Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"I think I've got a plan," Sansa told him as he guided her through a quick, flurry like storm of movements with her daggers. The move itself was nothing fancy, just a quick double stab with each arm centered on a single point in the training dummy, designed to take out lightly armored opponents when weak spots were not visible or within the reach of the wielder. Joffrey was guiding her hands firmly, her own muscles resisting the strain under the almost brutal body training regime he had devised after a hundred lifetimes of getting back into shape. He'd told her that by now he knew how much each and every muscle of his body should hurt after each 'first' wake up. He'd even figured out how much he should increase the workout after each progressive day in a new life, and they'd both been working on adapting it for her own benefit.

"Oh?" he asked from behind, his hands now barely following hers as he deemed her speed appropriate. While swords had been proving an abject failure, and the spear an interesting if slow crawl, Sansa had found in her twin daggers a style that didn't seem as 'nonsensical' as the others, somehow. Just finding the relevant point and apply sudden pressure… of course the style Joffrey was teaching her was much more complicated than that, but she found it strangely intuitive all the same.

"We've got to retake the initiative against Marelos, and I think I know how," she told him.

That brought about a swift ending of their training session, Inneo quickly striding forward and giving them both a set of towels, as well as cups of cool water.

"I'm all ears," Joffrey told her with that insufferably proud smile of his.

"You haven't even heard it," she protested mildly.

"I already know it'll be a good one. You've got that look," he said, amused.

She just shook her head before taking a long drink from one of the cups, Joffrey wiping the sweat off his forehead. "So, what's the plan?" he asked her.

"It's rather simple. We trick the bastard," she said as she left the long daggers on the nearby bench.

"How?" Joffrey asked.

"We'll have to stake the whole Consortium on this, if it fails… well, there won't be enough families left to make a stand," she warned him.

"All in," Joffrey murmured, "Already like it," he added with a dangerous smirk.

The Shivering Sea Consortium had been weakened by Marelios' ploy, but they had still quite a bit of collective weight. It was not pure recklessness though, Sansa knew they had to move quickly and in force, for the longer they waited the weaker they became, Marelios slowly bleeding the smaller merchant houses in a war of leveraged economic attrition.

"We move the entire Consortium towards Morosh in force. A grand trade expedition with a majority of our ships. It's just the kind of move Marelos would expect from a group of desperate merchants: a grand gesture to rally the houses, and quite a bit of gold if it goes off without a hitch. With so many ships we could leverage our advantage in tonnage to offer the Moroshi a bulk deal they can't resist," said Sansa, concentrating on the small map of the Shivering Sea they had carted out to the inner patio in the morning.

"Such an expedition would need some work done beforehand in Morosh if it's to turn a profit. Marelos would be well aware of the expedition…" Joffrey trailed off, "He won't be able to resist such a tempting opportunity," he realized, "He'd move a great part of his assets to lock Morosh like a penitent turtle. Warehouses, docks, guardsmen bribes, Magister bribes… he'll buy the whole city. And when our fleet gets there Morosh will just stay still and buy nothing at all as our debts and logistics catch up to us… He could take out the whole Consortium with this, as weak as it is right now,"

Sansa regaled him with a feral smile, "Exactly, which is why we'll make certain every single property, ship and corrupt guardsmen he buys there dies or is set on fire by the time the fleet gets there," she told him with uncharacteristic ruthlessness, "Then, the fleet goes on to Ibb and unloads there."

Joffrey was nodding in approval, his own smile growing slowly, "I like it… but we'll barely make any profit from it. Without groundwork nor previous communications, selling in the Port of Ibben will barely keep us above water," he said thoughtfully, "And if we do set up the work beforehand on Ibb, Marelos will sniff the trap and stay away from the whole scheme…" he said, thoughtful.

"It doesn't matter if we don't turn a profit. What matters will be the blow to Marelos," said Sansa.

"It won't be fatal though," Joffrey pointed out.

Now Sansa's enthusiasm could not be contained, and she laughed lightly as her voice descended to whispers, "It will be, when we move on the Sorreris'. After the debacle with Belano, I've been digging into the other two houses keeping the Sealord in check for Marelos. Nilona is the head of House Sorreris after her husband died last year, and she's definitively the most opportunistic of the group. If we offer her a substantial cut of Marelos' empire, and pressure the right spots, she could flip. If she sells out Marelos right after the news of his failure at Morosh reach Braavos…" Sansa trailed off ominously.

"People would think whatever happened in Morosh would be worse than what is publicly known. With one great house deserting him, and with all that uncertainty flying around, the Sealord could take him before the Oniras and the Mophira's could react," Joffrey finished. "Risky, but if it works we'd be rid of him for good. The Sealord would tear him to pieces after all that Marelos has done, if he were free to do so… There's one problem though, we can't be in two places at the same time," he said with a shake of his head.

"No, but there's two of us," Sansa added meaningfully.

Joffrey frowned, and his budding denial died inside his throat as he gazed at Sansa's eyes.

Partners, said that ethereal voice inside his head again.

He took a deep breath… before he nodded slightly.

"Go to Morosh, wait for Marelos to get wind of it all and to stake a considerable part of his wealth on stopping us…" Sansa said before trailing off, her eyes growing hard, "And then do to him what you did to Petyr Baelish's empire in King's Landing," she told him.

"He won't know what hit him," Joffrey added with a rakish smirk that soon disappeared as he kept looking at her, "You'll have a brief window to convince the Sorreris' to switch sides, and once Marelos returns to Braavos he'll be out for blood, he won't go down quietly… "

"I'll be ready for her, and for him," she told him defiantly.

Joffrey's hands moved up of their own accord to hug her, only for them to drop back down, "Just… be careful, okay?" he told her.

"I will," she said simply, and she could feel Lady's presence by her side as her determination roused the sleeping Direwolf.

-: PD :-

Getting their partners to go along with their plan was the hardest task Sansa had ever undertaken. Fears had to be toned down or racked up, deals and favorable trades had to be compromised upon, and she'd never had managed it if it were not for Joffrey. His considerable knowledge and practical experience in trade gave her the much needed backing she needed to push through, and his regular 'excursions' into the Braavosi night had seen him playing a game much more dangerous than any Bravos. Whereas they twirled in their colorful robes, fighting for the honor of their courtesans, Joffrey leapt like a cat from roof to roof, breaking into secured manses and buildings and copying down priceless information that saw them move as if possessed by preternatural sight.

By using economies of scale, and the aggregate political weight of them all, the great trading fleet had set off to Morosh searching for the promise of good fortune. Marelos had left weeks before, taking the bait whole thanks to a few, very careful leaks to the right ears at the right time… but it would all be for naught if she failed here, today.

Lady Nilona showed herself as a pious woman, going every evening to the Temple of the Moonsingers to pray for the soul of her departed dear husband. Sansa would have been a bit less cynical if the woman didn't immediately abscond with one of her three paramours every night after it, but as it was the whole situation gave her an opportunity.

The temple was a great mass of white marble, crowned by a massive silvered dome dotted with milky windows which depicted the phases of the moon. Sansa walked down the edge of the great temple, angling herself so as to casually reach the small shrine dedicated to the Aspect of the Full Moon, where lady Nilona Sorreris was kneeling. She was the canvass perfect picture of the dutiful Braavosi wife, staring severely at nothing as she contemplated the mortality of man and the ignoble death of her husband.

Sansa kneeled only a few meters away from her, her own face locked in stern concentration. Nilona didn't even bat an eye her way, and neither did she.

They both knew what was going on though, carefully observing each other out of the corner of their eyes.

Careful Sansa, careful…

They spent almost forty minutes in silent contemplation, a silent battle of wills as acolytes came and went, refilling the censers around the shrine and the temple at large. Sansa felt she was being studied from head to toes without a word being spoken, but then again she was doing the same to Nilona. Her back was straight, her hands clasped tightly, but her half lidded eyes spoke of a liveliness far away indeed from piety. Her conservative dress had a few key linchpins that, once removed, would be enough to turn the severe black gown into a free flowing, revealing dress fit for a night of free spirited carousing.

She suppressed an irrational bout of envy at the superb design and craftsmanship of the dress, before noting the sharp hair pin that held her comparatively simple ponytail. A weapon of last resort, and a statement to other players in the game all in one… Taken together, Nilona seemed like a woman now used to carrying her own way, joyfully free of the bounds that tied her…

The rumors about her role regarding her husband's sudden fall through a staircase suddenly make much more sense… Sansa thought as she recalculated her approach slightly. She suspected this was going to be a bit more straightforward than she'd prepared herself for…

Finally, Nilona stood up and walked outside at a sedate pace. Sansa waited two minutes before following, and when she was outside the sun was already starting to fade beneath the craggy hills of Braavos, hidden behind the tall pines that protected the Secret City from the severe winds of the Shivering Sea.

