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Third person pov :

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Joffrey's voice turned icy as he stared down at Eddard. "Are you implying, Lord Stark, that I am not my father's son? Are you accusing my mother, the Queen, of adultery?"

Despite sitting on a humble wooden chair, an oppressive aura seemed to emanate from the young prince. His chiseled frame and the piercing intensity of his gaze made it clear that beneath his modest posture, power and authority simmered.

Eddard rose from his kneeling position, and for a moment, he locked eyes with the young prince, a glint of determination in his own gaze. However, the weight of the situation, the uncertainty, and the gravity of his words made it impossible for him to hold Joffrey's gaze for long.

Eddard's voice, steady but tinged with hesitation, began to explain his concerns. "Your Grace, it's not an accusation, but rather a matter of doubt. All trueborn Baratheons, as they say, have had dark hair for generations. Your golden hair, the same as your mother's, it raises questions."

Joffrey sighed heavily, his anger subsiding into a sense of frustration. "How, Lord Stark? How can I prove it? Is there any way to lay these doubts to rest once and for all?"

Eddard replied with hesitation, "I... I don't know, Your Grace. It's a difficult matter, and I don't have a clear answer. But it's something that should be looked into, discreetly and with utmost care. For the stability of the realm."

Joffrey, a small smirk curling on his lips, rose from his wooden chair. His fingers lightly brushed the pommel of a warhammer hidden behind the imposing Iron Throne – his father's hammer, a symbol of strength and authority. The young king stepped forward, facing Eddard Stark with an air of defiance.

"If you have no ideas, Lord Stark," he declared, his voice carrying through the echoing chamber, "then I propose one. A trial by combat."

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Negary pov :

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'All according to keikaku' I thought as I watched the stammering Hand of the king looking at me bewildered.

He was reacting normally to such an insane proposal though. To prove your genotype by swinging weapons , hah.

Good thing that we were in the fucking middle ages.

Eddard, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief, stepped back slightly, putting some distance between us.

"Your Grace, a trial by combat is a grave matter," he began, his voice steady but filled with reason. "It's not a path we should take lightly. Firstly, there's the risk involved – one of us may not survive, and that would only deepen the instability in the realm. Secondly, such a spectacle would surely sow discord among our people. They need stability and unity in these uncertain times, not further division. And finally, it wouldn't provide a definitive answer to the questions surrounding your legitimacy. It would only be seen as a contest of strength, not a measure of lineage."

Eddard's words carried the weight of experience and wisdom, but he couldn't hide the worry etched on his face as he looked at me, wondering how I would respond to this counsel.

I regarded him with an unusual calmness in my eyes. "Lord Stark, I understand your concerns, but I assure you, neither of us will allow harm to come to the other. We can stop ourselves before it goes too far."

With a determined expression, I added, "The contest will take place here, in the throne room, right now, when no one is around to witness it. As for the matter of lineage, who but a Baratheon would wield such a warhammer?"

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'It seems we will get to see the last round of the tourney, after all...'

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Eddard Stark pov :

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The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Eddard couldn't deny the logic in Joffrey's words, and he understood the weight of the symbolism behind that warhammer.

The weapon had been a symbol of House Baratheon's might for generations, and it was something only a true Baratheon would wield with confidence.

But as he looked at the young prince, Eddard couldn't help but wonder about the implications of such a challenge. It wasn't just a matter of lineage; it was a challenge to his honor, his integrity, and his loyalty to his fallen friend, King Robert. The very thought of raising his sword against a boy with the intent to harm weighed heavily on his conscience.

Eddard took a deep breath, considering the consequences of his decision. This trial by combat would not only determine the legitimacy of Joffrey's claim but also reveal the true nature of the kingdom's leadership. The fate of the realm hung in the balance, and Eddard knew he couldn't back down from the challenge, no matter how much it conflicted with his sense of honor.

Eddard Stark, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision, finally spoke in a firm and resolute voice, "Very well, Prince Joffrey. I accept your challenge. If I lose this trial by combat, I shall recognize you as the rightful king of Westeros."

As the words left his lips, Eddard knew there was no turning back. The fate of the Seven Kingdoms now rested on the outcome of this duel, and he could only hope that the gods would guide his hand in the battle to come.

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I saw Joffrey nod solemnly, his eyes locked onto mine with unwavering determination. In an instant, he charged forward, his massive warhammer raised high above his head, and I braced myself for the impending clash. The throne room seemed to echo with the weight of our fates, and the sound of our combat would soon fill the air.

