Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

The feast in Winterfell's main hall was in full swing when Sansa stood up, not even halfway through when she approached the main table.

"I don't feel very well mother, I think I'll retire for the night," she told Catleyn, an apologetic smile on her lips.

Not reaching over and squeezing her daughter's arm was all Catelyn Stark could do as she gazed at Sansa.

From one night to the next, her daughter had suddenly turned… different. First had been the fiercely strong hug she'd given her, Ned, Bran, Robb, Rickon and even Arya that morning, the last of which was still convinced it was all some sort of cruel prank Sansa had dreamed up with Jeyne. And then she'd gone around the keep during the following days obviously trying to carry out her usual duties with an unfamiliar, anxious attitude. Septa Mordane had reported a sudden, worrying disinterest in the lessons that had so often captured her imagination before, and Robb had supposedly found her playing some sort of game of endurance that had left her completely exhausted a few days ago, hanging upside down from a cupboard… though Catelyn seriously doubted that.

"Should I tell the Septa-" Catelyn asked halfheartedly when before she would have merely commanded it so, but Sansa shook her head slightly before she could finish the sentence, as if thankful for the favor but not really seeing the need for it.

More worrying than that was the fact that her tender daughter was… gone. No, that wasn't right. Sansa was still there, but the carefree, childlike attitude she had so loved in her now seemed locked behind a wall of… courtesy and thoughtfulness. No longer could she spy her running and laughing along the corridors, or gossiping with Jeyne about one of the boys in Wintertown after the Septa's lessons.

"Very well then, remember to tell me or Maester Luwin if something hurts, don't worry about the hour," she stressed out loud, somehow still expecting a moan and a scoff at her worry. Instead, Sansa simply nodded in thanks.

Another bellow from Robert distracted her, the King laughing out loud as Ned smiled in shared mirth, and when she turned to look at her side once more she realized Sansa was gone.

She sighed, trying to understand how her daughter had suddenly grown up.

-: PD :-

The Winterfell night did not seem as cold after spending months in Braavos, chilling under the steadily worsening snowstorms of late autumn and early winter. Sansa was leaning on the balcony, her overstretched arms supporting her weight as she studied the revelry below and to her right as a few feast goers left the main hall and sang in the middle of the courtyard.

She sighed as she felt a pair of familiar hands embracing her from behind, and she let herself lean backwards as she closed her eyes and smiled, feeling whole again.

"I missed you," she muttered after Joffrey kissed her gently.

"Me too," he said, content to let her lean on him as he gazed not at the courtyard but at the starry night, holding her tight.

"Did it hurt?" he asked after a moment of peaceful silence, only interrupted by the happy singing from below.

"It was more than worth it," she answered the question in her own way, her eyes still closed as she savored the gentle reunion.

Joffrey quirked an eyebrow as his hands felt the taut muscles around her belly, smiling as Sansa sighed again. "You've been training?" he asked her.

"I've got more to catch up than you," she said before twisting within his grasp to stare at his eyes, "Joffrey…" she trailed off, blinking for a few seconds before grey steel filled her eyes, "Westeros…" she whispered, doubt and exaltation warring in her voice as the whisper seemed to ask a thousand questions.

"Westeros," Joffrey nodded after an eternal silence, answering all of them with one word.

A shiver of momentary awe passed through Sansa, who breathed in deeply as the colossal implications multiplied by the second, dreams and memories of a thousand plans and conversations flashing through her mind.

"They won't know what hit them, will they?" she asked him with a tense smile, her mind already drafting the letters that would fly tomorrow.

"It's time the Seven Kingdoms move," Joffrey answered the question with burning passion, a slow joy simmering inside him when before there would have been only dark despair.

"We'll have to start working on Father, he needs to see you as Robert's son if-" She spoke quickly before Joffrey cut her off with another kiss.

"Later. Stay with me," he whispered after he broke it, and Sansa smiled lightly before leaning on his chest, embracing him as well.

The prospect of trying to save Westeros from itself and the end of the world had once filled him with despair, a black void that had crushed him from within, a dead weight that had held him in place, pinned to his bed long after the sun had already risen.

Now though, as he held his partner tightly in his arms, those feelings were but a dim echo throughout the depths of his soul... Now, as they stood on the precipice of the chaos that would soon engulf their homeland, Joffrey could only feel a growing sense of exaltation, a heady clarity of purpose that filled him as the time to enact their shared vision of the future approached. A Westeros as it should be. A tool to stop the apocalypse. An extension of their wills. A project he and his beloved could be proud of.

They stayed there for a while, enjoying each other's presence as the feast below continued and the stars kept circling above, a starry vault of white and dark blue.

-: PD :-

"So you're Jon Snow, right?" Lancel asked the black haired boy with the grey complexion, who was playing with a gangly white wolf.

They were in a little clearing within the small woods almost half a day away from King's Landing, the other boys standing around awkwardly and trying not to shiver as they waited for the sun to come out. Only the light of the circle of torches surrounding the clearing gave them any illumination.

The boy stopped to look at him with veiled wariness and a sort of honest defiance Lancel seldom saw in the cesspit that was King's Landing… and hence ripe for the picking.

"So what if I am?" he asked curtly.

Lancel waved his hands in a sort of apology, "Nothing at all," he said, seemingly confused. "It's just that I thought this was a gathering of noble sons, not-"

"Bastards?" Jon interrupted him seriously, quick to assume the title.

Lancel nodded gently, as if Snow was a simpleton, "I thought you might have been mistaken, but then I thought about… well," he trailed off meaningfully, shrugging the matter away.

"Thought about what?" the Bastard asked him, not sure if he was being played or not.

He's going to be eaten alive in court, thought Lancel with a disguised snort.

"Oh it's nothing you should worry about…" he said, then relented when Snow frowned, "Well, you see, the Prince has been pretty selective with this little gathering… but as a favor, you being here does make a lot of sense," he explained seriously.

"A favor?" Snow asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"You haven't heard? Strange, what with you accompanying the couple from Winterfell…" said Lancel, seemingly genuinely surprised. He gave his cousin Tyrek a surprised look, but the even younger boy was busy kicking stones to his right. The little baby was never there when he needed him…

"Heard what?" asked the Bastard, irritated as he started to suspect he was being played with.

That took a while, Lancel thought as he nodded to himself. "Rumor has it the good Lady Sansa has fallen quite thoroughly for the Prince… and if she'd pleaded for a position for her bastard half-brother… well, she seems quite endowed to give a lot of favors to the Prince…" he trailed off with a smirk.

The simpleton tilted his head once more before his face twisted, "My sister- favor-!" he snarled as the white wolf by his side did the same. Lancel took a step back, more concerned by the wolves' sharp teeth than the way Snow was gripping his bastard sword's pommel.

"Careful there, wouldn't want to cut yourself," he said, and almost laughed out loud when the Bastard unsheathed his sword slightly. This was too easy.

"Both of you, calm down!" the Mooton boy called out skittishly from the tree trunk he had been leaning against.

"Afraid of a little scuffle, Willard? We are kitted with blunted swords," he told the boy with the almost excessively large red salmon sewn atop his tabard.

"Of course not!" he shouted immediately, straightening and grasping the two hander that was almost longer than him, the one he had left leaning on the tree trunk as if he were some sort of warrior of legend.

Lancel had to suppress an amused sigh. It seemed those chosen were exactly the worst sort of people you'd task to build any sort of 'guard'. Hardly surprising he supposed, given it was Joffrey the one who had set up the whole thing… not exactly a military mastermind, or possessing much of a mind at all really.

"You should both stop taking his baits, it'll just encourage him," called out the Frey boy from the ground, munching on a piece of bread. Lancel couldn't for the life of him remember the young man's name.

"Sound advice," muttered Snow, "Olyvar was it?" he asked him.

"Yeah," said the Frey, "I've got some experience on that front," he said with a slightly bitter smile.

An awkward silence descended upon the clearing as they kept waiting, yawning or sighing at the sudden boredom. "Did the Prince send you a letter as well?" Finally spoke the burly heir to Duskendale, Renfred Rykker.

Olyvar shook his head, drumming cold fingers against his thigh, "He came to the Twins when the King's Caravan returned from the North. Him and," he hesitated for a half second, trying not to look at Jon, "His betrothed," he ended lamely. Lancel smirked as Jon turned around and went back to playing with Ghost, his movements harsh, angry. "They spoke with Lord Walder for a while, and then they had the leave of the castle for a few days…" added Olyvar.

"They didn't go straight to you?" asked Willard, intrigued.

"Not at first, but they spoke with pretty damn everyone in the Twins during the first two days. I bumped into them while cleaning the stables with Jinglebells- Aegon, my half-brother," he explained when he saw the incomprehension in their faces, "We were refilling the hay when the Prince suddenly appeared by my side, helping me with one of the bundles. We talked for a few minutes, and then he was gone," he said with a snort. "I didn't even realize it was him until later, when both him and lady Sansa approached me again, that very same evening…" he trailed off as his small audience nodded, not needing to ask what they'd told him.

"Why did you say yes?" Rykker asked him.

