Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Dawn broke over King's Landing, and with it came that familiar, putrid stench that made Joffrey's stomach turn. He stood at his chamber window, watching the city slowly come to life below. A month had passed since their return to the capital, and something felt different. That persistent sensation of being watched, the one that had nagged at him since his arrival in this world, had diminished considerably.

"Fucking finally," he muttered, running a hand through his golden hair. "The Spider's backing off."

The past month had been... interesting. Between Sansa's innocent enthusiasm and Cersei's desperate need to maintain control through their encounters, he'd kept himself satisfied. But variety was the spice of life, and his modern sensibilities craved something different. First though, this goddamn smell needed addressing.

He'd thought he'd get used to it - that was how it worked with most stenches. But every fucking morning, his nose seemed to reset, greeting him with the full force of the city's filth. The combination of human waste, rotting food, unwashed bodies, and whatever else was festering in the streets below made him wonder how anyone could live like this.

He dressed quickly, his mind already working through potential solutions. The knowledge from his past life could be useful here - proper sewage systems, waste management, even basic sanitation would make a world of difference. But first, he had another task in mind.

He found Tommen in the castle gardens, the chubby boy awkwardly swinging a wooden sword at imaginary enemies. His form was atrocious, his balance worse, and Joffrey couldn't help but wince at the sight.

"Seven hells, brother," he called out, making Tommen jump. "Who taught you to hold a sword like that?"

"J-Joffrey?" Tommen's eyes widened with surprise and a hint of fear. Old habits died hard, it seemed.

"Your grip is all wrong," Joffrey said, moving closer. "Here, let me show you."

He positioned himself behind Tommen, adjusting his brother's stance. "Feet shoulder-width apart. You need a solid base, or any halfway decent fighter will knock you on your ass."

"Like this?" Tommen adjusted his stance, trying to mirror Joffrey's instructions.

"Better. Now, the sword isn't just about swinging like a mad man. It's about control, about understanding the weight and balance."

They spent the next hour drilling basic forms. Joffrey found himself surprisingly patient, remembering his own early training sessions in this body. Tommen, despite his initial nervousness, proved to be an attentive student.

Finally, both brothers sat on a nearby bench, catching their breath. Tommen looked at his older brother with a mixture of confusion and hope.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly. "You never... before..."

Joffrey considered his words carefully. "Because you're my brother, and I need someone I can trust to watch my back. The world's full of cunts who'd love to stick a knife in it. Better to have family you can rely on."

"But Mother says-"

"Mother says a lot of things," Joffrey cut him off. "But tell me this - who's going to be king after me if something happens?"

Tommen's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "Me?"

"Exactly. And I can't have a weakling for a brother, can I? You need to be strong, Tommen. Not just with a sword, but up here too." He tapped his brother's forehead. "The game we're playing isn't just about who can swing a sword the hardest."

Leaving Tommen to practice his forms, Joffrey made his way to the training yard where Ser Barristan was drilling new recruits. The old knight's voice carried across the yard, sharp and commanding as he corrected stances and criticized lazy footwork.

"Keep your shield up, boy! Unless you fancy eating steel for breakfast!" Barristan barked at a particularly green recruit.

Joffrey leaned against a wooden post, watching. The legendary knight noticed him but continued his instruction until the current drill was complete. Finally, he dismissed the men for a water break and approached his prince.

"Your Grace," Barristan bowed slightly. "Come to observe the training?"

"Actually," Joffrey said, gesturing to the yard, "I was thinking about how different things might be if kings actually knew what the fuck they were doing."

Barristan's weathered face cracked into an unexpected smile. "Careful, Your Grace. That's dangerously close to treason."

"Oh? And how many kings have you served, Ser Barristan? How many of them actually deserved their crown?"

The old knight's eyes grew distant. "I've served three kings. Each different, each... flawed in their own way."

"Aerys was mad, Robert's drunk, and I..." Joffrey paused, choosing his words carefully, "I'm trying not to be either. Tell me, what would the realm look like if kings were reasonable men?"

Barristan actually laughed, a sound that startled nearby recruits. "There wouldn't be kings at all, Your Grace. Reasonable men don't claim divine right to rule millions."

"And yet here we are," Joffrey mused. "Tell me truly - what makes a good king?"

"In my experience," Barristan said slowly, "it's not about being good or bad. It's about balance. A king must be firm enough to command respect, yet flexible enough to bend before he breaks. He must be feared enough to maintain order, yet loved enough to inspire loyalty."

"Like wielding a sword," Joffrey nodded. "Too rigid and it shatters, too flexible and it's useless."

"Precisely, Your Grace." Barristan studied him with renewed interest. "You've changed since Winterfell."

"We all change, Ser Barristan. Speaking of which..." Joffrey gestured to where Tommen was still practicing in the garden. "My brother needs proper training. Would you be willing to take him under your wing? He needs someone who won't coddle him like our mother does."

Barristan's eyes twinkled. "It would be my honor, Your Grace. Though I warn you, I'm not known for being gentle with my students."

"Good. He needs that." Joffrey pushed off from the post. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Small Council to attend. And a city that smells like death to deal with."

After a quick bath to wash away the morning's sweat, Joffrey entered the Small Council chamber. The usual suspects were already assembled: Littlefinger counting his coins, Varys whispering to shadows, Pycelle pretending to doze, Renly looking bored, and Stark looking uncomfortable as always.

They went through the usual tedium - crop reports, criminal statistics, harbor duties. Joffrey waited until they'd finished before clearing his throat.