"Lady Selya," greeted Nilona as she approached her. She was sitting on a simple bench beneath a pergola, watching the waves made by the inner lake as they gently lapped against the island where the temple stood. A few bodyguards stood a dozen meters away, vaguely surrounding the pergola but making it seem as if they were merely patrolling guards, taking some time to rest before the night shift.

"Lady Nilona," Sansa greeted courteously as she sat by her side at the bench, her hands carefully intertwined.

Nilona seemed content enough to leave the leap to her, and Sansa thought hard as the Braavosi aristocrat kept watching the gentle waves with a slightly whimsical smile. She knew exactly why Sansa was here, and she was content enough to let her dig her own grave.

"Marelos' ships is about to sink with all hands," Sansa said clearly.

"A very surprising contrast to the little chat you had with Master Belano. Bold, direct. Nothing at all like the long song and dance by which you emptied everything right into the laps of him and Maleros," said Lady Nilona, as if she were commenting about the weather. "I wonder, did the way he gutted you like a fish leave you without further appetite for soft words?" she asked regretfully.

Sansa bit down her tongue before she could say something unwise, and merely smiled as she looked at the tall aristocrat.

Her smile might have been a tad feral though.

"Not at all. It was a valuable lesson though," she responded.

"Oh?" Nilona asked with a smile which held a whiff of condescension.

"To strive to see beyond the act, or through it I suppose… " Sansa mused, "To see beyond the mask that is behind the mask… and to tailor your approach to the truth behind it. That and a bit of humility of course," she said with a self-depreciating snort.

Lady Nilona gave a snort of her own as she kept looking at the sea, as if Sansa were nothing but a peddler of moldy oysters. "That is good. A bit of humility goes a long way to ensuring your survival when the stakes are this high… though I dare say, dear Selya, that the humbling did not go far enough," she commented idly.

Sansa ignored the jab as she repositioned, "Maybe, I'm but a young girl new to this world of yours. Still, I thought you'd like the more direct approach…" she said.

"So you've been watching me," Nilona acknowledge the small dent before pressing on, ignoring Sansa's rearguard, "I congratulate you on that precaution. Playing the dutiful Braavosi wife does get rather tiring, especially when discussing business. Of course, anyone who's someone in this damp mire of a city knows it's a ruse, so you're hardly unique there darling," she said, pounding on Sansa with a smile on her face that betrayed a hint of boredom.

Sansa took the hits with barely a blink, looking at the same far distant spot that seemed so mesmerizing to Lady Nilona. "It's been a learning experience," she conceded the strong blow in their little verbal spar, before leaning back slightly on the bench, her back against the railing. "Of course, there's always a bit of truth behind each mask, enough to lead one to the next," said Sansa as she finished repositioning, "A strong, independent woman behind the mask of the dutiful widow. Living her life as she sees fit, uncaring of anyone else and freed from all ties of deeper love beyond the thrill of her paramours. A stern mask, beautiful in its own way…" Sansa said thoughtfully, trailing off.

"I think I liked your more direct approach, tangling yourself up does you no good dear," Nilona said as she shook her head slightly, conveying disdain… a disdain which held but the tiniest speck of apprehension, her eyes giving away her racing thoughts.

Sansa smiled widely and all too truthfully, her position perfect as she continued with the same tone of voice, "I was surprised you really did care, but when I saw him I understood you all too well," she said before leaning slightly towards the other woman's ear. "He's a really nice boy, he reminds me of my little brother," she whispered in the tone of a complement, "A lot of energy and a smile always at the ready… I think he'll make you proud," she told her, piercing past the mask and drawing blood.

Nilona actually flinched, her hands fisting as her back straightened, the blow to her composure almost too much. "It started as a promise to a dying friend, but I'll admit I've developed a bit of a weak spot for the little rascal after taking care of him all these years…" she said with the same measured tone of voice she'd been using before, only the slight tension in her shoulders and her fists betraying her as she hurriedly dropped the second mask and tried to desperately secure the third.

"Oh, you don't have to pretend with me dear Nilona," Sansa said as she gently grabbed Nilona's arm, as if trying to soothe an old friend. The woman's eyes widened at the breach of personal space, but Sansa kept talking, relentless, joyfully stripping the third mask, "I know you didn't promise anything to Robat, he was just another paramour of yours from all accounts, indistinguishable from the rest and probably soon forgotten after the storm that claimed his life… what he left in you though…" she trailed off as she gazed meaningfully at Nilona's womb, the woman unable to retort as her voice caught in her throat.

"My husband left him a few toys when he visited the little house where you keep him," Sansa twisted with understated relish as Nilona's hands kept fisting, her nails drawing blood, "He says he has strong arms, a warrior's frame even. He'll make you proud when he grows up," she told her sweetly.

Lady Nilona Sorreris snarled as she turned and finally looked at Sansa's eyes for the first time, "If you so much as look at him wrong I'll end you Selya Stars!" she shouted as she painfully twisted Sansa's arm, the bodyguards around the pergola tensing and placing hands over pommels as they sensed their employer's state of mind.

Sansa was undaunted, and smiled as if nothing had happened at all. She ignored the pain in her arm, letting it flow away as Joffrey had taught her after each training session. After months of the brutal, relentless training regime he'd put her through, Sansa found Nilona's strength lacking. Violence was thick in the air as one of Nilona's guards went as far as to take out his rapier, taking a small step towards the pergola and implicitly offering his liege the possibility of murder right here. They could even dump her on the lake, this section of the island was almost deserted anyway.

Sansa's smile grew in triumph as Nilona's frown deepened, and the tall aristocrat let her arm go before slumping back on the bench, the earlier poise gone. Her composure had been shattered, and for the purposes of the battlefield that was Braavosi intrigue, that shattering was as lethal a blow for her as the surrender of an army's center was for a general.

Joffrey's understanding of intrigue had advanced by leaps and bounds once she'd started to compare it to matters of war, a field of expertise where Joffrey had no equal. It had been a two way street though, and she'd learned of war as much as he'd learned of spies and plots as they bounced ideas deep into the night and built an allegory of both worlds which in the end, seemed to be not so different from each other at all.

Sansa stood up and walked to the pergola's railing, using the movement to hide the nausea which permeated her belly. Even if she'd not said the words, even if the meaning of the unspoken threat could be twisted a hundred different ways, she'd still played with the woman's most precious other like he were a knitting needle or a lute. And worse of all was the vicious satisfaction beneath the nausea as her plot neared its conclusion. She wondered if Marelos had felt the same when he'd trapped her at the Oniras' manor, and swiftly crushed the thought for fear of throwing up.

As Marelos had done to her, so Sansa had delivered multiple messages and attacks of her own with a single action. Lady Nilona now knew she was no small fry to be dismissed from the game, more than making up for the loss of prestige at the Oniras' manor. Sansa had also shown that her information gathering apparatus was able to pierce deep into secrets untold and the masks which hid them, even though the dizzying arrays of shell holders and fake documents that hid the existence of one Aresso of Braavos, a happy and unassuming child of ten namedays living in a modest house in the Southern District, and secret heir to the Sorreris name and fortune. Visited every two weeks by a supposedly childless, doting 'aunty' who'd been a 'friend' of Aresso's mother… when in fact friend and mother were one and the same, the child a product of an affair that had seen Nilona's first and only child born into this world. Sansa had also shown both her willingness to take the game to the next level, and the reach of her grasp, when she'd idly commented about Joffrey leaving the child with a toy.

And last but not least, she'd shattered Nilona's composure, leaving her ripe for her offer.

Lady Nilona closed her eyes as she breathed deeply before looking at Sansa with tired eyes, "Eleven years I kept that secret, and now a couple of brats two years fresh off the boat tear it asunder," she whispered bitterly. "I thought I was barren," she said after a moment of silence, "After more than two decades of that imbecile of a husband plowing me into bed, and countless lovers each more idiotic than the last… I'd really given up hope…" she whispered before trailing off.

"Forgive me if I don't buy the act, seeing as you left the boy to be raised motherless," Sansa told her as she turned to look at the seated aristocrat.

"Yes, you definitively need more humility hammered in," Nilona snarled as she stood up and walked towards Sansa. "Do you know what they'd do if they found out that he was my illegitimate son?" She asked harshly, "They'd rip him apart and leave him a pauper in less than a week, all my fortune gone to my dead, fat oaf of a husband's extended family," she said before Sansa could respond.

Nilona was breathing heavily, an inch from Sansa's face. "It's one thing for an old widow to bequeath her name and fortune to a young man who caught her eye, it has happened before, there's their blessed precedent… but to leave her name and fortune to a bastard son? A name that was not even hers in the first place!? Perish the thought!" She snarled once more as her composure kept disintegrating.

