The Wind of Change. book 1. Part 1.1

Chapter I. Time for reflection

Abruptly, as if from a jolt, I woke up, came to my senses and slowly, cautiously opened my eyes, looking around.

I was in a spacious bedroom and was lying on a very large bed with numerous soft pillows and blankets. The bed itself looks exactly like the bed of an influential feudal lord — huge, with pillars, a canopy of unclear color and with incomprehensible patterns. I couldn't make out the details, since it was still early in the morning. Gray light was barely beginning to seep through the windows, which were covered with curtains and shutters.

Throwing back the covers and awkwardly, falling heavily on the softest mattresses, I crawled to the edge of the bed, sat down and put my feet on the stone floor covered with skins. He sat for a while, moving his fingers, looking around and getting used to his new body.

To my left was a bedside table with a metal bell on a long handle, as well as a low armchair on which numerous pieces of clothing were piled in a mess. It was very unusual, as if I had got into someone else's thing. And there was also a certain feeling of disgust and even shame — the body was unfamiliar and not mine!

I get up... My head is spinning, and my legs feel like they have no strength at all. I stood for a while, breathing deeply and getting used to the new state. The unpleasant and unusual sensations slowly passed.

I looked at myself. Of all the clothes I'm wearing, I'm wearing something resembling linen, soft mid-thigh briefs with a drawstring at the waist and two more laces at the bottom so that I can tighten them on my legs. The underwear is funny, there's no other way to say it. But I'm glad that it exists at all!

With a grunt, he couldn't resist loosening the straps and looking at his new men's household. A dick is like a dick, not big, but not small either. Average. And anyway, judging by my overall thinness and lack of fat, I'm still quite young. How old was Joffrey at the time of his death? Not much, but he managed to come of age. It's a good thing I didn't get into the child's body.

Speaking of Joffrey.... His personality was not visible in the body. But the memories remain. Anyway, I saw a key chain around my neck and immediately remembered that it was for a personal safe. So the Seven didn't cheat here either-I still have the memory of Joffrey's past.

Checking my memories, I quickly got my bearings and went to one of the cabinets near the wall. The doors creaked as I opened it, knelt down, and pulled back the sash. Under it, embedded in the bottom of the cabinet, there was a hiding place. I took the key off my neck and opened the lock on the door.

The safe was a roomy oblong box in which Joffrey kept particularly valuable items. There were several bags of money, a jewelry box, a couple of expensive trinkets, and a leather folder with papers. I was briefly surprised that Joffrey even had written documents. In any case, it's great that the young king still had the brains to keep valuable correspondence out of sight.

I scratched my forehead, but I didn't take anything from the safe, but closed everything, got back on my feet and began to explore the rooms.

The bedroom turned out to be a very spacious room with several closets, the already mentioned bed, armchairs and a desk with a pristine tabletop. Everything is clear here, Joff definitely did not like working at the table. Receiving emails is one thing, but writing responses is quite another. There was a loaded crossbow on the table. Is Joff afraid and calming himself down this way?

There were two doors in the room. One opened into a long corridor, in which a pair of candelabra with burning candles were attached to the walls — now, in the early morning, they were almost burnt out. I walked down the corridor, opened another door and found myself at a fork in the road — to the right was a room with a hole in the floor and a chair that looked more like an armchair upholstered in soft leather, and the back and armrests were covered in velvet. There was an oval hole in the seat. Presumably, this is a lavatory and a royal toilet seat — comfortable and soft, so that the autocrat, God forbid, wouldn't hurt his crowned ass.

After relieving myself and trying not to think about the fact that this is the first time I've seen and held my entire body and its individual parts in my hands, I tied the ribbon on my underpants and went to the bathroom. There were a couple of small and empty stone bathtubs, a barrel and several jugs of water, as well as a huge mirror and hygiene items.

The light came through the narrow windows under the ceiling, but there was very little of it.

I saw myself perfectly — in full growth. A tall, thin young man with long legs and arms, broad shoulders.

