"Dad!"
"You're alive after all!"
"You've done your own son wrong!"
"Gods above!"
Heart-wrenching wails echoed through the Red Keep.
Varys came hurrying down the corridor in soft slippers and grabbed the dazed Barristan by the sleeve.
"Ser, what's happened to His Grace? Why is he in such torment?"
Old Barristan sniffed, voice shaking.
"Fresh news just came in."
"King Robert… he slipped away on a ship!"
"And the man who arranged it for him was the Hand he himself appointed—Lord Eddard."
Varys's eyes widened in shock, but he still looked like he didn't quite believe it.
From inside the chamber came Joffrey's voice again.
"Father!"
"You are so cruel!"
"You've done your own son wrong!"
"Quaaaack—!"
Barristan clutched the eunuch's sleeve.
"Varys, His Grace is in there beating his chest and stamping his feet. We've tried everything to calm him. Maybe you should go in and comfort him."
Varys thought for a second, then waved a limp hand.
"No rush. No rush at all."
"Let the prince cry a little longer."
He gave a firm nod and turned to leave.
"You… you…"
Barristan stood there sputtering in disbelief.
Another louder wail rolled out of the room: "Aaaaaugh—!"
A long time passed.
Joffrey still hadn't snapped out of it.
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
He clutched a letter so tightly his knuckles went white—Robert's parting note.
"Son,
Your old man is actually fine.
But when that boar gored me through the side, I really did take a quick trip to the Seven Hells.
In that moment I finally got it.
A man lives to eat, drink, whore, and do whatever the hell he wants.
I've spent my whole life fighting. Now I'm going to enjoy myself for once.
The Seven Kingdoms are yours.
—Esson's knight-errant, sellsword king, and your loving father, Robert Baratheon."
After reading it, Joffrey felt like the realm had just dropped straight into his lap.
He went straight to Pycelle first.
"Your Grace…" the Grand Maester dropped to his knees, trembling. "His Grace forced me to fake the severity of the wound. He said he'd have my head if I didn't!"
"So the injury was never life-threatening?" Joffrey demanded.
"Yes, yes! It looked awful, but it never touched the organs."
Joffrey took a deep breath and walked out.
Next he found Eddard.
"Your Grace." The Hand sat at his desk surrounded by papers, eyes drifting toward the window. "Robert told me he was dying and made me swear an oath. I agreed in a daze. Only then did he tell me the truth."
"So you helped him arrange the ship and let him sail away in secret?" Joffrey could hardly believe it.
"He talked to me about a great many things…"
"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Eddard muttered, eyes distant. "Before you take a life, you must look the man in the eyes."
"That's why Robert said he would go kill the two Targaryen children himself… to end the threat once and for all."
Joffrey went to Cersei last.
"Sweetling, your brothers and sister and I already knew." His mother gently stroked his cheek. "Your father gets to go play, and you get to be king."
She said it as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "It's done. Let him go."
Joffrey opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Fine."
Fine!
Every single one of them had known.
Every single one had kept it from him!
He sighed.
Whatever. As far as Joffrey Baratheon was concerned, none of this had ever happened.
Iron Throne.
Joffrey sat on the chair of a thousand melted swords and looked down at the assembled lords and ladies.
Cersei sat beside him, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips.
Eddard sat in the Hand's seat looking dazed, still uneasy about the outrageous thing he had helped Robert do.
A minor lord stepped forward.
"Your Grace! Let me take a fast ship to Pentos. Within five days I will bring His Grace back!"
Another jumped up. "I will go too! I will find the king and restore him to the throne!"
Seven or eight men immediately volunteered.
Varys raised a soft hand.
"No."
His silky voice cut through the clamor.
"Why go to Pentos?"
Everyone stared.
The Spider glanced at Joffrey on the Iron Throne, then at Eddard and Cersei.
"His Grace left of his own free will. The Hand arranged the ship. The Grand Maester faked the wound. Her Grace the Queen kept the secret. Let the matter rest. Everyone please withdraw and give His Grace a moment to rest."
The meaning was crystal clear.
Joffrey thought for a second, then waved everyone away.
The lords exchanged uneasy glances, bowed, and filed out.
"Mother, you should rest too."
Cersei patted his head and left.
Varys pretended not to notice the Hound standing silently in the corner, bowed, and said,
"This servant grieves for Your Grace on one hand…
…and congratulates you on the other."
Joffrey raised an eyebrow.
"Spider, what nonsense are you spouting?
"My father has only just left us. What is there to celebrate?" His tone carried a trace of irritation.
Varys smiled faintly.
"Your Grace sees everything clearly. Why test this humble servant?"
He bowed toward the east in a theatrical little gesture.
"From the moment he took the throne, King Robert won every war and commanded awe across the realm. Yet he carried one secret burden.
"He… never enjoyed being king."
Joffrey leaned forward, as if hearing a distant melody.
The eunuch smiled again.
"Since he had responsibilities, he needed a worthy successor before he could chase his own desires.
"The perfect choice was you, Your Grace.
"That is why he brought Lord Eddard south to settle the Vale, quietly gave his final instructions to the council, and only then could he leave with an easy heart."
Varys paused and gave Joffrey a meaningful look.
"Your Grace already understood all of this.
"Otherwise, in the middle of that loud mourning earlier, how could your sigh have sounded so… relieved?"
Joffrey rested his chin on his hand and scratched his upper lip.
"Hm. You got me.
"I wanted them to spread the word across Westeros that I was heartbroken. The king left of his own accord, and I'm devastated."
Varys blinked.
"By now the Grand Maester's ravens should already be flying."
"But Your Grace," he continued smoothly, "that seat is not an easy one to hold."
Joffrey pointed at him.
"Go on."
Varys raised two fingers.
"Your Grace faces two great difficulties.
"First: King Robert has only gone to Essos as a knight-errant to kill the last Targaryen children for you. What if, in ten or twenty years, he grows tired of adventure and decides to come home?
"Second: the great lords—Eddard in the North, Tywin in the West, Stannis on Dragonstone, even Doran Martell in Dorne—have always coveted the Iron Throne. They never dared reach for it while Robert lived, because they feared he would crush them.
"Now that the king is gone… will they obey the commands of a boy?"
Joffrey was silent for a long moment.
"Then tell me, Spider," he said at last.
"Should I claim the throne…
"or not?"