Sansa was taken aback by the sheer vehemence of the woman, she had never expected her to react quite so strongly. Something about her surprise must have shown because Nilona smiled disdainfully. "You've never had a child, have you?" she asked lightly, "No, didn't think so," she kept going before Sansa could answer. "If you'd had, you'd understand…" She seemed on the verge of explaining what exactly was Sansa supposed to understand, but she shook her head instead.

"No masks left you tiny little thing, not exactly the truth you were seeking? Seems you've got a lot to learn yet," Nilona said with a twisted smile, "State your terms," she said as she collected the shattered remains of her composure, rebuilding them into a sad facsimile of what it once was.

Sansa nodded lightly, "You will receive a full fourth of Marelos' assets once the Sealord-"

"Oh keep your poisoned gifts to yourself, state your demands and let's be over with this," she cut her off, sternly.

Sansa blinked, looking at Nilona as the woman tapped her fingers impatiently. Have it your way, Sansa thought as she studied the woman.

"Marelos will return to the city during the next few weeks. You will denounce him publicly as a monopolist and a living stain on Braavosi tradition… before the news of his ill fortune in the east become public knowledge," said Sansa, keeping the details sparse.

She'd spent a while thinking about her lessons learned under Belano and Marelos himself.

"Very clever," Nilona said the complement as if it were an insult. "The rest of the families supporting Marelos will assume I had insider knowledge, and that whatever disgrace befell Marelos was either toned down or merely the public part of some grand strategy so effective as to make me jump ship… some will jump, the more skittish of his supporters at the very least, but that will be enough to make the rest of them jump as well like so many dominoes, one after the other," She deduced Sansa's plan in an instant, just as quickly as Belano had done… truly, the players of the Braavosi game were not to be underestimated.

Of course, by the nature of their plan's timetable and the sailing delay to Morosh, there was nothing Nilona could do to warn Marelos, assuming she was the best actress in the world and all of this had been an act as well.

"I've spent some time in this game," Nilona said before Sansa could get a word edgewise, "I accept your terms," she said as she walked away from the railing and the darkening horizon, shuffling the top of her severe gown and taking one of her strategically placed pins, revealing her ample cleavage.

Before she left the pergola though, she directing an ice cold glare directly at Sansa's eyes.

"If something happens to my son, I will acquire the services of the House of Black and White to seek redress. You have been warned," she said as if she were reading the clause of an insurance contract, "Good evening, lady Selya," she said before walking away, her armed guards surrounding her swiftly and seemingly reading her mind in regards to her next destination.

Sansa spent the rest of the evening in the same pergola, quietly shuffling her hands as the temperature dropped and darkness enveloped the Secret City, her mind uneasy and turbulent.

It was all up to Joffrey now.

-: PD :-

Their small 'war room' had acquired a decisively festive air as Sansa crossed the name of Belano Oniras off their small map of the city, a slight smirk overtaking her features as she reflected on the events of the last few weeks.

It seemed Joffrey had taken their joint plan a bit too… enthusiastically. As much as her supposed husband had come to love their usually tranquil life on Braavos, filled with quiet work, raucous plays and warm evenings snuggling by the fireplace, Joffrey still had a bit of a daredevil streak that needed satiation from time to time… one that had been unleashed on the poor city of Morosh with almost joyful purpose. Warehouses burnt to so much ash, bought officials re-bought or otherwise 'disappeared', ships floundering and sinking still tied to their piers, all that and more had befallen Marelos' assets in the city as he moved to counter their trade fleet. Forced to reveal hidden assets which were then swiftly struck down by Joffrey, Marelos had apparently decided to throw good money after bad to the point of taking several desperate debts from local Moroshi banks, which had also slipped his fingers like sand as Joffrey kept wrecking every single thing Marelos touched as if he were the victim of an eastern course, by means legal, corrupt, and outright murderous.

Sansa felt strange from the amount of satisfaction she was deriving from the doom of one man. A substantial part of Marelos' enterprise had been lost as he kept trying to turn things around very much like a gambler who thought he needed just one win. She supposed part of that satisfaction was due to the fact that she'd as much as told Joffrey this was the way he'd react. Marelos seemed like a man incapable of losing, she'd gotten that much from the man's previous history and the way he could not stop pushing for greater and greater gains. With the Sealord held in check this had proved an incredible virtue for the man, as his relentless drive kept accruing greater and greater wealth and influence. In Morosh however, that very same virtue had seen him unable to walk away with a moderate loss and it had, in turn, turned into a greater one.

Marelos had returned to Braavos two weeks ago and his fortune had done nothing but evaporate in that time. Nilona had denounced him the moment the man had stepped off the boat, and as the news of the 'Shadow War' in Morosh spread around the city the lesser families had started abandoning him in droves… What does the Sorreris family know? People asked themselves.

And promptly decided that whatever it was, it must have been worse than the considerable amounts of gold, prestige and assets that Maleros had lost in Morosh… And that now might be a prudent time to retire.

When the Sealord used the panic and Nilonas' abrupt treason to in turn pressure the Mophira's, Marelos' fate had already been sealed. The Mophira's subsequent declaration of the virtues of Braavos and its proud tradition, and especially the virtues of their illustrious Sealord, had merely been the last nail in the coffin. The assets and estates of both Marelos and the Oniras', who had not jumped ship fast enough, were even now being forfeited by the Iron Bank to pay for debts, or requisitioned by the Sealord's Guard to be held 'in trust' until the veritable flood of legal actions coming out of the Palace were carried out to their conclusion.

In Braavos there was no such thing as Treason. Merely the logical carrying out of contracts and taxes, which when creatively applied by the Sealord could leave a man a beggar, if he did not have enough influential friends… or if said friends were all too busy shoving him off the proverbial cliff.

"What do you think Lady?" Sansa asked her snoring Direwolf. She had grown by leaps and bounds these last few months, to the point that she was starting to feel restless cooped up in their inner patio. It may have been big, but Sansa felt Lady still needed a bit of greenery to stave off what Joffrey called 'Cabin Fever'. Still, she bore it with quiet dignity, her demeanor almost an exaggeration of Sansa's ideal. Proper and composed, the white-grey Direwolf barely smaller than her desk raised her head and sniffed almost delicately at Sansa, as if considering the whole thing beyond her rightful preview… before settling back down with a yawn.

"Okay, I'll take you to the marshes tomorrow," she promised her companion as she rolled her eyes, and Lady let out a tiny, pleased purr.

Are you a cat or a wolf? She asked in silent, fond exasperation as she opened Joffrey's latest letter.

--profits were almost nonexistent by the end of it, the Port of Ibben was simply uninterested about roughly a quarter our cargo… but given the way the trade fleet's captains have been partying around here you wouldn't be surprised if they'd just made out like bandits, or heck, like Kings! Your news' about Marelos incipient downfall has sparked the whole fleet into a frenzy of taverns, alcohol and women, It feels as if we'd just won a major war.

Anyway, I should be setting sail during the next few days, so this letter should reach you just a bit before I do.

Sansa gazed thoughtfully at the slight splotch of ink at the start of the last statement, as if Joffrey's quill had spent an inordinate amount of time standing still over it.

I've missed you, it read, swiftly followed by a rushed signature as if he'd suddenly decided to just end the letter.

Something warm spread from Sansa's belly as she read those last words, feeling a bittersweet pang as she tried to imagine what Joffrey would have written if he'd not finished the letter so abruptly.

She leaned back on her chair, ill at ease as she shuffled this way and that, trying to make a sense of her swirling thoughts.

Her introspection was interrupted when Lady's head suddenly swiveled to the door, the hair at the back on her neck standing on edge as she growled lightly.

"Lady?" Sansa asked as she stood up, somehow sensing the Direwolf's tension as her companion arose from her small nest and her growl turned louder.

Lady was somehow screaming danger as Sansa stumbled back, her back shivering as she saw two doors for a second, as if viewed by two pairs of eyes instead of just one. She shook her head harshly as she stumbled to the small chest by the side, hurried by some wordless haste as her movements becoming surer and swifter as she opened it and strapped a belt to her waist, the pommels of two daggers gleaming under the lamp light, hurried on by some unspeakable urge.

The sudden knock at her door nearly made her jump, and she struggled to keep her voice level as she spoke out loud, "Who is it?"

"It's Adaro, Selya. Could you come for a moment if you please?" said the voice of the Head of the Dure Household, impeccable as always.

Sansa hesitated, gazing at the unloaded light crossbow in the chest before she gazed at the door, "Is everything alright Master Adaro?" she asked. His tone of voice was relaxed, but he always called her Lady Selya, no matter the amount of times he'd told him to stop.

