Joffrey & The Hive Mind [ASoIaF]

[NQE vash]

​

Arc One, Chapter I
" Suddenly: Legion "

It was just a slap. In retrospect, not that big of a deal. Sure, Robert Baratheon, his father, slapped him so hard that day that two of his teeth fell out and his limp body was thrown through half the chamber… but still. It was just a slap. It wasn't sorcery, it wasn't divine intervention.

It was physical violence.

Which is funny, he thought, all things considered.

Years and years later, when Joffrey Baratheon was described as equal parts slithery and snake-like as well as frightening and stag-like, when they called him by all kinds of names to glorify all that he'd done, all that he'd go on to do, he thought back to that day.

To that slap.

He'd shown his father the insides of a cat, and Robert had gotten angry. Furious, even. For the briefest of moments, there was a fire in his eyes, an unholy flame burning bright enough to set kingdoms ablaze. This, Joffrey would go on to imagine, was the spark that had ignited a rebellion, the flame that had set the carefully crafted legacy of the Targaryens' ablaze, leaving pretenders and beggars, hiding away in Essos.

It was there long enough to knock Joffrey throughout the room, and then it was gone. Replaced with apathy, with sadness, with disgust, pity, even. Repulsion, though Joffrey wasn't sure if that repulsion was aimed at his progeny, or at its creator.

Did it matter?

The end result was the same — Joffrey, lying on the ground, bleeding and crying. Until he stopped, as, before his eyes, his vision split into seven parts.

He remembered that quite clearly.

Seven windows, seven mirrors, right there in front of him, and yet so far away. It was disorienting, confusing, and most of all, it hurt like hells.

Being seven people at once was certainly not easy. He smelled things he shouldn't, at that moment.

He smelled the sea, though he didn't know at the time that he was smelling the waters of Braavos.

He smelled horses and unwashed men, and it disgusted him. He was smelling the khalasar of Khal Nevakko.

Joffrey, barely conscious, saw a room full of people, filled with an eery quiet. A septry in the Reach. A place of prayer and stillness, a place of utmost faith.

The overwhelming stench of blood, mixed with the cheap, earthen perfume a Qohori sorcerer - one of his many fathers, to be exact - liked to wear.

There was the sight of a sphinx, and the smell of thousands upon thousands of pages of books, and journals and notes. The sensations a novice at the Citadel was experiencing, in Oldtown.

And, most notably, there was an infernal heat, clashing with an otherworldly cold. Beyond-the-Wall lived the ice-river clan of cannibals, primitive warriors, wargs and savages, and far, far south of that was Sothoryos, where a boy lived in a village made of mud, hunting fearsome beasts and monsters just to survive.

The sounds and smells and sensations, plentiful as they were, overwhelmed him quite quickly. They would've overwhelmed anyone, and weak-willed Joffrey Baratheon, having never even picked up a sword to spar with serious opponents, was certainly no exception.

He remembers Jaime Lannister - "father" - picking him up and carrying him to his mother's chamber, where he laid, sick, for a full week. A week in which the prince seemed to be on the verge of death.

He was sobbing uncontrollably as if being whipped. He was crying as if being hunted. He was still as if he was not allowed to be loud, lest he be flogged. And when he talked, he talked gibberish, using names and terms nobody had heard before, as if conversing with other people, in other places, far away.

And all those things were true, and many more.

Not that anybody would've known, or understood. For Joffrey was now more than Joffrey. Seven more, to be exact. All of them him, and yet all of them separate, all of them different, with their own stories to tell, their own journeys. And still, and still, and still.

In the end, all that mattered was that Robert's slap had saved the realm, funny as that was.

 

[Akallas v. Aerok]

Very new concept. I like it and watched it.

But the details are sparse so far, admittedly because it is the first chapter. I hope they wont be in the future?

 

[edboy49]

Interesting intro.
Looking forward to more.

Just to clarify, this Joffrey now has Legion's powers?

 

[ShyGuy]

Seems more like he is now seeing through the eyes of other people as a hive mind like the title states. Body sharing probably.

 

[WrandmWaffles]

That is such a Robert solution. Hit it, maybe it'll work then.

 

[Y Ddraig Goch]

Interesting intro.
Looking forward to more.

