Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-.PD.-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-.PD.-

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

It was only proper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-.PD.-

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

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

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

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

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

-.PD.-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jeyne?" Sansa asked, dumbfounded.

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

"Jeyne!!!" Sansa screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She started when there was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Ser Halton. "Courtyard's clear enough, only a few Goldcloaks looting here and there," he said.

"What do we do with the girls?" asked the smallish guard as the knight grabbed Bran's body.

"I'll show you soon enough, follow me," he commanded as he left the room.

Sansa and Arya were carried swiftly, over the shoulders of the other guards as they descended the last of the stairs and emerged into the courtyard. "Like the good Ser said, nice and quiet," whispered the spearman as he placed a dagger against her ribs, and Sansa had to hold her breath so she didn't scream at the sight of the Septa and then Alyn sprawled over the cobblestones. The few Goldcloaks present didn't even bother looking up at them, sorting through the bodies of slain Stark guardsmen for anything of value.

They were quickly carried out of the Tower and towards the south east, halting a couple of times to let a few Red Cloak stragglers limp by. Sansa tried to think of a way to get away, but her dagger had been stripped away, and Lady was dead. She bit her lip when they reached the Red Keep's east wall, Blackwater Bay crashing against the jagged rocks far, far below, barely illuminated by the quarter moon high in the sky.

The spearman slammed her against the stone crenellation, the other guard doing the same with Arya as another waved crashed down below. "Arya…" Sansa whispered as she looked at her, her head pinned against the hard stone, "Arya… stay strong," she told her with a strangled voice.

Arya looked back at her in panic, blinking every second as she cried. Abruptly, the knight tossed Bran's body towards the sea, and Sansa sobbed again as his body disappeared within the waves.

"We toss her too then?" asked the smallish guard as he lifted Arya over the crenellations, one of her shoes falling down as she renewed her struggle.

"ARYA!!!" Sansa shouted, trying to get away from the spearman's iron grasp.

"Slit her throat first you idiot," Ser Halton commanded.

"Sansa…" Arya sobbed before the guard drew a bloody smile on her neck with a dagger, blood running down her chest as she blinked in surprise. Sansa could see the life leaving her eyes as they drooped, her head hanging forwards before the guard tossed her towards the sea.

Sansa found she couldn't scream, it died in her throat as she kept looking at the waves and her sister's disappearing body, her mouth moving slowly and not making a sound.

"That'll keep her mum enough," declared the guard as he stared down as well.

"Quite," said Ser Halton as he grabbed the guard from behind and slit his throat in turn, slamming his head against the crenellations and letting the limp body sprawl backwards.

"What the hells!? What are you doing!" roared the spearman as he turned and faced the knight, holding Sansa as a shield with a dagger on her throat.

"Killing all the witnesses, what the bloody hells does it look like," said the knight with a snort as he brandished the dagger.

"Stand back!" screamed the guard as he tightened his hold on Sansa and the dagger pierced her neck, a bit of blood running down her neck.

I'm sorry Joffrey, I wasn't strong enough… I wasn't smart enough… Sansa thought as she closed her eyes.

"Or what? You'll kill the other witness? You were never the smartest of lads," laughed the knight, and the guard shoved her towards him with a desperate roar. The knight batted her aside with one hand, making her slam against the crenellations as the guard jumped at him with the dagger. The Knight held the man's arm in stalemate for a moment before he dropped his own dagger and grabbed the man's legs with his now free hand. He gave a powerful bellow before he tossed the guard down the wall with his superior strength, the man's scream growing distant as he tumbled a few times over the rocks before the sea claimed him.

Sansa had barely stood up when the knight grasped her shoulders and slammed her once more against the crenellations, jolts of agony crawling up and down her back as he squeezed her shoulders painfully and his mouth forced its way into hers.

"Nothing like a bit of killing to get the blood up, heh?" he told her as he broke the slobbering kiss. Sansa screamed in despair as his hands rummaged through her breasts, still with Bran's blood on them.

"I've never taken a Lord Paramount's daughter before, shame it'll have to be quick," he whispered into her ear as she screamed again, sobbing as she wished he just killed her already.

