Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

Disclaimer:

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 23: A Pleasant Surprise

”Ah… I have to admit that this world has some wonderful things,” Joffrey murmured, sinking deeper into the massive bath. Steam rose around him, carrying the scent of crushed flowers and rare oils. The water was perfect. Just hot enough to loosen muscles still sore from the melee, yet gentle against his skin. A small fortune in heated water and perfume, all for one prince’s comfort.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.

The council meeting replayed behind his eyelids. Robert’s rage. Stark’s stubborn honor. Varys’s careful webs. He wondered if the King had made peace with his old friend, or if the rift had grown wider. Not that it mattered much to him. Not really.

Am I getting too involved in these matters?. He considered it for a minute.

The question surfaced unexpectedly. His original plan had been simple enough: play the role of the prince, learn about this world, uncover its mysteries, and figure out how to use that information for his own benefit.

He had woken in Joffrey’s body with no clear path forward. His great experiment had failed spectacularly, and he still didn’t know if true immortality was possible in this new existence.

This world was still clawing its way out of the Middle Ages. It might be centuries before anyone developed the technology to rebuild his cosmic energy machine...if such a thing could even be built here, with different metals, different knowledge, different skies.

That path is closed, he reminded himself. If he were to achieve his goal, he would need a new method. A different approach. One that he was yet to find.

”There is still so much I don’t know,” he whispered to the empty room. ”Places to explore. People to meet. Books to read.” It was too early to despair. He had plenty of time.

The door opened.

Joffrey’s eyes snapped open, irritation flaring. He’d given clear orders not to be disturbed. His head turned slightly, tracking the sound without rising from the water.

A figure moved toward him through the steamy air. It was a small, dark-haired, copper-skinned girl. She wore a thin yellow dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, nearly transparent where the fabric was damp.

Not one of his usual servants.

”Your Grace.” She stopped at the edge of the bath and knelt, her head bowed.

Joffrey studied her. ”Who are you? And what are you doing here? The servants already prepared the bath. I told them not to bother me.”

She lifted her head, a sweet smile playing on her full lips. ”My name is Valena, Your Grace. I am here to help the Prince with his bath.” She raised a sponge in one hand, then used the other to slowly pull down the strap of her dress. One generous breast slipped free, dark-nippled and full. ”If you would have me...”

Joffrey met her eyes. Even without magic and half his wits, he would have known something was wrong. No random servant could walk past the Hound, who stood guard at the door like a stone wolf. Someone important had arranged this.

Interesting.

Curiosity stirred. The easiest way to learn the truth was through touch. He raised a hand and beckoned her to approach. ”What are you waiting for? Come here.”

If she were an assassin, he could handle her. The bath was large enough for four, and it was probably designed for exactly this sort of activity, given that it was King Robert’s preferred bathing chamber.

The Dornish girl kept her smile as she let the dress fall completely. The thin fabric pooled at her feet, leaving nothing to the imagination. Slender waist, generous breasts, hips curved like a lute. Shaved and ready, every inch of her designed for pleasure.

She entered the water slowly, giving him time to appreciate the view. ”Allow me, Your Grace.” She leaned forward, the sponge moving in gentle circles across his chest, his arms, his shoulders. Her touch was practiced, deliberate.

While she worked, Joffrey worked as well...delving deep into her mind, extracting information like a thief in the night. Surface thoughts first, then deeper memories. It was almost too easy.

Not a servant, but a whore from one of Littlefinger’s establishments. Dornish, because someone thought that was his type.

The visit to the brothel. He recalled.

The Dornish girl who’d served him wine while he watched the blacksmith’s shop. Someone had been watching him and thought that this girl would meet his standards.

Baelish, Joffrey concluded. He’s had eyes on me from the beginning.

The girl’s purpose here was twofold: pleasure, yes, but also information. She was to learn his secrets, find his weaknesses, and report back to her master. And if she could return to Littlefinger with a prince’s bastard growing in her belly, the reward would be substantial.

Clever, Joffrey thought. But a useless tactic to play on him. Wizards have ways to prevent any unwanted pregnancy. Magic had many uses after all.

”I’m done scrubbing up here.” Valena’s voice was honey. Her eyes dropped below the waterline. ”Should I also...”

Joffrey considered. The teenager’s body he inhabited had its own urges, increasingly insistent of late. Sword practice hadn’t been enough to quiet them. ”Since you’re here. Why not?”

She licked her lips and disappeared beneath the water.

Joffrey’s eyebrows rose. The girl had skills...real skills, far beyond what any servant could claim. She worked with the expertise of long practice, bringing him to the edge with maddening precision.

Then she stopped, surfacing with a wicked smile.

”Aren’t you going to finish?” Joffrey asked.

”I have something sweeter than my mouth, my prince.” She climbed onto his lap, positioned herself with expert ease, and sank down. ”Mmmm. So good.”

Her hips began to move with a rhythm no virgin could ever learn. Professional. Polished. Designed to wring pleasure from a man and, incidentally, to catch his seed.

Littlefinger’s plan, Joffrey thought as she moaned above him. A bastard prince to use as a pawn. Years from now, when it suited him.

”Do you like it, my prince?” Her fingers traced patterns on his chest.

”You’re very good at this.” He said it with a knowing look.