Just to clarify, this Joffrey now has Legion's powers?

Click to shrink...

Who is legion?

 

[Pridakarbiter]

Who is legion?

Click to shrink...

Character from X-men with multiple personalities, each which has a power.

 

[Midnighter13]

So, a Bravosi, a Dothraki, a Reach septon, a Qohori sorcerer, a Citadel novice, a wildling, and a boy from Sothoryos. All added to Joffrey at what, age 9 at the latest? That's honestly terrifying. All the knowledge and power of the major areas of Planetos, at the fingertips of a sadistic king of Westeros. The only good news (if you can call it that) is that with two of his eight bodies in the Reach, he may be less likely to start a war that could involve them (assuming he knows what he's doing). Alternatively, he could become Grand Maester and High Septon too, and not have even the slightest check on his power, yikes. Gods only know what his various bodies will be able to do after they all have access to Qohori magic in addition to everything else...

 

[OCtron]

this reads more like that netflix show sense 8

 

[A_Bibliophage]

Move over Seven, for Your numerical superior, the Eight Who Are One!

 

[NQE vash]

​

Arc One, Chapter II
" Tychio Nestatis "

Braavos

His name was Tychio Nestatis. An important name, a great name.

"The Sorrelions debts are due this week," Tychio muttered. His voice was quiet and shaky. The quietness belied anxiety, Lysero could tell. For Lysero Nestatis was not only a man of numbers, of books and coin, but also a man of people. He could read them, see through them, decipher them.

One of the grandest secrets the members of the Iron Bank had was that it did not just specialize in dealing with money, but also with those who possessed it, to be able to manipulate them for the maximum amount of profit.

Which made it all the funnier that for a while now, the biggest challenge in Lysero's life was his own son.

"Jot down the exact amount," he answered, briefly glimpsing at his son. Outwardly, he looked just how he was supposed to. Like his father, and his father's father, like his siblings and cousins, like all members of the Nestatis family. Tan complexion, curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, a little on the short side, wiry and slim.

And still, it was different.

He pushed the book on the table before him away, raising an eyebrow at the child sitting opposite to him.

"I am old now, Tychio," he muttered slowly, deliberately. Most of his hair had fallen out by now, and the bits that were left were colored in the greys and whites of age. Lyseno could only walk assisted, used a cane most of the time, which he gripped tightly as he forced himself to his feet. "I will not be of this world for much longer. I hear the beyond calling for me already. It beckons, like a siren's song. Sweet and sinister, lulling me to sleep. Some days, I fear I shall fail to wake up again as I go to sleep."

He had his son's attention as he limped around the table, leaning against it as he forced himself right in front of his son.

"Father?" The boy asked, quiet and hesitant. "I don't understand."

"Something is wrong with you, child. I can see it. More, I can feel it. You are family, and family knows family. We know them by smell, by sight, we know them by heart."

"I- Father, I'm-"

"Don't," Lyseno interrupted. "Don't lie to me, as I know you had intended. Just listen to an old man speak."

"I shall," the boy replied, wide-eyed and anticipating.

"My father taught me, as his father taught him, that the most powerful tool we have at our disposal is, and always will be, family. If treated right, if raised correctly, properly, if guided and educated, they are the swords and shields a man like me, a man like you needs to be safe, and make no mistake, you are not safe, Tychio.

"The Nestatis family descends from one of the twenty-three founders of the Iron Bank. We are among the keyholders who participate in electing the sealord when the current one dies of old age, or of more… sinister machinations. When you come of age, you need to be ready. You need to be able to know your way around coin, around the rich and the poor alike.

"And I believe in you, Tychio, despite how you have been acting recently. I believe in you because you are of my blood. But I can only believe in you if you, for your part, believe in yourself." And then, he struck his son with his cane.

"Think on it, Tychio," he said as he began limping out the room.

"I will," he heard, the voice imperceptibly quiet.

"Ah," Lyseno said as he opened the door, "I do still want the report on the due dates by tonight, so you better not slack, boy."

---

King's Landing,
The Red Keep

How much time does it take to break a fractured mind?

"Not long," a boy muttered to himself.

