GOT: The Golden Lion

Ros' eyes sparkled, and she did as her King demanded. With just a few tugs of laces, she let her dress fall from her shoulders and bunch around her feet. Lacking any smallclothes below, she removed the one holding her large breasts too, and finally stood bare for the King to feast upon.

"Lie down on the table at the edge," Joffrey ordered, removing all his clothes too. But first, he locked the door of his solar.

Then, as he finally approached his table, he stood there mesmerized by his personal whore. Her body was made to be loved and fucked, jutting, plump, shapely breasts, each complete with a sizable pink bud, and wide areolas. Her spread legs revealed her already leaking pussy, pink and prepared for plunder.

"Ummm…" Joffrey began by tracing the flesh of her legs from her feet to her thighs, so hot and soft that he couldn't help but clench them. Then finally, he stood closer, pointing his cock to her core dangling from the edge of the table. "You're one savory woman, Ros."

She giggled, squeezing her breasts together with her own hands, forming a soft valley, inviting the King to lay his face there. "You make this whore ha-aaaah… happy, Your Grace."

What a dangerously perfect whore.

Joffrey shook his head in admiration and drew pleasure, slamming deep and leaning down to taste her cloud-like breasts.

That day, he finally realized his own addiction. More than wine, more than battles, more than anything—he was addicted to the pleasure of the flesh.

And honestly, Joffrey loved every bit of it.

For he was certainly better than the fat fuck of his father.

####

Meereen, Essos.

"This has to be an elaborate scheme, my Queen," Jorah Mormont said, holding yet another missive from Westeros bearing the seal of King Joffrey. "You should not let him trouble your thoughts. Securing Meereen is of greatest importance."

Sitting on the throne, Daenerys looked at the rolled parchment with keen interest, an intrigued smile resting on her thin lips. "I shall make that decision after reading it."

Barristan remained silent. He truly had no idea what King Joffrey was doing, and reading the missive was one way to find out. So he waited for Daenerys to finish reading it first.

Daenerys unrolled the parchment. But she instantly noticed it had a second, thinner, rolled paper that almost fell from her hand. She unrolled it too and realized it was a portrait—a man with sharp features, blue eyes, hair somewhat between golden and brown.

Her brows furrowed. She held the other parchment and read the words under her lips.

Do you see this face? Handsome, isn't it? I pondered long and hard about your grand entrance into the realm of Westeros. And then it struck me, you and your scaly dragons have no clue about the splendor of this visage. Thus, I graciously dispatched my portrait to you. So you can teach your three children who not to burn.

"Pff…" Daenerys looked back at the portrait and imagined it talking. Joffrey's voice in her mind was not very deep but rather boyish, almost making her laugh. "He will do well as my court jester once I take back my throne."

Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker—Ah, there's too many titles for one measly parchment. Forgive me, I'm running out of ink on my table.

I've put an end to the mindless war and now I'm focusing on mending up the realm. The smallfolk need not suffer, die of hunger or sickness anymore. Of course, the Ironborn still remain at large, but I shall have them exterminated soon enough.

It is my advice to you that when you return, you return peacefully. I shall leave the Red Keep for your taking, and there needs not be any bloodshed. I hope you make the decision to begin your rule with the majesty of dragons, peaceful heart of the Mother, and a loving character of the Maiden.

My only desire is to keep the realm strong and focus on the real enemies of all that lives—the 'Others', also known as White Walkers, who approach from beyond the wall as you read this.

I hope when we meet, we can stand as allies and defeat the evil from the North. For if they win, nothing shall live—me, you, your dragons, and all the ones you have freed.

Your Greatest Friend,

Joffrey Baratheon.

Daenerys finished reading the missive and stared at Joffrey's portrait. She looked at it with a conflicted heart, unaware if Joffrey was actually a man of his word who ended the war. Or was this an elaborate scheme to make her lower her guard?

"He actually didn't have the ink." She noticed how the last few lines looked dimmer than the rest. It made her chuckle despite the confusion. "He's an intriguing man."

"They all are," Barristan said. "You have to be if you are a ruler."

"It says he has ended the war. Only the Ironborn remain," Daenerys revealed, giving the missive to Ser Barristan. However, she kept the portrait of Joffrey. "Do you believe he's capable of that?"

"No chances. He's a spoiled brat, weak in mind and body," Barristan replied with disdain in his voice. "A pawn controlled by his mother."