”I heard the prince is good with a sword.” She smiled, riding faster. ”The rumors were not wrong.”

”Is that so?”

”Mmmm, yes! You have a really good weapon down there.” She licked her lips, her pace increasing. ”Enough to drive any girl crazy.”

She didn’t stop this time. When she felt him nearing his peak, she moved faster still, taking everything he had. When it was done, she collapsed against him, breathing hard.

”Did you enjoy it, my prince?”

”I did. You were very enjoyable, Valena.”

”You remember my name.” She smiled, pleased. ”What an honor.” She rose carefully, gently, and moved to the edge of the bath. ”I should go now. We wouldn’t want rumors to start.”

Joffrey watched her dry herself hastily and pull on the thin dress, which did nothing to hide her still-wet skin.

”If the prince wishes... I could visit again.” She smiled over her shoulder.

”So patient.” Joffrey rose from the bath, water streaming down his body. ”You’re leaving without any useful information about me.”

She turned, unease flickering in her dark eyes. ”Your Grace?”

”Did Littlefinger tell you to play the long game? Very clever. If you asked too many questions on the first visit, it would be suspicious.”

”I... I don’t know what you mean, my prince. I’m just a humble servant.” Her voice wavered.

Fear bloomed in her eyes as he walked toward her, naked and dripping.

”I need to go.” She turned to flee.

Joffrey’s hand closed around her wrist. ”Don’t leave just yet.”

”Please, Your Grace! I—”

”It’s all right.” His voice was calm, soothing. ”I’m not going to hurt you. There’s just one more thing I want from you.”

Tears streamed down her face. She knew she was caught. Spying on the royal family meant death, and Littlefinger would never protect her now.

”Look at me.” His hand cupped her face, tilting it up. ”Look into my eyes.”

She obeyed, too terrified to resist.

”Yes, just like that.” Joffrey’s eyes began to glow. It was a faint, eerie green light that reflected in her widening pupils. ”There’s something I’ve been wanting to try, and you’ll do nicely for my first real test.”

Power gathered, flowed, focused.

”Imperio.”

That night, dinner in the royal apartments was unusually animated. The cause sat at the table with a cup in one hand and a chicken leg in the other, holding court like the dwarf king he could have been in another life.

”How big was the Wall?” Myrcella leaned forward, her eyes bright. ”Is it truly as tall as the books say?”

”Did you see any monsters?” Tommen bounced in his seat.

Tyrion laughed, chewing and speaking at once. ”The Wall is seven hundred feet of ice, nephew. Taller than any structure in the Seven Kingdoms. As for monsters...” He wiped grease from his chin. ”I saw wildlings. Free folk, they call themselves. And I saw the Night’s Watch, who are a different kind of monster entirely. Men who’ve forgotten what warmth feels like.”

Myrcella giggled. Tommen looked fascinated.

”When you visited Winterfell on your way back,” Myrcella asked, ”how was Bran doing?”

The temperature at the table dropped several degrees. Cersei’s eyes fixed on her youngest brother like a hawk on a mouse. Jaime, standing behind the Queen’s chair as duty required, went very still.

Tyrion seemed not to notice. ”He’s doing wonderfully. I saw him running about the yard, chasing his wolf. The boy looks healthy as a horse. Just disappointed he couldn’t come south, but healthy.”

Cersei’s smile was painted on. ”How lovely to hear he’s recovered so well.” She paused, too casually. ”And Lady Stark? Did she treat you well during your visit?”

Joffrey hid a smile behind his cup. Clever, Mother. Can’t ask directly if the boy remembered anything, but if he had, you’d know by how well Tyrion was received by Lady Stark.

Tyrion shrugged. ”Well enough. She was as polite as one might expect.”

Cersei relaxed, almost imperceptibly. The crisis had passed. Bran remembered nothing.

With his tale finished, Tyrion turned his attention to Joffrey. ”Nephew, I’ve heard more tales about you on the road than about anyone else in the realm. Winning a tournament as a mystery knight. Killing a giant bear with your bare hands.” He raised an eyebrow. ”Should I be proud or concerned?”

Joffrey chuckled. ”People exaggerate. Those are naught but fairy tales.”

”Though Joffrey has become quite skilled with a sword,” Jaime added, and there was something in his voice...pride, perhaps, or the closest thing the Kingslayer came to it.

”Well, that’s not surprising.” Tyrion’s smile widened. ”He gets that from his father.”

Cersei choked on her wine.

”Tyrion.” Jaime’s voice was sharp.

Tyrion’s expression was innocence itself. ”King Robert was a fearsome warrior in his youth. Was he not? The man who killed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident? Surely a son inherits something from such a father.”

The table went very quiet.

Joffrey met his uncle’s eyes across the table and saw the mischief there, the deliberate provocation. Tyrion knew exactly what he was doing, poking at wounds, testing boundaries, reminding everyone of things best left unspoken.

I like this one, Joffrey thought.

He raised his cup in a small salute. Tyrion returned it, eyes twinkling.

The evening continued, the tension slowly dissipating. But Joffrey’s mind was elsewhere, on a Dornish girl with terror in her eyes and new orders in her thoughts, walking back to Littlefinger with a false report and a smile.

Things were going to get more interesting very soon. Someone had wanted to play a game with him and was going to pay a heavy price for it.