Arc 4: Sansa. Chapter 38: Currents.

Spoiler: Music

"They're coming! They're coming!" Arya squealed as she rushed past guards and frantic servants, wearing a ridiculous helmet as she ran for the rest of the family, standing solemnly nearby the outer courtyard.

Sansa rolled her eyes, but couldn't find it in her to rebuke her wildling of a sister as she made sure her hair brooch was still in place and tightly secured. Her belly was full of whirling butterflies, and her face felt a bit flushed as she watched the Outer Gatehouse with expectant eyes.

"Arya!" she finally scolded her sister, unable to resist as she neared the rest of the family.

She's going to ruin everything! She thought as Father took mercy on her and took Arya's ridiculous helmet away, giving it to Ser Rodrik. Arya made a face as she looked at her, but Sansa didn't care anymore, the first riders were already reaching the gate!

She'd been anxiously awaiting the King's visit ever since the news had reached Winterfell, a breath of fresh air over the prospect of another dull year cooped up in the Main Keep sitting under Septa Mordane's necessary, if sometimes long winded, lessons. Another year of white dullness with Arya as her constant and irritating companion, and Jeyne and Mother as her only confidants.

She steadied her face into proper ladylike demeanor, taking her cues from Mother as the lead riders passed them by, dismounting as they held aloft the banners of Houses Baratheon and Lannister. Behind them came a big fat man who seemed to be restraining an easy smile as he dismounted from the huge horse which carried him.

Is that the king? Sansa wondered as more and more people filled the courtyard until it was fit to burst. Her heart beat faster and faster in excitement as colorful banners of many different styling's and shapes fluttered under the breeze, knights, soldiers, servants and big wagons filling the area. She even spotted what she supposed must be the Queen's Wheelhouse, a stately affair of silver enameled wood and golden lines, rolling gracefully over the castle's cobblestones.

The King trundled over quickly, stopping mid stride right in front of Father as him and all of Winterfell kneeled in unison.

He said something, but Sansa didn't hear what exactly as she inched her head sideways at a couple of late comers, swiftly riding in between the dismounting knights and the scattering servants, already speaking with their counterparts from the kitchens and the dormitories.

One was a big knight who wore a fierce helmet in the form of a dog's head, and the other was a somewhat tall youth in rugged riding leathers, effortlessly guiding a huge black warhorse through carriages and servants, a sword and a wicked looking hammer strapped to his belt.

"That's the Hound!" whispered Arya, earning a shush from Mother.

Both the King and Father laughed as he stood and they embraced each other, slapping each other's back heartily as they spoke, but Sansa couldn't hear them as she stood up with the rest of the family and Winterfell's inhabitants, still staring at the handsome blonde youth as he effortlessly slid down from his saddle, walking straight towards Father and not even looking their way.

"Oh, and this is my firstborn son, Joffrey," the King said as he waved back with a negligent hand at who he realized now was the Crown Prince. "Show some respect boy, this is the man that-"

"Lord Stark," said Joffrey as he bowed in respect, "It's an honor to finally meet you," he said, his face serious and still as if it had been made of stone.

"Likewise, my Prince," said Father, a little puzzled as he returned the bow with a nod of his own.

Robert looked at his son for a second longer before he was suddenly hugging Mother with his huge arms, "Cat!" he exclaimed, "You haven't aged a day," he complimented her.

"Your Grace," said Mother with a small curtsy, though the fond smile betrayed the solemnity.

"And you must be Robb!" said the King as he moved and he obstructed her vision, saluting the rest of the family. When he got to her he smiled wistfully, a calloused hand holding her cheek, "Ain't you a pretty one," he commented with a smile, leaving her with a blush as he moved on to Arya, who stood by her side.

She was still a bit stunned after being complimented by the King of the Seven Kingdoms when, from one moment to the next, the crown prince stood before her, following the King as he gave his respects to the family. Now that he was closer, Sansa could see faint black smudges under the prince's eyes, and his face seemed a bit pale.

Why doesn't he look at me? Has the powder turned foul? She asked herself in near panic as he bowed slightly and grabbed her hand, stern faced and avoiding her eyes.

Her hand tingled as he kissed it lightly, the butterflies inside her belly turning both confused and strangely hopeful as the prince spoke. "Lady Sansa," he whispered almost as if in pain, strange longings and perhaps even grief lacing his voice.

Sansa stared at him, puzzled and willing him to really look at her as the strange prince stood up. He must have noticed that somehow, for as he stood up smoothly and turned to greet Bran, he peeked at her for just a second… and when their eyes met he seemed to stop moving entirely.

Joffrey's pale green eyes seemed bottomless, filled with meanings she couldn't begin to comprehend as she felt him stiffen, his hands curling into fists as she smiled nervously. She almost lost herself in that enveloping, soul piercing stare as the butterflies froze for a second and she felt strangely lightweight, the rest of Winterfell fading slightly as she frowned, seeing something within his eyes. The dizzying moment was broken as Joffrey let out an almost explosive breath as he moved on, greeting Bran quickly and somewhat mechanically.

Sansa blinked repeatedly as she looked down, nonplussed by the strange experience. Who she realized now was the Queen had already left the wheelhouse, and was smiling almost bitterly as Father and the King walked away. She looked regal and beautiful in her fine silk red dress as Mother swiftly introduced her.

"The Far North seems too cold for a beauty such as yours, young Sansa," said the Queen, Mother smiling in approval as Sansa gave her a perfect curtsy. "Would you care for some refreshments, your grace?" asked Mother.

The Queen accepted with a regal nod as Mother escorted her towards the Main Keep, looking at Sansa meaningfully as they walked, "And won't the young lady be joining us?" She asked, her eyes as green as her son's but lacking the almost glossy, steely paleness. Mother nodded slightly at her, bidding her to follow though she seemed as worried as she was interested.

As Sansa walked a half step behind them, finally getting her first taste of real court life as the Queen spoke of King's Landing, she couldn't stop herself from looking back at the courtyard… though the curious, blonde prince was nowhere to be found.

.-

The next few days flew agonizingly fast. It seemed the day had barely started when it was already over, and Sansa strived to make the most of them before the terrible dullness that was life in Winterfell returned, exalting in the happenings which she had only read before in stories. She found a new companion in the form of a Princess of the Realm, Myrcella Baratheon, and her evenings were filled with the exciting gossip of King's Landing, listening in rapt attention to the girl's depictions of the Red Keep, Baelor's Sept, and the streets of the realm's capital. Myrcella, Jeyne, and herself soon became a close knit group, awed by the tales of the great tourney's and balls of the capital… as long as Arya didn't try her damned best ruin it all, running underfoot as was her want and making a mess of herself.

Tried as she might though, she never managed to catch the crown prince himself, and only Mother's constant reassurances that it was not her fault had calmed her. Myrcella had also assured her that he'd been like that since before leaving the Capital… though that only served to make her even more curious… of all the current inhabitants of Winterfell, he seemed to avoid her the most.

She thought fate had at last started smiling upon her during the fifth day of the King's stay, when a huge feast was arranged in the great hall. She had never seen the hall so full of people, raucous laughter and merry conversation drowning the sound of clinking cups and the footsteps of harried servants, bringing forth even more food and courses for the guests of Winterfell. The seating arrangements had been set from before, and Sansa found herself beside Myrcella in one of the long tables closest to the high one where Father, Mother, the King, the Queen and a few others feasted, though the Queen's dashing brother was nowhere to be seen.

Seated right in front of her, by the other side of the table, was the Crown Prince.

He seems so tired… She thought as she gazed at him discreetly, feeling happy to see him again… and cornered by formality so he can't run again, whispered a most unladylike part of her. He seemed to be barely playing with his food, his back rigid as he stared at the silverware… or perhaps beyond. His eyes seemed somewhat unfocused, and though he might sometimes tilt his head left or right, he'd never look at her.

What's the matter with him?! Sansa asked herself in a huff, annoyed at the mystery which seemed to taunt her unceasingly. Myrcella was giggling with Jeyne over something as they looked at Robb, though Sansa didn't pay them much attention as she kept staring at Joffrey, puzzled and searching for something... though she didn't know what.

He looks more than tired… exhausted even, she thought as he stabbed a piece of venison with his fork, taking a good long while before finally eating it. Perhaps the journey from the Capital had left him like this?

That didn't sound right, no, she was somehow certain that whatever the matter was with the Crown Prince, it was a bit weightier than mere horses. Joffrey looked like he didn't sleep at all, dark shadows surrounding a pale face which seemed slow to laugh or anger.

She sought a way to cross the void that seemed to surround him, just to… talk to him, nothing improper…. Though a part of her couldn't stop remembering a hundred stories which started with a lonesome prince and a dutiful lady, stories in which the prince's shell of ice cracked apart if only the lady had the courage to speak to him.

The butterflies in her belly stilled as she took in a breath to speak, only to splutter as something slapped into her face. She looked down, stunned as the piece of pie slid down her cheek and ruined her dress, her hair sticking to her brow as she turned and saw Arya laughing without a care in the world.

"ARYA!" she screamed at her, fury and despair mixing in equal measure as Mother stood up from her table and swiftly walked towards them. Fury turned to mortification as she realized Joffrey was smiling at her misfortune, an oddly bittersweet smile. She could feel her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as tears filled her eyes and Mother scolded her and Arya.

Why does she have to ruin everything!? She despaired as she carried the both of them away from the hall.

"But Mother! She started!" she wailed, struggling to keep the tears inside her eyes as she tried to pull Arya's hair once they had left the hall.

"Stop that this instant!" Mother thundered, "Go to your rooms, both of you," she commanded sternly.

The Prince must think me a child, she thought in despair… thought at least she had made him smile… somehow, she felt he needed it.

.-

Vague musings had acquired crystal sharp reality the day Father had spoken to her alone in his solar, Mother the only other person inside the room as she stroked her hair gently. She thought she'd done something terribly wrong, but they had just gently asked her what she thought of Prince Joffrey.

"I think he's quiet… bit sad at times…" she'd said, "Handsome too," she'd blurted at Mother's piercing stare.

There had been silence for a moment before Father nodded, almost to himself. "The King has made his wishes known in regards to uniting our Houses through marriage… and we have accepted. A betrothal between you and Prince Joffrey has been arranged," he delivered stoically, her Mother watching her attentively.

"I… I am to be Queen?" she had asked, dumbfounded.

"Do you like the notion, Sansa?" Mother had asked her, carefully.

"I… I… yes!" she'd blurted, her head filled with visions of tourneys and balls, of her standing beside Joffrey as he ruled, same as Mother had done with Father.

"Of course you would," Father said with a private smile, "If you have any concerns Sansa, let us know… your Mother and I will always hear them," he'd told her, but she'd already lost herself to reverie as a hundred tales and legends suddenly turned real too.

Her dreams that night had been confused and heavy, and she'd still been in somewhat of a daze when she'd woken up.

I am betrothed… she thought, still dumbfounded by the sudden news. They wouldn't marry yet for a while, but she was betrothed, not to one of Father's vassals, not to populate some destitute northern keep, but to the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms! The news made her drowsy… the prospect of living a life beyond Winterfell, where you could meet other people without having to ride for a day, and where it didn't snow every week… Jeyne and her both had daydreamed of being swept away by a handsome, honorable knight one day in the far future, too many times to count. To suddenly find herself in that position, swept away not by a knight but by the handsome, enigmatic heir to the Seven Kingdoms left her breathless.

Of course, that still left the matter of her betrothed himself… which granted, she didn't know a whole lot about, but she was just sure that all he needed was a bit of work on her part and he'd open up. Her nightmares had been full of visions where she was rejected, where she tripped in front of the whole court of King's Landing as she tried to curtsy in front of the King and the unimpressed prince. Of course, she'd never been there before, but her mind had depicted it as a great hall full of banners and hundreds upon hundreds of nobles from dozens of great houses, all laughing at her.

She shook her head as she walked, clearing the mind. If she was to get to the Prince somehow, then she'd needed to be a bit more bold. Being proper was all well and good, but all ladies had been maidens before, and maidens could afford to have a little more… initiative, she supposed.

Her nightmares of Joffrey falling in love with some other maiden had nothing to do with her hurry. Nothing at all.

She was outside the Main Keep, walking down an open aired stairway to the Outer Courtyard when she spotted the Prince. He was atop his fierce warhorse, looking somewhat annoyed at a defiant Myrcella which stood under the Gatehouse with her arms crossed. Prince Tommen stood by the side, watching in a strange mixture of excitement and wariness.

The Prince liked to ride out every day, spending most of the morning alone in the Wolfswood with only his horse for company…

He's so independent… she mused as he gazed at Joffrey and the plentiful armament he carried. Whereas other noble dignitaries had made due with fine, comfortable clothes under furs once within Winterfell, Joffrey had not once stopped using his leather armor, and his sword and hammer never seemed to leave his side.

She'd have to find a way to connect, even though she was not an adventurous woman, not like Arya was… the brief thought of the Prince feeling something for Arya made her throat feel twisted, as if grabbed by an invisible hand. She shook her head as she returned her attention to the Outer Courtyard.

"Myrcella… I haven't got the time for this…" Prince Joffrey said with a sigh.

"Nonsense! You have plenty of time to search for trees! And Father will be staying all of next week!" pouted the Princess.

"Myrcella…" Joffrey said with a tone of long sufferance, tinges of sadness coloring his voice.

Always so sad and tired, Sansa wondered as she gazed at him from the stairs, debating the best way to start a conversation.

"Please Joffrey! Pleaaaaaaase!" she pleaded, both hands close to her chest.

"Ahg, fine…" said the Prince as he shook his head, and for the first time Sansa heard something approaching mirth from him.

"Come on Moonlight, let's dance for the lady," he told his horse as he did something with his knees.

The great, black warhorse gave some sort of amused snort before starting to… dance?

Sansa's stunned smile grew as she watched the black warhorse start moving from left and right, still looking at Myrcella as it raised and lowered its hoofs in an exaggerated manner, cantering sideways as if he were upon smooth, slippery ice instead of cobblestones.

Joffrey chuckled slightly as he sang a little jig and Moonlight twirled in circles, spinning like a wheel, "From side-to-side, side-to-side, better watch the horse if you know what's good!" he sang with a rough voice, like how Sansa imagined a sailor's shanty must sound. Moonlight redoubled the frequency of its dance, his hooves slamming against the cobblestones quickly and giving the shanty an accelerated rhythm. "From side-to-side, side-to-side, why have a bear when you-can-have-a-horse!" Joffrey sang as Moonlight snorted and it twirled his head in circles as if following an annoying fly, only to suddenly end with a brisk step forward and a sloppy, wet kiss to Myrcella's forehead.

Joffrey laughed heartily at Myrcella's stunned expression, giggling fits soon overcoming her as Tommen clapped wildly, eyes wide. Moonlight gave an appreciative snort as it trundled backwards, still dancing the jig as Joffrey kept chuckling. The horse gave a turn and Joffrey automatically stopped him as he saw her, blinking twice.

"Lady Sansa," he blurted, surprised.

"Prince Joflgrough," Sansa said as a Moonlight's sloppy mouth gave her a kiss on the forehead… and her eyes and nose too for that matter.

"M-Moonlight!" Joffrey scolded him as he pulled the reins, "Lady Sansa I'm so…" he trailed off as she blinked, horror giving way to an unwilling, unseemly giggle as she gazed at Moonlight. The horse seemed positively satisfied. Her dignity had been shattered in front of Joffrey yet again, and there was not much to do but laugh in the face of failure… the annoyingly smug face of failure.

"I'm… I'm sorry for that," Joffrey managed, chuckling slightly as he smiled and dismounted his horse.

He has a nice smile. He should wear it more often, Sansa mused as Joffrey took out a handkerchief and wiped her face with it, his sheepish smile slowly giving way to the neutral façade.

"How did you teach him to dance like that?" she blurted, a dozen courtly conversation starters flying by the wayside as her mouth moved with a will of its own.

He did not return to the levity of before, but the stern façade's progress was stalled as Joffrey wiped the other side of her cheek, leaving a tingling sensation on it. "It's not very time consuming. With a sufficiently smart horse practically anything is possible," he said before turning back to his horse and clicking his tongue. The war horse stood attentively, all sings of mirth gone as Joffrey made a weird gesture with his hand, "Moonlight, apologize to Lady Sansa," he told him.

Moonlight snorted as he bowed his head, Sansa playing along as she curtsied in return and got another smile out of Joffrey for her troubles. "You're going out again?" she asked the Prince.

"… Yes. Riding helps… well…" he shrugged in discomfort, swiftly mounting Moonlight again as his neutral face came back in full force.

"Lady Sansa," he nodded respectfully at her, and Sansa couldn't get another word in edgewise before he was cantering and then galloping past the gate, Myrcella waving goodbye at him. She felt a brief impulse to jump atop another horse and race after him, but riding side saddle through the Wolfswood was bound to break her neck…

She shook her head, frustrated with herself. Riding after the Prince? What was the matter with her?

.-

Trying to interact with Joffrey was like having one's teeth pulled out, or at least it felt like that to her. Joffrey was bound to disappear from any place if she showed her face, and her frustrations and fears had been mounting day after day.

"Why does he hate me?" She asked her Father one day, "Is he in love with… another lady?" she'd voiced one of her greatest concerns.

"He doesn't hate you Sansa, Prince Joffrey is just… reclusive," he'd said awkwardly.

"Did he object to the betrothal?" she'd asked him, red eyed.

When he stayed silent, that was all she'd needed to know. "He didn't raise a word over it. He merely… seemed a bit wary," he tried, her sobs rapidly becoming stronger and stronger.

"He thinks I'm an ugly, worthless child doesn't he?" she'd sobbed, and Father had worn a look of absolute panic until Mother had chanced by her room, hugging her gently and soothing her with kind words.

Jeyne seemed sympathetic to her plight, but her advice could be reduced to 'keep doing the same', and Sansa was not dumb. It was obvious courting him like a proper lady was not going to work… she'd have to move beyond the bounds of propriety if she was to talk with her future husband.

And so she walked up the open walkway which stood over Winterfell's training yard, making her way as silently as she could in her hardy furs, her dress left behind for something more robust and flexible as she eyed him leaning over the railing, staring at a few of the boys sparring below. If he walked away from her, Sansa swore she would chase him down…

He seemed lost in his own world, staring hollowly at the training yard below as Robb and Jon exchanged blows between themselves, laughing as they circled each other, tourney swords at the ready. Her bastard brother had scarcely shown himself during the King's stay, properly keeping his head down at least until the King's visit was over. King Robert had left for an extended hunt, and the central courtyard seemed almost deserted but for the shuffling servants and Robb's friendly taunts.

She carefully walked through the slightly snowed, roofed wooden walkway until she was leaning beside him, staring at the clanging swords below as well. She spent a few moments looking down before she felt him stiffen, turning to look at her before quickly straightening.

"I'm not going to bite you," she told him, though a bit of her bitterness must have shown in her voice because Joffrey seemed slightly startled as he blinked, looking at her again.

"That obvious, huh?" he asked as he turned back to look at the yard, still wrapped upon himself as in layers upon layers of disciplined stillness.

"No, its…" she took a moment to take a small breath, frowning.

Acting delicately will get me nowhere… she thought as she decided to vent a bit of her frustrations on to him. It was only fair.

"Yes actually, it has been quite rude of you," she said, looking at the yard as well. "I spent hours looking at myself in the mirror to see if I had some sort of worm crawling over it. Seems about right for the amount of disgust I seem to provoke in you," she shot at him, the words coming from deep within as she blushed.

Gods… where is this coming from… she asked herself as she kept staring at the yard so Joffrey couldn't see her blush. True as it may be, he might… no, I'm committed, can't back out now, she thought quickly.

Joffrey seemed only slightly less stunned than she felt, tilting his head and giving her a pained grimace. "I'm sorry my lady, I… I assure you the matter lays not with you, but with me," he ground out, looking at the other end of the walkway and no doubt wondering how to escape now without turning his apology into some sick joke.

"If it's really something within yourself then it's hardly something you can ran away from," Sansa reasoned, "Besides, the walkway can be a bit slippery this time of the year, wouldn't want to break your neck," she said with an impish smile, going all out. The smile had not been at all fake, as the prospect of Joffrey slipping and hitting his head on the floor gave her some sort of vindictive, unfair satisfaction over all those sleepless nights.

"Is that a threat?" Joffrey asked in disbelief, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards in the beginnings of something.

"Are you going to keep running?" she asked in turn, still looking at the yard as she wasn't confident she could say it with a straight face if she looked at him in the eyes.

I think I've already ruined everything… nothing to it but end it on a high note, she thought to herself as she hid the despair under a mask of nonchalance. Father will have to look for a third born son with a half snowed keep after this, she thought in mute dread.

Joffrey stared at her before a short chuckle escaped his stern façade, his eyes closing in mirth as he leaned back again on the wooden rail. "I suppose I deserved that…" he muttered as he returned to his yard staring exercise, this time by her side again, "It does seem a bit slippery, now that I think about it. Better stay here, safe and sound," he said as the chuckle died off, though not the smile.

"Good," Sansa nodded firmly, her eyes still locked below.

… did that just work?! She thought to herself in surprise. Not a single one of Mother's courtship tales had started thus, though she supposed the fact that her own had at least started already gave her a small measure of relief. He had to keep him talking though, as the stern face was already solidifying and the way he kept squeezing the rail didn't seem good at all.

"Don't you want to join them?" she asked him, looking as Jon disarmed Robb in a quick blur of swords.

That might have been ill timed, she thought, seeing as she'd just suggested the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms to spar with a bastard. Joffrey seemed to smile wistfully at the notion though, his attempts at strangling the rail subsiding as he let a breath out. "I'm afraid those calm, sunny days are long gone," he muttered as if to himself.

"Too grown up for playing at the yard?" she teased him.

"I… yeah. It would just make a scene," he shrugged. The confident boast sounded like a horrible curse coming from his mouth.

Sansa stayed quiet for a while, the clanging of swords switching tempo as her brother and half-brother slowed down, talking more often between each round. "You've seen… fighting before?" Sansa asked, "Like a, battle?" she corrected herself lamely.

Joffrey stayed still for a long while, so long she thought he'd ignored her. Eventually though, he spoke. "Yes," he said simply, "…They spar and laugh now, but when the time comes they'll weep for their lost loved ones. The fields will turn to mud and the villages will burn. They'll wish they'd be back in Winterfell, laughing and dreaming of glory," he continued in a low monotone, the prophecy sending a shiver down Sansa's spine.

"Not a very princely thing to say though," Sansa pointed out.

Joffrey snorted, "I suppose not. I'm not a very princely person anyway," he said slowly, the weight of the world in his voice.

Why are you like this? What happened to you? She wanted to ask. Instead she tilted her head thoughtfully, "What person are you then?" she asked after a moment.

Joffrey spent a long while staring at the yard, but it was clear he was not really looking at it. "I asked myself that question for a long time. In the end, the answer was simple enough," he said with a mirthless smile, letting the silence build for a while before letting out a breath. "Not a person, not really… just the way things are," he said with another shrug, as if at peace with the notion.

It was not tiredness or sadness, Sansa realized. Joffrey sounded broken. As if his soul had departed to the afterlife and left a grey husk behind, somehow still moving and breathing but without a shred of emotion left. She didn't know what to make of the cryptic statement, but it was not Mother's tales from her youth or Septa Mordane's lessons which made her hand shift and grab Joffrey's… it was the gaping hollowness in her betrothed-to-be's voice, devoid of hope and angst.

She put her hand over his and she could see Joffrey inching his head almost immediately, staring at it as his hand still squeezed the handrail. Some sort of monumental struggle seemed to be taking place inside his mind as he bit his lip so hard a bit of blood seeped through, staring at both their hands so hard they might as well be opposing armies in the field of battle. His head shook minutely as he took a harrowing breath and his hand slowly grabbed hers tightly, their fingers interwoven.

Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she blinked and leaned on his shoulder, a flurry of butterflies twirling inside her belly even as they disappeared just as quickly as they arrived, leaving her grounded firmly in a crystal clear reality, the doubts and the worry fading as if they'd been but mid-summer dew.

The strange reverie was broken as Joffrey took in a strangled breath suddenly, managing to release her hand even though she'd been holding it just as tightly, stumbling back and hitting the other railing with his back.

He was fisting his hands so tightly she could see he was hurting himself, though what stunned her the most was the panicked worry in his eyes as he gazed at her in dread. "No. I can't do this to you Sansa," he said, breathing hard.

"Joffrey…" she said, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to understand the strange sensation, blinking rapidly as it slipped away and Joffrey looked as if on the edge of a panic attack.

"No. Never. This stops now Sansa. Don't look for me again," he said, moving his head compulsively as if trying to shake off a blow and stumbling a few steps towards the Keep's door, still looking at her.

His rejection should have broken her into a thousand pieces, but Sansa kept blinked repeatedly as she looked back at him, chasing the threads of meaning rapidly disappearing from her conscious mind. "This is not about the betrothal," she whispered.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he managed, his voice tight.

"Then tell me!" she screamed, feeling overwhelmed.

What is happening?! She thought as she tried to understand, but the threads of meaning had already disappeared.

"I can't. No," Joffrey choked, almost tripping as he turned back and ran towards the keep's door, leaving her behind to shake before the suddenly cold winds.

.-

"… it was so strange. We just held hands and… I don't know what happened. For a moment, everything made sense… but, not," Sansa tried to explain, words failing her as Jeyne looked on with interest, both of them talking quietly as they did their needlework. Arya had tried to evade the class, but Septa Mordane had caught her in the act and she'd been trundled off to Mother, leaving the two of them alone to gossip.

"It was…" she trailed off, thoroughly confused.

"As if you had found a part of yourself you'd never knew was missing?" Jeyne supplied.

"I… maybe… I suppose you could put it that way…" Sansa blinked, staring at her.

"Oh Sansa, that's so romantic!" Jeyne flushed, and Sansa shook her head.

"No, no. He knew that I knew… about the thing, tha-"

"As if you could read each other's thoughts?" asked Jeyne.

"I, no, ah, yes. Jeyne!" she said as he dropped her knitting, "You're not helping!" she told her, annoyed.

"I am helping. You're in love Sansa," she said excitedly, "It's just you haven't even realized it yet! All this talk of strange feelings and shared insights, it's so obvious!" she said as she looked at her, as if speaking to a child. "Sansa, you've been waiting for this moment for years, stop fighting it and enjoy it," she said with a touch of envy, "It sounds like everything we ever dreamed of…" she trailed off with a sigh.

"Maybe…" she muttered.

"So, so romuuuntic!" Arya laughed from behind her. Sansa stood up as she turned, mortified as she found her sister smirking from behind her tall chair, spying on them.

"ARYA!" she screeched, trying to get to her to do… something bad, but she skipped away, laughing like mad.

"The stone prince gives you a smile and you're already falling apart, maybe the Hound can growl your way and then your heart will split in two!" she twisted gleefully as she ran.

"You-! ARYA!" she screamed as she followed her, bitter tears in her eyes, "You're only jealous because, because you're so ugly not even Hodor would marry you!" she shot back.

"Y-you just want someone who'll listen to your prattle!" Arya shouted as she ran, though the way her face twisted betrayed the nonchalance audible in her words, "To hold you while you swain and faint like a useless stupid"- Sansa screamed in fury as she managed to grab her sister's hair mid insult and pull it back, Arya screeching in pain as she tried to ward her off with her hands, her nails biting into Sansa's cheek. They were both tumbling in the floor when Septa Mordane found them, their red eyes, their hateful stares doing little to distract her as she grabbed the both of them by the ear and brought them back to Mother, her expression absolutely thunderous.

.-

Her punishment was horrible. To stay in her room for the next few days even as the King's once-in-a-lifetime visit to Winterfell ground to a close. Her dreams were confused and filled with strong emotions, leaving her dizzy by morning. Try as he she might though, she couldn't stop thinking about Arya's hateful words.

Is that all I really want? She asked herself. To have someone who can just hear me 'prattle'?

Existence in Winterfell for a noble lady was a lonely enough affair, and Jeyne Pool and a handful of other girls, plus Septa Mordane and Mother, did little to alleviate that. She supposed the prospect of a handsome prince come to carry her away from the dreariness of Winterfell had played a part in her feelings for Joffrey… she had enough self-awareness to realize that. After all, she'd spent countless nights throughout the years imagining just that.

Do I just want someone who I can hold me while I faint? The notion sounded ridiculous…

But then why does it hurt so much? She thought as she twisted in her bed.

What did she want from her betrothed? The answer was obvious enough, to grow with him and have a family, to stand by his side as Mother did for Father… but the notion sounded hollow when she thought about Joffrey. She couldn't imagine herself at his side yet… she barely even knew him and she was already dreaming about their perfect future together, ignoring his own wants and desires. She was here dreaming about their future when he was out there, walking about like a shattered soul with the weight of the world on his shoulders, lonely… forever, it seemed. She seldom saw him with other people, not even his own family, and with their betrothal all but broken by his words it didn't seem she would ever get a chance to know him either. He had been reduced to some sort of ghost, barely seen in between the keep's hallways and rooms.

Her punishment went by quickly enough for some reason, and as the they joined the caravan south towards the Capital, Sansa found herself doing a lot of introspection, something she'd never devoted much time before. She didn't see Joffrey much, though she didn't look for him either, caught up in her own mind.

It was a surprise then when she found him near the Ruby Ford, the place the caravan had stopped for the rest of the day.

"Prince Joffrey!" she said, startled out of her own musings when she almost collided with him, seating in a strange position with his knees bent and crossed, facing the river with closed eyes.

"Lady Sansa," he said as he blinked, looking up. He seemed ready to storm off before he gazed behind her. "…And Septa Mordane?" he asked.

"I snuck out," she confessed as a slight, mischievous smile tried to break her composure. She hadn't done that since she'd been six years old…

"… Really?" he asked, surprised as he shifted his gaze to Lady, who had been following her dutifully.

"I needed some time alone… to think…" she told him simply, before shaking her head. "You don't need to run away, I was just passing through," she said as she kept walking past him.

"No, wait," he said when she walked to his other side.

She said nothing as she stop, looking at him quizzically.

"You… you can stay if you want," he said with a pained shrug.

"…Okay," Sansa told him as she took a seat over the next big rock next to Joffrey's, her feet barely out of the riverbed.

They stayed in silence for what seemed like an hour, Sansa slowly closing her eyes as she lost herself to her conflicted feelings and the river's constant thrumming.

"What are you thinking about?" Joffrey startled her.

She looked at him for a moment, the corner of her mouth rising slightly. "I'll tell you if you tell me," she said, "Though you'll have to be truthful," she added.

Joffrey seemed to consider her preposition very seriously, looking down at her rock before looking up again, "Alright, seems fair," he said, taking a deep breath as he looked back at the river before letting it out. "I was thinking about how someday I'd like to take a riverboat through the Forks… just the swaying currents and the wind. I'd stop at small villages for the night, perhaps sample their wines," he said.

"That sounds fun… soothing even. I suppose you'd have a lot of the Riverlands to explore… though you'd end up a bit smelly after a while," said Sansa as she twitched her nose, staring at the river as well.

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," he snorted with a vague smile. He turned quiet for a moment though, before letting out another breath, "It's just… I… used to like the notion… but now…" he trailed off helplessly, shrugging. "I don't really care anymore. I remember all the reasons why I'd like to do it, the understated excitement as I designed the boat I'd use, the smile I had when plotting out possible routes… I remember it all, but now the prospect of it just seems… dull, boring even," he said, looking at the cluster of leaves riding the river until he lost sight of them.

"What about you?" he suddenly asked, shaking his head.

Sansa scratched the bridge of her nose thoughtfully before answering. "I… it's a lot of stuff really. I've been thinking about my place in Winterfell and beyond… thinking about you too, actually," she said.

"How so?" Joffrey asked, looking intrigued despite himself.

"Well… you've been quite the mystery to me, to all of Winterfell I really. I've been trying to get to know you through other people, since getting a hold of you has turned out…"

"Difficult?" Joffrey provided with a wince.

Sansa smiled mirthlessly, nodding.

"What did you find then?" he asked after a minute.

Sansa leaned back as she combed her hair with her hands, breathing slowly, "Nothing that made much sense. Tommen said you were 'very mean', and Myrcella said Tommen was right but that you'd changed a lot lately. Your uncle Tyrion said you were 'quick to emotion', whatever that means… though I think that must have been the most inaccurate description of you I've ever heard," she said with a brief, unladylike snort.

"… I see," Joffrey muttered. He scowled when a fat drop of water landed on his head, and Sansa looked up to see the sky quickly filling with clouds.

"What I saw though, had nothing to do with any of that," she told him.

There was a long silence then, the longest in the evening. Only the sound of the river and Joffrey's irregular breathing disturbing it.

Finally, Joffrey tilted his head minutely. "And what did you see," he asked with a small voice.

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully, deciding to just say what she thought… the betrothal was already dead and buried anyway, Joffrey had been quite clear... "You are not mean nor 'quick to emotion'. You are a thoughtful young man who deeply cares about those around him, but have closed yourself to everyone around you. You seem so in control of every movement and gesture of your body that there's a strange stillness around you, and you seem to carry a weight so big it drains you of all emotion… you look… you…" Sansa hesitated at last, her prattling as Arya would call it reaching a standstill.

"I look..?" Joffrey asked, gazing at her eyes as the rain kept trickling down, the river turning turbulent.

"You look… broken," she finally spat out, "As if the weight finally crushed you. As if your soul had left your body behind, a lifeless husk in its place, as if you'd despaired for so long you can't even manage to care any longer," she said quickly, breathlessly.

Joffrey blinked rapidly as he gazed at something away from her, his hands coming together in front of his mouth as he leaned forward, not even deigning to look at her. His rejection seemed as clear as water.

"… I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," she said with a sigh, angry at herself. She looked at her rapidly soaking dress before she shook her head, "This was all before you told me about the betrothal"-

"Sansa, I"- Joffrey tried to interrupt her but Sansa shook her head, not even looking at him.

"No, no, it's okay, I think I understand… I…" she swallowed something sour before standing up, "You were clear enough back in Winterfell. I'll speak with Father later today, tell him I can't do it… he'll listen to me if I say it seriously," she said as she turned away and her heart ached painfully, wishing to get this over as soon as possible so it could stop hurting.

Spoiler: Music

"SANSA!" Joffrey bellowed as she felt callused hands grabbing her shoulders and turning her around almost violently. She was speechless as she saw Joffrey crying openly, tears intermingling with the rain, his eyes red and his face twisting in bottomless angst, "It's not you, damnit! I told you it's not you!" he shouted in anger, his eyes crazed as the absent despair now bubbled forth like pus from an infected wound. "I, I, I…" he mouthed as he breathed erratically, still holding her shoulders as he struggled with the words, "I'm fighting a War, Sansa!" he finally bellowed, looking for all the world as if he didn't know what he was doing.

The way he said it sent a chill down her spine, but she willed herself to be brave despite it as Joffrey's iron self-control broke down and he took in a strangled breath. "It's all true, what you said, it's true," he choked almost quietly as he let her go, "I'm broken because I don't know what to do, I can't do it, it's impossible," he muttered as he closed his eyes and tried to rebuild himself.

"Joffrey, what war? Are, are the Targeryeans..?" she half asked, shaken by the way the stern façade had disintegrated.

Joffrey's attempts at rebuilding it failed as he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Oh Sansa, if only, if only it were the Targeryeans… I'd choose a hundred dragons and a million Dothraki in a heartbeat, if only I could…" he whispered as he let himself fall on the muddy ground on his bum, his hands hiding his face as he breathed, ashamed.

Sansa stared at him as the hair at the back of her neck tingled, her hands shaking slightly as Joffrey coughed and then rubbed his face almost compulsively. He took in harsh breaths every two seconds, and when he lowered his hands his face gave away nothing once more. "Lady Sansa," he said with the saddest mockery of a smile she'd ever seen, "I… Forgive my outburst… I was merely, joking…" he muttered, looking drained.

"No," she said as she kneeled, the mud splattering her dress as she grabbed Joffrey fiercely by the arm, "You're not doing this again. A war against who? Joffrey, who are you fighting against?" she asked him.

"No one, I was-"

"Joffrey. You told me you'd be truthful," she said as she grabbed his head and practically yanked it so he looked at her eyes, her heart beating wildly. Please tell me, please make me understand, she thought as she willed him to talk.

"I…" Joffrey muttered as he didn't even resist her manhandling, his pale green eyes boring into her own and loosing themselves in memory. "The Cycle," he whispered, and the word sent goose bumps all over her body.

"What Cycle?" she asked, her voice almost strangled.

"… the White Walkers, the Others. Bran the Builder and all the other heroes merely contained them a few thousand year ago. They awaken once again… and I can't stop them…" he whispered hollowly, his eyes drooping away.

"The White Walkers… they're.. they're just a legend," she stuttered.

Joffrey looked listless, as if he'd given up on lying to her. "The Wall was not built to contain wildlings," he said as he stared at the river again, surging with the power of the rain above it. "I've seen them with my own eyes, felt the chilling bite of their blades, the snarling of the corpses as whole regiments were raised from the dead to hunt and kill the living…" He said distractedly.

"Joffrey… you… what…" she stuttered as Joffrey turned to gaze at her again.

"You wanted to know, now you do. Nothing has ever stopped them in the end, not any one of the countless civilization's they've exterminated throughout the ages has succeeded in stopping them," he trailed off as he shook his head. "What am I even doing…" he whispered before he took out his dagger and gazed at it thoughtfully.

He has to be insane, she thought in a daze, her chest feeling heavy. He sounded so sure, speaking from bitter experience.

"Joffrey… how can you know this?" she asked him.

He lifted his eyes from the dagger and looked at her, mulling about something before shrugging to himself very slightly. "Every time I die I wake up again in my room, three days after the death of Jon Arryn. I've been relieving this life for decades… possibly centuries by now… I saw everything fail against them, from cold steel to fire to magic… it's hopeless…" he said as he lifted the dagger and placed it over his heart.

"Joffrey what are you doing?!" she almost screeched as Joffrey tried to kill himself.

"Ending this life. Don't worry, you'll remember nothing," he said, his face drained of emotion as the dagger already pierced a bit of flesh.

"Joffrey don't!" she screamed as she grabbed his hands, trying to wrestle the dagger from his iron grip. "Sansa stop, you're going to hurt yourself!" he shouted at her, a slight bit of emotion returning to his voice as Sansa pulled at it with all her strength. She winced as she cut herself somehow with the edge, and Joffrey let the dagger go as if he'd been the one who'd hurt himself.

"Sansa! I'm sorry! I… I… this has all gone to shit…" he muttered as he tried to stand up but fell on the mud again, the rain pelting them both. Sansa shuffled away from him, still on the muddy bank as she held the dagger.

She was breathing quickly, her hands trembling wildly as she gazed at the dagger and the cut on her finger. She looked up to see Joffrey giving a step towards the river, and she despaired as she tried to think of a way to stop him from jumping in to his death.

"Magic, you said you tried magic against them, prove it!" she screeched quickly, trying to reason him out of his madness.

Joffrey stared at her for a second, shaking his head, "If I 'prove it', would you give me back my dagger?" he asked her, grey faced.

"Yes. But if you can't then we're going to see the Maesters…" she said quickly, her mouth dry as he nodded, "And you'll forget all about this, this madness," she added, only for Joffrey to nod again, "And, and… and you'll let me help you," she fumbled, her eyes widening as Joffrey kept nodding through it all, though the last request made him smile bitterly. He was sure of himself.

He really is insane… she despaired as Joffrey closed his eyes. "It's not really magic per se… But its close enough, a fragment of my soul given limited autonomy, to serve as a battlefield weapon…" he trailed off as he breathed in deeply.

Sansa wiped away the rain from her eyes as she herself breathed, trying not to crumble as Joffrey opened his eyes. She gave him a tentative smile, nodding slowly as if he were a child, "Y-You see? We can go to, to my Father, he can send a raven to Maester Luwin. He could, know of a poultice, or-"

"Sansa," he said with a sad smile, "Look behind you."

She turned and came face to face with a silver lion the size of a warhorse, strange patterns running through its fur, its great white mane tickling her as the beast rubbed its great head against her arm, almost making her fall into the river as it keened softly.

"Enough of that, come here you big fat cat," Joffrey said with a slight smile, bidding the lion to come to him and rubbing its fur as it purred, still looking bigger than Joffrey even after it sat by his side. Lady was looking at Joffrey and the lion confusedly, looking at one and then to the other, back and forth as if she had double vision.

Sansa shook her head, staring at the lion and blinking again and again, "No… it can't be true, you… you had that lion waiting for you, it's all a sick joke," she blabbered as she held her trembling hands close to her mouth.

Joffrey looked pained to see her like this, looking at the river again before he shook his head and returned his gaze to Sansa, extending a hand to his right and slowly tilting it as a trillion tiny golden and purple lines materialized out of thin air and twisted upon themselves, multiplying into even more lines, recursively repeating a pattern until the glow went away and Joffrey held a long bastard sword in his hand, the Valyrian Steel shining under the setting, overcast sun with a golden tinge, very similar but somehow different to the blue one she'd seen on Ice the two or three times she'd spotted Father with the greatsword.

"No…" she whispered as the dagger slipped from her hands and she held her mouth. "No…" she whispered again as she looked at Joffrey with his golden sword and his silver lion, like a character come alive from the Age of Heroes. He left the sword there as he walked up to her, slowly kneeling and getting his dagger from the floor.

"Thank you… Brightroar is a bit unwieldy, and I wouldn't recommend drowning to anyone… ever," he said in dark humor, looking as if he wanted to say something else before shaking his head and stepping back.

"You… do you really- come back- every time you die..?" Sansa asked hollowly.

Joffrey nodded as he walked back to his place by the rock, "In essence, yes… don't worry though, you'll be back in Winterfell, with your family… it'll only take a few minutes. You won't remember any of this," he said as he started to place the dagger over his heart and Sansa shrieked in near panic, trying to get his attention.

"If it doesn't matter what I do then I'll kill myself!" she screeched, looking everywhere around her for something sharp.

Joffrey looked as if he'd been struck in the head, "What," he said.

"I'll kill myself if you don't stop this… this stupidity! I'll, I'll do it!" she said as she turned wildly and finally ended up staring at the river.

Joffrey still seemed stunned as he shook his head, "This isn't some idiotic maiden's tale you woman! What the fuck do you think you'll achieve?!" he shouted as he stood up.

"Why do you care?! You'll just see me again in a month!" She shouted as she walked into the river, the powerful current trying to shove her downwards as she walked deeper still, Lady barking like mad from the shore.

Joffrey seemed absolutely confused as he waddled after her, "Sansa stop damnit!" he shouted.

She stopped and turned back to stare at him, "Now you drop that, that damned dagger or the last thing you'll see before supposedly waking up again is me drowning and screaming in despair because you were a-a-a stupid, headstrong idiot! Too stuck in his misery for his own good!" she screamed back.

Joffrey stopped on his tracks, staring down the river, "Sansa, let's just step out right now… let's be reasonable," he said as he held his hands up in a pacifying manner, as if she were Rickon.

Sansa stared at him for a second before some sort of relentless rage she'd never knew she'd possessed assaulted her and her face disfigured itself in fury. "Reasonable?! REASONABLE?!" she screamed in righteous anger, "You're the one that tells me the world is ending and that you're a an immortal sorcerer and you expect me to be reghlought"- she was cut off by a great wave which pummeled her hip and made her loose her footing, knocking her down and dragging her deeper into the river.

She tumbled under the powerful currents before she broke the surface, coughing desperately as the rain pelted her eyes and she was pulled down again, breathing water as she slammed against an underwater rock and she tumbled in a sea of bubbles. She broke the surface again with a harrowing breath, and she saw Joffrey swimming like a madman towards her, weaving atop the waves with powerful thrusts and breathing only when he had to.

"SANSA!" he shouted when he saw her, the rain muffling his voice.

"JOFFREGH!" She tried to answer but she whirled underwater again when she hit some sort of fallen tree, her head thrumming like a winter storm as she sank and sank and sank. Her vision turned blurry as her lungs burned and her mouth opened as if by its own volition, breathing in more water.

Her head broke the surface once more, and she breathed in a little bit of blessed air before she coughed water, desperately trying to breathe again but unable to do so as more water kept coming out of her lungs. "Hold on! Hold on Sansa!" Joffrey spluttered between the waves, holding her over his back in a strange position.

She kept coughing water as Joffrey swam through the currents, dodging a big chunk of rock which would have ended slammed against them in but a second. "You didn't kill yourself," she spluttered in between short breaths, feeling a terrible pain in her ribs.

"Keep your strength Sansa, keep breathing," he shouted as he flipped and grabbed her from the front, looking everywhere around them as they kept going down the overflowing Red Fork, the sun almost completely hidden under the horizon and the clouds, leaving darkness in its wake.

Sansa grabbed on tight, the strong currents trying to rip them apart as Joffrey stared at her eyes, "There should be a bend coming up ahead! Don't let go!" He shouted at her face.

"My chest, I can't breathe," she managed in between rasps, the terrible pain spreading throughout her body.

"Come on Sansa, short quick breaths, you can do it…" He said before a wave splashed against them and she almost lost her grip on Joffrey, "Be brave Sansa," said Joffrey as he paddled a bit to their right, "I know you can," he said desperately, eyeing something coming up downriver.

Silent tears streamed down her eyes as the pain made her dizzy, a horrible burn throbbing inside her lungs, an agony stronger than any she'd ever felt. She was cold, though she was not shivering as hard as moments before, "You've seen me..? In… other lives?" she asked him as she blinked, "Was I… was I brave then?" she said, coughing in between.

"You were, yes you were Sansa," Joffrey said as he swam, dragging her behind, "Even when everything was taken away from you, you were brave," he said in between the waves.

Joffrey's assurances made her strangely happy, joyous even. Whatever her future beheld, she had faced it head on… she had not been a disappointment to Mother and Father. "Good…" she said, her strength deserting her out of nowhere as she sank and the bend in the river approached.

The last thing she saw was Joffrey turning back to look at her in horror, his face as far away from the stone like façade as it could possibly be.

.-

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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baurus

Feb 9, 2018

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Threadmarks Art Omake: Sansa & Stars New

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Victoro

Victoro

Feb 11, 2018

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#2,273

baurus said:

"Sansa," he said with a sad smile, "Look behind you."

She turned and came face to face with a silver lion the size of a warhorse, strange patterns running through its fur, its great white mane tickling her as the beast rubbed its great head against her arm, almost making her fall into the river as it keened softly.

I must say. I dunno if was because i watched Omoide no Marnie or because i read this chapter hearing Joe Hisaishi's Rain but damn! That was a magic trip your wrote baurus . I love the Moonshine dancing scene. You know, is these little things that make Purple Days so special. Hope you like the tribute fanart... :)

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Threadmarks Chapter 39: Knights and Maidens. New

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Feb 12, 2018

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Chapter 39: Knights and Maidens.

She opened her eyes slowly, to the sight of a shirtless Joffrey tending a fire to her side, the starry night above vaguely hidden by a great oak.

"Anh," she croaked, her throat as dry as she'd ever felt.

Joffrey shushed her as he scuttled towards her and gave her a sip of water from some sort of cup made out of leaves and leather. "Keep your strength, they'll likely find us by morning," he said as he sat by her side. He placed a warm hand over her forehead as he regaled her with a worried smile.

Sansa coughed a bit of the water back up, smiling slightly. She felt all warm and fuzzy, cocooned in leaves and rags next to the big fire. "Ahnd… you shaid… this was… nhot a… maiden's… tale…" she managed, though the shaky giggle that followed felt as if she'd been stabbed in the chest. She moaned as the pain took a while to go away, as if its echoes were still caught up trying to tear into her.

Joffrey shushed her as he placed a finger over her mouth, "A couple of your ribs ended up in some places they shouldn't. Don't talk for now…" he said, and she beamed slightly at the complement even as it swiftly transformed into a scowl. He sounded as if he were talking to Rickon again. "You're crazy, you know that?" he had the temerity to tell her, "What the hells is wrong with you?" he said before putting his finger upon her lips again, "No, wait. Don't answer that," he said with a mirthful, outrageous smile.

He should smile more often, Sansa thought as she tried to deliver a torrent of verbal abuse upon him, but all she managed was a monstrous yawn, her eyes drooping.

.-

She dreamed of a big forest with plentiful underbrush, filled with delicious little prey she could gorge on after swiftly breaking their necks. There was no time for that now though, as she caught the scent of her sister and barked at the smelly two legs behind her before sprinting through the underbrush, the scent barely in the air after the great rains which had claimed one of her pack. Her other sister barked as she howled, both of them converging on the smell as she dodged past felled trees and hanging branches, the two legs not too far behind her as she heard a distant shout.

"OVEEER HEEEERE! LAAAADYYYY! NYMEEERIAAAA!" she heard as she kept sniffing and weaving through the forest, the noise helping her zero in on her target, the heat of a nearby fire making her more frantic as she reached a clearing and she spotted a familiar two legs holding two torches of dangerous flame atop his head, waving them around.

"Lady! Good! Bring the others!" he roared.

.-

The next time she blinked, Sansa saw a few stern faced soldiers carrying her atop some sort of stretcher, the sun barely peeking from the horizon as each tiny bump made her wince in pain. "Don't worry Lady Sansa, you'll be alright," said one of what he recognized were Father's men.

She tried to ask where Joffrey was, but she blinked again and there was darkness once more.

When she opened her eyes once more she was back in the camp, inside Father's tent. His Father lay sleeping against his shoulder, sitting in a chair and leaning against the simple mattress, looking like he'd aged ten years since the last time she saw him. "Fh… Fhather?" she mouthed, her mouth dry again as she tried to swallow.

"S-Sansa?" he said, startled as he blinked, "Sansa!" he said again, the years lifting off his face as he hugged her gingerly, mindful of her chest.

"I-I'm sorry about…" she trailed off, her Father shaking his head,

"It was my fault for not seeing you properly escorted, it won't happen again Sansa," he promised.

A few stray tears escaped her as she hugged him back, but one thought kept her from becoming a sobbing wreck.

I have to get back to Joffrey, I can't let him out of my sight.

What she'd seen him do… she had no explanation for it. It was magic, straight from the legends of the Age of Heroes.

Unless Joffrey was insane and also a sorcerer, then what he'd said was true… and he'd been fighting the White Walkers for who knows how long. The implications of that fact seemed endless, and she had to pinch herself so she stayed on point.

"Sansa, if you want to return to Winterfell just say the word and Jory will-"

"No," she surprised herself by answering as swiftly as she did, not an ounce of indecision in her voice as her Father looked at her strangely.

By the Old Gods and the New… if Joffrey is telling the truth… no wonder he's so broken, fighting a hopeless war against living legends and children's tales.

Every moment he left him alone was another moment for him to sink back into his personal black abyss, and if he sank too deeply he might decide to kill himself and then she'd forget all about this. That could not be allowed to happen.

"Father, I can-" she winced as she tried to stand up, Father's strong hands gently pushing her back against the bed. He needed to find him and keep him off balance somehow.

"You need to rest," he chided her, "The Maester's say you'll be able to walk in a week or so," he said.

"A week?!" She exclaimed. She didn't have a week!

"Father please… at least let me speak with Jof- Prince Joffrey, it's important," she pleaded.

Father smiled at that, "You'll see your rescuer soon enough, but for now, sleep," he told her.

She gave him the stink eye as the words unleashed upon her another huge yawn, and she was relegated to impotent drowsiness as her eyes started to droop again.

.-

She awoke with a start, and for a terrible moment of uncertainty she was not sure what she knew.

Did I forget?! Did I forget it all?! She thought in a haze as she tried to liberate herself from her blankets.

Joffrey… the silver lion, the river… gods… she thought as she blinked awake, looking at her tent's ceiling.

He's not done it yet, good… she thought as she looked to her side and found Jeyne Poole knitting a Baratheon Stag. "Jeyne!" she said as she blinked again.

"Sansa? You're awake!" she said gleefully as she neared the mattress, dragging her chair, "How are you feeling?" she asked her.

"I'm fine," Sansa said quickly, "I need you to do me a favor though, could you bring Joffrey here? It's important," he told her.

"Ah, it's just 'Joffrey' now?" She asked with a mischievous grin.

"Jeyne please, it's important," said Sansa.

"Fine, but you must tell me everything afterwards, all about how our shirtless Prince fished you out of the Red Fork like a tanned fisherman with a trout," she said dreamily.

"Fine! Just go!" She said quickly.

Jeyne made her way out of the tent and left Sansa alone with her thoughts… her steadily more complicated thoughts.

So he can reverse time somehow? Where did he learn how to do that? And to summon a fierce lion protector to his side at need? And a Valyrian Steel sword?! How long has he been fighting the… the Others?

All questions she wanted to ask in person.

A few hours passed and she feared Jeyne had failed or otherwise gotten distracted, her dutiful friend could be a bit scatterbrained sometimes, that she readily admitted to herself even if she vehemently denied it to Arya. In time though, Joffrey entered the tent. He looked a bit sheepish, perhaps uncomfortable as he walked slowly to her side of the bed, unsure about how to behave himself. She spotted Jeyne looking from the tent's entrance, and Sansa's stern expression soon made her fly away and leave them alone, though not without winking exaggeratedly.

"Lady Sansa," said Prince Joffrey with a nod, his stern façade spotless as if their episode by the river had been a mere fever dream.

"Joffrey," she said simply.

"Please, allow me to apologize for-"

"Apology not accepted!" she said with a frown, "I'll think about accepting it when you tell me, in detail, everything you know about… the w-"

Joffrey shushed her as he neared the last few steps to her bed, holding his hands up in a placating manner. "Not here, the tents have ears," he said, serious.