"Open your legs you whor"- the knight stuttered as an arm coiled around his throat and a dagger slammed into his eye socket. The arm dragged him back as Sansa slid down the crenellations and she sat on the ground, holding her arms against her chest as she saw Joffrey cradling the knight's head as if it were a baby, his dagger coming up and down over the man's head almost mechanically as he snarled, concentrated as he stabbed it again and again and again.

Joffrey tossed the man's body against the floor with another snarl. He turned his head to look at her all of a sudden and Sansa winced in reflex, her hands tightening around her chest as she closed her eyes and kept crying. His face softened as he blinked, taking a careful step as he sheathed his dagger.

"Sansa…" he whispered as he carefully helped her stand up and she grabbed his neck like a lifeline, crying into his shoulder desperately.

"Breathe Sansa… breathe…" he whispered hollowly as he tried to guide her somewhere, her lax legs making him stumble. "Remember what I told you back in the Red Fork? Sansa," he said as he sat her gently against the floor, "Sansa… remember what I told you when we were floating down the river?" he asked her.

"Ahg, uhg, youhg-" she sobbed incoherently, and Joffrey gently grabbed her cheeks as he aimed her eyes at his.

"Breathe Sansa… breathe and remember…" he told her as she lost herself in those steely green eyes, hiding raw despair as well as unstoppable rage… and a gentle tenderness which made her laugh and smile, in a time which seemed long, long ago.

"I… yhou…" Sansa breathed as she gazed at his eyes, "Y-you t-t-told me… to b-be b-b-b-brave," she said as she breathed deeply, as if she were a child just learning how to speak.

"I did, I did Sansa," Joffrey told her, and she thought she could hear a distant, deep misery in his voice, perhaps harsher than ever.

I… I have to… be brave for him… I must keep up, she thought as she tried to stand up, Joffrey helping her.

"W-we have to get out," she told him as she took a deep breath, smoothing her torn dress, "Renly f-flooded the Outer Courtyard with his men, he has the G-Goldcloaks Joffrey," she told him as they started to walk again, holding each other.

Joffrey seemed startled, "Fuck, without Slynt… it makes sense," he said as they walked, "Do you remember how many men were left around the Gatehouse?" he asked her urgently as they walked.

"I didn't see the Gatehouse, but the Outer Courtyard had a-at, at least two, no, three dozen men moving around it after they took me," she said.

"Too many… alright, we'll have to go another way. Come, I know a secret passageway… we'll have to swim by the end of it though," Joffrey muttered as he looked back with a wince.

"Joffrey, your wounds-"

"I'll be okay, we just need to keep going," he said with gritted teeth.

"Wait, but Joffrey… what about my Father?" she whispered as they jogged past an opened door to the deserted South Eastern tower.

"He didn't make it out of the Great Hall, I'm sorry Sansa," Joffrey told her as he winced again in pain, each step down the stairway taking a toll on him, avoiding the fallen helmets and pieces of discarded armor.

Sansa leaned on the stone wall, feeling as if she'd just been punched in the gut. "How," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"I'm not sure, but something happened in the Great Hall and steel was drawn. The only thing I know for certain is that someone, I think Ser Barristan, slew Ser Loras in the melee, and Renly was enraged. I could hear his screams from floors away…" Joffrey said as he grabbed her shoulder gently and prodded her. Sansa shook her head as she kept moving downwards, listening to the words that sealed the fate of her Father. "By the time I got there only bodies could be found… I'm sorry Sansa," he said again.

"It's not your fault," she whispered, her voice tired.

"It is. I should have seen this coming. Killing Baelish and Slynt so overtly must have pushed Renly over the edge…" he muttered in frustration.

"… Y-you were the one who killed the Master of Coin?" she asked him, eyes wide.

"Yes," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Sansa said nothing as they ran down the long corridor, Joffrey shouldering a half opened door to a medium sized cellar with a dozen Goldcloaks in it, looting caskets of wine.

"Hold in the name of the K-!" one of them shouted before Joffrey threw his dagger and it impaled him in the eye.

