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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 86: A Price Worth Paying
The maester's study was cold, even though a fire burned low in the hearth.
The room smelled of old parchment and dried herbs, and something metallic...perhaps from the instruments laid out on the table.
Joffrey sat on a wooden stool, his broken crimson armor discarded in a corner, his bare chest exposed to the chill.
The bandages on his left arm were fresh, wrapped tightly around the stump where his arm had once been. The wound had been cleaned and sealed, but the memory of the pain lingered.
Myrcella stood beside him, a cloth in her hand, her golden hair tied back from her face. She had insisted on tending him herself, refusing to let the surviving servants near her brother. Her green eyes were focused, her lips pressed tight with concentration.
"You are being too gentle," Joffrey said, his voice flat. "I will not break."
"You almost died," Myrcella replied, dabbing at the wound on his chest. The gash ran from his collarbone to his ribs, a jagged line of angry flesh. "I did not think you would actually come. But I did wish for it..."
Joffrey watched her work. Her hands were steady, though he could see the tension in her shoulders. "Good thing that I did. It was not looking well when I arrived."
Myrcella said nothing. She dipped the cloth in a bowl of warm water and pressed it against the wound. Joffrey did not flinch.
"Your arm," she said after a moment. "How did that happen? The wound was very fresh."
Joffrey glanced at the empty sleeve. "It was the price I had to pay for my hubris."
"Hubris?" Myrcella inquired.
Joffrey sighed. "I have been acting a bit arrogant since..." Since he woke up in a body that was not his. But he could not say that.
"Since what?"
"It does not matter anymore, I suppose." It was not like he could bring the original Joffrey back. Nor did he think that many people would be happy with the trade. "I will get the arm fixed when I can."
"Fixed? Are you going to grow another arm? Wait...can you do that?" Myrcella was not sure whether he was being serious or merely joking.
Joffrey smiled. "I have my ways. No need to concern yourself about it."
Myrcella shook her head. She set down the cloth and examined the wound on his chest, her brow furrowing when she saw how bad it looked. "Then I should concern myself with this. The cut is very strange." She moved her fingers around the edges of the gash. "The flesh is becoming dark, and the smell is very strong." There was a hint of panic in her voice.
Joffrey looked down. He had noticed it too. The wound was not healing properly. The edges were necrotic, the tissue dying, and a faint, sickly odor rose from it. The Night Queen's ice blade had done more than cut. It had poisoned him.
"There was something on that blade," he said. "A curse, perhaps. Or a disease of the dead. If it were anyone else, they would be dead within hours."
Myrcella's face paled. "What? But—"
"But it will not kill me." His voice was calm, almost bored. "I have survived worse than this.
However, I will need to treat it properly. I have an ointment...a healing salve I made myself. Apply it to the wound. It will stop the spread."
He reached into his pocket and produced a small copper jar. Myrcella took it, her hands trembling slightly. She opened it, and the smell of herbs and something sharper filled the air.
"This will work?" she asked.
"Of course." Joffrey said with confidence. He was not great with healing magic, but he could defend himself when it came to potions and alchemy.
The hardest part was finding ingredients in this world that could reproduce some of the effects he was familiar with. Otherwise, he would have been capable of creating a much more potent healing potion.
She began to apply the salve, her fingers spreading the pale paste over the darkened flesh. Joffrey watched her in silence for a while.
"I have to admit that I was very surprised," he said after a moment.
"About what?" She did not stop working.
"I am surprised that you are not cursing me. That you did not start screaming at me the moment you saw me." He met her eyes. "I took you away from your bedroom in the middle of the night and left you in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers, and sailed away. I thought you would despise me by now."
Myrcella was quiet for a long moment. Her hands continued their work, smoothing the salve over his wound.
"I did hate you," she said finally. "For months. I begged Lord Stark to send me home. Every day, I asked. Every day, he refused. He said the war was still raging in the south. He said I was safer here." She paused. "I did not believe him. I thought he was holding us hostage. I thought you had sold us to the wolves."
"But you stopped hating me."
"I stopped hating you when I began to understand why you did it. When I understood what was happening in Westeros." She looked up at him, her green eyes bright. "You were trying to keep us safe. You were afraid we would become bargaining chips in the war against Stannis. But Lord Stark... he treated us like guests. Like children. He never once threatened us. He never once raised his voice."
Joffrey nodded. "Ned Stark is an honorable man."
"He is. And I came to see that you knew that. That you trusted him." She resumed her work. "Tommen took longer. He cried for Mother every night for a year. But even he has come to accept it. We are safe here. We are... almost happy."
Joffrey simply nodded in understanding. He took a moment to think about what to do next. His intention had always been to keep them safe, but his arrogance and curiosity had nearly gotten them killed.
