Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Chosen

The dungeons of the Red Keep are buried deep within Aegon Hill.

As you descend the spiral stone steps, the light is gradually swallowed up, and the air becomes thick and heavy.

The third level of the dark cell held the most vicious prisoners. It was absolutely dark, and only the jailer's torch could briefly pierce the eternal night.

Joffrey stepped down the last stone step.

The soles of the boots echoed dully as they stepped on the water-soaked stone slabs.

"Oh dear, in this wretched place, I, an old man, can just come and fetch people myself." A hoarse voice broke the deathly silence of the dungeon.

"How could we trouble Your Highness to come here in person?"

Joffrey's smile appeared meaningful in the flickering firelight.

"If the brothers in black are guests of House Stark, then they are naturally guests of House Baratheon as well."

"The Night's Watch guards the Wall for the kingdom, and as a prince, it is only right that I do my part."

The hunchbacked night watchman, who was extremely ugly, tried to decline.

But Joffrey waved his hand, interrupting him.

"Alright, Yulen."

"To be honest, I've actually wanted to see what this dungeon is like for a long time, but I just didn't have a reason."

"Your arrival is just in time; it has fulfilled my wish."

The accompanying men in golden robes chuckled in unison.

Joffrey's gaze swept across the iron bars on both sides, and he could vaguely see the figures huddled inside.

He certainly had another purpose for this trip.

A few days ago, while discussing the distribution of profits with Genos, he took the opportunity to get the commander completely drunk.

Then, seemingly casually, he asked if any suspicious individuals had been apprehended recently.

The answer points to this dark cell.

"Let's select people from the list."

Yuren unfolded a roll of parchment and squinted in the firelight to make out the scrawled name on it.

The jailer pulled out a large bunch of keys and opened the iron gates with a clanging sound.

The prisoners, dragged out, revealed their features in the firelight.

A noseless face, with only a bloody, hollow hole remaining.

The other was an obese bald man with sharp teeth like a rat, and his face was covered with pus-filled sores that gleamed a disgusting yellow in the firelight.

They stumbled into the line, their shackles dragging and rattling across the stone ground.

But even the well-informed Yulen was stunned when the last iron gate opened.

The people in the prison cells seemed out of place in this environment.

It was a handsome young man, who looked to be in his early twenties and was slender. He was sitting quietly in a haystack in the corner.

Although his hands and feet were shackled, he was as composed as if he were attending a banquet.

But what's most striking is his hair.

Half red, half white, clearly separated in the middle.

The young man looked up the instant the torchlight leaped into the cell.

He even had a faint smile on his face.

"Boy, kind boy." His voice was gentle and pleasant, with a certain exotic rhythm.

"Someone's wrists are aching from the shackles, and he's very thirsty. Could some kind boy please give him a drink of water?"

Joffrey looked at the jailer: "What did he do?"

The jailer stared nervously at the people in the cell, lowering his voice.

"Your Highness, this fellow sneaked into the inner courtyard of the Red Keep and was caught red-handed by the patrol."

The young man with red and white hair nodded slightly: "Someone just... got lost."

"The streets of King's Landing are as complex as a maze. Someone accidentally went through the wrong door and somehow ended up in the castle."

"Your Highness, don't believe his nonsense!" another jailer shouted, pointing to his slightly lame leg. "This madman is out of his mind!"

"He suddenly resisted while being escorted here, injuring three of our brothers. Look at my leg, he almost broke it with one kick!"

Joffrey stared at the young man who called himself "someone".

Jaqen Hegar.

The Faceless One of the House of Black and White, the messenger of the Thousand-Faced God.

In my memory, this person was mysterious and unpredictable, and his purpose remained a mystery.

A thought flashed through his mind.

Let's just finish him off here and now to prevent future trouble.

Perhaps the murderous intent was too obvious, Jaqen's eyes darted around and finally landed on Joffrey.

"So the boy is a prince. I apologize for my rudeness." His voice remained calm.

"This person poses no danger to Your Highness; they have other important business to attend to and are merely passing through King's Landing..."

He paused for a moment, then said, "If Your Highness is willing to let me go, I will be extremely grateful and will owe you a favor."

"Absolutely not, Your Highness!" the jailer cried urgently. "Such a dangerous person must be executed immediately to ensure safety; even if he reaches the Great Wall, he will still be a menace!"

Joffrey raised his hand to stop the jailer from speaking.

"Judging from your accent, you're from Braavos?"

Jaqen hesitated for a moment.

He nodded.

"Are you sure?" Joffrey took a half step forward, the firelight flickering in his emerald eyes. "Your destination isn't King's Landing?"

"You infiltrated the Red Keep, no other mission?"

"Someone is certain," Jaqen replied with an unusual certainty.

Joffrey frowned slightly.

The fragments of memory diverged from the reality before my eyes.

If Jaqen wasn't trying to assassinate Eddard, or to infiltrate the Night's Watch and reach the Wall...

So what is he doing here?

Silence spread through the dungeon, and Joffrey suddenly remembered another side of these assassins.

They are the most devout followers of the God of a Thousand Faces, firmly believing in fate and karma.

Now that the Three-Eyed Raven has already appeared.

So...

A thought flashed through my mind like lightning.

"Alright then," Joffrey turned around, ignoring the jailer's anxious expression, "I'll take you to see someone first."

Two hours later.

A girl's scream rang out in a small courtyard.

"My father is a complete idiot!"

Arya, like an enraged little wolf, jumped and pounded around on the ground in a fit of rage.

She had just been brought here by her servants when she saw Joffrey and pounced on him.

"That's exactly what I was looking for! Someone tried to kill my brother! I told him, but he thought I was making it up!"

Upon hearing this, Joffrey's eyes immediately sharpened.

"Where did you hear that? When?"

Arya grabbed his sleeve: "I knew you'd believe me, even yesterday!"

"I was chasing a cat, and then I came to a very, very dark place, like a dungeon. I was afraid to look back because there were monsters behind me!"

She spoke very quickly.

"I was running and running, when suddenly I heard two people talking down below."

"One was a fat man, and the other was a wizard wearing a steel helmet. One had a yellow beard, and the other's hands were covered in rings."

"They say the bastards are all dead, Jon is dead, the Prime Minister has gone astray, finding the book is useless."

"And there's the story of wolves and lions being carried off by eagles, and a fight is about to break out!"

To anyone who hears it, it sounds like a child's absurd nightmare.

But Joffrey knew that Arya was telling the truth, and he also knew who Arya had inadvertently seen.

Varys and Illyrio Mopatis.

These two are weaving a game of chess in the shadows, trying to bring the Targaryens, or perhaps the Blackfire, back to the Iron Throne.

"You won't let them succeed, will you?" Arya looked up, her eyes full of pleading.

Joffrey pressed down on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jon is on the Wall, protected by his Night's Watch brothers."

"I will also tell your father to be more careful."

"But now, I need you to meet someone."

He led Arya through the courtyard.

The courtyard became much quieter after the martial arts tournament, but the kitchen apprentices who had been temporarily transferred to the area still stayed there.

Cersei seemed to have forgotten about it, and Joffrey was happy to continue to preserve this secluded space.

At this moment, the apprentices gathered in a corner of the courtyard, pointing and whispering about a person in the corner.

That was Jaqen Hegar, whose hands and feet were still firmly handcuffed and tied to a post with a thick chain.

His red and white hair fluttered gently in the breeze, making him look as if he were taking a leisurely nap.

As the footsteps drew near, Jaqen raised his head.

The moment my gaze fell upon Arya.

Those eyes, which had been as calm as a deep pool, suddenly widened.