The rest of them were drawing swords or readying half spears as Joffrey extended his hand horizontally and Brightroar materialized in a swirl of Purple-Golden fractals. He leapt at another Goldcloak as they stumbled back, cutting his spear in two before he ripped the man's jaw off with the backswing.

"DIEEE!!!" He roared as the Silver Lion materialized right behind him and slammed into one of the Goldcloaks, crushing him underneath its huge paws as it bit into his neck.

Some of the Goldcloaks stumbled back as others rushed Joffrey with screams of panic or fear, but Joffrey carved a bloody path amongst them with the golden sheen of Brightroar, Stars by his side and mauling any flankers to death. One particular flanker had not been killed though, merely smashed against one of the now ruptured barrels of wine. He stood up unsteadily as he gazed at his comrades being slaughtered and took a short sword out of his belt, giving an incoherent scream of fear as he rushed Joffrey's back, the tip of the sword glinting malevolently under the light glare of the oil lamps.

Sansa jumped at the man's back before he could shank Joffrey and they tumbled on the stone floor, the man screaming as she shoved her fingers into his eyes, not knowing what else to do. The screams turned shrill as Sansa kept pushing and the sound of rending flesh filled her ears, like torn parchment and squished apples, her thumbs still moving forward as he screamed. A hand moved her aside before Brightroar slammed into the man's skull, but somehow the screams didn't stop.

"Sansa! Sansa!!!" Joffrey roared at her ears, and she suddenly realized she was the one who had been screaming all the time. She leaned to the left of the corpse and vomited on the ground, dry heaving when there was nothing else left.

"I'm here Sansa, I'm here," Joffrey whispered loudly into her ear, holding her as she rocked. She grabbed his arms tightly as her efforts failed and she started crying again.

"Let's go Joffrey… let's get away from here," she managed in between sobs, blinking away the tears and trying not to look at the blood on her hands as she stood up.

I… I've got… to be strong… she thought in a daze.

"Just a little bit more Sansa, just a little bit more," Joffrey whispered fiercely as they walked between the corpses of the torn apart Goldlcoaks, though the Silver Lion was nowhere to be found.

Joffrey did something to one of the barrels in the far back which looked too broken to be of use, and it opened as if it were a door. Soon they almost crawling along the small space, Joffrey leading the way with the small torch he'd looted from one of the dead Goldcloaks.

The sudden silence beyond the screams of death and battle made both of their breaths incredibly audible, and Sansa had to take a few seconds to calm herself as she walked behind Joffrey, her hand held tightly in his. The silence also allowed her to notice the slight hitching of Joffrey's breath every two steps, the way he swayed after each time he turned back to make sure she was okay, the way he painted a trail of blood through the corridor.

"Joffrey… stop…" she whispered.

He looked at her in puzzlement as she felt his chest, wet with blood.

"Stiches must have opened," he grimaced.

"What would happen if you died right now?" Sansa asked him hollowly as she tore another piece of her dress and bandaged it around his chest, her long hours knitting and learning about fabric serving a new purpose in the bowels of the Red Keep.

"… From all signs, the Purple will reset the world. I'll wake up in my room three days after Jon Arryn died… and so would you," he told her, biting off a wince as Sansa slipped and tied the bandage too hard, always keeping her broken hand out of his sight.

"But only you would remember…" She half asked.

"Yes… would… would you like me to do it?" asked Joffrey, his voice unreadable.

"No," came her fierce reply as she tied another bandage, making Joffrey wince. "You won't make me forget this Joffrey, I won't allow it… I… It can't have been in vane…" she trailed off, her voice raw.

"You'll be safe and sound back in Winterfell, your family will"-

"And then what Joffrey? How many times have you seen my family like this?! How many times… How many times have you seen me like this?" she asked him as her eyes bored into his.

Joffrey stared at her, his face pained as Sansa shook him.

"Tell me," she commanded him.

"… too many…" Joffrey whispered, avoiding her sight.

Sansa said nothing, turning back to the wound.

Wordlessly, Joffrey tucked his shirt down and kept moving, though Sansa's hand found his again in the darkness of the tunnel, the roaring of the sea growing steadily closer as they neared a source of slight moonlight.