"I will take you home," he said. "Both of you. The war is not over, but Stannis is broken. The North has not joined the fighting. The roads are safer than they were two years ago." He paused. "And if something happens, I am better prepared to protect you now than I was then."
Myrcella looked up at him. "We are going back to King's Landing?"
"Unless you want to go somewhere else. This time, I will listen to your wishes, I promise."
Myrcella smiled. "I like the North, but... I want to go back home and see Mother. I know Tommen feels the same."
Joffrey nodded. "Then, it is decided."
"It looks better now." Myrcella finished applying the salve. "I will go get the bandages."
The door opened, and Robb Stark stepped into the study. He was still in his battle gear, his armor stained with blood and mud, his face lined with exhaustion. He looked at Joffrey, at the missing arm, at the fresh bandages.
"I am sorry to interrupt... how are your wounds?" His eyes moved to his missing arm and immediately moved away.
"I will live." Joffrey shrugged and pointed to a nearby chair. "You should sit. You look like you are about to fall over."
Robb did not sit. He stood by the hearth, staring into the flames. "I am sorry we cannot offer you better care," he said. "Maester Luwin is dead. His apprentice died with him. We have no one to tend the wounded but ourselves."
"I am sorry to hear that. I only met Maester Luwin very briefly during my previous visit. But he seemed like a good man."
Robb looked down. "He was like a grandfather to us all." After a few seconds, the young wolf shook away the dark thought and glanced back at Joffrey. "The task you set us is done. All the remains of the... the creatures have been collected. We put them in urns and jars and brought them to the deepest level of the crypts. As you instructed."
Myrcella began to apply bandages to cover the wound on Joffrey's chest.
"Good. As soon as I am done here, I will go down there and seal the entrance. I will make sure nothing ever comes back from that place."
"Can you still use your... ehm... magic in your current state?" Robb made a troubled expression.
"It is not as bad as it looks." Joffrey responded.
"That's great, because it looks really bad..." Robb muttered.
"There. That should do it." Myrcella finished securing the bandages across his chest.
Joffrey stood up and moved his body for a bit, testing it. He was still in a lot of pain, but he could easily hide that. "I am fine enough for that."
Robb's face tightened. "Joffrey... there is something else I wanted to talk about."
"What is it?"
"I could not help but overhear what you said to Myrcella. When are you planning on traveling south?" He asked.
"Soon enough. Perhaps in a day or two." Joffrey examined Robb's face.
His eyes were filled with worry. He had not missed the fact that he was yet to see Lord Stark. And by the way Robb was acting, his concerns were likely related to that.
"What happened to your father?" Joffrey asked, surprising the young man.
Robb hesitated. Then the words came pouring out...his father's trip to the Wall and the letter he had received about the imminent attack of Mance Rayder's army.
"I assumed that you sent ravens to the other houses, yes?" Asked Joffrey.
"I did, but... this whole ordeal with the dead had delayed things. Winterfell has fallen into disarray as well. It would take me days to put together a force of men to march north. I am afraid that..."
"That your father does not have that much time." Joffrey could already guess that Robb wanted to ask. "You wish for me to ride to the Wall and assist Lord Stark in his battle."
"What? No, you cannot do that." Myrcella immediately said. "Robb, my brother is gravely injured. He cannot go into another battle. You cannot ask him that."
Robb looked somewhat guilty. "I know that, but... with his power... I thought that perhaps he c-..."
"Fine, I will go." Joffrey did not seem to mind.
"You will?" Robb looked shocked by the immediate response.
"Joffrey!" Myrcella exclaimed.
"Sorry." He caressed Myrcella's hair. "Our trip south will have to be delayed for a bit longer. I hope you do not mind."
"That is not what I meant." She pointed at the bandage on his chest and his missing arm. "How are you going to fight wildlings in your current state?"
"Right. I will have to do something about that." Joffrey approached his discarded armor in the corner and picked up the chestplate.
Robb took note of what he was doing and examined the armor. "We may be able to provide you with some armor. That one is useless. I will have to talk to—"
"No, that is okay." Joffrey interrupted him. "I was not planning on wearing it." He placed it down on the table and stared at the broken chunk of enchanted metal for a few seconds.
Then he closed his eyes and focused on his magic.
Once he was ready, Joffrey tapped the armor with his index finger, and it came to life, startling the other two occupants of the room.
The dark metal began to change form, as if it were being melted into a liquid. The formless mass of metal floated into the air for an instant before moving toward Joffrey's stump.
The liquid metal seemed to fuse with what remained of his arm, and it started to change once more.
Myrcella gasped and covered her mouth, her green eyes wide open.
"By all the gods!" Robb took several steps back, almost hitting the wall.
Joffrey had transformed the metal using his magic and created himself a new arm...one made of the dark alloy he used for his armor. He examined his new limb, moving its fingers and rotating the hand.
"Yes, this will do for now."
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