"Of course, just something that needs your attention," came the sure voice from the door.

Sansa was lowering the chest's lid when Lady snarled lowly, and she breathed in the fear and the falsehood in the man's voice. Sansa blinked rapidly as she shook her head, one hand holding her nose in confusion as she almost stumbled to the ground and every hair on Lady's body stood on edge.

She used the chest as support as she stood back upright, quickly grabbing the crossbow and twisting the little turn crank by its side. She cranked it tight and loaded it with a bolt from the chest, her numb hands following the pattern seared into her head after months of repetition at the inner patio.

Sansa swallowed as she walked to the other side of the room, eyes fixed on the door as she held the crossbow at the ready, her heart hammering in her chest as she called out again, "Adaro, are you sure everything is okay?" she called out.

There was a silence only slightly longer than what would have been normal, before the clear voice of Adaro responded, "Of course my lady. Three assassins, daggers, maybe moohrrr…" he trailed off as if out of breath, and something slumped against the floor almost as quickly as the door started to shake wildly, muffled curses flying from the other side.

Sansa almost hyperventilated at the sound, gasping as the world tried to shrink around her vision. "I hold the blood of the Kings in the North," she stammered to herself as something slammed against the locked door and she took deep breaths, trying to steady her runaway fear.

"I was created to stop the coming of the Long Night," she whispered again as something crashed against the thin door again, the little lock almost broken by the force behind the blow. Slowly, her hands steadied, the crossbow's sight's blurring as she gazed at the door and her grip on it relaxed somewhat.

The door bulged for half a second before bursting open and revealing three hooded men brandishing stilettos, two in front and one behind. One of them screamed as a bolt took him in the chest, falling to the ground.

I am she who stalks through blizzards, she thought as she snarled, or had that been Lady?

The other two men rushed her. Their stilettos did not gleam, shrouded as they were in brown oils which absorbed the light. Sansa dropped her crossbow as she drew her daggers, both broad hilted as was the Westerosi way.

"Lady, kill," she said, though the words had been unnecessary as Lady jumped as soon as Sansa thought of it, tearing into the man to the left and leaving her with the third, already upon her and trying to stab her in the belly.

She stepped sideways as Joffrey had taught her during their two and a half years of constant training, deflecting the blow with one dagger and slamming the other one into the man's windpipe in reflex. The man looked surprised as he stumbled back, almost as surprised as Sansa was as she took her dagger back with the horrible sound of rending flesh.

And just like that, she'd killed her first man.

The assassin kneeled on the floor, both hands trying and failing to stem the flow of blood from his neck, and Sansa could only watch in stunned horror as he bled to death. A sharp pain startled her though, and she turned her head to find another assassin jamming a stiletto into her side. She gave him a half snarl, half cry as she slashed his hand, making him drop the knife and stumble back. Sansa almost lost herself again as she gazed at the knife that was still piercing her torso just below the elbow, but she managed to keep enough lucidity to step back as the assassin tried for his stiletto, her own daggers coming up in an automatic response that slashed the man's hand again, spraying blood over the Myrish carpet.

Sansa stumbled back, breathing heavily and concentrating on her foe, I won't die here, I won't, she thought once and again as she examined the swaying man, the crossbow bolt still in his shoulder as he held one hand close to his chest, bleeding red. His other hand was already emerging from his back with another dagger, and he seemed on the verge of jumping her when Sansa reacted.

"Surrender and you'll have your life," she said quickly, and the man hesitated for a few seconds as he swayed, his hand shaking. He seemed ready to try and kill her once more, but his hesitation bought Lady the time she needed to finally close her jaws on the third man's neck and twist. A brutal snap resounded throughout the room, and the man flinched as he saw Lady calmly slink her way towards him, sitting and regarding him with cold eyes and a red snout.

"Of course, you can always feed Lady," Sansa told the man sweetly, keeping her poise even as she felt her blood spreading throughout her night gown, "The price of good meat in Braavos is just scandalous," she added, gazing at the man thoughtfully.

The man dropped his dagger, and Sansa gave a breathless sight of relief, turning to her bed and ripping off a piece of quality velvet from Tyrosh. She gasped as she bandaged the wound, making sure it was firm before carefully extracting the long, thin dagger that Braavos seemed so fond of.

She screamed as she took it out, clamping down on the wound and finishing the field dressing. Joffrey had been adamant that she'd master the art of First Aid, and she promised herself to never again tease him about discount Maesters and self-righteous acolytes.

"Hired killers, how many more?" she gasped at the man, blinking heavily.

The man hesitated for a second before nodding, gazing nervously at Lady, "T'was just us three milady, I swear it' by'all the'moons," he said quickly. Sansa frowned, smelling something rotten about it before she shook her head in disappointment.

She looked on coldly as Lady jumped him, tearing into his hand with a loud, wild snarl as the man screamed. Lady trotted away a few seconds later, two fingers in her mouth before they swiftly disappeared down her gullet.

"How many more?" she asked him again, fighting down the nausea.

He tasted good.

"One more! One more milady!!!" he screamed as he clutched both hands close to his chest, still lying on the floor. She thought he was being sincere, or Lady thought? All she wanted was to lie down for a moment…

"Yell at him to come. Betray me and the next body part to go will be your balls," she told him.

The man nodded quickly, on the verge of crying before he shouted for 'Feoro'. Another hooded killer entered the room, looking around bewildered before a bolt took him in the gut. He crumbled against the wall, his eyes wide as Sansa lowered the crossbow with a satisfied nod.

Only when she'd been sure there was no danger left, she had rushed to the door. There she found Adaro, a stab wound piercing cleanly into his lung. He was barely breathing when she propped him up against the wall.

Sansa struggled to hold back a sob as her chief servant looked her in the eyes, "Adaro you old fool, why?" she asked him.

"Nevher… aghain…" he rattled, breathing heavily.

Footman Inneo, as it later turned out, had been silently barricaded inside his own room with Miss Ferola. He'd spent most of the time trying to batter down his own door and the furniture that had been stacked behind it. When he rushed to Lady Selya's chambers, he found her keeping guard on two cloaked men who seemed scarcely worse off than her, Adaro's body still warm beside the bed. The lady's strange wolf pet sniffed at him in approval before lady Selya smiled, and pointed at the two captives… one of which seemed to be on the verge of bleeding to death himself.

"I want them alive," she declared, before blinking heavily and vomiting a bit of bile upon the floor. She collapsed before Inneo could reach her.

-: PD :-

"I'll kill him myself," Joffrey said for the sixth time.

"You're so boring when you turn repetitive," Sansa sighed, tired of arguing with logic. She was still bedridden, and her lack of strength for even the most basic of tasks, like walking, had been driving her mad.

Of course, it also had a few benefits.

Joffrey had decided to never let her out of sight again, and it seemed her complexion had been so terrible to behold that he had deigned to very carefully keep her company in her own bedchamber, day and night. All very proper of course, and more because of keeping an eye on her than any other aspirations he could have... of which Sansa still didn't know what to think about, besides tossing the conflicting feelings and musings inside a locked box in her head and ignoring it.

"You know the Braavosi better than I do Joffrey, do you think the Sealord will let Marelos get away with an assassination attempt?" she asked blithely.

Joffrey didn't deign to answer, leaning back on the small couch he had dragged to her side of the bed. "Besides, he was already sinking before he did that. Few allies left, half his remaining fortune held up in court, and then he does this… I dare say he might end up worse off than a mere beggar," she told him. The First Sword of Braavos himself had come to collect the two would be assassins, and Sansa had no doubt that the man would follow the trail right back to one Marelos Hartios.

"I should have seen it coming," Joffry told her, "For all of his sophisticated plans, Marelos has a certain impulsive streak. That was one of the reasons he kept hitting Morosh no matter how many of his funds I destroyed, stole or subverted… still, he would have survived that if not for Nilona's betrayal. Nice work on that, by the way," he told her with a fond look.

"Thank you," Sansa beamed despite the pain, "Nilona must have thought we had the biggest, most competent spy network in Braavos," she said with a snort.

"Instead of a lot of mediocre informants and one very good specialist?" Joffrey asked smugly.

"Indeed," she agreed. They stayed quiet for a while before Joffrey cleared his throat.

"Adaro's funeral… it'll be tomorrow," He finally spoke.

"I'll go," Sansa declared, daring him to contradict her.

She was surprised when he said nothing, merely nodding at her. "The dead deserve closure," he said somberly.

Sansa stayed quiet for another moment before speaking that which had been burning her from the inside. "Why did he do it? If he'd not tipped me off then maybe the killers would have let him live," she said quietly.

Joffrey gazed at her with a sad smile, "The Dure's, remember? Adaro was their head servant as well," he explained.