Olyvar shrugged, "It was a lot of gold. Two years of service? I was already a servant in the Twins, better two years learning how to fight with the best warriors of the Seven kingdoms than moving hay," he reasoned.

"Always about the gold with you Freys," Willard chuckled.

Olyvar gave him the stink eye, looking angry as he spoke, "Easy for you to say Mooton. You don't have twenty-two brothers competing for arms and horses, nor seven sisters clamoring for dowry's," he said bitterly.

Willard shrugged before making as if he hadn't heard him, "Best warriors of the Seven Kingdoms…" said the Mooton boy as he trailed off expectantly, a tinge of doubt in his voice as he turned to Lancel, "Have you seen Ser Jaime or maybe… Ser Barristan? Preparing I mean," he asked.

Lancel tilted his head from side to side as he tried to come up with an answer that was not exactly false, and that also didn't sully the Lannister name. He couldn't exactly tell them this was all but the latest, petty whimsy of the Crown Prince. A way for him to feel mighty with a few swords at his beck and call, at least until he got bored again… There would be no great warriors to teach them, only the mewling commands of his cousin.

"They seemed to be carrying out their duties as normal, but I haven't seen them much these past few days anyway…" he answered, all truths at least.

"And the Prince? Has anyone seen him yet?" asked Olyvar, looking at the night sky which was barely now starting to retreat from the grasping light of the sun, "You were the first one here right?" he asked Renfred.

"Aye, I saw him when I got here, a couple of hours ago. You could tell it was the Prince by the way the Hound hovered around him," rumbled Renfred.

"And?" asked Olyvar.

"He seemed to be… resting, or maybe thinking," he said slowly. He continued as the boys kept looking at him, "I don't know, he was just sort of…. Kneeling in front of a tree," he ended doubtfully.

"It can't be, I got here fifteen minutes ago and I saw him in exactly the same position," Lancel dismissed the claim.

That seemed to leave them thinking, and the awkward silence extended for a while, only punctuated by the pounding of Tyrek's boot against the odd stone.

"Would you stop that?" Lancel asked his cousin as he moved to his side, his voice as low as it was resigned.

"No," he muttered as he kicked another stone.

Lancel let out a long breath as he gazed at his little cousin, "Spit it out Tyrek, what's the damned problem?"

"We could be sleeping right now, waking up late like the King," Tyrek told him as he kicked another stone.

"Yeah, and getting mocked and yelled at as if we were our bloody Grandfather," Lancel said lowly.

"Better serving wine than stomping off to the middle of nowhere!" Tyrek spat before Lancel grabbed him from the back of his neck.

"Listen Tyrek, when the Prince finally deigns to order us about you will comply," he snarled quietly, "I suspect our presence here was the way Joffrey sold the whole scheme to Robert, as a way to get us out of his hair. But if all of - when all of this falls apart, Lord Tywin will see that we return just where Joffrey found us. And I for once want a couple of quiet months where I can breathe without that fat drunk bellowing like a pig for 'lumpy' the court fool!" he snarled, surprised by the amount of anger that seemed to be pouring out of him as he released his cousin.

"Are we clear?" he asked Tyrek, more calmly this time.

"Yes," said his cousin, rubbing his neck as he sat down with a surly look.

Lancel shook his head as he sat as well, eyeing Snow and his direwolf and the way he seemed to be staring daggers at his back. They were all startled by a steady, confident stride that carried itself ever closer, the clinking of armor and mail unmistakable.

Here we go, Lancel thought as he stood up, rolling his eyes when he saw Joffrey emerge from the other side of the clearing clad in plate and carrying a halberd of all things, the sun just now creeping from the east. Dawn.

There was something… off about him though. Instead of the usual peacock strut that expected the world to bend over, his cousin seemed to be walking as if he already knew the earth world would bend over. It was a subtle difference, but immediately noteworthy all the same. His back seemed as straight as a steel beam, his right hand leaning between his hip and his sword's pommel in an oddly snug, casual way. His eyes were what caught him though, twin bottomless pits of steely green, seemingly analyzing every inch of his being.

The other boys stood up as well, dusting off their breastplates and sheathing their tourney swords, the gear the Prince had asked them to bring today. They started to bow when the Prince waved the formalities away with a negligent hand.

"Prince Joffrey-" Lancel started, but quickly stopped when Joffrey pierced him with a stare. He swallowed, vaguely angry with himself over the way he had been instantly intimidated, the way Robert liked to do.

What was wrong with his cousin?!

There was a strange silence as they all stood up and stared at the man that had just entered the clearing, shuffling nervously under the hair rising stare that Joffrey seemed to regale to each and every one of them.

"Thank you for coming," he said respectfully, nodding at each in turn. "You may have heard a few rumors regarding the formation of this Royal Guard," he said as he planted the halberd on the ground, walking from side to side in front of the impromptu line the boys had formed up.

"Mostly how it's Prince Joffrey's latest fancy. A game of sorts," he mused. "A way to feel powerful! Respected! "he said with a slight smile as he walked, left hand at his back and right hand between hip and pommel.

There it is, Lancel thought in a strange sort of relief when he saw the smile, not too different from the one the Prince had sported as he all but tortured everything from cats to the serving staff… but-

"So give him a few men to play with! We've made Crown Prince's into Commanders of the City Watch before, how is this any different?" he asked no one in particular as he walked along the length of the line, two meters away from it. "They say a lot of things, the lords and the knights," he said before trailing off.

"'We've had peace for years, and just as many are upon the horizon'," he said, the smile slowly leaving his face as he stopped his pacing. "'The realm is stable, perhaps more than ever before'," Joffrey mused, his eyes heavy. "'This Summer may last decades more'," he declared with a bit of whimsy, stopping for a moment to turn and gaze at the rising sun. Lancel moved his shoulder a little, trying to take the tension out of it. He sounded as if he wanted to believe it. Desperately… and failing.

Something's not right, he thought as he looked at Tyrek, standing by his side. His cousin looked back, nervous or confused, he could not tell. The abrupt silence was short and brittle, and Joffrey seemed to take his time as he let the sun bathe his half plate.

"They're wrong," he said suddenly, still looking at the sun.

Lancel swallowed, uncomfortable with the pure conviction in his cousin's voice. He'd never seen him like this.

"Blind. Ignorant," he said as he turned back towards them, gazing at them all as his voice rose. "Rumors of Dothraki Savages moving west fill the Free Cities. Rumblings come from the North, of great hosts of Wildlings abandoning entire villages and moving south, escaping from something," he said slowly. "Lords scheme and plot, whispers and rumors of mercenaries bought and sold fill the taverns and the alleyways of cities from Pentos to Lys…" he trailed off, taking a step closer to them.

"The Maesters are still trying to calculate the severity of the Winter that is to come. Some hypothesize it could have a duration similar to this long summer... others think it could last more than a decade and a half," he said, his voice calm. Lancel could feel the stares from the other boys as they looked at each other in confusion.

"None of them know for sure," he said as he shrugged, walking back to the halberd. "What I do know for certain is that War will come," he said as if he'd seen it himself.

"War always comes to Westeros," he whispered as he grabbed the halberd, feeling its weight with both hands.

A small silence followed, and Willard couldn't hold under the strain as he took a step forward, "Excuse me my Prince," he spoke hurriedly, "I know that you want a standing force to secure the Crownlands, but I was given to understand that we'd train under the best-" he stuttered to a halt, realizing the implied insult. "I mean, under knights such as… maybe Ser Jaime, or Ser Barristan?" he added doubtfully.

"No, you'll train under me," Joffrey corrected him, "I will teach you the way of the halberd, the crossbow and the shovel. I will teach you how to march, how to fortify a location, how to gauge the winds of battle, and how to command effectively," he said it as if it were a promise.

Willard looked to his sides, seeing the mirror of his expression on the rest of the assembled boys. Disbelief, confusion, perhaps even mirth.

"You? My Prince?" said Willard painfully.

"Me," Joffrey nodded.

"Halberds," Jon said to himself, frowning hard.

Lancel for one was still expecting for Joffrey to burst out into laughter… but with every second he did not the uncanny feeling in his gut stretched.

Joffrey just looked at them, his face considering. "A wager then?" he asked.

"A wager?" asked Olyvar.

"If you can make me yield, then I'll give you, all of you, all the gold I promised for the entirety of your two year service, and you can go on your way," he said simply.

Tyrek looked troubled, expecting the trap to fall any moment now. The Prince was not known as a good fighter… far less than that indeed. And Olyvar frequently sparred in the Red Keep's courtyard since he'd arrived to the Capital… he'd break the prince's teeth.

Olyvar blinked, "I'm not sure if I-"

"Not just you. All of you," said the Prince, signaling with his hand at the other five boys.

"At the same time?!" Jon blurted, his sense of honor outraged even as Renfred and Willard laughed out loud. They swiftly became quiet when they realized the Prince was being serious.

"And what do you ask for if you win?" Lancel finally asked his cousin, tired of the strange joke and only wishing it to end. In retrospect, giving wine to Robert was a better idea than entertaining his pointlessly cruel simpleton of a cousin.

"Yourselves," he said simply.

