her future husband's surprise.
Joffrey sat back, a slight smile on his face. Since ascending the throne, he had been subtly overhauling the city's culinary and public health practices. He started in the Red Keep, ordering staff to wash their hands more frequently, especially after using their chamber pots. Any servants who failed to follow the new protocols were dismissed without question. After the entire castle was on board, he set out to do the same for the rest of the city, hoping to cut down on the spread of disease and do something about the putrid smell in the air. This was when he met Nana and her husband, and suggested they transform their butcher shop into a restaurant. They had been hesitant at first, but after Joffrey offered them recipes he was desperate to taste again, they quickly got on board, naming their restaurant the Lion's Delight out of respect.
Lost in thought, Joffrey was pulled back to the present when Sansa finished her meal and noticed him staring. The girl flushed with embarrassment, having forgotten all the lessons her mother had taught her.
"W-what is it?" she asked, her cheeks as red as her hair.
Seeing an opportunity, the king smiled. "Nothing. I just thought you looked cute, that's all," he shrugged.
Steam nearly came out of the girl's ears. Seeing her plight, both Barristan and even Sandor chuckled, making Sansa pout.
"Stop tormenting the poor girl, Your Grace," Barristan said with a laugh.
"Sorry, sorry, you're right, Ser Barristan," Joffrey said, still smiling. "Apologies, my lady."
Sansa was quick to forgive, and the pair continued to enjoy their time. As the two talked and ate other food, Sansa looked across the square at the other customers who were pretending not to watch them.
"My father would love this place," she commented, a small note of sadness in her voice.
Understanding her meaning, Joffrey wiped his mouth with a napkin before he spoke. "Sansa, you know I can't allow him to leave his room."
"I-I know that, Your Grace," she said, trying to find the right words. "I'm just asking that perhaps the chance to walk around might do some good for…"
Joffrey cut her off, his tone sharp. "Sansa, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't fight me on this. I'm already being as lenient as I can with your father. Anymore and I'll appear weak to the entire court."
"I… I understand, Your Grace," she responded, her expression downcast.
The king gave the young girl a sympathetic look, understanding the complex situation she'd been thrust into. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "So, how are your sister's dance lessons going with the Bravossi?"
Sansa immediately perked up. "Fine, I suppose," she said, a little uncertainly. "I still can't believe you and Father allowed her to learn how to use a sword."
"Why?" Joffrey asked, genuinely confused.
"Well, she's a girl," Sansa responded, as if it were obvious.
"And?"
"Well, women aren't meant to fight on the battlefield," she continued. "Noble ladies are meant to marry a high lord and bear him children."
Joffrey remained silent for a moment, letting her words hang in the air. "So you believe the only thing a woman has to offer the world is weddings and beddings?"
"No," she denied. "They can also run his castle during his absence and hold court while he is away. But they most certainly shouldn't be using a blade. Why? Do you disagree?"
"I believe women are just as capable of using a sword, or spear, or bow as any boy could, and I don't see any issue with them learning how." He drifted back to his days on Earth, when women began integrating into infantry units. There had been an uproar even among his unit, though he personally thought anyone could squeeze a trigger regardless of what was between their legs.
Sansa was quiet as she listened. Joffrey took her silence as a cue to continue.
"I mean, look at countless noble women throughout our country's history who proved to be deadly warriors," he pressed on. "Nymeria Martell formed her own kingdom when she led her forces, uniting all of Dorne with the tip of her spear. Or perhaps Queen Visenya, who wielded the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister from dragonback. By all accounts, she was deadlier with a blade than Aegon himself."
Sansa remained silent, her expression contemplative as she listened to her future husband rattle off examples of female warriors she herself hadn't considered.
"All I'm suggesting, Sansa, is that perhaps whoever has been filling your head with these preconceived notions about a woman's place might just be empty-headed dribble."
"Perhaps," Sansa replied, a thoughtful look on her face.
Joffrey internally smiled. He had initially thought the northern girl was a spoiled, entitled brat. After spending the afternoon with her, he was starting to realize that wasn't the case. She wasn't dumb or even closed-minded; she'd only ever been presented with one point of view. Of course that was what she'd come to believe. He was certain he could show her a whole new way of viewing the world, but he decided that was enough growth for one day.
"Alright, I think we should start heading back," he announced, standing up from his seat. "We've got a Small Council meeting later this evening."
The others agreed and all stood up. After Joffrey left another coin as a tip, they made their way down the street. After walking for some time down the Street of Sisters, a primal alarm screamed in Joffrey's mind. All his senses were screaming danger, and he felt multiple eyes watching his back. Barristan and Sandor seemed to have picked up on it as well, as they fell back to walk more closely with the royal couple.
Unable to discern whether they were simply spies from the Small Council or local pickpockets, he decided to steer the group toward one of the city's squares. Sansa, who had been completely oblivious, saw the serious expressions on Joffrey and their two escorts. Fear began to fill her face until Joffrey took her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.
