The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 23: Forming an Army
[AN: Black Bold words indicate the use of another language besides common tongue.]
The following day, riders were dispatched to every corner of the city and the Crownlands with petitions for any able-bodied man interested in the chance to join the king's own personal army. There were but two requirements to join: they had to be between the ages of sixteen and thirty, and they could have no impairment that limited their combat abilities. In exchange, the recruits were promised the chance to sleep in warm beds, drink clean water, and eat food they could actually identify. With such terms, it came as little surprise to the young king that the great majority of his applicants came from the squalid streets of Flea Bottom.
While his recruiters were making their way through the city, Joffrey was having his usual early training session with his new sword instructor, Ser Barristan Selmy. The king labeled it a sword instruction session, but it would have been more accurate to call it a merciless schooling—a truth any onlooker would have readily agreed with. Despite months of dedicated training and his own experience in a previous life, Joffrey knew he was a mere child before the legendary knight.
"Keep your guard up, Your Grace," the old knight would say before slapping Joffrey in the ribs with the flat of his blade.
Joffrey immediately raised his guard.
"No, not so high," came the next instruction, followed by another sharp strike to the ribs.
The king lowered his blade slightly.
"Better. Now, move to the left," Barristan commanded, and Joffrey promptly obeyed. "No, no, not that far."
Another strike followed, and many more after it. The hour-long session went on in this fashion, and by the time Ser Barristan finally called for a break, Joffrey was a bruised and sweating mess, sprawled out on the soft soil of the training yard. Covered in small welts and bruises, the king lay like a crumpled heap.
"On your feet, my king," Ser Barristan remarked as he offered the boy his arm. Joffrey took it, allowing the Kingsguard to hoist him to his feet.
The pair sat side by side on a wooden bench, each sharing a water skin to rehydrate. Once their thirst was quenched, the old knight spoke.
"You have improved yet again, your grace," he praised the boy.
"Ser Barristan, for the last time, you may address me by my name when we are alone," Joffrey said as he wiped his sweaty brow with a towel. He offered it to the old knight, who waved him off.
"I understand, Your Grace, but to do so would be disrespectful to your station."
"Is that so?" Joffrey mused, bringing a hand to his chin. "Then consider this a royal command. When we are alone, I command you to address me by my first name, and I shall do the same for you."
"Well, that's… um…"
Barristan looked for a way to refute the king's command but failed to find a single reasonable argument that would not make him seem like a stubborn old man. After a moment of hesitation, the old knight finally spoke.
"If that is your command, Joffrey."
"Now, see? That was not so hard, was it, Barristan?" Joffrey said with a grin, slapping the knight on the back.
The legendary Kingsguard looked almost sheepish at being commanded to treat his king in such a familiar way, even in a private setting. Taking another sip from his water skin, Joffrey wiped his mouth before inquiring about his latest session.
"So, what were my mistakes today?" he asked in a serious tone.
"Not much to tell," the old knight replied as he went over the session in his head. "Your defense has improved greatly, and you do not fly in so recklessly with your offense as you once did."
"I have no doubt your lessons are what kept me alive in our little ambush the other day."
Upon hearing the king's words, Ser Barristan looked down at the king's freshly stitched hand, which had been double-wrapped so they could train safely. Seeing a wound he had failed to prevent stirred the turbulent feelings the Kingsguard was still feeling from his previous king's death. The knight stood from the wooden bench and made his way to the front of the still-sitting, bewildered king, where he dropped to one knee.
"I again apologize for my inexcusable failure in protecting you and your lady," he said, bowing his head deeply. "I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, my king."
Joffrey seemed slightly taken aback by the knight's sudden words, but after a moment, he cooled his expression and spoke in a calm, even tone.
"Rest easy," he said with a dismissive wave. "No punishment is required. No one could have predicted we would be ambushed in broad daylight, not even you."
The old knight did not seem satisfied by the king's words, his face twisting into a sour expression until Joffrey laid his hand on his pauldron.
"I understand your desire for atonement, and I also understand that this is not merely for this single incident, but for the lingering guilt you feel over my father's death," he said calmly as the knight looked up from the ground and met his gaze for the first time. "But I want you to know two things. The first is that I do not hold you responsible for what befell my father."
Barristan's face became a mixture of disbelief and anguish, while the king grew soft and kind as a small smile spread across his face. Joffrey stood from the bench and towered over the still-kneeling knight.
"It is true that I loved him despite his many flaws, and I do miss him, but the king lived every moment of his life making his own decisions, the good and the bad. No one had the power to protect him from himself, and I will not punish you for someone else's actions. Now stand up."