"What do you mean?" asked Renfred, looking at him keenly.

"Your body, mind and soul. You will be my officers, the embodiment of my will on the battlefield. We'll bleed and cry and kill together, die too if the gods are unkind. You will be my advisors, my inner circle, you will be those that will revolutionize warfare on this continent. You will be the ones to restore the King's Peace, with cold steel," he said as if he were speaking about the arrangements of a simple hunt.

The disbelieving stares were not even camouflaged now. Jon was shaking his head, gazing back north in regret as Olyvar and Renfred looked at each other in confusion.

"Told you," Tyrek muttered angrily, elbowing Lancel.

Lancel just took a deep breath, "Very well, we accept, let's get this over with," he said quickly, looking at the other boys. They all nodded grudgingly in the end, still shaking their heads at the unreality of the situation.

"Stand back Ghost," Jon called out, and Willard snorted as he unsheathed his greatsword.

"Let's begin then. Fall here, and rise as my officers," said Joffrey as he bent his knees slightly, still looking at them.

The boys were staring at Joffrey as if he had gone insane, and Lancel swore could see a tiny bit of irritation in his cousin's eyes before he spoke again.

"Now," he repeated as his eyes narrowed, the halberd light in his hands, not even in a guard position.

-: PD :-

"I said NOW!" roared Joffrey as he twirled the halberd in a blur of speed and ended the roar with a low, diagonal guard, both hands tightly grasping the shaft as his right foot extended backwards by a step, the gleaming tip of the weapon held up and forwards, "Or are you a bloody coward you Mooton scum!" he shouted at Willard's face.

Willard was the first to move, shouting as he swung high with a two hander. Joffrey parried the blow with the space between the spearhead and the axe, twisting the halberd along its axis and locking Willard's sword in its steel grip. He lowered the tangled mass of steel and pressed it against the ground, taking a step forward and delivering a ringing blow against Willard's helmet with the haft. He stumbled backwards, and Joffrey disengaged the blades before spinning in a half circle and hammering the man's arm, making him drop the sword.

"COME ON!" he roared, taking two steps back and lowering his knees slightly.

The nobles looked at each other in vague shock for a second before springing at him, shouting and roaring all manner of House battle cries that sounded vaguely anemic to Joffrey's ears. He retreated steadily, swinging the halberd not in a whirling frenzy as a master of the spear would, but calmly and methodically even if the speed of said movement never seemed to abate, the head catching blows from one side even as the haft intercepted swings from the other, stopping them before they could gather speed. He interrupted the predictable moves before they could be completed as he kept stepping backwards, spinning along his own axis as they attacked from both sides of the following semi-circle, parrying a blow with each second even as he stepped precisely from side to side and dodged other, clumsily announced attacks, the ringing of steel on steel so continuous it seemed like heavy rain pattering against the glass windows of Dure House. He flowed through their uncoordinated attacks, riposting brutally and leaving a sea of bruises and small cuts in his wake, the melee already more brutal than any training bout these scions of nobility had ever experienced.

"Faster!" Joffrey roared, a slow sheen of sweat starting to cover his head as crouched and let Jon's bastard sword sail above him. He pivoted sideways, unleashing a cloud of dry dust as Lancel's arming sword almost clipped his shoulder. He kept retreating, parrying and dodging and guiding the fight back to the middle of the clearing, delivering painful ripostes that sought to wound and hurt them, but not to take them out of the fight, not yet.

He had to break them first if he was to turn them into something greater.

The scions were breathing harshly as they followed Joffrey slowly, occasionally gazing at each other in shock. Willard had recovered his sword, and he was holding his arm in pain as he returned to the semi-circle which now surrounded Joffrey once again.

He surveyed the boys as they quickly shuffled back and forwards, each unwilling to be the first to strike again, holding limbs and bruises in pain. "You fight like warriors," Joffrey declared as he went suddenly still, the nobles sensing the danger as they took a step back, "But you will be Soldiers," he said as he moved.

He attacked Lancel with a roar and a heavy lunge, only for the boy to fall for the feint and be caught off guard as the blunted spearhead retreated half a step and lunged higher up instead, quick as a snake. Lancel squealed in pain as the blow caught his armored shoulder, sending him reeling back as Joffrey delivered a follow up hit on his leg. He redirected a swift blow from Renfred's sword with the haft, pivoting and slamming aside the burly heir's shield with the hammer head. "When you march with me, you will be changed," Joffrey intoned as if he were speaking prophesy, slamming the upper part of the haft against Renfred's neck and leaving him a sputtering wreck on the floor.

"Your House words will be 'Yes, Commander'," said Joffrey as he turned, twisting minutely and avoiding Jon's sword, letting the halberd extend and catch Olyvar, who had been trying to attack him from behind.

Clever lad, thought Joffrey, but that didn't stop him as the hammer head licked Olyvar's thigh below his guard and made him shout in pain, limping backwards. Joffrey made use of the hole in the middle of the semicircle to disrupt their haphazard formation, attacking Jon. He kept the pressure on the Bastard of Winterfell, attacking relentlessly in a rain of thrusts which made him stumble back quickly and leave the protection of his fellows. "You will fall here, and rise as Soldiers!" he roared as he lunged three times, and Jon only barely parried the blows, breathing harshly and not having time to even think about countering before Joffrey spun in a somewhat elaborate swing, spinning the halberd above his head and adding the centrifugal force of the spin to the hammer head. He brought it down sideways and tore Jon's bastard sword from his grip. The halberd's head kept going due to the force behind the blow, but instead of repositioning Joffrey reversed the grip and took a step forward, slamming the butt of the weapon against Jon's forehead. The Bastard of Winterfell fell backwards in a daze, and the hair at the back of Joffrey's neck tingled as he saw a shadow against the ground.

"Fall now! Fall now as Warriors!" He roared as he turned and charged into Willard's overhead swing, deciding to turn the range into close quarters and making the handling of both their weapons difficult. Joffrey slammed the haft of the halberd horizontally against Willard's arms before he could lower his greatsword, pinning them against the boy's back as he pulled and their breastplates collided. Joffrey could see the fear in his eyes as Willard breathed heavily, his face an inch away from Joffrey's as he desperately tried to tear his arms from the lock. "Your sigil will be the white Hand of the King, locked in fist," he told Willard before he slammed his helmet against his. He twisted left, rotating them both and avoiding Olyvar's thrust. He head butted Willard again before he released the lock and the boy stumbled to the ground, holding his face with both hands. Joffrey spun the halberd back to a low guard, ignoring the rivulet of blood flowing from his nose.

"You will not be Knights! Polished breastplates and chivalry!" He roared as Lancel and Tyrek attacked him from left and right. They lacked coordination however, and Joffrey ducked below Lancel's thrust as he slammed the halberd against the floor, the haft stopping Tyrek's swing. "You will be Officers! Blood and Mud will coat your armor!" he said as he spun once more and extended the halberd forward in a one handed grip, catching Lancel's ankle with the axe and pulling. "Fall! Fall now!!!" he roared at them as Lancel fell on the ground harshly, dust exploding from underneath him as Joffrey caught Tyrek's half hysterical swing with his vambrace, grimacing at the blow that made his ears ring and his forearm to burn before shoving the sword aside and slamming his gauntleted fist into his smaller cousin's face. The young boy fell back on the floor, and Joffrey could hear faint sobs coming from his prone form before he turned to the downed Lancel and slammed the hammer head on his breastplate, leaving his face locked in agony as he struggled to breathe through the pain.

He walked towards Olyvar Frey, the last boy standing amidst a sea of moaning, shifting figures on the ground.

"Your brothers will be legion!" he said as he approached Olyvar, the boy's guard steady even as his frenzied eyes cycled between Joffrey's arms, halberd and helmet. He lunged at Joffrey with a roar, the Prince deflecting two blows before sweeping Olyvar's feet. He finished him by delivering a measured, two handed blow on the downed boy's breastplate, making him cough and moan in pain.

Joffrey was breathing harshly, his eyes vaguely unfocused as he gazed at the half dozen moaning nobles on the ground.

"Stand up," he told them, walking around the fallen.

"This will not be your last time in the mud. When the Lords march and the savages invade, you'll be pummeled down again and again," he recited the prophecy.

"What will make you different will be one thing. Your ability to stand!" he said as fallen faces turned to look at him, blinking through the pain and gazing at him in fear or awe.

"Rise! Rise up as Guardsmen!" he shouted as he kept walking between the fallen, stopping in front of Jon who was holding his head with one hand, trying to get his knees under him. "Come on Jon. Stand with me and let's show this world what you are, beyond name and birth," he said quietly now, Jon's breath hitching as he stared up.

"Come on Jon! Stand up! Stand up!!!" Joffrey roared at Jon's face as he managed to put a wobbly feet under him. The boy groaned harshly as he managed to stand and almost fall to the ground again, Joffrey holding him by the shoulder.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," Joffrey told him as he gazed at his eyes. He moved on, the rest of the boys halfheartedly trying to stand up, their faces bruised under the pounding they had taken in the less than five minutes that the terrifying bout had lasted.