"… alright then. When we're in a safe spot," she conceded, staring hardly at him. "And not even think about using that dagger! Joffrey I swear, if you do it I'll…. I'll…" she struggled for a way to threaten him through time. "I'll be very cross with you," she finished lamely as Joffrey gazed at her in thought.

"Very cross," she added, trying to look as serious and menacing as she could.

Joffrey kept staring before he started laughing, shaking his head in mirth. "Ufff, Oh Gods… I, ah why not?" he finally said to himself with a great shrug. "It'll give you nightmares, Sansa. It's… It's quite the tale…" he said as he grasped air with his hand.

"Then I'll be waiting anxiously," she told him firmly.

He gave a sigh as he neared closer, "Search for me in the Godswood when we reach King's Landing," he whispered as he camouflaged it with a dutiful kiss to her forehead that left her tingling.

"I will," she whispered as he left the tent, looking at her one more time before closing the flap.

.-

Her dreams turned increasingly confusing and immersing the more she neared the capital, visions of great beasts of snow riding giant spiders as they swarmed Winterfell's rookery and she yelled at them to go away. Other times she dreamt of rolling hills and flat fields of wheat, her attention caught up by the delicious rabbits she chased through the fields. She always broke their necks when she caught them though, she was not a savage. It was only proper to give them a quick, clean death before gorging on their deliciously warm bodies.

King's Landing was all she'd ever dreamed, three great hills crowning the landscape and holding living history in the form of the imposing Red Keep, shining Baelor's Sept, and the broken Dragonpit. The streets were filled with people, merchants and stalls and carts and shouting smallfolk, more people than she'd ever seen in Winterfell or anywhere else.

Their arrival to the Red Keep was rushed, Father and the King dashing to somewhere within as Septa Mordane guided her, Bran and Arya to their bedchambers and made sure they were settled in properly.

It was not long before she sought Joffrey in the almost deserted Godswood. Septa Mordane was her constant shadow since the incident at the Red Fork, but the good Septa gave her some space as she neared the Heart Tree, her heart beating harder with each step, Lady trotting by her side in a dignified manner.

There she found him. He was sitting in a strange position, eyes closed and legs folded almost painfully between themselves, back straight as a plank as his hands rested atop his knees, thumb and index finger joined in circle.

"Lady Sansa," he said as he opened his eyes, detecting her presence as if by magic… for all she knew, he just did.

"Joffrey. Could you just drop the lady, else I'll have to call you Spellsinger Joffrey," she asked him with an utmost disregard for protocol.

The trick worked as Joffrey blinked repeatedly, "Sure," he said, his mind churning even as a belated smile adorned his features.

Got to keep him off balance, she thought to herself even as her damnable cheeks turned red, her improper behavior making her blush. It was the only way of getting him out of his shell though.

"Where did you learn to… what is it you're doing?" she asked him as Joffrey stood up in one smooth motion, his body disentangling itself gracefully in but a second. He beckoned her to join him as he walked past the Heart Tree, and Sansa swiftly followed, the Septa a respectful distance away. Enough to peek, but not to listen.

"Meditating… I learned it from your Father actually, though he never called it that," he said as his smile turned wistful.

"… What? I've certainly never seen Father twisted up like that," she told him, walking by his side as Joffrey guided her through a path in between the trees and the carefully tended foliage.

"The Lotus?" he asked her.

"Ehh..." she hesitated before Joffrey tilted his head.

"My, ah, posture?" he asked again as Sansa nodded. "No, that I learned from a friend in Yi-Ti, where I perfected the whole exercise. It was your Father though that planted the seeds… he meditates quite often in front of the Heart Tree in Winterfell, cleaning his sword or just staring at the carved face," he explained, though Sansa was still stuck on the fact that Joffrey had casually mentioned visiting fabled Yi-Ti. "That's the least of it though, it's an exercise of the mind, to clear it of conscious thought and emotion," he said.

Sansa stepped over an overland root, minding her steps carefully as to avoid any more bursts of pain from her chest, "Do you do that a lot? … Clear your mind?" she asked him.

Joffrey tilted his head this way and that, likely trying to say something else than what he was thinking. Finally, he gave up, "More and more these past few years. Depending on the moment it can be a bit more," he said vaguely.

He must be spending whole days staring at trees if he tells me that…

"Alright, we can stop here for a moment," he said as he sat against a random tree, "The Master of Whisper's spies won't listen to us here," he said as he made sure the Septa stopped some distance away.

Sansa's heartbeat had accelerated with each step, and she could feel her brow thick with sweat as she leaned on a tree next to it. It was time.

"Before I go on, there's something I have to make clear Sansa," he said, what little levity he still had in his voice gone. "There's nothing you can do to actually help me, so don't even try. Don't despair trying to think of a way to stop them or somesuch. This is my fight," he said, rushing the last few words.

He's lying, some arcane instinct told her as she took in a deep breath. She didn't know why, but something about that statement didn't make sense.

"Alright… but you'll have to agree to terms too. First of all, no killing yourself," she had to restrain herself from shouting the absurd terms, "If for some strange reason you have to do it, I'd appreciate it if you talked to me first… wiping a person's memory just like that is rude," she told him.

Joffrey gazed at her for a long time, before nodding. "Okay… I can work with that," he said.

That must have been the most absurd request I've ever asked for… she thought as she shook her head.

"And you'll promise to be honest. Don't bend the truth just so I don't have 'nightmares'," she told him as she stared into his eyes.

"Done," he said immediately.

"… You're a terrible liar Joffrey," she told him with a sigh.

"Can't argue with that," he said as he looked at a few of the trees. "Alright. I won't promise anything, but I'll try at least," he finally told her.

I'll have to be content with that then… for now.

"The other thing you need to know, and this is important Sansa," he said as he gazed at her eyes,

"What?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"Life in the South is not a maiden's tale," he said seriously, again treating her as if she were five years old.

She shook her head in indignation as she protested, "Of course I know that Joffrey! I'm not dumb, I-"

"Yes, you know that," agreed Joffrey, stopping her mid tirade, "Intellectually, you know not everything is as it seems down here, and that there's danger around, even if you've got the scale of it woefully wrong, even if you are underestimating it more than you could possibly realize right now. Emotionally, you're still feeling as if you're entering a land populated by Jenny's and Prince Duncan's, by chivalrous knights and colorful tourneys, by dutiful proper ladies and righteous Kings and Lords…"

"You make it sound as if I were a simpleton…" Sansa protested feebly, some of the words hitting her somewhere deep inside, in a place where a little girl had dreamed of leaving a lonely, grey place during harsh winter storms.

"You're not," Joffrey said just as vehemently, "Just inexperienced with the world, and brought up by Lady Catelyn and that Septa in all the wrong ways," he said in unexpected anger.

It was not every day that Sansa had her whole education and upbringing so belittled, and she felt her cheeks flush at the deeply piercing insult, "Thank you Joffrey. I guess I should now search for a little corner and cry myself to sleep? Or should I join you staring at trees?" she snarked back, her voice a tiny bit raw to her ears.

Joffrey's mouth tightened, and he sighed as he looked away, "I'm sorry, that was a bit harsh," he amended.

"But not untrue," she said.

"No. Look, Sansa," he struggled, rubbing his head, "Gods why is this so hard?! Listen, your family raised a wonderful person, kind and brave, possessing an insight which still startles me after a hundred lifetimes. Your being hides an inner steel core that never shatters despite all the horrors and hardships I've seen you endure, over and over. It's just the finer points that need urgent attention," he said.

Sansa gazed at him, her expression inscrutable, "I think I would have preferred a poem," she said drily, looking away as she flushed once more. "I'm glad there's something salvageable at least…" she muttered bitterly before looking back at him, "Just say what you need to say," she told him.

Joffrey stood up and beckoned her to follow, both of them continuing down the trail. "The tourney's and the knights and the gossiping maidens are a thin veneer that hides a brutal world of backstabbing and war. All the colorful banners do is hide the fact that knights are little more than enforcers, killer brutes who follow the commands of their overlords when they are too weak to secure a position themselves, or else out of some sense of misguided loyalty. The nobles plot and scheme with only their interests at heart, and their plots do little but create war and destruction, harvests and infrastructure ground to dust for petty ambition and glory, changing nothing but who's at the top for a small moment in history, while the Kingdoms take decades to recuperate. Maiden's and ladies do the same, trading barbs and information in a pointless game of intrigue that see's their houses rise for a moment in history or else see them utterly destroyed, making use of the innocent and the naïve to further their goals. Danger is everywhere Sansa, wrong words spoken at an inopportune time can bring down dynasties a thousand years in the making, and armed violence is a constant specter that just needs the tiniest excuse to unleash a bloodbath either right here in the Red Keep itself, or anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms," Joffrey delivered with aplomb, his expression dark.

Sansa just walked, staring at the ground and breathing slowly, "I think you must be the most cynical person I've ever met," she commented idly, trying to mask the growing unease.

"You're probably right, the human mind was not made for experiencing immortality, after all. You said it yourself, I'm broken. Partly because I've seen all that I've just told you a thousand times and the whole thing just seems pointless by now," he opened up, intense emotions too interwoven to decipher. "But that doesn't matter," he grunted as he shook his head, "What matters is that whether you want it or not, you're a pawn in what my mother loves to call 'The Game of Thrones'. That's what it is Sansa, a sick game that will grab you no matter what to do," he insisted.

He stopped by a small natural ditch, leaning on the slight slope. Sansa slipped by his side, not minding the dirt on her fine dress, "So you're saying the world was a horrible place even before we get to the matter of the… Others," she said, feeling slightly empty. The thought of telling Jeyne the supposed 'romantic' details of her time with Joffrey now seemed a bitter joke. "Is this going somewhere?" she asked him as she hugged Lady absentmindedly, her red locks loosing themselves amongst her grey white fur. Never in a lifetime would she have thought she'd speak like this to anyone, noble, betrothed or prince, never mind all three. Her modes for communicating with proper courtesy and ladylike dignity seemed all but gone at this moment.

"Yes. I know this is harsh but you need to understand. Never speak with anyone about what I tell you, or anything else that may seem even a little dangerous. The walls have ears in the Capital, and a spy of any of a dozen different 'players' are bound to listen anything you say when not in a secure location, which most of the Red Keep isn't. The other thing is… no matter what you or I do, there's always a chance things go to hell…" he trailed off as he took his dagger, and Sansa readied herself to jump upon him. There was no way she'd let him kill himself and leave her like this, wiped memory or not… a concept she still had trouble getting her head around.

He surprised her when he took it, sheath and all, and gave it to her. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, holding it gingerly as the wound in her hand pulsed in painful memory.

"Always carry it in your person, preferably somewhere hidden," he said as they both stood up and he walked behind her, grabbing her and leading them slightly to the right as he calculated Septa Mordane's line of sight. "Hold it like this when surprise has been lost, close to your chest with the tip facing down," he said as he grabbed her hand and demonstrated, his breath tickling the back of her neck. "Otherwise, hold it upside down with the flat edge against your wrist, hiding it with your hand and your dress' long sleeves."

"Joffrey, this is absurd, guards and sworn shields exist for a reason-"

"Have you not been listening?" he spat, "Guards can be bought, sworn shields can be slain. If I'm bringing you into this I'm going to do it well damnit!" he snarled, a tinge of despair coloring his voice as he whispered fiercely into her ear.

"Okay, okay… I… what… what do I do with it?" she asked, shaken by the sheer vehemence in his voice. If playing with daggers made him open up, then by the seven hells she'd do it.

"Hold it tight, but not enough to whiten your knuckles. Don't even try to resist at a distance as you won't have a chance at succeeding, and at most you'll get yourself killed. Whoever tries to subdue you will likely want to take you alive, and will severely underestimate you, a fatal mistake in combat which can tilt the odds heavily in your favor," he explained as he made a motion with her hand, moving it sideways or upwards at neck height. "If he grabs you, you'll have a few moments to pierce his neck with it… he won't expect it. Do it with force, but not enough that you'd risk losing accuracy. The blade will slip in with surprisingly little resistance," he said, maneuvering around her and placing himself in front. "The idea is to pierce one of the carotid arteries, located here, and here," he said as he drew lines on his neck with his finger, "If he's wearing full plate or the helmet interferes, jam it through the lower jaw," he explained the particularities of murder, Sansa growing nauseous as she followed the forms in a daze.

"Don't hesitate," he said before he handed her the dagger for good and he stepped back to her side, guiding her smoothly over a small clump of painted rocks, Lady sniffing the yellow chalk in dignified curiosity.

"… I… I won't," she said as she slipped the sheath into a fold in her dress. "Now can you please explain to me what's going on with you? The Others and the magic and this immortality thing I, I just need to understand," she told him.

Joffrey looked at her in sympathy, raking a hand over his hair, "It's complicated… so much has happened, so many horrors…" he whispered, deep in thought.

"Take it from the beginning," she suggested, trying to shake him out of it.

"The beginning? I… it would take days… weeks even if I had the time, which I don't," he said, mysterious.

"Then summarize it, and Father will likely stay here for a few years. I have time," she reasoned.

"I…" he stumbled, his lips working awkwardly, "I've never actually told the full story to anyone…" he realized, sitting behind a particularly big rock.

"There's always a first time," she said, sitting by his side and almost pressing against him, her full attention devoted to him and not allowing even a chance of distraction. There would be no running away this time.

He sighed deeply, his pale green eyes acquiring an even glossier sheen as he stared beyond the Godswood, beyond time. "I was an imbecile during my first life. I will not give you details, but I was cruel and stupid, and when my time came to reign… little less than a year from now, Westeros exploded in a multisided civil war," he delivered the prophecy with a dark voice.

Sansa's breath hitched, her hands holding her mouth by a will of their own, "But, but how? How could there be a rebellion against their rightful King? And in less than a year? The kingdoms are at peace!" she said quickly, stunned.

"Many reasons, but that's not important right now. I was poisoned at my wedding, and when the pain cleared I was back in my bed in the Red Keep, three days after Jon Arryn died," he said.

"You were poisoned!?" She almost screamed, lowering her voice when Joffrey waved his hands down. "… And… a wedding? Where we..?" she struggled awkwardly.

Joffrey seemed to twist within himself for a second before he shook his head, "No. Our betrothal had been long since been broken by then," he explained.

"Oh… who was she?" Sansa asked.

"Really, Sansa?" Joffrey said with a frown.

"I'm trying to process the fact that you've been poisoned and resurrected by some sort of fell magic! Is a little pointless distraction too much to ask?" she shot back.

He seemed stunned, though quickly recuperated himself, "Ah, it was Maergery Tyrell," he said with the air of an awkward confession.

Sansa stared at him in growing amusement, "Was she pretty?" she asked with a most unladylike smile.

"Ahh, I, ah…" he blabbered.

Sansa closed her eyes as she looked down.

Joffrey placed a hand on her shoulder as he leaned closer, "Yes-but-she was a dedicated schemer and quite fake Sansa, that's for su-"

He was interrupted as Sansa giggled wildly, looking at him with eyes filled not with tears but with mirth. "Oh Joffrey, you seem remarkably naïve for an immortal warrior from the Age of Heroes!" she said as she couldn't stop giggling, the high pitch of it making her laugh even harder. Joffrey just stared at her, his serious expression slowly giving way to a smile.

"You're taking this remarkably well," he commented.

Sansa's giggle stopped, "Well? Well?!" she said with raised eyebrows, "Not the word I'd use… I just… the prospect of you being awkward over that of all things…" she shook her head. "Thank you, I need that," she said with an uneasy smile.

A lot of things start to make sense… I don't know if that Tyrell lady is lucky or cursed… she thought with a painful twinge of bitterness. She shook her head slightly, dispelling the thought. She didn't even care about the broken betrothal any more, all she wanted was to understand what was going on, and help Joffrey pick himself up. This… thing was killing him, in a way much more horrifying than mere physical pain. He needed help, and she was the only one who'd managed to speak more than a few dozen words with him. Not his uncles, his brothers, his father nor his mother, no one seemed to be able to pin him down with any regularity, much less communicate with him.

"Me too, I think," he whispered after a moment, slowly leaning on her as he lost himself in memory again. "To make things short… I didn't know what was happening at first. I tried revenge against those I thought had wronged me, I tried to change events so I could come on top, like any of the other players… only I was the least competent of them," he said with a snort, "In time I started to investigate the cause, the purpose of my condition, and learned that I had been… created to fulfill one task. Stop the Second Long Night," he said, his voice distant. "I've been trying to find a way to stop it since then…" he said.

Been trying, the words rebounded inside Sansa's head. He'd failed, the strong and fearless sorcerer king had failed life after life, failed against the most horrifying of legends and children's tales, a living legend that even now approached.

"So you were basically chosen by destiny to singlehandedly stop the end of times," Sansa said lightly, her head thumping as she blinked.

"… That's one way of looking at it," he muttered.

"… And you have the audacity to tell me life isn't a maiden's tale…" she told him with a mocking scowl, her belly tying into a knot as she imagined Bran and Arya as, as… as wights. Shambling bodies come back to slay their friends and family.

Joffrey shrugged helplessly, and Sansa had to contain another giggle. There were more and more of those assaulting her as of late.

This is all quite surreal, she thought as she gazed at her trembling hand.

"I… I think I need some time to… think about this…" she muttered, her hand shaking so hard it wouldn't be amiss amidst a howling snowstorm.

Joffrey grabbed it as he looked at her, "I understand. If things get too bad, I can teach you how to clear your mind. It has helped me more times than I could count," he said gently, the trembling in her hand intensifying as she grabbed his whole arm and her whole body shook slightly.

"Y-You, you mean stare at trees?" she asked shakily, the jest sounding strangled as her throat constricting as she imagined an icy apocalypse enveloping the world again and again as Joffrey raged futilely against it, like a sailor screaming at a thunderstorm.

Joffrey closed his eyes briefly, as if telling himself 'I knew this would happen', before looking at her again. "I think this has been quite enough already," he started, but Sansa lifted her head from his shoulder and stared at his eyes immediately.

"No," she whispered fiercely, "Don't even think about it. You can't carry this burden alone," she said, eyes boring into his own.

Septa Mordane cleared her throat, and Sansa had to stop herself from jumping up. She looked up to see the scowling Septa, glaring at their inappropriate conduct.

"I was already leaving, Septa," Joffrey said neutrally as he stood up.

"Joffrey!" Sansa said as she grabbed his hand again, "We'll talk later?" she asked.

Joffrey nodded slightly, almost painfully, before walking away from the clearing. Leaving her alone with the Septa and what she suspected would be a stern talking to.

.-

There was at least one thing Joffrey had been right about, and that she wouldn't tell him as long as she breathed.

The nightmares.

She found herself increasingly waking up at odd hours in the middle of the night, her heart beating wildly as she tried to remember anything beyond a supreme amount of dread. Her sheets were filled with sweat, and her throat kept feeling vaguely squeezed even after days without talking to Joffrey. It had gotten so bad she had taken to smuggling Lady into her room and sleeping with her confortable weight near her feet.

He has been living through this for years… maybe even decades… This is nothing compared to what he must have seen, she thought to herself in the stillness of the night. I have to be strong.

Whatever he'd said about being busy, it seemed to be true. She often spotted him riding out from the courtyard atop Moonlight, going Gods knew where during the day, and sometimes during the middle of the night.

A few weeks passed with only a few short exchanges between them. After her incessant badgering, Joffrey carefully explained how the Long Night worked, trying to word it in terms that weren't so terrifying, she supposed. If that had been his intent, he had failed miserably. The Long Night was a actually a vast, immaterial, clockwork like mechanism designed to end life itself, and it had been working since at least millions upon millions of years ago, wiping out great and terrifying civilizations by the hundreds. The Purple, the magical force which had made him relatively immortal, had been crafted to stop it (by who he hadn't explained, and Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to know), and it had tried and failed to do so through its 'hosts', countless times.

Sansa quickly found herself immersed in a world she didn't understand nor comprehend, Arya's immature antics and her cats doing little to distract her from her speculations.

What can a man do against such eldritch things?!

Joffrey had just smiled bitterly at the question.

Even her lessons with Septa Mordane, a point of pride for both of them, began to decay. She frequently found herself staring through the window at the courtyard, thinking about Joffrey's mysterious plans, her knitting all but forgotten in her hands. She couldn't sing properly either, her voice sounding strained to her ears.

Jeyne seemed to think it all the effects of her 'love' for Joffrey, and all Arya seemed to do was enjoy the fact that her previously 'perfect' sister was starting to 'fail'. Her decay had prompted the Septa to talk with Father, but it seemed his attention was flooded by the upcoming Tourney of the Hand.

The tourney… the Tourney of the Hand was all she had imagined it to be and more. Great flags and banners swayed with the wind as cheering crowds of people, smallfolk and noble alike, whooped and screamed to the sound of clashing knights. The knights themselves wore all manner of enameled armor, ranging from Lord Yohn's ancient looking bronze to Ser Barristan's white gold enameled white plate. Every house in the Seven Kingdoms had seemed to answered the King's call, and a veritable city of pavilions larger than Wintertown had emerged around the tourney grounds.

Despite the joy and the spectacle if it all, Sansa couldn't fully suppress the shimmer of unease Joffrey had planted within her, and she gazed at the knights and visiting ladies with unusual wariness. Was it all really just a veneer for the world of barbarism he'd described?

Looking at Ser Jaime Lannister in his glowing golden armor, crashing against a knight of House Redwyne in fierce red and blue colors as the crowds roared so strongly they drowned her heartbeat… it didn't seem so.

Her wariness gradually went away as she lost herself in the excitement, the innocent bliss a soothing balm for all the sleepless nights. Joffrey had excused himself a few days before, saying he had 'business' to attend to up the Blackwater, and Sansa hadn't had the courage to ask him to take her.

So she giggled and swooned with Jeyne over the dashing knights and the feasts, enjoying the midnight balls where throngs of gossiping maiden's orbited around up and coming squires, in search of love. The seeds of doubt were a strong thing though, and she couldn't avoid frowning at some strange remarks from other ladies, and at the way the great amount of knights from the Stormlands stared at the ones from the Westerlands in mutual, and growing, disdain.

She saw someone die for the first time when Ser Hugh of the Vale received Ser Gregor Clegane's lance straight through his neck. She'd almost cried as she hid under Father's protective embrace and soothing nothings, unable to shake off the memories of Ser Hugh's blood bubbling out of his throat seemingly without end. The harrowing episode passed without much comment by the rest of the audience, and Sansa couldn't avoid feeling a little stunned by that fact. She couldn't stop superimposing Joffrey's face unto young Ser Hugh's, laying bleeding and broken over a thousand battlefields.

Was that war? She'd found herself asking, imagining thousands of knights charging each other with lances made out of steel, their necks and chests exploding in blood like Ser Hugh's did, their colorful banners soaked in blood.

Even so, the spectacle was something she'd never seen in Winterfell, something she'd never dreamed of either. The tourney lasted three days, though the whole week before it was filled with friendly tilts and feasts where she could lose herself in the colors of the south, like her Mother had spoken of when she was but a little girl.

"Who do think will win the joust?" Jeyne suddenly asked her, startling her from her thoughts during the morning of the tourney's second day.

"Hmm… I think Ser Jaime will, he never seems to hesitate, and he hasn't lost a single tilt," she said, turning her mind back to the present as a Frey knight was dismounted by Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard. She applauded with the rest of her family near the royal box, the King himself bellowing as he shouted for more wine.

"I think it will be the Knight of Flowers, he just seems to glide to victory every time… and he's so handsome too," Jeyne said with a sigh.

Sansa nodded with an easy smile, Ser Loras Tyrell certainly seemed like every maiden's dream: a dashing, handsome, strong knight with an easy smile. Honorable to his defeated foes and magnanimous in victory, he already seemed like the tourney's victor, his master crafted armor in the shape of a field of flowers giving him a heroic air.

Bran scoffed by her side, "The Silver Knight will trample him anyway!" he said with absolute confidence, "And then you'll be crying because a flower can't stand up to a lion!" Arya said mischievously from her seat behind her, drawing a scowl from Jeyne.

Warning bells were tolling inside Sansa's head as she looked back to Arya, Bran and Jeyne in quick succession, alternating between the three of them as her mouth opened and said nothing like some sort of silly fish.

"You can't even deny it!" Arya said in triumph.

"What Silver Knight? What are you all talking about?!" she asked, feeling a terrible premonition.

"Oh, he's just some anonymous hedge knight," Jeyne scoffed, giving Arya the stink eye. "He won all his tilts yesterday afternoon, after we'd returned to the Red Keep," she said as if it were an afterthought, "Ser Arys will defeat him, never mind Ser Loras!" she said, vaguely outraged.

"They say he's a descendant of an exiled Lannister branch from before the Conquest, come back to regain the main House's favor!" Bran supplied, smiling excitedly.

"He's just a hedge knight who got lucky. Anyone can go to a tourney and claim parentage to a Great House," Jeyne sniffed.

"A hedge knight who got lucky?!" exclaimed Bran, "He won the Archery Contest without even taking his helmet and armor!" he told Jeyne as if she were a simpleton.

"Fat lot of good it'll serve him in the Melee today," she said.

"He's participating in the Melee as well?" Sansa asked as she looked at Jeyne.

"Lollys Stokeworth mentioned it last night, she seemed to be quite interest in the drab, grey knight," she said as she rolled her eyes, "Why are you so curious?" she asked.

"What's his heraldry?" Sansa heard herself ask.

"A silver lion atop a mountain, staring at a few stairs," said Bran absentmindedly, "Maybe he'll win the melee as well! A master archer and a warrior!" he said with baited breath.

"Syrio could beat all of them anyway," Arya grumbled.

"Your 'dancing teacher' wouldn't stand a chance!" Bran exclaimed, but Sansa was no longer listening as she stood up and hastily made her way down the stalls. "Sansa, where are you going?" asked Septa Mordane with a suspicious eye.

"I-I forgot to tend to Lady today, I'll be right back!" she shouted as she grabbed her dress and ran, sorting through startled squires and food bearing servants. She belatedly realized she didn't know where the Melee ring was, so she had to ask a few servants and along the way she realized Lady was by her side. She'd taken her to the Tourney today.

Septa Mordane will not be fooled, she thought with a twinge of guilt, quickly smothered when he reached the ring. She squeezed herself past oddly silent smallfolk spectators and knights, Lady growling at anyone who would impede her passing.

She arrived to the rail to see a veritable sea of limping or moaning men, some not even awake, all either prone on the ground or shuffling away. Five knights shuffled around a sixth, armed with maces, swords, shields and greatswords, all wearily swaying left and right as if waiting for something, their movements hesitant.

Right in the middle was who she could already guess was the Silver Knight. He didn't look like much at first sight, wearing a slightly dented plate which shone a dull grey under the morning sun, looking a bit small compared to the other, bigger but strangely frightened knights.

He was swinging two one handed hammers lazily, constantly turning around his axis as if to look at all five knights at the same time, feinting nonstop and startling them every two seconds. The people were spectating in awed almost-silence, whispering between themselves and not even booing the other knights due of their cowardly, dishonorable conduct.

One of the knights, the one in Hightower livery, gave a tentative step forward only for the Silver Knight to suddenly leap at him, an otherworldly roar of fury following him as his twin maces blurred and he pried the knight's shield away, his other mace batting the sword aside and leaving the knight open for a helmeted head-butt which sent him sprawling down. The other knights were already moving, but the Silver Knight was faster. He charged at the one to his left, bending to his right minutely as his new opponent's greatsword sailed past, almost touching him. He delivered a quick one two strike with both hammers against the man's helmet which left Sansa's ears ringing. The man fell backwards like a plank even as the Silver Knight twirled and dodged a sword that would have slammed into his back.

He dashed towards the ring's edge, two knights in radically different colors following and trying to skewer him from behind as the he reached the edge of the big pit and used the wooden, horizontal girder as a makeshift stairwell, surprising his opponents as he twisted mid climb and fell back to the ground with another roar, one mace catching the first knight's sword mid swing as the other delivered a brutal blow to his head. He crumbled as the Silver Knight conserved his momentum with a roll, standing up in one graceful, familiar motion right in front of the second knight and slamming into him with a tackle. They landed in a heap, and a knight in the livery of House Connington gave a desperate roar as he took the chance to cleave the Silver Knight with an axe.

The Silver Knight was still grappling with his downed opponent, but one tilt of his head was all the warning Sansa got before he twisted aside in half a second, using his grappled enemy as a shield when the Connigton Knight slammed his axe into his armored back. The prone knight gave a scream of pain and perhaps of yield before dropping his weapons, and the Silver Knight shoved him aside even as Connington lifted his axe again. He rolled and barely avoided the second blow, slamming into the man's legs and making him fall above him. He dropped both hammers as he grappled briefly, using his legs as hooks as he pivoted and pinned the Connington Knight below him.

The pinned knight desperately tried to reach for his fallen axe, but the grey clad monster had none of that. He tore off the man's helmet in one smooth motion, batting aside the man's other hand before grabbing him by the hair and slamming his gauntleted fist into his face one, two, three times, each time unleashing gasps from the public as the few remaining ladies covered their faces and the knights and squires stared in awe. She heard Lollys Stokeworth loose her breakfast nearby as blood jumped from the downed knight's face.

Sansa couldn't stop staring.

By the sixth blow the Silver Knight was screaming, and by the eight the fallen knight was not moving any longer, dead or unconscious she didn't know. He stood up slowly, staring at the last remaining knight, the one in Hightower livery who was still trying to shake off the blow to his head.

The Hightower knight looked up at the stands, thinking about something before shaking his head minutely and charging. He gave a shrill scream as he reached the unarmed Silver Knight, moving his sword sideways for a sweeping cut as he readied his shield for a follow-up bash. The Silver Knight took a step forward towards the sword stroke, grunting slightly as he received it with a vambrace and his other hand grabbed the man's shield and directed the force of the bash sideways. They were locked like that for a few moments, the Hightower knight roaring as he brought the sword down two more times, each parried by the Silver Knight's vambraces until he grabbed the man's sword arm as well.

The Silver Knight let go of the shield and pivoted towards the man's sword arm completely, holding it strangely with both hands before twisting it down and sideways. The knight screamed as the sword fell from his hand and Sansa heard a sickening crunch. The Silver Knight pivoted again, doing something with his leg that made the Hightower knight fall on his knees. He tore off the man's helmet before locking his throat in a vice like grip from behind, and Sansa could only stare in horror as the young knight's face disfigured in agony, one hand hanging limply as the other tried to clutch the Silver Knight, to no avail. His face turned steadily purple, his eyes red as the Silver Knight squeezed with unrelenting force, not making a sound as he stood still in the middle of the ring, slowly choking the life out of the knight with his arm.

Sansa took in a strangled breath in the midst of the horror filled silence, and the Silver Knight's head swiveled to her position with terrifying speed. He seemed to stare at her through the fully enclosed visor before suddenly dropping the half dead knight, letting him fall to the ground in a rain of rasping coughs.

There was silence only broken by the Hightower's gasping, and the moans of the defeated, the Silver Knight turning and showing Sansa only his back as he recovered his two maces.

"A-And the victory of the Melee goes to the Kn-Knight of House Stars!" the crier proclaimed looking somewhat shaky.

Slowly, the crowd began to cheer, spectating knights and squires clapping in dumb awe and perhaps even dread. Lady Stokeworth was rapidly leaving the ring though, her escort gently patting her back and avoiding the pool of vomit beneath.

The Silver Knight took a moment to gaze at the cheering crowds before slowly shaking his head, climbing the slight pit and saying something to the crier who stood beside a chest filled with twenty thousand golden dragons. The crier nodded as the Knight walked away, somehow loosing himself in a crowd which kept trying to give him space.

Sansa scratched her cheek thoughtfully, still shaken by the macabre spectacle she'd just witnessed. The raw fury, the raw intensity of the Silver Knight's blows betrayed a very familiar despair… or at least that's what it felt to her.

She got an idea when she saw the crier leading four other guards who carried the big chest of winnings, slowly weaving their way through the crowds. She followed them from a distance, keeping an eye out for the Septa as Lady prowled obediently by her side.

Eventually, she reached a rather nondescriptive tent in the middle of the section where the Hedge Knights quartered. One of them gave her a leer as he swayed towards her with a bottle of wine in his hand, only to fall on his bum when Lady growled at him. "Good Lady," she muttered as she scratched the side of her head, fingering her hidden dagger with her other hand as the hedge knight cursed her and stumbled away.

The tourney guards soon exited the tent, bereft of their chest, and Sansa made her move after they had cleared the way. She walked up to the tent guarded by a single man in chainmail with an arming sword by his hip and a pendant with a piece of burnt wood hanging from his neck. He seemed very surprised to see her as he moved to bar the way.

"Ah, m'lady, this here are private accommodations," he said awkwardly.

"I won't take long," she said as she tried to sail past him, only for the man to grab her arm.

"M'lady I-" he stumbled for a second when Lady growled at him, her hackles raised as her head found itself millimeters away from the man's groin.

"I ah," he blabbered as he released her, though Sansa was already entering the tent.

Inside, she found an assortment of training dummy's, spare pieces of armor, lances, a few weapon racks and a trio of simple cots. The Silver Knight was leaning on a simple wooden tub filled with water, still in armor as he gazed at the water. Beside him was another guard, this one releasing the Silver Knight's vambraces.

"Lady Sansa," said the Silver Knight as he turned, "You're intruding here," he said simply.

"Oh cut it out Joffrey! You're not fooling any-" she stopped for a second, shaking her head, "Well you may fooled everyone else somehow, but not me," she told him.

"Lady Sansa, I'm afraid-"

"Lady, where's Joffrey? Do you know where Joffrey is?" she interrupted him as she kneeled by her side and scratched her regal looking direwolf's fur. Lady barked at the Silver Knight twice, before running a circle around him as she wagged her tail playfully.

He stayed silent as Sansa stood up and bored a hole into his armor with her stare, "Joffrey. Take. Off. That. Helmet!" she said defiantly.

The Silver Knight gazed at her for a moment before his hands went up and he released the clasps of his helmet. Joffrey looked slightly emaciated, his eyes a bit sunken and rimmed with black. He had two bruises covering his face, as well as a few cuts… his smile would not have looked out of place on a skeleton. "Hello Sansa," he said with a slight voice, avoiding her eyes.

"Joffrey, you're hurt," she said as she walked to him, the anger dissipating as she looked at his wrecked face. The guard finished releasing the chest plate before relieving Joffrey of cloth and gambeson. "Thank you Barret," Joffrey told him as the guard bowed and left the tent.

"It's just a few bruises," he protested as Sansa invaded his personal space.

She was slightly speechless as the absence of plate and cloth revealed a sea of cuts and contusions, hues of blue and purple covering his skin as he shrugged. "Joffrey… you, you could have died there," she said in near horror as her hands gingerly touched the swollen flesh, his face slowly angling away from her hands.

"Not important," he said, and Sansa pinched one of the bruises in anger, "Ouch! Not what I meant Sansa!" he said, a bit of humor returning to his voice as he sat on a nearby stool, "It was not as dangerous as it looked, I've faced worse… of course, the other knights were merely playing at a tourney, I on the other hand…" he shrugged once more, "If I'm going to fight, I'll do it right," he finished.

Sansa stared at him in incomprehension before shaking her head and grabbing a nearby sponge. She soaked it in water, her eyes troubled as she began to clean a few of the wounds. Joffrey didn't stop her, but neither did he seem to even care about the state of his body. "It must have been shocking…" he suddenly mused as if to himself.

"Yes, that was…" Sansa trailed off.

"Brutal? Harrowing? Terrifying?" supplied Joffrey as she cleaned a cut near his forehead.

"All three," she agreed, and Joffrey seemed to deflate at that. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked him quickly, by now pretty adept at sensing his black moods.

"Around a thousand battlefields, from a hundred friends and madmen around the world, fierce ship captains and canny scouts, dauntless soldiers and wise sages…" he said with a slight air of whimsy, "Perhaps I'll write a poem about them one of these days," he laughed at his own joke.

"You writing a poem? I can see it now, 'Bleak is black, black is bleak. Black and Bleak. Has a nice ring to it," she told him as she startled a laugh out of him.

A thousand battlefields… Seven. I've got to keep in talking… she thought to herself as she wondered about the terrible burden Joffrey carried, the shredded shards of his soul even now cutting into him.

"Just how long have you been bouncing around the world to the point where you barely feel pain anymore?" she asked him as he barely shifted under her inexperienced ministrations.

"Five decades at the very least, lost count after that… never made it past my twenties though," he said it as if it were a very good joke.

Sansa took a deep breath at that, blinking. An abyss of time separated them, but Joffrey didn't sound like an old man to her… more like a young man who had hidden depths so deep that one could spend a lifetime exploring them without getting to know him fully.

"Were you afraid? When you looked at me in the ring?" he asked suddenly as she walked to his back and gave a muffled wince at the state of it.

"Why would I be? You're fierce in battle, isn't that someone all maiden's look up in men?" she asked back.

"Clever, but not an answer," he said as he scooped a bit of water from a small bucket to his side and splashed it on his face.

I wonder how loud would Septa Mordane scream if she were to wonder into this tent right now, she thought in whimsy. The whole situation was improper, scandalous even. Delightfully scandalous. Did such a thing even exist? Perhaps this is how Arya felt every time she stole a sword from Winterfell's armory… it would explain why she did it so often.

"Are you saying I'm not a maiden?" she shot back, enjoying the banter and taking her mind off the heavy things for a brief second.

"What? No! I mean…" he stopped for a second before leaning back, relaxed as he chuckled slightly, "You have a way of keeping me on my toes Sansa," he stated in mirth.

She blushed at the unconventional compliment, though fortunately he couldn't see it as she soaked the sponge again and cleaned the sweat and grime of his hair. "I do try. I'm so far away from proper behavior I'm mostly making it up as I go along," she confessed.

"A most bizarre courtship, I wonder if the bards would laugh or cry…" he said in a rush, chuckling.

"So I am courting you?" she asked him.

The question seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. Joffrey stiffened like a piece of wood, before standing up from the stool abruptly and moving away from her.

"You should get going Sansa, the tourney,"- his bout of stupidity was swiftly stopped by a wet sponge smacking right into his face. He blinked slowly as a hand went up and rubbed his cheek.

"There are two possible outcomes at this moment Joffrey, you either sit back down on the stool, by your own volition, or Lady and I will do it for you," she said in a rush as adrenaline flooded her and Lady barked in agreement, her threatening of a crown prince filling her with fire. If this indeed was a courtship, then it had a dangerous and delightfully forbidden spicy flavor no maiden's tale ever had. And nightmarish musings and sleepless nights of course, but one had to take the good with the bad.

Joffrey blinked at her for a few more seconds before mutely sitting back on the stool. Sansa smiled in triumph as she grabbed a second sponge and she kept cleaning his battered body, "Was that so hard?" she whispered in his ear as she couldn't resist.

"Yes," he said in a flat monotone.

"That's too bad," she said as she squeezed the wet sponge atop his head and got back to work.

They stayed like that for a while, before Joffrey spoke again. "So, were you afraid?" he asked her again, the question having some strange significance to him.

"… I was, yes. But that was not what took most of my attention," she said truthfully.

"Oh?" he asked as she rubbed the sponge against a mean looking cut on his back.

"What shook me the most was… the raw fury I suppose. The raw intensity of it all…" she said, "It looked as if you had something on your mind you couldn't get rid of, and I'm not talking about your… mission. It seemed somehow more immediate," she said thoughtfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said quickly.

"Joffrey, what did I say about lying?" she chided him.

"Mostly that I suck at it," he said as he deflated once more. "You're scary," he added, though she could feel the troubled smirk even though she did not see it.

"Dauntless Warrior Sorcerer Prince Joffrey, scared of a silly maiden with her head up in the clouds," she said to herself as she squeezed the sponge over his head again and the water flooded his face.

He seemed to find that very funny, regaling her with an incredibly rare, deep throated laughter. She savored every moment of it, treasuring it like a valued heirloom before it was lost to the echoes of time.

She finished cleaning him, but she couldn't help but frown when he stood up and started to put on his armor again. "You're going out again?" she asked him.

"My next tilt is coming up soon, against Lord Beric Dondarrion of all people. That will be fun," he said with a smirk as he put on his cloth shirt and gambeson.

"Why are you even doing the mystery knight routine? Do you plan for a big reveal in the end?" she asked him, confused.

"That's just distasteful. No, I just really need the dragons," he said simply, securing his breastplate on his own.

"You've already won the Archery Contest and the Melee… somehow. Why do you need so much gold?" she said as Joffrey started to secure his vambraces.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, lifting his gaze to look at her for a long moment before returning to his vambrace. "To build an army," he said, his voice distant.

The Others, she thought with a slight shiver. She hadn't forgotten about them, but the specter of their threat had dimmed back into legend during the height of the tourney and its accompanying celebrations. They hit her now again with the fury of a winter storm.

Joffrey nodded solemnly, before attaching his other vambrace. "Them and all the other wars to come," he whispered.

"Didn't you say nothing could stop them?" she remembered, though she refused to believe it.

"… Not exactly. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve I want to try… and… experimentation to do. If two parts where needed then one should serve in a pinch, if I modify it enough," he said almost to himself, again with the useless mystery.

"Parts needed? You mean like a spell? Like the silver lion was?" she probed.

He looked supremely uncomfortable as he turned his back on her, "Something like that. It's missing a piece for it to work. One I will never use," he said the last with unusual vehemence, "So I'll have to improvise, modify the rest so it can work without it," he said as if he were trying to convince himself, staring at his vambrace.

"I'll help anyway I can Joffrey," she said fiercely, walking back in front of him and grabbing shoulders, stopping his fiddling with the vambrace. "You just need to get that into your thick skull. I'll help you no matter what," she told him as she stared into his eyes.

"It's not your war to fight," he said, avoiding her.

"It is now," she shot back.

"You don't understand what that means. When Ned returns North, you'll go with him. This place is not for you," he commanded sternly, though it had an air of pleading.

"My place is right here. I don't care if you marry that Tyrell woman, but someone needs to help carry your load," she told him with an inner wince, her turn to be stern. "I don't know your plans or your strategies, but you think you've somehow hit rock bottom… when you're still breaking apart. Have you even spoken to anyone besides a few servants? More than six words?" she attacked relentlessly, "Anyone besides me?" she insisted.

"…I… you can't…" he stammered as Sansa kept talking.

"You can't close yourself to the rest of the world like that Joffrey, or you'll go insane. So either you open up with someone else, or I'm staying right here," she declared forcefully.

Joffrey stared at her for a second before his face disfigured itself in anger, "Open up?!" he whispered darkly as he stepped away from her forcefully, staring at a random corner of the tent before walking back to her in fury, "You think I do this because"-

"Pri- Ser Silver!" called out one of the guards from beyond the tent, interrupting Joffrey's tirade, "Your tilt will be coming up in a few minutes Ser!" he called out urgently.

Joffrey clamped his mouth shut, taking a deep breath before walking to his helmet and putting it on. "You haven't even eaten," Sansa said quietly, looking at the abandoned tray with a few slices of bread and ham.

"I'm not hungry," he said curtly, his voice sounding distorted from within his helmet as he walked towards the tent flap, "You should get back to the stands, the good Septa must be going insane," he said before walking out.

.-

Bran cheered for 'the Silver Knight' as he unhorsed Lord Dondarrion of the Stormlands, Jeyne frowning even as Arya gave her a leer. Sansa suddenly found her enjoyment of the tourney drastically lowered, Joffrey's heavy words and the great risk of the tilts making her sweat in anxiety every time he took the field.

Joffrey unhorsed more than three knights during the rest of the day, and every time he speeded atop a nondescriptive brown horse her heart pulsed in worry, her mind flashing back to Ser Hugh's broken form. Proper ladies were expected to cheer for their favored knights, and yet Sansa could only find a deep, heartfelt sigh of relief every time he came ahead victorious.

Septa Mordane would not let her out of her sight again, and she barely ate during that night's feast.

"Who do you think will take the prize, eh Ned?" the King bellowed from the high table in the Red Keep.

Isn't that question a bit… non polite to ask in front of said knights? She wondered as Father frowned.

"All seem quite skilled in lance and horse, your grace," Father said circumspectly, and the King laughed as gazed at the rows of great tables where all knights, both defeated and still participating, feasted.

"Come on Ned! You're allowed to have an opinion! Your King commands you!" he shouted, even though Father was seated right by his side.

"Tomorrow will settle that rather thoroughly, your grace," Father said as he shuffled, and the King waved his hand.

"Bah!" he bellowed, "Maybe the Kingslayer will take the dragons? He could use a bit more gold on that armor," he said with deep chuckle, the rest of the assembled knights laughing dutifully along with him as Ser Jaime sported a bent smirk, standing by his side and to the back.

"Or that flowery welp! Young enough to be my grandson and yet besting the realm's mightiest with that ridiculous armor!" he laughed, and the Knight of Flowers raised a cup to the air in good grace.

"I shall certainly endeavor to be worthy of the praise your grace!" he called out, to the acclaim of the other knights from the Reach and even a few from the Stormlands, all seating together in the same long table.

The King snorted in mirth as he took another drink from his big cup, "And how about this 'Silver Knight' eh?" he asked Ser Loras, "He's been slaughtering the competition like the lion on his shield! By the Gods I should have seen the Melee from what I've heard…" he said as he shook his head.

"I think Ser Loras will unhorse him by the first tilt, brother!" Called Lord Renly from the very same table, "I'd wager Highgarden trains them better than some random hedge knight," he said to the banging cups of the Reachers and the tolerant laughter of the Stormlords.

"Heh, you'd wager…" the King chuckled darkly as he stared at his brother, "That man has seen war. He's got that killer instinct, that struggle to keep your lance from aiming at the other bastard's throat…" he said as he laughed, this time all on his own, "I don't see him now though, bad form that, to reject royal hospitality," he said darkly before abruptly giving out a heartfelt chuckle, "Must be out wenching!" he roared, and the other knights laughed with him.

Sansa stayed quiet, and when the Septa came to retrieve her and the rest of the family, fleeing the steadily merrier and rowdier feast, she couldn't stop dreading the moment when Joffrey and his unstoppable will slammed against the best knights of the realm.

Her nightmares were filled that night with death and dread.

.-

She awoke early the next morning, and after hugging Lady tightly and combing both her fur and her own hair, she was swiftly moving down the Red Keep's stairs and out towards the tourney grounds. Her plans were foiled though by the guards at the Gatehouse, and she had to content herself with anxious worry as she waited for the rest of the household to emerge. Father gave her a questioning look but said nothing, and Arya and Bran were too busy squabbling amongst themselves over something which happened in the kennels to notice her state.

The procession towards the tourney grounds was painfully slow, and she was about to bolt when Father grabbed her shoulder, "Sansa, what's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing Father," she said, Lady's vaguely hackled fur betraying her state of mind somehow.

Father frowned but did not press, and when they were taking their seats in the stands right beside and below the Royal Box, she tried to escape again.

Septa Mordane had been waiting for her though. "I've really got to pee," she blurted, and the Septa's frown made her feel guilty even as she shuffled.

"… Well then, let's go," she said with the still suspicious frown, guiding her to one of the royal tents where the chamber pots were stored.

Sansa nodded dutifully and bid Lady to stay. Septa Mordane kept a watchful eye on her the whole way there, and Sansa almost closed the tent flap on her face as she scuttled in.

She immediately walked to the other side and tried to pass under the tent, but it was no use, it was too tightly fixed to the ground.

She scowled as she gave up trying to lift the piece of canvass and instead grabbed the dagger Joffrey had gifted her. She only stared at it for a moment of indecision before slashing clumsily at the canvass, ripping a vertical hole and squeezing through it to find a startled servant.

"Sorry," she told him before moving away, grabbing her dress so she could run faster.

Soon she was upon Joffrey's tent, and the guard didn't even try to stop her as she barreled in.

"Don't do it," she blurted at him as the other guard fitted a thigh plate.

"Sansa…" Joffrey sighed, giving the guard a meaningful look before the man retreated.

"Just don't, you already have, what, twenty five thousand golden dragons?" she asked him.

"Thirty thousand," he corrected her as he secured what was left of his armor by himself.

"More than enough," she said, feeling like a child during a tantrum.

"I thought maidens were supposed to cheer for their favored knights," he said with an unwilling smile, following what was by now their very own private joke.

"It's not funny Joffrey!" She scolded him, though she couldn't stop an unwilling smile of her own, "Besides, I haven't even given you my favor," she added.

"A shame, that," he said with the same smile as he put on his gloves.

"I don't care about the chivalry and the stupid honor, let's go to the Red Keep and just… I don't know, just don't ride out there," she pleaded.

"Sansa, I'll be okay… relax," he chided her as he placed his hand on her shoulder, "I'll send vaunted Ser Loras into the mud so hard he'll be scraping the dirt from his silly armor for years, and if it's not him then whoever stands in my way," he said confidently.

He's so bloody dauntless… she thought in equal parts admiration and irritation.

She sighed as Joffrey walked towards the tent flap, "Wait!" she called out.

Joffrey stopped by the exit, his helmet in his hands, "Yes?"

Sansa ripped a piece of her fine dress with the dagger, before walking up to him and tying it around his forearm. "Does this mean I have your favor then?" he asked in jest, though Sansa could see contested feelings clashing behind the pale green of his eyes.

"I want you to return this to me, in person," she told him.

"As you command, my lady," he said with a mock bow.

"This is serious!" she protested.

"I suppose the kiss comes now," he added cheerfully, enjoying the red in her cheeks.

"Why not," Sansa huffed before she gave him a peck in the lips.

Joffrey seemed absolutely paralyzed, staring at her in shock as she turned beet red from chin to hair. His eyes seemed lost in painful recollection, his expression not a pleasant one as he shook his head slowly. "By your leave," he said as if he'd just been stabbed, putting on his helmet, "Orland will escort you back."

Sansa watched him go, and as Orland, one of Joffrey's guard-squires, escorted her back to the stands she couldn't stop thinking about his reaction. What was the matter with her that made Joffrey react like that? It went beyond his closing off from the rest of the world… no, it had to do with her, but what?

He seemed to regard her with some affection, but other times even her mere presence would make him wince, as if he were feeling guilty. Or distressed. As usual with Joffrey, the questions only seemed to increase with time.

Septa Mordane didn't even bother standing up as Sansa passed by her towards her seat.

Father looked at her in disappointment as she sat next to him, Arya not even paying her attention as two knights clashed and the public roared. "I'm disappointed, Sansa," he said in his usual grave voice when he was angry.

"Father, I' was just-"

"Septa Mordane told me she spotted you running to the Hedge Knight Quarter, is that true?" he asked sternly.

Sansa shuffled uncomfortably as she shot the Septa a betrayed look, "Father, I can explain-"

"We'll talk back in the keep," he said, in a voice that promised consequences.

She huffed quietly, sinking into her seat as Arya smirked. "Perfect Sansa escaping the stupid Septa, I think the world is going to end," she quipped.

According to Joffrey, it is, she thought as she gave her a look of disdain, not even bothering with a reply.

Her attention was quickly taken by other things, however. Things like the crier announcing the Silver Knight and Ser Jaime Lannister as the next participants of the tilt.

Joffrey cantered atop his non descriptive horse in his dull armor as regal looking Ser Jaime rode from the other side. They couldn't have looked more dissimilar, one in fine golden white armor and the other rigidly riding in his dented plate. They both bowed to the King, though Joffrey did not open his helmet's visor.

"Ah! Kingslayer!" the King shouted, "Against our Mystery Knight no less, this should be interesting!" he bellowed, both knights bowing again stiffly in curious similarity. They stared at each other wearily before riding out to their respective positions, and Sansa's heart accelerated its pace until she was sure Father could hear it. Joffrey passed them by as he rode, his helmet staring at her for a second before he kept riding. He still wore the piece of her green dress, tightly secured around his arm.

At the blow of a horn, both riders sped towards their opponents. Their clash was brutal, a rain of wooden splinters, the roar of the crowd almost strangled by the shock as Ser Jaime tumbled to the side, dismounted by the brutal force behind Joffrey's blow.

Joffrey rode back to the King as he shifted his shoulder, likely in pain. Sansa swallowed as he bowed, the King giving out a great roar of laughter as if he'd just seen the best mummer's trope in the world. "Such fury! This man knows what its all about!" he bellowed, "War! And the ladies too…" he trailed off as he gazed at the piece of dress tied to his arm. "Tell me, which fair maiden has given her favor eh?!" He laughed, nearby nobles and ladies laughing along their King dutifully.

The King stopped when Joffrey didn't respond, tilting his head to the side, "Well, get on with it! Your King commands you!" he said again, slightly irritated.

"…Someone very dear to me, your grace," Joffrey said, dead serious, his voice sounding distorted through his helmet.

The King snorted as Joffrey bowed and left, Bran clapping wildly as he turned from his seat to look at Sansa, "Did you see that! He unhorsed Ser Jaime! He's one of the greatest knights in the realm!" he shouted as if he could barely believe it.

Sansa could only smile nervously, playing along. With that victory Joffrey had passed to the round of four, and the risks turned exponentially higher…

The following tilts passed in a blur, one knight from House Crakehall receiving a splinter to the throat, and another from House Swann falling down with his horse in a tumble of limbs and metal that wouldn't see him walk again.

Ser Jaime had rejoined the King and Queen, guarding them even as the King asked him all kinds of uncomfortable questions. Ser Jaime admitted the Silver Knight was good enough, which coming from him was mighty praise indeed. The Queen on the other hand seemed tight lipped, commenting here and there something about the coming 'might of the Westerlands' being no match for the little, 'brave' hedge knight.

But isn't Ser Jaime the 'might of the Westerlands'? And he's already been defeated? She asked herself in confusion.

