Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Sansa had discovered that there were simply not enough hours in the day to do everything she needed to do, and had come to the horrifying conclusion that waking up before the sun was the least bad option… even if it tended to leave her quite irritated.

She was reading the latest reports from their trading expedition to Braavos by the candlelight when a sudden noise made her freeze. She silently drew her dagger from her hidden sleeve, standing up so as to not make a sound as she approached the window and raised her arm-

And saw Joffrey slowly vaulting the last of the window.

What is he thinking?! If Jory heard the noise-

She shook her head when he saw his state; soaked to the bones and with bits of blood peppered around his cloak.

"Joffrey… what happened?" She asked him as he gazed at her with a look she knew all too well.

"It's okay… It's okay…" she whispered when he silently embraced him. He must have been riding through the night… must have been something over at the Camp.

He just hugged her tightly, offering no explanation other than a deep sigh. Sansa slowly removed the soaked cloak as they sat on the couch, grabbing a towel she'd kept on the cabinet to at least dry his head.

He tried to stand up, "I should go, Jory could hear us and I doubt Ned will be lenient again if-"

"Joffrey, quiet," she said as she pushed him down. Dealing with him when he was like this was much like dealing with a startled, nervous kitten… or lion, she supposed.

"What happened?" she asked him gently.

"Caved a Guardsmen's chest with my hammer, in front of the entire Regiment… then smashed his head open…" he said, his eyes heavy.

"Did you want to do it?" She asked him.

"Yes. No. I-" Joffrey stopped, taking another big breath, "I wanted him to be stoned with the rest of his accomplices, but when the piece of shit opened his mouth… the red…" he trailed off, shame in his eyes at what Sansa could already guess. He'd enjoyed it. He still enjoyed the memory of it.

"What did he do?" She said.

"Raped another Guardsmen, a woman with the Logistics Arm," he explained.

Sansa narrowed her eyes, "You should have started between his legs," she said harshly.

Joffrey seemed startled. Sansa suspected he'd come to her for forgiveness… He had a long history with his rages, he'd explained to her throughout their last life. A piece of himself that he'd never truly be free of, a memento of his past self he loathed… and loved, when in the throes of it.

She knew no argument would truly make him easy with that part of himself, and so she stayed quiet. She scratched his head slowly as his breathing became regular, her silent companionship slowly easing Joffrey into peace… Tonight, it was her turn to be strong.

She hoped he left their bodies to the crows.

-: PD :-

The 'Prince's House', as it had come to be called, was one of Baelish's former unofficial safe houses. A sort of manse on Rhaenys' Hill with wide gardens and private walls that blocked onlookers. It had been the perfect location for their center of operations inside the city, away from the tunnels of the Red Keep and the suspicious eyes of Cercei and Ned.

The feast itself was in full swing, young crownlander heirs, squires, knights and maidens laughing and talking alongside the long tables of the main dining room. It had an altogether cozy feel with its colorful hunting tapestries and pretty bookcases, and Sansa was proud of the effort she'd put in to make the place more informal and intimate than the Red Keep.

The atmosphere around her was merry and relaxed, and Sansa smiled before she was engaged in conversation by Letya Mallery. The knights at the table raised their tankards high as they toasted for the King and the Prince, praising each other again for their actions during the previous hunt. Gossiping maidens eyed knights and squires across the dancing floor, nodding swiftly between themselves before going out in groups of two or three towards their targets and dragging them to a dance as the bards played.

Sansa had started that particular trend when she and her handmaidens had assaulted Joffrey and his stern faced band of Legates during one of the early feasts. Joffrey had taken it cheerfully enough, leading the way into a slightly inappropriate dance that would have seen them back under the oversight of the Septa if Father had heard about it. The others had dutifully followed through, and poor Jon had been nearly tongue tied as Meera giggled and pulled him towards the dance floor. After that the practice had been set, and the obstacle of propriety had been neatly removed… making her job in stitching this disparate realm just a tiny bit easier.

One dance at a time.

"You really think so?" asked Letya as she eyed the smiling boy chatting with a couple of friends by the corner.

"Of course I do, he was so drunk half the servants heard it," Sansa confirmed.

