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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
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I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 143: Intervention
The city of Braavos spread beneath him like a jewel set in the sea.
Joffrey stood atop his flying carpet, high above the canals and bridges, the towers and domes, the great Titan that guarded the harbor.
The morning sun gleamed on the water, turning the canals to ribbons of gold. The streets were filling with people…merchants and sailors, bankers and courtesans, rich and poor alike. They went about their business without a care in the world, unaware of the danger that hovered above them.
'They do not know,' Joffrey thought. 'They do not know what is coming.'
His eyes moved across the city, searching, calculating. He knew where the House of Black and White stood… a dark temple on a quiet canal, its doors open to anyone who sought the gift of death.
That was where they had come from. The Faceless Men. The assassins who had taken Saera from him.
'They will pay,' he thought. 'They will all pay with their lives.'
But first, he needed to find them. All of them. The Kindly Man. The priests. The servants. Every last one of them.
And then there was Jaime Lannister.
Joffrey's jaw tightened at the thought of his uncle. The man who had hired the Faceless Men. The man who had signed Saera's death warrant. He was somewhere in this city, wearing a new face, living a new life.
'I could find him,' Joffrey thought. 'There are rituals. Blood tracking spells. Bonds of kinship that can be exploited because we share the same blood.'
But his magic was still too unstable for such delicate spells. His control was still imperfect. The spells might work. They might also explode in his face, killing him and everyone around him.
'It would be safer to destroy the entire city anyway.'
The thought came unbidden, dark and seductive. He looked down at Braavos, at the thousands of people who lived within its walls. Slaves who had escaped their masters. Merchants who had built fortunes. Children who had never known cruelty.
And the Faceless Men, hidden among them like vipers in a nest.
'They founded this city,' Joffrey thought. 'The Faceless Men. The first of them. They were slaves who escaped the Valyrians, and they created a place where slavery was forbidden. A city of assassins and freedmen.'
He had learned the history from the vast collection of books he had accumulated during his travels over the past years. Braavos was unique among the Free Cities…a place where slavery was illegal, where anyone could rise, where the faceless could become anyone.
'A city founded by slaves and assassins,' he thought.
The magic began to build without a thought.
It started as a tingle in his fingers, a warmth in his chest. Then it spread, flowing through his veins like liquid fire, crackling in the air around him. Rings of energy began to form, circling his body, spinning faster and faster. The wind picked up, whipping his cloak, tearing at his hair.
He thought of Saera. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she had looked at him with those blue eyes, full of love and devotion.
'She loved me,' he thought. 'She loved me, and they killed her.'
The rings of energy grew brighter, more intense. The air around him shimmered with heat. Below, in the city, people began to look up. They pointed. They screamed.
'They took her from me,' Joffrey thought. 'They took her, and now they will pay.'
He raised his hand, his fingers extended, his mind reaching for the spell. He knew the words. He knew the gestures. He had never cast such magic before, not in this life, not in his previous one. But he knew it was possible. With his power, with his rage, he could do it.
He could destroy everything. There would be nothing left but a smoking ruin when he was done. A clear message for those who wanted to take something from him.
'It won't happen again.'
Fawkes cried out…a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the wind. The phoenix launched itself from Joffrey's shoulder, wings beating frantically, putting distance between them.
Joffrey did not notice. He did not care. His eyes were fixed on the city below, on the House of Black and White, on the vengeance that awaited.
The spell was forming on his lips. The power was gathering in his hand. The world was narrowing to a single point of destruction.
And then he felt it.
A presence. Ancient, vast, and impossibly powerful.
It touched his mind, gentle as a whisper, but as strong as a tidal wave. Joffrey gasped, the spell faltering. The rings of energy flickered, dimmed, but did not dissipate. He tried to push the presence away, to focus on his task, but it was too strong. Too deep.
'No,' he thought. 'Not now. Who is this?'
But the presence did not retreat. It filled his mind, his thoughts, his very being. It was not hostile. It was not an attack. It was... merely a message.
And Joffrey knew who it was.
'The Primordial Fire Being.'
He had felt this presence before, in the depths of Stygai, beneath the Shadow Lands. The being of pure fire and creation, the progenitor of dragons, the source of the phoenix. It had given him an egg. It had given him an orb of power. It had changed his life forever.
And now it was here. Inside his mind. Sending him a message.
Not with words. The being did not use words. It communicated with ideas, with emotions, with images that flashed through his consciousness like lightning.
The message was simple.
'Do not do this. This path leads to darkness. You will become the very thing you seek to destroy. Life is precious. Protect it. Do not become like the Other One.'
The presence lingered for a moment, warm and steady, like a fire on a cold night. It did not judge him. It did not condemn him. It simply delivered its message and waited.
Joffrey stood there, on his flying carpet, above the city of Braavos, and processed what he had received.