"'Never again', those were the last words he uttered before his lungs couldn't- the air--" Sansa broke off with a wounded huff, feeling cold.

Joffrey took a deep breath of his own before talking, "He'd seen Marelos wreck one family under his watch. He wouldn't stand for it a second time," he reasoned.

"It's unfair," Sansa whispered.

They stayed quiet for another while yet, until Sansa winced as she shuffled inside her bed, her right side burning as she tried to cuddle deeper into her blankets. Braavos kept getting colder and colder with each passing day…

Joffrey frowned as he looked at her, as if he were chewing something distasteful, "I'll-"

"Kill him yourself, I know!" Sansa said with a huff, "You've got this habit of fixing in on stuff Joffrey, it's just not healthy," she told him, secretly glad for the slight change of topic.

"And you've got a habit of scolding me whenever things don't go your way," he said with that insufferable smirk of his.

Sansa would have shot right back, but she found she was too tired to bother. "I'm too cold to argue," she grumbled as she turned around.

She gasped when she felt a weight in her bed, and turned her head back to find Joffrey right by her side, his comforting warmth enveloping her even as his arms hesitantly embraced her. Despite his rakish grin, Sansa thought she could see something deeply brittle hiding behind it.

Instead of saying anything, she turned around within his grip and cuddled against his chest, shamelessly stealing his warmth.

-: PD :-

Sansa had been tentatively playing with Lady in the inner patio, relishing in her returning strength when Joffrey arrived with the good news. She had a newfound appreciation for athletic ability, and she'd been hard at work returning her body to its normal, peak condition that Joffrey had deemed appropriate after months of hard work.

"Sansa, it's over," he said, a wild smirk on his face.

It ended abruptly. The schemes and plots, the frights and surprises, the intrigues which consumed much of the year. Anticlimactically and unexpectedly.

Joffrey considered it fitting, and in line with the general process of such things, though he suspected Sansa would find it rather disappointing.

"What? How?" she asked quickly.

"They found Marelos floating upside down in the Canal of Heroes with a dozen stab wounds in the back," Joffrey told her, not bothering to hide the mirth in his voice.

"Ironic," Sansa said idly, still processing the sudden news before Joffrey grabbed her and swung her around like a doll. She laughed despite herself, and she looked at Joffrey with a suspicious glint in her eyes once he deigned to land her back on the ground. His hands retreated quickly, as if ashamed of what he'd done, and Sansa looked away. She didn't know why she'd started to keep her distance from him since he'd returned, but she found herself unable to do anything about it.

"And you had nothing at all to do with this?" she asked him with a frown.

"Nothing at all! I would have just made him disappear," he said as he raised his hands in defense, painfully, painfully honest.

"And that just makes it better?" She asked him, though unable to contain a smile of her own.

"Yes?" Joffrey asked back.

Sansa just snorted, turning around to lift a small object which had been wrapped around a piece of white cloth. "I think this may make a bit more sense now," she said as she gave it to Joffrey.

"Oh?" Joffrey asked as he unwrapped the thing.

"The First Sword left it here in the morning, said it was a gift from the Sealord," she said as Joffrey examined the strange, curved dagger. She looked bewildered when Joffrey started to laugh out loud.

"It's a tanto," he said in between bouts of laughter, as if that explained it all.

Joffrey must have seen her expression, because he elaborated as he held the long dagger like a precious heirloom, "It's a Yi-Tish… short sword I suppose is the right word. Yi-Tish. Get it?" He asked her, delighted.

Sansa looked at the weapon for a few seconds before she raised an eyebrow, "They killed him with his own collection?" she finally asked.

"No one can say Braavosi lack a sense of humor," Joffrey said admiringly.

"Charming," Sansa huffed.

-: PD :-

Marelos' death did not unleash a shadow war within the city, as Sansa had feared. Though Joffrey supposed that was in part due to the events following up on the unlamented monopolist's demise. The way the normally stoic First Sword of Braavos strutted around the city had been a clear enough indicator of who exactly had signed the man's death warrant. The First Sword had sported a grin fit for a smug cat for weeks, and if anyone had any doubts after that then they had been swiftly dispelled when the very same man made a point of gifting Yi-Tish weaponry to any family interested in Marelos' fate.

Weaponry lifted straight from his private collection.

A line had been crossed, and without the political pressure of the Sorreris (and later the Mophira) families it seemed the Sealord had unleashed fifteen years of pent up frustration on the man, using his attempted murder of Sansa to finally give him what he deserved. Marelos the second and his few remaining allies were keeping their heads down and acting as meekly as possible, but it was doubtful even that would save them as Marelos the father's debts and dealings caught up with his son and heir… and Moroshi merchants had been calling for his head for weeks now. Joffrey doubted the man would be left with a single bent Iron Mark in the end.

Life had thus returned to… not exactly as it had been before. For once, the Shivering Sea Consortium had emerged as the premier player in the northern routes, usurping Marelos' position, ironically enough. And as the foremost family within that group, both him and Sansa had been hounded by the sudden interest of over half of the cities worthies… and flooded in so many Iron Marks Joffrey honestly didn't know what to do with them, besides dreaming up wild schemes of somehow imprinting all that money into his soul and carrying it to his next life.

There was also something… awkward about his relationship with Sansa since the death of Marelos and his return from Morosh, whatever that may be. Silences extended unnaturally, and they avoided each other's eyes as often as not… even as they sometimes caught each other staring when they'd thought the other one wouldn't notice… it was honestly stressful, and Joffrey didn't know what to do about it.

News from Westeros had kept trickling in, and Joffrey had been surprised to find out that the 'Lords Declarant of the Vale', a coalition of the region's most powerful Arryn bannermen, had declared in favor of King Stannis. The King had emerged from the Vale with an army in tow and several thousand knights at his command, which he'd lead to their full effect as he slammed into the Crownlands and laid siege to King's Landing itself. There was no word on the situation of Lysa Arryn, though if rumors were to be believed Lord Royce had taken Robin Arryn as his ward… the implications of that were ominous indeed.

The siege had been short lived, as Stannis assaulted the walls almost as soon as he'd gotten there. The Riverlands were a wasteland by now, famine gripped the land and Riverrun had fallen. Robb Stark had been in command, and had led his men in a fighting retreat to the northern Riverlands…

Joffrey had to admire the sheer balls of steel Stannis possessed, going for the kill instead of wasting the might of the Vale in the muddy killing field that had become the Riverlands. By all accounts, villages lay burnt and empty, holdfasts ruined or ransacked, and the rivers festered with blight and filth… there was not much of that vibrant place left it seemed, or at least nothing worth fighting over.

In any case, the assault on the Capital had been successful, and with Stannis leaning on the Crownlords, they'd had little choice but to add their strength to his. The taking of King's Landing had been a masterstroke even if it had left Stannis' forces divided, as he now had in his possession both Arya and Bran Stark, the latter of which had been betrothed to Lady Shereen Baratheon, forever cementing the loyalty of the North, the only region which had put its weight behind him completely from the beginning.

Fate had not been so kind to King Tommen and his sister however… rumors were… scattered. The only thing Joffrey was sure of was that they were dead. Some said Cersei had poured poison down their throats rather than let Stannis have them, others that Stannis had his red witch burn them inside the Sept of Baelor…

Joffrey … doubted Stannis had done the latter. With more lords under his banner, it seemed that Melisandre of Asshai did not hold so much sway over the King… but anything was possible with magic. For all he knew there was a spell to mind control the future King of Westeros, though he tried not to think too much about that.

Regardless, without a clear King to rally around, it seemed the Lannister cause was verging on collapse. The Westerlands still seemed unshakable under Tywin's iron fist, but Joffrey suspected that would last as long as his grandfather drew breath… one stray arrow in the battlefield and the Westerlands would tumble like a castle of wooden blocks. The Tyrells certainly were, bannermen abandoning camp and returning to their keeps in the middle of the night. With Maergery Tyrell and the Queen of Thorns both in Stannis' hands it seemed the Tyrells were powerless to stop their panicking vassals short of unleashing Lord Randyll Tarly on them, which was a short term solution if Joffrey had ever heard one. The Tyrell's authority also seemed shaky in that, with Tommen dead and Maergery a widow, they were no longer dynastically tied to the Lannisters… and given their reputation, the possibility of them making a deal with Stannis was a drain on their power even if they did not do it… of course, almost as lethal to their authority was the sheer possibility that the Queen of Thorns had already made a deal with Stannis. Olenna Tyrell would certainly negotiate for her son even without his consent, and Stannis had her right there…

The outcome of the war of the Four Kings seemed settled, if not for the specifics. Nobody had told that to Balon Greyjoy though, as he seemed content enough to keep raiding the western coast of Westeros until the surviving houses banded together and razed the Iron Islands to the bedrock…

Joffrey shook his head as he entered the tailor's shop. He felt as if he were entering the Dawn Fort's armory on the eve of battle…

-: PD :-

He steadied himself as he looked at the mirror, running a hand by the black jacket he wore over the fine doublet. The silver buttons had been a nice touch, though the whole ensemble seemed altogether too festive for his taste, despite the fact that it primarily sported blacks and blues... Braavosi seamstresses had a knack for making even black too gaudy for his tastes. Still, festive was the whole point of the entire attire, and he resolutely grabbed the mask from the table before strapping it over his face.