"Rise! Rise Willard Mooton!" he shouted at the young boy, who lay squirming in the ground as he held his arm in pain. "Bravery and cowardice are meaningless here!" he shouted as the boy looked up at him, strangely still. "Order and Discipline will be our virtues! The sniveling and the rumormongering stamped out by the marching boots of our men!" he promised him, spittle flying from his mouth as Joffrey tried to make them understand.

That they could be something greater than themselves.

"Welcome to the Royal Guardsmen," he told him as the boy stood up slowly, ignoring the pain in his arm as he gazed at Joffrey in mixed awe and incomprehension, knowing something beyond was happening but not exactly sure about what that was.

He turned towards Renfred, but was surprised to find him already standing, his back straight as he spat a bit of blood on the floor, an odd look in his eyes that brought painful memories to Joffrey's mind.

"I'm your man," he said simply as he massaged his neck, and Joffrey clasped him in the shoulder fiercely, as he had once done over the muddy, blood soaked plains of the Riverlands.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," he told the heir, and he was a Guardsmen.

Olyvar was struggling to stand up, his left leg wobbling wildly as he huffed in effort, his face twisted in pain. "Our brothers will be legion?" grunted Olyvar as he tried to stand up, "I'm not sure… I'd like that," he said in between breaths.

"These brothers will stand by your side come hell or Great Other. This I promise you by all that lives and breathes on this earth," Joffrey intoned as he gazed at him.

"I… I'd like that… but I-" Olyvar grunted as he fell back down, holding his chest in pain.

"Rise Olyvar, rise a Guardsmen," he ordered him, and the boy's face locked under the strain, a slight, high pitched squeak escaping his mouth as he stumbled upright, his body aching like never before as he found, somehow, the strength to stand.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," Joffrey told him as he clasped his shoulders.

He turned to the fallen cousins, but was surprised to find Tyrek already franticly trying to stand up, the mixed tears and blood clogging his vision and making him stumble drunkenly.

"I can stand, I can stand!" he called out desperately, as if he was about to miss his ship.

Joffrey smiled lightly, holding him steady with the haft of the halberd as he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket. He cleaned the grime, blood and tears off Tyrek's eyes, and was not surprised when he found a look of adoration in there.

"Please, please teach me how to fight like that," he mumbled, awe written clear in his voice.

"No Tyrek, I will not turn you into great knights. You shall be Officers, destroyers of armies," he promised him, and his little cousin nodded in awe at the words. Joffrey thought he might have said anything in that moment and the little Lannister would have believed it… but he had often thought that guiding men with the truth gave one an almost undeniable aura. "Welcome to the Royal Guard," he told him, and Tyrek nodded in solemnity as if he'd just been knighted.

He walked to Lancel, but the boy was still belly down on the ground, both hands covering his face and his sword discarded nearby.

"Come on Lancel," said Joffrey, gently.

He could hear faint sobs coming from his prone form, the odd sniffle accompanying the way he shuffled lightly, still struggling with the pain in his chest.

"Stand up," Joffrey said once more.

"No," came the weak reply, the long golden Lannister hair hiding most of his head.

"Lancel look at me," said Joffrey, though the boy was unmoved. "LANCEL! LOOK AT ME!!!" he roared suddenly, and the boy turned slowly, back against the ground as he gazed up at Joffrey. He was crying against his will, his face red in shame as that fact became apparent to all.

"I'm sorry- I don't-" he babbled incoherently as he tried to shuffle backwards, trying to escape their presence.

"Do you want to go and serve wine to Robert again?" Joffrey asked almost quietly, and the question seemed to leave Lancel petrified.

"Yes- yes please-" he said in between sobs before Joffrey leaned slightly forward and roared at his face.

"YOU CAN'T!" he thundered, and Lancel's hands slipped as his backwards crawl gave out, "LUMPY IS DEAD! I smashed his ribcage with the hammer head!" He roared as he showed him the halberd's head.

"His ribs punctured his lungs," Joffrey continued, taking another step until he was towering over him, "He choked on his own blood right there, two minutes ago," he almost whispered, pointing at the spot where his cousin had fallen.

Lancel was almost hyperventilating, breathing harshly as frenzied eyes gazed at the spot where he'd fallen, replaying the moment a thousand times inside his mind. The hard fall as his leg was pulled out from him somehow, the otherworldly voice roaring 'FALL' again and again, his frantic shuffling before he saw Joffrey's stern, calm face as he brought the halberd down on his chest, a concentrated artisan working with his clay. The harrowing pain, leaving him literally breathless and choking to death, squirming in the ground as he couldn't think of anything else but the agony.

A thunderous atmosphere seemed to have descended upon the clearing, dawn and night battling over the sky as stars faded and the light of the torches diminished. Lancel blinked again when he saw that the other boys had clustered around him, seemingly by their own unspoken volition. Their stares were a strange mix of vacant and introspective, pained and exalted, confused and understanding. What most surprised him though was the fact that they were so similar to each other.

"Stand in shared purpose Lancel. Stand with me and let's give the Seven Kingdoms the order it deserves," Joffrey told his cousin.

Lancel seemed startled, looking up at him past the tears.

"Come on Lancel! Stand!" he shouted, and Lancel tried to lift himself up only to mewl in pain and fall back on the ground, holding his chest in pain.

"I can't," he sobbed, but Joffrey would not relent.

"Leave lumpy behind. Stand with me and never again feel unworthy," he promised with a stare that seemed to pierce his soul. Lancel believed him, Seven damn him, somehow he believed him. His world had been reduced to pain and raw uncertainty, shame and hope. He wanted to stand there, surrounded by the others, something shared and formless hovering above them all, he wanted to partake in that shared revelation.

He wanted it more than everything else in his entire life.

He screamed in pain as he tried to stand up, but his weak chest throbbed again and he fell backwards.

"Stand up! Stand up Lancel!" roared Joffrey, and Lancel grunted as he turned on his belly, trying to kneel before rising. His left leg twitched painfully and he fell forwards, at Joffrey's feet.

No, no, he despaired as his leg burned. Never in his life had he felt such pain. He didn't know how the others had done it, but he couldn't.

"Rise Lancel Lannister! Rise a Guardsmen!" Joffrey roared again, and Lancel snarled as he refused to be lumpy again, no, not now that he'd seen what he could be.

He half moaned, half screamed as he tried to stand up again, using Joffrey's own armor as some sort of ladder to pull himself up. The Prince was still, not moving to help or hinder him. He roared once more in exertion as spittle flew from his face and he breathed harshly, his voice a mixture of triumph and relief as he reached Joffrey's face, feeling like he'd been scaling a mountain for all that Joffrey was actually shorter than him.

He stared at his face, waiting, demanding it… and Joffrey nodded, his hand finally grasping Lancel's shoulder as the other one gave him the halberd.

"Welcome to the Royal Guard," he said.

He understood now, that shared emotion which had seemed to connect the other boys just a moment ago.

They grabbed the halberds Joffrey had left a bit beyond the clearing, and they followed him in a sort of daze throughout the branches and the gnarled roots of the forest; a strange, opaque journey through rocks and small streams. Lancel felt almost drunk, but with none of the sluggishness of thought that usually accompanied said state.

When they stumbled out of the forest he was blinded, the dark journey giving way to breathtaking light as he covered his eyes with one hand. He felt like a newborn babe as they emerged right into the full glory of dawn, clear skies extinguishing the last of the stars as they blinked slowly.

"What now?" he asked Joffrey, eyes slowly acclimatizing to the light.

"Now… now we can begin," said the Prince as he beheld the sloppily assembled smallfolk, milling around a few tents and a large clearing, eyeing warily the racks of halberds, shortswords, shovels and crossbows stacked around them. The Hound was fruitlessly trying to order them into some semblance of a line, and Joffrey smiled lightly as he strode towards him, his officers following him closely.

-: PD :-

"My Prince?" asked the man again, clearly nervous.

Joffrey blinked, staring at the assembled workers and the nervous crew chief.

"The beams are too far out, it'll reduce the saw's intake capacity. Space them out two steps from each other and it should work perfectly," he rattled off as he looked at the innards of the half constructed building. "Send my compliments to the smiths, they outdid themselves with the blade," he added as he gazed at the finely built saw blade, still being carefully positioned by the work crews.

The nervous boss of the mixed team of lumberjacks and construction workers nodded in slight relief, messily annotating the instructions in a scrap of parchment over a small, handheld wooden writing support, following the Prince as Joffrey walked amongst huffing laborers once more, taking a second now and then to talk to them before moving off.

"Grasp those tightly, and use the long wheelbarrows next time," Joffrey told a trio of workers as they struggled to carry a log towards the back wall. They huffed something that may have been agreement as they kept carrying the log towards the other side of the small complex. The midday sun made them sweat profusely, further adding to the acrid smell of mud and sawdust that permeated the emerging lumber mill and the work grounds around it.

"But…" muttered one of the workers by a nearby wood stockpile, only to be silenced by an alarmed look from his partner.

"Shush and help with 'dis one," he growled at the man as he tried to lift the log with a huff of strength.