It was now Joffrey's turn to offer his arm to the kneeling knight, who looked upon his new king with astonishment. After a moment of hesitation, he took the king's hand and was hoisted to his feet.
"I meant what I said in the Red Keep, good Ser," Joffrey said, staring into the knight's eyes. "I have much to learn from you, and I truly believe you still have much to offer the Seven Kingdoms. Now, I will ask you again: will you follow me?" he asked as he offered his hand.
A small smile grew on the elder knight's face before he reached out and grasped the king's forearm.
"It would be an honor, Your Grace," he said proudly, shaking his arm.
"Believe me, good Ser, the honor is mine," Joffrey nodded.
Joffrey then turned and made his way back to the table to retrieve his training blade.
"If I may, Your Grace," Barristan spoke out, making Joffrey look over his shoulder at him. "What was the second point you wanted me to know?"
"That your chance for retribution is much closer than you think, Barristan," Joffrey said with a grin that was frankly a little unnerving. "Though, enough about the future, let us focus on the here and now."
Joffrey then made his way back to the training circle with his blunted sword, raising it high in a ready stance.
"Now, again," he commanded, making the knight chuckle before he grabbed his own blunted blade and met him in the middle.
Once Joffrey could no longer raise his sword above his head, he decided to call it a day and made his way to the baths. As he soaked in the steamy waters, Joffrey could not help but feel excited about meeting his new recruits the following day. The fluttering feeling did not leave his chest, even as he blew out his candlestick and turned in for the night.
"Tomorrow will be a good day," he thought before he drifted off to sleep.
o-O-o
Disappointment hung on the king's face as the supposed recruits to his personal army made their way into the tourney grounds. Most of them were emaciated, with thin arms and undeveloped bodies. Their clothes were all filthy, their once-vibrant robes stained brown with mud and other grime the king did not wish to know about. The only upside seemed to be that most were in his target age range of their early to mid-twenties.
As they made their way inside, the instructors hand-picked by the king organized them into seven single-file lines. Joffrey was astonished by the number of recruits who had answered his summons. Initially, he had expected no more than a thousand men would willingly come to such a brand-new organization. Instead, he was met with a force of over six thousand in total, though he knew less than half would make it through to the end.
Once the commoners were corralled into the center of the stadium, Joffrey's instructors made their way to the head of the lines and stood at attention. The king slowly made his way down from the royal box and walked until he stood in front of the starving dogs. He met each and every man's face, finding nothing but opportunistic souls who were clearly only there for an easy meal. After slowly walking back and forth in front of the seven lines, the king made his way back to the middle and walked up to the first man.
"So, you think you have what it takes to serve in my army?" he asked emotionlessly.
The young man looked stunned by the king's sudden inquiry.
"My Lord, I don't…"
But before he could finish, Joffrey cut him off.
"I am not a Lord!" he screamed at him. "A lord is a title for a useless man! Do you think I am a useless man?!"
"N-no, my king," he stuttered, shaking his head vehemently.
"During your stay here, you will address me as Lord Commander, or just Commander. Is that understood?!"
"Y-yes, Commander," the man responded immediately, frightenedly.
"Good," Joffrey then walked away from the frightened young man and made his way to another. "What about you, dog? You came here for some warm food, is that it? You thought you could just wait it out and walk away with some juicy mutton chops or something?!"
"N-no, Commander!" he shouted back.
"I hope so, for your sake, otherwise you will not be with us for long," he responded before walking back toward his instructors. "So, you all want to be a royal soldier? You believe yourselves worthy to carry a spear and fight in my name?"
The starving dogs continued to squirm under the king's harsh tone and brutal words. Without missing a beat, he continued.
"I know all of you have been overlooked your entire lives. Told that you were worthless piles of dirt. No better than a cowpie on the side of the road, and let me tell you, everything they said to you was true."
The young men began to look depressed, looking down at the ground with shame.
"But," he continued, "I am offering all of you the chance to change that."
As one, all of the strays' heads perked up.
"Today, you take the first step in breaking off the shackles of your past. Today, you take the first step in becoming a Royal Saber. You will have the chance to become a small piece of something much greater than yourselves. To be a part of a family and have a place to call home until the day you die." He spoke, his voice filled with a conviction that drew all the men in, making them hang on his every word. "Though let me be clear, the road to becoming a Royal Guard is one littered with pain and death. So I warn any wannabe warriors among us who are just in it for a meal ticket and a place to sleep: leave now, and save me the trouble of having to sort you out myself."
At his words, men made their way out of the lines and out of the stadium. Joffrey waited patiently for all the quitters to leave before continuing.
"Is that it then? Are the rest of you here for the right reasons?"
Many heads nodded while others murmured inaudible replies.