He took one more breath before walking to Sansa's chambers, hesitating for a second before knocking politely. The door had been reinforced, so nobody would be getting in without her permission.

"Come in, it's unlocked," she said from beyond the door, and Joffrey opened it to find Sansa gazing at her own mirror, quickly smoothing out an undetectable flaw on her dress' smooth lines.

"How do I look?" she asked as she turned, hiding a nervous smile.

"Beautiful," breathed Joffrey. Her dress seemed like a mixture of Westerosi and Braavosi styles, black and green playing with the lines of silver thread which held the dress together. Her red hair seemed to glow by contrast, left to sway freely around her head, and her neck was framed by-

"Daqyrio really outdid himself with the pelts," Joffrey muttered with a half-smile, looking at the lustrous white scarf around Sansa's neck, small black spots dotting the pelt.

"I had a long chat with Teyia," Sansa said with a smirk, her eyes avoiding his as she put on her own mask.

"Snowfox, it suits you," Joffrey said idly, playing with his hands.

"Thank you," she said demurely, "Yours too… hardly a surprise there," she added with a small giggle.

"I can summon a spirit lion with my mind Sansa, if there's any animal that suits me, that's it," he said dryly.

She raised her hands in deference, "Fair enough, but isn't whole point of the mask to go by unnoticed? Hardly possible with you wearing the heraldry of House Stars," she said.

"Everyone will know who we are anyway," he told her a wryly.

Sansa looked at him for a moment, and as usual these days an air of uneasy tension started to envelop the room before Joffrey walked out of it. Sansa followed soon after, meeting up with him by the main door.

Joffrey shuffled slightly, looking at the floor before he suddenly blurted it out. "Sansa I… There's one thing I…" he stammered, thanking and cursing the masks. He couldn't see Sansa's face, and he supposed that was part of the reason he just needed to blurt this out now, and spare himself the physical sight of Sansa's shock and horror.

"Deep breaths Joffrey, just let it out," she said with a tinge of humor, only her eyes visible behind the mask.

He shook his head once more, walking away from her and staring up at the ceiling. In retrospect, he didn't know why he hadn't told Sansa back in that clearing, before she joined the Purple. It might have served as a shock to her system, a way to startle her into letting him kill himself there and make her forget… though he was guiltily glad he hadn't. After that, he'd never found quite the right moment to confess…

Or he had just kept delaying the inevitable.

Delaying as he was doing so right now.

No. No more lies, this… all of this… he thought incoherently as he took another deep breath. It was good while it lasted, he whispered painfully.

"I'm a bastard," he said in a dry monotone, not looking back.

"I'm sure Marelos thought the same," she quipped.

"No Sansa. I mean I'm not King Robert's son. Littlefinger may be the lowest scum of the earth, but his schemes were true. I'm… I'm the son of Jaime and Cercei Lannister," he told her, every word tearing a gaping hole in his chest.

Sansa gasped, and Joffrey couldn't contain himself as he twisted back to look at her. She was holding her chest with one hand, staring at him silently before she coughed one time, loudly.

"I think Miss Ferola may have dumped a bit too much spice on our lunch," she said as she massaged her neck.

"… You're teasing me," Joffrey said, dumbfounded.

"Really Joffrey? With all that you've told me? You practically spelled it out when you told me about Baelish's machinations and how my Father always fell for them… honestly I was expecting you to blurt it out sooner than you did," she said, exasperated.

Joffrey stood very still, and was very glad the mask hid the way his mouth kept opening, realizing he had nothing to say, and closing. Over and over.

He finally found his voice, "And it doesn't bother you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Really?" she said with a tinge of real anger, "We're some sort of living war constructs designed to stop the end of all life, immortals reviving after every death to carry out an almost certainly doomed war against beings from beyond our comprehension…" she recited before coming to an abrupt stop. "Oh, your father is Jaime Lannister, that changes everything!" she said as she slapped her forehead, the Snowfox mask tilting slightly sideways, the sarcasm so thick Joffrey could almost touch it.

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before he spoke. "You really don't care?" he asked again, his voice tight.

Sansa seemed to gaze at him again for a long while, considering something as she straightened her mask. She nodded to herself almost imperceptibly before walking up to him. "Forget the Purple and the White Walkers for a second. Forget your damned mission and your titles and your father and everything else," she said as she gazed at his eyes through both masks. "I like you Joffrey, Joff, Jonnel, Baratheon, Lannister, Stars"- she said, becoming breathless as she kept going -"Silver Knight, Shadow, General, King, Bastard, Dawn Commander, Famed Vellamo. I. Don't. Really. Care," she punctuated each word with a slam of her hand, pounding Joffrey's chest. "So get that fact, into that thick skull of yours, grab my arm and take me to the Festival before we're late," she declared imperiously, holding her elbow and almost jutting it into Joffrey's belly.

Joffrey stared at her.

"Well?" she insisted, her elbow starting to dig painfully into his stomach.

Joffrey locked his arm with hers.

-: PD :-

The Long Canal was filled with gondolas and small vessels, each more exotic than the last as whole families adorned their ships to sometimes obnoxious degrees, golden frills and even gemstones peppering the larger pleasure barges even as people danced atop them, the tunes of on board bards and minstrels filling the air with merriment. Inneo sailed their gondola like it were the queen of the waters though, despite its comparatively modest decoration. The doughty Footman had taken Adaro's death like a dereliction of his duty, and had been striving to up the level of his service ever since. Sansa had kept quiet since her speech back in Dure House, out of regret or something else, Joffrey did not know. He only knew that whenever he now looked at her he felt as if someone were pouring lava down his throat, and Sansa seemed reluctant to meet his gaze now more than ever.

Joffrey waved back as they sailed past an almost floundering pleasure barge, its clearly drunk occupants waving at their own gondola as the minstrel onboard sang a happy tune in Low Valyrian. Sansa waved as well, laughing when one of their well-wishers was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged below deck for what would most likely be a pleasurable night.

The night was young yet, barely beginning as the sun hid beneath the wind swept hills that surrounded Braavos. "They better make port soon or the guard will be fishing drunk revelers from the canal the entire night," said Joffrey.

"I think it may be too late for that," Sansa said with a snort as the ship grounded over some low sandbars. They were a common hazard around the oldest of the channels…

"Doesn't look like it's stopping them," Joffrey laughed as he spotted a few land bound revelers carrying out a boarding action from the nearby pier, armed with bottles and wineskins and sporting a wild variety of masks from lions to birds to even ships. Their quality seemed variable, but for once in Braavos nobody cared. Rich or poor, noble or baseborn all were equal under their masks until the Titan's roar at midnight.

"Maybe we should join them?" Joffrey asked suggestively, only for Sansa to tilt her head in thought.

"I'm pretty sure the Sealord's winery is better stocked," she said after a moment, as if she were considering a matter of utmost important.

"… I knew I'd brought you here for a reason," Joffrey said like a man gripped in the throes of revelation.

They chuckled as Inneo kept punting from the back, though soon the dreaded, alien silence seemed to capture them in its claws again.

Joffrey bit his tongue as the fiery butterflies in his belly managed to invade the rest of his body, clamping his muscles as the silence kept getting deeper. He was staring at the other ships as they reached the inner lake, but he just knew Sansa was doing the same by her side, gripped just as tightly by the thing.

His mouth moved before he could react, "If I had told you… Back in the clearing, if I had told you of my birth, would you have still gone with it all?" he suddenly asked.

He kept looking at the ships bedecked in oil lamps and wildly colored strips of cloth, the silence suddenly gripping his heart before being banished by Sansa's voice.

"I don't know… I'd like to think so," her tone was wistful, and Joffrey turned to look at her.

Sansa was still gazing at the ships in the inner lake, the sounds of their revelry carrying over the still waters and rebounding on the walls of the great houses which surrounded Braavos' heart. "Truth be told, I have a hard time trying to think like… like I was before I met you," she said.

"How so?" Joffrey asked her.

"So much has happened… and it's been only a few years since we arrive at Braavos, just shy of three actually… I ruined old families, webbed schemes to twist and break, ran from my own Father… I killed a man… and yet…" she trailed off, her voice barely more than a whisper, "There was a change, before we even set foot on that ship in King's Landing," she added.