"Stop, put that down," Joffrey said as he approached the stockpile, the man that had spoken up paling at the slight to his prince. His father had always told him he had a mouth too big for his breeches…

"A hundred apologies m'lord!" the other man almost bellowed, "He misspoke-" he was interrupted when Joffrey waved the excuse away and rushed the last few steps, helping them lower the log back atop the stockpile.

"You had something to say, and I'm interested in hearing it," Joffrey told the other man gently.

He looked wary, but there was no denying a princely command and so spoke he did. "It's just the wheelbarrows… well ser, they didn't get here at all."

Joffrey frowned, if they had somehow gotten lost then he was going to be pissed. He had seemingly every woodworker in the city working on his simplified spinning loom design, and stacking another order of long wheelbarrows would introduce unacceptable delays…

"Unacceptable, we need those for the increased safety," he muttered. The long wheelbarrows made the people's jobs here a lot safer, and that was something everyone could get behind… Of course, they also increased the productivity of the log haulers by quite the margin, but he was not going to tell them that. For the smallfolk, more efficient ways meant fewer jobs available…

He snorted. As if he weren't going to use every warm body he could get his hands on…

"I'm sorry ser! We couldn't stop them!" the man struggled to explain himself.

"Stop who?" he asked, his voice dangerous.

There was brief silence as the two haulers looked at each other. "Twas' them' Goldcloaks milord," said the second one, looking at his feet to avoid the punishment.

Joffrey sighed, "Thank you," he told them before walking away.

"Now I'm going to be late again," he grumbled as he made for his horse, ignoring the shouting of other nearby work crews which were setting up the other buildings next to the Blackwater, smithies and mills and looms and even more lumber mills… fortunately, Janos Slynt would serve as an excellent stress reliever.

-: PD :-

He could hear the gentle tolling of bells in the distance as his stride echoed through the Red Keep's main hall, walking quickly as he spotted Sansa. She looked beautiful in that blue southern dress of hers. Her hair was tied in long braids of a decidedly northern style, adding an exotic touch to the whole ensemble. She seemed to be talking with a few laughing maidens, shaking her head at something before she spotted him.

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for now, but remember what I said! A week from now by the Prince's House," She said as she made to leave them.

"Of course Lady Sansa, we'll be there!" said one of them, a tall one which Joffrey vaguely remembered as one of Lord Cressy's daughters. Sansa waved goodbye before walking towards him, and he gave her a rakish smile as they neared.

"Hey there," said Joffrey as he reached her, leaning in for a kiss as Sansa dodged his head and turned it instead into a very inappropriate embrace.

"Joffrey. Westeros," she whispered urgently.

Joffrey grumbled as he let her go, "Sorry, old habits," he excused himself as Sansa shook her head in fond exasperation. The four maidens she'd just left had not even moved, staring at them as they giggled and whispered furiously so fast Joffrey thought their tongues would come off and fly away.

"Now you see what you've done?" Sansa huffed as she grabbed Joffrey's arm, pulling him away towards a side corridor.

"Done what?" He asked before planting a quick, full kiss on her lips, the frenzied whispering from the maidens becoming almost hysterical.

"Joffrey!" Sansa whispered urgently as she broke the kiss and twisted away, not as fast as she could have, "You're a lost cause," she scolded him again as she physically carried him towards the corridor.

Joffrey chuckled lowly, trying to hide his mirth as they walked away. "That should give them something altogether more real to gossip about," he said, pleased with himself.

"Yes, and make my work harder," Sansa said as she rolled her eyes, "Do you know how hard it was to get out of Septa Mordane's shadow? Lollys Stokeworth alone will spill like Dure House's basement. If Father hears about this…" she trailed off with a huff, incapable of staying mad at Joffrey when he smiled like that. "You're late. What happened?" she asked him as they reached the corridor and turned towards a large staircase.

"Busywork. Janos Slynt had neglected telling the Goldcloaks of the Gate of the Gods about the terms of our agreement. I had to go and make him remember who exactly he's working for," he said with a snort.

"He does seem the forgetful type," Sansa agreed as they ascended the staircase.

"Not anymore… or at least I hope so, for his own wellbeing," Joffrey added with a feral smile.

"No wonder everyone's looking at you strangely, that grisly satisfaction would be out of place in anyone, much less the 'old Joffrey' as you've described him," Sansa reasoned.

"You'd be surprised," Joffrey snorted, "I think what most shocks everyone is the fact that I seem to vaguely know what I'm doing. Well, that and wondering where the hell I'd kept the seemingly endless stack of gold dragons," he added.

"Hm. About that, Baelish's former coffers will run dangerously low if you keep spending gold like that. Are you sure every single one of your recruits needs chainmail and half plate? The cost is ruinous," she said as they walked past a few servants who bowed or smiled gently… mostly at Sansa truth be told.

"Hey, the cost will go down once the river powered hammers can get to work… besides, I didn't question the very questionable order of Myrish silks and dresses you slammed over last week," he shot back.

"You need your armor as much as I need mine Joff, besides, it was such a bargain," she said almost dreamily.

Joffrey stayed quiet for a few seconds before nodding grudgingly, "Yeah, I suppose... I mean one gold dragon the stone?!" he whispered in ludicrous awe.

"He must have been crazy," agreed Sansa.

"Maybe he was not expecting such a skillful negotiator here in Westeros?" Joffrey asked himself with a smile, leering at Sansa, "So skillful," he added innocently.

"Tease," she said in annoyed exasperation as she slapped his shoulder. Well, more like punched. It didn't matter that her partner was built out of pure coiled muscle, she knew exactly where to hit.

"Ow, you wound me fair maiden!" he said theatrically as Sansa grinned.

"I'm serious Joffrey. You need to top hemorrhaging gold or the whole Blackworks will grind to a halt without us ever seeing a single bent copper in investment returns," she said as Joffrey held up his hands in peace.

"Don't worry," I've got a plan for a sudden gold infusion the likes of which even the Iron Bank would gape over.

"Do you?" she asked in suspicion as they reached the upper sections where the Small Council chambers had been built.

"Ser Barristan, Ser Boros," he nodded at the Kingsguards, standing guard by the doors.

"Not so fast," Sansa huffed as she pulled him back, "You're a mess Joffrey," she huffed as she cleaned a bit of dirt from his black doublet, buttoning a few stragglers as well as brushing his hair backwards.

"Of course, I must look respectable for these august meetings," Joffrey nodded as he inflated his chest, "You know, I'd much rather those hands went the other way around," he added lowly as she buttoned up the last one.

Sansa's cheeks flushed as she re arranged Joffrey's black cloak, "Don't tempt me," she whispered, her nails digging discreetly into his neck as she straightened the cloak. It was more a cape than a cloak really, and it had a tendency to whirl freely behind him when he walked. Joffrey said it made him looked dignified…

Sansa just thought it made him look like a depressed, blond Bravo.

Joffrey sighed as looked at her, "You're so cruel," he whispered in longing.

"Let's go, we're already late," she said loudly as she pushed him towards the door, Ser Barristan smiling wistfully as the couple passed by.

"Sorry I'm late, we really should redraw the city's street plan," Joffrey said as the members of the small council nodded at him.

"Of course Prince Joffrey, perhaps you shall magic the coin needed for that as well?" Renly asked him grandly. "Maybe I will!" Joffrey agreed with an easy smile, and Sansa pinched his hand as she curtsied lightly.

"Please accept our apologies Your Grace, the Prince can be quite scatterbrained at times," she said, shooting Joffrey a warning glare.

"You don't have to apologize to me girl!" Robert bellowed, waving the excuse away as he smiled happily, "Gods only know why you both insist in attending these meetings," he said in genuine confusion before looking at Ned. "Now Ned, about the tourney," he asked his Hand as Joffrey and Sansa sat.

Ned took a second to respond, still holding the vaguely confused stare that took over him when he saw Joffrey and Sansa. As usual though, it returned to his habitual introspective grey as he answered the King, "More knights keep coming by the day, and the city's infrastructure is barely keeping pace… Robert… please think about the prizes again. The first place in the Joust alone is-"

The King frowned, "We've talked about this Ned, just get it done and let the people have some fun, Seven knows we need it," he said as he stared at him.

"At least all those knights and lords in the city are spending, we're getting a lot of gold back through taxes already even before the tourney starts," said Tyrion.

"Not as much as we could…" whispered Sansa, too low for the rest of the table to hear as Joffrey nodded halfheartedly.

"Taverns and brothels especially are making a killing right now, and that should only improve in a few days," Tyrion added.

"You'd know about that, eh Imp?" Robert asked him with a smirk.

"As Master of Coin it is my duty to oversee all economic activity within the city," said Tyron, serious as a butler in a Braavosi tragic opera, only to repeat himself, "All activity," he added, still serious.

Robert guffawed, and Joffrey smiled to himself in satisfactions at one of their first schemes. It had taken some team work on both Ned and Robert, but between him and Sansa they'd managed to convince both about instating Tyrion as the new Master of Coin, after Lord Baelish had gone 'missing' one day.

In truth, Robert hadn't needed much convincing. He and Tyrion shared an appreciation for many of the finer things in life, like whores, wine, and hating Cercei.