"We shall see," he responded, nodding his head with an unconvinced expression, looking them up and down as if to size them up. The king then turned to one of the instructors. "Let us begin."
An older man in his early forties stepped forward.
"Alright, dogs! Rank and file, then follow me!" he ordered, leading the men to an enclosed space within the stadium.
All of the recruits followed the middle-aged, gruff instructors like baby ducks. After walking a bit, the instructor led them to an enclosed tent that had ten chairs and ten male servants waiting on standby.
"Alright, first ten, take a seat and prepare to be sheared," he ordered.
The men all looked at each other, arguing over who should go first. Finally, ten men stepped forward and took a seat. As they sat back, the servants got to work, clipping their hair short before taking a razor and shaving them bald. As the hair fell to the ground, lice and other parasites tried to crawl away before they were swept up and tossed into a brazier in the corner of the tent. Once they were finished, they stood up and were escorted out by another instructor, who led them to another tent.
"Strip," he commanded.
Hesitating at first, the men eventually stripped out of their stained rags and were positioned side by side. Then another servant walked up and doused them with freezing cold water, washing the dirt and grime off their bodies. Then, naked as the day they were born, they were led by another into a tent and handed a pile of freshly folded clothes. The men eagerly put on the new clothes and were shocked at how soft and comfortable they were.
The ten then made their way to an open area and waited patiently for the others to arrive, which they promptly did as more and more groups of ten made their way out, all with the same garb and shiny bald heads. Once everyone was finished getting ready, they were led back to the main grounds where they found the king waiting for them. After filing into seven lines again, Joffrey nodded his head in approval.
"That's more like it," he thought as he looked over the men's matching uniforms, which consisted of a simple white training doublet and black leather breeches, along with boots and the rest.
"Alright, now that we have all the formalities out of the way, let's get started."
Making his way to the middle, Joffrey proceeded to pull off a large black cloak, revealing a shiny bronze bell to all of the men. Everyone looked at the large bell with confusion, muttering to each other about its purpose, until finally one brave recruit raised his hand.
"Um, Commander?" He asked as he stepped out of line, getting Joffrey's attention. "What's the bell for?"
"This bell is your ticket out of here for when you quit or can no longer bear it," he announced as all of the men looked at each other with confusion. "For the next eight weeks, if at any point you decide that being a Royal Guard is not for you, then all you need to do is walk up here, ring this bell, and leave the stadium."
The men all nodded their heads, now understanding the bell's function.
"So, as long as we do not ring that bell, we will become a Royal Guard?" the same recruit asked.
"Oh, no," Joffrey laughed at the recruit's question. "That is simply the easiest way to be cast out of here. No, you will be monitored by the instructors behind me for the next eight weeks, and if any of you cannot keep up and meet the standards, you will be cut from the group and told to leave."
At the king's words, the men gulped, looking at the instructors in a new light.
"Alright, I will let you take it from here, Simon," the king said to the head instructor before turning and making his way back up to the royal box and taking a seat.
"Now, let us begin, shall we?" the man asked rhetorically, with a wicked grin spreading across his face that made all of the men question their decision to stay.
The men were all brought to the first training station, which consisted of a high wooden beam that stood over twenty feet tall with seven thick ropes hanging down from it.
"The task is simple," Simon announced to the men. "Climb the rope and touch the top beam. First seven, step up!" he ordered.
Seven men stepped forward and took hold of the thick climbing rope. One by one, each man tried to climb the rope, and one by one, each man fell back down, hitting the ground hard. After they failed, they were ordered to the back of the line, and the next group stepped forward. And just like the first, not a single one of them got even halfway up the twenty-foot rope. Seeing the hopeless scene, Joffrey pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat in the royal box.
"This is going to take a lot of work," he said aloud to himself.
o-O-o
That night, in a rundown tavern near Visenya's Hill, a group of Lysene pirates feasted and drank deep into the night. As the group enjoyed the tavern's accommodations, one of the crew, growing bored, shouted out to their leader.
"Hey, captain, how much longer must we wait?!" the man shouted as he took a sip from his mug.
"No idea," the captain replied as he bit into a fresh piece of meat. "But who cares? We do not have to pay for the drinks, so just shut up and have another, Ejar."
The crewmate did not refuse his captain's suggestion and immediately poured himself another round. Suddenly, the tavern's door swung open, and in walked two men draped in old gray cloaks. All the pirates became anxious, with the exception of their captain, due to the sheer size of one of the men. As the pair made their way over, the pirate captain sat up straighter in his seat.
"So you are this boy king Lark told me about," the pirate said with a smile. "This had better be worth the speed with which I had to sail here."
At the pirate's words, both men removed their hoods, revealing themselves to be none other than the new king, Joffrey, and his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane.