"Oh…" Letya murmured as she blushed lightly, "Did he really say that about me?" she asked Sansa with wide, hopeful eyes.

Sansa nodded confidently, angling their walk so Letya could have a clear line of sight in between the dancers and the band of bards. "He did, he's just too timid to take the first step," she said with complete security.

Letya seemed nervous, "But Lady Sansa, what if he-"

"But nothing," she cut her off gently, "Go in there and be confident! Stand your ground. Look him in the eyes like you really mean it, and extend your hand. You don't even have to talk if you don't want to. Offer him a dance and he'll take it and never let go," she whispered confidently.

Letya took a long breathe, steeled herself as if to face execution, and marched off towards the boy. The conversation between them stopped abruptly, and they all stared as Letya marched towards Rossel Langward.

She stopped, looked him in the eye, and extended her hand imperiously. Rossel seemed petrified, until one of his friends elbowed him and he stood up in a hurry, awkwardly grabbing her hand.

Sansa walked towards the bards, smiling and exchanging a few words with guests before reaching the wooden stand. "Master Blue," she called out quickly.

"My Lady?" he asked quickly, turning from the other four bards and making it seem as if he were briefly joining the dancing, though Sansa knew he was waiting for her orders.

"Something lively and simple to follow, good rhythm," she rattled of before continuing towards the Redwyne twins and inquiring about the quality of the food. They seemed cheerful enough, talking animatedly with a couple of girls from House Cressy, but they took the time to thank her again for the invitation. She used the conversation as cover to keep an eye on the stiff looking couple as they entered the dance floor and Master Blue switched the band into a simple dancing jig.

It started with lute and flute, but soon enough the melody was accompanied by the steady beating of small drums, keeping the base simple as the strings flourished and Master Blue sang about a young couple and the laughable antics they got into during a town's summer festival. The rhythm was simple, but the man with the big drum was soon pounding as well as the song increased in intensity and volume, always held within the steady beat of the percussions. Before long, Rossel Langward and Letya Mallery were jumping and laughing, their hands together as they and everyone else on the floor tried to copy the simple but rhythmical jig Master Blue was carrying out as he sang.

And if loved bloomed, bringing House Mallory close to the loyalist Langwards and strengthening the Crowns hold in the southeastern Crownlands… then all the better for them all.

Sansa smiled as she left the dining hall and the house altogether, walking out an opened doorway to the sigh of the backyard. Oil lamps hanged from wooden poles and servants regularly entered the area through a backdoor, carrying simple dishes to be held with a single hand, as well as cups of light wine.

Most of the guests outside were clustered around a small wooden pen, laughing and cheering. She made her way through the crowd until she was leaning on the fence, smiling when she saw the contestants. A sort of impromptu competition had been held, that much at least was apparent; Downed tankards and discarded throwing knives were laid atop the tables, and someone had even trotted out Joffrey's training dummy.

Inside the pen itself though was Joffrey, fighting against his cousin Lancel with their halberds. The people were cheering or jeering as the cousins slowly circled around each other, sporting focused, long grins as they waited…

Suddenly, Lancel leapt with a roar as he tried to pull Joffrey's ankle, but the Prince avoided the attack and forced Lancel back with a couple of thrusts. It was clear neither was going all out against his opponent, but rather putting up a good show for the audience.

Sansa's enjoyment of the show turned slightly awkward when she realized she was right beside her half-brother. Jon must have been waiting for her sudden stiffening, because as soon as she saw him Jon bowed lightly.

"Lady Sansa," he said politely before making to leave.

"Jon, wait," she said lamely as she grabbed his arm. He seemed surprise as she let go of him, looking strangely at her.

"Do you think they've enjoyed the show?" she asked him, gazing at the other guests.

"I would think so," Jon told her, vaguely still as he nodded slowly.

Sansa sighed. Her relationship with her half-brother had not been all that great. She'd taken a sort of wariness towards him since an early age... Following the footsteps of her mother, as she had later realized. That wariness was still somehow inside her, lesser but present all the same… and she supposed her own likeness to her mother must play a part on Jon's side of the divide as well.

"The boars at least seem to be cooking nicely… I thought Joffrey didn't know how to hunt though…" she mused out loud.

