Several days later, in a secluded courtyard inside the Red Keep, the clash of steel and shouts tore through the afternoon quiet.
"Step forward! Left block! Thrust! Chop!"
"You're dead."
The Hound loved picking these moments to curse up a storm. Sweat made the burned half of his face look even more hideous.
Joffrey rubbed his aching shoulder and sucked in a breath through his teeth.
He'd been slammed with shit for days and had only just carved out time to drag the Hound out for training.
The man didn't believe in holding back. Even with blunted blades and thick leather padding, every hit still rattled straight to the bone.
"Again!" Joffrey shook it off and got ready.
Blades flashed as they traded another seven or eight blows.
The Hound's attacks hit like a storm. Every clash left Joffrey's arms numb.
After barely blocking a heavy horizontal cut, Joffrey spotted his chance and thrust straight at the Hound's chest.
The bigger man flicked his wrist. His sword twisted like a snake, knocking the thrust aside before slamming into Joffrey's right arm.
"You think too damn much when you're fighting," the Hound said with a sneer. In one quick spin, the tip of his blade rested against Joffrey's neck.
The unscarred corner of his mouth curled. "All that scheming just opens you up."
Joffrey knocked the sword away, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and dropped down against the wall.
"Fuck it, I'm done. Let's rest." He grabbed the wineskin off the ground, took a long pull, and tossed it over.
Sandor caught it and tilted his head back. Dark red wine ran down the corner of his mouth. "Summer red. Fucking festival stuff, and you people drink it like water."
"Hey! Watch your mouth in front of my brother."
In the corner, a chubby little boy was hammering away at a straw dummy tied to a post.
Joffrey had skipped his lessons today. Grand Maester Pycelle's lectures on the laws of the Seven Kingdoms were enough to make a man puke. He'd rather read the books himself.
Naturally, his brother Tommen Baratheon had followed his example and snuck out too, begging to train with them.
With no other choice, Joffrey had the Hound set up a dummy to keep the kid busy.
As crown prince, his schedule should have been packed—history, politics, military strategy, economics, finance. They were supposed to raise him as the perfect all-around prince.
But the entire Red Keep couldn't scrape together one decent teacher right now.
His father was either drunk or out hunting. The rare times he played doting dad, he'd spout some father-son bullshit before dumping him back on Jon Arryn—the old Hand who was now sleeping permanently.
As for his mother…
If she wasn't actively making things worse, it was already a miracle from the gods.
"Little Joff, do whatever you want."
"Because you're a Lannister's son."
He'd heard that line since he could walk.
Joffrey often figured that if he hadn't been a decent person deep down, this environment would have turned him into a complete monster.
Besides the Hound—who only knew how to kill on the battlefield—Joffrey had lined up a much better martial instructor.
Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "The Bold."
It was a smart pick. He could learn real skills and build some goodwill with the respected old knight for later.
But his mother found out.
"What can that old fool teach you?"
With one wave of Cersei's hand, everything changed.
Joffrey got handed over to his famous uncle instead—the "Kingslayer" Jaime Lannister.
On the surface it wasn't a bad choice. Jaime was considered one of the finest swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms and had fought in plenty of famous battles.
But after years of it, if Joffrey hadn't secretly gotten the Hound to give him extra lessons on the side, he wouldn't have learned shit.
Because Jaime still had both hands and was the same self-loathing prick who'd thrown away every knightly vow. He spent his days lounging around and chasing tail instead of teaching.
He couldn't be bothered to put any real effort into his nephew.
Worse, since he still held the title of prince's master-at-arms, no other decent instructor dared step in.
In his spare time Joffrey could only mess around with a crossbow.
"My turn! My turn!"
After bashing the dummy for a while, Tommen finally took a hit from the strawman's padded mace and went down. He lay there dazed for a second before spotting his brother and Sandor by the wall. He scrambled up and came running over, yelling.
"You go," Joffrey said, nodding toward the dummy.
The Hound's face dropped instantly.
"I fucking… I must owe you people from a past life." He looked at Tommen and swallowed the rest. "Babysitting you brats every damn day."
Even so, he stood up with a sigh, picked up a wooden sword, and started sparring carefully with the excited little fatty.
After watching for a bit, Joffrey laughed and called out, "Dog, how come you don't go easy on me like that?"
"If you were half as polite and cute as your brother," Sandor said, blocking one of Tommen's weak swings and giving the boy's ass a light smack with the flat of the blade, "everyone would hold back."
After getting knocked down a few times, Tommen didn't get mad. His round green eyes sparkled as he asked innocently, "Ser Sandor, when will I be as good as you?"
"At least wait until you're as tall as me."
"And kid, don't call me ser," the Hound grunted.
That was probably never going to happen.
Joffrey pinched the bridge of his nose.
He'd just checked his Heaven's Will points. They hadn't gone up much.
Besides, while the Hound wasn't his brother the Mountain, he was still a massive bastard—six-foot-six and built like a wall.
"What about my brother? He lasted a long time against you," Tommen pressed.
"Him?" The Hound glanced back.
Joffrey suddenly found the stone patterns on the wall very interesting.
"His strength and accuracy are solid. Good enough to handle some common soldiers," the Hound snorted, making sure his voice carried. "But to reach my level? At least another six or seven years of hard training!"
Then the Hound seemed to realize something and turned to stare at Joffrey.
"Wait… how old are you this year?"
"Twelve?"
Joffrey blinked innocently.
The Hound stayed silent for two seconds, then angrily threw the wooden sword to the ground.
"I became a soldier at twelve. Fought for my life to get where I am today."
"How the fuck is there someone like you in this world? It's so goddamn unfair!"
There was plenty that was unfair.
Joffrey pushed himself up.
At least the Hound didn't have to deal with a king for a father.
As the last person in the Red Keep to hear the street rumors, Robert had spent the whole morning smashing cups.
"Gods-damned Tully!"