"The Purple? When Brightroar…" Joffrey trailed off with a slight wince.

"No, before," she said as she turned to look at him, her eyes clouded within the Snowfox mask. "I think that maybe… I think the real Sansa Stark may have had her throat slit amongst the Red Keep's battlements, her body tossed to the depths of Blackwater Bay with her brother and sister…" she said haltingly, her eyes blinking repeatedly. "Does that make any sense?" she asked him, her voice lost.

"Yes. Yes it does," said Joffrey, his throat tight.

By all the Gods and those Beyond, I understand, he thought.

He grabbed her hand, their fingers interwoven as the gondola turned north, past the canals that led to the Purple Harbor and east towards the sight that dominated northern Braavos.

Joffrey realized, to his mounting horror, that the silence was now worse. He couldn't stop looking at Sansa out of the corner of his eye, and it seemed neither could she… But neither of them could say anything about it! Her nails were digging into his hand, and Joffrey shuffled slightly as a heat wave of some sort struck the Secret City.

"Look, the Sealord's Palace!" he declared like some sort of hedge knight's third son, signaling at the great, enormous block of marble and basalt that stood atop the city's highest hill, peppered by curving windows in the shape of galleys. Grand, sweeping balconies surrounded the outer façade, and a hundred whale oil lamps hanged from them.

"It- is?" Sansa asked painfully, realizing the stupidity of the question halfway through it. Her nails dug further into his hand as the gondola thankfully reached the pier, one amongst many as either the Sealord had a private armada of small boats at his beck and call or half of Braavos had come here tonight for the festivities.

"Shall we?" Asked Joffrey as he stood up, realizing they were still holding hands and that his offered elbow was quite superfluous.

"Let's," Sansa answered tightly.

What the bloody hells is wrong with the world?! Joffrey thought as they stepped out of the gondola.

"I could take the ship for a little spin Master Jonnel, Lady Selya," Inneo offered courteously. "We can take the scenic route around the palace, arrive a little late… with this moon visibility will be… low…" he added, the corner of his mouth rising in good mannered mirth.

"No!" They shouted at the man, only to shut their mouths immediately after and stare at each other.

Inneo looked nonplussed, "... Of course, of course. The palace boasts numerous rooms as well--"

"Inneo-" Joffrey shouted.

"-Just go!" ended Sansa.

"Of course! Of course!" he said with an elaborate bow, punting away from the pier like the merriest man on Braavos.

"Such insolence," Sansa said lowly.

"The gall," Joffrey agreed.

The silence laughed at their efforts and squeezed.

Maybe it's not too late to call him back? Whispered a traitorous voice inside Joffrey's head.

They walked towards the sound of music with not another word.

-: PD :-

"Jonnel! Selya! I could kiss you right now!" declared a fat man with an enormous, slightly tilted, upside down mask of a leviathan. His two companions were dressed in free flowing gowns that left Joffrey wondering how in the hells they weren't freezing.

The answer to that question became obvious as the two of them snuggled closer to the man after a chilly gust of wind buffeted their gathering.

"That obvious Lazono?" he asked good naturedly, and the pudgy Lorathi laughed with a booming voice. The Sea Gardens were technically a private property of the ruling Sealord, though in practice it was the place where he could host visitors of state or otherwise important guests. It was also, of course, the venue where the city's worthies gathered to celebrate the Unmasking Festival. The Sea Gardens were snugged close to the bulk of the Sealord's Palace, but they were only connected by a single stone bridge, and boasted a pier of its own. It was filled with all manners of strange and exotic plants and trees, gathered from all around the northern trade routes so they could survive Braavos' weather.

"You do know that leviathan is upside down?" Sansa asked him, and Lazono looked from one courtesan to the next, both of them giggling behind their falcon masks.

"They told me it was fine! Treason!" Bellowed Lazono as he held his courtesans even closer, both of them giggling harder as Joffrey shook his head.

It seems the party has been going rather splendidly, Joffrey thought as he gazed at the men and women reveling in the midst of the Gardens, veritable squads of servants coming from across the bridge every minute to serve drinks and all manner of sundry dishes meant to be eaten with only one hand.

Sansa seemed intrigued as she leaned forward, "I've got to ask, are you really using that curved sword-"

"Tanto," corrected Joffrey.

-"as cutlery?" She asked he man, ignoring him. She could understand Lazono's satisfaction with Marelos' death, but eating with what may have been the man's murder weapon was too morbid even for her admittedly ever stretching standards.

"I don't eat with it," Lazono told her, offended. "I do use it to cut up the meats though," he corrected.

Sansa snorted hard as Joffrey shook his head fondly, "Lazono you barbarian, I know men who'd have a heart attack if they saw you using a tanto as a butchering implement," he said, trying to hide the mirth in his voice.

Lazono shrugged innocently before leaning forward and whispering, "Jokes aside, you have my heartfelt gratitude for the handling of that scum. The House of Stars will never be shunned from my hearth," he said the last as if he were reciting an oath, and from what Joffrey knew of the Lorathi, it may as well have been one.

Joffrey and Sansa nodded respectfully, and Lazono was back to his usual, cheerful self as he guided his courtesans away, "Now I was told the Sealord had an ample number of rooms somewhere…" he muttered as he walked towards the bridge.

"Now there's one happy man," Sansa whispered in mirth as they walked back towards the main gathering, elbows locked.

"I don't blame him," said Joffrey as they walked, and with Lazono gone the bloody tension started to assault his senses once again. Sansa was breathing deeply by the time they reached another blessedly known guest they could make small talk with.

They met Daqyrio and Teyia Vynerys by a side hedge, the latter clearly identifiable by the great and lustrous snowfox pelts that accented her dress. Daqyrio seemed suspiciously merry, and Joffrey guessed the reason why when he detected the slight slurring of his speech. The usually stern man seemed very pleased to see him, and he regaled him with all manner of anecdotes regarding his successful dealings with White Harbor. Sansa was nearby, fidgeting more so than usual as Tayia kept whispering in her ear.

"-of course, with a bloody army of wildlings swarming the Wall, it seems as good a time as any to move towards better ports. With Marelos gone, suppliers in Lorath should now be accessible," he commented idly.

"Wait, what?" Joffrey interrupted him.

Draqyrio looked nonplussed, "Lorath. The island may be poor on iron but the hinterlands-"

"No no, wildlings are invading the North?" he asked, alarmed.

Daqyrio shrugged, "That does seem to be the case. Several raiding parties have penetrated deep into the Kingdom, and it's said a great host of thousands smashed into Castle Black like an avalanche weeks ago… or the news were weeks old when it reached the city at least," Draqyrio recounted, "Last Hearth was preparing for a siege and everyone in White Harbor with two silver stags to rub together was trying to find a ship to flee," he said.

Joffrey was speechless as Sansa returned with Teyia, both of them giggling like little girls at some sort of joke. Sansa somehow read his state of mind beyond his mask, and quickly came to his side.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

"More war in Westeros, the wildlings took the Wall and who knows what else," he said with a sigh.

Sansa blinked, looking down to the ground before taking in a breath of fresh air. "I suppose we'll know more details in time… more work for the future," she said knowingly.

"Yes," said Joffrey, grimacing. They'd known something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. With the Walkers pushing from the North, the wildlings had precious few options if they hoped to survive. Between facing either the hazy memories he had of the Night's Watch, or the Walkers and their minions… Joffrey knew which enemy he'd choose. At least now they had a rough timetable for it: roughly three and a half years after 'wake up'.

They soon moved on, meeting up with the friends and business associates they had cultivated throughout the almost three years that had been their stay in Braavos… and being an object of interest as the foremost family within the Shivering Sea Consortium. Joffrey felt vaguely uncomfortable, reminded of the hazy days of his past self and the way he'd indulged himself with feasts and pointless (and often sadistic) spectacles, courtiers hanging on his every word. Sansa seemed more at ease, separating the wheat from the chaff without seeming curt or insulting. Despite the masks everyone seemed to know who was who, as at this level of Braavosi society it was hard not to.

"I must offer my apologies for the way the city has treated you, Master Jonnel, lady Selya," said a man with a mask depicting the stern face of the Titan of Braavos. Only a few steps behind stood an armed Bravo with an opera mask.

"Your Excellency," Joffrey bowed at the Sealord of Braavos.

"Please, none of that. Tonight I am just a friend," the man said courteously, gazing at Sansa knowingly, who had not bowed.

"Just another guest at the soiree," she agreed, and the Sealord nodded approvingly.

"Braavos does not usually tolerate the likes of our departed mutual acquaintance, and your help in bringing about his exit from the great stage is appreciated, and shall not be lightly forgotten," said Ferrago as the First Sword behind him nodded slightly.