Joffrey opened the hidden trap door with a grunt, helping Sansa up as she beheld the cloudy night again, only the sound of the sea to keep them company. "Here, let me tie this," Joffrey muttered as he got a hold of a length of rope tied to a small wooden post near the beach.

Sansa said nothing as she stared at the sea, imagining Bran or Arya's corpse suddenly leaping from the foam and landing in the beach with a dull thud, empty eyes boring into her-

"Sansa, come on," he said gently, and she followed him into the sea, wading against the dark waves. "We'll be swimming for a small pier north of here, only a little distance away. It's a small fisher's village, practically a suburb of King's Landing. If you get tired just focus on staying afloat, I'll do the rest," Joffrey said as the waves splashed against her, washing her bloodied hands.

"Joffrey, if I die here… don't close yourself off again. Tell me what happened the moment you see me back in Winterfell," she pleaded.

Joffrey said nothing as he stared back at her, the waves splashing against his blood stained, blonde hair.

"Joffrey promise me," she commanded, but her pleas went unanswered as Joffrey kept walking against the waves.

"Come on Sansa!" he shouted as if he hadn't heard her.

The sea was cold, the salt coarse as it rubbed against the bruises and cuts that peppered her face, the hand the knight had crushed in his grip barely more than a dead weight as she struggled against the currents, the rope taught.

I won't die here. I can't, she thought as she swam, her hand sending jolts of horrific pain after each brace.

I won't forget, she thought as her vision clouded, foggy release clamoring for oblivion as it surrounded her in a haze of wellbeing, the waves shaking her around as she tried to keep up with Joffrey.

I won't leave him… she thought as she blinked and her hand stopped aching.

-.PD.-

She awoke to the feeling of harsh sand dragging against her chest, pieces of her tattered dress falling behind as she struggled against invisible chains. She raised her head to see a ragged looking Joffrey pulling the length of rope through a beach. He stumbled to the ground as she watched, biting off a scream of pain and perhaps angst.

Sansa struggled against the sand as she crawled towards him, foamy waves buffeting her body painfully as she made her way atop the white sand and reached his prone form.

"Come on Joffrey," she rasped, her voice spent as she shook his shoulders.

"…Sansa…" he whispered, blinking slowly. He seemed exhausted, an emaciated figure of ragged clothes and bleeding wounds. She imagined she looked roughly the same. "The currents… we overshot…" he tried to explain, and Sansa was horrified to find not a trace of civilization, a forest of trees and shrubbery ahead of them and only the sea at their back as the horizon steadily became more and more illuminated by the coming sun.

"We have… to get off… beach… Renly…" Joffrey stuttered, shivering as he desperately tried to talk coherently, his eyes wild.

"He'll send search parties," Sansa rasped in understanding. He could not let the heir apparent and rightful king slip through his grasp after a coup, he had to be found by any means necessary… even if it meant scouring every piece of land, coast and sea within a hundred miles of King's Landing, roads, villages, forests and coastline.

"Come on," she whispered as she helped him up, wrapping her arm around his deceptively light weight and carrying him towards the forest. They must have made a pathetic image, two ragged, limping silhouettes against the dawn to come. Joffrey didn't seem to be helping much, stumbling half blindly as Sansa huffed in effort, keeping a slow if steady pace towards the forest and lifting most of Joffrey's weight with each step.

"The maiden doesn't save his knight, it's usually the other way around you know?" she whispered as they kept limping together, passing by the first shrubs and small trees. She realized she was shivering just as hard as Joffrey, and she was mildly perplexed by the complete lack of control she had over the erratic movement.

"Generic, dutiful maidens are boring," Joffrey whispered back with a half-smile, his eyes all but closed as he left all the steering to Sansa.

"Back to the backhanded compliments, I think you'll live Joffrey," she told him with a broken smile. The playful banter served to take her mind away from the wide eyed, surprised face of Arya as blood raced down her chest, as Bran coughed blood and closed his eyes. It helped her focus past the steadily agonizing throb of her other hand, swollen and angry looking as it hanged limply, past the swelling half of her face and the burning jolts that struck her body from every direction after each step.