Soon enough, after a long break for lunch, Joffrey was announced again…

"For the Round of Four, Ser Silver of House Stars, and, Ser Loras of House Tyrell," he announced, and the crowd was already cheering for two of the tourney's favorites as they rode towards the Royal Box. The mysterious and stern hedge knight against the handsome, noble scion.

The Knight of Flowers rode with all the grace of an experience horseman, saluting at the cheering crowds with a hand and an easy smile. Joffrey was a study in contrast, riding stiffly but even more easily atop his horse, barely holding his reigns as his horse moved as with a will of its own.

Ser Loras came to a stop in front of Sansa, and he gave her a dazzling smile as he bowed and gave her a red rose. She held it gingerly, not sure what to do with it as she tried to calm her mind, fighting the urge to not look at the blunt tips of the lances.

Ser Loras seemed confused by her lack of response, and Jeyne was close to fainting as both knights bowed to the King. "Sansa! He gave you his rose! He'll surely crown you Queen of Love and Beauty after he wins!" Jeyne said in excitement as Arya rolled her eyes.

She couldn't care less about her inane prattling as she heard the horn and watched both riders speeding, faster and faster until they clashed, both of them rupturing their lances as they rode past the Royal Box and turned the wooden rail.

She was squeezing Father's arm tightly, her breathing barely under control as Joffrey clutched his chest in pain, shaking his head as he called for another lance. "Don't worry Sansa, Ser Loras is a natural in the saddle, he'll be alright," her Father tried to reassure her for all the wrong reasons.

She couldn't say anything as they clashed again, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Ser Loras went flying back from his saddle and tumbled against the mud. Lord Renly was standing up, looking almost panicked as the crowds roared and the Silver Knight returned to the Royal Box, looking down at Ser Loras with what Sansa suspected to be a satisfied smirk.

She gave him a reproachful look as he bowed, sending daggers his way for almost making her faint. He was going to have words with Joffrey afterwards, words about the meaning of risks and stupidity. "Seems Ser Loras didn't roll through the dirt as good as he rides," Arya said as she looked at her with a smirk, and Sansa smiled back.

"Everyone knows lions trample roses, it's the natural order of things," she shot back with a smile of her own, not able to hide a strange sort of pride in her voice.

Arya looked nonplussed by that statement as Sansa leaned back on her chair and she let out a sigh of relief. Joffrey did something to his horse that made it bow its head to hers, and she tilted the rose Ser Loras had given her up and down as she frowned, as if scolding both horse and rider. Joffrey couldn't contain a small chuckle as he passed by her, and soon the crowds were chanting the name of 'Ser Silver' as he returned to his tent for a brief break.

Of course, Sansa's anxiety returned stronger than ever as she remembered who exactly had won the other Round of Four.

The Queen's smile seemed vaguely predatory as she turned to her brother, "Seems this 'Silver Knight's' luck is about to run out," she told the snorting Kingsguard, who only replied with a shake of his head.

Spoiler: Music

Sansa felt as if she were being choked as The-Mountain-That-Rides made his way to the Royal Box. The beast was the largest person she'd ever seen, bigger than Hodor by far, carrying a heavy shield and a black painted lance. His horse was equally monstrous, a midnight black stallion whose hooves sank on the ground with every canter. Joffrey looked small next to him as they bowed to the King, the audience mostly cheering for the Silver Knight as Sansa squeezed Father's arm like a lifeline.

"Sansa… do you know this hedge knight?" Father asked, frowning as he thought about something.

Sansa didn't say anything as the participants took opposing sides, Joffrey grabbing his spear from the hands of Orland as he came to a stop next to his hanging shield, Silver Lion staring at a wide field of Stars. "Sansa?" asked Father as she held him tight, her hands trembling against her will as the horn sang and the riders made for each other, lances lowering as the distance was reduced to a hair's breadth and they crashed, a furious rain of splinters enveloping them as the horses kept going and Joffrey clutched his shoulder in pain.

Joffrey called for another lance as he wheeled, Orland supplying it to him as The Mountain readied his own and slammed his spurs against his horse with a guttural grunt. Joffrey sped as well, his lance coming down with careful precision as the horses ate the distance and she dug her nails into Father's arm.

Joffrey gave slight scream of pain as they slammed against each other, almost propelled out of his saddle by the immense force behind the blow as the Mountain kept going, barely making a sound. Joffrey swayed slightly atop his saddle, leaning left and right before he regained control and Orland passed him another lance. Sansa could barely keep still as the horn sounded once more and they charged again, the gasps of shock and awe amongst the crowds almost deafening as both riders slammed their lances with no mercy nor quarter again in a quick flurry of concentrated brutality.

She gave a muffled scream when they crashed, Joffrey shaking his head in a daze as his horse cantered slowly and blood trickled down his plate, shaking his head again and again until he called for another lance.

"He's going to get himself killed! Father, please stop them!" she told him, unable to keep the shrill out of her voice as Father shook his head.

"There can be no draw in the finals, the Silver Knight will have to yield," he said as he looked at her in confusion, and Sansa despaired as the horn thundered and they charged again.

"But he can't yield, he's not capable of it!" she yelled at him as the Mountain's lance caught Joffrey in the belly, the force of the blow noticeably slowing his horse as his own lance destroyed itself harmlessly against Ser Gregor's shield. Joffrey came to a stop before turning around the fence, taking a moment to lean sideways and spit a glob of blood, a long trickle of it descending from his helmet's visor.

"Lance!" he roared at Orland, who rushed with a new one even as Sansa saw blood trickling down his suite of armor, staining his horse's brown coat.

"Stop! Please just stop!" Sansa screamed at him, and Joffrey looked at her for an eternal second before he slowly shook his head.

"Sansa! Restrain yourself!" The Septa scolded her as nearby nobles and ladies gazed at her in confusion or irritation, a pale looking Jeyne grabbing her hand forcefully and trying to calm her down.

He doesn't know how to stop, Sansa thought in a daze as he grabbed his lance and charged again. Ser Gregor spurred his horse once more and he slammed his lance into Joffrey's chest, even the King leaning slightly forwards in awe as Joffrey's own hit claimed the Ser Gregor's shoulder and made him sway dangerously atop his horse.

Joffrey seemed barley conscious as he leaned left atop his saddle, his shield slipping from his hand as he came to a stop. The crier took in a breath of air to claim the victor, but Joffrey held his hand up just barely, halting him even as he shouted at Orland.

"Orland! Shield and lance!" he bellowed, blood flowing from his bevor plate as he wheeled his horse with his knees. He seemed to be breathing heavily as he stared at the sky, slowly returning his sight towards the distant, monstrous form of Ser Gregor at the other side of the tilt.

"I've got to stop him!" Sansa shouted to herself as she stood up and tried jump down the row of seats, but Father held her tightly.

"Sansa what's the matter with you!" he shouted as he grabbed her.

"Father, Father it's Joffrey, the Mountain will kill him!" she told him as she tried to get away from his grip, sobbing as Joffrey charged once more and the Mountain aimed its lance upwards with a roar of fury.

Sansa gave a harrowing scream as they slammed against each other, the Silver Knight's helmet flying away and revealing the pale face of Joffrey as his horse came to a stop near the end of the tilt line.

Shouts of the 'the prince!', 'It's the prince!' started to permeate the tourney grounds as Joffrey lifted his arm and took a long wooden splinter from below his armpit in a shower of blood, rivulets of it soaking his armor as his horse wheeled and he looked around him with wild eyes.

"Joffrey?! JOFFREY!?" the Queen shrieked as she stood up and Sansa tried to get away from Father's iron grip.

"LANCE!" Joffrey roared at Orland, half his face covered by blood as his guard turned squire rushed with it, taking a moment to grab the shield from the ground and give it back to the rider.

The King seemed stunned as he slowly began to stand up, the Queen looking to her side and back to Joffrey in a flurry of movement as she screamed. "JAIME! ROBERT, DO SOMETHING!" she said hysterically as Father stood up. "Halt the tilt! Halt the tilt!" he shouted at the crier as Sansa managed to slip his grip and Orland looked at the Royal Box, startled.

But it was too late as Joffrey leaned over and grabbed the lance from Orland's lax hands, settling it against his arm and chest as his horse charged.

"STOP AT ONCE! STOP IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" the King roared, but the Mountain didn't seem to hear him as he sped, his huge warhorse unleashing great plumes of earth as it charged down the tilt, his lance bearing down against the helmetless Joffrey, blood covering half his face.

She couldn't reach him in time, jumping over Bran and the Septa and reaching the stand's handrail just as Joffrey roared a powerful battlecry and the Mountain responded in kind, their clash drowning her scream as the force of the blow left her deafened to the world and everyone in the stands seemed to stand up in a panic, the Mountain leaning left like a huge colossus and slamming into the ground along with his horse in a tumble of flesh and dirt and steel.

Joffrey's own horse cantered back to the Royal Box, Joffrey somehow still atop it as he reigned it to a stop with his knees, gazing at Robert with a sneer as his shield slipped from his limp hand, hanging uselessly by his side.

"I'd tell you to get the dragons back to the treasury, where they belong..." his clear voice cut through the pandemonium like a scythe through wheat, silencing the tourney grounds as if by a spell. "But you'd just waste them again anyway… your grace," he said the last as if it were an insult. "Send them to my chambers," he told the crier, one eye closed because of the drying blood.

The King was speechless as Joffrey turned to Sansa… everyone seemed to have been momentarily shocked to silent paralysis as Joffrey gazed at her, "And give the crown to Sansa," he said.

She stood in front and just a little bit to his side, her eyes level with his because of the stand, "Joffrey… you're hurt," she told him, her voice sounding abnormally loud in the midst of the silence as Joffrey looked down to his chest and saw that the old plate had finally given way, a long shrapnel of ash wood sticking from his belly.

"It's just a flesh wound," he said as he reigned his horse, making it canter back as he slipped from the saddle and landed face up on the mud, the Queen screaming as the King called for the Maester's and Ser Jaime pummeled his way amongst the nobles in a rush towards the ground.

Sansa had already jumped down, ruining her dress as she kneeled besides Joffrey.

"You deserve that crown," he mumbled as he blinked.

"I don't want the stupid crown," she sobbed as she ripped a piece of her dress and placed it against Joffrey's chest wound, surrounding the piece of wood.

Oh gods, there's so much blood, she thought in despair as the blood flow lessened, Father suddenly adding his hands to hers as he roared something and the ground trembled with the pounding steps of armed knights and guards, Jory Cassel grabbing her from behind and dragging her away from Joffrey as he closed his eyes and she screamed.

.-

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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Mar 3, 2018

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.-

Chapter 40: Lightning.

The Red Keep seemed a somber place after the events of the tourney. The Queen had ordered the Mountain arrested in a peak of rage and grief, and Ser Jaime had jumped in some sort of bloodlust as he tried to fulfill that order. The Mountain resisted, but between the snarling, wild Ser Jaime and experienced Ser Barristan they had managed to fell the terrible beast like some sort of tale of old... His head now adorned a spike over Traitor's Walk.

Joffrey had barely been breathing when they carried him away, and Sansa hadn't seen him since then. He'd been locked in a room inside Maegor's Holdfast and been tended to by the Grandmaester and a legion of surgeons as they tried to save his life during the day and the following night. Sansa herself spent her days on a chair next to his door, trying to pass the time knitting or making strangled smalltalk with Jeyne until Father or the Septa carried her away to eat or to her bedchamber. No matter what they tried though, they couldn't manage to make her stay away too long before she was back.

She didn't feel like talking all that much, and as Bran passed his days playing with Summer and training with Jory, and Arya kept trying to catch cats at the orders of her 'dancing teacher', she couldn't help but remember all those conversations she had with Joffrey. Perhaps more unsettling than his tales of ice and war, death and despair, things she could hardly fathom and which still seemed shrouded in a protecting cocoon of old legend and faraway times… more unsettling by far was the way she started to focus on the goings on inside the Red Keep. When laughing maidens gossiped about the latest escapade of their favorite knight, Sansa now saw swift exchanges of information. When she'd seen councilors hard at work she now saw scheming guards which made her feel so safe before now patrolled with stern eyes and hands on their pommels, as if sensing the strange tensions inside the Keep.

Lord Renly seemed particularly agitated, even before the events of the Hand's Tourney, and many of his Stormlander knights and lords had not yet departed the Capital and instead devoted their days to hunting and feasting in Lord Renly's private manse or in the depths of the Kingswood. His own personal guard seemed to have been augmented after the tourney as well, and they seemed at least a third as numerous as the Red Cloaks of the Red Keep… when they found each other on patrol it was always a thing of tightened fists and suspicious glares.

The King had descended into some sort of black melancholy, feasting harder and with lots of… other women. His intense debauchery didn't seem to be working for him, as his pale complexion seemed to only get worse and worse, even getting to the point where he had to harangue his gaggle of guests to laugh along with him after a joke, a new low for the charismatic king… She'd overheard Father once or twice, and it seemed the Small Council was now completely running the Realm, to his increasing frustration. The Queen seemed to have turned inside on the other hand, barely showing her face in public and only speaking with her brother.

Sansa had been forbidden from seeing Joffrey by the Grandmaester, to give him time and space to recuperate, but when the old man shuffled his way from the room and left the hallway deserted, only the stone faced Hound at the door… Sansa had not been able to resist.

It seemed Joffrey had talked the Hound along for his deception, and the man had grudgingly escorted the supposed 'Prince' along a small journey around the Blackwater, to keep the Silver Knight's cover intact as the actual Prince fought in the joust. A decision he had come to regret, if his expression was any indication.

"Go on, I won't stop you," he grunted before she had a chance to open her mouth. She nodded gratefully at the fearsome sworn shield before entering the room and blinking as she was buffeted by the smell of sickness and milk of the poppy.

"Oh Joffrey…" she whispered as she sat by his side in a wooden chair. His form seemed to have shrunk, pale and emaciated under a gaggle of bandages that covered parts of his chest, leg, arm and face. It seemed the wounds he had accrued during his nonstop grand victory over all three competitions had been compounding, building over each other and worsening with every strain and abuse he'd inflicted upon his body. To Sansa he'd barely seemed conscious about his wounds, but she hadn't thought the internal damage could have been so great…

She grabbed his hand gently as she cleared her throat, the familiar ghost hand throttling her neck as she breathed deeply.

I should have stopped him… she thought in the quiet stillness of the room. If he'd died, then she'd remember nothing, and if her… next self didn't approach Joffrey as she had done in 'this' future… then it was likely Joffrey would continue as he had done, driving himself dauntlessly into his damnable 'duty' as he called it, until there was nothing left behind those steely green eyes that hid raw wounds and slain dreams.

"Shaaan…saaaa…" he suddenly rasped as the hand she held tightened, his eyes opening slowly.

"Joffrey," she whispered with a gasp, quickly giving him a drink from the nearby cup of water. He drank it slowly, his eyes still boring on her even as they half drooped.

"Thank you," he whispered, seemingly very conscious of decorum even in his mangled state, his eyes vaguely unfocused as he looked at her, "You're very pretty," he said with a shy smile.

Sansa smiled despite herself. Joffrey was not one to be direct, much less so simple in his complements, "No barbs nor backhandedness? Very unlike you Joffrey," she said as she held his hand gently.

"It's the truth," he said, "You just don't give up… very insistent… I like that about you," he half rasped, his smile growing.

Sansa turned red as she mirrored his smile, "You also love to make me blush… now rest Joffrey, you need it," she told him, frowning as she smell the potent scent of milk of the poppy within his breath.

"That too… I like the way you laugh too… makes me laugh… and your keen mind…" he continued the stumbling, awkward litany of her good virtues as Sansa giggled lightly despite herself.

"Now that's just basic, Joffrey. You better get back to sleep if you want to do better than Wintertown's drunk bard," she teased him as she removed a tuft of hair from his eye, worried by the sluggish, slow way it followed her hand.

How much of the stuff have they been giving him? She thought as she beheld his wide pupils.

"I don't care if it's basic. I'm not a bard," he complained as if this were a serious matter, "I don't care the Purple made me to, loving you is nice," he said happily.

Sansa frowned as she tilted her head in puzzlement. Joffrey seldom spoke of the 'Purple', the strange force that somehow reversed time and made him remember everything… The revelation that he did indeed love her sent a torrent of butterflies through her belly even as she leaned forward in confusion.

"What do you mean Joffrey? The 'Purple'… did it threaten you..?" she asked with a wince, the inane words stumbling out of her mouth. The idea of something as eldritch as the Purple threatening Joffrey… to love someone, much less her, seemed as stupid as it was absurd.

"No. No," he repeated as he tried to shake his head, only managing to tilt it vaguely left, "It just made me to. Created me that way. Should a man be angry because he has two arms instead of three or four? It's just the way things are. Why be angry at the way you were designed?" he asked himself as if the answer were obvious.

Designed to love me? This doesn't make any sense! She thought, bewildered.

Sansa leaned slightly forward, her confusion increasing as she gazed at him, "Created? Designed? Joffrey, what are you talking about?" she asked in growing unease.

"I'm sorry Sansa, I haven't been telling you everything," he apologized, "I shouldn't though. Best not to," he said with a thoughtful nod.

"Joffrey… What are you talking about?" she insisted as she squeezed his hand.

"But it will make you sad… you won't talk with me anymore… I don't want to be alone…" he whispered as if he were a child in dreadful confession, his eyes pleading, "Don't make me to," he begged.

He's so drugged out of his mind he can't resist, Sansa thought in a daze. What was she willing to do for Joffrey's secrets? Was she willing to betray his trust if it meant having the knowledge to help him?

The answer was as obvious as it was immediate. "Joffrey, please… just open up, let me help you," she said, his eyes growing panicked under the poppy's heavy stupor.

He seemed to struggle for an eternal second before his mouth opened almost automatically, "I… I'm sorry Sansa… I'm not really a person…" he said incoherently.

"How can you not be a person Joffrey? You're breathing and talking right now!" She told him, her confusion making her nervous as she dismissed the absurd claim.

"You just don't understand the power of my creators Sansa. So much, power…" the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, his eyes lost as if they tried and swiftly failed to behold the sheer immensity of what he tried to explain, "To reverse time itself, to play with the fabric of the universe like a sculptor with clay… to lay plans eons in the making… what is it to them to create life? Nothing, child's play…" he said in breathless awe.

"I… how…" Sansa whispered as she held her mouth with her other hand.

"It's hard, I know… but it's the truth. I told you something about parts before… I am one if those parts Sansa. The Purple created me as a weapon, to try and most likely fail to destroy the Long Night…" he whispered.

Sansa let a long breath of air as she looked at him, "I… I… I don't care Joffrey," she finally told him as she lowered her hand, "Sorcerer, Hero, Weapon, Idiot, I don't care, I… I want to be with you all the same," she finally confessed, the butterflies singing in agreement as Joffrey squeezed her hand painfully, his great strength still with him even in this state. Her declaration seemed to hit Joffrey harder than the Mountain's lance, his face cringing in anguish as he squeezed her hand like a lifeline, his head turning away from her as a strange sensation took a hold of Sansa, a niggling of her senses as something didn't make sense and she shivered.

"Joffrey… Why would the 'Purple' create you with… with some sort of in built love for me," she finally asked him, her heart beating so hard she was amazed the Grandmaester had not yet come back.

He stayed silent as her breathing intensified and she heard a strange buzzing in the distance, "Joffrey… why do I cause you so much anguish?" the nest question suddenly emerged from her, knowing them to be related, her head thrumming as if she were nearing a great truth, both her trembling hands grabbing Joffrey's again and squeezing as she willed at him to look at her.

"I'm sorry Sansa," he whispered in a tiny voice, still not looking at her.

"Joffrey," she called him, and he tilted his head back to her almost against his will. "Why?" she asked again, her voice sounding abnormally loud.

"Because you are another piece of the weapon," he said as he gazed at her, "We were made from the same source of cosmic stuff, energy of some sort… that's why you 'love' me Sansa, and I you. We were designed, created, meant to live and die together like hammer and anvil, hilt and pommel, wheel and axel, bow and arrow… to live life after life together, to suffer and rage together, to be broken down together… to be annihilated by the Long Night together… I'm sorry Sansa, I'm so sorry," he whispered fiercely as if in the midst of a fever dream, his eyes wild. "It really is a Maiden's tale… it just has a horrible, horrible ending…" he said in anguish.

Sansa stood up in a daze, stumbling back and making the chair fall as she breathed into her hands, the sound of Joffrey's desperate apologies growing faint as her soul thrummed in agreement with his words, her denials dying in her mouth as she clashed against something behind her.

"Young lady, Prince Joffrey needs his rest in full!" The frowning Grandmaester scolded her as he walked into the room, but Sansa couldn't hear him as she ran past him and through the hallway, to where, she did not know.

.-

She had ended up in the Godswood, ironically enough, trying to make sense of the torrent of emotions buffeting her like a ship adrift at sea. Every time she tried to deny Joffrey's words though, she found herself incapable of doing so, the terrible glow of truth unwavering inside her no matter how she questioned it.

He was right. Seven help her, she'd never felt so sure about something before.

She spent the whole afternoon and even the night staring at the Heart Tree, as Joffrey often did. Was what she felt for him a… instruction? Some sort of law codified into her soul?

She'd shaken her head wildly, forcefully. Those questions seemed inane after all that had happened, more than inane, stupid even. She loved him, no matter the cause… and she'd been designed to help him stop the Long Night… That little fact filled her with as much dread as elation, somehow. To know that her drive to stand by his side against the tide was not a silly, stupid fantasy but purpose somehow inscribed into her creation…

She shivered as she contemplated that thought, enraptured. She'd come to care for Joffrey, more than any other person. Innate instructions or not, she would not allow him to continue his steady decay into little more than a broken husk, she would not let him face the apocalypse alone. The fact that this seemed to be a core purpose, to stand by his side and together stop the end of everything she knew, just made her even more determined. Joffrey had told her the truth as if it were a horrible doom, but to her it felt deeply empowering, to know that all the doubts that had plagued her these past few months were baseless… for how could she doubt her course of action when she'd been molded for it? How could she be afraid of being unworthy of her goals if that's what she'd been created for?

Right then and there, as she lay upon her bed in her chambers, the thoughts and musings which had been revolving around her head for the last few months coalesced into something greater.

She would have a talk with Joffrey, when he was coherent. She would not be denied.

She would stand with him, against his burden and his enemies, whatever the cost.

.-

She ran through the thicket in joy, chasing her jumping prey as her brother and sister howled from her sides, cornering the prey as it saw it was finally surrounded. It swayed in circles, menacing them with its wickedly sharp looking horns, but she was undeterred when she sidestepped and jumped, her teeth rending flesh as she brought the beast down and her brother and sister joined in, slaughtering it even as she made sure it died swiftly, tearing into its throat and breaking its great spine.

It was only proper.

She then gorged on its carcass, tearing not as wildly as the rest of her raucous family, taking care not to dirty her coat more than she had to. Her sister howled and she joined her in a glorious chorus, her brother joining too as they declared their lordship over this warm forest, filled with doe eyed prey which did not know the hunger of winter.

As the rest of her family kept tearing into their dead prey, she tilted her head in curiosity… there was sound beyond, two legs talking…

She prowled her way towards them, and found the two of them patrolling down a steady path, sharp looking spears held in their hands as they talked quietly. She made her way past them, sorting through other groups of two legs under the moonless night until she reached a great stinking reunion of them, drinking foul smelling drinks and rubbing against each other in lust. She kept going through the many big and small fabric houses, moving away from the harsh clanging of steel on steel as two of them fought like she often did with her sister, though they seemed to circle each other inside a big circle of wood instead of the freewheeling snow and dirt.

She eyed the painted prey on fabric for a moment, remembering the sweet taste of blood she'd just feasted upon before continuing her exploration. She was drawn in by a familiar voice, and she made nary a sound as she neared the two men talking inside the biggest of the fabric houses.

"You're being paranoid," said the familiar voice of her stern Father as she came to a crouching stop between a fake tree filled with sickly sweet water and the fabric house's flimsy wall.

"And you are being blind. Do I have to spell it out for you Eddard?" said the other voice, angry.

"You've already told me-" started her Father but he was interrupted by the shrilly voice, her hackles rising at the insult.

"After Jon Arryn died during the most suspicious of circumstances, his position was almost taken by the Kingslayer! And it would have been so if Robert had not been assaulted by the sudden desire to see you back in the Capital!" the voice said forcefully.

"The Lannisters angling for a vacant position is hardly something new…" His Father said gruffly.

"Yes, hardly new!" the voice harrumphed, sounding very disturbed, as if he'd suddenly realized the beast he'd just eaten was rotten to the core. "Then, one day later, Stannis flees with his tail tucked in back to his beloved Dragonstone!" he continued.

"I find it much more likely to believe that he was scorned by Robert's decision to make me Hand instead of him, we both know he's always resented the way Robert treated him," reasoned Father in the sure tone of a leader of the pack.

The other voice did not sound convinced, taking a gulp of something before speaking again, "Yes, Stannis abandoning his blessed duty because this one, latest scorn by Robert finally broke him. Please," he said before drinking again. "And now the position of Master of Ships will soon be opened, once Robert can be arsed to rule again after the debacle with Joffrey…" he said.

"Stannis may well come back before Robert strips him of his post…" said Father.

"He's not coming back Eddard, he's planning something in Dragonstone, buying ships and men as he broods. For all I know he has already called his banners… everyone is smelling war Lord Stark, everyone but you," the voice said bitterly.

"Is that why you are hiding here with half the Stormlands, Lord Renly? Do you smell war or do you intend to start it?" Father said dangerously, stern as he should when faced with cowering whelps.

"You're blind if you think yourself safe, I'm merely making sure I don't wake up with a dagger in my throat," said the whelp, his voice reeking of half-truths.

"And I'm telling you again, you're being paranoid. Send the men home Renly, and stop bringing half of them every time you visit the Red Keep… you'll make one of the Red Cloaks nervous again and I'll have to clean up the mess," Father pleaded in futility. She had to restrain the urge to go in there and bite his ankle. Trying to reason with a scared whelp… what was he thinking!

The whelp ignored him as she knew he would, taking another deep drink of something, "And end up like Lord Baelish? With a hundred and one stab wounds in the chest, in the eyes?! I think not…" he trailed off after another drink, "Did you know Robert was thinking about making Tyrion Lannister the new Master of Coin? He thought it would make the greatest insult ever to Tywin…. He was pretty taken with the idea… A great insult! To further lock your stranglehold over the Realm's finances! Yes, I think Tywin Lannister shall be pretty fucking insulted!" he erupted, "Grandmaester, Master of Coin and soon to be Master of Ships, aren't you seeing a pattern you honorable fool!?"

"Lord Renly, the drink is clouding your judgment"- tried Father again.

"My judgement is not the one clouded here! For the Seven's sake Eddard, they even killed Slynt! I barely have control over the Goldcloaks right now!" he shouted, his anger building after each word. "No! You are being an obstinate imbecile, as usual! You ran back North after the Rebellion and left everything to the Lannisters, a whole realm ripe for the pickings… No. I'm not going to trust you in this. They are only finishing what you started, Eddard. The Lannisters are cleaning up the Small Council and placing their own men in charge, readying themselves… and I'll be next!" he said as she heard something move and water splash against flesh.

"I'm sorry Lord Stark, that was unbecoming of me," he said after a long silence, his voice sounding slightly less scared as the whelp splashed more water against himself.

"Renly… I understand your concerns, all too well. But I can't find any signs of the Lannister's being involved in Lord Baelish's death, nor with Stannis' flight from the Capital," Father explained patiently.

"And Jon Arryn's death?" asked the haggard voice of the whelp.

"…That's still unconfirmed," he said with a small, fatal tinge of uncertainty. Father still had a lot to learn it seemed.

There was a long silence after that, and she could hear the slow breathing of the whelp as he spoke again, "I'm not staking my life on it. Eddard, please," he begged, "The Lannisters are planning their move… soon. And when the time comes, there will only be two sides. Those with the Realm's best interests at heart, and those who seek power for their own ends," he said, his voice acquiring a slow gravitas that she grudgingly approved of.

There was a longer silence, and then Father's voice, sharp as a fang, "I know which side I'll be on, if that time ever comes," he declared.

"I hope you do Lord Eddard, I hope you do…" said the whelp, reeking of disappointment and danger as Sansa woke up with a start, blinking slowly at the moonless night which barely illuminating her bed through the open window, her eyes heavy as she closed them again and slept.

.-

Both her dreams and waking life wore heavy upon her since Joffrey's revelations, terrible nightmares and strange dreams of hunting through a great woods mixing with troubled thoughts and an all-encompassing disorientation. Father barely seemed to notice her state of mind, running haggard from crisis to crisis within the Red Keep and beyond. Neither Jeyne's prodding nor Arya's mocking could faze her, deep in her mind as days passed by and the door to Joffrey's chambers were guarded by the Kingsguard and the Hound, letting no one in.

Joffrey had told her she was the other part of a weapon… that they were a weapon… designed to destroy the Long Night somehow… but what did that mean? Why then did she not remember her previous lives? Why did the prospect of it made Joffrey suffer so? All questions that consumed her waking life as the Red Keep further descended into foreboding. The King now seldom hosted feasts, in fact Sansa barely saw him leave Maegor's Holdfast, holed up in his solar. The Queen was more present, but no amount of powder could hide the brutal bruises on her face that made Ser Jaime seethe in fury even in public.

Sometimes she dreamt about holding Joffrey's hand, her face as broken and haggard as his, her eyes empty as he suffered and she did nothing. Was that the fate Joffrey feared for her? She'd never fail him like that. Never. That she knew with a certainty she'd seldom felt before in life. She didn't know her exact place in the cosmic Cyvasse game him and the… White Walkers were playing, but she knew one thing… She would not let him down. She'd promised him she'd help him if he opened up, and that was exactly what she'd do… thought the nature of what exactly she should do was still an open question, what with him either unconscious or otherwise impossible to speak to.

A curious thing had started to happen as the days came and went… Lady had taken to raising her hackles at Lord Renly whenever she saw him, snarling at him if he got too close to her, no matter how many times she scolded her wayward direwolf. Father was busy with his Small Council meetings, which seemed to leave him more and more tired… and more and more nervous…

The longer she stayed, the more toxic the atmosphere within the Keep seemed. Her own inner troubles mixing with the strange tensions she kept discovering, following Joffrey's advice to keep her eyes and ears open, and to doubt…

.-

It seemed Robert had finally started to overcome his black mood, likely helped along by Father's constant visits. He had hosted a huge feast again, and if the sullen, brooding man was a far cry from the jovial, charming King Sansa had met in Winterfell, the other courtiers hadn't noticed… or shown they noticed.

The Queen looked slightly less disheveled than of late, and the great hall was filled with people. Lord Renly looked glum enough, and only his steadfast friend Ser Loras could manage to get a smile out of him. He ate surrounded by dozens of knights and Lords from the Stormlands, all men who had already overstayed their welcome in King's Landing. They glared and japed at the vastly smaller gaggle of cadet Lannister Houses which had been trickling into the Red Keep during the past weeks… and in between them sat Crownlander nobles, foreign merchant princes, and even the colorful Jalahabar Xho in his exotic suit of dyed feathers. Even he seemed uneasy under the barrage of insults and japes that sailed back and forth.

King Robert had invited as many people as he could, and the serving staff was stretched to the limit as Sansa shuffled uneasily in her seat, Arya impatiently tapping her fingers as Bran ate like a man thrice his size.

"Bran, that's just disgusting," Arya told him, stifling a giggle as Bran devoured a chicken whole.

"I've got to get some weight, it's the only way the Silver Knight himself will train me!" he said with a bright smile.

"He told you he'd train you?!" Arya asked in shock, and vague envy…

"He did!" Bran told her in between mouthfuls, the pride in his voice entirely unfeigned.

"What? Bran, when did you speak with Joffrey?" Sansa asked him quickly.

"Yesterday, they finally let him walk through the Keep again," he declared.

Sansa frowned as she played with her food, thinking hard. Had he been avoiding her again, or was it just her distracted nature which had missed that little development? Either way, she was about to bolt from her seat when the King stood up.

Spoiler: Music

"A moment, you beasts!" The King called as he stood up, and Father whispered into his ear urgently even as a meaty paw shoved him back, "I'm fine! Now let me speak," he growled as he raised a huge tankard into the air.

"I'd like to make a toast! For my insolent brat Joffrey, the brave boy who didn't deserve a Father as shitty as I," he declared before drinking the whole tankard, the Queen's face slightly, slightly approving as the King stared at his guests. "Well what are you waiting for!" he snarled, and everybody promptly drank.

He sat back down and tore into the big stag the hunters had prepared for him, single mindedly eating it down as Sansa stood up delicately and made her way to the doors.

"Another! Shut up you scheming fucks!" the King proclaimed as he stood up again, a servant refilling his tankard as he faced his audience.

Sansa scoffed in impatience as he waited for him to get on with it, but the King seemed to sway for a moment before leaning one of his huge paws on the table. "I'm fine Ned, damn you!" he swat aside Father as he tried to hold him. "Now listen! I've got a whole lot of things to say!" he roared with a chuckle, "People should hear their King talk heh?" he roared with another dry, ugly chuckle, "I've, hrmg," he winced slightly as the Queen looked at him in worry, "Robert, are you-" she tried but was soon swatted away as well.

"Away with you, woman!" he snarled as he swayed, the tankard unsteady in his hands as he grunted and held his chest with the other. "I remember the Rebellion, Gods… two deer's and a barrel of ale wouldn't have fazed me back then—AAH!" he shouted in pain as Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime rushed to his side, Father trying and failing to hold him as he collapsed atop the main table, clutching his chest as he gave a strangled scream of pain.

"Call the Grandmaester! The King! By the Seven! Guards!" everyone seemed to be shouting at the same time, but Sansa could only look in shock as the King struggled wildly atop the table, his great form barely constrained by Father, Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, Lord Renly and Ser Boros.

"He's not choking, it's the heart!" shouted Ser Barristan with authority.

"Where's the Grandmaester!?" shrieked the Queen, looking around in near panic as Robert gave another bellow, his great lungs wheezing one more time before he lay still and silent.

Everyone seemed stunned as Father shook the King, "Robert! Gods don't… Robert!" he shouted at him as he shook his great weight. More and more people were standing up as Father kept shaking him, his eyes red, "He's dead… he's dead…" he kept whispering in the midst of the sudden silence.

Lord Renly's face was morphing from horror to anger… cool rage that immediately turned to a strange sort of neutral grimness that sent shivers down Sansa's back.

The King… she thought in a daze, before shaking her head abruptly. She remembered Joffrey's words… she would be no pawn. She couldn't afford to. So she steeled herself as she looked at the whole room, thinking as fast as she ever had.

Think, think Sansa… the King is dead, Joffrey should be the new King, she thought as she looked at the erupting pandemonium. She knew however that it was not going to be that simple. A terrible, ominous tingle ran through her body as she saw the outraged faces of the knights and lords which now surrounded Lord Renly, who'd retreated towards one of the room's corners… more than outraged, they looked grim.

She ran towards her still stunned looking Farther as the Grandmaester finally reached the hall, moving towards the King and checking him quickly. "Father! Father!" she whispered fiercely into his ear, "Snap out of it!" she told him as she shook him roughly.

Father blinked away from the still warm body of his best friend, dazed eyes focusing on her, "He, we have to get out of here, I think we need to move, now," she whispered urgently.

Father looked at her for a second, the life returning to his cheeks along with a growing sort of despair as he beheld the hall and the way a dozen Stormlander knights had detached themselves from Renly's group, almost running past the hall's main doors.

"Sansa listen to me," Father whispered urgently as he grabbed her shoulder roughly, his face locked in near panic as if he couldn't believe his words, "Get Bran and Arya back to the Tower, and tell Jory to bring half the men and meet me outside the Royal Bedchambers," he said as Sansa saw the Queen and Ser Jaime quickly leaving the hall through a side door.

"And do not under any circumstances unbar the doors unless I order it in person, can you do that Sansa?" he whispered fiercely as Sansa nodded back quickly.

"Get the family back to the Tower, send Jory and half the men to the Royal Bedchambers, lock the doors for anyone but you," she recited quickly, "Father what will you-"

"There's no time Sansa, go!" he ordered, and she quickly obeyed as she dashed back to Bran and Arya.

"Father said we have to go, now," she said sternly as she grabbed them, trying to mimic Mother's tone when she was angry and would brook no dissent. Both of them were too stunned by what had happened to resist, and she guided them quickly towards the open doors of the feasting hall.

The last thing Sansa saw inside the hall was Lord Renly, Ser Loras, and a dozen Stormlander knights and lords walking towards Father, Ser Barristan, Ser Boros, the Grandmaetser and the dead body of the King, all in grim solemnity, the still present merchants and the few Crownlander knights still in the room caught like startled deer in the midst of it all.

"My Lords! Ser's! Friends!" She heard him shout as she herded her brother and sister at a fast jog, guiding them down a set of stairs and shoving startled servants out of the way. "A terrible tragedy has befallen us this day… no, not tragedy, treachery," she heard the echo as they ran. She dashed through a few shortcuts, quickly reaching the outer courtyard where the bodies of three Red Cloaks lay atop the cobblestones, the quarter moon above barely providing any illumination in the midst of the night.

"Sansa, what's happening?!" Arya asked in incomprehension and near panic.

"Keep moving!" she shouted as she ran, pushing them in front of her and trying not to trip with her damned dress. They reached the Tower of the Hand's opened heavy oak gate after a minute of running, the two Stark guards beside it seemingly puzzled as they saw her. Sansa could see Red Cloaks pouring out of the northern tower by the courtyard's far side, strapping on bits and pieces of armor as they shouted.

I have to reach Joffrey… she thought as they reached the relative safety of the enormous 'Tower' of the Hand, which was more like a smallish keep inside the Red Keep itself. "Lady Sansa, is everything-" started one of the guards only to be cut off as she dashed past. She thought she could hear faint sounds in the distance… like some sort of vicious tourney.

"Bar that gate!" she told him before she reached the smaller Hand's courtyard. "Where's Jory?!" she bellowed, trying to will her hands to stop trembling as she gestured at one of the startled half dozen guards carrying out their duties in the yard, one of the nearby servants giving out a startled yelp as he dropped a tray with food.

"Jory! Alyn!" she called out, her voice hesitant as Septa Mordane walked towards her with a thunderous expression.

"Sansa, what did I tell you about shouting-" she tried to scold her but was interrupted as Sansa all but threw Bran and Arya at her.

"Take them to their rooms!" she told her quickly.

"I can fight! I-I won't leave Father alone!" shouted Bran as it finally dawned upon him, the startled Septa holding him tight.

"Fight? What's going on Sansa?" asked the Septa.

This isn't working, Sansa thought as she ran to the middle of the courtyard, "To arms! To arms men of Winterfell!" she screamed, and that was enough for the startled guards in the courtyard to burst into motion, shouting and dispersing to wake up the other shifts, one of them opening the nearby armory.

"Lady Sansa, what's the matter?" Jory asked as he jogged towards her, his hands moving in a calming manner as if she were hysterical or something.

She tried to control the hitch in her voice as she turned to face him and spoke calmly, "The King is dead, Lord Renly may have just started a power struggle," she explained quickly as the color bleached from Jory's face, "Father needs half the guard outside the Royal Bedchambers, right now!" she told him.

"By the Old Gods…" he whispered before swiftly recomposing himself, "I need twenty men armed, armored and ready for battle in three minutes!" he bellowed as he turned back, bleary eyed armsmen emerging from the barracks and running for the armory as Alyn, Jory's second in command, emerged from the main tower.

Septa Mordane reached her then, and Sansa nodded at her, "Septa, I'll go get the direwolves, you make sure Bran and Arya are away in their rooms!" she commanded her in the most curt tone she could manage, hopelessly trying to copy Joffrey. Miraculously, the Septa nodded as she carried her brother and sister upstairs despite Bran's rebellious efforts. Sansa dashed to the kennels, where Lady, Summer and Nymeria where already howling in mourning, the hair at the nape of her neck tickling at the harrowing sound.

The growing sound of… battle in the distance had intensified as Sansa and the three 'wolves returned to the courtyard, where Jory was leading a score of men past the rapidly closing oak gate, Alyn shouting for bows and crossbows as two guards placed the bar behind it. "No, wait! I need to go out!" she called to Alyn, but the gate was already secured as he turned to her, with a puzzled expression.

Joffrey will have to wait… Gods, this is all happening so fast, she thought in a daze as he beheld the man.

"Alyn, do not open that gate to anyone but Lord Stark, and watch out for Stormlanders," she told him quickly, trying to think what to do next when one of the guards grabbed her by the shoulder, "Thank you m'lady, Jollin here will take you to your bedchambers…" Alyn told her quickly before returning to the small gatehouse.

There was nothing else she could do right now, she realized. She didn't know how to fight nor how to lead men, the whole situation had moved beyond her ability to control… and that fact filled her with anger as she let herself be carried away, shoving away the guard before making her own way to her chambers. She would only get in their way.

She reached her room as the direwolves spread out to find their owners, Lady growling lightly as Sansa leaned on the window and saw a stumbling Red Cloak appear in the Outer Courtyard, blood leaking down his legs as a man in plate grabbed him from behind and brutally shoved a longsword through his armpit. She held a scream with her hands as the man crumbled and knights wearing all manner of Stormlands and even Reacher heraldry, as well as dozens of Goldcloaks, sprinted through the Outer Courtyard towards the Throne Room and Maegor's Holdfast.

She must have spent fifteen minutes staring from the window, the sound of steel on steel and steel on… flesh alternating each other with screams of agony in between as if she were hearing a macabre mummer's show, small groups of Stormlander house guards or Goldcloaks periodically appearing in the courtyard and sprinting in seemingly random directions, some of their blades dripping blood…

Sansa held her breath when two scores of men poured into the Outer Courtyard from the direction of the Red Keep's Gatehouse… and didn't continue. The mixed Goldcloak and household guard contingent in the livery of House Caron arrayed themselves around the Tower of the Hand and stayed there, eerily silent as one of the two knight which led them walked around his troops, impatient.

A guard in Lord Renly's Baratheon colors arrived a few minutes later. He whispered something to one of the knight in House Caron livery before dashing back towards the inner courtyard, and the knight shook his head as he advanced towards the Tower of the Hand's gate, shield and sword in hand. "By order of the King all quarters within the Red Keep, including the Tower of the Hand, are to be opened to their leal servants!" the knight shouted at the closed doors.

"I'm only openin' the gates if I see Lord Stark in the flesh! Now keep going 'bout your way!" Sansa heard Alyn reply.

"I won't ask again! Open the gates in the name of King Renly!" roared the knight.

"The only King I know of is King Robert! Now you either show me Lord Stark, unharmed and of his own will, or you'll all get a bucketful of arrows for yer troubles!" Alyn shouted back.

The knight said nothing as he swiftly walked back, past the Goldcloaks and into the ranks of a dozen guards in the same livery as his, shouting and gesturing with his sword. A few seconds later a dozen Goldcloaks entered the courtyard holding an enormous battering ram between them as they roared, running for the gate.

"Archers!" roared Alyn, and Sansa strangled another scream as half a dozen arrows leapt from below her window, hitting the Goldlcoaks and felling two or three before they reached the gate and a tremendous crash resounded throughout the tower. Arrows kept raining from below as the Goldcloaks tried again, shuffling back a dozen steps and ramming the door once more as their casualties were replaced by the snarling soldiers from behind, their bodies painting the cobblestones red.

We won't hold out, Sansa thought in near panic as the door creaked ominously and the Goldcloaks prepared to try again. She dashed out of her room with Lady as she heard a terrible crack and a lot of people bellowed. She could hear the sounds of battle even as she desperately knocked Arya's door.

"W-Who is it?!" shouted her sister.

"Arya, it's Sansa! Let's go!" she shouted at her, and after she unlocked the door the both of them were running up the hallway, Lady and Nymeria following them. When they reached Bran's door however, they found it empty.

"He must have hidden!" Arya said as she looked everywhere around her, aiming the strange and small, thin sword she'd gotten out of somewhere.

"We should too, come on!" Sansa told her, running down towards Jeyne's room before the sound of pounding, armored footsteps stopped her.

Jeyne… she thought in an eternal, agonizing second of indecision before turning around and running the other way. They were soon upon Father's solar, and she locked the door as Arya franticly searched for a hideout. Sansa tried to help her, their panicked breaths interwoven as the sound of battle below started to loose intensity.

Neither she nor Arya could restrain their screams as a great axe peeked through the middle of the door, swiftly retreating and striking again as it reduced the solar's door to kindling. One of the guardsmen in House Caron livery entered the room with his axe, swiftly followed by four more. He barely had time to look at them before Nymeria jumped at his throat. The other guards shouted as they tried to help their brethren, Lady joining into the fray and bringing down another in a shower of blood, but there were too many of them…

"LADY!" Screamed Sansa as one of the guards shoved a half spear through her mouth, the direwolf keening as it retreated back into Sansa's arms, blood pouring out of her without end before she lay still.

She cried as she held her lustrous grey-white fur in her trembling hands, Arya giving a wild screech as she tried to stab one of the guards. The armor stopped the blow entirely though, and the guard sent Arya tumbling back with a heavy, gauntleted slap.

"No… Lady… no…" Sansa sobbed as rough arms grabbed her from behind. "Y-You killed Lady!" she screamed at the guard in full plate, fumbling with her hidden dagger and trying to stab him in the neck. The guard snarled as grabbed her hand, twisting it painfully and making her drop the dagger as the bones in her hand crunched.

She blinked past the tears and the pain, sobbing as they roughly carried her past Nymeria's brutally gutted corpse, the three remaining guards in House Caron livery joining another one which carried the lax form of Jeyne.

"This'on' broke 'er neck trying to run' down the kitchen stairs," said the rough faced man.

"Jeyne?" Sansa asked, dumbfounded.

"Shit, she's one of Lord Stark's?" asked the guard holding Arya, who was still trying to stare back at Father's solar and Nymera's broken form.

"Jeyne!" Sansa screamed.

"Nah, she's one of the lady's handmaidens, we're okay," said the guard holding her.

"Skipped up' a nasty turd there Ser…" said the man in relief, dropping Jeyne's body like a sack of wheat before turning around, "Right 'nough, Lord Bryce is a'waiting downstairs, we should get' moving… though if you don't mind me askin' Ser Halton, where's Gil and Tommel?" he asked as they carried her and Arya down the stairs, ignoring her incoherent sobs.

"Wolves got them," said the man, no, the knight holding her.

"Fuckin' wolves', one of em got two of the Goldcloaks downstairs, fuckin' menace…" grumbled the newcomer as he guided them down the hallway towards the Hand's courtyard.

Sansa tried to find her voice, swallowing a sob as she tried to look at the man holding her, "R-r-release us at once! D-do you know what happened t-the last time Northern blood was s-spilled in the South?" Sansa tried to tell him before Ser Halton hit her painfully in the back of the head.

"You shut your gob! We're bringing you to King Renly nice and quiet!" he clipped.

"King Joffrey is the rightful ruler of-" she started before she was turned around and slapped in the face.

"I said nice and quiet!" he snarled at her face, the angry scar above his eyebrow throbbing as his eyes travelled downwards.

"Ey', gotta' keep her pretty an unhurt so the King doesn't –" Their guide was cut off suddenly as he screamed, blood leaking out of the back of his knee as he fell, revealing the frantic form of Bran with a sword too big for him.

"Gollard!" shouted the only guard without a hostage as he dashed forward, Bran already ramming his sword against the fallen guard's throat before a half spear ruptured her little brother's lungs, coming out the other side of his chest in a shower of blood.

"BRAAAAAN!" screeched Arya, emerging out of her stupor as Sansa screamed as well, the guard with the spear extracting it with a grunt of effort as Bran fell to the floor. He gazed at them in confusion for a few seconds, his eyes closing swiftly as he gave a small, quiet cough of blood before laying still.

"Braaaan…" Sansa moaned, her legs giving out of her as she cried, the knight dropping her to the floor as he ran to Bran's still bleeding body, flipping it over and feeling the wound with his hands.

"Fuck… FUCK!" the scarred knight snarled as he shoved the guard with the spear against the wall, "That was Lord Stark's son you idiot!" he snarled.

"What was I supposed to do, let him kill Gollard?!" the other guard snarled back as Arya tried to loosen her own captor's grip, shaking wildly and earning a dagger's pommel to the skull for her troubles.

"Yes, if necessary! Fuck!" snarled Ser Halton.

"He's dead anyway," grunted the smallish guard which held Arya, kneeling next to Gollard and trying to feel a pulse. Arya still seemed stunned by the blow in the head, being held by the neck as if she were some sort of mummer's doll.

"You'll pay for this," Sansa whispered hollowly, staring at Bran's torn apart chest. "The North will fall upon you all like a winter blizzard amongst a field of flowers," she promised them as she couldn't stop staring at Bran.

"I SAID SILENCE!" the knight snarled, slapping her and sending her against the floor with the force of the gauntleted blow.

"… What do we do now?" asked the smallish guard, a bit of blood dripping from Arya's head as she gazed at Bran's corpse, her eyes lost.

"I'll tell you what Lord Bryce will do, give us to the King in a silver platter, and him to the North…" said the knight in mounting panic.

"Lord Bryce wouldn't do that, we've served his House for decades-" started the spearman, but Ser Halton almost struck him again when he grabbed him by the shoulder.

"What's worth more to Lord Bryce, Philip! Think! Two swords and a knight, or the prospect of his whole house being used as a bargaining chip by the King?! Think!" he snarled. The spearman, Philip, stayed quiet as Ser Halton shook his head, "The King might even sell out the whole of Nightsong regardless of what we do, if it means avoiding a war with the North…" he muttered, leaning on the window.

"… let me think…" he said, holding his head as the tower descended into silence, only broken by Arya's meek sobs and the occasional scream of pain from the Hand's courtyard, though those were abruptly silenced swiftly enough.

"Right, this here never happened. We never found Lord Stark's get, only their damned wolves. I'll go down and make sure Lord Bryce or the fucking Goldcloaks don't come up. You two carry the girls and the dead boy into one of the rooms and wait for me," he commanded, and Sansa, Arya and little Bran where all soon locked into one of the rooms.

Sansa stared at Bran's broken form right next to her, one of the guards keeping a watchful eye as the minutes went by, the blood still pooling around his new position, carelessly tossed atop a bed.

She started when there was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Ser Halton. "Courtyard's clear enough, only a few Goldcloaks looting here and there," he said.

"What do we do with the girls?" asked the smallish guard as the knight grabbed Bran's body.

"I'll show you soon enough, follow me," he commanded as he left the room.

Sansa and Arya were carried swiftly, over the shoulders of the other guards as they descended the last of the stairs and emerged into the courtyard. "Like the good Ser said, nice and quiet," whispered the spearman as he placed a dagger against her ribs, and Sansa had to hold her breath so she didn't scream at the sight of the Septa and then Alyn sprawled over the cobblestones. The few Goldcloaks present didn't even bother looking up at them, sorting through the bodies of slain Stark guardsmen for anything of value.

They were quickly carried out of the Tower and towards the south east, halting a couple of times to let a few Red Cloak stragglers limp by. Sansa tried to think of a way to get away, but her dagger had been stripped away, and Lady was dead. She bit her lip when they reached the Red Keep's east wall, Blackwater Bay crashing against the jagged rocks far, far below, barely illuminated by the quarter moon high in the sky.

The spearman slammed her against the stone crenellation, the other guard doing the same with Arya as another waved crashed down below. "Arya…" Sansa whispered as she looked at her, her head pinned against the hard stone, "Arya… stay strong," she told her with a strangled voice.

Arya looked back at her in panic, blinking every second as she cried. Abruptly, the knight tossed Bran's body towards the sea, and Sansa sobbed again as his body disappeared within the waves.

"We toss her too then?" asked the smallish guard as he lifted Arya over the crenellations, one of her shoes falling down as she renewed her struggle.

"ARYA!" Sansa shouted, trying to get away from the spearman's iron grasp.

"Slit her throat first you idiot," Ser Halton commanded.

"Sansa…" Arya sobbed before the guard drew a bloody smile on her neck with a dagger, blood running down her chest as she blinked in surprise. Sansa could see the life leaving her eyes as they drooped, her head hanging forwards before the guard tossed her towards the sea.

Sansa found she couldn't scream, it died in her throat as she kept looking at the waves and her sister's disappearing body, her mouth moving slowly and not making a sound.

"That'll keep her mum enough," declared the guard as he stared down as well.

"Quite," said Ser Halton as he grabbed the guard from behind and slit his throat in turn, slamming his head against the crenellations and letting the limp body sprawl backwards.

"What the hells!? What are you doing!" roared the spearman as he turned and faced the knight, holding Sansa as a shield with a dagger on her throat.

"Killing all the witnesses, what the bloody hells does it look like," said the knight with a snort as he brandished the dagger.

"Stand back!" screamed the guard as he tightened his hold on Sansa and the dagger pierced her neck, a bit of blood running down her neck.

I'm sorry Joffrey, I wasn't strong enough… I wasn't smart enough… Sansa thought as she closed her eyes.

"Or what? You'll kill the other witness? You were never the smartest of lads," laughed the knight, and the guard shoved her towards him with a desperate roar. The knight batted her aside with one hand, making her slam against the crenellations as the guard jumped at him with the dagger. The Knight held the man's arm in stalemate for a moment before he dropped his own dagger and grabbed the man's legs with his now free hand. He gave a powerful bellow before he tossed the guard down the wall with his superior strength, the man's scream growing distant as he tumbled a few times over the rocks before the sea claimed him.

Sansa had barely stood up when the knight grasped her shoulders and slammed her once more against the crenellations, jolts of agony crawling up and down her back as he squeezed her shoulders painfully and his mouth forced its way into hers.