"So you are the famous Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan I have heard about," Joffrey commented as he took a seat across from the older man.
"Indeed, I am Captain Salladhor Saan, the Prince of the Narrow Sea," he replied jovially, laughing along with his men.
The young king took in the older pirate's appearance. His hair was slicked-back, aged gray-white and shone with oil in the candlelight. He was dressed in a dark brown and gold vest and a matching shirt, with a blue sash running from his right shoulder to his left hip.
"Well met, Salladhor Saan," Joffrey tilted his head respectfully. "As you have already surmised, I am Joffrey Baratheon, first of my name."
The two stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, each trying to decipher the other. After the awkward pause became unbearable, the pirate finally spoke.
"So, are you going to tell me why you called me here, or are you just going to stare into my eyes, pretty boy?"
Joffrey's face remained impassive, though the same could not be said for his loyal shield.
"Watch your mouth, pirate," Sandor hissed.
"Oh, dear," Salladhor feigned fear. "It seems your half-burnt dog did not appreciate my words."
He laughed along with the rest of his men, though Joffrey could see the fear and unease in their eyes, unlike their captain. Seeing the laughing faces, Sandor reached down and gripped the hilt of his dagger. The rest of the crew became more tense upon seeing the movement, making one of them step up and whisper in Salladhor's ear.
"Captain, perhaps it is not wise to anger them," he whispered quietly. "We came here for a job, remember? Not to be killed in some tavern."
The pirate captain scoffed.
"Relax, Ejar, the boy king will not let his dog attack us," he waved off. "They obviously need us, otherwise they would not have gone through all the trouble to meet us here."
The crewman did not look very convinced until Joffrey spoke up.
"Relax, pirate. Your captain is right," he spoke calmly as he gestured for Sandor to stand down.
Both the pirates looked at the king in shock before the captain quickly tried to regain control of the conversation.
"So, why are we here exactly?"
"I have a job for you that requires a certain level of discretion," Joffrey replied as he interlocked his fingers.
"What type of discretion are we talking about?"
"The kind that leaves no witnesses," he responded coldly.
"Is that so?" Salladhor sat up and leaned in closer. "Consider me interested. What is this job, exactly?"
"There is a ship sailing near the upper reaches of the Rhoyne. It is an ugly little poleboat, single-masted, with a large lateen sail. I want you to find it and sink it."
The pirate captain's eyes widened slightly before he calmed his features.
"So, an assassination, is it? Is there a particular person I should be aiming for?"
"There is a young boy around my age on it with dyed hair. I want him dead, but not just him; everyone on board along with him."
"What could a boy half a world away possibly have done to you?"
"That is not for you to concern yourself with. Do you want the job or not?" he asked.
Salladhor brought his hand to his cheek, contemplating the details of the job. It took him all of ten seconds to consider his options.
"Sure, we will do it," he answered. "Now, how much are we getting paid?"
Joffrey then gestured to Sandor, who promptly stepped forward, revealing a large sack that had been hidden under his cloak. Placing the bag in the middle of the table, gold dragons began to roll out.
"Here is half your payment," he announced as the entire crew stared at the sack, greed filling their eyes. "You will get the rest when you complete the job."
It took sheer willpower for the pirate captain to tear his eyes away from the bag of gold.
"You must want this boy very badly," he remarked with a crooked smile.
"You have no idea," the king responded as he stood up from the table. "Remember, no survivors, and bring me proof of death."
"Aye, aye, sir," the crew replied as the two pulled their hoods back over their faces and began to make their way out of the tavern.
Joffrey could already hear the men arguing about how to split up the funds as he and Sandor made their way down the white stone street and back toward the castle before anyone realized they were gone. As they walked, Sandor glanced down at Joffrey with an inquisitive look.
"Your Grace," he began.
Joffrey looked up at the giant man as they continued to walk.
"Sandor, when we are alone, you may just call me by my name."
"Alright, Joffrey. Could you tell me when you learned to speak High Valyrian?"
"Hmm?" Joffrey looked at his shield, confused. "What are you talking about?"
Sandor looked slightly baffled, remembering well when the peacock pirate captain and his crew member had switched to Lysene Valyrian. Though, looking down at the king, the only thing he could see was clear confusion.
"Never mind," Sandor shrugged it off. "So, would you mind telling me what that was all about then?"
"Trust me, Sandor, it is better that you do not know," he responded, refusing to broach the subject with him.
Sandor looked as though he had a hundred things to say, but in the end, he just shrugged his shoulders. After all, his duty was to protect the king, not worry about his schemes or plots. Joffrey nodded his head, happy the hound was quick to understand. The pair just continued to make their way down the quiet, empty street, back to the Red Keep.
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