After limping for a while they reached a small clearing in the forest, and Sansa let their combined weights fall against a struck tree which formed an irregular triangle between its broken length, its stump and the ground. A few shrubs had grown against the fallen tree, converting it into a haphazard shelter.

"Got to get back our body heat," Joffrey whispered as he took off the remains of his soaked shirt, only his ragged pants offering shelter against the elements as Sansa gave him a tired smile.

"I'd like to see Septa Mordane's face right now," she told him whimsically as she tore the remains of her dress, stripping until only her smallclothes remained. She suddenly remembered the broken, slashed form of the Septa, sprawling over the cobblestones as blood kept pooling around it, her perpetually stern face achieving an uncanny laxness in death.

She took in a quick breath as she winced, her good hand trying to halt the sobs before they began, but she failed as they increased in volume and frequency, trying to hide her face in shame at the lack of self-control. Joffrey offered wordless comfort as he hugged her, both of them lying down on the ground, side by side under the broken tree and shivering together, their bodies interwoven as the sun slowly rose from the east, the harsh cold making Sansa blink slowly.

-.PD.-

Sansa awoke to the sight of Joffrey staring dejectedly at a pile of kindling, a stick in his scabbed, torn hands. The wounds on his chest were not bleeding any longer, but they seemed blackened, a vaguely yellow sheen covering them in wide, angry streaks. She shuffled closer, biting off a scream as she used her broken hand. It looked swollen and ugly, a lump of flesh somehow affixed to her arm. She shivered before looking away, the cold still omnipresent as Joffrey crawled to her side, "Sansa, your hand…" he trailed off as he stared at it.

"Yours are hardly better," Sansa told him as she stared at the wooden splinters which peppered them.

"Tried to start a fire… couldn't find the strength to keep a good cadence," he said after biting off a cough.

"That's unfortunate," she said as she stared at them. The sun seemed all the way to their backs, settling in the west as the cold turned more and more pervasive. "Slept through most of the sunlight…" she grumbled.

"Hardly the sun's fault," Joffrey said drily.

"Yeah, it's yours. Should have woken me up," she told him in mock outrage, scuttling closer and leaning on him, drawn by his body heat like a moth to candlelight.

"How could I disturb such a sleeping beauty? It would have been a crime," he said matter-of-factly, somehow digging up a shred of mock enthusiasm from somewhere deep inside him.

Sansa looked down at the sea of cuts and bruises that covered her, feeling her swollen, throbbing cheek as she looked at her hand which resembling an overripe fruit. She couldn't suppress a vaguely hysterical giggle, a few tears streaming down her face as the giggle devolved into a harrowing, potent coughing fit. The coughs barely let her breath, so frequent they were. Joffrey palmed her back in concern as she kept at it, finally drawing in a quick, shallow breath as she got control of her lungs back.

They stayed quiet as the sun disappeared and the moon came back, tiny pinpricks of stars slowly materializing over the sky, the silence only broken by a few lone coughs from Joffrey. "We're not going to leave this forest alive, are we?" Sansa mused out loud.

"No," Joffrey answered after a moment.

"… and all these moments, the pain, the despair, the loss… they'll be gone forever? Erased from existence?" she asked him.

"…Yes Sansa, you will remember nothing of this," he said it as if it were a blessing.

"And you'll never again let me even talk to you, you'll flee from my sight even harder than before…" she said.

He did not deny it.

"You'll vow, in the name of your headstrong stupidity-" she snarled the last word as a slow fire was kindled to life deep within -"To never again make me go through this. To never again even contemplate the chance of it. You'll lock yourself into your own mind like never before, isolating yourself from everyone until you are undistinguishable from a specter, raging against the end of the world until your broken mind is finally shattered for good, until you sink so much in the loneliness and the despair you'll never get out again," the words poured out of her.

She felt Joffrey tense against her, looking away, "Sansa-"

"Tell me I'm wrong Joffrey," she said harshly.

"… you can be quite stubborn at times-" he tried to shift the conversation but Sansa grabbed his chin with her good hand and shoved it so he could say it to her eyes.