"Nothing like a bit of killing to get the blood up, heh?" he told her as he broke the slobbering kiss. Sansa screamed in despair as his hands rummaged through her breasts, still with Bran's blood on them.

"I've never taken a Lord Paramount's daughter before, shame it'll have to be quick," he whispered into her ear as she screamed again, sobbing as she wished he just killed her already.

"Open your legs you whor"- the knight stuttered as an arm coiled around his throat and a dagger slammed into his eye socket. The arm dragged him back as Sansa slid down the crenellations and she sat on the ground, holding her arms against her chest as she saw Joffrey cradling the knight's head as if it were a baby, his dagger coming up and down over the man's head almost mechanically as he snarled, concentrated as he stabbed it again and again and again.

Joffrey tossed the man's body against the floor with another snarl. He turned his head to look at her all of a sudden and Sansa winced in reflex, her hands tightening around her chest as she closed her eyes and kept crying. His face softened as he blinked, taking a careful step as he sheathed his dagger.

"Sansa…" he whispered as he carefully helped her stand up and she grabbed his neck like a lifeline, crying into his shoulder desperately.

"Breathe Sansa… breathe…" he whispered hollowly as he tried to guide her somewhere, her lax legs making him stumble. "Remember what I told you back in the Red Fork? Sansa," he said as he sat her gently against the floor, "Sansa… remember what I told you when we were floating down the river?" he asked her.

"Ahg, uhg, youhg-" she sobbed incoherently, and Joffrey gently grabbed her cheeks as he aimed her eyes at his.

"Breathe Sansa… breathe and remember…" he told her as she lost herself in those steely green eyes, hiding raw despair as well as unstoppable rage… and a gentle tenderness which made her laugh and smile, in a time which seemed long, long ago.

"I… yhou…" Sansa breathed as she gazed at his eyes, "Y-you t-t-told me… to b-be b-b-b-brave," she said as she breathed deeply, as if she were a child just learning how to speak.

"I did, I did Sansa," Joffrey told her, and she thought she could hear a distant, deep misery in his voice, perhaps harsher than ever.

I… I have to… be brave for him… I must keep up, she thought as she tried to stand up, Joffrey helping her.

"W-we have to get out," she told him as she took a deep breath, smoothing her torn dress, "Renly f-flooded the Outer Courtyard with his men, he has the G-Goldcloaks Joffrey," she told him as they started to walk again, holding each other.

Joffrey seemed startled, "Fuck, without Slynt… it makes sense," he said as they walked, "Do you remember how many men were left around the Gatehouse?" he asked her urgently as they walked.

"I didn't see the Gatehouse, but the Outer Courtyard had a-at, at least two, no, three dozen men moving around it after they took me," she said.

"Too many… alright, we'll have to go another way. Come, I know a secret passageway… we'll have to swim by the end of it though," Joffrey muttered as he looked back with a wince.

"Joffrey, your wounds-"

"I'll be okay, we just need to keep going," he said with gritted teeth.

"Wait, but Joffrey… what about my Father?" she whispered as they jogged past an opened door to the deserted South Eastern tower.

"He didn't make it out of the Great Hall, I'm sorry Sansa," Joffrey told her as he winced again in pain, each step down the stairway taking a toll on him, avoiding the fallen helmets and pieces of discarded armor.

Sansa leaned on the stone wall, feeling as if she'd just been punched in the gut. "How," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"I'm not sure, but something happened in the Great Hall and steel was drawn. The only thing I know for certain is that someone, I think Ser Barristan, slew Ser Loras in the melee, and Renly was enraged. I could hear his screams from floors away…" Joffrey said as he grabbed her shoulder gently and prodded her. Sansa shook her head as she kept moving downwards, listening to the words that sealed the fate of her Father. "By the time I got there only bodies could be found… I'm sorry Sansa," he said again.

"It's not your fault," she whispered, her voice tired.

"It is. I should have seen this coming. Killing Baelish and Slynt so overtly must have pushed Renly over the edge…" he muttered in frustration.

"… Y-you were the one who killed the Master of Coin?" she asked him, eyes wide.

"Yes," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Sansa said nothing as they ran down the long corridor, Joffrey shouldering a half opened door to a medium sized cellar with a dozen Goldcloaks in it, looting caskets of wine.

"Hold in the name of the K-!" one of them shouted before Joffrey threw his dagger and it impaled him in the eye.

The rest of them were drawing swords or readying half spears as Joffrey extended his hand horizontally and Brightroar materialized in a swirl of Purple-Golden fractals. He leapt at another Goldcloak as they stumbled back, cutting his spear in two before he ripped the man's jaw off with the backswing.

"DIEEE!" He roared as the Silver Lion materialized right behind him and slammed into one of the Goldcloaks, crushing him underneath its huge paws as it bit into his neck.

Some of the Goldcloaks stumbled back as others rushed Joffrey with screams of panic or fear, but Joffrey carved a bloody path amongst them with the golden sheen of Brightroar, Stars by his side and mauling any flankers to death. One particular flanker had not been killed though, merely smashed against one of the now ruptured barrels of wine. He stood up unsteadily as he gazed at his comrades being slaughtered and took a short sword out of his belt, giving an incoherent scream of fear as he rushed Joffrey's back, the tip of the sword glinting malevolently under the light glare of the oil lamps.

Sansa jumped at the man's back before he could shank Joffrey and they tumbled on the stone floor, the man screaming as she shoved her fingers into his eyes, not knowing what else to do. The screams turned shrill as Sansa kept pushing and the sound of rending flesh filled her ears, like torn parchment and squished apples, her thumbs still moving forward as he screamed. A hand moved her aside before Brightroar slammed into the man's skull, but somehow the screams didn't stop.

"Sansa! Sansa!" Joffrey roared at her ears, and she suddenly realized she was the one who had been screaming all the time. She leaned to the left of the corpse and vomited on the ground, dry heaving when there was nothing else left.

"I'm here Sansa, I'm here," Joffrey whispered loudly into her ear, holding her as she rocked. She grabbed his arms tightly as her efforts failed and she started crying again.

"Let's go Joffrey… let's get away from here," she managed in between sobs, blinking away the tears and trying not to look at the blood on her hands as she stood up.

I… I've got… to be strong… she thought in a daze.

"Just a little bit more Sansa, just a little bit more," Joffrey whispered fiercely as they walked between the corpses of the torn apart Goldlcoaks, though the Silver Lion was nowhere to be found.

Joffrey did something to one of the barrels in the far back which looked too broken to be of use, and it opened as if it were a door. Soon they almost crawling along the small space, Joffrey leading the way with the small torch he'd looted from one of the dead Goldcloaks.

The sudden silence beyond the screams of death and battle made both of their breaths incredibly audible, and Sansa had to take a few seconds to calm herself as she walked behind Joffrey, her hand held tightly in his. The silence also allowed her to notice the slight hitching of Joffrey's breath every two steps, the way he swayed after each time he turned back to make sure she was okay, the way he painted a trail of blood through the corridor.

"Joffrey… stop…" she whispered.

He looked at her in puzzlement as she felt his chest, wet with blood.

"Stiches must have opened," he grimaced.

"What would happen if you died right now?" Sansa asked him hollowly as she tore another piece of her dress and bandaged it around his chest, her long hours knitting and learning about fabric serving a new purpose in the bowels of the Red Keep.

"… From all signs, the Purple will reset the world. I'll wake up in my room three days after Jon Arryn died… and so would you," he told her, biting off a wince as Sansa slipped and tied the bandage too hard, always keeping her broken hand out of his sight.

"But only you would remember…" She half asked.

"Yes… would… would you like me to do it?" asked Joffrey, his voice unreadable.

"No," came her fierce reply as she tied another bandage, making Joffrey wince. "You won't make me forget this Joffrey, I won't allow it… I… It can't have been in vane…" she trailed off, her voice raw.

"You'll be safe and sound back in Winterfell, your family will"-

"And then what Joffrey? How many times have you seen my family like this?! How many times… How many times have you seen me like this?" she asked him as her eyes bored into his.

Joffrey stared at her, his face pained as Sansa shook him.

"Tell me," she commanded him.

"… too many…" Joffrey whispered, avoiding her sight.

Sansa said nothing, turning back to the wound.

Wordlessly, Joffrey tucked his shirt down and kept moving, though Sansa's hand found his again in the darkness of the tunnel, the roaring of the sea growing steadily closer as they neared a source of slight moonlight.

Joffrey opened the hidden trap door with a grunt, helping Sansa up as she beheld the cloudy night again, only the sound of the sea to keep them company. "Here, let me tie this," Joffrey muttered as he got a hold of a length of rope tied to a small wooden post near the beach.

Sansa said nothing as she stared at the sea, imagining Bran or Arya's corpse suddenly leaping from the foam and landing in the beach with a dull thud, empty eyes boring into her-

"Sansa, come on," he said gently, and she followed him into the sea, wading against the dark waves. "We'll be swimming for a small pier north of here, only a little distance away. It's a small fisher's village, practically a suburb of King's Landing. If you get tired just focus on staying afloat, I'll do the rest," Joffrey said as the waves splashed against her, washing her bloodied hands.

"Joffrey, if I die here… don't close yourself off again. Tell me what happened the moment you see me back in Winterfell," she pleaded.

Joffrey said nothing as he stared back at her, the waves splashing against his blood stained, blonde hair.

"Joffrey promise me," she commanded, but her pleas went unanswered as Joffrey kept walking against the waves.

"Come on Sansa!" he shouted as if he hadn't heard her.

The sea was cold, the salt coarse as it rubbed against the bruises and cuts that peppered her face, the hand the knight had crushed in his grip barely more than a dead weight as she struggled against the currents, the rope taught.

I won't die here. I can't, she thought as she swam, her hand sending jolts of horrific pain after each brace.

I won't forget, she thought as her vision clouded, foggy release clamoring for oblivion as it surrounded her in a haze of wellbeing, the waves shaking her around as she tried to keep up with Joffrey.

I won't leave him… she thought as she blinked and her hand stopped aching.

.-

She awoke to the feeling of harsh sand dragging against her chest, pieces of her tattered dress falling behind as she struggled against invisible chains. She raised her head to see a ragged looking Joffrey pulling the length of rope through a beach. He stumbled to the ground as she watched, biting off a scream of pain and perhaps angst.

Sansa struggled against the sand as she crawled towards him, foamy waves buffeting her body painfully as she made her way atop the white sand and reached his prone form.

"Come on Joffrey," she rasped, her voice spent as she shook his shoulders.

"…Sansa…" he whispered, blinking slowly. He seemed exhausted, an emaciated figure of ragged clothes and bleeding wounds. She imagined she looked roughly the same. "The currents… we overshot…" he tried to explain, and Sansa was horrified to find not a trace of civilization, a forest of trees and shrubbery ahead of them and only the sea at their back as the horizon steadily became more and more illuminated by the coming sun.

"We have… to get off… beach… Renly…" Joffrey stuttered, shivering as he desperately tried to talk coherently, his eyes wild.

"He'll send search parties," Sansa rasped in understanding. He could not let the heir apparent and rightful king slip through his grasp after a coup, he had to be found by any means necessary… even if it meant scouring every piece of land, coast and sea within a hundred miles of King's Landing, roads, villages, forests and coastline.

"Come on," she whispered as she helped him up, wrapping her arm around his deceptively light weight and carrying him towards the forest. They must have made a pathetic image, two ragged, limping silhouettes against the dawn to come. Joffrey didn't seem to be helping much, stumbling half blindly as Sansa huffed in effort, keeping a slow if steady pace towards the forest and lifting most of Joffrey's weight with each step.

"The maiden doesn't save his knight, it's usually the other way around you know?" she whispered as they kept limping together, passing by the first shrubs and small trees. She realized she was shivering just as hard as Joffrey, and she was mildly perplexed by the complete lack of control she had over the erratic movement.

"Generic, dutiful maidens are boring," Joffrey whispered back with a half-smile, his eyes all but closed as he left all the steering to Sansa.

"Back to the backhanded compliments, I think you'll live Joffrey," she told him with a broken smile. The playful banter served to take her mind away from the wide eyed, surprised face of Arya as blood raced down her chest, as Bran coughed blood and closed his eyes. It helped her focus past the steadily agonizing throb of her other hand, swollen and angry looking as it hanged limply, past the swelling half of her face and the burning jolts that struck her body from every direction after each step.

After limping for a while they reached a small clearing in the forest, and Sansa let their combined weights fall against a struck tree which formed an irregular triangle between its broken length, its stump and the ground. A few shrubs had grown against the fallen tree, converting it into a haphazard shelter.

"Got to get back our body heat," Joffrey whispered as he took off the remains of his soaked shirt, only his ragged pants offering shelter against the elements as Sansa gave him a tired smile.

"I'd like to see Septa Mordane's face right now," she told him whimsically as she tore the remains of her dress, stripping until only her smallclothes remained. She suddenly remembered the broken, slashed form of the Septa, sprawling over the cobblestones as blood kept pooling around it, her perpetually stern face achieving an uncanny laxness in death.

She took in a quick breath as she winced, her good hand trying to halt the sobs before they began, but she failed as they increased in volume and frequency, trying to hide her face in shame at the lack of self-control. Joffrey offered wordless comfort as he hugged her, both of them lying down on the ground, side by side under the broken tree and shivering together, their bodies interwoven as the sun slowly rose from the east, the harsh cold making Sansa blink slowly.

.-

Sansa awoke to the sight of Joffrey staring dejectedly at a pile of kindling, a stick in his scabbed, torn hands. The wounds on his chest were not bleeding any longer, but they seemed blackened, a vaguely yellow sheen covering them in wide, angry streaks. She shuffled closer, biting off a scream as she used her broken hand. It looked swollen and ugly, a lump of flesh somehow affixed to her arm. She shivered before looking away, the cold still omnipresent as Joffrey crawled to her side, "Sansa, your hand…" he trailed off as he stared at it.

"Yours are hardly better," Sansa told him as she stared at the wooden splinters which peppered them.

"Tried to start a fire… couldn't find the strength to keep a good cadence," he said after biting off a cough.

"That's unfortunate," she said as she stared at them. The sun seemed all the way to their backs, settling in the west as the cold turned more and more pervasive. "Slept through most of the sunlight…" she grumbled.

"Hardly the sun's fault," Joffrey said drily.

"Yeah, it's yours. Should have woken me up," she told him in mock outrage, scuttling closer and leaning on him, drawn by his body heat like a moth to candlelight.

"How could I disturb such a sleeping beauty? It would have been a crime," he said matter-of-factly, somehow digging up a shred of mock enthusiasm from somewhere deep inside him.

Sansa looked down at the sea of cuts and bruises that covered her, feeling her swollen, throbbing cheek as she looked at her hand which resembling an overripe fruit. She couldn't suppress a vaguely hysterical giggle, a few tears streaming down her face as the giggle devolved into a harrowing, potent coughing fit. The coughs barely let her breath, so frequent they were. Joffrey palmed her back in concern as she kept at it, finally drawing in a quick, shallow breath as she got control of her lungs back.

They stayed quiet as the sun disappeared and the moon came back, tiny pinpricks of stars slowly materializing over the sky, the silence only broken by a few lone coughs from Joffrey. "We're not going to leave this forest alive, are we?" Sansa mused out loud.

"No," Joffrey answered after a moment.

"… and all these moments, the pain, the despair, the loss… they'll be gone forever? Erased from existence?" she asked him.

"…Yes Sansa, you will remember nothing of this," he said it as if it were a blessing.

"And you'll never again let me even talk to you, you'll flee from my sight even harder than before…" she said.

He did not deny it.

"You'll vow, in the name of your headstrong stupidity-" she snarled the last word as a slow fire was kindled to life deep within -"To never again make me go through this. To never again even contemplate the chance of it. You'll lock yourself into your own mind like never before, isolating yourself from everyone until you are undistinguishable from a specter, raging against the end of the world until your broken mind is finally shattered for good, until you sink so much in the loneliness and the despair you'll never get out again," the words poured out of her.

She felt Joffrey tense against her, looking away, "Sansa-"

"Tell me I'm wrong Joffrey," she said harshly.

"… you can be quite stubborn at times-" he tried to shift the conversation but Sansa grabbed his chin with her good hand and shoved it so he could say it to her eyes.

"Tell me," she willed, staring at his pale green eyes.

He sighed deeply, the rigid tension disappearing from his body, "I will, I'm sorry Sansa… I got carried away with… everything…" he apologized for… everything about this life, she supposed.

"And you'll just look at me, a wide eyed, naïve doe with not a clue in the world and just-… you'll just keep going along your lonely trail, flayed until you are no more…" she said in zeal.

"I'm sorry Sansa, but there's no other way," he said as he looked away.

Sansa took in a big breath of air, her nails biting into Joffrey's cheek as he turned his face again, "Except there is," she whispered fiercely.

Spoiler: Music

Joffrey looked as if he'd been hit in the head, blinking repeatedly, "Look, Sansa, I know what I'm talking about," he said in a rush, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly, "The Purple-"

"You don't remember do you?" she said as she stared at his eyes, "You told me, back in your room," she said.

"I told you? Told you what?!" he asked, his breath accelerating as his eyes widened in panic and denial.

"You told me, Joffrey," she said as she looked away, taking a breath of her own. "I still feel like a person, not a 'weapon part'… but I suppose there will never be a way to find out how a supposedly real person should feel…" she trailed off with a sigh as she looked at the stars, "Philosophy was never Maester Luwin's preferred subject…"

Joffrey was opening and closing his mouth like a fish, slowly shaking his head, "Sansa, I… I would never tell you-"

"But you did, you did Joffrey," she hammered it in, back to his widened eyes. "You told me the truth. That I was but another part of the… weapon created to stop the Long Night. That we were meant to live and die together so we could stop it. Like bow and arrow, wheel and axel… you told me Joffrey," she said.

"No… No…" he repeated as if he were living a nightmare.

"You muttered something about experimenting so you could use one part of the 'weapon' and not two… back in your tent during the tourney. Only later did I realize you were talking about yourself… after your confession in Red Keep… the weapon was not a spell but you. You were talking about trying to find a way to defeat the Long Night without the other part… without me," she said.

"The milk of the poppy… no…" Joffrey trailed off as vague wisps of addled memories assaulted him, breathing hard as he tried and failed to say something, anything that would deflect the line of questions.

"Yes… I didn't know what to think. To be told you are not a person but a thinking weapon of some sort… and that we were all but soul mates… It must have been the most romantic thing I've ever been told," she said with an exasperated half smile, "It finally buried the concerns I had about your feelings…" she trailed off with a self-conscious snort. "Seven help me… it feels like years ago…" she whispered.

He said nothing, looking at her in despair as if he'd been cornered.

"There is a way Joffrey," she told him fiercely, the harrowing cold disappearing from her mind even as she shivered harder, "There is a way to make me remember…" she insisted.

"… I'll make certain Robert never brings Ned and your family back to King's Landing. Sansa, you won't have to remember, I'll make sure they stay safe! I promise I'll make-" he tried desperately before Sansa felt her face throb in pain again.

"THIS IS NOT ABOUT THEM!" she screamed, a colossal coughing fit following her outburst. "It would be awfully nice to forget Arya's face as she looked at me in fear and, and and incomprehension, not quite believing the way her blood kept squirting from her neck!" she raged after the coughs passed, "You think I wouldn't like forgetting about Lady's torn apart head? You think it wouldn't be nice to have a quiet life back in Winterfell with my family?! To be the doe eyed girl oblivious to this horrifying reality!?" she said as she started to cry again, gesturing at the clearing.

"I can make it happen Sansa," Joffrey whispered.

"You won't," she whispered back as she stared, resolute even as the tears silently slid down her cheeks. "I swear by any Gods that might be watching us right this moment, I swear Joffrey I won't let you go alone. I won't allow you to make me forget. I won't leave you alone against the end of the world," she said as if she were uttering a cosmic law, "If I am but a part of a weapon, then so be it… but I'll be where I belong. By your side… and if the Long Night annihilates us together, as you whispered back in the Red Keep, then I'll die knowing I did everything I could. Bran and Arya and Father and Jeyne and everyone's deaths shall have meaning," she said, exalted in the righteousness of her words as her soul thrummed in agreement and adrenaline flooded her body.

Joffrey looked desperate, shaking his head, "You don't understand-" he tried.

Sansa kissed him fiercely as she held his head with her good hand, the kiss almost brutal as the strain of the past few days came to a crescendo, the loss and the despair crystalizing into a heady, drunken determination. "I understand this," she whispered as her heart hammered and she broke the kiss, Joffrey looking at her in a daze.

"It's because we were made this way…" he whispered.

"But does that make it any less true? Forget about the cause Joffrey, feel…" she whispered urgently as she placed her forehead against his, all inhibitions gone as she desperately tried to make him understand, her mouth moving by its own will as she followed what seemed to be a fundamental truth at the core of her being, "I don't care who caused it. I don't care if you call it love or indoctrination. It. Is. There," She willed him to understand, "I don't know how we are supposed to stop the end of the world… but we'll do it together, I know this… and you know it too," she said.

Joffrey seemed almost lost, his forehead still against hers as his eyelids fluttered, eyes closed as he whispered unintelligible things, unable to deny the simple truth. Sansa had long since left familiar shores, ladylike restraint disappearing with the wind as she kept pushing against his forehead, as if she could enter the Purple spell by her own will, "Don't fight them alone. Take me with you…" she pleaded as she closed her eyes too.

There was a long silence as they stopped talking but somehow kept communicating, Sansa's good hand finding Joffrey's.

"As it was meant to be…" he whispered.

"As it is meant to be," she whispered back.

"It will be beyond horrible, beyond despair… beyond what you can comprehend… the pain you have suffered here will be nothing compared to what is to come Sansa, nothing compared to the wrath of the Purple, nothing compared to the torment that will await you after each death, like clockwork, an eldritch thing staring from on high daring you to look back and lose your sanity as it crushes you through the eons of time," he pleaded.

"You told me to be brave," she said as she imagining her face screaming under a great, monstrous purple eye looking from on high, the winds and the waves crawling back unnaturally as the sun rose from the west and settled in the east in the midst of agony, Joffrey's words painting a the shape of things to come.

"And the people… your friends, your family, everyone… after years, decades… they will always be the same, they will always look at you as you were, nobody will understand you, every single interaction will make you remember what you've lost, every single word they speak will flay your soul as the people you knew reset back to standard, laughter and sorrow and companionship lost to the mists of time never to be seen again, so many times you'll start to forget what each version knew and what part of their personality was with them in the times before you woke up… time and again and again and again and again…" Joffrey said the words like terrible prophecy, almost in a trance.

Sansa sobbed silently as the raw angst in Joffrey's voice hit her like a physical force. She couldn't begin to imagine that particular curse, but her face tightened and she breathed.

"I'll have you… and you'll have me…" she whispered.

"Sansa…" her stern protector despaired as she would not desist, her stubbornness making tears well up in his eyes when the rending savagery of steel on flesh had not. "Sansa…" he pleaded.

"Whatever comes, we'll face it together," she whispered.

Joffrey said nothing, only the distant roaring of the sea and the occasional chirping of wild birds punctuated the silence as the sun hid completely and Joffrey took a deep breath.

"I'll need a clear area," he whispered, so low Sansa had to strain to hear it.

"Will the middle of the clearing work?" she asked him as something roared deep within her and she heard a torrent of blood pumping through her whole body.

Joffrey opened his eyes and stared at the clearing, his face slowly hardening to what was to come. "It'll do," he said with a nod.

Sansa gave a muffled wince as she followed him, holding her broken hand with the other as Joffrey limped towards the center of the small clearing, his stride slowly becoming more and more confident as he breathed.

"Our creation was flawed, the original 'part' that was to connect our 'essence'… our souls, did not achieve creation in the first place… in time, I managed to fashion a substitute of sorts," he explained as he turned to look at her, his face locked in the same certainty, the same ascendant determination Sansa felt within herself. He kneeled with a wince, clearing leaves and branches from the center of the clearing.

"What should I do?" Sansa asked him as she helped him clear the area, her heart going out of control as she breathed harshly, her skin prickling as Joffrey stood up and closed his eyes.

Brightroar materialized in a twirl of golden-purple fractals, steady in his hands as he let a long, exhausted breath, opening his eyes to look at her. "Kneel in front of me, hands by your sides… Brightroar shall serve as an impromptu soul bridge so to speak… it will hurt, Sansa," he said as he looked at her in faint hope.

She didn't give in to her fear and Joffrey's hope, walking in front of him and taking another deep breath. She kneeled after a moment, the pain fading into a distant memory as her whole body tensed in anxiety. "Is this… is this alright?" she asked as she looked up to him, the golden sheen of Brightroar giving the clearing a slightly yellow tinge, the silver pommel staring at her from above.

"It is…" Joffrey whispered, still looking at her.

"Will I have to do something during… the ritual?" she asked him.

"… I don't know, maybe…" he said, his expression troubled, "We're missing bits and pieces of our original, designed forms, so that could complicate things… ultimately though, we were deigned to achieve this," he explained.

"It was meant to be…" Sansa whispered as she blinked.

"… It was meant to be, yes," Joffrey said with a sorrowful wince, looking up to the heavens.

"… do it Joffrey," she whispered, staring at the sword which still rested its tip on the ground.

"Sansa… there can be no turning back from this, we will be bound-"

"Until the Long Night destroys us. Not the wedding vow I expected to utter," she said with an amused smile that hid the dawning terror that was slowly taking ahold of her now that she stared at her death. A cold, numb thing worse than any physical cold, a dark pit that accelerated her breath and brought her to near panic as she gazed at the sharp blade.

If something went wrong, everything would just turn black… and Joffrey would soldier on through his lives, never even risking this chain of events ever again… that was what most scared her right this moment.

Joffrey smiled in bitter defeat, nodding slightly. He closed his eyes, concentrating on something as Sansa's breath hitched, trying not to make a sound so he was not distracted. She thought the wind picked up as Joffrey took in deep, slow breaths, the sword slowly rising over her chest as his arms passed his head and he held the pommel aloft.

"I'll find you back in Winterfell," he said in a monotone of supreme concentration, not a trace of doubt left in his voice as he kept his eyes closed, his face slack as was Joffrey's wont when he meditated.

"I'll wait for you," she whispered, staring at the golden blade.

She kept staring at it for what felt like an eternity, the dark skies almost oppressing the glow of Brightroar, a thousand memories flashing past her eyes in a second before Joffrey suddenly descended and the Valyrian Steel tore into her heart, his eyes still closed as Sansa took in a small, sharp breath of air… before slowly letting it go.

The horrible pain swiftly gave way to numbness, and the world lost definition as she blinked slowly and Joffrey opened his eyes in surprised horror.

No…

No…

She tried to speak but found she couldn't, and her mind became hazy as she closed her eyes and the silent night turned completely dark and she was lost to oblivion.

.-

AND SHE TOOK IN A HARROWING BREATH OF AIR AS SHE SCREAMED AND BRIGHTROAR SHINED LIKE A NEWBORN SUN- SHE DESPERATELY GRASPED FOR THE PURPLE LIGHT OF JOFFREY'S SOUL AS LIGHTNING ERUPTED FROM THEIR LEAKING CONNECTION LIKE COLOSSAL SPIDERS WHICH CRAWLED UPON THE EARTH, THEIR SCREAMS OF AGONY INTERWOVEN AS SHE STRAINED TO GRASP HIM THROUGH THE GRAVE DRONING OF THE TUNNEL'S LENGTH- THE SEARING BOLTS OF LIGHTNING TRAVERSED THROUGH THE ENTIRE FOREST AND BEYOND SETTING THE VERY AIR ABLAZE AS THE SWIRLING INFERNO CONSUMED THEM AND SHE SCREAMED IN AGONY AS SHE HELD ON TO HIM AND A VAST INFINITY LAY UPON THEM AND THEIR THOUGHTS BECAME ONE AS A GREAT LANCE OF GOLDEN PURPLE LIGHT PIERCED HER VERY BEING AND TWISTED.

-: PD :-

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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Threadmarks Arc 5: Partners. Chapter 41: Stronger. New

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Apr 12, 2018

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Arc 5: Partners.

-: PD :-

Chapter 41: Stronger.

Joffrey awoke with a scream.

He lay there on the floor, panting as Sandor carefully helped him up and he took a deep breath of fresh air.

"It was only a nightmare, my prince," the Hound said with a slight huff.

Joffrey ignored him as he shook his head, stopping only to massage his throbbing temples. He sneaked a look at his bed, half expecting to find Sansa blinking blearily at the morning light.

That would have been awkward to explain, he thought ruefully as he saw only messy sheets.

Sansa…

By the Gods… he thought in a daze.

"Prince Joffrey?" Sandor asked, puzzled as the prince's hands trembled lightly.

It's done…

"Sandor, prepare two horses," he ordered him as he kneeled beside his bed and half crawled under it, emerging with Brightroar, hidden within its runed, dragonbone sheath.

"We depart for Winterfell in twenty minutes," he said gravelly as he centered himself, doubts and hope warring within his stomach as he hid an uneasy grimace.

-: PD :-

Through the Crownlands and the Riverlands they rode, so fast they had to procure new horses every three days. Sandor looked honestly bewildered, and Joffrey couldn't blame him for that. He dimly recalled being very wary regarding Robert's little trip north, back during his first life… his abrupt change of mind must have left the hound befuddled, especially the intensity of it. He had trouble remembering why he had been so sickened by the prospect of visiting Winterfell… nowadays breathing in some fresh air away from the smell of King's Landing was a favored treat.

He reached Winterfell in less than two weeks, butterflies assaulting his belly as the great, grey form of the ancient fortress suddenly emerged in the distance after he passed a particularly forested hill. He had to keep his breathing in check as he rode past the opened doors of the Outer Wall, Stark guardsmen eyeing him in curiosity and dawning realization…

The Capital must have sent a raven, he thought as the guards let him ride to the stables with only a few cursory looks and a few rusty bows. They had been expecting him, it seemed.

Or maybe it was just the Crannogmen, they always like to skulk around when Robert crosses the Neck… they must have been watching me too.

"Prince Joffrey!" shouted Rodrik Cassel as he quickly walked the last of the stairs that led to the South Tower, "Welcome to Winterfell… We weren't expecting the King's caravan so early," he said with a faint trace of disapproval as he walked towards them and bowed.

I'm sure you weren't… Joffrey thought as Ser Rodrik gave the Hound a respectful nod. Sandor returned it gruffly, as if it were a waste of time.

"Ser Rodrik, I'm sorry for the inconvenience… I got too impatient with the eternal delays, thought I'd just ride ahead of my Father," Joffrey told him with a nod before dismounting. He took a moment to observe Winterfell without the furor of the King's arrival, and found it seemed a much more quiet, still place. Servants cleaned the stables by his side as a couple of others tended to his exhausted horse, carrying out a task that would have taken ten men back in the Red Keep. Guardsmen carried out their duties with almost bored familiarity as the hunting master fed the hounds of Winterfell.

Joffrey had to contain himself from breaking into a sprint towards the Main Keep.

"Impatient enough to leave your horse half dead, my prince?" Rodrik asked with a jaundiced eye which nevertheless never crossed into disrespect. Ser Rodrik Cassel was not a man unaccustomed with the 'sophisticated' ways of the South… it was a shame Ned always left him up North, too far away to help him.

"Ah, well, I seldom have a chance nowadays to ride as fast as I can," he said. The excuse was so lame he could feel Sandor's eyes rolling from his position at his back.

… I shouldn't have known he was Ser Rodrik, did I?

"Princely duties keep you busy enough, my prince?" Ser Rodrik asked with a slight rise of his eyebrow as Joffrey walked towards him and grimaced slightly.

…Perhaps it was a good idea if he got this over quickly.

"Indeed. Would the great hall lie that way?" he half asked as he pointed. The rushed, clumsy question served well enough to remind Ser Rodrik of his courtesies, and the man nodded decisively with a half apologetic smile.

"Right you are, my prince. Forgive me my manners, you must be starving after such a hard ride," he amended as he bid the pair to follow him towards the Main Keep.

Sandor received Joffrey's dismissal with a thankful nod, glad to finally rest after the mad dash north. Another servant guided him towards the room he'd be staying at, not too far from Joffrey's own.

Ser Rodrik's voice became half muted as Joffrey concentrated on his breathing, trying to instill upon himself a sense of calm, like a rock sinking in the depths. The anxiety was still strong enough he had trouble focusing on the man's words as he guided him through the Keep's lobby, and he almost bumped against Lady Catelyn as Ser Rodrik came to a halt.

"Lady Catelyn Stark, my prince," said the Master-at-Arms, and Joffrey bowed lightly to the Stark matriarch, who appeared to have rushed through her ointments and powders to give herself a southern touch.

"We are honored to receive you my prince," she said with a charming smile,

"The honor is mine, Lady Catelyn," he said with mixed feelings. "Lord Eddard is out, I presume?" he ventured.

"He is, had a few matters to attend in one of the outlying villages. Would you like to join us for dinner?" she asked him.

"I'd be glad to, my Lady," he said with a thankful nod.

The impromptu dinner with the Starks was an irritating experience, this time. Robb, Bran and Arya had joined Lady Catelyn in the ankward game of 'trying to get the hold of the precocious young prince', but Joffrey had been far too addled to play his part.

Sansa had not joined them. Lady Catelyn had apologized for her daughter, claiming she had been feeling indisposed these last few days… which only served to fuel Joffrey's impatience and wariness.

Finally, when he thought he was going to burst, the meal was ground a close. Night had befallen Winterfell when he was finally given leave to wander, and his feet quickly carried him to Sansa's bedchambers.

He hesitated for an eternal second before banging on the door, not as gently as he would have liked.

"Yes?" came the voice from the other side.

Did it work? By the Gods did it work?! He asked himself in frenzy, unsure of what answer he would like to hear.

"It's Joffrey," he said, his voice vaguely strangled.

There was the sound of movement, and the door was suddenly opened to reveal a surprised Sansa, looking at him in shock.

"Joffrey?!" she stammered, and if he had any doubts after that they were dispelled by the urgency and the knowing in her eyes.

"Sansa," Joffrey whispered before she suddenly hugged him, shivering wildly.

"By the Seven… Joffrey…" she whispered as she shook, "For a moment I thought it had all been a nightmare, but deep down…"

"Deep down you knew," he said, some of the stiffness leaving his body as he hugged her gently in return, managing to clamp down on his feelings. "We should talk inside," he added as the enormity of what he'd done settled on to him, permanently.

Sansa took a step back, getting a hold on herself as she nodded quickly.

-: PD :-

"I thought it took a month," Sansa said as they walked through the Godswood, "To get here, I mean," she added belatedly.

"It usually does… but I couldn't wait for Robert, much less that damned wheelhouse…" Joffrey said as he shook his head with a snort, his mind heavy.

They were now truly interlocked, their fates bound for good or ill. He now had a companion in the endless struggle against the Cycle, through the machinations of the Purple. He was still somewhat stunned by the implications, too many to really process.

"What happened… after we were separated," he finally voice the question which had been eating inside of him, watching her carefully as they sat on a branch near the Godswood.

Sansa winced as she looked away, and Joffrey felt a pit opening up in his belly. "It hurt a bit," she said, tapping her knees, "It was as if Brightroar kept piercing my body, the storm of flames consuming me even as I…" she stuttered to a halt, looking at him for a second before shaking his her head. "I'll be fine," she tried to forestall him.

His horrified face must have shown.

"Sansa I-"

"Don't even start!" she interrupted him, showing that steel which he had glimpsed before, the steel which had dominated the last hours of her life. "I meant what I said Joffrey, and it's done. The only way now is forward," she said imperiously.

Joffrey took a deep breath, leaning his chin downwards as he thought. "How was it? Seeing your family again?" he asked her.

Sansa swallowed audibly as she blinked. "Hard," she said simply. She elaborated after a few minutes under the Heart tree, the red leaves fluttering around her hair. "I cried… a lot… I couldn't contain myself… I…" she broke off with a huff, closing her eyes.

It was a monumental effort, Joffrey realized. For Sansa to show herself vulnerable after all she'd done to make sure he thought of her as an asset and not a burden, someone not to coddle but to rely on. A show of trust.

And so he said nothing, letting her go through the silent pain and resisting the urge to hold her close.

"I managed after I saw Bran, but Arya… I couldn't stop remembering the way her throat just…" she broke off with a sniffle, taking a deep breath before shaking her head. "I managed," she finished, blinking away the tears.

Joffrey grabbed her hand gently, looking at the fresh summer snow as they lapsed into silent companionship.

He could have remarked on how they were in this together now, on how he'd be there for her, on how the course they'd have to chart would be dark and full of perils… but all those things went by unsaid. She knew, as she knew he knew. There was no need for words as they sat there and braced themselves against what was to come.

"What's the plan, then?" Sansa asked with a slight smile, breaking the silence.

It really is happening… Joffrey mused, feeling slightly dazed.

"Back to the Capital, as usual. I already killed Baelish but not Slynt, so that should keep Renly from jumping us like last time… hopefully…" he said before trailing off, the familiar feeling of weariness tying him down.

"Is it always like that?" Sansa asked him.

"Like what?" he said, nonplussed.

"Like trial and error," she said.

Joffrey tilted his head left and right before shrugging, "Yeah… pretty much. Nothing to it but to keep going forward," he told her as much as he told himself, echoing her words from before.

"But is there just one way forward?" she asked with a strange sort of intensity.

Joffrey just looked at her, puzzled.

"I told you back during… my first life…" she said the last words as if she were invocating a spell, before quickly shaking her head, "I told you back then, that you couldn't keep going on like this…"

"It's the only way," he said forcefully, but she cut him off again.

"Is it? Joffrey, you… we are immortal now… we don't need to clash blindly against King's Landing, against the… the Cycle. We can bide our time, watch from afar…" she trailed of meaningfully.

"And leave everyone to their deaths? Leave your father and your brothers to the machinations of the capital? To give them all up to the Walkers?" Joffrey asked her, his voice slightly raw.

Sansa looked away as she blinked once more, "They'll be here when we die, Joffrey… you need this," she said.

"Need what?" he asked her, trying to understand.

"You need to rest. Take a break from all… everything," she said as she gestured with her arms at the clearing, huffing. "You've told me the sanitized third, perhaps fourth of what you've been through. I've seen but the latest of your lives… and I don't need that to see just how broken you are right now," she begged him.

Joffrey's face contorted in anger, and Sansa knew that had been the wrong thing to say. True, but unhelpful. "I don't need to rest. I'll rest Sansa when the Cycle's gone. I'll rest when I'm dead for good," he said cuttingly.

They were quiet after the outburst, and Sansa decided to take different route. "So you'll just throw me at the Capital then? With not a wisp of preparation?" She told him, feeling dirty with herself at the blatant manipulation.

Joffrey knew exactly what she was doing, given the way he looked at her. He didn't deny her words though.

"Take a break from the madness Joffrey. Take us to… I don't know, one of the Free Cities, take a life not trying to save the world," she told him. As much as it pained her to leave her family behind to the South and the Cold North, they'd be right by her side the moment she died, their memories blessedly clear of the atrocities that would have happened to them… something Joffrey had seemingly forgotten after lifetimes of struggle.

Sansa tapped her knees nervously as she thought, trying to convince him to take a bit of time so he could build himself back into wholeness. "Don't think of it as a waste of time, think of it as a way to instruct me in all I need to know… think of it as a way to make me ready for the trials to come," she said.

Joffrey took a deep breath, not looking at her.

"Besides, you told me your knowledge of the West was still spotty two years after wake up… how can we plan accordingly if we don't know what's to come before the Walkers?" she reasoned, and she could see the gears clicking inside his head as Joffrey looked at her with interest now that the argument had gone from the personal to the strategic.

"That… well…" he struggled, his hand grasping air as blinked repeatedly, "… Take a life to scout the shape of the world if we did nothing… I'd planned on doing it the other way around, with my changes as the control… a more comprehensive, but not as broad gain of knowledge…" he trailed off with a frown, "But all the people-"

"Will be right here when you wake up, Joffrey. You didn't try to help them after Renly's coup in the Red Keep, in fact you said you would take your own life if I wanted all of this to go away, to wake up and remember nothing. This is not all that different from that, if on a much broader scale," she said in a reasonable tone of voice.

Joffrey stayed silent for a moment, staring hard at the ground before nodding decisively, "Okay, let's do it," he said suddenly. He tried not to think about the chief driver of that decision, only half supported by Sansa's arguments. The prospect of just letting it all go, if only for a little while. To live a life devoid of the weight of the world.

Sansa looked as if she were steeling herself before she asked, matching his eyes.

"Where do we go, then?" she asked him.

Joffrey just smiled slightly.

-: PD :-

There was something oddly poetic about the occasion, as if the eddies of fate were unable to completely forget the grooves that had been chiseled and forgotten eons ago. It was fitting, Joffrey thought, that Sansa's request had been voiced by ship and sea, the lull of the waves and the distant squealing of seagulls in his ears.

"I want to learn how to defend myself," she suddenly broke the silence as they stared at the narrow sea from the bow of the Wispcatcher.

Joffrey said nothing as he remembered the distant times when a little, scared man-boy had pleaded to a hound for instruction, for the knowledge of steel and death, raw angst in his voice and nightmares in his dreams. He remembered eras long past gone when the boy had boarded a ship and started his journey towards manhood.

He swiftly snuffed the pang of guilt at the thought of leaving Sandor in King's Landing. The sworn shield and whatever men the Small Council sent to back him up would waste years of their lives chasing the carefully crafted lie Joffrey had prepared. By all reasonable evidence, shipping logs and eyewitness accounts, Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark had escaped from King's Landing to Lys, and then to Myr, Pentos, Tyrosh, back to Myr and then finally to Volantis, where they'd lose themselves up the Rhoyne.

"What happened to the sworn swords and the knights?" he asked idly as he kept looking at the sea.

"A knight tried to rape me, and my sworn swords were dead or dying," Sansa said in a monotone so harsh that Joffrey felt as if he'd been slapped.

"Sansa, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," he apologized quickly as he turned, only to find her staring at the sea as well. She stayed silent as the ship rocked about, sailors cleaning the lower deck behind them as the watchmen called out his readings from an instrument nailed to the main mast.

"I felt so powerless," she finally whispered, her grip on the wooden railing whitening her knuckles. "No matter what I thought about, no matter how wrong life had suddenly turned, no matter my strength nor my will nor my words… all I could do was be carried about like a sack of wheat," she muttered, her eyes almost lost.

Joffrey felt his stomach clench as wisps of red stalked the edge of his vision, "I should have been there, I should have-"

"No," Sansa cut him off abruptly, "You shouldn't have," she continued as she turned and faced him in full, her red eyes at odds with the stern façade of her face. "I will not be the maiden in distress, waiting for the shining prince," she declared.

Joffrey stayed silent as the ship rocked about, thinking.

"Hey, maybe 'shining' is too strong a word but I can manage a 'steely grey' I think," he offered with an awkward smile, but Sansa didn't even react to the joke. She took a step closer to Joffrey, her eyes boring into his, "I won't be the burden, I won't stand for it Joffrey. I won't be the maiden you have to rescue time and again... I told you before I died, that we'd be in this together," she finished with such clarity that Joffrey could only nod slightly.

"I'll be the partner, not the maiden," she said before taking a deep breath and letting it out, as if she'd been exhausted by the sheer outpouring of intent.

"…I won't go easy on you," Joffrey finally said after a long time, probing the steel behind her eyes.

Sansa huffed as she shook her head, "I used to make fun of Arya all the time, her games with swords and bows… when the time came, at least she managed to slow one of them down… all I could manage was a broken hand," she said bitterly.

"No one could have expected you to fare better," Joffrey tried consoling her as he placed a hand on her shoulder, only for it to be roughly rebuked.

"But that's just it, isn't it?" she shot back, "I want to be better than what they expect, in every way. Their expectations aren't going to cut it, not against what you say is to come, not against what I saw, not if we are to win," she said fervently. "So when you say you won't take it easy on me… I say good riddance!" she spat, "I want better than easy. I want better than good, I want to be-"

"My partner," Joffrey ended the sentence.

Sansa nodded silently, and Joffrey let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Partners, he thought in mixed dread and awe.

When he spoke he found his voice slightly raw. From fear or excitement, he could not tell.

"What you first need to understand, is footwork," he said.

-: PD :-

The City on the Lagoon seemed strangely uncanny, compared to the last time he'd been here. When he'd visited as part of Captain Nakaro's crew he'd been taken in by the ancient if vibrant grandeur of the city, its prosperous markets and wide waterways filled to bursting with gondolas and small boats. Now, after decades of travelling the world, his experienced eyes caught the shadowed contours which surrounded the city, the dark mirror which lay beneath first glance, the wisps of something more hidden in plain sight. Braavos had been a city of secrets long before it was a city of trade, and Joffrey was intrigued to find that smell of dealings in the dark in here of all places, with a sophistication that even at a distance he could already tell was to King's Landing's what a lion was to mice.

"It's so… alive," Sansa said simply, her eyes trawling through the five story buildings surrounding Ragman's Harbor. Braavos' open port to the rest of the world, Ragman's harbor boasted a wild riot of color and sound, thousands of sailmenders, brewers, prostitutes, bakers, ropemakers and more walking about and shouting about their wares at the top of their lungs as stiff necked sailors and porters hauled a seemingly unending supply of goods to and from the armada of eclectic ships which sprawled through the west of the City on the Lagoon. From Swan ships to Pentoshi galleys to Ibbenese whalers and beyond, the cavalcade of ships was as diverse as the people of Ragman's Harbor.

"It is, isn't it?" Joffrey said with a slight smile, their medium sized gondola swaying against gentle waves as they passed under another bridge, making their way deeper into the city. The gondolier didn't seem to be in a hurry, and the two Westerosi fugitives made use of the time to soak in the atmosphere of the vibrant, if slightly damp city.

"Mind telling me now where we're going, Master Jonnel?" Sansa asked him, her face locked in long sufferance.

"Selya dear, I assure you it shall be splendid!" Joffrey told her, his face threatening to split into an almighty guffaw.

"You're enjoying this," Sansa realized with a reprobate smile, and Joffrey had to huff and look away so he could contain his mirth.

Playing the role of Jonnel Stars, modest merchant of dubious chivalric descent and a man with a lot to prove to the world… well, Sansa was right. He was enjoying it already.

Sansa for her own part seemed the canvass perfect picture of a landed knight's daughter bartered off to an iffy 'noble' merchant with more gold than prestige, her cheeks splashed with cheap powder and her beautiful red hair contained by a modest brooch dotted with a few semi-precious stones.

She looked older, more weathered somehow… and Joffrey doubted it was all because of the clever disguise.

The gondolier kept pushing gently with his pole, carrying the gondola deeper into the city, north past Nabbo's Bridge and into a modestly wealthy neighborhood of two and three story houses which boasted small, interior patios of grey stone.

"We're here Master Jonnel," the gondolier told Joffrey in a heavily accented Westerosi. The gondola came to a stop and the man quickly started to tie the boat to the small dock below their new home.

"Thank you kindly," Joffrey told him in the patois of the Free Cities, stressing a slight Tyroshi accent. He walked out of the gondola before offering a hand to his 'young wife', gently helping her set her feet on solid ground… or wood at least. He tried not to say anything as Sansa winced after her arm bumped one of the pier's wooden pillars. He had seen the long stretches of purple color which now ran through her sleeve covered arms, back and chest, and he knew how much they must have hurt her… their month long training regime had been brutal, as Joffrey had promised… and it was quickly becoming apparent Sansa was no natural with a sword.

She hadn't said a word of it of course, and Joffrey knew bringing attention to it would just make her angry, so he said nothing as they walked sedately up the wooden stairs, hand in hand as they reached the top of the channel and the small gate to their new property, flanked by other houses similar in height and width. Lady had disembarked last, strutting about as a true noble lady and sniffing the air delicately before sitting attentively by Sansa side as they looked upwards.

"Behold the Dure House," Joffrey proclaimed proudly as he swept the two storied house, made out of great grey bricks and adorned by modest masonry in the form of small balconies and triton shaped frills.

Sansa gave him a tentative smile, eyeing their new home with a critical eye, "It looks a bit run down," she noted idly.

"You don't like it?" Joffrey asked her with a frown. It did look slightly dilapidated but-

"Joffrey, its perfect," she said with a snort. "As long as there's some peace and quiet you could stash us in Wintertown's flea bitten tavern for all I care," she told him with a fond smile that hid painful memories.

She missed her family dearly, even the thought of Wintertown making her sigh in a weird mixture of pain and longing. She breathed it in, and then out, just as Joffrey had been teaching her. She would see them again, and they would be all the safer after the knowledge she and Joffrey could extract from this… life.

The House's three servants were already waiting for them, the bare minimum of service a modestly successful merchant house could boast of while still being seen as worthy of attention (however slight it may be) inside the City on the Lagoon.

"Master Jonnel, lady Selya," said the one which stood a step in front of the other two, "My name's Adaro, head of the Dure House staff," he said with an elegant bow in the Braavosi style. He was an older man of fifty or so namedays, his graying hair still growing strong and framing a small goatee. "To my right is Footman Inneo," he said as he signaled the huge man in a scruffy footman's garb, who bowed as well, "And to my left, Miss Ferola, our Housemaid," he continued as the plain looking woman by his side curtsied in the Braavosi style as well.

"A pleasure to meet you all," Joffrey said as he nodded at each member of the staff in turn, "I know of the hard times which have befallen Dure House, and I'm certain that by our combined efforts this house will rise again in splendor and in the esteem of all Braavosi," he said delicately, noting the shadow that briefly passed through Adaro's eyes. The last tenants of Dure House had been driven to ruin by their loses in the Shivering Sea trade routes, and the Iron Bank had impounded the house and fired most of the staff, leaving only a small skeleton household to keep it from falling into disrepair.

"You have my assurance and that of the entire household, small as it may currently be, to aid you in your endeavors to the best of our ability," Adaro said formally, with a firm nod.

"Shall we then?" Sansa asked with an inviting smile. Master Adaro turned about swiftly with another nod, giving orders to the small staff before guiding the pair to the property itself, walking past the small iron gates and the modest patio before reaching the house proper.

-: PD :-

"That would be the last of it," said his accountant as the man flipped the last bit of parchment and scribbled a few notes beneath it.

"Excellent, Vargano," Joffrey told the wiry man before the distant horn of the Titan of Braavos sounded in the distance. "And that's my signal. Please give my compliments to Captain Thorraro and make sure to buy him and his crew a keg of fine cider," he said as he took his black and grey cloak from the big oak chair and fastened it around his back.

"I will see to it. Good evening Master Jonnel," Vargano told him with a small bow, one Joffrey returned before making his way downstairs and through the gaggle of scribes and accountants which dotted the building, all either bowing or nodding at his sight, showing their respects to their boss.

Joffrey snorted quietly after he left through the front door, the immense noise of Ragman's harbor hitting him like a physical force as hundreds of dockworkers carried out their tasks, punctuated by the cries of fish and oyster merchants plying their trade. The City on the Lagoon never slept, and neither did its merchants and inn keeps.

Joffrey took the scenic route back to Dure House, taking his time and observing the great manor houses which got bigger and more imposing the more one walked towards the Purple Harbor. Dure House was not quite as distinguished however, and soon the grand sights in the distance were replaced by 'modest' two and three story houses with wide inner patios and dull grey iron gates, gondolas traversing the lengths of the inner canals without end as the economic powerhouse of Western Essos lived and breathed.

He arrived at Dure House to an unexpected sight, that of Footman Inneo rushing out of the house with a bucket full of water.

"What is it Inneo?" Joffrey called out as he tensed, his hand idly touching the long stiletto hidden within the folds of his merchant's robes.

The big man barely gave him a look before dumping the water and rushing back inside, "It's the basement Master Jonnel! It's flooding heavily!" he called out as he entered the house again.

Joffrey muttered a curse as he rushed after him, following the dirty footprints that lead to the basement's staircase. He dashed down to the sight of Adaro and Sansa trying to stack big sacks filled with sand against a long crack in the wall that ran horizontally by a few meters from left to right.

"Gods, what happened? Sa- Selya! Are you alright?!" Joffrey called out as he took the last step and waded into the flooded room.

"North wall gave up on us, and don't you 'alright' me!" Sansa said with a hint of irritation as she left the sack and looked at him.

She was getting steadily pricklier about 'being treated like a glass doll' lately, and Joffrey was at a bit of a loss about that. "North wall… we must be draining water from the channel," he said quickly, avoiding that particular pitfall. Now was not the time.

"What gave it away? The rancid smell or the waist high water?" Sansa bit back as she heaved another sack and tried placing it over the crack in the wall.

"Not the smell, can't scent it over your foul mood," Joffrey said with a small smirk as he rushed the last few meters and grabbed the other end of the sack. They placed it against the wall together, finally stopping the worst of the flow.

"I think I know now why the price was so good," Joffrey muttered as he beheld the sickly looking wall and the sack covered gash along it.

"My deepest apologies Master Jonnel, but the architect from the Iron Bank said the structure was sound…" Adaro said with all the grace and calm of a man delivered breakfast. "It was on me not to warn you they might have been incorrect in that assessment, or outright dishonest. I will be leaving as soon as this emergency is over," he said with all the aplomb of a knight renouncing his title for a failed oath.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sansa told him before he could get a word in edgewise, "We still have use for your service, don't think you'll get off the easy way!" she said sharply, her small smile taking the edge off it.

.-

"Poor Inneo is going to keep using that bucket through the whole night," Joffrey mused as the sound of the hard at work footman drew his head towards the door. "I should go help him," he added as he made to stand up, but Sansa's hand preempted that motion as she grabbed his arm and yanked him back down.