Turning left at the end of an alley, the group made their way to the large stone fountain at the center of the square. Standing with their backs to it, Joffrey watched carefully, surveying the large crowd. Unable to take the tension anymore, Sansa finally spoke.
"What's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"We're being followed," he responded, making her grip his sleeve tightly. "Relax and stay beside me. I'll protect you no matter what." He gave her a reassuring smile.
Soon, multiple bodies made their presence known, standing like statues as the crowd passed them by. Joffrey counted over six of them, all dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes. Sandor and Barristan stood ready, stepping forward on both sides with their hands gripping their sword hilts. After a long, tense standoff that seemed to last for an eternity, the group of men made the first move.
Drawing their swords, the six men charged forward as the Hound and the Kingsguard did the same. Sandor raised his greatsword, blocking two men's blades that attacked him simultaneously. Barristan moved with the grace of a river, using minimum movement to cut down two men in the blink of an eye before locking blades with a third. Panic filled the street as the crowd dispersed, making room for the men's fight. Sansa began to cry in fear, sticking close to her betrothed, who was watching the crowd rather than the fight.
Soon, Joffrey spotted more men making their way around his bodyguards and toward him and Sansa. Pushing Sansa behind him, he drew his own longsword and locked eyes with one of the cutthroats. Immediately, more men emerged from the crowd, some headed to help their friends against the old knight and the giant, while four made their way to the undefended king and his future queen.
Joffrey sprang forward, locking blades with the first man before punching him in the face with a left hook. He then stopped a second man from getting past him. The young king exchanged multiple blows with the second attacker, who continued to try to get past him.
They're here for Sansa, he thought, remaining in a deadlock with the nameless cutthroat. Realizing he wasn't going to win with pure swordsmanship, Joffrey raised his right leg high and oblique kicked the man's left knee. A loud, sickening crunch filled the air, followed by the man's screams of pain. The man's pain didn't last long; Joffrey raised his sword above his head and, with both hands, split the man's skull in two, splashing his face with blood and pieces of bone.
"Rorge! No!" one of the men shouted, charging headfirst at Joffrey, who couldn't dislodge his sword from the dead man's skull. Forced to let it go, he turned to face the enraged killer and drew his Valyrian steel dagger. The assassin raised his own dirk and began exchanging blows with the young king. A third man charged at the undefended girl, but the three-foot direwolf leaped into the air, colliding headfirst with the man's body before sinking her fangs into his throat.
As the direwolf was busy tearing out the man's jugular, Sandor and Barristan were dealing with the bulk of the attackers. They moved with impeccable teamwork, staying just out of reach of the pairs of blades. It seemed the men's intention was simply to keep them busy while their friends finished off the royal couple. Ser Barristan moved forward, deflecting one man's attack while simultaneously beheading another, while Sandor, losing his temper, simply cleaved a man in half at the waist with his greatsword.
As the cutthroats fell one after another, the remaining assassins realized there wouldn't be any of them left to collect the reward if things continued as they were. One of the men glanced over his shoulder and watched as his teammate was locked in a knife fight with the young king. Joffrey hacked and swung his dagger, calling upon the knife skills from his army days, but with his new body's lack of muscle memory and his significantly decreased reach, his movements were jerky and lacked the skill he once had.
Going for a thrust, the man twisted his body slightly, letting Joffrey's blade just barely miss him before wrapping his arm around the king's still-extended arm. Feeling pressure on his elbow joint, Joffrey winced in pain as the man twisted his body and brought his dirk up, aimed for his face. Joffrey raised his left leg and kicked the man's forearm, keeping the blade away from his body and dislodging his arm from his grip.
The killer wasn't discouraged. He continued his relentless assault, parrying and blocking the king's attacks. Clearly, the man had forgotten his mission and was now solely focused on taking the king's life. As the man went for a thrust aimed at the king's abdomen, Joffrey reached out and grabbed the blade of the dirk with his left hand, holding it in place. His hand was immediately sliced, and he winced, a sudden, cold anger filling him. He then flipped his dagger into a reverse grip and went for a downward stab aimed for the man's eye, but the man just managed to catch his wrist.
The two were in a deadlock, each trying to push their knife a little further. Joffrey, his breath coming in short gasps, released his grip on the dagger, letting it fall past his body as he turned out of the way. He then immediately caught the dagger with his now bloody left hand in a reverse grip and, with one fluid motion, sliced the man's stomach completely open.
The dark, smoky Valyrian steel blade cut through the man's ring mail like silk. A wide cut opened at the bottom of his stomach, and intestines and organs began to spill out onto the ground. The man slumped to his knees, feebly attempting to push them back in, mumbling nonsensical words to himself. Joffrey, his face a mask of cold fury, walked quietly behind him. He gripped the man by his hair and slid his dagger across his neck. Blood poured from the dead man's throat, painting the white stone red. He then pushed the lifeless body forward, letting it fall to the ground. He turned to make sure Sansa was still safe, finding that Lady had finished tearing out the other man's throat and was now sitting beside a weeping Sansa, licking her face to comfort her.
