Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Gaenys Bernaris would remember that day until he drew his last breath. He'd been working a double shift in his father's leather tannery again as punishment for 'slacking off', mindlessly helping tan and hang the horrible smelling hides that constituted the mainstay of his family's trade. He'd been wondering why the hells he hadn't become immune to the smell of the filth yet despite working there since tender childhood when he heard the screams.

"Father, what's happening?" he'd called out, nervous as his usually stoic Father burst into the tannery and grabbed him by the neck as was his wont. Gaenys' friends often mocked him about how his Father treated his slaves better than him.

"Go get your mother and sister to the basement and close the doors, NOW!" he'd screamed as he tossed him out, turning back and closing the tannery's windows and doors.

He'd stumbled out of the tannery but hadn't managed a single step towards the nearby house before he'd been almost run over by a runaway carriage. All around him people ran and screamed nonsense about the end of times and the return of the Dragonlords, nonsense that quickly crystalized into dread when he'd gazed up and saw an enormous black Dragon gliding towards their city.

His life flashed before his eyes as the great Dragon straight from the tales of old decided to spare the Tower of Remembrance and half the city's nobility, before diving for the main plaza, built during the reign of the Dragonlords to fit even the largest of mythical beasts. He remembered thinking that even the great plaza wouldn't be enough to hold the huge beast, but at the last moment what he realized was a dragonrider did something to the dragon's neck and the terrifying beast flapped and stalled, folding its wings and falling like a rock against the plaza and presumably devouring all within it.

He'd stood there, petrified as Captain of the Guard tried to harangue a group of terrified slingers, the pride of Tolos' military might who had humbled barbarians and pirates far and wide, hardened veterans of a thousand and one battles against sellswords, Dothraki, and Ghiscary Privateers. Every single slinger walked like their lead balls were attached to their feet and not the pouches they carried at their hips, the slightly less terrified Captain shoving and cursing as they made their way to the plaza.

Gaenys didn't blame them, he would have been running in the other direction if he didn't feared his Father's fists more than a huge beast which presumably had a thousand people around it to sate its hunger… unlike his Father...

And so he'd gotten inside his house, found his steely eyed mother and his crying sister, and hid them all under the cellar. He remembered thinking about Dragons and their senses, and hoping to Great Meraxes that the beast would not find them there.

As the hours wore on and no screams nor smells of cooked flesh assaulted their senses, Gaenys left their shelter to find the city's denizens sheepishly getting back to their routines.

Two days later they were told the truth, and a day after that he met Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, acclaimed as Great One by the citizens of Tolos, Savior of the City, and Dragonslayer.

-.PD.-

At first sight, the Great One didn't look all that imposing for a man which had slayed one of the largest Dragons ever recorded. He was not too tall, had golden hair and a weary weight which was only accented by the cane which he used to walk. No, it was the eyes that told the truth. Pale green they were, like metaled sheen given form, a dulled, steely green which seemed to pin him in place whenever the Great One stared at him. The contrast they gave when paired with the man's sword was even alluring, in the same way a tempestuous lightning storm was. Understated yellow which turned almost transparent, a steely gold which reflected the pale green as the man raised the sword caringly with both hands, staring down its length as he aligned the pommel vertically with his eyes, staring through it and beyond into the world of spirits.

"Magic and heavy deeds forged this… obvious I know," Said the Great One as he inspected the Valyrian Steel blade, made by the Dragonlords of old through secrets long since lost to man.

He seemed to breathe in the essence of the sword as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Spells, dragonfire and death… Yes…" he muttered as if he were savoring a fine if exotic wine.

Gaenys stood still as a statue inside their workshop, not daring to even breathe as he saw the man feel the flat edge of the blade with his palm, eyes closed as he tilted his head slightly, as one might when the summer winds flew over a lazy afternoon.

"Terrible and bold, wrought in blood and fire and sorcery and screams," he said as his palm kept travelling the length of the sword, frowning minutely. "Such power… so petty a purpose," he said as if disappointed, deep in thought.

Gaenys managed to swallow as he saw the Great One lift the blade up and hold the cool flat edge against his forehead, his eyes still closed even though his gaze was evidently peering beyond. "Made for gold, an instrument of prestige… petty power and petty Kings… Purpose long lost and obsolete… but what is your destiny now..?" he asked the sword itself, his forehead tilting vaguely downward. "No. Deeper," he whispered, his concentration supreme, "Purpose reborn… a desperate bridge… a connection with no endpoint… I see it now, a makeshift fix, a causeway of great energy and Purple purpose… but to where? And why?" he seemed to ask Gaenys as he opened his eyes and lowered the sword, gazing at him in puzzlement.

"I-I don't know, Great One," he managed, his voice almost quiver free.

He smiled sadly at him, "Neither do I, Gaenys, neither do I… but even now I feel it, how it longs to belong to me… How with but a push it will slot just right…. How perfect and form fitting is the anchor…" he said in wonder as he gazed back at the blade, deep in thought, "I am to be its essence's scabbard…" he whispered.