"Don't be ridiculous," she echoed her thoughts from back when in the basement, "He'll be fine," she added. They were both sitting in a long couch, facing the warm fireplace at the center of the small living room, flanked by the ever growing form of sleeping Lady.

"But he'll be working right next to us all night while we sit here all nice and warm," he protested. Something was deeply wrong with that notion, he just knew.

"Yes, and he's being paid for it. Quite generously I might add, if those books on the Braavosi market conditions have anything to say about it," she shot back as her hand stopped grabbing his arm, hesitantly retreating back to her lap.

Joffrey said nothing, his face betraying his sullenness… but neither did he stand back up.

"Servants are not a personal insult to your being, Joffrey," Sansa said after a moment, going to the heart of the matter as was her wont. Joffrey didn't deign that with an answer, and instead shuffled a bit under the big blanket they were sharing between them, the moonlight outside barely phased by the light rain now pattering against the windows.

The silence turned more and more awkward as they whiled away their time, and Joffrey found himself assaulted by the urge to say something, anything. It was moments like these that made him supremely uncomfortable, as if the whole room was tilted slightly sideways… the combination of silence and Sansa's presence always left him nervous. What was she to him? A partner against the apocalypse surely, but… what else? They were masquerading as husband and wife, but he hadn't even kissed her since that fateful moment in the Crownlands, and he wasn't sure he'd want to do that again… the mere thought of Nalia swiftly put paid to that notion.

They'd been betrothed, just one step behind a real marriage in the eyes of the world, but fortunately, there hadn't been a ceremony nor a bedding… though they had arguably shared a much closer experience during the endless eternity of the Purple, their thoughts briefly one before the world crawled back in time… He'd told her dribs and drabs of his previous lives, and she'd told him stories about Winterfell, but it all felt strange still, like he couldn't find his footing. And thinking about it made him feel like an idiot and even more uneasy.

"It would have been a killing offense," he blurted suddenly.

Sansa had been watching the fire, entranced, before blinking repeatedly and looking at him with a sort of awkward thankfulness. It seemed he hadn't been the only one ill at ease.

Of course, his damned mouth had just exchanged one problem for another.

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, curious.

"… Back at the Dawn Fort. Wasting this much wood on a personal fire would have gotten the offending soldier killed. Wood was just too precious," he said idly, looking away as if that was the end of the matter.

The silence returned once more, but it was Sansa who broke it this time. "Your time with the… the Dawn Legion… you hardly ever speak about it," she observed, not even asking for details.

"Its… it's not something I enjoy talking about," he said, his voice clipped as he stared at the fire. "I always get cold just by thinking about it," he said after another long silence.

He felt Sansa's hand gently grabbing his under the blanket. He didn't dare look at her, trying to take his mind off the pervasive cold. "We'd erect great big bonfires during the assaults when the Walkers tried to break the siege… It always felt so unnatural, to see such a blazing fire and barely feel the warmth of it from a few paces away," he said, his mouth moving by its own will.

He was starting to breath harshly, blinking slowly, "We used them not only for warmth, but to toss in the bodies of the slain as well. Dead comrades giving their living brothers a bit of warmth before they met the same end… perhaps that's was why the fires felt so cold, no Walker magic needed," he trailed off when he realized he was shaking, the cold burrowing deeply into his bones despite the sturdy couch at his back and the blanket atop.

He was startled when he felt a core of warmth by his side, and turned his head to find Sansa leaning on him, still holding his hand. She seemed to be looking at his face, indecision warring in her eyes before she leaned closer, hugging him with both arms and snuggling against his chest, her red mane spilling all over his chest.

"Sansa-"

"Shush. We can take turns being stronger," she whispered, and Joffrey felt the unease melting away almost against his will. He feared what he'd find underneath it.

In the end, whatever the thing was, it was warm and quite nice he decided, some indescribable stiffness leaving his body as he relaxed slightly, minutely, against the weight of Sansa. She shuffled lightly as he embraced her in turn, pulling their blanket up and covering them both.

-: PD :-

Their life on Braavos quickly turned routine as the months came and went. Joffrey left every other day for work at his small shipping business, using the dragons he had stolen from the Red Keep to exercise some of his rusty trader skills. He was modestly successful in his endeavor, and his success was in no small part due to Sansa herself. She played her part perfectly, organizing small dinners or balls at the Dure House, expanding their paltry influence and establishing a few modest contacts of her own amongst the wives of other merchants similar in prestige as 'Jonnel Stars', grandson of a merchant who had been allegedly knighted by one of the Blackfyres. Perhaps her success at playing the role was due to how similar it was to that of a Westerosi Lady, when you replaced the trappings of nobility for that of wealth and standing, a task which had been expected of her since her birth…

Or perhaps it was due to her frankly zealous appetite for books.

Unlike Joffrey, Sansa took a special joy in reading all manner of things for a long, long time. Where Joffrey got impatient and his mind forcibly took him out of the text, Sansa was able to keep on going for hours and hours without end.

"I have to catch up," she'd simply told him when he'd asked about it, one early morning when he'd left his room to find her in their small library, leafing through a tome on the lives and intrigues of several notorious Braavosi Sealords now long since dead.

"Catch up? Sansa there's nothing to catch up," he'd told her, but she'd just frowned as she looked up to him.

"There's everything to catch up Joffrey. I told you we'd be partners… how can I be… how can I be your Queen-" she'd said with a hint of steel in her voice, steel and trepidation and a glimmer of proud half understood ambition, "-if I don't understand half your plans? New tax laws and trade routes, great works of engineering somehow powered by the Blackwater, armies and roads and granaries and the dangers of court," she'd said in a rush, "You tell me of these things but I don't understand them."

"Each of us has strengths and weaknesses Sansa, we'll make it work," he'd told her, but that had clearly been the wrong thing to say, her stare piercing him like a sharp rapier.

"Yes Joffrey, and my strength is clearly not to be found in arms and armor," she'd told him with a pained wince. By then Joffrey had given up on the sword and had started teaching her the basics of daggers and crossbows, hoping to find better luck there. "Not a doll Joffrey, partners," she'd repeated forcefully, the phrase becoming some sort of mantra that propelled her through both sleepless nights illuminated by candlelight or long bouts of training in the inner patio, away from prying eyes.

What could he have possibly said to that?

And so the months passed, a whole year even and more as the news coming from Westeros became more and more contradictory and the War of the Four Kings took off. Joffrey held her tight when Sansa heard about Ned, about the way he had boldly declared his allegiance for King Stannis in front of Baelor's Sept and half of King's Landing… and gotten his head lopped off for his troubles. She'd cried for a whole day, the words to sooth her dissipating like wind every time Joffrey tried to say them, and so he could only hold her and try to be as strong for her as she'd been for him.

The next day he found her in the inner patio, her training armor strapped on tight and her form moving through the stamina exercises he'd taught her with a will.

"Teach me something new Joffrey, anything," she practically begged him in a tone he knew all too well. He'd heard it within himself when he'd begged the Hound to beat him to a pulp, take his mind elsewhere from a particularly horrible life.

"Okay," he told her simply, knowing that engaging her in further conversation would just make her even sadder. The inner patio was ten meters wide from side to side, surrounded by the walls of Dure House and its many unused servant and guest quarters, providing a safe harbor for their regular exercises which would have surely aroused the interest (and disrespect) of the Braavosi elite, if they had known. Fortunately enough, the walls were thick and the servants tight lipped.

Joffrey walked to the makeshift armory he'd been assembling over the year and picked a pair of heavy Ibbenese spears with blunted tips. He decided he'd give Sansa exactly what she wanted, and outright needed. "Alright 'Selys'!" he called out as he threw the spear at her from one moment to the next. He was surprised though when she grabbed it perfectly, feeling it in her hands for bit and testing its weight and reached.

Joffrey shook his head before he twirled his own spear lightly, showing Sansa a few basic moves. "Reach is a fundamental aspect of spear fighting, both its use for attack and defense. You should always dictate the range of the engagement. Spears shine at long range, but this does not mean that a competent spearman cannot forego said advantage if the situation demands it. In fact, the masters of the craft regularly like to narrow down the range where daggers would be more effective, to surprise their opponents or lock them in a variety of grapples which make use of the spear's shaft and two handed grip," he explained as he demonstrated, slamming into as training dummy with a flurry of precise stabs before spinning and grappling it from behind, using the shaft as a bar to lock the cloth arms of the dummy and leaving it pinned, ready for a trip down or a toss and a follow up finisher. Sansa's eyes followed him avidly, taking in every single movement.

"Now, this here is the Ibbigen: the basic, powerful stab upon which a great many movements of this particular fighting style are built upon," he said, demonstrating repeatedly. "Try in on me first, I'll parry the blo-ought-" he stuttered when Sansa braced the spear in her hands and delivered a perfect, forceful thrust right into his belly without a word of warning.

"Joffrey!" she screeched as she dropped the spear and kneeled by his side, not quite knowing what to do as Joffrey held his belly with both hands, trying to breathe. "Thaht… that was pretty good actually," he managed in between gasps, a small smile forming on his lips as he sat up with her help.

"You… you really think so?" she asked quickly as she made sure he was not hurt, dusting a bit of dirt out of his shirt.

"Yeah, you should try it again," he said with a wide smile. He was never going to bring Sansa anywhere close to a battlefield, but her getting better at some sort of weapon, any weapon, would surely help bridge that gap she felt all too keenly between themselves. For all that Sansa talked about his own lack of self-esteem, she seemed all to blind to the way she kept thinking herself the lesser just because he'd spent lifetimes perfecting a great many deal of different skills.

"Better do it with the dummy this time though," he added quickly as she grabbed the spear from the ground with a determined glint in her eyes and a budding smile in her face.

… He briefly wondered if he was going to regret this.

-: PD :-

The soiree at the Hollwyn's manor made Joffrey feel vaguely inadequate, as if he were play acting instead of… well, he was actually play acting wasn't he?

"What's so funny?" Sansa asked with a lopsided smile as she led him to the upper courtyard, their arms held firmly as they nodded courteously at the other couples in the ballroom, either heading deeper inside for a dance or retreating to discuss business… or pleasure. Master Hollwyn's soirees were famous, or rather infamous, for the deeds one could witness in the many private chambers that filled the manor.

Joffrey's mind drifted to what he'd do if Sansa turned right towards the private chambers instead of left towards the terrace, then swiftly shook his head as feelings better kept buried tried to claw out of his belly.

"I feel like a child play acting," he said when he realized he'd drifted off, still being guided by Sansa's confident but sedate stride. She'd been gaining greater confidence in these types of events throughout the year and a half of their stay in Braavos.

"Well, technically you are a merchant, no acting there," she said as they reached the opened air terrace. They walked through the moonlit cobblestones towards the nearby railing, their elbows locked together as they ascended through periodical groups of steps.

"… You forgot the child part," Joffrey observed as they reached the railing and leaned on it, the sight of Braavos in all its glory bare for the eyes to see. Velyio Hollwyn had constructed his manor in a little island almost in the middle of Braavos' inner lake, between the Long Canal and the Canal of Heroes. You could reach the Palace of Truth by gondola in less than five minutes from here, and the many street lanterns and house lights of the inner districts surrounded the lake, reflecting their light upon it.

Sansa said nothing, an impish smile slowly overtaking her features.

"Selys?" Joffrey asked in mock hurt.

"Well Jonnel, you can be a tad childish at times," she said airily as she broke off from his grasp and turned to look back to the terrace.

"Me? Childish? I'll have you know that I am the most un-childish man to ever walk amongst man or child, be ready or not, tis' me you won't expect!" he delivered with a grave voice and a theatrical flourish.

"Will you ever stop reciting that line?" Sansa scolded him with a smile of fond irritation.

"'For 'tis I, Vellamo! The Man! The Legend! The Myth himself!" Joffrey spoke in a crescendo, ignoring the looks being sent his way and enjoying the red in Sansa's cheeks.

"Of all the plays we've seen that's the one that stuck to you the most?" she asked with a disbelieving tilt of her head.

"You simply lack an appreciation for fine art dear," Joffrey told her as she looked at her lips, Sansa tilting her head a bit more and making his neck tickle as the tips of her hair prickled it… trying to make him do something foolish.

Maybe we've been hitting the wine too hard, Joffrey thought as Sansa giggled slightly. The damned Braavosi drank it like fruit juice. It tasted like fruit juice as well, making accurate measurement of ones consumption… irregular.

Highly irregular, he thought happily as he leaned forward before a deep voice startled him out of the haze.

"Is that 'Vellamo and the Three Swords' I hear?!" boomed the voice as a short man of great weight and girth almost crashed against them. The man had a great beard which seemed to make up for the bald spot at the top of his head, and his magnificently dyed, lustrous brown robes seemed to almost glow against the moonlight. The two obvious courtesans by each arm giggled genuinely enough to Joffrey's ear, but that was hardly unexpected after all… the bastard was too damned likeable by half.

"Ah, I see you are a man of taste and culture," Joffrey said with a deeply exaggerated bow that managed to hide his mixed relief and rage at the interruption.

"It takes one to know one, eh?" the man said as he bowed too. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to be even more inebriated than Joffrey, given the way his balance deserted him and he ended up stuck against the railing, between him and Sansa. His pudgy hands tried for a grip so he could lift himself up, but they proved inadequate for the task at hand.

"Ladies, a little help here yes?" he called out, and the two courtesans pulled him back upright with a fond smile, where he swayed for a moment before planting a surprisingly delicate kiss on each of them. "What would I be without you?" he asked them gratefully.

"Richer," the two of them deadpanned at the same time, causing the man to laugh uproariously.

Joffrey couldn't help but laugh as well, "Lazono you old goat, I thought a whale had finally eaten you and your ship," he told the man. Sansa was smiling fondly as Lazono looked outright affronted, "Me? Done in by a whale?! I'd accept nothing less than a leviathan, and a fat one at that!" he declared for all to hear.

Lazono Parhaan was a glob of spit in the face of every Lorathi stereotype ever. Loud spoken, genial, gregarious, and surprisingly gentle in private. One thing he shared with his fellow countrymen however was the fact that he made a great friend… and a terrible enemy. Few could hold a grudge like a Lorathi, and Lazono had been sharpening his for well over a decade.

"What news from White Harbor, master Lazono?" Sansa asked him, leaning avidly and hoping for news from the homeland. The pudgy Lorathi frequently visited the city, plying the Shivering Sea trade routes. That in fact had been the initial reason Joffrey had approached him: as a regular source of information about the North.

"A lot of waffling and quite a bit of inane panic," he said. "The Ironborn are scouring the North's western shores, and half the dimwits that pass as merchants in Westeros are convinced the Maderlys are going to draft the lot of them and sail around the continent to face reavers around Ironman's Bay," he added as he shook his head slightly, drifting towards the neck of one of the two courtesans which seemed to always follow him whenever he was in Braavos.

"What has Lord Stark done?" Joffrey asked him.

"He sent a force back North to retake the fallen castles of the western shores, but everybody agrees his position is tenuous. They were badly bloodied after the Battle of the Blackwater, and it is said King Stannis is holding court at Riverrun and needing every single warm body to hold off the combined forces of the Lannisters and the Tyrells," he said as he tilted his head left and right. "There's another matter I wanted to discuss with you though," he added after a moment.

Joffrey looked at Sansa, and at her slight nod he turned back to Lazono. Further news from Westeros would have to wait.

"Lead the way, please," Joffrey told him as the two courtesans left without a word and Lazono walked by the edge of the terrace, leaning with one hand on the railing, his equilibrium modestly improved as he turned to business. Sudden important news had a way of draining one's tipsiness.

This is the true heart of the Braavosi 'court'. Soirees and dealings in the dark, for good or ill, he thought as he followed by his side, holding Sansa again by their elbows as they sedately made their way from the bustle… and ears, of the other guests.

"That dog Marelos is on the move again," Lazono told them both with a scowl of barely restrained anger, his features darkening instantly.

"He's active again? I thought he'd burned his bridges after what happened to the Dure's and the Faeoris'?" asked Joffrey, slightly alarmed. That had been before his time, but he knew about the infamous Merchant Prince all the same.

"He's been rebuilding," Lazono said curtly, his gimlet eye looking down the railing for any sign of a hanging spy.

"Oh no…" Sansa whispered as she looked down, "I've been hearing rumors of a 'secret' patron gifting fine Yi-Tish art and porcelain to certain parts of the upper aristocracy for weeks now… Oniras, Mophira, Sorreris… all families that were either neutral during his attempted takeover of the Shivering Sea trade routes, or at least uninterested about it… and the man does have a penchant for fine Yi-Tish art. It must be him," Sansa said with growing certainty.

Lazono turned to Sansa with a respectful expression on his face before nodding curtly in acknowledgment, "Hadn't heard about that. It does confirm my hypothesis though, Marelos Hartios is back in on his old ambition, and he won't rest until he has a stranglehold on the Shivering Sea so hard as to make a Kraken green with envy…" he trailed off darkly.

Marelos Hartios was a pretty hated, if influential, merchant prince of Braavos. He was infamous for trying to lock the Shivering Sea trade routes under his thumb not once, but two times in the last ten years. His first failure had been due primarily to a lack of ships and gold, but even that had been enough to drive many of his competitors to ruin, and sometimes even suicide. One such man had been Lazono Parhaan's cousin.

"This bodes ill, if he's buttering up those three families then he'll have the Sealord checked and unable to move against him, not without hard evidence of wrong doing," said Joffrey. The only reason Marelos failed in his second bid, four years later, was because of his success. He'd overextended himself when he'd basically dismantled the Faeoris family's entire enterprise by bribing the Dyemaker's guild to stop production for a full week, inserting a fatal delay into their desperate efforts to stave off bankruptcy by carrying out a dangerously risky (if lucrative) contract with Ibb. When they could not deliver the order, they'd had no choice but to sell to Marelos. Something similar happened to the Dure's, the previous occupants of the very same house he now inhabited with Sansa…

But that had been a step too far, even for him. Marelos had been forced to sell parts of his ill-gotten gains back to the Braavosi elite or the open market, to stave off the wrath of the Sealord. The elected leader of Braavos frowned on the trivial destruction of Braavosi Merchant Houses, especially ones which had also been Keyholders, like the Faeoris'… and especially if the one doing the destroying kept bloating in power. This was no Pentos, where one supremely powerful Magister could force the entire city to follow his whims, and in trying to emulate that Marelos had summoned the unrestrained attentions of the Sealord himself.

Sansa turned to look at Joffrey with a troubled expression as all three of them kept walking and their tones descended into whispers, "It's only a matter of time until he moves against the smaller houses plying the route. With the Sealord held in check he'll be able to pick off the small fish one by one… starting by the bigger of them, Master Lazono," she murmured as she looked back to the Lorathi.

"And when I'm gone, the dog will surely come after the both of you. The Stars Trading House has achieved surprising success in the year and a half it's been here, he won't ignore you after he's achieved a dominant position," Lazono told them, grim.

Joffrey's mind was already whirling. Marelos could not be allowed to succeed, lest he drive all he and Sansa had sought to achieve in this life to dust. Their contacts and relations were centered on Westerosi trade, not a spy network per se but an informational one nonetheless… one who was already proving its worth by providing accurate details on troop movements, actual mobilization rates, and economical information about all of Westeros' five big cities and their surroundings… information that would be vital when the time came to wield the Seven Kingdoms like a fine rapier against the darkness. Almost all of it though was paid through the Stars Trading House's profitable exploitation of the Shivering Seas trade route, exchanging iron, furs, bones, gemstones, and dyes along the Ibb-Morosh-Lorath-Braavos-White Harbor axis.

"If you didn't know about Marelos' bribing of the important families around the Sealord, how did you know he was active again?" Sansa asked him suddenly.

"Because he's already struck. Tregidos Sanatis has been all but been driven to ruin. The news from Lorath reached me yesterday," said Lazono with a clipped tone.

"The Sanatis?" Joffrey asked, agape.

"The very same. He's bound to return to Braavos in the coming weeks and sell whatever remains of his ventures to Marelos himself… and then his rate of growth will be almost exponential," Lazono said as he scowled.

"Fuck…" Joffrey whispered with feeling, feeling as if news about the loss of a full Patrol to the Beyond had just reached him.

"What will you do?" Sansa asked the man as they stopped by the railing again, this time facing a different part of Braavos and its sea of tiny lights.

"Batten down the hatches, secure my suppliers as ably as I can… I recommend you to do the same," he said ominously.

Joffrey was frowning though. He was sick of sieges and last stands, and he was damned if a self-important merchant was going to ruin all his carefully prepared work.

Besides, I like it here, he thought as his eyes drifted to Sansa's.

-: PD :-

They returned quickly back to Dure House after that, and spend most of the rest of the night discussing what to do.

"You can't just murder him Joffrey," Sansa said for the fifth time, exasperated.

"It does have a way of making things less complicated," Joffrey protested, but his soul was not into it.

"And making a lot of other things infinitely more so," she said with a great shrug. "Killing him would just leave his wealth and influence with his son, who's cut from the same piece of fabric if what Lewylla told me is true, which I believe to be."

"Then we kill him too!" Joffrey said brightly, half joking, half serious.

"And then the Braavosi aristocracy devours itself in a war of hired killers. At least it'll make the Faceless Men happy," she said with a pout.

Joffrey laughed lightly, he did adore those pouts… though the mood soon turned serious again as the silence reigned. They were back in the small living room, which had turned into a war room of sorts as it quickly became filled with records, nautical charts, and names connected by pieces of wool.

"What do you propose then?" he asked her, feeling a bit out of sorts with the whole intrigue this was developing into.

Sansa walked thoughtfully from one end of the room to the other, frowning. "What if we made a united front with the other, smaller merchant houses of the Shivering Sea routes? Acting as a block we'd be a force much better able to resist Marelos, right?" she asked him.

"Wouldn't work, there's too much enmity between them all," Joffrey said as he shook his head, his back relaxed against the big oaken chair.

"There was a lot of enmity between the Oniras', the Mophira's and the Sorreris' too, and Marelos managed to bind them to his cause. Compared to them our little squabbles seem as over breadcrumbs instead of Iron Marks," she reasoned.

"And all the more petty for it," Joffrey sighed as he shook his head. "I suppose we could do it, especially as we're relatively new and therefor a clean break from the old enmities… but we'd be entering his playground. Bribes, flattery, veiled threats. We don't mix well with intrigue," he said with a lopsided smile.

"… You don't mix well with intrigue, I on the other hand…" Sansa trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll admit, you're already better at this than I am… but Sansa, this is in a whole different league of trouble," said Joffrey, his voice turning more vehement by the word. "This won't be the circles of petty merchant family heads and wifely gossip. We'll- you'll be going against people who have been doing this their whole lives and whose resources dwarf our own. Soirees and masquerades where a single wrong word could spell doom on our efforts," he told her.

Sansa stayed silent for a moment, stopping her constant walking to stare at the fireplace.

"What of King's Landing Joffrey?" she almost whispered. "What of what you called 'The Game of Thrones'?" she asked.

Joffrey said nothing as she turned to look at him, "How can I help you win the Seven Kingdoms if I don't even dare to step into the intrigues of a single city?" her question pierced him, her eyes boring into his. "Do you trust me?" she suddenly asked.

"Yes," Joffrey said immediately.

"Then help me put an end to the bastard," Sansa said as she walked to him and sat on the chair opposite to him, her hands holding his.

She wants to prove herself, he suddenly realized.

"This… It's training for you. You want to spar with Marelos…" he said, not a question but a statement.

Sansa looked at him seriously, her eyes hard. "By all accounts, my Father has had his head c-chopped off quite a few times now," she blurted, her eyes shining unexpectedly under the light of the fireplace as she looked away.

She blinked off the tears before looking back to Joffrey, "I'd like for that to stop," she said.

"I want to stop it," she said defiantly.

They kept staring at each other after that, as if the weight behind the simple words was still settling within.

Partners, thought Joffrey, before nodding slightly.

-: PD :-

Afterwards, when the last of the crazed brainstorming was over and the night turned heavy, Joffrey hesitated at the door to his room.

"Sansa," he said suddenly, turning around. She seemed almost startled, all the way across the corridor and already inside her room, her face visible through her half closed door.

"Yes, Joffrey?" she asked with a tentative voice, her eyes searching and nervous.

Joffrey looked at her, framed by the long braid of red hair that peeked between the door and the wall, her vivid blue eyes holding his.

He breathed deeply before smiling painfully, "Good night, Sansa," he told her.

"Good night, Joffrey," she said, her voice indecipherable as she slowly closed the door to her room.

-: PD :-

Spoiler: AN

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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baurus

Apr 12, 2018

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Threadmarks Art Omake: Jonnel & Selya. New

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Victoro

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Apr 14, 2018

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#2,594

baurus said:

Snip

You have no idea how much I loved this chapter!

Shit I have no idea either! Since I can not explain with words, I'll draw:

大航海時代 - Purple edition!

Spoiler: Click here to see something . . . FUCKYEAH!

suggested track:

It's sooo cool! I mean, Swords and magic are ok BUT DAMN MAN Trading Guild Stuff! Oh boy! Administration! Accounts! Cash Flow! Trading Rights! Statistics! Mercantilism! Tally HO! So epic!

Ah, and also the occasional Pirates, saboteurs and arsonists as expected of baurus sama!

I love the fact that you too is saturated of Kings Landing! Braavos is so better to train Sansa into the path of awesomeness.

Guess my favorite book? The Prince, from Niccolo Fucking Machiavelli

Shit! i even once tried to code a retro game In the "merchant prince" genre. With trading game/base building/Hammurabi

Spoiler: "The prince of Kaliport"

Battleshield said:

Ancient Squid People: The call was answer by Spacebattles Creative Writing Fourm... What is Spacebattles?

Uh. Now I want a Thread dedicated to the Spacebattles ASoIaF Expanded Universe!

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Threadmarks Chapter 42: Masks, part one. New

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Apr 29, 2018

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#2,610

Chapter 42: Masks, part one.

Convincing the other petty merchant houses to unite against Marelos would be a task in and of itself. The question was not whether an organized resistance movement was a good idea, everyone could see the writing on the wall. The question was whether such a front could be strong enough to resist him. Many houses would prefer to prematurely sell him their ventures over the Shivering Sea before being forced to hand them over anyway, only at a sixth of their real value and with a ton of debt besides. Others were evaluating the possibility of moving to greener pastures, or less freezing seas as the case may be. Why die in the Shivering Sea when one could make a decent living in the safer, although more crowded, routes of the Narrow Sea?

If the Stars Merchant House was to lead a coalition against Marelos, then it would have to be the strongest House of all participants… in other words, they had to show themselves strong, strong and committed.

Their close ties to Lazono Parhaan's trading ventures in Lorath and White Harbor were thus deepened… the man had been all too enthusiastic about the possibility of finally avenging his dead cousin, driven to ruin and suicide ten years ago when Marelos first tried to take over.

Joffrey had run the numbers though, and it would still not be enough. They needed more assets, and more importantly, they needed to appear completely committed to the cause. They needed to be completely committed to the Shivering Sea, so as to make it impossible for them to survive a Marelos victory as a merchant house.

To that end, Sansa had the brilliant idea to get to Tregidos Sanatis before Marelos could finish him off. Tregidos had been a relatively big player in the northern routes, but the man had seemed more ghost than mortal when they'd met him. Driven off by a combination of hostile takeovers, supplier acquisitions, and bribes, Marelos had ripped the heart out of Tregidos' trading concern. He was the man whose fall had tipped off Lazono about the return of Marelos Hartios and his old ambitions in the first place, and he'd reached Braavos a week after the soiree at the Hollwyn's. Everyone had expected him to just sell what was left of his ships and holdings to Marelos… after all, the Iron Bank was calling its debts and the only one buying anything even related to the northern routes at the moment was Marelos himself.

Which was why the bastard had been so surprised to find out Tregidos' debt had been paid off, his holdings incorporated into House Stars. Once Sansa had carefully and quietly broached the matter, first through a 'chance' meeting with the man's wife at the Purple Harbor, and then through his son, Master Tregidos had been all too willing to sell them everything in exchange for a steady, expensive salary and the promise of seeing Malerios' face when it all finally fell on him.

House Stars' fate was now directly interwoven to the Shivering Sea trade routes, its separation certain annihilation instead of the mere catastrophe it would have been before the merger. With Tregidos' advise, contacts and the dregs of his former trading empire, plus the their strong ties with House Parhaan, House Stars began to be courted by all the smaller merchant houses with substantial interests in the Shivering Sea.

Sansa had forced Joffrey to temporarily expand the house staff considerably, to his dismay. It left a slight, bad taste in his mouth to see the freewheeling maids and footmen, the rows of servants shuffling about and serving the many guests of tonight's soiree…

"That's Tycho Innarinos and his wife," Sansa whispered in his ear, drawing him out of his thoughts and bringing him back to the veritable event that had seen Dure House transformed into one big dancing and feasting hall.

"Innarinos… They hold about a fifth of the Clammer's camps in the north eastern peninsula," Joffrey recited as he frowned. He was familiar with a lot of Braavos' productive industries, even enjoying good relations with a few of them, but he was still a bit confused by Tycho's presence here.

"What are they doing here though?" he asked Sansa. They didn't have any ships at all, and their main costumer was Gulltown, quite aways from the Shivering Sea.

"I told Master Tycho that with complete control of the Northern routes, Marelos would have a near monopoly on Ibbenese clams. What would stop him from, say, dumping the price of his pearls until Tycho wouldn't be able to compete?" she said sweetly.

"Ah," Joffrey said approvingly, "So that's the reason you absconded with the man for a full half hour back in Lazono's feast last week," Joffrey commented airily, "I admit I was getting a bit worried about what you two had been up to," he teased her with an expression of mocking credulity.

Master Tycho had more than seventy years to his name, after all.

"Worried? Or jealous?" she whispered as she leaned her head sideways, exposing her long, white neck. The move wouldn't have been out of place if she were a confident courtesan, but the blush in her cheeks and the quick blinking betrayed Sansa's nervousness.

"Definitively jealous," Joffrey said as he closed the quarter step that separated them and he leaned on her.

Thinks she's the only one that can play that game eh? Joffrey thought as Sansa closed her eyes slightly.

"Very jealous," he whispered in her ear, savoring the way she slowly let the air out of her lungs, as if she were out of breath.

"We should focus," she said, looking away.

"…Yeah, we should," Joffrey responded, suddenly feeling vaguely nauseous with himself.

"Th-that's Draqyrio Vynerys and his wife, Teyia. They own a dozen cogs and primarily trade iron for furs in Morosh," Sansa told him as she aimed her head towards the man that was walking towards them, a superbly dressed woman by his side. "We need to be careful with him, he's been meeting Marelos' representatives all week. He's proud and quite prickly from what I've heard, so handle him with care," she added quickly as the man and his companion reached them.

"Master Jonnel, lady Selya," nodded the stern faced, slightly overweight man.

"Thank you for the invitation," added Teyia Vynerys, her fine dress of white furs clashing with the sapphires and jades of her husband's grey attire.

"The pleasure is ours," Joffrey said with a nod. "How fares your luck in the high seas, Master Draqyrio?" he asked the man.

"No such thing as luck, merely skill and opposition," he said cuttingly, his severe eyes narrowing.

"Of course," Joffrey agreed with an annoyed smile, "Has the skill of your clients made your ventures difficult, then?" he asked him.

"Yes," said Draqyrio, shaking his head very slowly, "The war in Westeros has left the smiths and iron miners of White Harbor permanently employed to House Manderly for the foreseeable future. My Moroshi clients are starting to look for other sources of weaponry," he said sourly.

Joffrey tilted his head, sensing opportunity, "House Stars would of course be more than happy to temporarily make our stocks of steel ingots available-"

"I do not need nor did I ask for your steel stores, Master Jonnel," the man cut him off.

Joffrey took a breath of fresh air as he looked at the man, "Apologies, I merely thought-"

"That we were in need of charity? You thought wrongly, Master Jonnel," the man cut him off again as his wife looked on in hidden exasperation.

What is wrong with this man?! Joffrey thought as he raised his chin, "Dire must be your straits if you thought me a purveyor of charity Master Draqyrio. It would seem your situation betrays you," Joffrey told him with a small, lopsided smile, enjoying the flinch in his eyes.

"And I think your manners-" Draqyrio's voice was starting to rise in intensity when Sansa suddenly cut him off before things could escalate further.

"Please forgive my husband, he's just envious of your wares. He doesn't quite know how to get you to part from them," Sansa interjected quickly as she placed a hand on Draqyrio's arm. "Your lady wife looks splendid in them, after all," she added, guiding Draqyrio's eyes with her own towards his wife.

"Thank you dear Selya," said Tayia with a grateful smile, moving her shoulder slightly and showing off the beautiful, pristine white furs occasionally interposed by smallish black spots.

"Jonnel has been trying to get me one of those for quite a while," Sansa said as she looked at Joffrey meaningfully.

"Indeed I have," said Joffrey, following Sansa's lead but hesitating when she kept looking at him. It was clear she'd deigned his answer insufficient for the situation at hand.

He struggled for something else to say during a half second before nodding again, "The thought of my lady wife in such pelts does sometimes keep me awake at night," he said seriously.

There was an eerie silence for a full two seconds before lady Teyia erupted in laughter, giggling like a little girl as Sansa turned red from chin to forehead. Even Draqyrio seemed amused, the corner of his mouth rising slightly.

It was Joffrey's turn to feel his face throbbing red as he realized what he'd said and Sansa laughed slightly. "Ah, to be so young again," said lady Tayia with a nostalgic smile, holding on to Draqyrio's arm.

"So you see, Master Draqyrio? My husband was only trying to get ahold of a few of those," Sansa improvised, somehow keeping the flush out of her voice as the man nodded in understanding.

"A delicate matter," Joffrey added, still serious.

"So I see," said Draqyrio, still slightly off balance. His wife was holding his arm a bit more tightly now, her smile altogether mischievous, and he could see from the corner of his eye how Sansa gestured at a nearby servant. "I would of course be willing to provide a few specimens for your lady wife's perusal," finally added Draqyrio.

"I would be most grateful," Joffrey told him with a nod.

"Wine? I badgered my husband for this vintage day and night," Sansa said as the servant carrying a tray with filled cups reached them.

"Saathian grapefruits?" Draqyrio asked after he took a sip from one, surprised.

"Indeed! Do you like them?" Sansa asked, surprised.

Joffrey at least would have been completely fooled by her surprise, if he did not know Sansa had researched the Vynerys' thoroughly for the past week.

"I'll admit to acquiring the taste in my youth, mostly because there was a lack of anything else to drink in Morosh," said Draqyrio, his smile a little bigger now. Tayia also tasted the vintage, smiling to herself as if it were a private joke.

Joffrey sipped the wine gently. It had a strong aftertaste and a fruity aroma, and he found he rather liked it, to his surprise.

"I must thank you again for those pelts," Joffrey told the prickly man as he sipped the wine that Sansa had supposedly been 'badgering' him about. "Please allow me to return the favor. I know a man in White Harbor who represents the interests of the more outlaying mines," he added tentatively. He'd been struggling to find common ground, and the man detested what he saw as 'charity' even if it would keep him out of the claws of Marelos…. But perhaps favor trading was a different matter?

Draqyrio looked on the verge of interrupting, but Joffrey ploughed on, "I can't promise anything but a good word you understand, but he may be able to help with your supply woes for a modest markup," he said as if it were nothing too onerous.

"Markup or not, finding another honest source of iron nearby would be appreciated," Draqyrio said politely, a glint in his eyes.

"Ah, and there are the Gowyns," Sansa said suddenly, "A thousand apologies Master Draqyrio, lady Teyia," she said regretfully, to the nod of Draqyrio and the brilliant smile of Teyia.

Sansa guided him away from the couple, and she couldn't withhold herself for long.

"Pelts Joffrey? Seriously?" she said from the corner of her mouth, exasperated.

"Hey, it did work," Joffrey told her with a brilliant smile. "Besides, they'd suit you," he added glibly.

"Thank you," she told him as they sorted through the soiree, greeting couples and directing the odd servant. "Must you be so impatient though? The way you handled Draqyrio at first was just sad," she scolded him.

"I lost my patience to stupidity a long time ago Sansa. Being prickly and rejecting a helping hand was not going to help him survive Marelos," he said with a shrug.

"That's your problem with these things, you lack patience," she told him as she guided him towards their next target.

"Worried they might think of us barbarians?" he asked her.

"We're Westerosi. We're already barbarians, my dear husband," she corrected.

"Glad you're understanding the Braavosi mindset," Joffrey told her with a snort.

They made their pleasantries with a few of the others guests, probing and forming the beginnings of a group capable of standing up to Marelos.

"It did work in the end, didn't it?" Joffrey said as they cleared another group, shrugging with his eyebrows.

Sansa laughed before shaking her head, "Yes, yes it did. We make a good team," she said.

"We do," he said with a fond smile.

-: PD :-

And so from soiree to soiree, from feast to feast and from meeting to meeting, what some had already began to call the 'Shivering Sea Consortium' was formed. Sansa had been right about one thing, he didn't have the patience to deal with many of what he thought of as fools and idiots.

She did, though. Her budding skill in the arts of the courtier came as a blessing to Joffrey, who could strike after she'd charmed them with ten times more effectiveness. Once she roped them in, he dazzled them with his detailed charts and reports, showing off his not inconsiderable skill at mercantilism, as Sansa whispered about the evils of Marelos to their ears.

They spent the rest of the year like that, building the coalition to stand up to the huge trading concern Marelos had spent is his entire life building to dominate the northern trade routes, when he was not busy funding expeditions to Yi-Ti.

Their contacts in Westeros kept feeding them vital information, not only of current events but of other things as well. Fluctuations in the price of grain, rumors of discontent in the Vale, the numbers of mobilized men… Sansa had determined to be as informed as they could be, when they finally decided to rule Westeros, and Joffrey had agreed. Foreknowledge would be an invaluable tool when that time came, a vital one to balance the great odds stacked against them.

It seemed that the Tyrell's had allied with the Lannisters as they had done so many times before, though thankfully not by the hands of Littlefinger. He had received his customary stab in the chest early in this life anyway… Joffrey had taken to stabbing the man in a different quarter of his heart every time, seeing how precise he could get with a single mortal wound.

He hadn't told Sansa about that last one.

The superior tactical leadership of the Young Wolf and King Stannis had seen them win some stunning victories against their foes, but the Lannister's manpower advantage had seen them gradually retaking the Riverlands under a mountain of bodies, its vulnerable geography a boon to the attackers as long as the crossings were bypassed or otherwise avoided. The seats of houses Darry and Mooton had already been sacked, and the Bay of Crabs had been completely sealed off from the Stark-Baratheon alliance. It was rumored Tywin was buying any sellsword company he could get his hands on, and that King Stannis himself had been sighted in the Vale.

It had been a bit more than two years since they'd reached the City-on-the-Lagoon, and Joffrey was not as surprised as Sansa was when they received an invitation to the Oniras family manor. Their budding power block had allowed the smaller merchant houses to punch far above of their weight… and Marelos Hartios had taken notice.

"It's a trap, not worth it," Joffrey dismissed it after he read the immaculately scribed letter.

"But Joffrey, we could get to the heart of the Marelos' power! The Oniras are one of the three families keeping the Sealord in check for him. With only one of them breaking ranks Marelos will fall, sooner or later," she reasoned.

"You think the Oniras' would break ranks so openly? It's a trap Sansa, thought for what I don't know," Joffrey told her, nodding in thanks at Adaro after the old head of household left the rest of their letters in their desk.

He made a point of ignoring the paw prints on the man's trousers. Lady had taken an unhealthy liking to chewing on the poor man's clothes... though at least it hadn't been a shoe this time.

"We've never been able to even speak with any of the three houses. Now could be the chance to end him for good… if the Oniras' are smelling blood and we provide the right push…" Sansa trailed off as Joffrey shook his head slightly.

"Joffrey please… just, trust me on this," she pleaded.

-: PD :-

The Oniras' manor was located only a few blocks away from the Purple Harbor, the port where only Braavosi ships could dock. The Sealord's Palace was clearly visible atop its small hill, and The Moon Pool was but a five minute walk away.

The manor was in the style of Old Braavos, possessing a somewhat squat architecture which seemed all the more prestigious by the lack of exterior ornamentation. Inside however, the grey walls were tastefully decorated with Lyseni velvet encased in frames of semi-precious stones, which were liberally peppered throughout the rooms. Fine wares from every corner of the earth were present, including a suspiciously large amount of precious Yi-Tish porcelain worth their weight in gold.

They spent most of the evening socializing with the other guests, the high and mighty of Braavos and even more distant cities such as Lorath and Pentos, but as midnight neared Sansa saw her chance.

"There, Master Belano Oniras…" Sansa whispered to Joffrey as they refilled their cups. Their host was alone at the moment, contemplating a big vase completely covered in beautiful Yi-Tish calligraphy in a room carefully hidden from most of the guest-filled areas.

"I don't like this… I may be completely hopeless at manipulation, but I've learned to smell this stuff," he told her as Sansa started to walk towards the man.

"We won't know until we try," Sansa whispered back, and Joffrey knew denying this would be a blow to the budding, true trust that had been growing between them recently, independent of the insidious influence of the Purple.

They reached Belano just as he turned, a polite expression at the ready as he nodded courteously. "Master Jonnel, lady Selya, I hope the food has been to your liking?" he asked.

Master Belano is a master of the understatement, Sansa thought as she beheld the tall, thinly built man. Not even the Red Keep's kitchen had been able to provide dishes so exotic and tasteful at the same time, and they haven't even reached dinner.

"It was truly splendid Master Belano, you must give my compliments to your staff," she said, demure.

"Glad to please," he said courteously as he turned towards the vase slightly, as if he was back at appreciating its beauty.

Sansa swallowed silently as she took a half step, looking at the vase as well. Joffrey tensed, but followed all the same.

Sometimes he can be too paranoid, Sansa thought. They had to regain the initiative against Marelos somehow. Joffrey himself admitted to that.

"A fine piece," she commented idly.

Belano nodded slightly, but didn't say anything else.

"Peace and prosperity, a dream any man could get behind of," Joffrey suddenly spoke, looking at the calligraphy.

"You know Yi-Tish?" Belano asked, impressed.

"'May your home know peace-within, may your family know plenty and never need. May your hearth never freeze, may the winds never blow within," he translated roughly.

An apt blessing, in the years to come, Joffrey thought as he saw the tigers and twisting dragons decoratively coiled below the scripture.

"You seem well travelled despite your age, Master Jonnel," said Belano.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Joffrey told him.

"Aesthetically beautiful and a vessel of wisdom. Does it mayhaps carry something physical as well?" Sansa quipped.

"Nothing at the moment. I did search it," he said with a slight smile.

"Such a fine gift would only be worthy of the closest of friends," Sansa probed carefully.

"Or those wishing to be so," complemented Belano just as carefully.

"To give such a beauty for the mere hope of friendship… then your friendship must be truly sought after, Master Belano," she said.

Belano walked around the vase slowly, not taking his gaze from it as he answered, "It can seem that way, when some other, vastly greater wish depends upon such friendship," he said with a verbal flourish.

Sansa let the silence last for just an extra second before nodding, gazing at the snarling tigers, "Such a thing seems a poor base indeed for a friendship. Brittle even. What would happen once that greater wish were achieved, I wonder?" Sansa mused out loud.

Belano paused for a second as well, seemingly thoroughly interested by the calligraphy, "Such are the risks of life. To spurn such friendship would pose even greater risk," he murmured. Sansa could just see the truth behind the man's mask…

He's hesitating, she thought quickly, her eyes widening slightly.

"Would it really?" she asked as if she were talking about the weather, "Many new developments have occurred lately, developments which might shake that assessment," she said very, very carefully.

She felt Joffrey squeeze her hand as Belano showed interest for the first time. "Indeed?" he probed.

It's now or never, Sansa thought, Joffrey tensing by his side.

… He didn't stop her though.

"Certain contacts in Lorath seem to think so at least," she said cryptically.

"Not enough to faze my dear friend," said Belano as he shook his head.

He wants more, Sansa thought as she nodded, "Our dear friend's greater wish has left a lot of people annoyed, back in Lorath. Certain warehouse owners especially," she conceded.

Belano looked considering, for the first time lifting his gaze from the vase, "If that is so, then the risks involved in this entire venture do indeed change," he said as he tilted his head minutely, and despite his outwardly calm demeanor Sansa could see the tension and indecision within. She had tried to reveal as little as possible but it was clear Belano was understanding her. Through their contacts, the Shivering Sea Consortium had convinced a sizeable block of Lorathi warehouse owners (and through them, a not inconsiderable part of the city's porters in turn) to ready a surprise boycott on Marelos' goods, just when a considerable part of his trading fleet arrived at the city. It would not be a mortal blow, but one serious enough that Sansa and Joffrey hoped would crack the façade of invulnerability the up jumped thug had enjoyed this past year… furthering splintering his allies.

"Such a thing would have to be carefully timed," said Belano.

"It would," Sansa said carefully.

"Ah, the trading fleet," Belano deduced, "I would need assurance that you're not bluffing of course… a name," he said. Sansa stood still, shocked at the sudden departure from the almost painful double speak.

That had been brutally direct.

It's almost as if he doesn't care anymore, about… not only about the matter at hand but about us as well…

"I—please excuse us Master Belano," she said with a quick, apologetic half curtsy.

"Of course, of course," muttered their host, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

"I don't like him, but you did seem to be making a dent there… surprisingly," Joffrey muttered as they walked away, but he became steadily more alarmed at the way Sansa's face kept draining of color.

"We've been played," She whispered urgently.

"How," Joffrey asked immediately as he put a hand on the pommel of his hidden dagger.

"Belano, he never-" she never finished the sentence before they bumped against something, or rather someone.

"I told you, not here!" Marelos Hartos whispered urgently at them both, his tone of voice just high enough to be carried to the nearby guests and no more.

Sansa seemed like a startled doe as her face slowly turned from shock to anger. Joffrey's grip on his pommel also increased in tension as he slowly realized what had just happened. Marelos looked resplendent in his fine pelts interwoven with Yi-Tish silk, the whole ensemble threaded with gold and silver.

"Dear, I've been doing this for a long while. Your efforts amuse me," said the Merchant Prince, this time whispered truly and only for them to hear. Before either of them could respond Marelos was gone, his quick but sedate walking pace carrying him into a crowd of guests.

"That fucker…" Joffrey whispered.

"We have to get out of here," Sansa whispered urgently as they quickly walked by the reception hall and out through the great stairs that lined the outer patio of the manor.

"Belano was fishing for information, he never intended to turn his cloak," Joffrey muttered angrily, "I knew there was something rotten about this."

"Joffrey, it's worse than that. He wanted for us to seem to be meeting him," she said urgently.

"The rumors will spread, but it'll only be rumors Sansa," he tried to calm her as they reached the canals.

Sansa shook her head, "By their own they would be damaging enough, but when paired with-"

"Lorath. Fuck," Joffrey muttered with feeling, "We're seen talking with Marelos and a week later he thwarts our trap in Lorath," he said as they reached their gondola, Inneo tensing at their demeanor.

"He played us," Joffrey muttered angrily.

"He played me," Sansa whispered as she shook her head.

-: PD :-

They tried to warn their allies, but there was not much to be done... Belano and his master were intelligent people. Paltry as it had been, Sansa had given them all the information they needed to infer the rest. Within a week the plan had been shattered, several warehouses in Lorath bought out and quite a few others closed due to a mixture of fires, corrupt guardsmen and other general chicanery.

The rest fell in line.

Lazono lost considerable influence in his homeland, and the short lived Shivering Sea Consortium hanged upon a thread as several members added one plus one and got five, Many concluded the whole thing had been a scheme to befuddle Marelos' opposition, as rumors of secret meetings in the Oniras estate eroded both Joffrey and Sansa's authority. A month later two different families had sold out their concerns to Marelos, preferring outrageously low prices than certain bankruptcy to his schemes.

Sansa let out a loud groan when she read the letter detailing the third family to drop out of their little conspiracy.

"Another one?" Joffrey asked her from the fireplace. He was standing right next to it as he lazily tilted a cup of wine, trying to get his warmth back after the walk from his office near Ragman's Harbor. Braavos' climate had been turning colder and colder these past few months.

"I was so sure… Belano… he was triple acting, using what I thought as his façade as a third deception," Sansa whispered in mixed awe and anger. "I thought I had managed a read on him, just barely but a read nonetheless. I thought I'd pierced his unconcerned, stoic façade and reached the truth behind it… but that was behind yet another falsehood. The slightly uncertain, cautious but opportunistic family head behind the façade was but another mask," she repeated.

"Braavosi like that kind of stuff. They're all into masks," Joffrey said with a quiet snort.

"And the whole scheme… it was triple layered too! Lazono had a man in Belano's staff, and from what he told me there'd been another plot to make us spill a whole jug of wine over the main table…" She muttered.

"And hopefully atop Marelos' head," Joffrey added.

Sansa shot him an irritated and slightly nonplussed look before continuing, "Don't you see Joffrey? I fell right into their trap from the moment I pressured you to go. Any of the outcomes there would have been a win for Marelos… If I hadn't approached Belano like a damned open book, then Marelos would have made his little move near the reception anyway, and if we'd somehow avoided him and made it to the meal then we'd still have appeared like a pair of witless Westerosi barbaroi by spilling half a jug of priceless wine atop the other guests," she said vehemently, "Sure, the last one would have just been a small if shameful prestige hit, bit still… every outcome was in Marelos' favor!" she ended in a huff, her irritation on the rise at Joffrey's slight smile. He was still slowly swirling the wine on his cup as he looked at her.

A short silence followed before Sansa shook her head, "Why are so nonchalant about the whole damn thing?!" she finally asked him.

"You're cute when you get mad. The red suits your hair," he said glibly.

Sansa crossed her arms in a huff, trying to ignore how surprisingly pleasant the small, backhanded compliment felt, "Aren't you getting any of this Joffrey?" she asked again.

Joffrey kept smiling as he returned his gaze to the cup, looking at it for a second before taking a drink. "How many times do you think I've lain in the mud, broken and defeated?" he asked her, the mood in the room suddenly turning grey, strange. "How many lives do you think I spent training and screaming, trying to learn as my enemies danced circles, no, spheres around me?" he asked once more before he drained the rest of the cup and went to sit by her side in the long couch.

"Many times…" Sansa answered, the irritation giving way to that odd feeling that arose when they talked about Joffrey's past. They'd spent nights just talking about it, Joffrey weaving tales both grand and small, happy and harrowing.

"This won't be the first time you're outsmarted, nor the last. If I've learned anything about life during my torment, Sansa, is that this world lives and breathes. Ships sail, men plot, mountains fall where there are none to see nor hear, great avalanches which consume entire forests with no one else in this world the wiser," he said as he stared at something beyond the fireplace and the small crossbow atop it. "This world is in constant movement… men and women hold their own desires, always, always striving to achieve them, whether we care to stand in their way or not. I've been snared in so many plots I've honestly lost count of them, and there's no way to simply survive them all, all the time," he told her quietly.

Sansa was staring at him, eyes hazy with thoughts unspoken, "So how can you succeed then? How can you live?" she asked him, feeling a bit lost.

"You pick yourself up, and try again," Joffrey said simply, his hand holding hers.

It was Sandor, fittingly enough, the man that taught him that lesson.

Sansa relaxed a bit as she laid back, holding Joffrey's hand tightly as she thought.

Pick yourself up again, she mused as she stared at the fire.

-: PD :-

Spoiler: AN

Last edited: Apr 29, 2018

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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Apr 30, 2018

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-: PD :-

Chapter 42: Masks, part two.

"I think I've got a plan," Sansa told him as he guided her through a quick, flurry like storm of movements with her daggers. The move itself was nothing fancy, just a quick double stab with each arm centered on a single point in the training dummy, designed to take out lightly armored opponents when weak spots were not visible or within the reach of the wielder. Joffrey was guiding her hands firmly, her own muscles resisting the strain under the almost brutal body training regime he had devised after a hundred lifetimes of getting back into shape. He'd told her that by now he knew how much each and every muscle of his body should hurt after each 'first' wake up. He'd even figured out how much he should increase the workout after each progressive day in a new life, and they'd both been working on adapting it for her own benefit.

"Oh?" he asked from behind, his hands now barely following hers as he deemed her speed appropriate. While swords had been proving an abject failure, and the spear an interesting if slow crawl, Sansa had found in her twin daggers a style that didn't seem as 'nonsensical' as the others, somehow. Just finding the relevant point and apply sudden pressure… of course the style Joffrey was teaching her was much more complicated than that, but she found it strangely intuitive all the same.

"We've got to retake the initiative against Marelos, and I think I know how," she told him.

That brought about a swift ending of their training session, Inneo quickly striding forward and giving them both a set of towels, as well as cups of cool water.

"I'm all ears," Joffrey told her with that insufferably proud smile of his.

"You haven't even heard it," she protested mildly.

"I already know it'll be a good one. You've got that look," he said, amused.

She just shook her head before taking a long drink from one of the cups, Joffrey wiping the sweat off his forehead. "So, what's the plan?" he asked her.

"It's rather simple. We trick the bastard," she said as she left the long daggers on the nearby bench.

"How?" Joffrey asked.

"We'll have to stake the whole Consortium on this, if it fails… well, there won't be enough families left to make a stand," she warned him.

"All in," Joffrey murmured, "Already like it," he added with a dangerous smirk.

The Shivering Sea Consortium had been weakened by Marelios' ploy, but they had still quite a bit of collective weight. It was not pure recklessness though, Sansa knew they had to move quickly and in force, for the longer they waited the weaker they became, Marelios slowly bleeding the smaller merchant houses in a war of leveraged economic attrition.