I knew of Joffrey's skill with a sword, having witnessed his duel with Ser Barristan . He had shown promise, able to hold his ground against the knight, but the warhammer was a different weapon altogether. Joffrey, as far as I knew, had no experience with such a heavy and unwieldy weapon. This was uncharted territory for him, and it could prove to be an advantage on my side.

Indeed, I noticed that Joffrey was not wearing any armor, which further confirmed my belief that he had little experience with the warhammer. I knew I would have to be cautious, for defeating him without causing him serious harm would be a challenge. My own armor provided protection, but the true test lay in wielding that heavy weapon with precision and control.

But in my heart, I secretly wished for Joffrey to emerge victorious. The thought of him not being Robert's true son weighed heavily on me. Robert had entrusted me with ensuring Joffrey's ascension to the throne, and I wanted to believe in his legitimacy.

It would shatter me to discover that the boy I had come to know was not truly a Baratheon. This trial by combat was not just about our differences but also about preserving the honor and legacy of a king I had respected and loved as a friend.

My musings were abruptly shattered as Joffrey's warhammer came hurtling toward me. With a quick, instinctual motion, I sidestepped to the left, narrowly evading the deadly strike. The air whistled with the force of the blow, and I could feel the wind rush past my face as the hammer passed by, missing me by a mere hair's breadth.

'That was a great swing....' I thought as I distanced myself from the prince who was now expertly twirling the hammer in his hands as if it weighted nothing.

'Uncharted territory my ass...' I thought as I started reevaluating my chances of winning this bout.

As I narrowly dodged another swing, a surge of determination coursed through me. I couldn't let myself go down without a fight.

With newfound resolve, I launched a counterattack, swinging my sword towards Joffrey. To my surprise, he deftly blocked my strikes with the iron pole of the hammer.

We clashed in a flurry of strikes and parries. I, seasoned by battles of old, made several attempts to strike , each time aiming for non-lethal places.

I feinted a high strike, hoping to catch Joffrey off guard. As my blade whistled through the air, I aimed for Joffrey's right shoulder, but the young prince skillfully sidestepped the blow, narrowly avoiding the blade.

With a swift motion, I shifted my attack, aiming for Joffrey's legs. My blade sliced downwards, targeting the prince's right thigh, but Joffrey parried with the heavy end of his warhammer, sending a shockwave through my arm.

Seizing an opportunity, I attempted a thrust towards Joffrey's midsection. However, the prince anticipated the move and twisted his body to the side, narrowly evading the strike.

Our duel continued with both of us determined to prove our point, while the Iron Throne room stood as a silent witness to our struggle.

I launched a relentless series of attacks, striking faster and faster, determined to prove my point. But I couldn't help but be bewildered by Joffrey's composure. He parried my strikes with an air of leisure, as if he were toying with me, all while maintaining his smile in the midst of our duel. Each swing of his warhammer felt precise, measured, and surprisingly effortless, making me question his true skill and the weight of that warhammer in his hands.

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After what felt like an eternity of relentless combat, I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, my body utterly drained. My sword remained gripped tightly in my hand, but despite the tremendous effort I had put forth, nothing I did seemed to touch Joffrey. It was as if he were shielded by an invisible barrier, my strikes futile against his unyielding defense. I had fought with all my might, my determination unshaken, but it was clear that Joffrey possessed a skill and strength I had underestimated.

Bowing my head, I uttered the words, "I accept my loss, Your Majesty."

I turned my gaze towards the young prince, who still held his father's Warhammer with an ease that belied his age. A sense of awe washed over me as I thought, 'What monstrous power... he truly is a Baratheon, no matter what his hair color might say...'

Joffrey's voice resonated through the empty throne room, filled with a strange mixture of triumph and amusement. "Very well, Lord Stark. I am happy that you now see Mount Tai," he said, his smirk uncharacteristically playful given the circumstances.

I was confused by Joffrey's reference to a mountain I never heard of.

It was as if he spoke in riddles...

But my confusion only grew as I heard Joffrey continue talking.

"I, Joffrey, First of My Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby release you from your duty as Hand of the King, Eddard Stark," Joffrey declared with an air of regal authority.

Then ,his face softened as he looked at my bewildered expression.

"It's been a while since you last saw your whole family , no? Let's just say we will make a little journey to the North....quite soon"

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'What is the Blazes?' was my only thought...

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AN :

"She doesn't see the duel as an interaction between two people, but as a conversation with the inner self.

If something is worth doing, then it's worth perfecting.

Like the sculptor chiseling away the scrap to reveal the statue, it's in the forge of battle that she tempers her being into a better version.

For her, defeat is nothing more than a stepping stone towards that ultimate objective: the conquest of the indomitable mountain that is perfection."

-a girl in a Worm fanfiction(I forgot the name)