Raw anger coursed through the king's veins as he retrieved his sword from the dead man's lifeless body. He then made his way to Sandor and Barristan, who had all but finished off the rest of the would-be assassins. He stood beside both men, a few feet from the remaining three men, staring them down like swine to be slaughtered.
"I need one alive," he commanded, his voice low and sharp. "We need to find out who hired them."
The two men tilted their heads, acknowledging the command. As they stepped forward, a sudden shout up the street got all of their attention. Workers from Joffrey's Industrial Sector came racing down the road, most carrying hammers and other tools. They quickly surrounded the three men, seizing them by their arms and legs and dragging them to the floor. What followed was something Joffrey had only seen in a zombie movie, as a crowd of workers and citizens began to literally tear the men apart, their screams filling the air.
"Or not," he said, the three men staring dumbfounded at the gruesome scene.
Seeing the threat had been neutralized, the king made his way to the still-weeping young girl. He crouched down to her eye level.
"My lady, are you alright?" he asked gently.
Sansa looked up, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. She sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve. "Yes, I think…" She then noticed his bleeding left hand. "Joffrey, you're hurt."
You were the one being targeted, you silly girl, he thought, though he just gave her a kind smile.
"I'm fine, Sansa," he actually said. "It's just a scratch. Now, come on, we have to return to the castle."
He then hoisted the girl off her feet and held her in a classic princess carry. Sansa blushed heavily, held securely in the king's strong arms. Making his way over to their escorts, he voiced his next command.
"Ser Barristan, have some guards come and collect the bodies after we return. I want Grand Maester Pycelle to examine them. Perhaps we can learn something about their identities."
"At once, Your Grace," the old knight replied, bowing his head before departing.
o-O-o
Once the group arrived back at the castle Sansa was escorted back to her chambers in the Hand's Tower. Joffrey had decided to allow her to keep her direwolf beside her as the beast's presence seemed to soothe and comfort her. The king himself made his way to the Grand Maester laboratory and was in the middle of getting his hand stitched by the old ferret, before his mother came bursting into the room.
"My son!" She shouted frantically. "Where is my son?!"
Upon locking eyes with her boy she rushed over to his side taking his head into her arms. After a tender moment of her holding his head against her chest, she immediately began to ask what had happened to him. Ser Barristan had been the one to inform the queen mother on the details of the attack and how Joffrey had been hurt.
"This isn't how it was supposed to go!" She thought furious at the group of cut throats incompetence. "Damn that Littlefinger! I'll have his hide for this!"
"I knew you weren't fit to protect my son!" She actually said as she jammed her finger against the kingsguard's breastplate. "What good are you if you come back unscathed while the king you were sworn to protect is wounded!"
Ser Barristan just bowed his head offering no words to his defence.
"That's enough mother," Joffrey interrupted the queen's rant. "Ser Barristan performed his duty flawlessly and this is nothing but a flea bite."
He said, holding up his freshly stitched hand. The queen took the king's hand into her own as she slowly exclaimed the wound. Her long delicate fingers caressed her son's forearm and slowly made their way up to his now large biceps. The queen lost in thought of how closely Joffrey resembled Jaime in his youth gazed at her son's new physique with a certain glint in her eye that made him uncomfortable.
"As I was saying it's just a scratch," he then pulled his arm away from his mother's touch a flash of disappointment filled her eyes that Joffrey barely caught. "Besides they weren't there for me they were after Sansa."
"Sansa?" The queen acted surprised, sounding as fake as a three dollar bill.
"Yes you wouldn't have any idea why would you?" He asked, staring into her eyes with his trademark stoic hollow stare.
"N-no!" She stuttered as she shook her head. "I have no idea."
Joffrey just locked eyes with his visible nervous mother before he finally shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
"Well that's unfortunate," He said nonchalantly. "Please have Varys or Littlefinger look into it for me would you?"
"Of course dear," She responded relieved. "Just leave it all to me."
"Thank you mother," He replied as he got up and put his sword belt back on. "Thank you for the patch work Grand Maester."
"Yes of course, your grace." The old sage mumbled. "Come to me if you feel any pain."
Joffrey nodded his head and made his way out of the chamber with Ser Barristan in tow. As they walked down the corridor various thoughts went through the young king's mind.
So she was behind the assassination attempt, huh, he thought, his face a mask of serene calmness. And since I didn't see any Gold Cloaks, that means they were ordered not to help. Which means Littlefinger is probably involved as well. I'm going to have to move up my plans.
"Ser Barristan," he said, getting the old knight's attention as they continued to walk. "Send word to Lord Lark. I want to see him in my solar."
"At once, Your Grace," the old knight replied, bowing his head before departing to fulfill the king's command.
Joffrey made his way into his solar, closed the heavy wooden door behind him, and slumped into his seat. He poured himself a glass of Arbor red. As the delicious wine touched his lips, an excited feeling filled the king's heart.
"Tomorrow," he thought, his gaze distant, "we take our first step towards a new era for Westeros."
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