The body is young and beautiful, very promising, if I may say so. Even if I didn't know who Joffrey's parents were, I could safely assume that both his mother and father were also beautiful and well-proportioned people. It felt like it was all for a reason, but the result of centuries of genetics to breed normal offspring. They should not have entered into closely related marriages yet!

I liked the head and the face too. Thick, golden hair almost to her shoulders, big green eyes, a thin nose, and a strong chin. But the lips are curved somehow capriciously. Yes, and facial expressions, and muscle memory tried to act independently, betrays an extremely spoiled and not too distant personality. I chuckled.

The body is beyond praise. However, the previous owner certainly did not deal with it. The muscles are poorly developed, the skin is white and too tender. Surely there's no stamina here, like a cat crying. I flexed my right bicep experimentally. Yeah, I wasn't impressed with the result.

Okay, we can deal with all this later. Leaving the chandelier in the bathroom, I went through the bedroom and out another door. I was glad that there was complete order with coordination, and the body itself gave the impression of a new thing, not spoiled by bad habits and excesses.

Now I was in the lobby. You can't call it anything else — it's a big square room. There was an impressive table for ten people with chairs, and in the corner there was another table for two or three people. There was a jug and a couple of goblets. Veined marble columns supported the ceiling.

I went over, took the decanter in my hand and sniffed the contents. It smelled of wine. Moreover, the smell is very subtle and invigorating. Unable to resist (they'll start killing me later), I poured a glass and took a few sips.

I have never tasted wine that is similar in quality and smell before! It smelled of the southern sun, warmth, and perfectly ripened, slightly dusty grapes. He was thirsty and thirsty...

Regretfully, he set down his glass. Alcohol cravings should be monitored. If there are such wines in Westeros, it's no wonder that King Robert got drunk.

Weapons hung on the walls — a pair of swords, an axe, a spear, a shield, and in the corner, on struts, stood a full knight's armor. But most of all there were crossbows. Apparently, my predecessor had an unquestionable liking for this type of weapon.

I couldn't resist picking up a few crossbows in turn. The weapon is serious. And some of them actually looked like a work of art — you can put them right in the museum!

Putting down the crossbows, I continued to get acquainted with my new home.

There were several exits in the hall. One led to a room that housed the royal wardrobe. I looked in there and couldn't help whistling... I've lived in an ordinary family all my life. I ate well and dressed well. Maybe I've never worn really expensive clothes, but I didn't have any problems with things.

There was something unimaginable here.... The open closet is literally filled with a multitude of dresses, doublets, tunics, raincoats, vests, trousers and leggings. There are simply countless of them — of various styles, colors and appearance. There was a separate shelf with boots, shoes and other footwear — at least fifty pairs.

Well, there's a rack with berets, hats, and everything else. Yes, there is also an impressive wardrobe with underwear, shirts and scarves. Of course, I knew that Joffrey had never been poor. But to be pampered so much... That's another detail of why he grew up that way.

In the center of the room, in a heavy metal frame, on stands in the shape of lion paws, there was a tall mirror. I looked at myself again. Well, Joffrey didn't have any problems with clothes with such a body — everything should fit perfectly on him. The main thing is to combine different colors correctly.

Calculating my future style and clothing preferences in my head, I returned to the hall, went to the door that led to the corridor, put my hand on the carved metal handle, but I did not open the door, but leaned my ear against it and listened.

Even at the very beginning, I could hear confident, solid snoring. Someone was sleeping outside the door. Joffrey's memory told him that one of the Royal Guardsmen stayed there every night.

I pushed on the door, but it hit something and wouldn't open. The snoring stopped for a moment, and then resumed. No longer hiding, I slammed the door against an obstacle on the other side.

"Who's there?" the snoring stopped and a sleepy, "rumpled" voice was heard. "In the name of the Seven!" It seems that whoever was saying this did not expect or was just not used to the fact that the king could get up so early.

There was a creak as something moved across the floor and the door opened. A medium-sized, bald man with sagging cheeks, short, powerful legs, and a wide chest, clad in white scaly armor, stared at me in fright.

"I am glad to see you, Your Majesty", The fat man covered his yawn with his hand, trying to look brave at the same time. "Something happened?"