"We move the entire Consortium towards Morosh in force. A grand trade expedition with a majority of our ships. It's just the kind of move Marelos would expect from a group of desperate merchants: a grand gesture to rally the houses, and quite a bit of gold if it goes off without a hitch. With so many ships we could leverage our advantage in tonnage to offer the Moroshi a bulk deal they can't resist," said Sansa, concentrating on the small map of the Shivering Sea they had carted out to the inner patio in the morning.

"Such an expedition would need some work done beforehand in Morosh if it's to turn a profit. Marelos would be well aware of the expedition…" Joffrey trailed off, "He won't be able to resist such a tempting opportunity," he realized, "He'd move a great part of his assets to lock Morosh like a penitent turtle. Warehouses, docks, guardsmen bribes, Magister bribes… he'll buy the whole city. And when our fleet gets there Morosh will just stay still and buy nothing at all as our debts and logistics catch up to us… He could take out the whole Consortium with this, as weak as it is right now,"

Sansa regaled him with a feral smile, "Exactly, which is why we'll make certain every single property, ship and corrupt guardsmen he buys there dies or is set on fire by the time the fleet gets there," she told him with uncharacteristic ruthlessness, "Then, the fleet goes on to Ibb and unloads there."

Joffrey was nodding in approval, his own smile growing slowly, "I like it… but we'll barely make any profit from it. Without groundwork nor previous communications, selling in the Port of Ibben will barely keep us above water," he said thoughtfully, "And if we do set up the work beforehand on Ibb, Marelos will sniff the trap and stay away from the whole scheme…" he said, thoughtful.

"It doesn't matter if we don't turn a profit. What matters will be the blow to Marelos," said Sansa.

"It won't be fatal though," Joffrey pointed out.

Now Sansa's enthusiasm could not be contained, and she laughed lightly as her voice descended to whispers, "It will be, when we move on the Sorreris'. After the debacle with Belano, I've been digging into the other two houses keeping the Sealord in check for Marelos. Nilona is the head of House Sorreris after her husband died last year, and she's definitively the most opportunistic of the group. If we offer her a substantial cut of Marelos' empire, and pressure the right spots, she could flip. If she sells out Marelos right after the news of his failure at Morosh reach Braavos…" Sansa trailed off ominously.

"People would think whatever happened in Morosh would be worse than what is publicly known. With one great house deserting him, and with all that uncertainty flying around, the Sealord could take him before the Oniras and the Mophira's could react," Joffrey finished. "Risky, but if it works we'd be rid of him for good. The Sealord would tear him to pieces after all that Marelos has done, if he were free to do so… There's one problem though, we can't be in two places at the same time," he said with a shake of his head.

"No, but there's two of us," Sansa added meaningfully.

Joffrey frowned, and his budding denial died inside his throat as he gazed at Sansa's eyes.

Partners, said that ethereal voice inside his head again.

He took a deep breath… before he nodded slightly.

"Go to Morosh, wait for Marelos to get wind of it all and to stake a considerable part of his wealth on stopping us…" Sansa said before trailing off, her eyes growing hard, "And then do to him what you did to Petyr Baelish's empire in King's Landing," she told him.

"He won't know what hit him," Joffrey added with a rakish smirk that soon disappeared as he kept looking at her, "You'll have a brief window to convince the Sorreris' to switch sides, and once Marelos returns to Braavos he'll be out for blood, he won't go down quietly… "

"I'll be ready for her, and for him," she told him defiantly.

Joffrey's hands moved up of their own accord to hug her, only for them to drop back down, "Just… be careful, okay?" he told her.

"I will," she said simply, and she could feel Lady's presence by her side as her determination roused the sleeping Direwolf.

-: PD :-

Getting their partners to go along with their plan was the hardest task Sansa had ever undertaken. Fears had to be toned down or racked up, deals and favorable trades had to be compromised upon, and she'd never had managed it if it were not for Joffrey. His considerable knowledge and practical experience in trade gave her the much needed backing she needed to push through, and his regular 'excursions' into the Braavosi night had seen him playing a game much more dangerous than any Bravos. Whereas they twirled in their colorful robes, fighting for the honor of their courtesans, Joffrey leapt like a cat from roof to roof, breaking into secured manses and buildings and copying down priceless information that saw them move as if possessed by preternatural sight.

By using economies of scale, and the aggregate political weight of them all, the great trading fleet had set off to Morosh searching for the promise of good fortune. Marelos had left weeks before, taking the bait whole thanks to a few, very careful leaks to the right ears at the right time… but it would all be for naught if she failed here, today.

Lady Nilona showed herself as a pious woman, going every evening to the Temple of the Moonsingers to pray for the soul of her departed dear husband. Sansa would have been a bit less cynical if the woman didn't immediately abscond with one of her three paramours every night after it, but as it was the whole situation gave her an opportunity.

The temple was a great mass of white marble, crowned by a massive silvered dome dotted with milky windows which depicted the phases of the moon. Sansa walked down the edge of the great temple, angling herself so as to casually reach the small shrine dedicated to the Aspect of the Full Moon, where lady Nilona Sorreris was kneeling. She was the canvass perfect picture of the dutiful Braavosi wife, staring severely at nothing as she contemplated the mortality of man and the ignoble death of her husband.

Sansa kneeled only a few meters away from her, her own face locked in stern concentration. Nilona didn't even bat an eye her way, and neither did she.

They both knew what was going on though, carefully observing each other out of the corner of their eyes.

Careful Sansa, careful…

They spent almost forty minutes in silent contemplation, a silent battle of wills as acolytes came and went, refilling the censers around the shrine and the temple at large. Sansa felt she was being studied from head to toes without a word being spoken, but then again she was doing the same to Nilona. Her back was straight, her hands clasped tightly, but her half lidded eyes spoke of a liveliness far away indeed from piety. Her conservative dress had a few key linchpins that, once removed, would be enough to turn the severe black gown into a free flowing, revealing dress fit for a night of free spirited carousing.

She suppressed an irrational bout of envy at the superb design and craftsmanship of the dress, before noting the sharp hair pin that held her comparatively simple ponytail. A weapon of last resort, and a statement to other players in the game all in one… Taken together, Nilona seemed like a woman now used to carrying her own way, joyfully free of the bounds that tied her…

The rumors about her role regarding her husband's sudden fall through a staircase suddenly make much more sense… Sansa thought as she recalculated her approach slightly. She suspected this was going to be a bit more straightforward than she'd prepared herself for…

Finally, Nilona stood up and walked outside at a sedate pace. Sansa waited two minutes before following, and when she was outside the sun was already starting to fade beneath the craggy hills of Braavos, hidden behind the tall pines that protected the Secret City from the severe winds of the Shivering Sea.

"Lady Selya," greeted Nilona as she approached her. She was sitting on a simple bench beneath a pergola, watching the waves made by the inner lake as they gently lapped against the island where the temple stood. A few bodyguards stood a dozen meters away, vaguely surrounding the pergola but making it seem as if they were merely patrolling guards, taking some time to rest before the night shift.

"Lady Nilona," Sansa greeted courteously as she sat by her side at the bench, her hands carefully intertwined.

Nilona seemed content enough to leave the leap to her, and Sansa thought hard as the Braavosi aristocrat kept watching the gentle waves with a slightly whimsical smile. She knew exactly why Sansa was here, and she was content enough to let her dig her own grave.

"Marelos' ships is about to sink with all hands," Sansa said clearly.

"A very surprising contrast to the little chat you had with Master Belano. Bold, direct. Nothing at all like the long song and dance by which you emptied everything right into the laps of him and Maleros," said Lady Nilona, as if she were commenting about the weather. "I wonder, did the way he gutted you like a fish leave you without further appetite for soft words?" she asked regretfully.

Sansa bit down her tongue before she could say something unwise, and merely smiled as she looked at the tall aristocrat.

Her smile might have been a tad feral though.

"Not at all. It was a valuable lesson though," she responded.

"Oh?" Nilona asked with a smile which held a whiff of condescension.

"To strive to see beyond the act, or through it I suppose… " Sansa mused, "To see beyond the mask that is behind the mask… and to tailor your approach to the truth behind it. That and a bit of humility of course," she said with a self-depreciating snort.

Lady Nilona gave a snort of her own as she kept looking at the sea, as if Sansa were nothing but a peddler of moldy oysters. "That is good. A bit of humility goes a long way to ensuring your survival when the stakes are this high… though I dare say, dear Selya, that the humbling did not go far enough," she commented idly.

Sansa ignored the jab as she repositioned, "Maybe, I'm but a young girl new to this world of yours. Still, I thought you'd like the more direct approach…" she said.

"So you've been watching me," Nilona acknowledge the small dent before pressing on, ignoring Sansa's rearguard, "I congratulate you on that precaution. Playing the dutiful Braavosi wife does get rather tiring, especially when discussing business. Of course, anyone who's someone in this damp mire of a city knows it's a ruse, so you're hardly unique there darling," she said, pounding on Sansa with a smile on her face that betrayed a hint of boredom.

Sansa took the hits with barely a blink, looking at the same far distant spot that seemed so mesmerizing to Lady Nilona. "It's been a learning experience," she conceded the strong blow in their little verbal spar, before leaning back slightly on the bench, her back against the railing. "Of course, there's always a bit of truth behind each mask, enough to lead one to the next," said Sansa as she finished repositioning, "A strong, independent woman behind the mask of the dutiful widow. Living her life as she sees fit, uncaring of anyone else and freed from all ties of deeper love beyond the thrill of her paramours. A stern mask, beautiful in its own way…" Sansa said thoughtfully, trailing off.

"I think I liked your more direct approach, tangling yourself up does you no good dear," Nilona said as she shook her head slightly, conveying disdain… a disdain which held but the tiniest speck of apprehension, her eyes giving away her racing thoughts.

Sansa smiled widely and all too truthfully, her position perfect as she continued with the same tone of voice, "I was surprised you really did care, but when I saw him I understood you all too well," she said before leaning slightly towards the other woman's ear. "He's a really nice boy, he reminds me of my little brother," she whispered in the tone of a complement, "A lot of energy and a smile always at the ready… I think he'll make you proud," she told her, piercing past the mask and drawing blood.

Nilona actually flinched, her hands fisting as her back straightened, the blow to her composure almost too much. "It started as a promise to a dying friend, but I'll admit I've developed a bit of a weak spot for the little rascal after taking care of him all these years…" she said with the same measured tone of voice she'd been using before, only the slight tension in her shoulders and her fists betraying her as she hurriedly dropped the second mask and tried to desperately secure the third.

"Oh, you don't have to pretend with me dear Nilona," Sansa said as she gently grabbed Nilona's arm, as if trying to soothe an old friend. The woman's eyes widened at the breach of personal space, but Sansa kept talking, relentless, joyfully stripping the third mask, "I know you didn't promise anything to Robat, he was just another paramour of yours from all accounts, indistinguishable from the rest and probably soon forgotten after the storm that claimed his life… what he left in you though…" she trailed off as she gazed meaningfully at Nilona's womb, the woman unable to retort as her voice caught in her throat.

"My husband left him a few toys when he visited the little house where you keep him," Sansa twisted with understated relish as Nilona's hands kept fisting, her nails drawing blood, "He says he has strong arms, a warrior's frame even. He'll make you proud when he grows up," she told her sweetly.

Lady Nilona Sorreris snarled as she turned and finally looked at Sansa's eyes for the first time, "If you so much as look at him wrong I'll end you Selya Stars!" she shouted as she painfully twisted Sansa's arm, the bodyguards around the pergola tensing and placing hands over pommels as they sensed their employer's state of mind.

Sansa was undaunted, and smiled as if nothing had happened at all. She ignored the pain in her arm, letting it flow away as Joffrey had taught her after each training session. After months of the brutal, relentless training regime he'd put her through, Sansa found Nilona's strength lacking. Violence was thick in the air as one of Nilona's guards went as far as to take out his rapier, taking a small step towards the pergola and implicitly offering his liege the possibility of murder right here. They could even dump her on the lake, this section of the island was almost deserted anyway.

Sansa's smile grew in triumph as Nilona's frown deepened, and the tall aristocrat let her arm go before slumping back on the bench, the earlier poise gone. Her composure had been shattered, and for the purposes of the battlefield that was Braavosi intrigue, that shattering was as lethal a blow for her as the surrender of an army's center was for a general.

Joffrey's understanding of intrigue had advanced by leaps and bounds once she'd started to compare it to matters of war, a field of expertise where Joffrey had no equal. It had been a two way street though, and she'd learned of war as much as he'd learned of spies and plots as they bounced ideas deep into the night and built an allegory of both worlds which in the end, seemed to be not so different from each other at all.

Sansa stood up and walked to the pergola's railing, using the movement to hide the nausea which permeated her belly. Even if she'd not said the words, even if the meaning of the unspoken threat could be twisted a hundred different ways, she'd still played with the woman's most precious other like he were a knitting needle or a lute. And worse of all was the vicious satisfaction beneath the nausea as her plot neared its conclusion. She wondered if Marelos had felt the same when he'd trapped her at the Oniras' manor, and swiftly crushed the thought for fear of throwing up.

As Marelos had done to her, so Sansa had delivered multiple messages and attacks of her own with a single action. Lady Nilona now knew she was no small fry to be dismissed from the game, more than making up for the loss of prestige at the Oniras' manor. Sansa had also shown that her information gathering apparatus was able to pierce deep into secrets untold and the masks which hid them, even though the dizzying arrays of shell holders and fake documents that hid the existence of one Aresso of Braavos, a happy and unassuming child of ten namedays living in a modest house in the Southern District, and secret heir to the Sorreris name and fortune. Visited every two weeks by a supposedly childless, doting 'aunty' who'd been a 'friend' of Aresso's mother… when in fact friend and mother were one and the same, the child a product of an affair that had seen Nilona's first and only child born into this world. Sansa had also shown both her willingness to take the game to the next level, and the reach of her grasp, when she'd idly commented about Joffrey leaving the child with a toy.

And last but not least, she'd shattered Nilona's composure, leaving her ripe for her offer.

Lady Nilona closed her eyes as she breathed deeply before looking at Sansa with tired eyes, "Eleven years I kept that secret, and now a couple of brats two years fresh off the boat tear it asunder," she whispered bitterly. "I thought I was barren," she said after a moment of silence, "After more than two decades of that imbecile of a husband plowing me into bed, and countless lovers each more idiotic than the last… I'd really given up hope…" she whispered before trailing off.

"Forgive me if I don't buy the act, seeing as you left the boy to be raised motherless," Sansa told her as she turned to look at the seated aristocrat.

"Yes, you definitively need more humility hammered in," Nilona snarled as she stood up and walked towards Sansa. "Do you know what they'd do if they found out that he was my illegitimate son?" She asked harshly, "They'd rip him apart and leave him a pauper in less than a week, all my fortune gone to my dead, fat oaf of a husband's extended family," she said before Sansa could respond.

Nilona was breathing heavily, an inch from Sansa's face. "It's one thing for an old widow to bequeath her name and fortune to a young man who caught her eye, it has happened before, there's their blessed precedent… but to leave her name and fortune to a bastard son? A name that was not even hers in the first place!? Perish the thought!" She snarled once more as her composure kept disintegrating.

Sansa was taken aback by the sheer vehemence of the woman, she had never expected her to react quite so strongly. Something about her surprise must have shown because Nilona smiled disdainfully. "You've never had a child, have you?" she asked lightly, "No, didn't think so," she kept going before Sansa could answer. "If you'd had, you'd understand…" She seemed on the verge of explaining what exactly was Sansa supposed to understand, but she shook her head instead.

"No masks left you tiny little thing, not exactly the truth you were seeking? Seems you've got a lot to learn yet," Nilona said with a twisted smile, "State your terms," she said as she collected the shattered remains of her composure, rebuilding them into a sad facsimile of what it once was.

Sansa nodded lightly, "You will receive a full fourth of Marelos' assets once the Sealord-"

"Oh keep your poisoned gifts to yourself, state your demands and let's be over with this," she cut her off, sternly.

Sansa blinked, looking at Nilona as the woman tapped her fingers impatiently. Have it your way, Sansa thought as she studied the woman.

"Marelos will return to the city during the next few weeks. You will denounce him publicly as a monopolist and a living stain on Braavosi tradition… before the news of his ill fortune in the east become public knowledge," said Sansa, keeping the details sparse.

She'd spent a while thinking about her lessons learned under Belano and Marelos himself.

"Very clever," Nilona said the complement as if it were an insult. "The rest of the families supporting Marelos will assume I had insider knowledge, and that whatever disgrace befell Marelos was either toned down or merely the public part of some grand strategy so effective as to make me jump ship… some will jump, the more skittish of his supporters at the very least, but that will be enough to make the rest of them jump as well like so many dominoes, one after the other," She deduced Sansa's plan in an instant, just as quickly as Belano had done… truly, the players of the Braavosi game were not to be underestimated.

Of course, by the nature of their plan's timetable and the sailing delay to Morosh, there was nothing Nilona could do to warn Marelos, assuming she was the best actress in the world and all of this had been an act as well.

"I've spent some time in this game," Nilona said before Sansa could get a word edgewise, "I accept your terms," she said as she walked away from the railing and the darkening horizon, shuffling the top of her severe gown and taking one of her strategically placed pins, revealing her ample cleavage.

Before she left the pergola though, she directing an ice cold glare directly at Sansa's eyes.

"If something happens to my son, I will acquire the services of the House of Black and White to seek redress. You have been warned," she said as if she were reading the clause of an insurance contract, "Good evening, lady Selya," she said before walking away, her armed guards surrounding her swiftly and seemingly reading her mind in regards to her next destination.

Sansa spent the rest of the evening in the same pergola, quietly shuffling her hands as the temperature dropped and darkness enveloped the Secret City, her mind uneasy and turbulent.

It was all up to Joffrey now.

-: PD :-

Their small 'war room' had acquired a decisively festive air as Sansa crossed the name of Belano Oniras off their small map of the city, a slight smirk overtaking her features as she reflected on the events of the last few weeks.

It seemed Joffrey had taken their joint plan a bit too… enthusiastically. As much as her supposed husband had come to love their usually tranquil life on Braavos, filled with quiet work, raucous plays and warm evenings snuggling by the fireplace, Joffrey still had a bit of a daredevil streak that needed satiation from time to time… one that had been unleashed on the poor city of Morosh with almost joyful purpose. Warehouses burnt to so much ash, bought officials re-bought or otherwise 'disappeared', ships floundering and sinking still tied to their piers, all that and more had befallen Marelos' assets in the city as he moved to counter their trade fleet. Forced to reveal hidden assets which were then swiftly struck down by Joffrey, Marelos had apparently decided to throw good money after bad to the point of taking several desperate debts from local Moroshi banks, which had also slipped his fingers like sand as Joffrey kept wrecking every single thing Marelos touched as if he were the victim of an eastern course, by means legal, corrupt, and outright murderous.

Sansa felt strange from the amount of satisfaction she was deriving from the doom of one man. A substantial part of Marelos' enterprise had been lost as he kept trying to turn things around very much like a gambler who thought he needed just one win. She supposed part of that satisfaction was due to the fact that she'd as much as told Joffrey this was the way he'd react. Marelos seemed like a man incapable of losing, she'd gotten that much from the man's previous history and the way he could not stop pushing for greater and greater gains. With the Sealord held in check this had proved an incredible virtue for the man, as his relentless drive kept accruing greater and greater wealth and influence. In Morosh however, that very same virtue had seen him unable to walk away with a moderate loss and it had, in turn, turned into a greater one.

Marelos had returned to Braavos two weeks ago and his fortune had done nothing but evaporate in that time. Nilona had denounced him the moment the man had stepped off the boat, and as the news of the 'Shadow War' in Morosh spread around the city the lesser families had started abandoning him in droves… What does the Sorreris family know? People asked themselves.

And promptly decided that whatever it was, it must have been worse than the considerable amounts of gold, prestige and assets that Maleros had lost in Morosh… And that now might be a prudent time to retire.

When the Sealord used the panic and Nilonas' abrupt treason to in turn pressure the Mophira's, Marelos' fate had already been sealed. The Mophira's subsequent declaration of the virtues of Braavos and its proud tradition, and especially the virtues of their illustrious Sealord, had merely been the last nail in the coffin. The assets and estates of both Marelos and the Oniras', who had not jumped ship fast enough, were even now being forfeited by the Iron Bank to pay for debts, or requisitioned by the Sealord's Guard to be held 'in trust' until the veritable flood of legal actions coming out of the Palace were carried out to their conclusion.

In Braavos there was no such thing as Treason. Merely the logical carrying out of contracts and taxes, which when creatively applied by the Sealord could leave a man a beggar, if he did not have enough influential friends… or if said friends were all too busy shoving him off the proverbial cliff.

"What do you think Lady?" Sansa asked her snoring Direwolf. She had grown by leaps and bounds these last few months, to the point that she was starting to feel restless cooped up in their inner patio. It may have been big, but Sansa felt Lady still needed a bit of greenery to stave off what Joffrey called 'Cabin Fever'. Still, she bore it with quiet dignity, her demeanor almost an exaggeration of Sansa's ideal. Proper and composed, the white-grey Direwolf barely smaller than her desk raised her head and sniffed almost delicately at Sansa, as if considering the whole thing beyond her rightful preview… before settling back down with a yawn.

"Okay, I'll take you to the marshes tomorrow," she promised her companion as she rolled her eyes, and Lady let out a tiny, pleased purr.

Are you a cat or a wolf? She asked in silent, fond exasperation as she opened Joffrey's latest letter.

-profits were almost nonexistent by the end of it, the Port of Ibben was simply uninterested about roughly a quarter our cargo… but given the way the trade fleet's captains have been partying around here you wouldn't be surprised if they'd just made out like bandits, or heck, like Kings! Your news' about Marelos incipient downfall has sparked the whole fleet into a frenzy of taverns, alcohol and women, It feels as if we'd just won a major war.

Anyway, I should be setting sail during the next few days, so this letter should reach you just a bit before I do.

Sansa gazed thoughtfully at the slight splotch of ink at the start of the last statement, as if Joffrey's quill had spent an inordinate amount of time standing still over it.

I've missed you, it read, swiftly followed by a rushed signature as if he'd suddenly decided to just end the letter.

Something warm spread from Sansa's belly as she read those last words, feeling a bittersweet pang as she tried to imagine what Joffrey would have written if he'd not finished the letter so abruptly.

She leaned back on her chair, ill at ease as she shuffled this way and that, trying to make a sense of her swirling thoughts.

Her introspection was interrupted when Lady's head suddenly swiveled to the door, the hair at the back on her neck standing on edge as she growled lightly.

"Lady?" Sansa asked as she stood up, somehow sensing the Direwolf's tension as her companion arose from her small nest and her growl turned louder.

Lady was somehow screaming danger as Sansa stumbled back, her back shivering as she saw two doors for a second, as if viewed by two pairs of eyes instead of just one. She shook her head harshly as she stumbled to the small chest by the side, hurried by some wordless haste as her movements becoming surer and swifter as she opened it and strapped a belt to her waist, the pommels of two daggers gleaming under the lamp light, hurried on by some unspeakable urge.

The sudden knock at her door nearly made her jump, and she struggled to keep her voice level as she spoke out loud, "Who is it?"

"It's Adaro, Selya. Could you come for a moment if you please?" said the voice of the Head of the Dure Household, impeccable as always.

Sansa hesitated, gazing at the unloaded light crossbow in the chest before she gazed at the door, "Is everything alright Master Adaro?" she asked. His tone of voice was relaxed, but he always called her Lady Selya, no matter the amount of times he'd told him to stop.

"Of course, just something that needs your attention," came the sure voice from the door.

Sansa was lowering the chest's lid when Lady snarled lowly, and she breathed in the fear and the falsehood in the man's voice. Sansa blinked rapidly as she shook her head, one hand holding her nose in confusion as she almost stumbled to the ground and every hair on Lady's body stood on edge.

She used the chest as support as she stood back upright, quickly grabbing the crossbow and twisting the little turn crank by its side. She cranked it tight and loaded it with a bolt from the chest, her numb hands following the pattern seared into her head after months of repetition at the inner patio.

Sansa swallowed as she walked to the other side of the room, eyes fixed on the door as she held the crossbow at the ready, her heart hammering in her chest as she called out again, "Adaro, are you sure everything is okay?" she called out.

There was a silence only slightly longer than what would have been normal, before the clear voice of Adaro responded, "Of course my lady. Three assassins, daggers, maybe moohrrr…" he trailed off as if out of breath, and something slumped against the floor almost as quickly as the door started to shake wildly, muffled curses flying from the other side.

Sansa almost hyperventilated at the sound, gasping as the world tried to shrink around her vision. "I hold the blood of the Kings in the North," she stammered to herself as something slammed against the locked door and she took deep breaths, trying to steady her runaway fear.

"I was created to stop the coming of the Long Night," she whispered again as something crashed against the thin door again, the little lock almost broken by the force behind the blow. Slowly, her hands steadied, the crossbow's sight's blurring as she gazed at the door and her grip on it relaxed somewhat.

The door bulged for half a second before bursting open and revealing three hooded men brandishing stilettos, two in front and one behind. One of them screamed as a bolt took him in the chest, falling to the ground.

I am she who stalks through blizzards, she thought as she snarled, or had that been Lady?

The other two men rushed her. Their stilettos did not gleam, shrouded as they were in brown oils which absorbed the light. Sansa dropped her crossbow as she drew her daggers, both broad hilted as was the Westerosi way.

"Lady, kill," she said, though the words had been unnecessary as Lady jumped as soon as Sansa thought of it, tearing into the man to the left and leaving her with the third, already upon her and trying to stab her in the belly.

She stepped sideways as Joffrey had taught her during their two and a half years of constant training, deflecting the blow with one dagger and slamming the other one into the man's windpipe in reflex. The man looked surprised as he stumbled back, almost as surprised as Sansa was as she took her dagger back with the horrible sound of rending flesh.

And just like that, she'd killed her first man.

The assassin kneeled on the floor, both hands trying and failing to stem the flow of blood from his neck, and Sansa could only watch in stunned horror as he bled to death. A sharp pain startled her though, and she turned her head to find another assassin jamming a stiletto into her side. She gave him a half snarl, half cry as she slashed his hand, making him drop the knife and stumble back. Sansa almost lost herself again as she gazed at the knife that was still piercing her torso just below the elbow, but she managed to keep enough lucidity to step back as the assassin tried for his stiletto, her own daggers coming up in an automatic response that slashed the man's hand again, spraying blood over the Myrish carpet.

Sansa stumbled back, breathing heavily and concentrating on her foe, I won't die here, I won't, she thought once and again as she examined the swaying man, the crossbow bolt still in his shoulder as he held one hand close to his chest, bleeding red. His other hand was already emerging from his back with another dagger, and he seemed on the verge of jumping her when Sansa reacted.

"Surrender and you'll have your life," she said quickly, and the man hesitated for a few seconds as he swayed, his hand shaking. He seemed ready to try and kill her once more, but his hesitation bought Lady the time she needed to finally close her jaws on the third man's neck and twist. A brutal snap resounded throughout the room, and the man flinched as he saw Lady calmly slink her way towards him, sitting and regarding him with cold eyes and a red snout.

"Of course, you can always feed Lady," Sansa told the man sweetly, keeping her poise even as she felt her blood spreading throughout her night gown, "The price of good meat in Braavos is just scandalous," she added, gazing at the man thoughtfully.

The man dropped his dagger, and Sansa gave a breathless sight of relief, turning to her bed and ripping off a piece of quality velvet from Tyrosh. She gasped as she bandaged the wound, making sure it was firm before carefully extracting the long, thin dagger that Braavos seemed so fond of.

She screamed as she took it out, clamping down on the wound and finishing the field dressing. Joffrey had been adamant that she'd master the art of First Aid, and she promised herself to never again tease him about discount Maesters and self-righteous acolytes.

"Hired killers, how many more?" she gasped at the man, blinking heavily.

The man hesitated for a second before nodding, gazing nervously at Lady, "T'was just us three milady, I swear it' by'all the'moons," he said quickly. Sansa frowned, smelling something rotten about it before she shook her head in disappointment.

She looked on coldly as Lady jumped him, tearing into his hand with a loud, wild snarl as the man screamed. Lady trotted away a few seconds later, two fingers in her mouth before they swiftly disappeared down her gullet.

"How many more?" she asked him again, fighting down the nausea.

He tasted good.

"One more! One more milady!" he screamed as he clutched both hands close to his chest, still lying on the floor. She thought he was being sincere, or Lady thought? All she wanted was to lie down for a moment…

"Yell at him to come. Betray me and the next body part to go will be your balls," she told him.

The man nodded quickly, on the verge of crying before he shouted for 'Feoro'. Another hooded killer entered the room, looking around bewildered before a bolt took him in the gut. He crumbled against the wall, his eyes wide as Sansa lowered the crossbow with a satisfied nod.

Only when she'd been sure there was no danger left, she had rushed to the door. There she found Adaro, a stab wound piercing cleanly into his lung. He was barely breathing when she propped him up against the wall.

Sansa struggled to hold back a sob as her chief servant looked her in the eyes, "Adaro you old fool, why?" she asked him.

"Nevher… aghain…" he rattled, breathing heavily.

Footman Inneo, as it later turned out, had been silently barricaded inside his own room with Miss Ferola. He'd spent most of the time trying to batter down his own door and the furniture that had been stacked behind it. When he rushed to Lady Selya's chambers, he found her keeping guard on two cloaked men who seemed scarcely worse off than her, Adaro's body still warm beside the bed. The lady's strange wolf pet sniffed at him in approval before lady Selya smiled, and pointed at the two captives… one of which seemed to be on the verge of bleeding to death himself.

"I want them alive," she declared, before blinking heavily and vomiting a bit of bile upon the floor. She collapsed before Inneo could reach her.

-: PD :-

"I'll kill him myself," Joffrey said for the sixth time.

"You're so boring when you turn repetitive," Sansa sighed, tired of arguing with logic. She was still bedridden, and her lack of strength for even the most basic of tasks, like walking, had been driving her mad.

Of course, it also had a few benefits.

Joffrey had decided to never let her out of sight again, and it seemed her complexion had been so terrible to behold that he had deigned to very carefully keep her company in her own bedchamber, day and night. All very proper of course, and more because of keeping an eye on her than any other aspirations he could have... of which Sansa still didn't know what to think about, besides tossing the conflicting feelings and musings inside a locked box in her head and ignoring it.

"You know the Braavosi better than I do Joffrey, do you think the Sealord will let Marelos get away with an assassination attempt?" she asked blithely.

Joffrey didn't deign to answer, leaning back on the small couch he had dragged to her side of the bed. "Besides, he was already sinking before he did that. Few allies left, half his remaining fortune held up in court, and then he does this… I dare say he might end up worse off than a mere beggar," she told him. The First Sword of Braavos himself had come to collect the two would be assassins, and Sansa had no doubt that the man would follow the trail right back to one Marelos Hartios.

"I should have seen it coming," Joffry told her, "For all of his sophisticated plans, Marelos has a certain impulsive streak. That was one of the reasons he kept hitting Morosh no matter how many of his funds I destroyed, stole or subverted… still, he would have survived that if not for Nilona's betrayal. Nice work on that, by the way," he told her with a fond look.

"Thank you," Sansa beamed despite the pain, "Nilona must have thought we had the biggest, most competent spy network in Braavos," she said with a snort.

"Instead of a lot of mediocre informants and one very good specialist?" Joffrey asked smugly.

"Indeed," she agreed. They stayed quiet for a while before Joffrey cleared his throat.

"Adaro's funeral… it'll be tomorrow," He finally spoke.

"I'll go," Sansa declared, daring him to contradict her.

She was surprised when he said nothing, merely nodding at her. "The dead deserve closure," he said somberly.

Sansa stayed quiet for another moment before speaking that which had been burning her from the inside. "Why did he do it? If he'd not tipped me off then maybe the killers would have let him live," she said quietly.

Joffrey gazed at her with a sad smile, "The Dure's, remember? Adaro was their head servant as well," he explained.

"'Never again', those were the last words he uttered before his lungs couldn't- the air-" Sansa broke off with a wounded huff, feeling cold.

Joffrey took a deep breath of his own before talking, "He'd seen Marelos wreck one family under his watch. He wouldn't stand for it a second time," he reasoned.

"It's unfair," Sansa whispered.

They stayed quiet for another while yet, until Sansa winced as she shuffled inside her bed, her right side burning as she tried to cuddle deeper into her blankets. Braavos kept getting colder and colder with each passing day…

Joffrey frowned as he looked at her, as if he were chewing something distasteful, "I'll-"

"Kill him yourself, I know!" Sansa said with a huff, "You've got this habit of fixing in on stuff Joffrey, it's just not healthy," she told him, secretly glad for the slight change of topic.

"And you've got a habit of scolding me whenever things don't go your way," he said with that insufferable smirk of his.

Sansa would have shot right back, but she found she was too tired to bother. "I'm too cold to argue," she grumbled as she turned around.

She gasped when she felt a weight in her bed, and turned her head back to find Joffrey right by her side, his comforting warmth enveloping her even as his arms hesitantly embraced her. Despite his rakish grin, Sansa thought she could see something deeply brittle hiding behind it.

Instead of saying anything, she turned around within his grip and cuddled against his chest, shamelessly stealing his warmth.

-: PD :-

Sansa had been tentatively playing with Lady in the inner patio, relishing in her returning strength when Joffrey arrived with the good news. She had a newfound appreciation for athletic ability, and she'd been hard at work returning her body to its normal, peak condition that Joffrey had deemed appropriate after months of hard work.

"Sansa, it's over," he said, a wild smirk on his face.

It ended abruptly. The schemes and plots, the frights and surprises, the intrigues which consumed much of the year. Anticlimactically and unexpectedly.

Joffrey considered it fitting, and in line with the general process of such things, though he suspected Sansa would find it rather disappointing.

"What? How?" she asked quickly.

"They found Marelos floating upside down in the Canal of Heroes with a dozen stab wounds in the back," Joffrey told her, not bothering to hide the mirth in his voice.

"Ironic," Sansa said idly, still processing the sudden news before Joffrey grabbed her and swung her around like a doll. She laughed despite herself, and she looked at Joffrey with a suspicious glint in her eyes once he deigned to land her back on the ground. His hands retreated quickly, as if ashamed of what he'd done, and Sansa looked away. She didn't know why she'd started to keep her distance from him since he'd returned, but she found herself unable to do anything about it.

"And you had nothing at all to do with this?" she asked him with a frown.

"Nothing at all! I would have just made him disappear," he said as he raised his hands in defense, painfully, painfully honest.

"And that just makes it better?" She asked him, though unable to contain a smile of her own.

"Yes?" Joffrey asked back.

Sansa just snorted, turning around to lift a small object which had been wrapped around a piece of white cloth. "I think this may make a bit more sense now," she said as she gave it to Joffrey.

"Oh?" Joffrey asked as he unwrapped the thing.

"The First Sword left it here in the morning, said it was a gift from the Sealord," she said as Joffrey examined the strange, curved dagger. She looked bewildered when Joffrey started to laugh out loud.

"It's a tanto," he said in between bouts of laughter, as if that explained it all.

Joffrey must have seen her expression, because he elaborated as he held the long dagger like a precious heirloom, "It's a Yi-Tish… short sword I suppose is the right word. Yi-Tish. Get it?" He asked her, delighted.

Sansa looked at the weapon for a few seconds before she raised an eyebrow, "They killed him with his own collection?" she finally asked.

"No one can say Braavosi lack a sense of humor," Joffrey said admiringly.

"Charming," Sansa huffed.

-: PD :-

Marelos' death did not unleash a shadow war within the city, as Sansa had feared. Though Joffrey supposed that was in part due to the events following up on the unlamented monopolist's demise. The way the normally stoic First Sword of Braavos strutted around the city had been a clear enough indicator of who exactly had signed the man's death warrant. The First Sword had sported a grin fit for a smug cat for weeks, and if anyone had any doubts after that then they had been swiftly dispelled when the very same man made a point of gifting Yi-Tish weaponry to any family interested in Marelos' fate.

Weaponry lifted straight from his private collection.

A line had been crossed, and without the political pressure of the Sorreris (and later the Mophira) families it seemed the Sealord had unleashed fifteen years of pent up frustration on the man, using his attempted murder of Sansa to finally give him what he deserved. Marelos the second and his few remaining allies were keeping their heads down and acting as meekly as possible, but it was doubtful even that would save them as Marelos the father's debts and dealings caught up with his son and heir… and Moroshi merchants had been calling for his head for weeks now. Joffrey doubted the man would be left with a single bent Iron Mark in the end.

Life had thus returned to… not exactly as it had been before. For once, the Shivering Sea Consortium had emerged as the premier player in the northern routes, usurping Marelos' position, ironically enough. And as the foremost family within that group, both him and Sansa had been hounded by the sudden interest of over half of the cities worthies… and flooded in so many Iron Marks Joffrey honestly didn't know what to do with them, besides dreaming up wild schemes of somehow imprinting all that money into his soul and carrying it to his next life.

There was also something… awkward about his relationship with Sansa since the death of Marelos and his return from Morosh, whatever that may be. Silences extended unnaturally, and they avoided each other's eyes as often as not… even as they sometimes caught each other staring when they'd thought the other one wouldn't notice… it was honestly stressful, and Joffrey didn't know what to do about it.

News from Westeros had kept trickling in, and Joffrey had been surprised to find out that the 'Lords Declarant of the Vale', a coalition of the region's most powerful Arryn bannermen, had declared in favor of King Stannis. The King had emerged from the Vale with an army in tow and several thousand knights at his command, which he'd lead to their full effect as he slammed into the Crownlands and laid siege to King's Landing itself. There was no word on the situation of Lysa Arryn, though if rumors were to be believed Lord Royce had taken Robin Arryn as his ward… the implications of that were ominous indeed.

The siege had been short lived, as Stannis assaulted the walls almost as soon as he'd gotten there. The Riverlands were a wasteland by now, famine gripped the land and Riverrun had fallen. Robb Stark had been in command, and had led his men in a fighting retreat to the northern Riverlands…

Joffrey had to admire the sheer balls of steel Stannis possessed, going for the kill instead of wasting the might of the Vale in the muddy killing field that had become the Riverlands. By all accounts, villages lay burnt and empty, holdfasts ruined or ransacked, and the rivers festered with blight and filth… there was not much of that vibrant place left it seemed, or at least nothing worth fighting over.

In any case, the assault on the Capital had been successful, and with Stannis leaning on the Crownlords, they'd had little choice but to add their strength to his. The taking of King's Landing had been a masterstroke even if it had left Stannis' forces divided, as he now had in his possession both Arya and Bran Stark, the latter of which had been betrothed to Lady Shereen Baratheon, forever cementing the loyalty of the North, the only region which had put its weight behind him completely from the beginning.

Fate had not been so kind to King Tommen and his sister however… rumors were… scattered. The only thing Joffrey was sure of was that they were dead. Some said Cersei had poured poison down their throats rather than let Stannis have them, others that Stannis had his red witch burn them inside the Sept of Baelor…

Joffrey … doubted Stannis had done the latter. With more lords under his banner, it seemed that Melisandre of Asshai did not hold so much sway over the King… but anything was possible with magic. For all he knew there was a spell to mind control the future King of Westeros, though he tried not to think too much about that.

Regardless, without a clear King to rally around, it seemed the Lannister cause was verging on collapse. The Westerlands still seemed unshakable under Tywin's iron fist, but Joffrey suspected that would last as long as his grandfather drew breath… one stray arrow in the battlefield and the Westerlands would tumble like a castle of wooden blocks. The Tyrells certainly were, bannermen abandoning camp and returning to their keeps in the middle of the night. With Maergery Tyrell and the Queen of Thorns both in Stannis' hands it seemed the Tyrells were powerless to stop their panicking vassals short of unleashing Lord Randyll Tarly on them, which was a short term solution if Joffrey had ever heard one. The Tyrell's authority also seemed shaky in that, with Tommen dead and Maergery a widow, they were no longer dynastically tied to the Lannisters… and given their reputation, the possibility of them making a deal with Stannis was a drain on their power even if they did not do it… of course, almost as lethal to their authority was the sheer possibility that the Queen of Thorns had already made a deal with Stannis. Olenna Tyrell would certainly negotiate for her son even without his consent, and Stannis had her right there…

The outcome of the war of the Four Kings seemed settled, if not for the specifics. Nobody had told that to Balon Greyjoy though, as he seemed content enough to keep raiding the western coast of Westeros until the surviving houses banded together and razed the Iron Islands to the bedrock…

Joffrey shook his head as he entered the tailor's shop. He felt as if he were entering the Dawn Fort's armory on the eve of battle…

-: PD :-

He steadied himself as he looked at the mirror, running a hand by the black jacket he wore over the fine doublet. The silver buttons had been a nice touch, though the whole ensemble seemed altogether too festive for his taste, despite the fact that it primarily sported blacks and blues... Braavosi seamstresses had a knack for making even black too gaudy for his tastes. Still, festive was the whole point of the entire attire, and he resolutely grabbed the mask from the table before strapping it over his face.

He took one more breath before walking to Sansa's chambers, hesitating for a second before knocking politely. The door had been reinforced, so nobody would be getting in without her permission.

"Come in, it's unlocked," she said from beyond the door, and Joffrey opened it to find Sansa gazing at her own mirror, quickly smoothing out an undetectable flaw on her dress' smooth lines.

"How do I look?" she asked as she turned, hiding a nervous smile.

"Beautiful," breathed Joffrey. Her dress seemed like a mixture of Westerosi and Braavosi styles, black and green playing with the lines of silver thread which held the dress together. Her red hair seemed to glow by contrast, left to sway freely around her head, and her neck was framed by-

"Daqyrio really outdid himself with the pelts," Joffrey muttered with a half-smile, looking at the lustrous white scarf around Sansa's neck, small black spots dotting the pelt.

"I had a long chat with Teyia," Sansa said with a smirk, her eyes avoiding his as she put on her own mask.

"Snowfox, it suits you," Joffrey said idly, playing with his hands.

"Thank you," she said demurely, "Yours too… hardly a surprise there," she added with a small giggle.

"I can summon a spirit lion with my mind Sansa, if there's any animal that suits me, that's it," he said dryly.

She raised her hands in deference, "Fair enough, but isn't whole point of the mask to go by unnoticed? Hardly possible with you wearing the heraldry of House Stars," she said.

"Everyone will know who we are anyway," he told her a wryly.

Sansa looked at him for a moment, and as usual these days an air of uneasy tension started to envelop the room before Joffrey walked out of it. Sansa followed soon after, meeting up with him by the main door.

Joffrey shuffled slightly, looking at the floor before he suddenly blurted it out. "Sansa I… There's one thing I…" he stammered, thanking and cursing the masks. He couldn't see Sansa's face, and he supposed that was part of the reason he just needed to blurt this out now, and spare himself the physical sight of Sansa's shock and horror.

"Deep breaths Joffrey, just let it out," she said with a tinge of humor, only her eyes visible behind the mask.

He shook his head once more, walking away from her and staring up at the ceiling. In retrospect, he didn't know why he hadn't told Sansa back in that clearing, before she joined the Purple. It might have served as a shock to her system, a way to startle her into letting him kill himself there and make her forget… though he was guiltily glad he hadn't. After that, he'd never found quite the right moment to confess…

Or he had just kept delaying the inevitable.

Delaying as he was doing so right now.

No. No more lies, this… all of this… he thought incoherently as he took another deep breath. It was good while it lasted, he whispered painfully.

"I'm a bastard," he said in a dry monotone, not looking back.

"I'm sure Marelos thought the same," she quipped.

"No Sansa. I mean I'm not King Robert's son. Littlefinger may be the lowest scum of the earth, but his schemes were true. I'm… I'm the son of Jaime and Cercei Lannister," he told her, every word tearing a gaping hole in his chest.

Sansa gasped, and Joffrey couldn't contain himself as he twisted back to look at her. She was holding her chest with one hand, staring at him silently before she coughed one time, loudly.

"I think Miss Ferola may have dumped a bit too much spice on our lunch," she said as she massaged her neck.

"… You're teasing me," Joffrey said, dumbfounded.

"Really Joffrey? With all that you've told me? You practically spelled it out when you told me about Baelish's machinations and how my Father always fell for them… honestly I was expecting you to blurt it out sooner than you did," she said, exasperated.

Joffrey stood very still, and was very glad the mask hid the way his mouth kept opening, realizing he had nothing to say, and closing. Over and over.

He finally found his voice, "And it doesn't bother you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Really?" she said with a tinge of real anger, "We're some sort of living war constructs designed to stop the end of all life, immortals reviving after every death to carry out an almost certainly doomed war against beings from beyond our comprehension…" she recited before coming to an abrupt stop. "Oh, your father is Jaime Lannister, that changes everything!" she said as she slapped her forehead, the Snowfox mask tilting slightly sideways, the sarcasm so thick Joffrey could almost touch it.

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before he spoke. "You really don't care?" he asked again, his voice tight.

Sansa seemed to gaze at him again for a long while, considering something as she straightened her mask. She nodded to herself almost imperceptibly before walking up to him. "Forget the Purple and the White Walkers for a second. Forget your damned mission and your titles and your father and everything else," she said as she gazed at his eyes through both masks. "I like you Joffrey, Joff, Jonnel, Baratheon, Lannister, Stars"- she said, becoming breathless as she kept going -"Silver Knight, Shadow, General, King, Bastard, Dawn Commander, Famed Vellamo. I. Don't. Really. Care," she punctuated each word with a slam of her hand, pounding Joffrey's chest. "So get that fact, into that thick skull of yours, grab my arm and take me to the Festival before we're late," she declared imperiously, holding her elbow and almost jutting it into Joffrey's belly.

Joffrey stared at her.

"Well?" she insisted, her elbow starting to dig painfully into his stomach.

Joffrey locked his arm with hers.

-: PD :-

The Long Canal was filled with gondolas and small vessels, each more exotic than the last as whole families adorned their ships to sometimes obnoxious degrees, golden frills and even gemstones peppering the larger pleasure barges even as people danced atop them, the tunes of on board bards and minstrels filling the air with merriment. Inneo sailed their gondola like it were the queen of the waters though, despite its comparatively modest decoration. The doughty Footman had taken Adaro's death like a dereliction of his duty, and had been striving to up the level of his service ever since. Sansa had kept quiet since her speech back in Dure House, out of regret or something else, Joffrey did not know. He only knew that whenever he now looked at her he felt as if someone were pouring lava down his throat, and Sansa seemed reluctant to meet his gaze now more than ever.

Joffrey waved back as they sailed past an almost floundering pleasure barge, its clearly drunk occupants waving at their own gondola as the minstrel onboard sang a happy tune in Low Valyrian. Sansa waved as well, laughing when one of their well-wishers was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged below deck for what would most likely be a pleasurable night.

The night was young yet, barely beginning as the sun hid beneath the wind swept hills that surrounded Braavos. "They better make port soon or the guard will be fishing drunk revelers from the canal the entire night," said Joffrey.

"I think it may be too late for that," Sansa said with a snort as the ship grounded over some low sandbars. They were a common hazard around the oldest of the channels…

"Doesn't look like it's stopping them," Joffrey laughed as he spotted a few land bound revelers carrying out a boarding action from the nearby pier, armed with bottles and wineskins and sporting a wild variety of masks from lions to birds to even ships. Their quality seemed variable, but for once in Braavos nobody cared. Rich or poor, noble or baseborn all were equal under their masks until the Titan's roar at midnight.

"Maybe we should join them?" Joffrey asked suggestively, only for Sansa to tilt her head in thought.

"I'm pretty sure the Sealord's winery is better stocked," she said after a moment, as if she were considering a matter of utmost important.

"… I knew I'd brought you here for a reason," Joffrey said like a man gripped in the throes of revelation.

They chuckled as Inneo kept punting from the back, though soon the dreaded, alien silence seemed to capture them in its claws again.

Joffrey bit his tongue as the fiery butterflies in his belly managed to invade the rest of his body, clamping his muscles as the silence kept getting deeper. He was staring at the other ships as they reached the inner lake, but he just knew Sansa was doing the same by her side, gripped just as tightly by the thing.

His mouth moved before he could react, "If I had told you… Back in the clearing, if I had told you of my birth, would you have still gone with it all?" he suddenly asked.

He kept looking at the ships bedecked in oil lamps and wildly colored strips of cloth, the silence suddenly gripping his heart before being banished by Sansa's voice.

"I don't know… I'd like to think so," her tone was wistful, and Joffrey turned to look at her.

Sansa was still gazing at the ships in the inner lake, the sounds of their revelry carrying over the still waters and rebounding on the walls of the great houses which surrounded Braavos' heart. "Truth be told, I have a hard time trying to think like… like I was before I met you," she said.

"How so?" Joffrey asked her.

"So much has happened… and it's been only a few years since we arrive at Braavos, just shy of three actually… I ruined old families, webbed schemes to twist and break, ran from my own Father… I killed a man… and yet…" she trailed off, her voice barely more than a whisper, "There was a change, before we even set foot on that ship in King's Landing," she added.

"The Purple? When Brightroar…" Joffrey trailed off with a slight wince.

"No, before," she said as she turned to look at him, her eyes clouded within the Snowfox mask. "I think that maybe… I think the real Sansa Stark may have had her throat slit amongst the Red Keep's battlements, her body tossed to the depths of Blackwater Bay with her brother and sister…" she said haltingly, her eyes blinking repeatedly. "Does that make any sense?" she asked him, her voice lost.

"Yes. Yes it does," said Joffrey, his throat tight.

By all the Gods and those Beyond, I understand, he thought.

He grabbed her hand, their fingers interwoven as the gondola turned north, past the canals that led to the Purple Harbor and east towards the sight that dominated northern Braavos.

Joffrey realized, to his mounting horror, that the silence was now worse. He couldn't stop looking at Sansa out of the corner of his eye, and it seemed neither could she… But neither of them could say anything about it! Her nails were digging into his hand, and Joffrey shuffled slightly as a heat wave of some sort struck the Secret City.

"Look, the Sealord's Palace!" he declared like some sort of hedge knight's third son, signaling at the great, enormous block of marble and basalt that stood atop the city's highest hill, peppered by curving windows in the shape of galleys. Grand, sweeping balconies surrounded the outer façade, and a hundred whale oil lamps hanged from them.

"It- is?" Sansa asked painfully, realizing the stupidity of the question halfway through it. Her nails dug further into his hand as the gondola thankfully reached the pier, one amongst many as either the Sealord had a private armada of small boats at his beck and call or half of Braavos had come here tonight for the festivities.

"Shall we?" Asked Joffrey as he stood up, realizing they were still holding hands and that his offered elbow was quite superfluous.

"Let's," Sansa answered tightly.

What the bloody hells is wrong with the world?! Joffrey thought as they stepped out of the gondola.

"I could take the ship for a little spin Master Jonnel, Lady Selya," Inneo offered courteously. "We can take the scenic route around the palace, arrive a little late… with this moon visibility will be… low…" he added, the corner of his mouth rising in good mannered mirth.

"No!" They shouted at the man, only to shut their mouths immediately after and stare at each other.

Inneo looked nonplussed, "... Of course, of course. The palace boasts numerous rooms as well-"

"Inneo-" Joffrey shouted.

"-Just go!" ended Sansa.

"Of course! Of course!" he said with an elaborate bow, punting away from the pier like the merriest man on Braavos.

"Such insolence," Sansa said lowly.

"The gall," Joffrey agreed.

The silence laughed at their efforts and squeezed.

Maybe it's not too late to call him back? Whispered a traitorous voice inside Joffrey's head.

They walked towards the sound of music with not another word.

-: PD :-

"Jonnel! Selya! I could kiss you right now!" declared a fat man with an enormous, slightly tilted, upside down mask of a leviathan. His two companions were dressed in free flowing gowns that left Joffrey wondering how in the hells they weren't freezing.

The answer to that question became obvious as the two of them snuggled closer to the man after a chilly gust of wind buffeted their gathering.

"That obvious Lazono?" he asked good naturedly, and the pudgy Lorathi laughed with a booming voice. The Sea Gardens were technically a private property of the ruling Sealord, though in practice it was the place where he could host visitors of state or otherwise important guests. It was also, of course, the venue where the city's worthies gathered to celebrate the Unmasking Festival. The Sea Gardens were snugged close to the bulk of the Sealord's Palace, but they were only connected by a single stone bridge, and boasted a pier of its own. It was filled with all manners of strange and exotic plants and trees, gathered from all around the northern trade routes so they could survive Braavos' weather.

"You do know that leviathan is upside down?" Sansa asked him, and Lazono looked from one courtesan to the next, both of them giggling behind their falcon masks.

"They told me it was fine! Treason!" Bellowed Lazono as he held his courtesans even closer, both of them giggling harder as Joffrey shook his head.

It seems the party has been going rather splendidly, Joffrey thought as he gazed at the men and women reveling in the midst of the Gardens, veritable squads of servants coming from across the bridge every minute to serve drinks and all manner of sundry dishes meant to be eaten with only one hand.

Sansa seemed intrigued as she leaned forward, "I've got to ask, are you really using that curved sword-"

"Tanto," corrected Joffrey.

-"as cutlery?" She asked he man, ignoring him. She could understand Lazono's satisfaction with Marelos' death, but eating with what may have been the man's murder weapon was too morbid even for her admittedly ever stretching standards.

"I don't eat with it," Lazono told her, offended. "I do use it to cut up the meats though," he corrected.

Sansa snorted hard as Joffrey shook his head fondly, "Lazono you barbarian, I know men who'd have a heart attack if they saw you using a tanto as a butchering implement," he said, trying to hide the mirth in his voice.