Joffrey Baratheon could not walk for two full weeks after he awoke, for his legs would just give out under him. Instead, for the first week, he cried and sobbed and cried and yelled, manic and delirious. No medicine the Grand Maester Pycelle could administer seemed to soothe him, no amount of milk of the poppy could truly put him to sleep. Only when his voice could not produce any more sounds did it stop, and only when his eyes could not produce any more tears did he rest, and even then - his eyes were open.

Slowly, he was recovering. Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Living seven lives was quite difficult.

They were always there, just beyond his grasp. Right in front of him, and leagues away, all at once. Colorful and real and ethereal and barely there.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the headache. He could barely read the book in front of him - " The Economic Principles, by Maester Clayse " - because he was shivering all over. Stallen Paenin, in Qohor, was being tortured by his mad sorcerer father, and Joffrey Baratheon was suffering with him. The flames licking at his body felt just as real to him as they did to Stallen, chained to a chair.

His vision was blurred by tears, making the words unreadable. He twitched, spasmed, and the book fell to the floor as Zirro the Dothraki narrowly avoided being trampled by a horse.

He sighed, trying to breathe. In, Out. It helped a little, sometimes. Most times, it did not. People were looking at him as if he was going mad. He'd seen his father visit him - his father! visiting him! - but could feel no joy from it. Donto Zasaq was fighting for his life in Sothoryos, and Joffrey was bathed in sweat, twitching madly, because of it.

His father had shown many emotions, most of which were beyond Joffrey's understanding, but he had seemed remorseful. Sad, at what he had done and caused. But then, as the week passed, and the prince and heir kept screaming, kept talking gibberish - it's just the way they talk in the Basilisk Isles! - kept tripping over his own words as if he had forgotten how language worked, kept tripping over his own legs, kept shivering and sweating and cramping, Robert had visited only one more time, and had looked repulsed.

Robert thought his son mad, and weak to boot. And Joffrey came to think the same of him. In but two weeks, he had come to know a good handful of fathers better at parenting than Robert Baratheon.

Lysero Nestatis chief among them. Soft-spoken and frighteningly clever, he never yelled, never seemed repulsed by his progeny. He always had something witty to say, he would joke with him and talk with him, talk about Braavos and the world and its workings with his mostly silent, still, anxious son.

But still, he loved Robert Baratheon, because Joffrey Baratheon loved his father. So what was Tychio Nestatis' opinion?

It made Joffrey's head hurt to think about, so he tried to stop.

And as his head cleared, he briefly thought of Joffrey, of old. He was still there, somewhere. When Andren, the septon-in-training, flipped a table and threatened to burn the septry if they refused to let him leave, it wasn't Andren speaking, it was Joffrey. And Joffrey was… what was he? He wasn't sure. Did it matter? What was he? Who? Why? How?

Regardless, Lysero Nestatis taught him that there were people depending on him, counting on him, and he could not remain in this state. For their sake, if nothing else. If Joffrey Baratheon didn't man up, Tychio Nestatis would not, either. And neither Joffrey nor Tychio, for all their faults, could stomach to fail a second father.

 

[NQE vash]

​

Arc One, Chapter III
" Zirro Many-Tears "

Dothraki Sea

Annitho the All-Rider, bloodrider and loyal companion of Khal Nevakko, was keeping a careful eye on the boy riding in front of him.

Zirro, the khalakka - heir - of his Khal, had gone mad, fallen ill and sick, become feeble and weak all at once, not so many moons ago. Worst of all, the boy had fallen off his horse, repeatedly. A bad omen by any standard, Annitho knew.

So his Khal had done as was natural, had tied his blood to a wooden post, and had all the children of his khalasar who were younger than his son, all of them mounted, whip his son until the sun rose.

If it had helped, Annitho was not sure, for the following moons, Zirro did nothing but cry like a newborn babe, devolved into talking gibberish and trash. But now, it seemed, things were getting better. Zirro was riding with the khalasar again, though many eyed him with distrust, many with repulsion. Even the women and children were laughing about the khalakka who fell off his horse, not once but thrice.

For Annitho, the famed All-Rider, who had ridden and mastered all mounts of the Dothraki Sea, this development was certainly a good one. As the greatest of his Khal's bloodriders, Annitho had always been a contender to take over the khalasar if anything tragic happened to his great Khal, but the succession would've been bloody and difficult, for his khal was leaving a khalakka, and many would side with the blood of their Khal instead of Annitho.