"Not yet," Joffrey's memory told him that this man was Ser Boros Blount, one of the seven knights of the Kingsguard, an insignificant and foolish warrior. Joffrey sincerely despised him and never called him by his first name.

Ser Boros was now shifting awkwardly around his couch. Apparently, he dragged him close to the door, so that no one could accidentally enter, and was sleeping peacefully. He took off his helmet and placed it against the wall, as well as the sword scabbard.

I looked around the dark corridor, Ser Boros, nodded to him and returned to my room. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the knight took a deep breath. It seemed that Joffrey, with his mood swings, penchant for reckless cruelty or unreasonable and stupid humor, was feared here.

The door closed behind him. I scratched my chin. The knight sleeps at the battle post, guarding the king. Is this even normal or what? Is this a violation or is everyone doing this?

After thinking about it, I decided not to cut off my shoulder, not to do anything, but just find out how the guards should serve at night, and only then make a decision. Moreover, the fat man did not just sleep, but blocked access to my chambers with his impressive body.

Going to the window, I opened the curtains, then, after fumbling, I opened the shutters. Fresh, invigorating air rushed into the room. It smelled of sea breezes, seaweed, and rotting fish. I also caught a "hint" of shit-I think there were certain problems with the sewers in King's Landing.

I sat on the windowsill and looked out at the city. The sun was rising on the left, which meant that the windows faced south.

Below was a park with manicured trees and gravel paths. My bedroom is located high enough so that the castle wall does not block the view much. In the distance, I could see narrow streets running down to the water, houses, tiled roofs of various shades, and chimneys. And then the sea began, which was breathing quietly and preparing to meet the new day. The chatter of seagulls could be heard. From below, the noise of the waking capital could be heard from the city.

Leaning back against the side wall, he stretched one leg along the windowsill and thought.

So, the Seven didn't cheat. I got into the body of Joffrey Baratheon. That's how I imagined this guy, and Ser Boros's address as "your Majesty" implied that I was the king, not anyone else. So, we can also agree with the fact that it is the morning of the first day of the new year, three hundred and one years after the Conquest of Aegon Targaryen.

Let's take it for granted that I got to Westeros safely, which I still didn't believe until the last moment. Or rather, it wasn't that he didn't believe, rather, he doubted that everything would work out. Now the doubts are over and we need to think about what to do and how to be.

Of course, I've prepared well, but it doesn't hurt to go over everything in my head once again — I won't be able to sleep in this state anyway.

So, I am Joffrey Baratheon, the First of this name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Roynar and the First People, Defender of the State. As they say, there are a lot of capital letters in names and titles.

However, now not all seven kingdoms are subordinate to Joffrey, but a little less. He is spoiled, cruel, and has a penchant for aggression and sadism. He's also cowardly and suspicious.

Of course, it's not really me, but my predecessor, so to speak. The bottom line is that most people consider him, and now me, to be just that. And at the moment, they are evaluating me based on my past, let's face it, actions that were not very worthy and intelligent. Joff is only a few years old, but he has already managed to form a certain opinion about himself. And this opinion has a rotten smell.

He ordered the execution of Ned Stark. For this, he is hated by the entire North and the Riverlands, where Ned's wife, Catelyn Tully, comes from. For the death of his father and the numerous humiliations, Sansa Stark is afraid of him, however, skillfully hiding it. The youngest girl, Arya, before falling asleep, each time lists all those who, in her opinion, deserved to die. Joffrey is on this list.

Stannis Baratheon, like half of Westeros, considers me the fruit of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister, despises and dreams of taking the throne.

The North is in hiding, and Winterfell is smoking in ruins. Lord Roose Bolton seems to remain loyal to the Lannisters, but things are very difficult there.

House Martell, the Princes of Dorne, genuinely hates the Lannisters and me as well. A mere trifle keeps them from openly rebelling.

The Greyjoys have declared an independent kingdom on their islands and are happily flooding Westeros with blood.

Of all the Great Houses, only the Lannisters certainly support Joffrey. And the Tyrells, the lords of the Reach, whose daughter, Margaery, I'm supposed to marry today.