Lazono shrugged innocently before leaning forward and whispering, "Jokes aside, you have my heartfelt gratitude for the handling of that scum. The House of Stars will never be shunned from my hearth," he said the last as if he were reciting an oath, and from what Joffrey knew of the Lorathi, it may as well have been one.

Joffrey and Sansa nodded respectfully, and Lazono was back to his usual, cheerful self as he guided his courtesans away, "Now I was told the Sealord had an ample number of rooms somewhere…" he muttered as he walked towards the bridge.

"Now there's one happy man," Sansa whispered in mirth as they walked back towards the main gathering, elbows locked.

"I don't blame him," said Joffrey as they walked, and with Lazono gone the bloody tension started to assault his senses once again. Sansa was breathing deeply by the time they reached another blessedly known guest they could make small talk with.

They met Daqyrio and Teyia Vynerys by a side hedge, the latter clearly identifiable by the great and lustrous snowfox pelts that accented her dress. Daqyrio seemed suspiciously merry, and Joffrey guessed the reason why when he detected the slight slurring of his speech. The usually stern man seemed very pleased to see him, and he regaled him with all manner of anecdotes regarding his successful dealings with White Harbor. Sansa was nearby, fidgeting more so than usual as Tayia kept whispering in her ear.

"-of course, with a bloody army of wildlings swarming the Wall, it seems as good a time as any to move towards better ports. With Marelos gone, suppliers in Lorath should now be accessible," he commented idly.

"Wait, what?" Joffrey interrupted him.

Draqyrio looked nonplussed, "Lorath. The island may be poor on iron but the hinterlands-"

"No no, wildlings are invading the North?" he asked, alarmed.

Daqyrio shrugged, "That does seem to be the case. Several raiding parties have penetrated deep into the Kingdom, and it's said a great host of thousands smashed into Castle Black like an avalanche weeks ago… or the news were weeks old when it reached the city at least," Draqyrio recounted, "Last Hearth was preparing for a siege and everyone in White Harbor with two silver stags to rub together was trying to find a ship to flee," he said.

Joffrey was speechless as Sansa returned with Teyia, both of them giggling like little girls at some sort of joke. Sansa somehow read his state of mind beyond his mask, and quickly came to his side.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

"More war in Westeros, the wildlings took the Wall and who knows what else," he said with a sigh.

Sansa blinked, looking down to the ground before taking in a breath of fresh air. "I suppose we'll know more details in time… more work for the future," she said knowingly.

"Yes," said Joffrey, grimacing. They'd known something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. With the Walkers pushing from the North, the wildlings had precious few options if they hoped to survive. Between facing either the hazy memories he had of the Night's Watch, or the Walkers and their minions… Joffrey knew which enemy he'd choose. At least now they had a rough timetable for it: roughly three and a half years after 'wake up'.

They soon moved on, meeting up with the friends and business associates they had cultivated throughout the almost three years that had been their stay in Braavos… and being an object of interest as the foremost family within the Shivering Sea Consortium. Joffrey felt vaguely uncomfortable, reminded of the hazy days of his past self and the way he'd indulged himself with feasts and pointless (and often sadistic) spectacles, courtiers hanging on his every word. Sansa seemed more at ease, separating the wheat from the chaff without seeming curt or insulting. Despite the masks everyone seemed to know who was who, as at this level of Braavosi society it was hard not to.

"I must offer my apologies for the way the city has treated you, Master Jonnel, lady Selya," said a man with a mask depicting the stern face of the Titan of Braavos. Only a few steps behind stood an armed Bravo with an opera mask.

"Your Excellency," Joffrey bowed at the Sealord of Braavos.

"Please, none of that. Tonight I am just a friend," the man said courteously, gazing at Sansa knowingly, who had not bowed.

"Just another guest at the soiree," she agreed, and the Sealord nodded approvingly.

"Braavos does not usually tolerate the likes of our departed mutual acquaintance, and your help in bringing about his exit from the great stage is appreciated, and shall not be lightly forgotten," said Ferrago as the First Sword behind him nodded slightly.

Were that I could bank in favors from previous lives, Joffrey grumbled inside the privacy of his own mind.

"It was the least we could do for a city that has been so good to us," said Sansa.

"You're too humble," said Ferrego, before tilting his head slightly, "I confiscated some delightful toys from Marelos' personal warehouse, be sure to check on them just before midnight, in the upper balconies. The servants will show you the way," he said before nodding at them both, making his apologies before moving on. It seemed the Sealord was strapped for time even during the last day of the Unmasking Festival.

"A shame he'll forget everything come our next life," commented Sansa.

"I was thinking the same thing…" Joffrey sighed.

"That's been happening a lot lately," she said with a snort, her voice already tensing at the gradually encroaching awkwardness.

"It is said the Sealord has a menagerie with beasts from every corner of the world, would you care to look at it?" Joffrey asked quickly.

Sansa nodded in unspoken thanks, and they spent a while gazing at the stripe painted horses and the oversized tigers, a hundred and one different animals from the four corners of the world. The guests of the soiree had invaded even this place though, always followed by the servants carrying cups and drinks. They'd stopped talking after a while, silently observing the animals as Sansa tried to control her breathing. She looked at the servant carrying cups like a drowning sailor eyes some flotsam, insistently calling for him.

"What's this?" She asked Joffrey as the servant gave them each a cup with long, thin wooden tubes.

"A straw made of reeds, the Summer Islanders like them in their beverages… they're also quite useful when you're thirsty and wearing a mask," Joffrey told her before taking a sip.

This is quite good!- I don't like it much- I've actually never been to the Summer Islands, curious- He cycled through something to say desperately as Sansa stared at him, sipping from her own straw. Her eyes quickly diverted away when she noticed he knew, and his mind blanked and he said nothing at all.

They spent five painful minutes only sipping from their straws, the dreadful silence making Joffrey's heartbeat sound horribly loud. He noticed most of the people were leaving the place though, heading for the bridge and the Sealord's Palace.

"What's going on?" Sansa asked him, breaking the silence as she blinked rapidly.

"The Sealord said he had something special planned for this Unmasking, we must be nearing midnight," said Joffrey, gazing at the quarter moon.

"Should we follow them?" asked Sansa, looking at her hand as if it were suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Joffrey stood still, watching the rest of the guests as they left the Sea Gardens. Conflicted feelings warred inside his belly as he gazed at his partner.

Should they?

The Garden seemed suddenly still, as if time were slowing down.

Spoiler: Music

Joffrey's breath hitched… and then slowly came out when he saw the way Sansa kept playing with her fingers, her anxiety clear… perhaps even fear. She expected this, he realized. Likely thought it an obligation to be fulfilled. Perhaps a way to help him out of his former misery. He could image her face, her dutiful reaction when he took her—She said she'd do anything to help him ease his burden, but surely she hadn't meant—

Joffrey looked away, nauseous with himself.

Gods, I haven't changed at all, he thought bitterly, outraged at himself. The moment passed, and he drained the cup before setting it aside. Sansa may have had the strength and conviction to do this for him, but Joffrey didn't have the heart to see her do it.

"We should go," he said finally, ignoring the stab of bitter regret in his belly. I'm better than him, he thought, remembering the mewling of a cruel boy who wanted nothing but to impose his sick will on those he cared about…

"Okay," said Sansa, her voice shaky. Joffrey could imagine the relief writ clear in her face as they walked to the Palace with the other guests. The silence curdled, dissipating as if by magic as the tension which had been plaguing them slowly disappeared. She drained her cup as well, leaving it atop a servant's tray before they ascended the stairs to the palace's wide balconies. They walked to a corner of the great basalt construction, almost reaching the ceiling of the palace as the guests murmured, looking beyond. Joffrey sighed as he gazed at the Braavosi night from the great balcony, feeling wretched. Sansa stood by the opposite pillar, a few meters away and looking at the bay as well, her arms crossed in front of her.

Suddenly, a great explosion thundered in the distance, and the crowd gasped as projectiles erupted from the Titan's head and lifted themselves up the night sky, exploding raucously and startling the seagulls which nested all over the city. They leapt to the air in a storm of feathers as more and more projectiles launched themselves from the head of the Titan, exploding in magnificent patterns of indigo, red, green and purple, creating a spectacle of light high atop the city.

The explosions thundered with the beat of his heart, each blast of noise almost synchronized with his heartbeat as they left streaks of blind color in his retina. The tension returned to his muscles as if he'd been suddenly cursed, the silence so strong it seemed stronger than the fireworks themselves. Joffrey realized he and Sansa were staring at each other, the fireworks a mere distraction as he gazed at the far more mesmerizing sight of her vivid blue eyes. Explosions kept thundering in the distance, each more powerful than the last as the sky flared and everything was bathed in white, everything but Sansa as the pillar beside her shielded her silhouette.

The horn of the Titan roared clear across the bay, signaling midnight as hundreds of sea birds added their cries to the noise. Seemingly every voice in Braavos roared with the Titan as Joffrey took off his mask and Sansa let hers slip to the floor.

They slammed into each other, Sansa struggling to deepen their frenzied kiss as Joffrey pushed her against the pillar, using it to steady them as he grabbed her head with both hands and his mouth travelled the length of her neck, kissing and sucking. Sansa moaned as she arched back, grabbing Joffrey's hands and locking them behind his neck forcefully as she caught his questing tongue with her mouth and returned it where it belonged.

The cheering and whooping of the crowds increased in intensity as more and more fireworks erupted against the night sky in dazzling displays of gold and silver, and Joffrey broke the kiss as he slammed Sansa against the wall opposite to the balcony, his hands fumbling with the dress before he ripped the upper pelts open.

"Draqyrio is going to kill you for that," Sansa moaned as Joffrey's hands felt her breasts.

"He can get in line," he grunted before she slammed her mouth against his again. He felt Sansa's long legs wrapping around his waist, her hands grabbing his doublet as she lifted herself up and used her now superior height to mercilessly deepen the kiss. Her weight was nothing to Joffrey as he walked back a few steps, searching half blindly for a door as his hands enjoyed the taut muscles around her belly.

Sansa's mouth slid down Joffrey's neck, delivering a rain of burning kisses as he gasped for air. "Inneo said the Sealord had rooms," she said curtly, not having time to speak.

"I'm trying to find them," Joffrey grunted as he managed to get the side door open. He half walked, half stumbled down the deserted corridor, Sansa doing her best to make him lose his footing as she ripped the top of his doublet and her long hair tickled his chest, the buttons flying away.

"What manner of knight are you? Useless," she scolded him, snaking her hands beneath his shirt and embracing him fiercely. Joffrey grunted almost painfully as her breasts pressed against his bare skin, the explosion of pleasure leaving him breathless.

"You're not exactly making it easy," he snarled as he stopped and pressed her against the wall. "You're a lousy maid, no sense of shame," he whispered as his questing hands kept exploring her belly, going downwards and downwards until Sansa gasped loudly. Her face turned beet red as she let out a colossal breath of hot air that tickled Joffrey's ear.

"You'll pay for that," she half moaned as she rode out the heavenly bliss.

"Snowfoxes have no bite anyway," Joffrey whispered huskily as his hands came back up and massaged her firm breasts, leaving her without enough air to respond.

He kept walking, searching for more doors. Where the fuck are those damned beds?! He thought as Sansa leaned back and stared at his eyes.

Her breathing was harsh, her face flushed and her hair seemed slightly messy, but she seemed more determined than ever as she leaned forward, "Direwolf Joffrey, not a Snowfox," she reminded him, her voice tinged in retribution as her nails dug into his back and she redoubled her assault on his neck. Joffrey moaned as her legs somehow clamped even tighter around his waist, her ravenous mouth reaching his ear and biting hard.

Joffrey grunted, shoulder smashing a random door aside and closing it with his leg. He let Sansa's weight fall, following her and pressing her against the long table that stood at the center of the abandoned dining room. Silver candelabrums and grand cabinets filled with wine bottles surrounded the periphery of his vision as he tore Sansa's annoyingly complicated dress apart.

"What about the bedroom?" She asked as her deft hands opened his trousers.

"Fuck the bedroom," Joffrey told her as he climbed the table and lost himself tasting her from top to bottom.

Sansa moaned, her eyelashes fluttering as she stretched her neck sideways and gazed around her with unfocused eyes, looking at the private dining hall of one Ferrego Antaryon. "Oh… The Sealord is going to kill us," she murmured before grabbing Joffrey's head by the hair and bringing him back towards her.

"He can get in line," Joffrey grunted, thoroughly undeterred as he kissed her fiercely.

-: PD :-

Last edited: May 1, 2018

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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Jun 2, 2018

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Chapter 43: Masks, part Three.

Sansa let out a monstrous yawn as she stretched, blinking slowly as she tried to clear the cobwebs off her eyes. She gave up with a sigh, turning around and snuggling closer to Joffrey's chest. She blinked again when she saw he was already awake, a gentle smile on his lips as he stroked her back lightly. "You should sleep more, it's good for you," she whispered, enjoying the caress of his calloused hand.

"It's the damned bed, too soft for my tastes," he whispered back, his eyes devouring her curves.

"Been sleeping on the floor again? That explains why this bed is so stiff," she complained as she snuggled even closer, her legs tangling with his and forcing Joffrey on his back, using his chest as a pillow. "It's barely been used," she said, looking around at Joffrey's room and the suspiciously nest-like cluster of sheets in one corner.

"Next time we can use your room then," Joffrey offered, now massaging her back with both hands.

Sansa let out a long breath as she looked at the other side, gazing at the closed door. "But it's so far away," she complained, her hand sneaking down Joffrey's thigh.

"Better than-" Joffrey gasped, -"the Sealord's dining room," he said very quickly as he expelled all the air in his lungs.

Sansa suddenly froze, her mouth opening slowly. "The Sealord… Oh Seven…" she whispered in shock as she remembered the later events of the previous night.

"The Sealord, yes," he said, trying not to laugh.

"We have to leave Braavos Joffrey, like, right now," she said in dawning horror.

"That would imply leaving this bed," Joffrey mused thoughtfully, his massaging hands travelling down Sansa's back.

She sighed in grudging resignation, hugging Joffrey's neck as she gave him a small peck, then two. "I can't believe we just ran," She said in between pecks, only to freeze again. "Oh, the gondola…" she remembered, her face turning beet red. "How much are we paying Inneo again?" she asked him urgently.

"Clearly not enough," Joffrey sniggered, unable to contain himself.

"Joffrey, why haven't we been doing this? Every day?" She asked him, suddenly flabbergasted.

Joffrey hummed as he lifted her and turned, lying side by side as he gazed at her eyes, "I don't rightly know, I could spend the rest of this life staring at those lovely blue eyes of yours and I'd count it a life well spent," he said before kissing her.

Sometimes, he could think himself into knots. He realized that Sansa's tongue was much more effective than a scissor at cutting said knots, though.

"And now the poet comes out," Sansa complained after she broke the kiss, "You've got the order all wrong Joffrey," she complained as she snaked her hands down his back. "First comes the poems, then the awkward looks, after that the declaration of love and then the ravaging," she explained as she grabbed that tight buttocks of his. She'd been wanting to do that for a while now, even if she'd had trouble admitting it to herself in the past, the ghostly voice of her mother whispering shame every time her yes drifted from what was 'proper'.

"Hm," Joffrey grunted, "I think you got the last part wrong, shouldn't that be 'and then they gently kiss'?" He whispered as his hands returned the favor and rounded Sansa's thighs.

Sansa yelped, glaring at him as she climbed his chest and grabbed his hands. She slammed them against the matress as she lowered her head. "The pure maidens can keep their gentle," she said forcefully before kissing him as if they're lives depended on it.

They spent most of the day in Joffrey's room, and Inneo shook his head in mirth when he realized the meal he'd left by the door had been ignored.

He chuckled lowly when dinner was similarly left untouched, the door locked tight.

That certainly took a while, he thought as he returned to the kitchens. He'd have to leave a couple of Iron Scepters by Adaro's grave tomorrow, the old man had certainly won that bet.

-: PD :-

The next six months were an odd experience for Joffrey. No enemies threatened their position in Braavos, beyond the usual jockeying and petty intrigue that characterized the normal politics of the city. Flushed with coin, Joffrey practically turned the best scholarly minds of Braavos into his private retinue, using them as a sounding board for the myriad plans he had in mind for when he finally ruled Westeros as he meant it. He debated with military historians about the effectiveness of Old Ghis' legions, he spent mornings speaking with master engineers over sketches and plans, creating theoretical siege engines as he put to use what he'd learned in the Five Forts, modifying them in favor of simplicity and ease of manufacture. He leaned on the Iron Bank to explore and understand the state of Westeros' debt, and the mood of the important keyholders and bureaucrats regarding it. He dreamed up fleets and watermills, roads and storehouses as his beloved gave him a fresh perspective on the dusty plans that had formed up inside his head during the course of a hundred lifetimes.

"King's Landing will be the key," he told Sansa as they stared at the map of Westeros and rain pattered against Dure House's high windows. "Often denigrated for its slums and the smell, ignored by Royalty in favor of petty politics abroad…" he muttered.

"Half a million souls at our beck and call," mused Sansa. The intense concentration and focus in her eyes would have scared the young girl that had once existed, years ago.

"Tanners, cobblers, weavers, smiths, bakers, fishermen, many of them genuine masters of their craft, all historically neglected and ripe for expansion by a clever hand…" he whispered with closed eyes, tracking production values and investment returns in the back of his mind.

"Their efforts will power our rule, give us the coin to turn it into the engine of prosperity, as it should be," Sansa agreed, their conversation a familiar one as she studied its roadside connections to the rest of the Crownlands.

"The coin to build an army worth the name…" Joffrey added ominously. Sansa looked at him curiously, tilting her head.

"Speaking of which, have you decided yet on your little pet legion?" She asked him.

"Pet Legion?" he asked her, affronted. "Sansa, the 'Guard will be the most lethal fighting force in Westeros. It'll revolutionize warfare in the continent… if we live to tell the tale at least," he added.

Sansa raised an eyebrow as she looked at him, "So you're done?" she asked him.

Joffrey nodded, confident, "Only three tools: halberd, crossbow, and shovel. It'll simplify logistics at least," he said.

"I thought you said pikes were a better idea?" She asked, puzzled.

A lone lightning was heard in the distance as Joffrey stood up and walked to the wooden cabinet, searching for something, "Kind of. The halberd adds some much needed versatility though, and can be almost as effective as a pike block if you make good use of terrain," he said in a lecturing tone, "I'd go for them if it weren't for the bloody walkers. Wights don't give a damn about getting impaled in a pike wall, they'd just swarm them and turn it into a close quarters fight… and any notion of winning an urban skirmish with pikes is a fantasy as well, especially against the Walkers themselves," he grumbled as he poured two cups of wine.

Sansa nodded slightly, looking at the window as she thought, "Won't they be too vulnerable to missile troops? As they have no shields, I mean," she asked him.

Joffrey smiled as she approached her, giving her one of the cups. He loved it when they bounced ideas like that, because even if Sansa's knowledge of warfare was not enough to meaningfully change his mind, she still served as an excellent sounding board, just as he did with matters of intrigue.

"Hence the crossbows and the cover they will provide. Assuming excellent drill, massed fire tactics, and intelligent formations, my armies would be like fast hedgehogs, dictating the rhythm of the engagement by threatening quick charges or sitting back and pelting the enemy with crossbow bolts, minimizing weaknesses …" he trailed off, his smile growing a tad bit feral in slight anticipation, "With a force like that, with runners and signalmen worth the name… the initiative would be like clay in my hands," he said almost dreamily. Sansa had to hide a smile as she looked at him… Joffrey spoke of 'The Initiative' like Westerosi lords spoke of the Kingsguard.

"I think I could combine the advantages of Old Ghis' legions, the superior missile volume of Dawn troops, and the charging tactics of Westeros to create an army capable of shattering a variety of enemies, from breaking rebellious hosts to pinning wights in place either in the field or in the cities… Of course, for the latter I think I'll switch half the crossbowmen for shield bearers as bolts will do little to-" he trailed off again once he saw Sansa, twinkling her nose fondly as she slowly swirled her cup of wine.

"What?" he asked her.

"Too much strategy Joffrey. What about the men? You'll need loyal and trustworthy officers if it is all to work," she explained.

Joffrey huffed, "Now that's more of a rarity than trust in the Lannisters," he said as he shook his head.

"Old hands will not be so lightly swayed to your new ways," she said, ignoring the huff. "You'll have to work on the younger nobles, the younger the better actually," she said thoughtfully.

"So they can be taken in by my glorious persona?" he asked mockingly.

"Yes," she said seriously.

Joffrey chuckled, but Sansa was still looking at him quite seriously, leaning forward as she spoke, "I'm not joking Joffrey. I saw you fight back in the Red Keep, I've seen you here in the yard when you cut loose against the dummies… Westerosi boys worship war. You'll be a god to them," she said forcefully.

Joffrey scoffed, grudgingly tilting his head, "There are better warriors than me Sansa, my real father for instance, or Ser Barristan," he told her.

"Maybe," she said, not quite convinced as she kept looking at his eyes, "But better soldiers?" she asked him, and there was a small silence as she stood up and grasped his shoulders. "You've told me what you did in the Dawn Fort, in the Riverlands, I've seen you when you were jousting the Mountain that Rides," she said slowly, trying to get into that thick skull of his. "You have this burning conviction when you think the cause is righteous, almost something physical that clogs the air and make men stop and pay attention…" she said, her hands gently massaging his neck, "Let it out. Let it all out. Find young scions who have lost themselves within the system, adrift in the order they were raised to maintain but feeling hollow all the same. Do to them what you did to your legions, make them yours," she told him.

"Manipulate them," Joffrey said in grudging assent, seeing the necessity behind it even if he hated it.

"No Joffrey," Sansa cut him off, "Help them. Give them what all men crave for. A family to call their own. Brotherhood. Greatness."

"Purpose," Joffrey muttered, gazing at her vivid blue eyes.

-: PD :-

He and Sansa spent whole nights thinking and brainstorming about the Seven Kingdom's trade routes and the comparative advantages they held against the Free Cities, the inflexible politics that stifled ports and ships, the notable personalities and nobles of the Crownlands and their strengths and weaknesses… when they were not too busying enjoying each other.

All their planning and preparations seemed like a side show to Joffrey though, a mere blip of their existence as they spent nights carousing and enjoying all that the Secret City had to offer. They laughed and cried at the grand theater halls which dotted the Purple Harbor, they danced and smiled in the raucous soirees at Lazono's, they laughed as they sang, or rather mangled, famous opera duets in the privacy of Dure House when the snows made for a slow day. They talked and kissed under the trees of the Braavosi hinterlands, Lady chasing the green, wide winged woodpeckers that soared dangerously closed to the ground.

Most of all, Joffrey enjoyed the loose feeling of peace deep inside him that swelled when he opened his eyes in the morning, the core of warmth that was Sansa held tightly against his chest, his hands holding her securely as she slept.

He always woke up first, the awkward feeling of their bed drawing him out of the nightmares that still haunted him after all these years. They were always dissipated when he gazed at Sansa's sleeping form, and though he couldn't sleep again after waking up, he liked to spend the early hours of the morning just breathing slowly, his eyes closed as he left his mind drift.

Sansa seemed of a similar mind, though rather than the soirees and the feasts, she seemed the most content when they spent their afternoons snuggling on the long couch by the hearth, a heavy blanket over them as she read an interesting book and Joffrey took dreamless, pleasant naps.

It was during one of those peaceful afternoons, when Joffrey woke up from the gentle nap to the sight of Sansa reading a light story, laying on her side and facing the lit hearth, that he realized he'd never felt happier in his life.

"Hm?" she asked wordlessly as she felt him shuffling against her back, not taking her eyes away from the gripping story.

"I love you," Joffrey whispered as he finished the slight repositioning, his hands now holding her belly from behind as he closed his eyes once more. He realized he'd never said that before… Sansa was right, he did have the order all messed up.

She smiled gently as she shuffled within his grip, giving her back to the hearth and the gently falling snow beyond the window, the book forgotten. "I love you too," she whispered back with a content sigh, her forehead touching Joffrey's. Lady gave her mistress a monstrous yawn from her nest of blankets by the fireplace, her head emerging from the bulk of her white-grey fur to stare at the sofa before she coiled on herself again, back to resembling a sleepy grey rock.

Sansa yawned before she blinked slowly, drowsiness practically poured from Joffrey when he was like this. She was debating whether or not to continue reading about Vellamo and the Laughing Nightingale when she yawned again, and eventually decided to rest her eyes, just for a few minutes…

-: PD :-

Joffrey smirked as he perused the letter from his informant in the Iron Bank. It seemed Baelish had accrued quite the little nest egg here in Braavos, mostly in the form of property and actual gold dragons in the Bank's vaults.

Though it does open up possibilities for our next life, Joffrey mused as he found a considerable part of the funds which had been unaccounted for after he'd tore Littlefinger's empire to pieces. The fact that they were stashed all the way in Braavos and not King's Landing or even Gulltown did complicate things, but it deed seem that something could be worked out…

He was startled out of his paperwork when Sansa closed the door behind her, and he worried when he saw her face. The last time he'd seen her like that had been when they had spoken about the possibility of having… children, a few days after their encounter in the Sealord's Palace.

It had been a heavy conversation, filled with the creeping doubts of the Purple and the ominous strength gathering to the Northwest, a reminder that their life here would not last forever. Sansa had decided to start drinking Moontea permanently, and Joffrey had agreed immediately, drawing on his memories of the Citadel to make a blend of the tea which minimized side effects and maximized effectiveness. The thought of having a child, a small, defenseless being of their flesh and blood, only to be eventually left behind in a dying world never to be seen again had been enough to give Joffrey more than a few sleepless nights. Sansa still awoke in a cold sweat sometimes, after they'd spoken about the horrible implications.

"What's the matter?" he asked as he stopped writing and left the quill by the inkwell.

"News from Westeros," she said seriously.

Joffrey took the letter, and frowned as he read it.

"Who the fuck is John Connington?" he asked in shocked anger as he gazed back at Sansa.

-: PD :-

"Just what we fucking needed, ten thousand veterans and a bunch of elephants joining the fray," Joffrey cursed, the Braavosi morning chilling his bones as he paced around the inner courtyard, absently twirling his spear.

"Assuming we can stave off the war of the Five Kings, ten thousand veterans shouldn't be too much to handle for you," Sansa pointed out as she feinted, her spear low before delivering a quick flurry of blows which Joffrey parried almost effortlessly with his own spear, tapping her in the arm strongly with the blunted steel.

"Point," she grumbled as she took a few steps back.

"War is chaos personified," Joffrey said as he went on the offensive, working a bit of his frustration as he kept her on her toes, spinning and delivering 'slow' but strong blows which she parried with a huff or barely avoided altogether, "Ten thousand veterans could quickly snowball into a greater rebellion if it's not nipped in the bud, especially if they're competently led. Every second that army draws breathe is another second legitimacy drains from King's Landing…" he pointed out as he overextended and Sansa used the opportunity to shove him back and earn some time to breathe.

"And are they? Competently led?" Sansa asked him, flicking a lock of red hair away from her eye as she studied his guard.

"They took Storm's End, so they probably are… though there's no way to be sure without more information. The Golden Company is known for both its tactical and strategic acumen, that you can count on… they'll make themselves a bloody plague before they're stamped out… assuming no more of our future vassals turn their cloaks to this supposed 'Aegon'," he scoffed before trying for a fancy jumping strike at Sansa.

Sansa parried the heavy blow, tapping him in the knee as she twisted away and avoided Joffrey's backblow with his spear's butt. Their conversation lapsed into huffs and grunts as they kept striking and parrying, feinting and side stepping with only the sound of the spears clashing to mark the time. She had been almost as surprised as Joffrey when she'd read the letter their spies in the capital had sent her. The Golden Company was an order of sellswords descended from Westerosi who had been exiled after the Blackfyre Rebellions, prized for never breaking their contracts and being the most deadly sellsword company in Western Essos. The fact that they'd abandoned their previous Blackfyre loyalties in favor of this 'Aegon Targeryean', himself of dubious lineage as he'd been supposedly dead for more than a decade at this point… it all reeked of something more to Sansa.

She grimaced as she took a breath, planting her spear on the floor as she wiped the sweat off her forehead. "This is exactly what Doran Martell had been waiting for, isn't it?" she asked Joffrey.

"Most likely. I used to think he was waiting for Daenerys Targeryean, but it seems she's staying in Mereen for the long haul, possibly forever… rumors from the east are always garbled," he grumbled, taking a small towel from the nearby table and wiping the sweat off his head.

"And for that we can be thankful," said Sansa. The fact that Daenerys and her three living, breathing Dragons seemed content on staying as far away from Westeros as possible was a blessing as far as she was concerned.

"You can say that again…" said Joffrey as he resumed their sparring session, putting her in on the back foot as he opened up with a quick sequence of thrusts and feints, "We need more information. How did they get to the Stormlands? On what ships? Who is backing them in Westeros?" he questioned quickly as Sansa retreated, parrying wildly.

The conversation devolved once more into grunts and pained huffs as Sansa managed to get a few strong blows on Joffrey's torso and the melee turned into a frenzied close quarters match. Joffrey lost his spear but managed an arm lock as he positioned himself behind Sansa, grabbing both her arms in a hold as he kissed her in the neck. Seeing Sansa flushed and sweaty always seemed to leave him… hot headed.

He couldn't resist.

"I don't think that's part of the spear drill…" Sansa huffed, her cheeks turning red. She stomped on Joffrey's toe and slipped from his grip. She tried to strike him with the butt of the spear, but failed as Joffrey sidestepped the blow and closed in with another delightful kiss, this one on the other side of her neck.

"The Summer Islanders use it to great effect," he told her glibly, dodging a few halfhearted spear thrusts from Sansa before once more locking her in his grasp.

"Liar. You've never been to the Summer Islands," Sansa huffed in annoyance before twisting within his hold and planting a strong, proper kiss on the damned tease, her sudden weight making him fall on the smooth stone floor with her on top, the spear discarded.

"We can't -end every -practice session -like this-," Sansa complained in between kisses, Joffrey's hands opening up her padded armor. "We still have two hours to go," she huffed as she did the same to Joffrey's slim armor.

"Sorry," he said before kissing her again, and it was the most insincere apology Sansa had ever heard… Not that she cared.

-: PD :-

They spent the next three months amassing as much useful information as they could from the happenings in Westeros, which seemed to have reached some sort of critical mass of destruction. The Tyrells' powerful marriage block had finally broken apart under the strain, and the Reach had devolved into its own petty civil war, of which the strongest factions were the Stannis-backed Florents and the Tyrell-Hightower remnants, with the Greyjoys adding fuel to the fire and raiding everywhere. The arrival of Aegon Targeryean in the Stormlands had given fresh hopes to the Tyrells, who had been hoping for a marriage with the young king to stave off the hopeless situation they had found themselves in… until they learned that Dorne had stolen a march from them. Arianne Martell married Aegon Targeryean in Storm's End's Sept to the clamor of golden veterans and the trumpeting of elephants, at the same time as ten thousand Dornish spears marched out of the Prince's Pass, setting the southern Reach on fire and aiding in the slaughter of the Seven Kingdom's bread basket.

Stannis had been forced to turn south east back to regain his ancient seat before more Stormlanders turned their cloaks, abandoning the siege of Casterly Rock and leaving Tywin and the last dregs of the Westerlands alone save for a comparatively small blocking force. In a curiously convenient twist of fate, Tywin was found in his bedchambers with a smile on his neck, just when Stannis was too far away to do anything about it and just before Tywin could make use of the reprieve to get some sort of plan going again beyond 'If the Rock falls, Stannis will have all our heads'.

With Tywin's iron fist gone, the swiftly disintegrating Westermen who had not yet sworn to Stannis had taken to Aegon's more comparatively magnanimous terms with relief. Many keeps in the Westerlands suddenly flew the Dragon's banner almost overnight, as ravens came and went.

Information on the North had all but broken down as reports grew more and more contradictory until the more meaningful ones simply stopped reaching Braavos at all. What they did know was that Robb Stark had returned to the North with less than half the men who had followed him south, but the Muddy Wolf and his compact army of veterans had fallen on the Wildlings like a pack of ravenous direwolves on a herd of goats. He'd slaughtered his way up to sacked Winterfell, executing every single Iron Born raider or Wildling he could get his hands on, and resistance to his advance was scattered. It seemed the great Wildling army had splintered after taking the Wall, with various bands and clans independently making their way southwards… And though it seemed that a northmen victory seemed assured on any battlefield, it was becoming apparent that the task of securing the North itself from the tens of thousands of scattering wildlings would take many years… many more than they could afford, even if they did not know it.

As for the Golden Company itself, many questions had answered themselves when Varys, missing and presumed dead since Stannis had taken King's Landing, had appeared in Storm's End and personally penned a letter to all lords high and low, declaring 'to his utmost recollection' his actions during the days before the Sack of King's Landing, years ago. The way he'd smuggled one Aegon Targeryean and replaced him with a silver haired lookalike days after learning of the Battle of the Trident…

Groomed since birth to reclaim his rightful throne, the Spider had painted a pretty picture around his favored pawn, calling him a King of rightful Targeryean blood who would bring back the order of the days of old to the continent. A just and chivalric knight, friend of lords and commoners alike.

It seemed the Spider was not so lacking in ambitions as the rest of the nobility had thought…

-: PD :-

They sailed to Lys, eager to learn more about yet another enemy which had emerged from the shadows. The rightful son and heir of Rhaegar Targeryean, and now harbinger of further war and devastation to southern Westeros, the young king returning from anonymity after a life of exile amongst the common folk, surrounded by a loyalist cadre of Westerosi nobles to shape the King Westeros deserves…

Joffrey was not buying it. Romantic tales like that did not happen in this planet.

"We knew the ships were from Volantis, twelve galleons in all, but the Gewyns were adamant that the Golden Company's longest stay was in Lys," said Sansa as their ship tumbled over the waves, a furious late autumn storm shaking it about like a dog with a rat.

Joffrey grimaced as he held on to the bulkhead. Their room was the best he could get without sacrificing the Fast Trader's speed, though he was starting to regret that choice. "Makes sense, they must have been awaiting news from Varys so they didn't land in front of an enemy army by accident. A contested landing is no joke, and would have probably seen them slaughtered to a man if something went wrong," Joffrey told her as the ship creaked ominously and he heard shouts coming from above.

"So that is where -or rather when- we should face the Golden Company? As they disembark?" Sansa asked out loud, holding on for dear life as the ship tilted left.

"Yeah, though forcing a sea battle would be much more effective… if we can find them en route that is, which is harder than it sounds. Galleons loaded with armored men, horses and elephants…" Joffrey trailed off as he shook his head. He blinked at the minute amount of seawater pooling at his feet, sloshing around their small room. "They would struggle against proper warships. I much prefer the Golden Company drowning at sea than dying on land, where their heavy plate and horse are an advantage rather than a detriment. Soldiers that die against them will be soldiers that can't face the Walkers… at least not on our side…" He trailed off once more when the amount of water kept increasing and the ship kept tilting left.

"Something's wrong," Sansa told him before some sort of colossal wave crashed against the ship, tilting it all the way sideways as water flooded their room from one second from the next.

Fucking autumn storms, Joffrey thought as he grabbed Sansa's hand. "We have to get-" he couldn't finish the sentence as the ice cold seawater flooded the room completely in seconds and submerged them both. He could see Sansa spinning, or was that the room?

He tried to lead her towards the door, but the air in his lungs was already starting to burn when he lost sight of it, darkness descending on them as the oil lamps were snuffed out and the ship sunk, darkness replaced by twisting Purple. He held on to her hand as the pillars beckoned, and she squeezed back in silent companionship as they were levitated upwards and upwards and upwards in agony…

-: PD :-

AN: More a mini arc epilogue than a proper chapter, but it is what it is. I hope you guys are excited for a proper Westeros run.

I know I am.

Last edited: Jun 10, 2018

Purple Days (ASOIAF): From one day to the other, Joffrey Baratheon wakes up a changed man. Far from the spoiled boy-child known to the court of King's Landing, the Joffrey that comes out of his room three days after the death of John Arryn walks with the stride of a veteran commander and leader of men. A scholar, a sea-captain, a general, a lover. This is the story of how he became that man, and how he came to know his purpose through a cycle of endless death and rebirth that saw him explore his self and the known world from Braavos to Sothoryios and from Old Town to Yi-Ti... and beyond. (Character Development, Adventure, Worldbuilding, Mystery & Suspense, Romance, Action). (Turtledove 2017 winner!).

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Jun 8, 2018

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Chapter 44: Queens and Crowns.

The feast in Winterfell's main hall was in full swing when Sansa stood up, not even halfway through when she approached the main table.

"I don't feel very well mother, I think I'll retire for the night," she told Catleyn, an apologetic smile on her lips.

Not reaching over and squeezing her daughter's arm was all Catelyn Stark could do as she gazed at Sansa.

From one night to the next, her daughter had suddenly turned… different. First had been the fiercely strong hug she'd given her, Ned, Bran, Robb, Rickon and even Arya that morning, the last of which was still convinced it was all some sort of cruel prank Sansa had dreamed up with Jeyne. And then she'd gone around the keep during the following days obviously trying to carry out her usual duties with an unfamiliar, anxious attitude. Septa Mordane had reported a sudden, worrying disinterest in the lessons that had so often captured her imagination before, and Robb had supposedly found her playing some sort of game of endurance that had left her completely exhausted a few days ago, hanging upside down from a cupboard… though Catelyn seriously doubted that.

"Should I tell the Septa-" Catelyn asked halfheartedly when before she would have merely commanded it so, but Sansa shook her head slightly before she could finish the sentence, as if thankful for the favor but not really seeing the need for it.

More worrying than that was the fact that her tender daughter was… gone. No, that wasn't right. Sansa was still there, but the carefree, childlike attitude she had so loved in her now seemed locked behind a wall of… courtesy and thoughtfulness. No longer could she spy her running and laughing along the corridors, or gossiping with Jeyne about one of the boys in Wintertown after the Septa's lessons.

"Very well then, remember to tell me or Maester Luwin if something hurts, don't worry about the hour," she stressed out loud, somehow still expecting a moan and a scoff at her worry. Instead, Sansa simply nodded in thanks.

Another bellow from Robert distracted her, the King laughing out loud as Ned smiled in shared mirth, and when she turned to look at her side once more she realized Sansa was gone.

She sighed, trying to understand how her daughter had suddenly grown up.

-: PD :-

The Winterfell night did not seem as cold after spending months in Braavos, chilling under the steadily worsening snowstorms of late autumn and early winter. Sansa was leaning on the balcony, her overstretched arms supporting her weight as she studied the revelry below and to her right as a few feast goers left the main hall and sang in the middle of the courtyard.

She sighed as she felt a pair of familiar hands embracing her from behind, and she let herself lean backwards as she closed her eyes and smiled, feeling whole again.

"I missed you," she muttered after Joffrey kissed her gently.

"Me too," he said, content to let her lean on him as he gazed not at the courtyard but at the starry night, holding her tight.

"Did it hurt?" he asked after a moment of peaceful silence, only interrupted by the happy singing from below.

"It was more than worth it," she answered the question in her own way, her eyes still closed as she savored the gentle reunion.

Joffrey quirked an eyebrow as his hands felt the taut muscles around her belly, smiling as Sansa sighed again. "You've been training?" he asked her.

"I've got more to catch up than you," she said before twisting within his grasp to stare at his eyes, "Joffrey…" she trailed off, blinking for a few seconds before grey steel filled her eyes, "Westeros…" she whispered, doubt and exaltation warring in her voice as the whisper seemed to ask a thousand questions.

"Westeros," Joffrey nodded after an eternal silence, answering all of them with one word.

A shiver of momentary awe passed through Sansa, who breathed in deeply as the colossal implications multiplied by the second, dreams and memories of a thousand plans and conversations flashing through her mind.

"They won't know what hit them, will they?" she asked him with a tense smile, her mind already drafting the letters that would fly tomorrow.

"It's time the Seven Kingdoms move," Joffrey answered the question with burning passion, a slow joy simmering inside him when before there would have been only dark despair.

"We'll have to start working on Father, he needs to see you as Robert's son if-" She spoke quickly before Joffrey cut her off with another kiss.

"Later. Stay with me," he whispered after he broke it, and Sansa smiled lightly before leaning on his chest, embracing him as well.

The prospect of trying to save Westeros from itself and the end of the world had once filled him with despair, a black void that had crushed him from within, a dead weight that had held him in place, pinned to his bed long after the sun had already risen.

Now though, as he held his partner tightly in his arms, those feelings were but a dim echo throughout the depths of his soul... Now, as they stood on the precipice of the chaos that would soon engulf their homeland, Joffrey could only feel a growing sense of exaltation, a heady clarity of purpose that filled him as the time to enact their shared vision of the future approached. A Westeros as it should be. A tool to stop the apocalypse. An extension of their wills. A project he and his beloved could be proud of.

They stayed there for a while, enjoying each other's presence as the feast below continued and the stars kept circling above, a starry vault of white and dark blue.

-: PD :-

"So you're Jon Snow, right?" Lancel asked the black haired boy with the grey complexion, who was playing with a gangly white wolf.

They were in a little clearing within the small woods almost half a day away from King's Landing, the other boys standing around awkwardly and trying not to shiver as they waited for the sun to come out. Only the light of the circle of torches surrounding the clearing gave them any illumination.

The boy stopped to look at him with veiled wariness and a sort of honest defiance Lancel seldom saw in the cesspit that was King's Landing… and hence ripe for the picking.

"So what if I am?" he asked curtly.

Lancel waved his hands in a sort of apology, "Nothing at all," he said, seemingly confused. "It's just that I thought this was a gathering of noble sons, not-"

"Bastards?" Jon interrupted him seriously, quick to assume the title.

Lancel nodded gently, as if Snow was a simpleton, "I thought you might have been mistaken, but then I thought about… well," he trailed off meaningfully, shrugging the matter away.

"Thought about what?" the Bastard asked him, not sure if he was being played or not.

He's going to be eaten alive in court, thought Lancel with a disguised snort.

"Oh it's nothing you should worry about…" he said, then relented when Snow frowned, "Well, you see, the Prince has been pretty selective with this little gathering… but as a favor, you being here does make a lot of sense," he explained seriously.

"A favor?" Snow asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"You haven't heard? Strange, what with you accompanying the couple from Winterfell…" said Lancel, seemingly genuinely surprised. He gave his cousin Tyrek a surprised look, but the even younger boy was busy kicking stones to his right. The little baby was never there when he needed him…

"Heard what?" asked the Bastard, irritated as he started to suspect he was being played with.

That took a while, Lancel thought as he nodded to himself. "Rumor has it the good Lady Sansa has fallen quite thoroughly for the Prince… and if she'd pleaded for a position for her bastard half-brother… well, she seems quite endowed to give a lot of favors to the Prince…" he trailed off with a smirk.

The simpleton tilted his head once more before his face twisted, "My sister- favor-!" he snarled as the white wolf by his side did the same. Lancel took a step back, more concerned by the wolves' sharp teeth than the way Snow was gripping his bastard sword's pommel.

"Careful there, wouldn't want to cut yourself," he said, and almost laughed out loud when the Bastard unsheathed his sword slightly. This was too easy.

"Both of you, calm down!" the Mooton boy called out skittishly from the tree trunk he had been leaning against.

"Afraid of a little scuffle, Willard? We are kitted with blunted swords," he told the boy with the almost excessively large red salmon sewn atop his tabard.

"Of course not!" he shouted immediately, straightening and grasping the two hander that was almost longer than him, the one he had left leaning on the tree trunk as if he were some sort of warrior of legend.

Lancel had to suppress an amused sigh. It seemed those chosen were exactly the worst sort of people you'd task to build any sort of 'guard'. Hardly surprising he supposed, given it was Joffrey the one who had set up the whole thing… not exactly a military mastermind, or possessing much of a mind at all really.

"You should both stop taking his baits, it'll just encourage him," called out the Frey boy from the ground, munching on a piece of bread. Lancel couldn't for the life of him remember the young man's name.

"Sound advice," muttered Snow, "Olyvar was it?" he asked him.

"Yeah," said the Frey, "I've got some experience on that front," he said with a slightly bitter smile.

An awkward silence descended upon the clearing as they kept waiting, yawning or sighing at the sudden boredom. "Did the Prince send you a letter as well?" Finally spoke the burly heir to Duskendale, Renfred Rykker.

Olyvar shook his head, drumming cold fingers against his thigh, "He came to the Twins when the King's Caravan returned from the North. Him and," he hesitated for a half second, trying not to look at Jon, "His betrothed," he ended lamely. Lancel smirked as Jon turned around and went back to playing with Ghost, his movements harsh, angry. "They spoke with Lord Walder for a while, and then they had the leave of the castle for a few days…" added Olyvar.

"They didn't go straight to you?" asked Willard, intrigued.

"Not at first, but they spoke with pretty damn everyone in the Twins during the first two days. I bumped into them while cleaning the stables with Jinglebells- Aegon, my half-brother," he explained when he saw the incomprehension in their faces, "We were refilling the hay when the Prince suddenly appeared by my side, helping me with one of the bundles. We talked for a few minutes, and then he was gone," he said with a snort. "I didn't even realize it was him until later, when both him and lady Sansa approached me again, that very same evening…" he trailed off as his small audience nodded, not needing to ask what they'd told him.

"Why did you say yes?" Rykker asked him.

Olyvar shrugged, "It was a lot of gold. Two years of service? I was already a servant in the Twins, better two years learning how to fight with the best warriors of the Seven kingdoms than moving hay," he reasoned.

"Always about the gold with you Freys," Willard chuckled.

Olyvar gave him the stink eye, looking angry as he spoke, "Easy for you to say Mooton. You don't have twenty-two brothers competing for arms and horses, nor seven sisters clamoring for dowry's," he said bitterly.

Willard shrugged before making as if he hadn't heard him, "Best warriors of the Seven Kingdoms…" said the Mooton boy as he trailed off expectantly, a tinge of doubt in his voice as he turned to Lancel, "Have you seen Ser Jaime or maybe… Ser Barristan? Preparing I mean," he asked.

Lancel tilted his head from side to side as he tried to come up with an answer that was not exactly false, and that also didn't sully the Lannister name. He couldn't exactly tell them this was all but the latest, petty whimsy of the Crown Prince. A way for him to feel mighty with a few swords at his beck and call, at least until he got bored again… There would be no great warriors to teach them, only the mewling commands of his cousin.

"They seemed to be carrying out their duties as normal, but I haven't seen them much these past few days anyway…" he answered, all truths at least.

"And the Prince? Has anyone seen him yet?" asked Olyvar, looking at the night sky which was barely now starting to retreat from the grasping light of the sun, "You were the first one here right?" he asked Renfred.

"Aye, I saw him when I got here, a couple of hours ago. You could tell it was the Prince by the way the Hound hovered around him," rumbled Renfred.

"And?" asked Olyvar.

"He seemed to be… resting, or maybe thinking," he said slowly. He continued as the boys kept looking at him, "I don't know, he was just sort of…. Kneeling in front of a tree," he ended doubtfully.

"It can't be, I got here fifteen minutes ago and I saw him in exactly the same position," Lancel dismissed the claim.

That seemed to leave them thinking, and the awkward silence extended for a while, only punctuated by the pounding of Tyrek's boot against the odd stone.

"Would you stop that?" Lancel asked his cousin as he moved to his side, his voice as low as it was resigned.

"No," he muttered as he kicked another stone.

Lancel let out a long breath as he gazed at his little cousin, "Spit it out Tyrek, what's the damned problem?"

"We could be sleeping right now, waking up late like the King," Tyrek told him as he kicked another stone.

"Yeah, and getting mocked and yelled at as if we were our bloody Grandfather," Lancel said lowly.

"Better serving wine than stomping off to the middle of nowhere!" Tyrek spat before Lancel grabbed him from the back of his neck.

"Listen Tyrek, when the Prince finally deigns to order us about you will comply," he snarled quietly, "I suspect our presence here was the way Joffrey sold the whole scheme to Robert, as a way to get us out of his hair. But if all of - when all of this falls apart, Lord Tywin will see that we return just where Joffrey found us. And I for once want a couple of quiet months where I can breathe without that fat drunk bellowing like a pig for 'lumpy' the court fool!" he snarled, surprised by the amount of anger that seemed to be pouring out of him as he released his cousin.

"Are we clear?" he asked Tyrek, more calmly this time.

"Yes," said his cousin, rubbing his neck as he sat down with a surly look.

Lancel shook his head as he sat as well, eyeing Snow and his direwolf and the way he seemed to be staring daggers at his back. They were all startled by a steady, confident stride that carried itself ever closer, the clinking of armor and mail unmistakable.

Here we go, Lancel thought as he stood up, rolling his eyes when he saw Joffrey emerge from the other side of the clearing clad in plate and carrying a halberd of all things, the sun just now creeping from the east. Dawn.

There was something… off about him though. Instead of the usual peacock strut that expected the world to bend over, his cousin seemed to be walking as if he already knew the earth world would bend over. It was a subtle difference, but immediately noteworthy all the same. His back seemed as straight as a steel beam, his right hand leaning between his hip and his sword's pommel in an oddly snug, casual way. His eyes were what caught him though, twin bottomless pits of steely green, seemingly analyzing every inch of his being.

The other boys stood up as well, dusting off their breastplates and sheathing their tourney swords, the gear the Prince had asked them to bring today. They started to bow when the Prince waved the formalities away with a negligent hand.

"Prince Joffrey-" Lancel started, but quickly stopped when Joffrey pierced him with a stare. He swallowed, vaguely angry with himself over the way he had been instantly intimidated, the way Robert liked to do.

What was wrong with his cousin?!

There was a strange silence as they all stood up and stared at the man that had just entered the clearing, shuffling nervously under the hair rising stare that Joffrey seemed to regale to each and every one of them.

"Thank you for coming," he said respectfully, nodding at each in turn. "You may have heard a few rumors regarding the formation of this Royal Guard," he said as he planted the halberd on the ground, walking from side to side in front of the impromptu line the boys had formed up.

"Mostly how it's Prince Joffrey's latest fancy. A game of sorts," he mused. "A way to feel powerful! Respected! "he said with a slight smile as he walked, left hand at his back and right hand between hip and pommel.

There it is, Lancel thought in a strange sort of relief when he saw the smile, not too different from the one the Prince had sported as he all but tortured everything from cats to the serving staff… but-

"So give him a few men to play with! We've made Crown Prince's into Commanders of the City Watch before, how is this any different?" he asked no one in particular as he walked along the length of the line, two meters away from it. "They say a lot of things, the lords and the knights," he said before trailing off.

"'We've had peace for years, and just as many are upon the horizon'," he said, the smile slowly leaving his face as he stopped his pacing. "'The realm is stable, perhaps more than ever before'," Joffrey mused, his eyes heavy. "'This Summer may last decades more'," he declared with a bit of whimsy, stopping for a moment to turn and gaze at the rising sun. Lancel moved his shoulder a little, trying to take the tension out of it. He sounded as if he wanted to believe it. Desperately… and failing.

Something's not right, he thought as he looked at Tyrek, standing by his side. His cousin looked back, nervous or confused, he could not tell. The abrupt silence was short and brittle, and Joffrey seemed to take his time as he let the sun bathe his half plate.

"They're wrong," he said suddenly, still looking at the sun.

Lancel swallowed, uncomfortable with the pure conviction in his cousin's voice. He'd never seen him like this.

"Blind. Ignorant," he said as he turned back towards them, gazing at them all as his voice rose. "Rumors of Dothraki Savages moving west fill the Free Cities. Rumblings come from the North, of great hosts of Wildlings abandoning entire villages and moving south, escaping from something," he said slowly. "Lords scheme and plot, whispers and rumors of mercenaries bought and sold fill the taverns and the alleyways of cities from Pentos to Lys…" he trailed off, taking a step closer to them.

"The Maesters are still trying to calculate the severity of the Winter that is to come. Some hypothesize it could have a duration similar to this long summer... others think it could last more than a decade and a half," he said, his voice calm. Lancel could feel the stares from the other boys as they looked at each other in confusion.

"None of them know for sure," he said as he shrugged, walking back to the halberd. "What I do know for certain is that War will come," he said as if he'd seen it himself.

"War always comes to Westeros," he whispered as he grabbed the halberd, feeling its weight with both hands.

A small silence followed, and Willard couldn't hold under the strain as he took a step forward, "Excuse me my Prince," he spoke hurriedly, "I know that you want a standing force to secure the Crownlands, but I was given to understand that we'd train under the best-" he stuttered to a halt, realizing the implied insult. "I mean, under knights such as… maybe Ser Jaime, or Ser Barristan?" he added doubtfully.

"No, you'll train under me," Joffrey corrected him, "I will teach you the way of the halberd, the crossbow and the shovel. I will teach you how to march, how to fortify a location, how to gauge the winds of battle, and how to command effectively," he said it as if it were a promise.

Willard looked to his sides, seeing the mirror of his expression on the rest of the assembled boys. Disbelief, confusion, perhaps even mirth.

"You? My Prince?" said Willard painfully.

"Me," Joffrey nodded.

"Halberds," Jon said to himself, frowning hard.

Lancel for one was still expecting for Joffrey to burst out into laughter… but with every second he did not the uncanny feeling in his gut stretched.

Joffrey just looked at them, his face considering. "A wager then?" he asked.

"A wager?" asked Olyvar.

"If you can make me yield, then I'll give you, all of you, all the gold I promised for the entirety of your two year service, and you can go on your way," he said simply.

Tyrek looked troubled, expecting the trap to fall any moment now. The Prince was not known as a good fighter… far less than that indeed. And Olyvar frequently sparred in the Red Keep's courtyard since he'd arrived to the Capital… he'd break the prince's teeth.

Olyvar blinked, "I'm not sure if I-"

"Not just you. All of you," said the Prince, signaling with his hand at the other five boys.

