Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

-.PD.-

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.

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.

-.PD.-