"Oh, he does not," Jon said emphatically, a twinge of a smile showing on his lips for the first time. "When the hounds found the second boar some sort of primal instinct took over him," he said as he shook his head in bewildered admiration.

"What did he do?" Sansa asked him in long sufferance.

Jon actually smirked, "He and a few of the older boys had the first boar pinned with the spears, but when the hounds started barking like mad and another boar charged from the thicket to our right…" he trailed off as Joffrey parried a blow from Lancel and laid him on his back with the haft, the crowd cheering as he helped his cousin back up.

"What did he do?" Sansa asked again as she smiled as well.

"He actually dropped the spear, took out his arming sword and charged at the thing," Jon told her with an incredulous smile as he turned back to look at her. "We could scarcely believe it, but there he was. The prince of the realm butchering a raging boar with a tiny arming sword as he kept dancing around it, bleeding it out like an unruly pig," he said.

"That must be why the kitchen staff were butchering it into slices instead of roasting it above the pit like the other one…" Sansa mused as Joffrey called out.

"Any new challengers? Any challengers at all!? Come on people, free chance to beat on your future liege lord!" he called out, only to be jeered down by the audience of drunken knights and squires.

"More like a chance to sleep with a sore back and a cracked rib!" shouted someone, prompting good natured chuckling as Joffrey shook his head in bemusement and walked towards her.

"What do you say Sansa? Want to give them a show?" he asked with a smirk.

"I'd last all of ten seconds, not much of a show there," she said dryly as Joffrey scoffed.

"Come on Sansa, you know you're better than that! Besides, Lyra's been teaching you a few new moves right?" he asked innocently.

"Shush you," she scolded him, "I spent more than an hour plying Lord Gaunt with wine, food, and flattery so he plays nice when the time comes. The least you can do is appreciate the effort," she said lowly.

"Thanks Sansa," he said sincerely, "I think I would have just smashed his fingers again after ten minutes… at least he seemed pretty impressed with the boar hunt," he told her.

She was about to retort something witty and slightly unkind when there was a commotion behind her. She turned around to see the great bulk of King Robert Baratheon shoving aside guests and servants, making his way towards the pen like a runaway elephant, his face red as half the members of the Small Council followed him and the guests started to kneel.

"You went out on a boar hunt in the middle of the woods boy?!" bellowed Robert as he reached him.

Joffrey stared as the guests silenced themselves in a hush. Robert seemed to be staring at him with crossed eyes, his face red in perhaps anger or fury.

"Yes," Joffrey said in the midst of the sudden, surprised silence.

Robert stared at him in intensely, but Joffrey didn't back down. Finally, the King spoke again.

"And you didn't invite me…" he whispered in furious disappointment before bellowing a laugh fit to wake the gods themselves. Joffrey stared in incomprehension before one of Robert's meaty paws grabbed him. Sansa swore she could hear him squeak as he was bodily moved out of the melee pen.

"Come here son!" roared Robert as he lifted Joffrey across the wooden fence and gave him a sort of shaking one handed hug. "Is it true you decided to screw the cooks and slice the boar yourself with a sword?!" he all but shouted the question.

Sansa hid her mouth with one hand, trying not to giggle as she saw Joffrey's completely lost expression. "I was trying to bleed it to death rather than preparing the meal right there," he defended himself with a slightly aggravated tone of voice, which only served to make Robert laugh again.

"Bleed it he says!" he proclaimed, "Taking on a boar with an arming sword!" he roared as many new lords and knights entered the great backyard carrying wine cups and looking around in bemusement.

"It was pretty slow, couldn't turn around for shit," Joffrey tried to downplay it as he looked strangely at Robert, only to make him laugh once more.

Sansa could only snort as the sheer honesty in Joffrey's voice lifted the King's good cheer and made the rest of the assembled guests look at each other in thought.

"What did I tell you, you bloody Imp!" roared the King as he turned them both to the sight of Tyrion leading groups of servants which carried huge casks of wine. "A hell of a hunt and a celebration to outdo even you! Best of Baratheons and just the right parts of Lannister!" said Robert before turning to the still kneeling guests.