"Tell me," she willed, staring at his pale green eyes.

He sighed deeply, the rigid tension disappearing from his body, "I will, I'm sorry Sansa… I got carried away with… everything…" he apologized for… everything about this life, she supposed.

"And you'll just look at me, a wide eyed, naïve doe with not a clue in the world and just--… you'll just keep going along your lonely trail, flayed until you are no more…" she said in zeal.

"I'm sorry Sansa, but there's no other way," he said as he looked away.

Sansa took in a big breath of air, her nails biting into Joffrey's cheek as he turned his face again, "Except there is," she whispered fiercely.

Joffrey looked as if he'd been hit in the head, blinking repeatedly, "Look, Sansa, I know what I'm talking about," he said in a rush, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly, "The Purple-"

"You don't remember do you?" she said as she stared at his eyes, "You told me, back in your room," she said.

"I told you? Told you what?!" he asked, his breath accelerating as his eyes widened in panic and denial.

"You told me, Joffrey," she said as she looked away, taking a breath of her own. "I still feel like a person, not a 'weapon part'… but I suppose there will never be a way to find out how a supposedly real person should feel…" she trailed off with a sigh as she looked at the stars, "Philosophy was never Maester Luwin's preferred subject…"

Joffrey was opening and closing his mouth like a fish, slowly shaking his head, "Sansa, I… I would never tell you-"

"But you did, you did Joffrey," she hammered it in, back to his widened eyes. "You told me the truth. That I was but another part of the… weapon created to stop the Long Night. That we were meant to live and die together so we could stop it. Like bow and arrow, wheel and axel… you told me Joffrey," she said.

"No… No…" he repeated as if he were living a nightmare.

"You muttered something about experimenting so you could use one part of the 'weapon' and not two… back in your tent during the tourney. Only later did I realize you were talking about yourself… after your confession in Red Keep… the weapon was not a spell but you. You were talking about trying to find a way to defeat the Long Night without the other part… without me," she said.

"The milk of the poppy… no…" Joffrey trailed off as vague wisps of addled memories assaulted him, breathing hard as he tried and failed to say something, anything that would deflect the line of questions.

"Yes… I didn't know what to think. To be told you are not a person but a thinking weapon of some sort… and that we were all but soul mates… It must have been the most romantic thing I've ever been told," she said with an exasperated half smile, "It finally buried the concerns I had about your feelings…" she trailed off with a self-conscious snort. "Seven help me… it feels like years ago…" she whispered.

He said nothing, looking at her in despair as if he'd been cornered.

"There is a way Joffrey," she told him fiercely, the harrowing cold disappearing from her mind even as she shivered harder, "There is a way to make me remember…" she insisted.

"… I'll make certain Robert never brings Ned and your family back to King's Landing. Sansa, you won't have to remember, I'll make sure they stay safe! I promise I'll make-" he tried desperately before Sansa felt her face throb in pain again.

"THIS IS NOT ABOUT THEM!" she screamed, a colossal coughing fit following her outburst. "It would be awfully nice to forget Arya's face as she looked at me in fear and, and and incomprehension, not quite believing the way her blood kept squirting from her neck!" she raged after the coughs passed, "You think I wouldn't like forgetting about Lady's torn apart head? You think it wouldn't be nice to have a quiet life back in Winterfell with my family?! To be the doe eyed girl oblivious to this horrifying reality!?" she said as she started to cry again, gesturing at the clearing.

"I can make it happen Sansa," Joffrey whispered.

"You won't," she whispered back as she stared, resolute even as the tears silently slid down her cheeks. "I swear by any Gods that might be watching us right this moment, I swear Joffrey I won't let you go alone. I won't allow you to make me forget. I won't leave you alone against the end of the world," she said as if she were uttering a cosmic law, "If I am but a part of a weapon, then so be it… but I'll be where I belong. By your side… and if the Long Night annihilates us together, as you whispered back in the Red Keep, then I'll die knowing I did everything I could. Bran and Arya and Father and Jeyne and everyone's deaths shall have meaning," she said, exalted in the righteousness of her words as her soul thrummed in agreement and adrenaline flooded her body.