"At the same time?!" Jon blurted, his sense of honor outraged even as Renfred and Willard laughed out loud. They swiftly became quiet when they realized the Prince was being serious.

"And what do you ask for if you win?" Lancel finally asked his cousin, tired of the strange joke and only wishing it to end. In retrospect, giving wine to Robert was a better idea than entertaining his pointlessly cruel simpleton of a cousin.

"Yourselves," he said simply.

"What do you mean?" asked Renfred, looking at him keenly.

"Your body, mind and soul. You will be my officers, the embodiment of my will on the battlefield. We'll bleed and cry and kill together, die too if the gods are unkind. You will be my advisors, my inner circle, you will be those that will revolutionize warfare on this continent. You will be the ones to restore the King's Peace, with cold steel," he said as if he were speaking about the arrangements of a simple hunt.

The disbelieving stares were not even camouflaged now. Jon was shaking his head, gazing back north in regret as Olyvar and Renfred looked at each other in confusion.

"Told you," Tyrek muttered angrily, elbowing Lancel.

Lancel just took a deep breath, "Very well, we accept, let's get this over with," he said quickly, looking at the other boys. They all nodded grudgingly in the end, still shaking their heads at the unreality of the situation.

"Stand back Ghost," Jon called out, and Willard snorted as he unsheathed his greatsword.

"Let's begin then. Fall here, and rise as my officers," said Joffrey as he bent his knees slightly, still looking at them.

The boys were staring at Joffrey as if he had gone insane, and Lancel swore could see a tiny bit of irritation in his cousin's eyes before he spoke again.

"Now," he repeated as his eyes narrowed, the halberd light in his hands, not even in a guard position.

-: PD :-

Spoiler: Music

"I said NOW!" roared Joffrey as he twirled the halberd in a blur of speed and ended the roar with a low, diagonal guard, both hands tightly grasping the shaft as his right foot extended backwards by a step, the gleaming tip of the weapon held up and forwards, "Or are you a bloody coward you Mooton scum!" he shouted at Willard's face.

Willard was the first to move, shouting as he swung high with a two hander. Joffrey parried the blow with the space between the spearhead and the axe, twisting the halberd along its axis and locking Willard's sword in its steel grip. He lowered the tangled mass of steel and pressed it against the ground, taking a step forward and delivering a ringing blow against Willard's helmet with the haft. He stumbled backwards, and Joffrey disengaged the blades before spinning in a half circle and hammering the man's arm, making him drop the sword.

"COME ON!" he roared, taking two steps back and lowering his knees slightly.

The nobles looked at each other in vague shock for a second before springing at him, shouting and roaring all manner of House battle cries that sounded vaguely anemic to Joffrey's ears. He retreated steadily, swinging the halberd not in a whirling frenzy as a master of the spear would, but calmly and methodically even if the speed of said movement never seemed to abate, the head catching blows from one side even as the haft intercepted swings from the other, stopping them before they could gather speed. He interrupted the predictable moves before they could be completed as he kept stepping backwards, spinning along his own axis as they attacked from both sides of the following semi-circle, parrying a blow with each second even as he stepped precisely from side to side and dodged other, clumsily announced attacks, the ringing of steel on steel so continuous it seemed like heavy rain pattering against the glass windows of Dure House. He flowed through their uncoordinated attacks, riposting brutally and leaving a sea of bruises and small cuts in his wake, the melee already more brutal than any training bout these scions of nobility had ever experienced.

"Faster!" Joffrey roared, a slow sheen of sweat starting to cover his head as crouched and let Jon's bastard sword sail above him. He pivoted sideways, unleashing a cloud of dry dust as Lancel's arming sword almost clipped his shoulder. He kept retreating, parrying and dodging and guiding the fight back to the middle of the clearing, delivering painful ripostes that sought to wound and hurt them, but not to take them out of the fight, not yet.

He had to break them first if he was to turn them into something greater.

The scions were breathing harshly as they followed Joffrey slowly, occasionally gazing at each other in shock. Willard had recovered his sword, and he was holding his arm in pain as he returned to the semi-circle which now surrounded Joffrey once again.

He surveyed the boys as they quickly shuffled back and forwards, each unwilling to be the first to strike again, holding limbs and bruises in pain. "You fight like warriors," Joffrey declared as he went suddenly still, the nobles sensing the danger as they took a step back, "But you will be Soldiers," he said as he moved.

He attacked Lancel with a roar and a heavy lunge, only for the boy to fall for the feint and be caught off guard as the blunted spearhead retreated half a step and lunged higher up instead, quick as a snake. Lancel squealed in pain as the blow caught his armored shoulder, sending him reeling back as Joffrey delivered a follow up hit on his leg. He redirected a swift blow from Renfred's sword with the haft, pivoting and slamming aside the burly heir's shield with the hammer head. "When you march with me, you will be changed," Joffrey intoned as if he were speaking prophesy, slamming the upper part of the haft against Renfred's neck and leaving him a sputtering wreck on the floor.

"Your House words will be 'Yes, Commander'," said Joffrey as he turned, twisting minutely and avoiding Jon's sword, letting the halberd extend and catch Olyvar, who had been trying to attack him from behind.

Clever lad, thought Joffrey, but that didn't stop him as the hammer head licked Olyvar's thigh below his guard and made him shout in pain, limping backwards. Joffrey made use of the hole in the middle of the semicircle to disrupt their haphazard formation, attacking Jon. He kept the pressure on the Bastard of Winterfell, attacking relentlessly in a rain of thrusts which made him stumble back quickly and leave the protection of his fellows. "You will fall here, and rise as Soldiers!" he roared as he lunged three times, and Jon only barely parried the blows, breathing harshly and not having time to even think about countering before Joffrey spun in a somewhat elaborate swing, spinning the halberd above his head and adding the centrifugal force of the spin to the hammer head. He brought it down sideways and tore Jon's bastard sword from his grip. The halberd's head kept going due to the force behind the blow, but instead of repositioning Joffrey reversed the grip and took a step forward, slamming the butt of the weapon against Jon's forehead. The Bastard of Winterfell fell backwards in a daze, and the hair at the back of Joffrey's neck tingled as he saw a shadow against the ground.

"Fall now! Fall now as Warriors!" He roared as he turned and charged into Willard's overhead swing, deciding to turn the range into close quarters and making the handling of both their weapons difficult. Joffrey slammed the haft of the halberd horizontally against Willard's arms before he could lower his greatsword, pinning them against the boy's back as he pulled and their breastplates collided. Joffrey could see the fear in his eyes as Willard breathed heavily, his face an inch away from Joffrey's as he desperately tried to tear his arms from the lock. "Your sigil will be the white Hand of the King, locked in fist," he told Willard before he slammed his helmet against his. He twisted left, rotating them both and avoiding Olyvar's thrust. He head butted Willard again before he released the lock and the boy stumbled to the ground, holding his face with both hands. Joffrey spun the halberd back to a low guard, ignoring the rivulet of blood flowing from his nose.

"You will not be Knights! Polished breastplates and chivalry!" He roared as Lancel and Tyrek attacked him from left and right. They lacked coordination however, and Joffrey ducked below Lancel's thrust as he slammed the halberd against the floor, the haft stopping Tyrek's swing. "You will be Officers! Blood and Mud will coat your armor!" he said as he spun once more and extended the halberd forward in a one handed grip, catching Lancel's ankle with the axe and pulling. "Fall! Fall now!" he roared at them as Lancel fell on the ground harshly, dust exploding from underneath him as Joffrey caught Tyrek's half hysterical swing with his vambrace, grimacing at the blow that made his ears ring and his forearm to burn before shoving the sword aside and slamming his gauntleted fist into his smaller cousin's face. The young boy fell back on the floor, and Joffrey could hear faint sobs coming from his prone form before he turned to the downed Lancel and slammed the hammer head on his breastplate, leaving his face locked in agony as he struggled to breathe through the pain.

He walked towards Olyvar Frey, the last boy standing amidst a sea of moaning, shifting figures on the ground.

"Your brothers will be legion!" he said as he approached Olyvar, the boy's guard steady even as his frenzied eyes cycled between Joffrey's arms, halberd and helmet. He lunged at Joffrey with a roar, the Prince deflecting two blows before sweeping Olyvar's feet. He finished him by delivering a measured, two handed blow on the downed boy's breastplate, making him cough and moan in pain.

Joffrey was breathing harshly, his eyes vaguely unfocused as he gazed at the half dozen moaning nobles on the ground.

"Stand up," he told them, walking around the fallen.

"This will not be your last time in the mud. When the Lords march and the savages invade, you'll be pummeled down again and again," he recited the prophecy.

"What will make you different will be one thing. Your ability to stand!" he said as fallen faces turned to look at him, blinking through the pain and gazing at him in fear or awe.

"Rise! Rise up as Guardsmen!" he shouted as he kept walking between the fallen, stopping in front of Jon who was holding his head with one hand, trying to get his knees under him. "Come on Jon. Stand with me and let's show this world what you are, beyond name and birth," he said quietly now, Jon's breath hitching as he stared up.

"Come on Jon! Stand up! Stand up!" Joffrey roared at Jon's face as he managed to put a wobbly feet under him. The boy groaned harshly as he managed to stand and almost fall to the ground again, Joffrey holding him by the shoulder.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," Joffrey told him as he gazed at his eyes. He moved on, the rest of the boys halfheartedly trying to stand up, their faces bruised under the pounding they had taken in the less than five minutes that the terrifying bout had lasted.

"Rise! Rise Willard Mooton!" he shouted at the young boy, who lay squirming in the ground as he held his arm in pain. "Bravery and cowardice are meaningless here!" he shouted as the boy looked up at him, strangely still. "Order and Discipline will be our virtues! The sniveling and the rumormongering stamped out by the marching boots of our men!" he promised him, spittle flying from his mouth as Joffrey tried to make them understand.

That they could be something greater than themselves.

"Welcome to the Royal Guardsmen," he told him as the boy stood up slowly, ignoring the pain in his arm as he gazed at Joffrey in mixed awe and incomprehension, knowing something beyond was happening but not exactly sure about what that was.

He turned towards Renfred, but was surprised to find him already standing, his back straight as he spat a bit of blood on the floor, an odd look in his eyes that brought painful memories to Joffrey's mind.

"I'm your man," he said simply as he massaged his neck, and Joffrey clasped him in the shoulder fiercely, as he had once done over the muddy, blood soaked plains of the Riverlands.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," he told the heir, and he was a Guardsmen.

Olyvar was struggling to stand up, his left leg wobbling wildly as he huffed in effort, his face twisted in pain. "Our brothers will be legion?" grunted Olyvar as he tried to stand up, "I'm not sure… I'd like that," he said in between breaths.

"These brothers will stand by your side come hell or Great Other. This I promise you by all that lives and breathes on this earth," Joffrey intoned as he gazed at him.

"I… I'd like that… but I-" Olyvar grunted as he fell back down, holding his chest in pain.

"Rise Olyvar, rise a Guardsmen," he ordered him, and the boy's face locked under the strain, a slight, high pitched squeak escaping his mouth as he stumbled upright, his body aching like never before as he found, somehow, the strength to stand.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," Joffrey told him as he clasped his shoulders.

He turned to the fallen cousins, but was surprised to find Tyrek already franticly trying to stand up, the mixed tears and blood clogging his vision and making him stumble drunkenly.

"I can stand, I can stand!" he called out desperately, as if he was about to miss his ship.

Joffrey smiled lightly, holding him steady with the haft of the halberd as he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket. He cleaned the grime, blood and tears off Tyrek's eyes, and was not surprised when he found a look of adoration in there.

"Please, please teach me how to fight like that," he mumbled, awe written clear in his voice.

"No Tyrek, I will not turn you into great knights. You shall be Officers, destroyers of armies," he promised him, and his little cousin nodded in awe at the words. Joffrey thought he might have said anything in that moment and the little Lannister would have believed it… but he had often thought that guiding men with the truth gave one an almost undeniable aura. "Welcome to the Royal Guard," he told him, and Tyrek nodded in solemnity as if he'd just been knighted.

He walked to Lancel, but the boy was still belly down on the ground, both hands covering his face and his sword discarded nearby.

"Come on Lancel," said Joffrey, gently.

He could hear faint sobs coming from his prone form, the odd sniffle accompanying the way he shuffled lightly, still struggling with the pain in his chest.

"Stand up," Joffrey said once more.

"No," came the weak reply, the long golden Lannister hair hiding most of his head.

"Lancel look at me," said Joffrey, though the boy was unmoved. "LANCEL! LOOK AT ME!" he roared suddenly, and the boy turned slowly, back against the ground as he gazed up at Joffrey. He was crying against his will, his face red in shame as that fact became apparent to all.

"I'm sorry- I don't-" he babbled incoherently as he tried to shuffle backwards, trying to escape their presence.

"Do you want to go and serve wine to Robert again?" Joffrey asked almost quietly, and the question seemed to leave Lancel petrified.

"Yes- yes please-" he said in between sobs before Joffrey leaned slightly forward and roared at his face.

"YOU CAN'T!" he thundered, and Lancel's hands slipped as his backwards crawl gave out, "LUMPY IS DEAD! I smashed his ribcage with the hammer head!" He roared as he showed him the halberd's head.

"His ribs punctured his lungs," Joffrey continued, taking another step until he was towering over him, "He choked on his own blood right there, two minutes ago," he almost whispered, pointing at the spot where his cousin had fallen.

Lancel was almost hyperventilating, breathing harshly as frenzied eyes gazed at the spot where he'd fallen, replaying the moment a thousand times inside his mind. The hard fall as his leg was pulled out from him somehow, the otherworldly voice roaring 'FALL' again and again, his frantic shuffling before he saw Joffrey's stern, calm face as he brought the halberd down on his chest, a concentrated artisan working with his clay. The harrowing pain, leaving him literally breathless and choking to death, squirming in the ground as he couldn't think of anything else but the agony.

A thunderous atmosphere seemed to have descended upon the clearing, dawn and night battling over the sky as stars faded and the light of the torches diminished. Lancel blinked again when he saw that the other boys had clustered around him, seemingly by their own unspoken volition. Their stares were a strange mix of vacant and introspective, pained and exalted, confused and understanding. What most surprised him though was the fact that they were so similar to each other.

"Stand in shared purpose Lancel. Stand with me and let's give the Seven Kingdoms the order it deserves," Joffrey told his cousin.

Lancel seemed startled, looking up at him past the tears.

"Come on Lancel! Stand!" he shouted, and Lancel tried to lift himself up only to mewl in pain and fall back on the ground, holding his chest in pain.

"I can't," he sobbed, but Joffrey would not relent.

"Leave lumpy behind. Stand with me and never again feel unworthy," he promised with a stare that seemed to pierce his soul. Lancel believed him, Seven damn him, somehow he believed him. His world had been reduced to pain and raw uncertainty, shame and hope. He wanted to stand there, surrounded by the others, something shared and formless hovering above them all, he wanted to partake in that shared revelation.

He wanted it more than everything else in his entire life.

He screamed in pain as he tried to stand up, but his weak chest throbbed again and he fell backwards.

"Stand up! Stand up Lancel!" roared Joffrey, and Lancel grunted as he turned on his belly, trying to kneel before rising. His left leg twitched painfully and he fell forwards, at Joffrey's feet.

No, no, he despaired as his leg burned. Never in his life had he felt such pain. He didn't know how the others had done it, but he couldn't.

"Rise Lancel Lannister! Rise a Guardsmen!" Joffrey roared again, and Lancel snarled as he refused to be lumpy again, no, not now that he'd seen what he could be.

He half moaned, half screamed as he tried to stand up again, using Joffrey's own armor as some sort of ladder to pull himself up. The Prince was still, not moving to help or hinder him. He roared once more in exertion as spittle flew from his face and he breathed harshly, his voice a mixture of triumph and relief as he reached Joffrey's face, feeling like he'd been scaling a mountain for all that Joffrey was actually shorter than him.

He stared at his face, waiting, demanding it… and Joffrey nodded, his hand finally grasping Lancel's shoulder as the other one gave him the halberd.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," he said.

He understood now, that shared emotion which had seemed to connect the other boys just a moment ago.

They grabbed the halberds Joffrey had left a bit beyond the clearing, and they followed him in a sort of daze throughout the branches and the gnarled roots of the forest; a strange, opaque journey through rocks and small streams. Lancel felt almost drunk, but with none of the sluggishness of thought that usually accompanied said state.

When they stumbled out of the forest he was blinded, the dark journey giving way to breathtaking light as he covered his eyes with one hand. He felt like a newborn babe as they emerged right into the full glory of dawn, clear skies extinguishing the last of the stars as they blinked slowly.

"What now?" he asked Joffrey, eyes slowly acclimatizing to the light.

"Now… now we can begin," said the Prince as he beheld the sloppily assembled smallfolk, milling around a few tents and a large clearing, eyeing warily the racks of halberds, shortswords, shovels and crossbows stacked around them. The Hound was fruitlessly trying to order them into some semblance of a line, and Joffrey smiled lightly as he strode towards him, his officers following him closely.

-: PD :-

"My Prince?" asked the man again, clearly nervous.

Joffrey blinked, staring at the assembled workers and the nervous crew chief.

"The beams are too far out, it'll reduce the saw's intake capacity. Space them out two steps from each other and it should work perfectly," he rattled off as he looked at the innards of the half constructed building. "Send my compliments to the smiths, they outdid themselves with the blade," he added as he gazed at the finely built saw blade, still being carefully positioned by the work crews.

The nervous boss of the mixed team of lumberjacks and construction workers nodded in slight relief, messily annotating the instructions in a scrap of parchment over a small, handheld wooden writing support, following the Prince as Joffrey walked amongst huffing laborers once more, taking a second now and then to talk to them before moving off.

"Grasp those tightly, and use the long wheelbarrows next time," Joffrey told a trio of workers as they struggled to carry a log towards the back wall. They huffed something that may have been agreement as they kept carrying the log towards the other side of the small complex. The midday sun made them sweat profusely, further adding to the acrid smell of mud and sawdust that permeated the emerging lumber mill and the work grounds around it.

"But…" muttered one of the workers by a nearby wood stockpile, only to be silenced by an alarmed look from his partner.

"Shush and help with 'dis one," he growled at the man as he tried to lift the log with a huff of strength.

"Stop, put that down," Joffrey said as he approached the stockpile, the man that had spoken up paling at the slight to his prince. His father had always told him he had a mouth too big for his breeches…

"A hundred apologies m'lord!" the other man almost bellowed, "He misspoke-" he was interrupted when Joffrey waved the excuse away and rushed the last few steps, helping them lower the log back atop the stockpile.

"You had something to say, and I'm interested in hearing it," Joffrey told the other man gently.

He looked wary, but there was no denying a princely command and so spoke he did. "It's just the wheelbarrows… well ser, they didn't get here at all."

Joffrey frowned, if they had somehow gotten lost then he was going to be pissed. He had seemingly every woodworker in the city working on his simplified spinning loom design, and stacking another order of long wheelbarrows would introduce unacceptable delays…

"Unacceptable, we need those for the increased safety," he muttered. The long wheelbarrows made the people's jobs here a lot safer, and that was something everyone could get behind… Of course, they also increased the productivity of the log haulers by quite the margin, but he was not going to tell them that. For the smallfolk, more efficient ways meant fewer jobs available…

He snorted. As if he weren't going to use every warm body he could get his hands on…

"I'm sorry ser! We couldn't stop them!" the man struggled to explain himself.

"Stop who?" he asked, his voice dangerous.

There was brief silence as the two haulers looked at each other. "Twas' them' Goldcloaks milord," said the second one, looking at his feet to avoid the punishment.

Joffrey sighed, "Thank you," he told them before walking away.

"Now I'm going to be late again," he grumbled as he made for his horse, ignoring the shouting of other nearby work crews which were setting up the other buildings next to the Blackwater, smithies and mills and looms and even more lumber mills… fortunately, Janos Slynt would serve as an excellent stress reliever.

-: PD :-

He could hear the gentle tolling of bells in the distance as his stride echoed through the Red Keep's main hall, walking quickly as he spotted Sansa. She looked beautiful in that blue southern dress of hers. Her hair was tied in long braids of a decidedly northern style, adding an exotic touch to the whole ensemble. She seemed to be talking with a few laughing maidens, shaking her head at something before she spotted him.

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for now, but remember what I said! A week from now by the Prince's House," She said as she made to leave them.

"Of course Lady Sansa, we'll be there!" said one of them, a tall one which Joffrey vaguely remembered as one of Lord Cressy's daughters. Sansa waved goodbye before walking towards him, and he gave her a rakish smile as they neared.

"Hey there," said Joffrey as he reached her, leaning in for a kiss as Sansa dodged his head and turned it instead into a very inappropriate embrace.

"Joffrey. Westeros," she whispered urgently.

Joffrey grumbled as he let her go, "Sorry, old habits," he excused himself as Sansa shook her head in fond exasperation. The four maidens she'd just left had not even moved, staring at them as they giggled and whispered furiously so fast Joffrey thought their tongues would come off and fly away.

"Now you see what you've done?" Sansa huffed as she grabbed Joffrey's arm, pulling him away towards a side corridor.

"Done what?" He asked before planting a quick, full kiss on her lips, the frenzied whispering from the maidens becoming almost hysterical.

"Joffrey!" Sansa whispered urgently as she broke the kiss and twisted away, not as fast as she could have, "You're a lost cause," she scolded him again as she physically carried him towards the corridor.

Joffrey chuckled lowly, trying to hide his mirth as they walked away. "That should give them something altogether more real to gossip about," he said, pleased with himself.

"Yes, and make my work harder," Sansa said as she rolled her eyes, "Do you know how hard it was to get out of Septa Mordane's shadow? Lollys Stokeworth alone will spill like Dure House's basement. If Father hears about this…" she trailed off with a huff, incapable of staying mad at Joffrey when he smiled like that. "You're late. What happened?" she asked him as they reached the corridor and turned towards a large staircase.

"Busywork. Janos Slynt had neglected telling the Goldcloaks of the Gate of the Gods about the terms of our agreement. I had to go and make him remember who exactly he's working for," he said with a snort.

"He does seem the forgetful type," Sansa agreed as they ascended the staircase.

"Not anymore… or at least I hope so, for his own wellbeing," Joffrey added with a feral smile.

"No wonder everyone's looking at you strangely, that grisly satisfaction would be out of place in anyone, much less the 'old Joffrey' as you've described him," Sansa reasoned.

"You'd be surprised," Joffrey snorted, "I think what most shocks everyone is the fact that I seem to vaguely know what I'm doing. Well, that and wondering where the hell I'd kept the seemingly endless stack of gold dragons," he added.

"Hm. About that, Baelish's former coffers will run dangerously low if you keep spending gold like that. Are you sure every single one of your recruits needs chainmail and half plate? The cost is ruinous," she said as they walked past a few servants who bowed or smiled gently… mostly at Sansa truth be told.

"Hey, the cost will go down once the river powered hammers can get to work… besides, I didn't question the very questionable order of Myrish silks and dresses you slammed over last week," he shot back.

"You need your armor as much as I need mine Joff, besides, it was such a bargain," she said almost dreamily.

Joffrey stayed quiet for a few seconds before nodding grudgingly, "Yeah, I suppose... I mean one gold dragon the stone?!" he whispered in ludicrous awe.

"He must have been crazy," agreed Sansa.

"Maybe he was not expecting such a skillful negotiator here in Westeros?" Joffrey asked himself with a smile, leering at Sansa, "So skillful," he added innocently.

"Tease," she said in annoyed exasperation as she slapped his shoulder. Well, more like punched. It didn't matter that her partner was built out of pure coiled muscle, she knew exactly where to hit.

"Ow, you wound me fair maiden!" he said theatrically as Sansa grinned.

"I'm serious Joffrey. You need to top hemorrhaging gold or the whole Blackworks will grind to a halt without us ever seeing a single bent copper in investment returns," she said as Joffrey held up his hands in peace.

"Don't worry," I've got a plan for a sudden gold infusion the likes of which even the Iron Bank would gape over.

"Do you?" she asked in suspicion as they reached the upper sections where the Small Council chambers had been built.

"Ser Barristan, Ser Boros," he nodded at the Kingsguards, standing guard by the doors.

"Not so fast," Sansa huffed as she pulled him back, "You're a mess Joffrey," she huffed as she cleaned a bit of dirt from his black doublet, buttoning a few stragglers as well as brushing his hair backwards.

"Of course, I must look respectable for these august meetings," Joffrey nodded as he inflated his chest, "You know, I'd much rather those hands went the other way around," he added lowly as she buttoned up the last one.

Sansa's cheeks flushed as she re arranged Joffrey's black cloak, "Don't tempt me," she whispered, her nails digging discreetly into his neck as she straightened the cloak. It was more a cape than a cloak really, and it had a tendency to whirl freely behind him when he walked. Joffrey said it made him looked dignified…

Sansa just thought it made him look like a depressed, blond Bravo.

Joffrey sighed as looked at her, "You're so cruel," he whispered in longing.

"Let's go, we're already late," she said loudly as she pushed him towards the door, Ser Barristan smiling wistfully as the couple passed by.

"Sorry I'm late, we really should redraw the city's street plan," Joffrey said as the members of the small council nodded at him.

"Of course Prince Joffrey, perhaps you shall magic the coin needed for that as well?" Renly asked him grandly. "Maybe I will!" Joffrey agreed with an easy smile, and Sansa pinched his hand as she curtsied lightly.

"Please accept our apologies Your Grace, the Prince can be quite scatterbrained at times," she said, shooting Joffrey a warning glare.

"You don't have to apologize to me girl!" Robert bellowed, waving the excuse away as he smiled happily, "Gods only know why you both insist in attending these meetings," he said in genuine confusion before looking at Ned. "Now Ned, about the tourney," he asked his Hand as Joffrey and Sansa sat.

Ned took a second to respond, still holding the vaguely confused stare that took over him when he saw Joffrey and Sansa. As usual though, it returned to his habitual introspective grey as he answered the King, "More knights keep coming by the day, and the city's infrastructure is barely keeping pace… Robert… please think about the prizes again. The first place in the Joust alone is-"

The King frowned, "We've talked about this Ned, just get it done and let the people have some fun, Seven knows we need it," he said as he stared at him.

"At least all those knights and lords in the city are spending, we're getting a lot of gold back through taxes already even before the tourney starts," said Tyrion.

"Not as much as we could…" whispered Sansa, too low for the rest of the table to hear as Joffrey nodded halfheartedly.

"Taverns and brothels especially are making a killing right now, and that should only improve in a few days," Tyrion added.

"You'd know about that, eh Imp?" Robert asked him with a smirk.

"As Master of Coin it is my duty to oversee all economic activity within the city," said Tyron, serious as a butler in a Braavosi tragic opera, only to repeat himself, "All activity," he added, still serious.

Robert guffawed, and Joffrey smiled to himself in satisfactions at one of their first schemes. It had taken some team work on both Ned and Robert, but between him and Sansa they'd managed to convince both about instating Tyrion as the new Master of Coin, after Lord Baelish had gone 'missing' one day.

In truth, Robert hadn't needed much convincing. He and Tyrion shared an appreciation for many of the finer things in life, like whores, wine, and hating Cercei.

Sansa looked at him strangely when he didn't back up Ned on the issue of the prizes, but he shook his head discreetly. They whispered back and forth some suggestions on how they could fleece the knights and the nobles during the three day tourney as the meeting continued, and they sometimes spoke up with suggestions at some of the problems Tyrion and Ned had encountered.

Renly seemed bored, eyeing them once in a while. Pycell seemed about to doze off, though they both knew better. And Varys still seemed to somehow study them constantly without even gazing their way, sending chills down Sansa's spine.

They had been playing a deadly game after all, in dark alleyways and secret passages, a game which Varys often won three out of four times. Sansa's spies had a habit of turning up in the Blackwater with their throats slit… though at least she was learning…

Slowly...

-: PD :-

The Councilors quickly left after the meeting was over, but Robert held Ned's arm before he could stand up.

Joffrey and Sansa made their way outside quickly. He laughed at something Sansa told him before he leaning over and whispering in her ear. "You think? You think?" she said loudly, shaking her head, "You wouldn't know good taste if it hit in you in the head Joff," she said in mock despair as they left the room and their voices grew indistinct. They had locked their elbows together tightly and in unison without even a glance, as if guided by an old instinct.

Only Ned and Robert remained in the room, both still seated as Robert smiled wistfully. "I had a few doubts at first but damn me to the Seven Hells Ned if that wasn't the best idea I've had since you lot slammed the crown on my head," he said intensely.

Ned sighed.

"Come on you old grump, spit it out," Robert said good naturedly.

"… She's just changed so much," he finally admitted, his voice weary as he looked away, "She used to fight Arya for the most inconsequential of things, and there was not a day when I couldn't find her gossiping with Jeyne or asking the Septa for old maiden's tales…" he stopped, but kept talking as Robert kept gazing at him, a usual occurrence since they'd first met. He was one of the few people undeterred by his stoic mannerisms, "Now she's organizing small feasts and going over Joffrey's accounting ledgers, getting a feel for the court here… she even made her own retinue out of whole cloth with only a few letters… they seem…" he trailed off as he shook his head in a strange mixture of pride and regret.

"They seem like a married couple already," Robert completed the sentence, his own voice strangely similar to Ned's except for the nostalgia that laced it tight. "You don't think Joffrey's changed as well?" he asked his best friend with a piercing look, "Before he met your daughter he was a spoiled child still sucking from his mother's tits. A wimp of a boy, more Lannister than Baratheon…" he trailed off, the pride sparking brighter inside of him and smothering another tiny bit of the bitter regret which had inhabited his soul for so long.

"Now," he said wistfully as he stared at the ceiling, "Now he wakes up before dawn to ride off to his little training grounds to the north," he whispered before looking back at Ned, "Have you seen what he does there?" he asked him.

Ned shook his head.

"I saw him a week ago. I'd spent two whole days without finding a single boar in the Kingswood before I decided to ride north and try my luck in the smaller woods he seems so fond of. We were walking quietly, searching for the wild beasts when I heard the sound…" he explained.

Ned stayed quiet, curious as Robert shook his head with a half-smile.

"He was marching in some sort of strange quick walk, same as the mass of men which followed him. He was clad in plate and filled with sweat, his gear probably even heavier than the one his men carried. They must have been marching for hours, but it was in that moment that he suddenly stopped and turned back, hollering something about squares and ambushes," he said, his eyes thick in recollection, "Quick as lightning, his troops formed a square of halberds as he somehow appeared in the middle of it, bellowing like a master-at-arms at green recruits as crossbows were loaded and the men struggled to complete the formation… he then congratulated them for being such a slow group of wretches, and told them they'd keep marching through the whole afternoon until they had it right, him included… and then they were off again, marching down the road in that strange quick step," he said with a smile.

"Joffrey seems pretty responsible, dutiful even," said Ned, a bit confused. "He's helped me a lot since I took the Hand."

Robert gave out a powerful guffaw, "Now he is. Ned, I'm not joking when I tell you he used to be little more than a wimpy coward more interested in frilly dresses than war," he said with a bewildered chuckle, "Now he's beating the shit out of his multiple squires with a hammer tipped spear all at the same time, running around the Blackwater setting up lumber mills and smithies and who knows what else, racing horses down the Kingsroad with a group of friendly smallfolk he conjured out of thin air… all while your daughter covers for him, meeting interesting people and sending them his way, whispering in his ear during the feasts and guiding him towards clusters of lords and squires..." he said, growing happier by the minute.

"That is, when they're not staring at each other like one of your direwolves eyeing a meal!" he added with a monstrous laugh.

"Robert!" Ned yelled as he shook his head compulsively.

"It's true! Don't you deny it!" he roared as he poured himself some wine, and some for Ned too. The effort of getting up and walking to the cabinet at the back for his own wine almost made him regret getting rid of Lumpy… almost. He was finding out he rather liked putting the effort for it.

Damn he was feeling good.

He was vaguely surprised when Ned accepted the cup with a heartfelt nod, drinking a considerable gulp before setting it down on the table.

"She's made a man out of him, your daughter," said Robert after he'd drank his fill as well, his voice a bit more quiet.

"They've both grown up it seems," Ned agreed as he took another sip.

"They draw strength from each other. As it was meant to be," Robert added quietly. "I feel it was fate Ned," he said after a moment of silence thick with meaning. "When they saw each other in Winterfell's courtyard… they just gazed at each other playfully, as if everything had already been spoken about and settled to their satisfaction. When I told Joffrey about the betrothal he just smiled knowingly and thanked me before rapidly going away to 'better know his wife to be'," he said, shaking his head gently.

"Sansa's reaction was oddly similar…" Ned said in turn, gazing at his cup.

"Our houses were meant to be together, it was written," said Robert, his voice laced with uncharacteristic conviction, swallowing something bitter and happy that had stuck in his throat, helped along with a bit of wine. "Not even the Targaryens could hold off what was meant to be, not indefinitely," he said in vicious satisfaction and maybe relief, as if an ancient duty had been finally set to rights.

They spent a quiet moment thinking about that, before Robert raised his cup, "For our children, may they prosper beyond our shadows and our regrets," he said, the turn of phrase oddly poetic coming from him. Somehow, he felt he'd finally done something right in his life.

Ned's cup clashed with his, and they both drank deeply as old and new memories faded and the two old friends decided to stay there a while longer in companionable silence.

-: PD :-

'The Northern Princess' the smallfolk have taken to calling her, thought Cercei as she gazed at her discreetly from the royal box, trying to suppress a bout of raw envy.

At first she'd thought Sansa Stark to be the perfect match for her Joffrey, an adequate, pretty, dutiful thing to serve as his son's Queen. As the weeks had passed though she'd started questioning that assumption more and more frequently.

Far from the placid, moldable personality she had expected to introduce to the Capital, Sansa Stark had introduced herself to the court like a princess in her own right. The girl seemed to have a knack for attracting the right sort of attention, and using it to her benefit even if she was still an amateur when compared with Cercei herself. She was traditionally beautiful, but her dresses and hairstyle were a mixture of northern and southern styles which made her approachable while giving her a touch of the exotic, far indeed from the southron worshiper her mother had all but described her to be.

She had arrived to the capital with a small court of her own, surrounded by northern maidens who only added to her mystique and which conformed a surprisingly loyal block… she didn't have even one informant amongst them. Their own aides alones; servants and guards and other assorted followers, had bolstered Lord Stark's garrison within the Red Keep by almost thirty souls.

She frowned when she saw her talk to one of the smallfolk laborers, the others around him nodding along to her words as a few others stared at the eclectic ensemble which surrounded her. Pretty young things and fiercely armed maidens who were plain and unremarkable but whose martial demeanor added to their charm and that of Sansa in turn.

She let out a breath as she suppressed something bitter in her belly, leaning back and frowning when Robert made his way to the seat by her side. He'd been strangely jolly for quite some time now… it probably meant he'd found another semi regular wench to fuck with. She'd have to take care of that before turning her attention back to Sansa, no sense in letting the disrespect stand for too long.

-: PD :-

Sansa thanked the smallfolk peddler as she sampled the smoked salmon which had been completely wrapped up in rolls of fresh bread. She sighed contently as she munched down the salted fish, the Cernbirch leaves gave it a decidedly fresh, minty after taste.

"As good as yesterday's, perhaps even better. Thank you Fryll," she said warmly, the smallfolk gushing at the praise as nearby workers and squires neared closer, drawn in by the smell and the high compliments of the 'Northern Princess'.

"You really laid it thick back there," said Lyra Mormont. She was rather plain, but her fierce looking spiked hammer, a favorite of Mormont ladies, and her chainmail, gave her a wild air that had a charm all of its own. She took more after her sister Alysane than Dacey, short of stature and possessing big thighs which only seemed to grow week after week.

"She was not exaggerating, they're really good," said Talia in between bites of her own 'smoked roll'. Even with her mouth full the Forrester girl's voice sounded like a call from the heavens. Sansa had been pestering her for singing lessons forever after hearing her one night by the Maidenvault.

"I don't know how you can eat that while breathing in the stench," said Lyra, her nose twitching as they all kept walking and Fryll was swamped by new orders. Lady trotted behind them, occasionally trying to steal one of the girls rolls and lowering her ears when Sansa glared at her.

She always tried again when she wasn't looking….

"Point there Lyra, and people badmouth White Harbor…" said Wylla as she shook her head, though Sansa noted the girl was munching her own roll with vigor. She seemed to have inherited the Manderly appetite even if her complexion was rather slender. She made a study in contrast when compared to Lyra, all supple dresses worked by White Harbor's seamstresses using wool and imported cloth.

"I suppose your sudden love for exotic dishes has nothing to do with the fact that you and the prince own all of these 'meal carts'?" Meera asked slyly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sansa replied airily, nodding at another worker as he walked quickly past them, guiding a donkey which in turn pulled a red and green cart which held racks of food and a small, simple wooden stove. It was a logical development from the oyster carts the Braavosi loved so much, only bigger, with an actual stove, a unified paint job and serving a very practical dish Joffrey had adapted from Yi-Ti. He said the actual Go-hong was spicier than setting your tongue on fire though… and as much as he missed some fire in his food, he much preferred the minty version he'd come up with.

"Sure you do," said the little Reed girl, accommodating the small trident which never left her back. Sansa had been honestly surprised when the Reed's had answered her letter. She'd just included her in her short list because Lord Howland was such a friend of Father's, she'd never actually thought one of the reclusive marshmen -or marshgirls she supposed- would answer her call. She had a cheerful disposition which would have almost made Sansa ignore the careful, intent way she observed everything… particularly herself and Lady.

The last member of their little party was perhaps the most unsteady. Jeyne Poole smiled lightly at the jests, though she stayed quiet afterwards, slowly and daintily eating her own roll. Sansa was ashamed to admit she hadn't been a really good friend to her these past few months. In Jeyne's eyes she had passed from her chief (and only) confidant to just one more in a group of girls, all of which hailed from more powerful houses. She still hadn't quite found her footing.

Still, she'd found some much needed female companionship after Joffrey had voiced that idea, dimly remembering the way Maergery Tyrell used her own handmaidens as covers, alibies, confidants and messengers.

Of course, northern handmaidens could serve as bodyguards in a pinch, a win over Maergery's own retinue which made Sansa feel inordinately happy with herself, despite the fact she'd never actually seen her before… Joffrey had just laughed at her when she'd told him that.

Joffrey…

She sighed as they passed through a small maze of tents clustered together, "I'm going to remind him not to break his neck, run cover for me?" she half asked, half ordered the girls which were all more or less near in age.

Jeyne sighed romantically, Lyra snorted, Talia smiled, Wylla nodded in understanding while Meera just gazed at her in thought. All assents in their own ways.

Lyra was quick to take charge, "Right girls, quick walk to the left and then to the right, and keep the roll stealer close or she'll give up the game!" she added as she gazed accusingly at Lady, only for the direwolf to sit and tilt her head, as if asking 'Who? Me?'.

"Good luck!" Talia whispered with her sweet voice as Sansa separated from the group.

"We'll meet by the other side Sansa. Careful now, or Lord Stark will have the Septa on our backs again," Lyra warned, and just like that they split ways.

Sansa made her way through the maze of tents until they started becoming more and more run down, flirting squires giving way to small boys frowning as they polished hard used plate, Arbor Gold giving way to Backalley Swill and smiling almost-courtesans to harried looking wenches from Flea Bottom.

She finally slipped past a closed tent flap to find Joffrey hammering at a thigh plate, the rhythmic clangs shadowing her steps until she was behind him.

Joffrey smiled as he felt her at his back, her arms holding him tightly and just a tad bit anxiously. He left the hammer over the small anvil, turning around to see her blue eyes swarmed with doubt.

"Joffrey," she muttered, looking at his face for a moment before leaning on his chest, breathing slowly.

"I'll be fine," he admonished her as he rolled his eyes, massaging her back as one would a startled pet.

"Don't patronize me!" she scolded him as she leveled an icy glare, "That's what you said last time, and you almost drowned in your own blood," she shot back as she stepped away.

Joffrey sighed as he watched her pace around the tent, fiddling with her fingers, "That was different," he said.

"Yes, so different you're going up against the same contender. If anyone had a knack for fighting exactly the same time every different life then it would be the Mountain," she said forcefully.

"Sansa, I was vaguely suicidal and wearing half dented plate. This time it'll be different," he tried to reason with her.

She shook her head, "Can't you just take second place? Twenty thousand gold dragons would still fund most of the Blackworks' second phase… and you've already won both the archery and the melee," she told him.

"Sansa, I'll be fine," he said.

"I just don't want to see you there on the ground again, spluttering blood as you babble incoherently about flowers and queens of beauty," she said quietly, "I don't care if we revive again, I don't want to see you like that again. Never," she whispered.

Joffrey embraced her quietly, and Sansa took a deep breath before looking at his eyes. "No show offs, you go in there, unseat Ser Gregor, and ride back to my side where you belong. Are we clear?" she said seriously.

Joffrey nodded once, slowly… before a smirk overtook his features and he ruined the seriousness of the moment. "I shall be a knight straight from legend, my fair maiden," he said in mock courtesy, and Sansa slapped him lightly, unable to repress a chuckle.

She sighed again before gently grabbing his cheeks and kissing him. "Good luck," she whispered after breaking it.

Joffrey gazed at her for a second before he kissed her forcefully; the imminent prospect of battle, the genuine worry behind her eyes, and the minty taste of her lips getting the better of him.

Sansa seemed vaguely stunned when he ended it, grabbing him by the cuff of his simple leather shirt and slamming him against the wooden cabinet next to the anvil.

He was about to apologize when she planted her mouth over his, her tongue questing deep before she leaned back and stared at him, breathing harshly.

Joffrey stared back for a few seconds as they breathed slowly, trying to get ahold of themselves even as they gripped each other firmly. Sansa's breaths seemed stronger each time, each one calmer than the last as she blinked slowly. He balled his fists after he released her, barely controlling himself…

Sansa finally got ahold of herself completely, breathing deeply one last time as she took a step back, unleashing a colossal, minty breath of hot air that smelled of Dure House and blissful nights by the hearth.

Joffrey blinked when he realized he was kissing her fiercely again, her nails trying their best to tear his shirt open.

"Wait. We'll be heard," he managed in between kisses, his hands now beyond his conscious control as they roamed over her belly. It seemed her training with the Mormont and Reed girls hadn't let up. He very much liked that.

"Every single hedge knight in this area is, was, or will fuck a wench today. Surely Ser Stars is but another of that worthy company," she replied huskily as she explored the side of his neck, nibbling on his ear.

Joffrey grunted as she lifted her and slammed them both against the bedroll by the side of the tent wall, unable to speak as Sansa held the back of his neck with an elbow lock, preventing any retreat from her onslaught of burning kisses.

"Suicidal," she said in disdain as she broke the last kiss and he gazed at her, fire in his eyes, "I'll make sure to remind you all of the reasons you have to live," she whispered as she started to unlace her dress, Joffrey's ever helpful hands aiding in the endeavor even if they had a tendency to get sidetracked.

-: PD :-

Sansa leaned back on her seat right in front of the guard rail, trying to massage the persistent blush out of her cheeks as Bran and Arya chatted by her side.

"The Silver Knight will beat him for sure!" Bran muttered excitedly, even as Father shook his head fondly and leaned back on his seat as well, a few rows back.

"I don't know, what if the Mountain cheats or something?" Arya whispered back, gazing at the still empty tilting grounds. All around it were masses of knights and smallfolk, speaking loudly and perhaps half of them eating the delicious 'Smoked Rolls' which had sold like hot bread during the whole three days of the tourney.

"Just what exactly did you two do?" Wylla asked shrewdly from Sansa's side.

"We just talked," Sansa lied in what must have been the most unconvincing deception in the history of Westeros.

"Right," Lyra muttered from behind them as Jeyne and Talia whispered franticly in between giggles.

Sansa didn't dignify that with a response, shuffling in her dress a little before Meera leaned from her seat behind her and laced the last of it.

"Thank you," she whispered, the red in her cheeks growing ever stronger.

"You're welcome," replied the cheeky brat.

"For the Final Round! Ser Gregor of House Clegane! And, Ser Jonnel of House Stars!" shouted the crier, and the smallfolk were already cheering in anticipation as King Robert waved with his hand.

The Mountain's horse stopped just a bit to Sansa's right, the huge man bowing at the King lightly.

"… Ser Jonnel of House Stars!" the crier shouted again, looking everywhere around him.

Sansa shuffled awkwardly as she felt the gaze of her handmaidens upon her. "Not a word," she said between her teeth.

Arya turned to look at her with an impish smile, thoroughly confusing what was going on, "Sansa! I know the Silver Knight defeated your braaaave Ser Loras," she said the last words gleefully, "But that's no reason to wish him ill," she told her, vaguely affronted.

Sansa said nothing as she scratched her neck and leaned forward, tilting her head and scanning the far end of the yard as she tried not to bite her lip.

"Well I don't blame Ser Stars," Robert said with a small laugh as he shook his head. He stood up to proclaim the victor before Sansa's voice stopped him.

"Wait! There he is!" she said quickly, and two seconds later Joffrey galloped into view, clad in silver colored plate and wearing a helmet which covered his face. He rode his horse with an easy, fluid grace that seemed almost boneless, every single muscle in his body relaxed and attuned to the gait of the black horse as he effortlessly reined it in right next to the Mountain, going from gallop to standstill in a second.

He seemed cheerful enough, relaxed and confident…

Sansa breathed lightly, trying to douse the damnable blush-

The Mountain's horse shuffled backwards as Joffrey gave the King a florid, exaggerated bow, though she knew the bow was really directed at her… she knew he was staring at her with those eyes.

Cheeky idiot, she thought with a huff as the King nodded at the newcomer.

"Got your manhood back at the last minute eh? Well what are you waiting for!" he bellowed. The Silver Knight laughed in good humor at the jest before shuffling his shoulders and gazing upwards as he stretched his neck, completely at ease.

Sansa frowned as she looked at Joffrey, and coughed loudly as she squeezed her right shoulder.

He looked at her, then at himself before accommodating a pauldron which had slid out of place. He nodded graciously back at her like a knight from a tale before riding off, galloping back to his end of the tilting grounds like he owned the place, winking at her through his visor when he passed her by.

Is he teasing me here?! She thought in outrage, the flush in her cheeks returning with a vengeance as Joffrey whirled his horse in circles by the end of tilting grounds, putting up a brief spectacle of superb horsemanship before grabbing a lance from a helper, the smallfolk cheering as Father frowned and the King laughed. Even Lady seemed entranced by the show, sitting daintily by her side.

The Mountain was already roaring with impatience as the horns thundered, racing his horse down the tilting grounds like a runaway cog ahead of stiff winds, and Joffrey…

Worry fought exasperation as her beloved positively swaggered down the lane, his gallop oozing confidence as he hunched lightly like some sort of crossbow bolt, his lance leaning from side to side until suddenly it pounced downwards just as the Mountain reached him. Sansa's heart hammered in panic as a cloud of splinters surrounded them, both her hands flying to her mouth against her will as the explosion of sound washed over her and Ser Gregor roared. The Mountain fell to the side, slamming his head against the opposite guard rail as his horse raced on, Joffrey tossing aside his broken lance and saluting the public in triumph. He seemed to be shuffling his shoulder slightly, but Sansa could see no blood for now…

She let out an explosive breath of relief as she leaned back, the clapping and cheering public still celebrating the victory.

It seemed everyone was cheering loudly, and Sansa rolled her eyes as Joffrey's horse cantered towards the Royal Box. Robert was already calling for the prize money to be brought forward when Joffrey bowed, his horse carrying him towards the lovely looking crown of roses and violets which was perched next to the shields of the defeated.

"Oh Seven," Sansa muttered in preemptive shame as Arya giggled.

"Wanted it for your own, didn't you?" her sister needled her as Joffrey cantered back towards the Royal Box, the crown light in his hands.

"Please don't," she half muttered, half shouted… but Joffrey seemed to ignore her as he stood upon his stirrups, holding the crown aloft like some sort of knight from an Essosi play.

He's really going to do it, Sansa despaired as she repressed a chagrined smile.

"And now, by the ancient traditions of our fine Kingdoms, I shall proclaim my undying love for the most beautiful maiden of them all!" he proclaimed grandly, the smallfolk going wild even as the Queen shook her head.

"Oh, he's one of those," Robert muttered to Father, still smiling.

Joffrey cantered ever closer, and Sansa grit her teeth as he stopped in front of her, the horse leaving him level with her face. She gave up on her fate as she gazed at his twinkling eyes through the visor, a fond smile taking over her features as he pitched his voice to carry. "I proclaim Lady Sansa Stark as my Queen of Love and Beauty, the most beautiful maiden in all of creation!" he shouted as he gently placed the crown on her head, red and violet petals swirling down her face as she gazed at him fondly, unable to stay mad when he looked at her with those eyes.

Again.

There was a lot of cheering from most of the smallfolk, but from the noble stands there was a deathly silence. She could hear startled gasps and whispers from all around her as Joffrey kept talking, pitching his voice to carry.

"Her azure gaze calls to me like the Sunset Sea itself, calm and serene even as it hides grand storms of great power and strength!" he called out as he gazed at her, bold as brass.

"This- this is an outrage!" screamed Cercei, "Robert! Will you do no-"

"I bid you silence, graceful Queen!" shouted 'Ser Jonnel' as he interrupted her, "For not even royalty can stop the blazing strength of true love!" he proclaimed with a flourish of his hand, "Verily! Not even in my dreams can Lady Sansa's true beauty be held! Why, were I a pious man I would take her for the Maiden herself come to redeem my wretched existence!" he said the stream of bad poetry without even a hint of slowing down.

"Joffrey- stop!" Sansa managed in between unstoppable giggles, the grumbling and whispering coming from all around her and increasing in volume as the smallfolk quieted down.

"Robert! Jaime! This hedge knight dares-!" Cercei screeched apoplectically even as Father stood up with a look of outraged in his face. Robert was bellowing for the Kingsguard to seize 'the bastard' as he turned red and stumbled out of his seat.

"I-I-I- will not accept-" Bran called out as he stood up from Arya's side before Lyra leaned over and pushed him back down.

"Don't be silly," she whispered at the brother of her lady.

"Lord Stark! Allow me the satisfaction!" roared an enraged Jory as he made his way towards Sansa's seat, shoving away guests and servants even as Ser Barristan reached the guard rail from the other end of the stand and jumped to the mud, his sword coming out in one smooth notion.

"Dismount and step away from Lady Sansa Ser Jonnel!" Ser Barristan called out as he strode towards them, his sword flashing under the midday sun, "Preserve what honor you have left!" he said dangerously.

"Never!" proclaimed Joffrey like one of the martyrs in 'A Braavosi's Duty', turning his head to look at Ser Barristan as he puffed his chest. Sansa came to the horrifying conclusion that he was not going to stop until she made him stop.

"Never- I say again, Just Kingsguard! If I am to die for my love then so be it, for gladly I would-" she interrupted him as she leaned forward and ripped the helmet out of his head, scoffing loudly.

"Hey!" Joffrey said as he turned towards her, sporting a monstrous, mirthful grin as he tried to keep proclaiming his 'undying love' before Sansa managed to silence him with a deep kiss. She didn't know if she did it because it would really shut him up, or because she needed some damned release after almost watching her beloved die to a stupid tourney. She really didn't care at this point.

Everyone seemed to stop and stare, silence reigning once more as enraged roars for 'Ser Jonnel's' head died in most of the various lord's throats… well, everyone except for Arya.

"Ewww!" shouted her sister in a pique of eloquence.

She broke the kiss reluctantly, Joffrey smiling at her as he leaned back. "You know there's going to be hell to pay for that," he pointed out.

"Yeah. Enjoy it while they're still in shock?" She asked him.

"Alright," he said as he shuffled closer to his horse's head, leaving enough space for Sansa to jump over from the stand and ride sidesaddle behind him.

"All hail the winner of the Joust, Melee, and Archery contests!" Sansa proclaimed boldly as she raised Joffrey's hand, the horse cantering slowly past a slack jawed Ser Barristan and angling for a victory lap around the titling area, "My betrothed, Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon!" she roared proudly.

The smallfolk went insane. They whooped and hollered in cheer as they stood up and stamped their feet, clapping and calling out to them. The Royal Box and its surroundings seemed less enthusiastic, a few of the spectators clapping in shock while others were still in the grips of confusion.

"bhw... bw… BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Roared King Robert, holding his belly with one hand as the other slammed his armrest, laughing like a man possessed. The Queen looked at the cantering couple and back to Robert a few times before her enraged expression slowly morphed into irritation, shaking her head. Robert kept laughing as tears leapt out of his eyes, and Cercei found herself chuckling lowly at the sheer unreality of the situation.

Has my son just won every single competition in this blasted tourney? She thought as she worked through the shock and the implications.

"Prince Joffrey is the Silver Knight!?" Bran finally got a hold of his voice, "Prince Joffrey told me- teach me how to fight- the Silver Knight-!" he babbled in awed incoherence as Jeyne sighed and almost melted beside Talia.

"They're so romantic," she sighed as Sansa's crown left a trail of petals behind the horse, a few of them tangling in her hair. Talia giggled as she patted Jeyne's back, sneaking a glance to a grim faced Lyra.

"What?" she asked her.

"We're stuck with the Septa again," she said, exasperated.

"Nothing we can do about that," Meera said sagely.

A bit behind them and to the left stood Jory Cassel, his hand leaving the pommel of his sword. "My Lord?" he asked, not sure about how he should feel.

"Let them ride Jory, let them ride," Said Lord Eddard as he gazed at the happy couple, "Then we'll talk," he added in a tone of voice that left Sansa's handmaidens wincing.