"What are you young fools kneeling for?!" he berated them, "I brought down half the Red Keep's ale stocks and they're not going to drink themselves!" he roared.

The guests stood up in a wild cheer as Ned Stark gave out a long sigh and gave Sansa an apologetic look. "We were in the middle of a feast when he insisted in coming down here himself to 'check the wild rumors'," he explained by way of apology. He might have not been made for life in the Capital, but even he understood the importance of his daughter's work here.

"Let him be happy, Father," Sansa told him as she looked at the wildly gesticulating King, showing off Joffrey to lords and knights as if he were a fine Myrish tapestry, laughing and bellowing for the 'young'ones' to get in line with their tankards. Tyrion was all too happy to serve, opening up one of the big barrel's valves and serving tankard after tankard of foaming ale.

Father seemed tired, pale under the eyes and just about fed up with the King's latest antics, but he didn't move to stop what he knew was to come. "I hope you stocked enough ale and food, Robert has been wanting to 'carouse' with his son for quite a while now. He'd forgotten about it until some bright fool back in the Red Keep asked whether it was true the Prince had taken down a boar with a sword… and was planning to eat it tonight," he said with grudging chuckle, "There was no stopping him once he learned there was a parallel feats going on at the other side of the city," he told her.

It seemed the King had learned of his son's feast and decided to combine both. When she spoke with Tyrion later he told her that they must have lost half of their own guests during the merry carousing between the Red Keep and the Prince's House… not that the King seemed overly bothered about it.

Father just shook his head again, before extending a hand a seizing a wine cup from a passing servant. "Tomorrow will be a mess," he moaned before downing it in one gulp.

-: PD :-

"Come on boy! You're not a man before you've chugged down one with your Father!" Robert roared as he slammed a tankard of ale into Joffrey. They were surrounded by cheering nobles, and Robert had to hold a monstrous chuckle when he saw Ned's exasperated head in between the sea of people. It seemed their lost guests were starting to catch up. Deciding to combine both their feasts had really been the second best idea he'd ever had.

"Drink! For the Seven Kingdoms you seem to give more of a piss than I do!" he roared, and Joffrey finally gave in. He shook his head with a slight smile before clashing the tankard against his.

"For the Seven Headaches! May they torment some other poor sod someday," Joffrey agreed, gulping deeply as Robert laughed and did the same.

"That's the spirit! More! Come on you damned Imp!" Robert shouted over the din, only to stagger back when something emerged from the crowd at waist level and crashed against his belly.

"You called?" said the Imp with a smirk, holding a keg of ale bigger than himself with both hands.

Third best idea of my rule, Robert thought as he slapped the little man's back and relieved him of the keg. "The Master of Coin everyone!" he roared as he lifted his arm with one hand and the barrel with the other. The crowd roared back as he showed them off, Joffrey laughing hysterically as Tyrion swung above the ground freely, downing a big cup of ale with his free hand as he was held up by Robert above the crowd.

Really, my son is responsible for all three of them… he thought with a wry chuckle as he left Tyrion on the ground and punched a hole between the rim and the side planks of the keg, the expert hit leaving a hole just small enough to pour accurately.

He sloshed ale all over the outstretched hands holding cups and tankards, but they seemed to multiply by the second as drunk lords, knights, and even maidens crowded around him, all holding out their cups and tankards.

"One moment you wretches!" he roared as he climbed the table next to him, using his now superior reach to pour over tankards and heads in equal measure all around him. "Joffrey! My aim is shit, come help your lord Father!" he ordered his son. Joffrey climbed up with a smile, shoved up by the loyal Master of Coin. His son was soon grabbing tankards by the dozen from the assembling, cheering crowd and holding them out so he could pour more quickly.

"There! Now drink!" he shouted, before he noticed something horrible.

I dropped my tankard…

"Eh fuck it! I've got big hands anyway!" he said as he raised the keg and poured into his mouth directly, the crowd cheering him on as squadrons of servants emerged from the house, carrying trays filled with roasted boar, directed by the keen eyes of his son's betrothed.

He broke off the torrent of ale to regale the crowd with a colossal burp, cutting off Joffrey's chuckle as he slammed the keg into his mouth. "Your turn boy!!!" he roared, the audience agreeing wholeheartedly as they cheered him on.