Joffrey looked desperate, shaking his head, "You don't understand-" he tried.

Sansa kissed him fiercely as she held his head with her good hand, the kiss almost brutal as the strain of the past few days came to a crescendo, the loss and the despair crystalizing into a heady, drunken determination. "I understand this," she whispered as her heart hammered and she broke the kiss, Joffrey looking at her in a daze.

"It's because we were made this way…" he whispered.

"But does that make it any less true? Forget about the cause Joffrey, feel…" she whispered urgently as she placed her forehead against his, all inhibitions gone as she desperately tried to make him understand, her mouth moving by its own will as she followed what seemed to be a fundamental truth at the core of her being, "I don't care who caused it. I don't care if you call it love or indoctrination. It. Is. There," She willed him to understand, "I don't know how we are supposed to stop the end of the world… but we'll do it together, I know this… and you know it too," she said.

Joffrey seemed almost lost, his forehead still against hers as his eyelids fluttered, eyes closed as he whispered unintelligible things, unable to deny the simple truth. Sansa had long since left familiar shores, ladylike restraint disappearing with the wind as she kept pushing against his forehead, as if she could enter the Purple spell by her own will, "Don't fight them alone. Take me with you…" she pleaded as she closed her eyes too.

There was a long silence as they stopped talking but somehow kept communicating, Sansa's good hand finding Joffrey's.

"As it was meant to be…" he whispered.

"As it is meant to be," she whispered back.

"It will be beyond horrible, beyond despair… beyond what you can comprehend… the pain you have suffered here will be nothing compared to what is to come Sansa, nothing compared to the wrath of the Purple, nothing compared to the torment that will await you after each death, like clockwork, an eldritch thing staring from on high daring you to look back and lose your sanity as it crushes you through the eons of time," he pleaded.

"You told me to be brave," she said as she imagining her face screaming under a great, monstrous purple eye looking from on high, the winds and the waves crawling back unnaturally as the sun rose from the west and settled in the east in the midst of agony, Joffrey's words painting a the shape of things to come.

"And the people… your friends, your family, everyone… after years, decades… they will always be the same, they will always look at you as you were, nobody will understand you, every single interaction will make you remember what you've lost, every single word they speak will flay your soul as the people you knew reset back to standard, laughter and sorrow and companionship lost to the mists of time never to be seen again, so many times you'll start to forget what each version knew and what part of their personality was with them in the times before you woke up… time and again and again and again and again…" Joffrey said the words like terrible prophecy, almost in a trance.

Sansa sobbed silently as the raw angst in Joffrey's voice hit her like a physical force. She couldn't begin to imagine that particular curse, but her face tightened and she breathed.

"I'll have you… and you'll have me…" she whispered.

"Sansa…" her stern protector despaired as she would not desist, her stubbornness making tears well up in his eyes when the rending savagery of steel on flesh had not. "Sansa…" he pleaded.

"Whatever comes, we'll face it together," she whispered.

Joffrey said nothing, only the distant roaring of the sea and the occasional chirping of wild birds punctuated the silence as the sun hid completely and Joffrey took a deep breath.

"I'll need a clear area," he whispered, so low Sansa had to strain to hear it.

"Will the middle of the clearing work?" she asked him as something roared deep within her and she heard a torrent of blood pumping through her whole body.

Joffrey opened his eyes and stared at the clearing, his face slowly hardening to what was to come. "It'll do," he said with a nod.

Sansa gave a muffled wince as she followed him, holding her broken hand with the other as Joffrey limped towards the center of the small clearing, his stride slowly becoming more and more confident as he breathed.

"Our creation was flawed, the original 'part' that was to connect our 'essence'… our souls, did not achieve creation in the first place… in time, I managed to fashion a substitute of sorts," he explained as he turned to look at her, his face locked in the same certainty, the same ascendant determination Sansa felt within herself. He kneeled with a wince, clearing leaves and branches from the center of the clearing.

"What should I do?" Sansa asked him as she helped him clear the area, her heart going out of control as she breathed harshly, her skin prickling as Joffrey stood up and closed his eyes.