Sansa looked at him strangely when he didn't back up Ned on the issue of the prizes, but he shook his head discreetly. They whispered back and forth some suggestions on how they could fleece the knights and the nobles during the three day tourney as the meeting continued, and they sometimes spoke up with suggestions at some of the problems Tyrion and Ned had encountered.

Renly seemed bored, eyeing them once in a while. Pycell seemed about to doze off, though they both knew better. And Varys still seemed to somehow study them constantly without even gazing their way, sending chills down Sansa's spine.

They had been playing a deadly game after all, in dark alleyways and secret passages, a game which Varys often won three out of four times. Sansa's spies had a habit of turning up in the Blackwater with their throats slit… though at least she was learning…

Slowly...

-: PD :-

The Councilors quickly left after the meeting was over, but Robert held Ned's arm before he could stand up.

Joffrey and Sansa made their way outside quickly. He laughed at something Sansa told him before he leaning over and whispering in her ear. "You think? You think?" she said loudly, shaking her head, "You wouldn't know good taste if it hit in you in the head Joff," she said in mock despair as they left the room and their voices grew indistinct. They had locked their elbows together tightly and in unison without even a glance, as if guided by an old instinct.

Only Ned and Robert remained in the room, both still seated as Robert smiled wistfully. "I had a few doubts at first but damn me to the Seven Hells Ned if that wasn't the best idea I've had since you lot slammed the crown on my head," he said intensely.

Ned sighed.

"Come on you old grump, spit it out," Robert said good naturedly.

"… She's just changed so much," he finally admitted, his voice weary as he looked away, "She used to fight Arya for the most inconsequential of things, and there was not a day when I couldn't find her gossiping with Jeyne or asking the Septa for old maiden's tales…" he stopped, but kept talking as Robert kept gazing at him, a usual occurrence since they'd first met. He was one of the few people undeterred by his stoic mannerisms, "Now she's organizing small feasts and going over Joffrey's accounting ledgers, getting a feel for the court here… she even made her own retinue out of whole cloth with only a few letters… they seem…" he trailed off as he shook his head in a strange mixture of pride and regret.

"They seem like a married couple already," Robert completed the sentence, his own voice strangely similar to Ned's except for the nostalgia that laced it tight. "You don't think Joffrey's changed as well?" he asked his best friend with a piercing look, "Before he met your daughter he was a spoiled child still sucking from his mother's tits. A wimp of a boy, more Lannister than Baratheon…" he trailed off, the pride sparking brighter inside of him and smothering another tiny bit of the bitter regret which had inhabited his soul for so long.

"Now," he said wistfully as he stared at the ceiling, "Now he wakes up before dawn to ride off to his little training grounds to the north," he whispered before looking back at Ned, "Have you seen what he does there?" he asked him.

Ned shook his head.

"I saw him a week ago. I'd spent two whole days without finding a single boar in the Kingswood before I decided to ride north and try my luck in the smaller woods he seems so fond of. We were walking quietly, searching for the wild beasts when I heard the sound…" he explained.

Ned stayed quiet, curious as Robert shook his head with a half-smile.

"He was marching in some sort of strange quick walk, same as the mass of men which followed him. He was clad in plate and filled with sweat, his gear probably even heavier than the one his men carried. They must have been marching for hours, but it was in that moment that he suddenly stopped and turned back, hollering something about squares and ambushes," he said, his eyes thick in recollection, "Quick as lightning, his troops formed a square of halberds as he somehow appeared in the middle of it, bellowing like a master-at-arms at green recruits as crossbows were loaded and the men struggled to complete the formation… he then congratulated them for being such a slow group of wretches, and told them they'd keep marching through the whole afternoon until they had it right, him included… and then they were off again, marching down the road in that strange quick step," he said with a smile.

"Joffrey seems pretty responsible, dutiful even," said Ned, a bit confused. "He's helped me a lot since I took the Hand."

Robert gave out a powerful guffaw, "Now he is. Ned, I'm not joking when I tell you he used to be little more than a wimpy coward more interested in frilly dresses than war," he said with a bewildered chuckle, "Now he's beating the shit out of his multiple squires with a hammer tipped spear all at the same time, running around the Blackwater setting up lumber mills and smithies and who knows what else, racing horses down the Kingsroad with a group of friendly smallfolk he conjured out of thin air… all while your daughter covers for him, meeting interesting people and sending them his way, whispering in his ear during the feasts and guiding him towards clusters of lords and squires..." he said, growing happier by the minute.

"That is, when they're not staring at each other like one of your direwolves eyeing a meal!" he added with a monstrous laugh.

"Robert!" Ned yelled as he shook his head compulsively.

"It's true! Don't you deny it!" he roared as he poured himself some wine, and some for Ned too. The effort of getting up and walking to the cabinet at the back for his own wine almost made him regret getting rid of Lumpy… almost. He was finding out he rather liked putting the effort for it.

Damn he was feeling good.

He was vaguely surprised when Ned accepted the cup with a heartfelt nod, drinking a considerable gulp before setting it down on the table.

"She's made a man out of him, your daughter," said Robert after he'd drank his fill as well, his voice a bit more quiet.

"They've both grown up it seems," Ned agreed as he took another sip.

"They draw strength from each other. As it was meant to be," Robert added quietly. "I feel it was fate Ned," he said after a moment of silence thick with meaning. "When they saw each other in Winterfell's courtyard… they just gazed at each other playfully, as if everything had already been spoken about and settled to their satisfaction. When I told Joffrey about the betrothal he just smiled knowingly and thanked me before rapidly going away to 'better know his wife to be'," he said, shaking his head gently.

"Sansa's reaction was oddly similar…" Ned said in turn, gazing at his cup.

"Our houses were meant to be together, it was written," said Robert, his voice laced with uncharacteristic conviction, swallowing something bitter and happy that had stuck in his throat, helped along with a bit of wine. "Not even the Targaryens could hold off what was meant to be, not indefinitely," he said in vicious satisfaction and maybe relief, as if an ancient duty had been finally set to rights.

They spent a quiet moment thinking about that, before Robert raised his cup, "For our children, may they prosper beyond our shadows and our regrets," he said, the turn of phrase oddly poetic coming from him. Somehow, he felt he'd finally done something right in his life.

Ned's cup clashed with his, and they both drank deeply as old and new memories faded and the two old friends decided to stay there a while longer in companionable silence.

-: PD :-

'The Northern Princess' the smallfolk have taken to calling her, thought Cercei as she gazed at her discreetly from the royal box, trying to suppress a bout of raw envy.

At first she'd thought Sansa Stark to be the perfect match for her Joffrey, an adequate, pretty, dutiful thing to serve as his son's Queen. As the weeks had passed though she'd started questioning that assumption more and more frequently.

Far from the placid, moldable personality she had expected to introduce to the Capital, Sansa Stark had introduced herself to the court like a princess in her own right. The girl seemed to have a knack for attracting the right sort of attention, and using it to her benefit even if she was still an amateur when compared with Cercei herself. She was traditionally beautiful, but her dresses and hairstyle were a mixture of northern and southern styles which made her approachable while giving her a touch of the exotic, far indeed from the southron worshiper her mother had all but described her to be.

She had arrived to the capital with a small court of her own, surrounded by northern maidens who only added to her mystique and which conformed a surprisingly loyal block… she didn't have even one informant amongst them. Their own aides alones; servants and guards and other assorted followers, had bolstered Lord Stark's garrison within the Red Keep by almost thirty souls.

She frowned when she saw her talk to one of the smallfolk laborers, the others around him nodding along to her words as a few others stared at the eclectic ensemble which surrounded her. Pretty young things and fiercely armed maidens who were plain and unremarkable but whose martial demeanor added to their charm and that of Sansa in turn.

She let out a breath as she suppressed something bitter in her belly, leaning back and frowning when Robert made his way to the seat by her side. He'd been strangely jolly for quite some time now… it probably meant he'd found another semi regular wench to fuck with. She'd have to take care of that before turning her attention back to Sansa, no sense in letting the disrespect stand for too long.

-: PD :-

Sansa thanked the smallfolk peddler as she sampled the smoked salmon which had been completely wrapped up in rolls of fresh bread. She sighed contently as she munched down the salted fish, the Cernbirch leaves gave it a decidedly fresh, minty after taste.

"As good as yesterday's, perhaps even better. Thank you Fryll," she said warmly, the smallfolk gushing at the praise as nearby workers and squires neared closer, drawn in by the smell and the high compliments of the 'Northern Princess'.

"You really laid it thick back there," said Lyra Mormont. She was rather plain, but her fierce looking spiked hammer, a favorite of Mormont ladies, and her chainmail, gave her a wild air that had a charm all of its own. She took more after her sister Alysane than Dacey, short of stature and possessing big thighs which only seemed to grow week after week.

"She was not exaggerating, they're really good," said Talia in between bites of her own 'smoked roll'. Even with her mouth full the Forrester girl's voice sounded like a call from the heavens. Sansa had been pestering her for singing lessons forever after hearing her one night by the Maidenvault.