Joffrey drank deep, lowering the keg with a roar. "That's all you've got you fat oaf!?" he shouted as he tumbled lightly over the table.

The crowd went silent as all eyes moved to Robert… and he smiled.

"Finally a proper Baratheon to trade cups with!" he roared before downing another huge gulp and passing it back. Unfortunately, it seemed Renly had already left the party.

Joffrey accepted it, fire in his eyes as he drunk deep once more and passed it back. It went around a few times, the crowd dividing itself in its celebration. The youngest cheered and whopped and Joffrey shook his head wildly after a heavy swallow, while the older lords and knights banged cups against tables or stamped their feet and shouted as Robert slammed the keg down after a powerful gulp.

He passed the keg into his tipsy son, but Joffrey frowned as he tilted the keg upside down and shook it, not a single drop coming within.

"Victory! The last one was mine!" Robert declared victoriously, only for the equally drunk public to burst out into cheers and angry shouts.

"Nonsense!" Joffrey shouted as he swayed lightly atop the table, "The contest keeps! I'm not defeated!" he declared.

"Give it up son! You need a belly and another couple of years if you want to take a crack at me!" He said triumphantly.

"A crack huh? Well, we've got a few tourney weapons lying around here…" Joffrey trailed off when he saw Robert actually considering the idea.

"Why the hells not?! Let's see if you're truly ready to feel the Fury!" he roared, and Robert swore he could have jumped over the crowd and they would have carried him right into the training yard. Fortunately, even in this state of mind Robert was aware of the whole royal dignity claptrap.

Joffrey seemed to be eyeing him in shock, before the Master of Coin –bless his soul- shoved another tankard at him, pushed him towards the wooden fence, and cheered as loud as he could.

"Ten gold dragons for the Prince!" he shouted, and then the crowd went wild.

The betting was still going on as Joffrey and Robert threw some padded armor over themselves, aided by helpful nobles. Robert was hefting a tourney warhammer with both hands, starting to reconsider the notion of possibly ending up cracking his daredevil heir's skull.

Joffrey however was looking at him with a huge grin, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. He seemed to have given up control of the situation, perhaps leaving it in the capable hands of Sansa so he could just have some fun.

As it should be, emerged the sudden thought, regret and pride and something else buttering through his belly before he hefted the warhammer up in the air. He could see Sansa taking out the excellent band of bards out into the backyard, making them stand up over another table. They started a lively tune as he turned to his son.

"I'll try to go easy on you, look out for those delicate bones of yours," he called out as he walked towards him, the crowd pressing into the wooden fence and making so much noise it just kind of turned into a drone, though the music could be heard over it somehow.

"I'll do the same Robert! Can't hammer that belly too hard or I'll just fly back!" called out the cheeky brat as he swung both sword and hammer.

Robert scoffed, turning to the huge audience, "Seems I've got some manners to teach!" he called out. The crowd cheered him on, and for the first time in a long time he thought he could hear something else but false flattery. "Should have taken a two handed one! No proper strength behind the blow!" he said as he eyed his son's one handed hammer, "Leave the dual wielding for the maiden's tales!" he goaded him as more people pressed into the sturdy wooden fence

Had there been so many people in both feasts? He asked himself as he laughed.

"We'll see about that old man!" Joffrey shouted back, but Robert was interrupted before he could respond.

"Wait!" someone shouted. They both turned to see Tyrion climbing on to their old table, which had somehow been dragged to the side of the fence. "You'll need a judge for this! Impartial! Serious!" He slurred before downing his tankard.

They stared at him as they waited for his proposed judge to show himself.

Tyrion nodded, took in a lungful of air, and then roared as hard as he could, "BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER!!!" he said as the crowd carried the cry.

Robert chuckled as he prepared to take a small lunge at Joffrey, to ease him in so as to not break his skull by accident.

He was promptly fighting for his life.

His son was a damned whirlwind as he struck from left and right, sword and hammer synchronized as he spun and delivered a flurry of slashes and lunges which immediately put Robert on the backfoot. He parried wildly with the haft of the hammer, not having the range nor the time to stop the sudden onslaught with a blow of his own until he tripped and fell on the mud, his son's sword almost by his throat.