"What if some alteration has occurred since your departure? I fear we are oblivious to the events in Westeros. We require spies and informants there as well," Daenerys suggested, unable to believe that these missives were written by anyone but Joffrey himself.

"I know a few men in Westeros, trustable too," Barristan said, somewhat unsure. "But they work for gold only."

Daenerys mulled over it for a while before making a decision. "Very well, the gold shall be given. As long as we can acquire accurate information about this so-called golden lion."

"Understood, my Queen."

####

King's Landing,

"Fifty fire Scorpions?! Why do you need that many? We have enough for the city defense," Tyrion exclaimed as he spoke with Joffrey in his solar the next day.

Joffrey scoffed, "That's just the first batch, Uncle. In total, I want two hundred of them. Complete sets with Wildfire jars."

"For what? Shooting at the stars?" Tyrion questioned. "This project will burden the coffers more than necessary."

"Uncle, do you think my victory was a fluke? That it was lucky that I won back control over Westeros?" Joffrey seriously asked.

Tyrion knew his nephew was very serious and dared not quip. "I am one man who'd never doubt your victories, Your Grace. I saw you at the battle of Blackwater with my own eyes."

"Then have faith in me. One day, these two hundred scorpions will be the greatest boon to Westeros and our family," Joffrey assured, but didn't reveal all his cards just yet. Walls had ears, after all.

"Any word on the new Master of Ships?"

"Lord Paxter has accepted the task himself. He is thankful to King Joffrey for this opportunity, and for showing such trust in him. He is making the journey here as we speak."

"Horseshit!" Joffrey barked. "Redwynes are traitors. But I still need that man here before my marriage takes place."

Tyrion didn't have to guess why Redwynes were called traitors. They took the Targaryen side during the rebellion, after all. "The invitations have been dispatched. However, given the pressing circumstances, I fear our far-flung guests won't be able to honor us with their presence."

"No need. We already have all those we consider important," Joffrey snapped, his tone dripping with disdain. He swiftly began writing something down. "Uncle, I want you to quietly sniff around that High Septon. If he's swimming in sin, I want him taken care of. And keep your eyes peeled on the smallfolk, especially the pious lot. If there is any hint of deviation from their usual docile behavior, I want to hear about it. Clear?"

Tyrion frowned. "What is this about?"

"I fear the rise of another faith militia—just trust me, and probe this silently," Joffrey requested, handing him the written paper. "This is my order to mobilize the crown's funds to feed the folks of King's Landing. Empty bellies breed chaos, and chaos breeds rebellion. Keep them fed, keep them obedient—simple as that."

At that moment, Tyrion once again felt how different Joffrey had become. Joffrey used to be insane, heartless, and a borderline psychopath. But now, Tyrion felt a strange tension just by being near him—as if he was standing before Tywin.

Tyrion nodded and stood up, ready to head out. "This is a lot of work. I'll need to start right away."

"Thank you, Uncle," Joffrey said with an unexpected warmth, a rare genuine smile gracing his face. "Grandfather and mother had you all wrong. Without you, I'd have failed as the king—I'm grateful for your service."

Despite it just being a boy praising him, Tyrion felt overwhelmed for no reason. He couldn't remember when was the last time someone had ever appreciated him. "Thank you, Your Grace. Then, can I receive a crown-funded visit to Chatay—"

"Sewer cleaning?"

"Ah!" Tyrion jolted and quickly left through the door. After all, who didn't know about the most hated job in King's Landing?

Done with the day's work, Joffrey finally glanced out of the window behind him, high in the castle, a gentle breeze cooling the room. It was already nighttime, and he couldn't help but take a deep sigh.

It's just another part of the job. He told himself, quickly picked a wine bottle from the side cabinet and poured himself a few glasses. What if Jaime blames me instead? He's a blind fool who lusts for his own sister.

Joffrey felt slightly worried about it but knew he had to take the risk. This was the only way to earn the undying loyalty of the famed knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

At last, after finishing three glasses of wine, he got up. He placed the gift and the blindfold in his pockets and walked out with firm determination.

"Where is Ser Jaime?" Joffrey asked, finding Sandor standing there alone.

"Said he's sick," Sandor barked, following Joffrey closely.

Sick? Not a very believable excuse. Joffrey thought and soon arrived outside Cersei's room. But he needs to see it.

"Stand guard here. Don't let anyone in," he ordered Sandor and walked inside. Just like the day before, he left the door very slightly open to peek inside. The room was lit up with various candles and lanterns, the fragrances of flowers and more mixed in the air.

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