"I don't know how you can eat that while breathing in the stench," said Lyra, her nose twitching as they all kept walking and Fryll was swamped by new orders. Lady trotted behind them, occasionally trying to steal one of the girls rolls and lowering her ears when Sansa glared at her.

She always tried again when she wasn't looking….

"Point there Lyra, and people badmouth White Harbor…" said Wylla as she shook her head, though Sansa noted the girl was munching her own roll with vigor. She seemed to have inherited the Manderly appetite even if her complexion was rather slender. She made a study in contrast when compared to Lyra, all supple dresses worked by White Harbor's seamstresses using wool and imported cloth.

"I suppose your sudden love for exotic dishes has nothing to do with the fact that you and the prince own all of these 'meal carts'?" Meera asked slyly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sansa replied airily, nodding at another worker as he walked quickly past them, guiding a donkey which in turn pulled a red and green cart which held racks of food and a small, simple wooden stove. It was a logical development from the oyster carts the Braavosi loved so much, only bigger, with an actual stove, a unified paint job and serving a very practical dish Joffrey had adapted from Yi-Ti. He said the actual Go-hong was spicier than setting your tongue on fire though… and as much as he missed some fire in his food, he much preferred the minty version he'd come up with.

"Sure you do," said the little Reed girl, accommodating the small trident which never left her back. Sansa had been honestly surprised when the Reed's had answered her letter. She'd just included her in her short list because Lord Howland was such a friend of Father's, she'd never actually thought one of the reclusive marshmen -or marshgirls she supposed- would answer her call. She had a cheerful disposition which would have almost made Sansa ignore the careful, intent way she observed everything… particularly herself and Lady.

The last member of their little party was perhaps the most unsteady. Jeyne Poole smiled lightly at the jests, though she stayed quiet afterwards, slowly and daintily eating her own roll. Sansa was ashamed to admit she hadn't been a really good friend to her these past few months. In Jeyne's eyes she had passed from her chief (and only) confidant to just one more in a group of girls, all of which hailed from more powerful houses. She still hadn't quite found her footing.

Still, she'd found some much needed female companionship after Joffrey had voiced that idea, dimly remembering the way Maergery Tyrell used her own handmaidens as covers, alibies, confidants and messengers.

Of course, northern handmaidens could serve as bodyguards in a pinch, a win over Maergery's own retinue which made Sansa feel inordinately happy with herself, despite the fact she'd never actually seen her before… Joffrey had just laughed at her when she'd told him that.

Joffrey…

She sighed as they passed through a small maze of tents clustered together, "I'm going to remind him not to break his neck, run cover for me?" she half asked, half ordered the girls which were all more or less near in age.

Jeyne sighed romantically, Lyra snorted, Talia smiled, Wylla nodded in understanding while Meera just gazed at her in thought. All assents in their own ways.

Lyra was quick to take charge, "Right girls, quick walk to the left and then to the right, and keep the roll stealer close or she'll give up the game!" she added as she gazed accusingly at Lady, only for the direwolf to sit and tilt her head, as if asking 'Who? Me?'.

"Good luck!" Talia whispered with her sweet voice as Sansa separated from the group.

"We'll meet by the other side Sansa. Careful now, or Lord Stark will have the Septa on our backs again," Lyra warned, and just like that they split ways.

Sansa made her way through the maze of tents until they started becoming more and more run down, flirting squires giving way to small boys frowning as they polished hard used plate, Arbor Gold giving way to Backalley Swill and smiling almost-courtesans to harried looking wenches from Flea Bottom.

She finally slipped past a closed tent flap to find Joffrey hammering at a thigh plate, the rhythmic clangs shadowing her steps until she was behind him.

Joffrey smiled as he felt her at his back, her arms holding him tightly and just a tad bit anxiously. He left the hammer over the small anvil, turning around to see her blue eyes swarmed with doubt.

"Joffrey," she muttered, looking at his face for a moment before leaning on his chest, breathing slowly.

"I'll be fine," he admonished her as he rolled his eyes, massaging her back as one would a startled pet.

"Don't patronize me!" she scolded him as she leveled an icy glare, "That's what you said last time, and you almost drowned in your own blood," she shot back as she stepped away.

Joffrey sighed as he watched her pace around the tent, fiddling with her fingers, "That was different," he said.

"Yes, so different you're going up against the same contender. If anyone had a knack for fighting exactly the same time every different life then it would be the Mountain," she said forcefully.

"Sansa, I was vaguely suicidal and wearing half dented plate. This time it'll be different," he tried to reason with her.

She shook her head, "Can't you just take second place? Twenty thousand gold dragons would still fund most of the Blackworks' second phase… and you've already won both the archery and the melee," she told him.

"Sansa, I'll be fine," he said.

"I just don't want to see you there on the ground again, spluttering blood as you babble incoherently about flowers and queens of beauty," she said quietly, "I don't care if we revive again, I don't want to see you like that again. Never," she whispered.

Joffrey embraced her quietly, and Sansa took a deep breath before looking at his eyes. "No show offs, you go in there, unseat Ser Gregor, and ride back to my side where you belong. Are we clear?" she said seriously.

Joffrey nodded once, slowly… before a smirk overtook his features and he ruined the seriousness of the moment. "I shall be a knight straight from legend, my fair maiden," he said in mock courtesy, and Sansa slapped him lightly, unable to repress a chuckle.

She sighed again before gently grabbing his cheeks and kissing him. "Good luck," she whispered after breaking it.

Joffrey gazed at her for a second before he kissed her forcefully; the imminent prospect of battle, the genuine worry behind her eyes, and the minty taste of her lips getting the better of him.

Sansa seemed vaguely stunned when he ended it, grabbing him by the cuff of his simple leather shirt and slamming him against the wooden cabinet next to the anvil.

He was about to apologize when she planted her mouth over his, her tongue questing deep before she leaned back and stared at him, breathing harshly.

Joffrey stared back for a few seconds as they breathed slowly, trying to get ahold of themselves even as they gripped each other firmly. Sansa's breaths seemed stronger each time, each one calmer than the last as she blinked slowly. He balled his fists after he released her, barely controlling himself…

Sansa finally got ahold of herself completely, breathing deeply one last time as she took a step back, unleashing a colossal, minty breath of hot air that smelled of Dure House and blissful nights by the hearth.

Joffrey blinked when he realized he was kissing her fiercely again, her nails trying their best to tear his shirt open.

"Wait. We'll be heard," he managed in between kisses, his hands now beyond his conscious control as they roamed over her belly. It seemed her training with the Mormont and Reed girls hadn't let up. He very much liked that.

"Every single hedge knight in this area is, was, or will fuck a wench today. Surely Ser Stars is but another of that worthy company," she replied huskily as she explored the side of his neck, nibbling on his ear.

Joffrey grunted as she lifted her and slammed them both against the bedroll by the side of the tent wall, unable to speak as Sansa held the back of his neck with an elbow lock, preventing any retreat from her onslaught of burning kisses.

"Suicidal," she said in disdain as she broke the last kiss and he gazed at her, fire in his eyes, "I'll make sure to remind you all of the reasons you have to live," she whispered as she started to unlace her dress, Joffrey's ever helpful hands aiding in the endeavor even if they had a tendency to get sidetracked.

-: PD :-

Sansa leaned back on her seat right in front of the guard rail, trying to massage the persistent blush out of her cheeks as Bran and Arya chatted by her side.

"The Silver Knight will beat him for sure!" Bran muttered excitedly, even as Father shook his head fondly and leaned back on his seat as well, a few rows back.

"I don't know, what if the Mountain cheats or something?" Arya whispered back, gazing at the still empty tilting grounds. All around it were masses of knights and smallfolk, speaking loudly and perhaps half of them eating the delicious 'Smoked Rolls' which had sold like hot bread during the whole three days of the tourney.

"Just what exactly did you two do?" Wylla asked shrewdly from Sansa's side.

"We just talked," Sansa lied in what must have been the most unconvincing deception in the history of Westeros.

"Right," Lyra muttered from behind them as Jeyne and Talia whispered franticly in between giggles.

Sansa didn't dignify that with a response, shuffling in her dress a little before Meera leaned from her seat behind her and laced the last of it.

"Thank you," she whispered, the red in her cheeks growing ever stronger.

"You're welcome," replied the cheeky brat.

"For the Final Round! Ser Gregor of House Clegane! And, Ser Jonnel of House Stars!" shouted the crier, and the smallfolk were already cheering in anticipation as King Robert waved with his hand.

The Mountain's horse stopped just a bit to Sansa's right, the huge man bowing at the King lightly.

"… Ser Jonnel of House Stars!" the crier shouted again, looking everywhere around him.

Sansa shuffled awkwardly as she felt the gaze of her handmaidens upon her. "Not a word," she said between her teeth.

Arya turned to look at her with an impish smile, thoroughly confusing what was going on, "Sansa! I know the Silver Knight defeated your braaaave Ser Loras," she said the last words gleefully, "But that's no reason to wish him ill," she told her, vaguely affronted.

Sansa said nothing as she scratched her neck and leaned forward, tilting her head and scanning the far end of the yard as she tried not to bite her lip.