After making it clear the beast had been a wild one, the whole of Tolos had breathed a sigh of relief, content that the era of Dragonlords had not returned. Joffrey had been claimed as savior of the City, having slayed the enormous, untamed dragon before the fateful day where it could have returned to civilization and burnt Tolos to the ground. The man had been well cared for, and after gifting most of the Dragon's corpse to the city as reparations for the damage, his popularity had only soared. No one slayed a Dragon on foot with a sword… except for legends like the one which had descended upon Tolos that fateful day.

So when he'd asked for a simple workshop and someone who knew a bit of working with bone, Gaenys' Father had been all too willing to offer his son for a glimpse of recognition from the nobility. According to Joffrey, the Lords of Tolos had practically showered him with gifts in an attempt to make him go away, terrified of the leverage he might be able to use if he decided to try and take over the city… much to his amusement.

The Great One didn't seem to have much worldly ambition beyond his mysterious search, but he'd pacified the nobility with his plans to move in a couple of months and his simple requests for an apprentice and a workshop.

And so, Gaenys' hobby, which had caused so much trouble with his Father before, had turned into his new profession, working part of the Dragon's jaw bone into the shape of a sheath for the Dragonslayer's sword. Well, more like fetching supplies and helping tidy up the workshop as the Great One worked on the bone with unparalleled skill, but still…

A simple apprentice and an ear to nightmare inducing musings which he had no choice but to hear, a companion to the solitary and mysterious Great One.

Joffrey stayed still for hours, as had been routine for weeks. Gaenys stood still besides him, not making a sound throughout the long hours as the Great One kept tinkering with his soul, making the final adjustments in the ethereal plane only he could see. Gaenys had known nothing of the arts of the Warlocks before the day of the Dragon, and yet the Great One had seen fit to explain to him what he sought to achieve, happy to speak as he worked with bone and blade and soul, a simplified version of the no doubt horribly arcane and dangerous game he was playing with a dread sorcerer more than a million times more powerful than him… a million times more powerful than the Great One himself! The sorcerer he called 'the Purple'.

"Gaenys, hammer," he suddenly spoke.

It was time.

Gaenys made haste, prepared for the occasion as he deftly placed the still unfinished scabbard under Joffrey's feet and a hammer in the man's hand. The Great One got to work with deft skill, his eyes still closed as he used the very same sword as an unwieldy tool to carve ominous, incredibly complex runes into the scabbard. In the hands of the Great One, the bastard sword may as well have been a surgeon's scalpel as he hammered lightly and certainly, carving a complex pattern which spanned the entirety of the dragon bone sheath.

"It would take ages with common steel… besides, the sword carving its own sheath? Much more poetic," the living legend had said with a touch of whimsy when asked.

He stayed quiet as he watched the master at his craft, slowly edging out the last traces of the twirling, twisting pattern which now envelop the sword. He'd been getting more cryptic with the passing weeks, preferring the sound of his voice to the sharp loneliness of the workshop.

"They don't do anything, not really," he suddenly spoke out loud, happy as always to reveal the secrets of his arcane doings, "But it'll help me focus, help me place them correctly…" he trailed off as he opened his eyes and lifted the scabbard, blowing lightly into it and scattering the coarse dust that had been once been part of a Dragon's flesh and bone.

"A vessel wrought to enable its content's purpose, wrought from the flesh of the beings that helped forge that very same content…" he whispered cryptically, the meaning clear to him alone. "Wrought to help the content's wielder fulfill an ancient task…" he trailed off as he lifted both sword and sheath, gazing at them side by side.

"But it's not enough," he said with vaguely crazed eyes as he turned towards him, "Precisely wrought were the anchors, they were not made to carry a side passenger… but the Purple is moldable, changeable," he whispered with a crazed grin, as if he were telling him a great secret. "What is a slight tweak to a thing that is more real than reality? What is a small passenger in the shadow of Brightroar?" he asked yet again as he carefully fitted the blade inside sheath and Gaenys realized Joffrey had been talking to himself all this time, "What is to a them if I carve a slight valley into my soul?" he said as the blade clicked and he sat on the ground in the strange position he'd glimpsed envoy's from the East use, the sword in the scabbard starting to almost glow as the hair in Gaenys' hands, arms, neck, everywhere stood on edge, the sharp smell of crackling air and stormy seas filling the room as Joffrey closed his eyes and hugged the sword he held vertically, the pommel like a crown above his hair line as the golden lion head started to bleach into silver and the Great One spoke.

"Will they notice the extra scabbard as the Sword slides into the anchor?" The Great One asked himself before his head turned towards Gaenys, gently.

"Goodbye, Gaenys," he said as the runes along the scabbard started to glow very slightly as well, his serene smile growing as wisps of static started to roam its length.

Gaenys bowed deeply as Joffrey's smile turned into a grimace, followed by pain. He did not trust himself enough to speak as he grabbed the sack the Great One left for him by the door, filled with the tools of his trade and shining Tolosi Honors. He left the room and the building entirely as he walked quickly, just in time to hear a harrowing scream and a flash of light coming from the upper windows that blinded him even though he closed his eyes.

-.PD.-