"My lords, there's another matter we need to address." He paused, ensuring he had their attention. "The city smells like a wagon full of dead whores left in the sun."

"Perhaps more scented candles in your chambers-" Pycelle began.

"Fuck the candles," Joffrey cut him off. "This is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, not a pig farm. We can't mask the problem, we need to solve it."

"The sewers have served the city for centuries," Varys noted.

"Served poorly for centuries you mean," Joffrey countered. "I have some ideas for improvement..."

Joffrey laid out his plans, drawing from his modern knowledge while carefully disguising it as "inspiration from Essosi cities."

"First, we need proper sewage channels - stone-lined, with a gradient that uses gravity to move waste. The current wooden channels are rotting and backing up into the streets."

"And where would you suggest we find the gold for such an ambitious project?" Littlefinger's smirk was insufferable. "The crown is six million in debt already."

"Which is why I've thought of ways to fund it," Joffrey countered. "We implement a sanitation tax on businesses - brothels, taverns, trading houses. They benefit most from clean streets bringing in customers. Plus, we can use prison labor for the digging, saving on workforce costs."

"You'd trust criminals with such work?" Stark frowned.

"Better than having them rot in cells eating our food," Joffrey shrugged. "We can offer reduced sentences for labor."

Renly leaned forward, exchanging a look with Littlefinger. "An interesting proposal, nephew. Perhaps you'd like to oversee this project yourself?"

Joffrey caught the trap immediately. They wanted him to fail publicly, to look weak and ineffective. Even Stark was playing along, probably thinking it would hurt the Lannisters' image.

"If the council thinks I'm best suited..." Joffrey feigned reluctance.

"It was your idea," Littlefinger smiled like a cat with cream. "Surely you'd want to see it through personally?"

"Very well," Joffrey sighed dramatically. "I'll take responsibility for the project."

After the council dispersed, Joffrey headed straight for one of Littlefinger's establishments. He knew exactly where to find his ace in the hole.

The brothel was high-end, draped in silks and perfumed to mask the smell of sex and sweat. Joffrey found Tyrion exactly where he expected - face-deep between a Dornish woman's thighs.

"Well, this is a fucking sight," Joffrey announced, making the woman squeal and Tyrion jerk back.

But what surprised him was Ros, lounging on a nearby sofa in nothing but a sheer robe. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders as she gave him a hungry look.

"Your Grace," she purred. "I've missed your royal cock something fierce. Came all the way here hoping to find you."

Joffrey grabbed her by the tits, rough enough to make her gasp. "Could have just sent word."

"Where's the fun in that?" She pressed against him, hand sliding down to his crotch.

"Uncle," Joffrey called to Tyrion, who was wiping his face with a silk cloth. "I gave you coin to get serviced, not to service them."

Tyrion grinned, unashamed. "When you make them cum first, nephew, they work twice as hard to return the favor. Something you might learn if you weren't so focused on your own pleasure."

"Speaking of pleasure," Joffrey pushed Ros onto a nearby bed, hiking up her robe. "I need your help with something."

"Now?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow as Joffrey freed his cock and pushed into Ros, making her moan.

"Why waste time?" Joffrey established a steady rhythm, groping Ros's tits as he spoke. "The city's sewers need fixing. I want you to oversee the project."

"Me?" Tyrion laughed. "Why would I want to deal with the city's shit?"

"Because," Joffrey grunted, fucking Ros harder, "you're the only one who can do it without fucking me over. Plus, you'll get to stick it to grandfather - showing how a dwarf can manage what full-sized men couldn't."

"Interesting proposition," Tyrion mused, watching his companion's breasts bounce as she rode him with practiced skill. "But I already did it once before."

Joffrey grabbed Ros by the hips, her eyes lighting up at his touch. "The sewers need your expertise, Uncle. You managed to sort out Casterly Rock's waste problem why not this and if you do help we can speed up your promotion."

"Ahh fuck yes," Ros moaned as Joffrey pushed inside her from behind, her hands gripping the bedpost. Her magnificent tits swayed with each thrust as Joffrey established a rough rhythm.

"Perhaps we should discuss business... elsewhere," Tyrion suggested, clearly distracted by his own pleasure as his Dornish beauty worked her hips.

"Later," Joffrey grunted, focusing on Ros's perfect ass bouncing against him. He grabbed her red hair, pulling her head back as he quickened his pace. Her cunt gripped him like a vise, wet and eager.

The room filled with the sounds of pleasure - skin slapping against skin, breathless moans, the creaking of the ornate bed. Ros's tits bounced wildly which Joffrey held and groped from behinf. 

"Oh gods, Your Grace!" she cried out as he reached down to rub her clit. "Fuck me harder!"

Joffrey obliged, driving into her with increasing force until she came screaming, her whole body shuddering. He followed shortly after, filling her with his seed.

Later, after leaving the spent women to recover, uncle and nephew met in Tyrion's private solar.

"The sewers," Tyrion said, pouring them both wine. "I've already started drawing up plans based on what we did at the Rock. We can begin within a few moons."

Joffrey nodded, taking a long drink. "Good. I knew you would do it, you have a promotion on the line after all. The sooner we show results, the better our position becomes."

They spent the next hour discussing logistics and materials, carefully avoiding mention of what the promotion is. Some conversations were best kept between family, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

As Joffrey left, he caught sight of Ros sleeping peacefully, her magnificent breasts rising and falling with each breath. Let her think she was just another conquest. The real power plays would happen far from any brothel's silk sheets.

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