But now? The khalakka was a joke, to be ridiculed and laughed at openly and without hesitation. A weak thing which did not dare to disobey, could barely lift his arakh, was plagued by fits of whatever strange illness he had contracted. Nobody, least of all a loyal and strong bloodrider, would stand with Zirro, would ride with a Khal who could not ride himself. Zirro Many-Tears, they had taken to calling him. Annitho would see to it that the name stuck. The Khal didn't need to know.

Annitho's mount caught up with Zirro, who, as always, was mumbling incoherently under his breath. "I just cleaned the latrines, Maester," Annitho heard him say, though he was wholly unsure of what that was supposed to mean.

"Zirro," he called.

The boy turned towards him, and Annitho realized that, as the eunuch slave of the Khal had claimed, whatever was plaguing Zirro was coming from the inside, not the outside.

The only strange thing about Zirro's appearance was that the eunuch, Old Maltheos, had cut off all his hair on the Khal's orders. A great dishonor for any Dothraki, who are known to grow long, braided hair, which they only cut or shorten when defeated in battle. To be shaved of all his hair made Zirro stand out, be known and recognizable as weak.

But besides that, he looked like any Dothraki boy. Copper-toned skin, almond eyes, not yet fully grown but promising height and muscle.

"Yes?" The boy mumbled in response.

"You seem more steady on your mount now. Has your illness passed?"

"I guess it has."

"Take it slow," Annitho cautioned. "Old Maltheos said you should be resting. Perhaps you should ask your great father if a caravan or cart could be arranged for you."

The boy gulped as he thought of speaking to his father, the hawk-like, brutal warlord, then nodded gratefully.

Khal Nevakko would not be happy with his son's request.

Annitho the All-Rider would be.

---

Before the prince had fully regained the ability to walk, he had demanded to be brought to the courtyard and, more, had demanded a horse to ride, even though he'd only ridden ponies before, young as he was.

That day, the prince fell from his horse seventeen times. The King and Queen watched, silent. It had been the first thing their eldest had demanded since he had… broken, so they did not interfere or question it.

The prince shook and cried out in pain, eyes full of anxiety each time he fell, but each time he mounted the horse a tiny bit quicker, a tiny bit surer of himself, as if forced to do so by a force none could see.

And it went on like this for far longer than anybody thought. The next day, the prince insisted on eating and drinking mounted, on sleeping and being taught while mounted, and no amount of cooing or coaxing by the Queen had made him get off his trusty horse.

The prince was gifted a castrated, pure white destrier by the Queen a short while later, a horse of nobility, incredibly expensive, majestic and highly trained. He rode the mare for a day, before quietly claiming that 'It's too easy,' and never mounting her again, in favor of more aggressive animals.

All in all, the Thing with the Horses, as some members of staff had taken to calling it, was but the first in a long and quite grand series of stories there would be to tell, all of them featuring Prince Joffrey as their main character.

The Thing with the Horses was a curious story, but not one that really disturbed anybody. So the prince had become fascinated with the riding beasts - such things happened. There was no need to be concerned about it. It left the royal family happier than they had been before, for the prince seemed to be shaking off his strange illness, and was learning to ride mounts of all kinds to boot.

There would be something to be concerned about a week later, when a maid heard the prince stutter the name Innonar the Patriarch in his sleep. The events surrounding those words would come to be called The Farseeing Prince, and it left most people who witnessed it more uneasy than fond.

 

[GenoDragoon]

Can only imagine how traumatizing it will be one of those bodies die. With them being so far apart and young the only support they provide each other is the knowledge which is till very useful in pursuit of training. I would think they would start to group of near Kings Landing atleast the ones who could get a better life style and provided greater support closer to Joffrey while the Dothraki or Braavosi likely be able to do more sticking where they are.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Aww, I was expecting a sense8 thing. Still, legion is good too.

 

[cabrio9f]

What happen some of your chapters are missing???

 

[ATP]

Maybe made him children of the forest,too? making him one of the Others would be too extreme.

 

[cabrio9f]

This story is also in questionablequesting its continued there and not here fyi