The message was clear. The Primordial Being did not want him to destroy the city. It did not want him to become a monster. It wanted him to choose a different path.
'But the Faceless Men,' Joffrey thought. 'They killed Saera. They deserve to die.'
The presence did not respond. It had said what it needed to say. The choice was Joffrey's.
The rings of energy began to slow, their intensity fading. The wind died down. The heat dissipated. Joffrey's hand lowered, his fingers uncurling.
He did not weep. He did not break down. He simply stood there, on his flying carpet, above the city of Braavos, and made a decision.
The city would live. The thousands of innocents who lived within its walls would survive. He would not destroy them. He would not become the monster the being warned him about.
But the House of Black and White would still burn. The Faceless Men would still die. And if Jaime Lannister was hiding among them, he would die too.
'This is justice,' Joffrey thought. 'Not destruction…justice.'
The presence faded, its message delivered. Joffrey did not know if it approved of his choice. He did not care. He had made his decision.
Fawkes returned, landing on his shoulder with a soft trill. The phoenix's golden eyes were fixed on his face, filled with something that might have been understanding.
"I know," Joffrey said, his voice hoarse. "I know. I'm fine now."
His magic fell back under his control.
He looked down at the city one last time. Then he looked at the House of Black and White.
'You are still going to die,' he thought. 'Every last one of you.'
He raised his hand, and the carpet began to descend, carrying him toward the city below.
The carpet descended through the morning sky like a dark shape against the golden light.
The people of Braavos watched it come, their faces growing pale with fear. They did not know what was happening, but they knew it was something beyond their understanding.
Joffrey guided the carpet toward the quiet canal where the House of Black and White stood. The temple was a dark building of black and white stone, its doors closed, its windows shuttered. It looked peaceful and serene. A place of contemplation and death.
'Not for much longer,' Joffrey thought.
The carpet touched down on the cobblestones before the temple. Joffrey stepped off. He rolled up the carpet with practiced efficiency and stored it in his enchanted pocket.
Fawkes landed on his shoulder, the phoenix's golden eyes fixed on the temple doors. The bird let out a soft trill, something that might have been a warning.
"I know," Joffrey said. "Stay close."
He walked toward the temple.
The doors opened before he reached them, and beyond them, Joffrey could see a dark chamber, lit by candles that flickered in the shadows. He could see the statues of the Many-Faced God, the alcoves filled with offerings, the pool of black water that shimmered in the darkness.
And his green eyes could see the priests as clearly as day.
They were waiting for him. A dozen of them, dressed in robes of black and white, their faces hidden behind their hoods.
At their head stood a kind-looking old man, his weathered face calm, his eyes ancient and knowing.
"Welcome, Joffrey Baratheon," the Kindly Man said, his voice soft. "We have been expecting you."
Joffrey stopped at the threshold. He did not enter. He did not need to.
"Then you know why I'm here," he said, his voice flat. "One of your men took a life that didn't belong to them."
The Kindly Man tilted his head. "The Many-Faced God demanded a life. We merely provided the means."
"She was not part of any contract," Joffrey said. "She was not the target. She was collateral damage. An innocent woman who had done nothing to anyone."
"Innocent?" The Kindly Man's lips curved into a faint smile. "No one is truly innocent, Joffrey Baratheon. Not you. Not me. Not the girl. We are all guilty of something. That's why all men must die in the end."
Joffrey's eyes narrowed. "Well…why dont we start with you."
He raised his hand.
"Reducto."
The spell erupted from the tip of his finger, a beam of crimson light that tore through the air like a thunderbolt. It struck the old man square in the chest and exploded, tearing through flesh and bone, reducing the ancient priest to a shower of blood and viscera.
The shockwave rippled outward, cracking the stone walls, toppling the statues, sending the other priests staggering backward.
The chamber erupted into chaos. The priests screamed, drawing blades from their robes while shouting in rage. They lunged at Joffrey, moving with the precision of trained killers.
Joffrey did not move.
"Protego."
The shield charm erupted around him, a shimmering barrier of invisible force. The daggers struck it and rebounded, the blades shattering, the priests crying out in pain as the recoil sent them stumbling backward.
"Incendio Maxima."
The fire spell did not emerge as a beam, but as a wave. A torrent of flame that erupted from Joffrey's hands and swept across the temple, consuming everything in its path. The priests screamed as the fire took them, their robes igniting, their bodies collapsing into ash.
The House of Black and White burned all around him.
Joffrey stood there, watching the flames consume the temple. The heat was intense, even from where he stood, but he did not flinch. He did not feel the warmth. He felt nothing but cold satisfaction.
Fawkes flew overhead, his golden wings bright against the smoke. The phoenix let out a triumphant cry.
Joffrey turned and walked away from the burning temple. He did not look back. There was nothing left to see.
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