Joffrey III

Mother and Father had ceased speaking entirely. There had been one last big blowout over the royal mistress issue, and nothing but stony silence afterwards. Joffrey cursed himself for opening his big fat mouth, but what was done was done. He was already living like the son of divorced parents, eating some meals with dad and others with mom, never together. This just made it a bit more official.

Renly found the girl, surprisingly. As one of his first acts as a newly minted knight, Joff's youngest uncle took the boy Loras Tyrell as his squire. They split their time between court and Storm's End, but also took trips to the Reach every so often. The prince asked him to pick up some of the academic works Tyrion was paying the acolytes of the Citadel to copy, and came back with Lyra Flowers as a bonus.

Initially wary of him, Lyra had settled into a "cool big sis" role. She was a young woman with dirty blonde hair, kind hazel eyes, and clearly in love with his father, or she was the best actress alive. Oh, and she had big boobs, too. Joffrey liked that sort of thing in his old life, but puberty had yet to hit this time around, so he wasn't sure if his tastes would stay the same.

This world had no word for it, but plainly, Lyra was a tomboy. She loved riding, hunting, and hawking. King Robert took her everywhere he could get away with. She couldn't be anywhere near Robert at official events like feasts and tourneys, but they shared a bed every night.

As for her ancestry, Joffrey learned that her father was a Hightower, a second son of a second son, or some other manner of distant relation. That was good, actually, noble enough to bring around people, but not enough to be a threat. Dad had really loosened up since she came around. He wasn't drinking as much, and he'd managed to keep the weight off, thank goodness. Joff was not eager to inherit the Iron Throne, not at all.

Long Live the King, he thought, and meant it with his whole heart. Thirty more years, at least. Reaching sixty wasn't out of the question in this world, especially for highborn who had enough to eat and access to the care of a maester.

"You summoned me, my prince?" Tyrion asked formally at the threshold of the model room.

Joff smiled. "Come on, Uncle, don't be like that! You're my favorite, you know."

"It pleases me to hear it." Tyrion shut the door behind him and climbed a stool for a better look at the table. "At least I'm someone's favorite," he muttered bitterly.

"Mother is still angry with you, I take it? She blames you for my idea."

"Oh, yes. She has discoursed at length on how I've been leading you astray, seducing her innocent boy with my debauched ways, among other evils, real or imagined. What's worse, I think Jaime is beginning to believe her. Twins are invariably close, you know."

That wasn't good. "We can't please everyone, Uncle, and I was right in the end. Father has had a lighter heart lately, and I heard good things from some Arryn retainers in the Hand's household. Functionally, the marriage between father and mother is over. It doesn't make me happy, but they were never happy, as you well know. I was born, and my siblings. That will have to be enough."

"Mayhaps," Tyrion agreed doubtfully.

"What about your marriage, Uncle? You're a man grown, are you not? And a Lannister, besides?"

For once, Joffrey's uncle looked well and truly shocked. "Me? I'm a dwarf," he answered, as if that was enough.

"I already told you about that. Your mother and father, my grandparents, bred too close. If you wed someone with no Lannister blood, mayhaps a Dornishwoman, a Northerner, or even a lady of the Free Cities, I can all but guarantee you the babes would not be dwarves."

"And who would have me?" Tyrion demanded hotly. "If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the kind of puissant knight maidens fancy."

The boy dismissed his objective with a casual wave. "Old men and cripples find brides easily enough. I think the problem is actually in your head. You refuse to believe you'd make a good husband, and thus avoid the possibility."

"You think Father hasn't tried to find a match for me? Every house old Tywin approached refused in contempt!"

"Then I'll find you someone," Joffrey declared, "if not now, in a few years." With a wave of his hand, he indicated the model of King's Landing, complete at last, and to scale with surprising precision. "See, here? This will make our names, Uncle. Good King Jahaerys built the roads, but Joffrey built King's Landing, or so the chroniclers will write. We will build it as it was always meant to be, a match for Pentos, Myr, or even old Volantis!"

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Tyrion laughed and choked a bit on his words. "You lack not ambition, nephew. I'll give you that. I see you've already marked the city in sections."

"Yes," Joffrey confirmed. "The Valyrians knew much of civil engineering, and I am their student. Each division you see outlined with twine is a makatarys, which I would render in the common tongue 'drainage district.' The Blackwater Rush, that great river, shall be our ally."

His uncle raised an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? Tell me more."

"We shall use ardmaen, or the tendency of objects to be drawn towards the ground," Joffrey explained. Ardmaen was the closest concept the Valyrians had to gravity, he thought with a secret smile. "With ardmaen, river flow, and tides, we shall have the necessary water motion for our system. We already have a complete topographical survey of the city. Our chief labor shall be building the overall backbone: vaulted masonry trunk sewers. See here? I've already mapped the intended course."

Tyrion studied the model with his mismatched eyes narrowed skeptically. "You'll have to tear down quite a lot of buildings, and where will you find the stone?"

Joff had anticipated these objections. "I mean to create a city outside the city, slightly upriver. Displaced persons, as well as our workers, will live there for a time. Anyone who must lose their house will have it rebuilt, at the crown's expense. In fact, I would like to rebuild a few of these neighborhoods completely, in a more rational, planned manner. But of course, the crown does not have infinite money." He handed Tyrion a proposed sketch, which the dwarf studied silently.

"Hmmm, rows and blocks, perfectly straight. It's pretty enough, I'll grant, but we cannot raise houses by magic. Again, with what stone? With what brick? Wherever shall you find it? Such materials are heavy and expensive to transport."

"The Dragonpit," Joffrey answered easily. "One of the first things we'll do is harvest those ruins for everything usable. By the time that's exhausted, I'll find another source. For now, it's convenient enough."

His uncle still wasn't quite convinced, but was at least hearing him out. "And where shall it all go? Where do your sewers lead?"

"We shall build alludio, that is, outfalls that take the wastewater away. They shall go further up, away from the bay itself, north of the Iron Gate. See?" He indicated where on the sketch.

"I'm sure the fish will be thrilled," Tyrion japed. "This is all very fine, lad. I'm almost hesitant to ask, but do you have anything else to add?"

"Oh, the main trunk sewers will be the work of years, but I have any number of ideas to forge a complete waste management system. Broadly, we need to separate clean water from foul water as much as possible. It will require some changes to the law, which should thrill Uncle Renly. Wells and cesspits must be kept apart, and we'll have to regulate where butchers, tanners, dyers, and so forth dump their waste. There will be drains at regular intervals, which the goldcloaks will have to monitor. Cesspits will have to be lined, and we'll build public latrines next to strong-flowing drains. Workers will be found to gather night-soil and carry it off to surrounding farms. It won't be terribly pleasant, but I think jobs could be found for all the poor of Fleabottom."

"Gods be good, Joff." Tyrion sounded genuinely taken aback. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Uncle, really. We spent two years learning this city inside and out. I learned High Valyrian just to read about how they built their cities. Do you suppose I did all that just for my own amusement? No. We're going to transform this city, even if the job won't be done until I'm an old man. But I wish to start soon. My ninth nameday is only a few short weeks away. We need to study the plan and figure out cost estimates before presenting our proposal to the Small Council. For the foreseeable future, the city's Masons Guild will work for us, and we'll have to pay them to take additional apprentices, mayhaps many more."

"You're mad, Joffrey," Tyrion said seriously, but clasped his hand anyway. "I'm with you, then. Let us be about our business."