"Joff."
"Joffrey…"
Someone was calling him.
The voice drifted in and out, distant yet right beside his ear, like a shout rising from underwater.
Joffrey twitched his fingers.
He reached instinctively for the sword he kept by the bed, but his fingertips only found soft linen.
A face leaned close.
Golden hair, green eyes, red-rimmed from crying.
Cersei.
"I…" His lips were cracked and dry. "How long was I out?"
Cersei didn't answer.
She simply crushed him against her chest, hugging him so hard he could barely breathe.
"Gods, you're finally awake." Her voice trembled. "I thought I'd lost you."
Joffrey let her hold him.
He could feel her arms shaking—the kind of raw fear she almost never showed.
After a long moment she finally released him.
Grand Maester Pycelle's wrinkled face appeared, offering a silver cup.
"Your Grace," the old man said, relief thick in his voice, "it's been three days."
"Lord Eddard carried you back. No matter how loudly we called, you never stirred."
Three days.
Joffrey took the cup, sniffed it—plain water—and pretended to sip.
"Where's Lord Eddard?" he asked.
Cersei's face changed instantly.
"Why are you still worrying about him!" Her voice spiked, then dropped again. "That old wolf's lost his mind. Keeps ranting about some shadow, some shadow!"
"I think he's the one who tried to kill you and is just pretending there was an assassin."
She gave a sharp little laugh. "I had him arrested on the spot."
Joffrey lay back.
The warm mother-son moment evaporated into pure exhaustion.
Seven hells.
He reached up and touched the back of his neck. Just a shallow cut.
The memory of that night was hazy. The second he'd triggered [Dream Killer] he'd blacked out. He still didn't know exactly how the counterattack had worked.
But in the Red Keep, on the drawbridge between the square and Maegor's Holdfast, with only the two of them and the Kingsguard on duty, who could have done it?
"Mother, when you arrested Lord Eddard, was there any fighting with his men?" he asked.
Cersei looked puzzled.
"No."
"That stubborn old wolf kept insisting a shadow cut you. As if I'd believe that. But when I ordered him to tell his men to stand down, he actually did it."
She paced beside the bed.
"So I had Ser Barristan disarm them all and lock them in the Tower of the Hand."
"Thank the gods the Grand Maester said you were only in shock and unconscious. Otherwise I would have had every last one of them killed."
She sat again, thought for a second, then slapped the mattress.
"Wait—no!"
"Could it have been Renly? He slipped out of the city the same night you were attacked."
"You should have listened to me and gotten rid of all those people."
Joffrey sat up straighter.
"Mother, while I was out, did any of the lords make any strange moves? Has word of Father's departure spread? Were the ravens sent?"
Cersei ruffled his hair.
"You were hurt. How could I worry about any of that?" She sounded almost hurt. "Your uncle sealed the Red Keep and closed the city gates. Nothing gets in or out."
"But there is one thing." She gritted her teeth. "That damned Stannis has rebelled."
"He's flooding King's Landing with letters full of lies. Says your father is dead, claims he's the rightful king, and demands everyone swear fealty."
"And he says…" She hesitated. "A lot of nonsense about cutting off your head, your brother's and sister's heads, and mine."
"I've already called my bannermen and told your grandfather to march on the city."
Joffrey pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It was Stannis," he said flatly. "He sent the assassin. That red priestess of his used shadow magic from Asshai."
Cersei stared at him, completely lost.
Joffrey ignored her expression and sank into thought.
Stannis, you miserable bastard.
He'd guarded against everything, but he'd never expected something this supernatural.
He'd assumed it would be Renly or maybe Cortnay Penrose. Never imagined he'd be the first one hit.
And the timing was perfect—right in the middle of the handover after Robert's departure, just as Joffrey was about to take the throne.
"Mother, where did you put Lord Eddard? Release him. I need to see him right now."
Joffrey tried to stand, but his legs buckled and he fell back.
If it wasn't the skill's side effect, he was simply starving.
…
After a quick meal, Eddard was brought in.
He wore plain clothes, hair disheveled.
The second he entered he strode to the bed, brushed Joffrey's hair aside, and examined the cut on his neck.
Then he exhaled in relief.
"Joff, you're all right."
Cersei looked furious. "Who do you think you are, addressing your king like that!"
Eddard met her eyes without flinching.
"Robert left him in my care. Protecting him is my duty."
"Enough," Joffrey said from the pillows, waving them both quiet. "Lord Eddard, tell me again exactly what happened that night."
Eddard closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts.
After a moment he spoke slowly, voice heavy.
"I felt the cold too—like a sudden gust of wind."
"Then… I saw your shadow stand up." His brow furrowed, fingers clenching. "It was holding a sword and swung straight for your neck."
"I lunged, but I grabbed nothing but air."
He opened his eyes, confusion plain on his face.
"When I turned back, you were already on the ground and the shadow was gone."
"I told Ser Preston to fetch the Grand Maester and carried you back."
He glanced sideways. "Then they locked me up."
Cersei frowned. "Do all you Northerners tell stories this well?"
"It's true!" Eddard slammed his fist on his thigh twice.
Joffrey stayed quiet a moment.
Then he made a decision.
"Mother, show Lord Eddard the letter Stannis sent."
"No," Cersei said at once.
"Show him," Joffrey said, tone leaving no room for argument.
Cersei glared, but she still called for Pycelle and handed over the rolled parchment.
Eddard took it, unrolled it, and began to read aloud.
"'It is known to all that I am the trueborn son of Lord Steffon Baratheon of Storm's End…'"
"'My brother Robert is dead and left no trueborn heirs…'" Eddard's frown deepened.
"'The boy Joffrey, Tommen… are in truth the bastard offspring of Cersei and her brother…'" Eddard's eyes widened.
"'I hereby declare myself Stannis of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm…'" His voice began to shake.
"'Sealed by my own hand under the light of the Lord of Light.'"
Eddard slammed the parchment onto the table.
His chest heaved.
"Traitor! Usurper! Villain!"
"I remember now!"
"That shadow—it looked exactly like Stannis!"