The monotony of travel bored Joffrey Baratheon. The entire trip had been a grand display of majesty by his father to convince his longtime friend and comrade, Eddard Stark, to join his side at King’s Landing. If not for his father’s will and presence the blonde-haired prince perhaps would have commented blankly on how the trip bore him with the irrelevance of such a thing. If the King requests a task or role from his vassals they should always comply – the sort of personal view was something he had been taught by his mother as it was her tutelage not the maesters of the crown that crafted the boy’s views on politics. 

However, it was not his place to question such decisions made by the king. Even if it were Joffrey would never want to bring his father’s judgment into question as everything he wanted to be was like his father, the one who brought down the Dragon Prince at the famous clashing of steel at the Battle of the Trident. It was initially why Joffrey took to martial practice with a variety of swordsmen as he did not have the strength to wield a war-hammer like his father had during his rebellion. It had always been to no avail though as his father never gave him the time of day and even gave off the impression that he did not even want to look at his own son. What did he ever do to earn his father’s scorn? 

The thought was a painful one, as he opened his eyes. He and his betrothed, Sansa Stark, had stopped underneath a fruit tree along the riverside which admittedly was a rather pleasant sight. It was then that the red-haired girl of four and ten spoke for a first time in quite some time as they had been enjoying the time away from the noise of the King’s caravan.

“What is King’s Landing like?”

Joffrey smiled, though it was one he personally forced. But his mother had taught him well how to mask his feelings and thoughts which was a rather useful skill in many avenues of society; especially for a to-be king. “It is much warmer than you are used to, I promise you that much. It is my home, it will be your home and you will become at the center of all Westeros finery. You will no longer be trapped in a land of white and gray.”

His comment sent a genuine smile to her face as he shuffled his hands behind his back. “Let us continue our walk, my lady.”

The betrothal was the first act in actual acknowledgement by his father. Where he had failed with the sword or any other actions he had at least was finally seen for what he was—a man of six and ten. How he had been told that the day would come where he too would have a fair-haired maiden at his side who bowed to his will. With the way his father tutored him he always imagined the day would only come when his father would be requested to do the action away but here he was betrothed to a beautiful girl with flowing hair of velvet by his father’s will. It filled him with pride and recognition. For Joffrey Baratheon this was only the beginning of his father coming to terms with him—he would never raise his hand against him for being a fool and he would never lecture him for childish mistakes. It was wonderful.

As Joffrey thought optimistically of the future he and Sansa came upon her sister, Arya Stark, who had taken to what appeared to be sparring with a lowborn cow. He moved his arms from behind his back as Sansa immediately apologized for her sister… but what for? What was she exactly ruining pretending to be a knight? The idea that the lowborn was playing along bothered him more than anything as to Joffrey he felt the boy was mocking him. With an arrogant grin Joffrey walked in front of Sansa and approached the two ‘knights-in-training’.

“Your sister.” He looked toward the lowborn, “…and who are you, boy?”

“Mycah, my lord.”

He could smell the fear on the lowborn, was he intimidated of him? This would be quick.

“So, you want to be a knight then? Pick up your weapon, then and let us see how good you truly are.” The prince demanded as he drew his sword whilst keeping it in a neutral stance. He did not think he'd have to use it, but the boy shouldn't mock the art that was swordplay as Joffrey believed it was.

“But… my lord.”

Joffrey’s smirk dropped to a frown. “I asked you to do something, boy. Do it, pick it up.”

“…but it’s just a—”

“A stick? Yes and you are nothing more than a lowborn playing pretend. Don’t you agree?”