Brightroar materialized in a twirl of golden-purple fractals, steady in his hands as he let a long, exhausted breath, opening his eyes to look at her. "Kneel in front of me, hands by your sides… Brightroar shall serve as an impromptu soul bridge so to speak… it will hurt, Sansa," he said as he looked at her in faint hope.

She didn't give in to her fear and Joffrey's hope, walking in front of him and taking another deep breath. She kneeled after a moment, the pain fading into a distant memory as her whole body tensed in anxiety. "Is this… is this alright?" she asked as she looked up to him, the golden sheen of Brightroar giving the clearing a slightly yellow tinge, the silver pommel staring at her from above.

"It is…" Joffrey whispered, still looking at her.

"Will I have to do something during… the ritual?" she asked him.

"… I don't know, maybe…" he said, his expression troubled, "We're missing bits and pieces of our original, designed forms, so that could complicate things… ultimately though, we were deigned to achieve this," he explained.

"It was meant to be…" Sansa whispered as she blinked.

"… It was meant to be, yes," Joffrey said with a sorrowful wince, looking up to the heavens.

"… do it Joffrey," she whispered, staring at the sword which still rested its tip on the ground.

"Sansa… there can be no turning back from this, we will be bound-"

"Until the Long Night destroys us. Not the wedding vow I expected to utter," she said with an amused smile that hid the dawning terror that was slowly taking ahold of her now that she stared at her death. A cold, numb thing worse than any physical cold, a dark pit that accelerated her breath and brought her to near panic as she gazed at the sharp blade.

If something went wrong, everything would just turn black… and Joffrey would soldier on through his lives, never even risking this chain of events ever again… that was what most scared her right this moment.

Joffrey smiled in bitter defeat, nodding slightly. He closed his eyes, concentrating on something as Sansa's breath hitched, trying not to make a sound so he was not distracted. She thought the wind picked up as Joffrey took in deep, slow breaths, the sword slowly rising over her chest as his arms passed his head and he held the pommel aloft.

"I'll find you back in Winterfell," he said in a monotone of supreme concentration, not a trace of doubt left in his voice as he kept his eyes closed, his face slack as was Joffrey's wont when he meditated.

"I'll wait for you," she whispered, staring at the golden blade.

She kept staring at it for what felt like an eternity, the dark skies almost oppressing the glow of Brightroar, a thousand memories flashing past her eyes in a second before Joffrey suddenly descended and the Valyrian Steel tore into her heart, his eyes still closed as Sansa took in a small, sharp breath of air… before slowly letting it go.

The horrible pain swiftly gave way to numbness, and the world lost definition as she blinked slowly and Joffrey opened his eyes in surprised horror.

No…

No...

She tried to speak but found she couldn't, and her mind became hazy as she closed her eyes and the silent night turned completely dark and she was lost to oblivion.

-.PD.-

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AND SHE TOOK IN A HARROWING BREATH OF AIR AS SHE SCREAMED AND BRIGHTROAR SHINED LIKE A NEWBORN SUN- SHE DESPERATELY GRASPED FOR THE PURPLE LIGHT OF JOFFREY'S SOUL AS LIGHTNING ERUPTED FROM THEIR LEAKING CONNECTION LIKE COLOSSAL SPIDERS WHICH CRAWLED UPON THE EARTH, THEIR SCREAMS OF AGONY INTERWOVEN AS SHE STRAINED TO GRASP HIM THROUGH THE GRAVE DRONING OF THE TUNNEL'S LENGTH- THE SEARING BOLTS OF LIGHTNING TRAVERSED THROUGH THE ENTIRE FOREST AND BEYOND SETTING THE VERY AIR ABLAZE AS THE SWIRLING INFERNO CONSUMED THEM AND SHE SCREAMED IN AGONY AS SHE HELD ON TO HIM AND A VAST INFINITY LAY UPON THEM AND THEIR THOUGHTS BECAME ONE AS A GREAT LANCE OF GOLDEN PURPLE LIGHT PIERCED HER VERY BEING AND TWISTED.