Were that I could bank in favors from previous lives, Joffrey grumbled inside the privacy of his own mind.

"It was the least we could do for a city that has been so good to us," said Sansa.

"You're too humble," said Ferrego, before tilting his head slightly, "I confiscated some delightful toys from Marelos' personal warehouse, be sure to check on them just before midnight, in the upper balconies. The servants will show you the way," he said before nodding at them both, making his apologies before moving on. It seemed the Sealord was strapped for time even during the last day of the Unmasking Festival.

"A shame he'll forget everything come our next life," commented Sansa.

"I was thinking the same thing…" Joffrey sighed.

"That's been happening a lot lately," she said with a snort, her voice already tensing at the gradually encroaching awkwardness.

"It is said the Sealord has a menagerie with beasts from every corner of the world, would you care to look at it?" Joffrey asked quickly.

Sansa nodded in unspoken thanks, and they spent a while gazing at the stripe painted horses and the oversized tigers, a hundred and one different animals from the four corners of the world. The guests of the soiree had invaded even this place though, always followed by the servants carrying cups and drinks. They'd stopped talking after a while, silently observing the animals as Sansa tried to control her breathing. She looked at the servant carrying cups like a drowning sailor eyes some flotsam, insistently calling for him.

"What's this?" She asked Joffrey as the servant gave them each a cup with long, thin wooden tubes.

"A straw made of reeds, the Summer Islanders like them in their beverages… they're also quite useful when you're thirsty and wearing a mask," Joffrey told her before taking a sip.

This is quite good!- I don't like it much- I've actually never been to the Summer Islands, curious- He cycled through something to say desperately as Sansa stared at him, sipping from her own straw. Her eyes quickly diverted away when she noticed he knew, and his mind blanked and he said nothing at all.

They spent five painful minutes only sipping from their straws, the dreadful silence making Joffrey's heartbeat sound horribly loud. He noticed most of the people were leaving the place though, heading for the bridge and the Sealord's Palace.

"What's going on?" Sansa asked him, breaking the silence as she blinked rapidly.

"The Sealord said he had something special planned for this Unmasking, we must be nearing midnight," said Joffrey, gazing at the quarter moon.

"Should we follow them?" asked Sansa, looking at her hand as if it were suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Joffrey stood still, watching the rest of the guests as they left the Sea Gardens. Conflicted feelings warred inside his belly as he gazed at his partner.

Should they?

The Garden seemed suddenly still, as if time were slowing down.

Joffrey's breath hitched… and then slowly came out when he saw the way Sansa kept playing with her fingers, her anxiety clear… perhaps even fear. She expected this, he realized. Likely thought it an obligation to be fulfilled. Perhaps a way to help him out of his former misery. He could image her face, her dutiful reaction when he took her—She said she'd do anything to help him ease his burden, but surely she hadn't meant—

Joffrey looked away, nauseous with himself.

Gods, I haven't changed at all, he thought bitterly, outraged at himself. The moment passed, and he drained the cup before setting it aside. Sansa may have had the strength and conviction to do this for him, but Joffrey didn't have the heart to see her do it.

"We should go," he said finally, ignoring the stab of bitter regret in his belly. I'm better than him, he thought, remembering the mewling of a cruel boy who wanted nothing but to impose his sick will on those he cared about…

"Okay," said Sansa, her voice shaky. Joffrey could imagine the relief writ clear in her face as they walked to the Palace with the other guests. The silence curdled, dissipating as if by magic as the tension which had been plaguing them slowly disappeared. She drained her cup as well, leaving it atop a servant's tray before they ascended the stairs to the palace's wide balconies. They walked to a corner of the great basalt construction, almost reaching the ceiling of the palace as the guests murmured, looking beyond. Joffrey sighed as he gazed at the Braavosi night from the great balcony, feeling wretched. Sansa stood by the opposite pillar, a few meters away and looking at the bay as well, her arms crossed in front of her.

Suddenly, a great explosion thundered in the distance, and the crowd gasped as projectiles erupted from the Titan's head and lifted themselves up the night sky, exploding raucously and startling the seagulls which nested all over the city. They leapt to the air in a storm of feathers as more and more projectiles launched themselves from the head of the Titan, exploding in magnificent patterns of indigo, red, green and purple, creating a spectacle of light high atop the city.

The explosions thundered with the beat of his heart, each blast of noise almost synchronized with his heartbeat as they left streaks of blind color in his retina. The tension returned to his muscles as if he'd been suddenly cursed, the silence so strong it seemed stronger than the fireworks themselves. Joffrey realized he and Sansa were staring at each other, the fireworks a mere distraction as he gazed at the far more mesmerizing sight of her vivid blue eyes. Explosions kept thundering in the distance, each more powerful than the last as the sky flared and everything was bathed in white, everything but Sansa as the pillar beside her shielded her silhouette.

The horn of the Titan roared clear across the bay, signaling midnight as hundreds of sea birds added their cries to the noise. Seemingly every voice in Braavos roared with the Titan as Joffrey took off his mask and Sansa let hers slip to the floor.

They slammed into each other, Sansa struggling to deepen their frenzied kiss as Joffrey pushed her against the pillar, using it to steady them as he grabbed her head with both hands and his mouth travelled the length of her neck, kissing and sucking. Sansa moaned as she arched back, grabbing Joffrey's hands and locking them behind his neck forcefully as she caught his questing tongue with her mouth and returned it where it belonged.

The cheering and whooping of the crowds increased in intensity as more and more fireworks erupted against the night sky in dazzling displays of gold and silver, and Joffrey broke the kiss as he slammed Sansa against the wall opposite to the balcony, his hands fumbling with the dress before he ripped the upper pelts open.

"Draqyrio is going to kill you for that," Sansa moaned as Joffrey's hands felt her breasts.

"He can get in line," he grunted before she slammed her mouth against his again. He felt Sansa's long legs wrapping around his waist, her hands grabbing his doublet as she lifted herself up and used her now superior height to mercilessly deepen the kiss. Her weight was nothing to Joffrey as he walked back a few steps, searching half blindly for a door as his hands enjoyed the taut muscles around her belly.

Sansa's mouth slid down Joffrey's neck, delivering a rain of burning kisses as he gasped for air. "Inneo said the Sealord had rooms," she said curtly, not having time to speak.

"I'm trying to find them," Joffrey grunted as he managed to get the side door open. He half walked, half stumbled down the deserted corridor, Sansa doing her best to make him lose his footing as she ripped the top of his doublet and her long hair tickled his chest, the buttons flying away.

"What manner of knight are you? Useless," she scolded him, snaking her hands beneath his shirt and embracing him fiercely. Joffrey grunted almost painfully as her breasts pressed against his bare skin, the explosion of pleasure leaving him breathless.

"You're not exactly making it easy," he snarled as he stopped and pressed her against the wall. "You're a lousy maid, no sense of shame," he whispered as his questing hands kept exploring her belly, going downwards and downwards until Sansa gasped loudly. Her face turned beet red as she let out a colossal breath of hot air that tickled Joffrey's ear.

"You'll pay for that," she half moaned as she rode out the heavenly bliss.

"Snowfoxes have no bite anyway," Joffrey whispered huskily as his hands came back up and massaged her firm breasts, leaving her without enough air to respond.

He kept walking, searching for more doors. Where the fuck are those damned beds?! He thought as Sansa leaned back and stared at his eyes.

Her breathing was harsh, her face flushed and her hair seemed slightly messy, but she seemed more determined than ever as she leaned forward, "Direwolf Joffrey, not a Snowfox," she reminded him, her voice tinged in retribution as her nails dug into his back and she redoubled her assault on his neck. Joffrey moaned as her legs somehow clamped even tighter around his waist, her ravenous mouth reaching his ear and biting hard.

Joffrey grunted, shoulder smashing a random door aside and closing it with his leg. He let Sansa's weight fall, following her and pressing her against the long table that stood at the center of the abandoned dining room. Silver candelabrums and grand cabinets filled with wine bottles surrounded the periphery of his vision as he tore Sansa's annoyingly complicated dress apart.

"What about the bedroom?" She asked as her deft hands opened his trousers.

"Fuck the bedroom," Joffrey told her as he climbed the table and lost himself tasting her from top to bottom.

Sansa moaned, her eyelashes fluttering as she stretched her neck sideways and gazed around her with unfocused eyes, looking at the private dining hall of one Ferrego Antaryon. "Oh… The Sealord is going to kill us," she murmured before grabbing Joffrey's head by the hair and bringing him back towards her.

"He can get in line," Joffrey grunted, thoroughly undeterred as he kissed her fiercely.

-: PD :-