"Well I don't blame Ser Stars," Robert said with a small laugh as he shook his head. He stood up to proclaim the victor before Sansa's voice stopped him.

"Wait! There he is!" she said quickly, and two seconds later Joffrey galloped into view, clad in silver colored plate and wearing a helmet which covered his face. He rode his horse with an easy, fluid grace that seemed almost boneless, every single muscle in his body relaxed and attuned to the gait of the black horse as he effortlessly reined it in right next to the Mountain, going from gallop to standstill in a second.

He seemed cheerful enough, relaxed and confident…

Sansa breathed lightly, trying to douse the damnable blush-

The Mountain's horse shuffled backwards as Joffrey gave the King a florid, exaggerated bow, though she knew the bow was really directed at her… she knew he was staring at her with those eyes.

Cheeky idiot, she thought with a huff as the King nodded at the newcomer.

"Got your manhood back at the last minute eh? Well what are you waiting for!" he bellowed. The Silver Knight laughed in good humor at the jest before shuffling his shoulders and gazing upwards as he stretched his neck, completely at ease.

Sansa frowned as she looked at Joffrey, and coughed loudly as she squeezed her right shoulder.

He looked at her, then at himself before accommodating a pauldron which had slid out of place. He nodded graciously back at her like a knight from a tale before riding off, galloping back to his end of the tilting grounds like he owned the place, winking at her through his visor when he passed her by.

Is he teasing me here?! She thought in outrage, the flush in her cheeks returning with a vengeance as Joffrey whirled his horse in circles by the end of tilting grounds, putting up a brief spectacle of superb horsemanship before grabbing a lance from a helper, the smallfolk cheering as Father frowned and the King laughed. Even Lady seemed entranced by the show, sitting daintily by her side.

The Mountain was already roaring with impatience as the horns thundered, racing his horse down the tilting grounds like a runaway cog ahead of stiff winds, and Joffrey…

Worry fought exasperation as her beloved positively swaggered down the lane, his gallop oozing confidence as he hunched lightly like some sort of crossbow bolt, his lance leaning from side to side until suddenly it pounced downwards just as the Mountain reached him. Sansa's heart hammered in panic as a cloud of splinters surrounded them, both her hands flying to her mouth against her will as the explosion of sound washed over her and Ser Gregor roared. The Mountain fell to the side, slamming his head against the opposite guard rail as his horse raced on, Joffrey tossing aside his broken lance and saluting the public in triumph. He seemed to be shuffling his shoulder slightly, but Sansa could see no blood for now…

She let out an explosive breath of relief as she leaned back, the clapping and cheering public still celebrating the victory.

It seemed everyone was cheering loudly, and Sansa rolled her eyes as Joffrey's horse cantered towards the Royal Box. Robert was already calling for the prize money to be brought forward when Joffrey bowed, his horse carrying him towards the lovely looking crown of roses and violets which was perched next to the shields of the defeated.

"Oh Seven," Sansa muttered in preemptive shame as Arya giggled.

"Wanted it for your own, didn't you?" her sister needled her as Joffrey cantered back towards the Royal Box, the crown light in his hands.

"Please don't," she half muttered, half shouted… but Joffrey seemed to ignore her as he stood upon his stirrups, holding the crown aloft like some sort of knight from an Essosi play.

He's really going to do it, Sansa despaired as she repressed a chagrined smile.

"And now, by the ancient traditions of our fine Kingdoms, I shall proclaim my undying love for the most beautiful maiden of them all!" he proclaimed grandly, the smallfolk going wild even as the Queen shook her head.

"Oh, he's one of those," Robert muttered to Father, still smiling.

Joffrey cantered ever closer, and Sansa grit her teeth as he stopped in front of her, the horse leaving him level with her face. She gave up on her fate as she gazed at his twinkling eyes through the visor, a fond smile taking over her features as he pitched his voice to carry. "I proclaim Lady Sansa Stark as my Queen of Love and Beauty, the most beautiful maiden in all of creation!" he shouted as he gently placed the crown on her head, red and violet petals swirling down her face as she gazed at him fondly, unable to stay mad when he looked at her with those eyes.

Again.

There was a lot of cheering from most of the smallfolk, but from the noble stands there was a deathly silence. She could hear startled gasps and whispers from all around her as Joffrey kept talking, pitching his voice to carry.

"Her azure gaze calls to me like the Sunset Sea itself, calm and serene even as it hides grand storms of great power and strength!" he called out as he gazed at her, bold as brass.

"This- this is an outrage!" screamed Cercei, "Robert! Will you do no-"

"I bid you silence, graceful Queen!" shouted 'Ser Jonnel' as he interrupted her, "For not even royalty can stop the blazing strength of true love!" he proclaimed with a flourish of his hand, "Verily! Not even in my dreams can Lady Sansa's true beauty be held! Why, were I a pious man I would take her for the Maiden herself come to redeem my wretched existence!" he said the stream of bad poetry without even a hint of slowing down.

"Joffrey- stop!" Sansa managed in between unstoppable giggles, the grumbling and whispering coming from all around her and increasing in volume as the smallfolk quieted down.

"Robert! Jaime! This hedge knight dares-!" Cercei screeched apoplectically even as Father stood up with a look of outraged in his face. Robert was bellowing for the Kingsguard to seize 'the bastard' as he turned red and stumbled out of his seat.

"I-I-I- will not accept-" Bran called out as he stood up from Arya's side before Lyra leaned over and pushed him back down.

"Don't be silly," she whispered at the brother of her lady.

"Lord Stark!!! Allow me the satisfaction!!!" roared an enraged Jory as he made his way towards Sansa's seat, shoving away guests and servants even as Ser Barristan reached the guard rail from the other end of the stand and jumped to the mud, his sword coming out in one smooth notion.

"Dismount and step away from Lady Sansa Ser Jonnel!" Ser Barristan called out as he strode towards them, his sword flashing under the midday sun, "Preserve what honor you have left!" he said dangerously.

"Never!" proclaimed Joffrey like one of the martyrs in 'A Braavosi's Duty', turning his head to look at Ser Barristan as he puffed his chest. Sansa came to the horrifying conclusion that he was not going to stop until she made him stop.

"Never- I say again, Just Kingsguard! If I am to die for my love then so be it, for gladly I would-" she interrupted him as she leaned forward and ripped the helmet out of his head, scoffing loudly.

"Hey!" Joffrey said as he turned towards her, sporting a monstrous, mirthful grin as he tried to keep proclaiming his 'undying love' before Sansa managed to silence him with a deep kiss. She didn't know if she did it because it would really shut him up, or because she needed some damned release after almost watching her beloved die to a stupid tourney. She really didn't care at this point.

Everyone seemed to stop and stare, silence reigning once more as enraged roars for 'Ser Jonnel's' head died in most of the various lord's throats… well, everyone except for Arya.

"Ewww!" shouted her sister in a pique of eloquence.

She broke the kiss reluctantly, Joffrey smiling at her as he leaned back. "You know there's going to be hell to pay for that," he pointed out.

"Yeah. Enjoy it while they're still in shock?" She asked him.

"Alright," he said as he shuffled closer to his horse's head, leaving enough space for Sansa to jump over from the stand and ride sidesaddle behind him.

"All hail the winner of the Joust, Melee, and Archery contests!" Sansa proclaimed boldly as she raised Joffrey's hand, the horse cantering slowly past a slack jawed Ser Barristan and angling for a victory lap around the titling area, "My betrothed, Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon!" she roared proudly.

The smallfolk went insane. They whooped and hollered in cheer as they stood up and stamped their feet, clapping and calling out to them. The Royal Box and its surroundings seemed less enthusiastic, a few of the spectators clapping in shock while others were still in the grips of confusion.

"bhw... bw… BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Roared King Robert, holding his belly with one hand as the other slammed his armrest, laughing like a man possessed. The Queen looked at the cantering couple and back to Robert a few times before her enraged expression slowly morphed into irritation, shaking her head. Robert kept laughing as tears leapt out of his eyes, and Cercei found herself chuckling lowly at the sheer unreality of the situation.

Has my son just won every single competition in this blasted tourney? She thought as she worked through the shock and the implications.

"Prince Joffrey is the Silver Knight!?" Bran finally got a hold of his voice, "Prince Joffrey told me- teach me how to fight- the Silver Knight-!" he babbled in awed incoherence as Jeyne sighed and almost melted beside Talia.

"They're so romantic," she sighed as Sansa's crown left a trail of petals behind the horse, a few of them tangling in her hair. Talia giggled as she patted Jeyne's back, sneaking a glance to a grim faced Lyra.

"What?" she asked her.

"We're stuck with the Septa again," she said, exasperated.

"Nothing we can do about that," Meera said sagely.

A bit behind them and to the left stood Jory Cassel, his hand leaving the pommel of his sword. "My Lord?" he asked, not sure about how he should feel.

"Let them ride Jory, let them ride," Said Lord Eddard as he gazed at the happy couple, "Then we'll talk," he added in a tone of voice that left Sansa's handmaidens wincing.

-: PD :-