"Victory for the Prince!" Roared the Imp, "Give me the gold you damned rats!" he continued as several guests ran for it.

Robert could hardly believe it. He knew his son was good, he'd won the damned melee after all… but to be defeated like this? Him? The Demon of the Trident?!

Joffrey was standing back, bouncing on his knees as kept swinging his weapons, grinning like a fool. "Good enough I suppose, for an old man," the brat told him with a shit eating grin.

It was not the first time he'd realized how much of a shell of his former self he'd become, but this was the first time he felt some sort of fiery determination immediately after instead of a pitch black void.

"BEST OF THREE! BEST OUT OF THREE!!!" He roared as he stood up with a huff, using the warhammer as a pole, "I'll beat that smirk out of your insolent face!" he called out to his son, though he was unable to hide the proud smile as he said it.

"But what doth the crowd sayeth?!" Tyrion called out, and Robert was unsure if he was that drunk or if he was trying to imitate a crier.

The crowd roared assent universally, and Tyrion nodded seriously, "Insolent brat ready?!" he asked as Joffrey raised his arm, "Old man ready?!" he asked as Robert pumped his warhammer into the air.

"Then fight damn you!!! Thirty gold dragons for Prince Joffrey!" he shouted.

Robert roared as he bull rushed his son, who clearly had not been expecting that. He swung his warhammer horizontally, Joffrey bending below the arc and springing back up to close the range and bang him with his hammer.

Robert laughed as he swung the other way and took a big step back, catching Joffrey in the foot and bringing him unto the ground before the sword reached him. "This old devil still has a few tricks!" he roared as he lifted the hammer and struck only mud.

Joffrey had rolled away from the blow, standing up in some sort of twisting leap that saw him close the distance and strike in seconds. Robert parried the strike with the haft and slammed into him with his shoulder, shoving him back brutally and lunging with his warhammer as if it were a spear. Joffrey avoided the blow precisely, but was caught by surprise when instead of repositioning, Robert swung the extended warhammer sideways as he shifted his grip to the end of haft. It caught him in the chest and sent him flying back.

Joffrey rolled through the mud, turning his fall into a flip and standing back up again. Robert laughed as he turned around, holding his warhammer high as the crowd returned his voice a hundred times louder only for Joffrey to dash at him with a roar of his own. Robert parried the hammer but the sword slammed against his shoulder. He grunted as he retreated a few steps, trying to widen the distance. Joffrey would have none of that though, keeping close and hitting Robert's thigh with the hammer.

Old instincts were returning to him faster and faster now, his motions becoming more confident by the second. He bulled through the pain and Joffrey, slamming him aside before he could doge him. He tried to circle left but Robert predicted the movement, slamming the warhammer like a spear against his chest and pushing him back.

They circled each other wearily, opening the distance as they feinted lightly and switched their grips, each waiting for the other to commit.

Robert hesitated when he saw Ned shove his way to the edge of the training yard. He pushed aside the last noble in his way and slammed against the wooden fence, both hands supporting his weight as he turned to stare at him, red faced, "Robert! What is the matter with you?!" he shouted as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

Deep inside, Robert had known this sudden, godly moment of fun and something else had been too good to last. Ned gazed sternly at his best friend for a second before he climbed the first rung of the fence, cupped his hands, and shouted again like a man possessed.

"Robert!!! Pull yourself together!" shouted his dutiful friend, "BREAK HIS SHAMELESS PAWS!!!" He roared as loud as he could, slurring lightly as Tyrion handed him another tankard.

Wait what?

Robert felt as if he'd been slapped and transported to another world. He could only stare at Ned as the man downed the tankard, wiping the foam off his mouth before giving him that stereotypical Ned Stark frown. "Whatr' re' you waiting for?!" he shouted.

"BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Robert bellowed as he jumped at his son, the hammer light in his hands as he lunged and swept, twisted and slammed, the fast paced music propelling him on as he struck. He felt as if he were twenty years younger, a smile on his face and a hammer in his hands, no worries and no regrets as he all but danced around Joffrey. Granted, it had more in common with an elephant's stomping than any sort of real dancing, but he felt unstoppable as Joffrey dodged and twisted franticly, avoiding his sweeps barely and parrying his lungs with huffs of strength. Joffrey's hammer flew away as Robert carried out the same disarm maneuver he'd used to torment Ned during their training in the Eerie, feinting low only to viciously hammer away the weak parry with a powerful overarm strike.

His son tried to close the range again, and Robert smiled. Let him, he thought in vicious satisfaction as the boy came at him with a low guard. He simply bull rushed him, angling himself so the sword clanged against the training armor instead of his flesh, absorbing the blow and lifting his hammer to shoulder height. He brought it down, quick as a viper as he struck Joffrey's upper chest, the force behind the blow making him stumble back as Robert stayed back, already swinging as he swept his feet and spun with the warhammer's momentum, the move a familiar one he'd repeated a million times in the dreams that used to haunt him. He brought the warhammer down brutally before Joffrey could react, slamming the earth and splattering mud all over his son's face. It would not do to cave in his son's chest after all.

"And point for the King!" shouted Tyrion, frowning when several nobles kept staring at him and he realized he was quite indebted right now, "Wait! There's still one more! Double or nothing!" he said as he tried to save his hide.

"Don't be upset son, it was that move that named me the Demon of the Trident!" he called out triumphantly as the crowd roared with him.

"And gave the Ruby Ford its name!" Ned roared as the handful of northern knights and armsmen banged their tankards against whatever hard surface they could find, veteran storm and riverlanders joining in.

Joffrey was gazing at him appreciably as he recovered his weapons, caked in mud and sweat. Robert chuckled, again feeling something warm and calm inside him as he took in the rare look of approval.

They didn't even wait for Tyrion's call, they were already at it. There was something playful during their third and final spar, slower and altogether more elaborate than the last two. They weren't fighting to win, but to have a good time. They struck and parried, spun in elaborate twists and even fought with tankards in hand, each blow forcing the other to drink.

Robert was sweating like a pig. His lungs burned with every breath and his back was protesting loudly after each swing of his warhammer, but he didn't care. With his best friend shouting encouragement and the occasional calls for the bloody murder of his son, said son leering back and promptly chuckling when he caught a hammer to the leg and a mouthful of mud, knights and lords and squires and maidens cheering and laughing all around them in complete and utter drunken sincerity…

Robert realized his eyes felt a bit watery as they walked back to the table. Joffrey was supporting his weight as they staggered towards the long bench alongside it, completely and utterly exhausted as they all but crashed down on the bench. People laughed and clapped their backs, the music from the bards switching to something still lively but not as fast paced.

He leaned back after their latest trade of insults gave way to another round of ale, one hand still over Joffrey's shoulders as his son was now scolded by Sansa, her blue eyes boring into his in mixed worry and mirth, a small smile growing on her lips as Joffrey came up with excuse after drunken excuse. Robert took a moment to gaze around, chuckling lowly as he saw his Master of Coin upside down over a table, trying to walk with his hands as young squires slammed their tankards against the table in a rising crescendo. He saw Lancel and Olyvar Frey take over the training yard, demonstrating their unique halberd drill as they sparred intensely, not wanting to be shown unworthy after his own bout with his son. Not all of Joffrey's 'Legates' were there though. Jon Snow was leaning on the fence, seemingly content to leave the showing off to his peers.

I think this is the first time I've seen him laugh, Robert thought with a slight smile, a smile which turned into a chuckle as he saw one of Sansa's young handmaidens by the boy's side.

Howland Reed's daughter, he finally recognized her face. He seemed to be laughing hysterically at something the little girl had shouted at the dueling legates, trying to cover her mouth with his hand as she kept jeering despite the poor lad's efforts. Robert chuckled again when the Reed girl stayed mum under Snow's hand, the boy retrieving it quickly as if it'd been burned. The Reed girl caught it before it fled completely though, holding it tight between them as she kept looking at the training bout as if nothing had happened. Snow's face turned from greyish to red in seconds as he smiled slowly, his hand still.

He had a good smile, a spitting image of her mother's that made Robert smile at the memory.

What a beauty she'd been, he sighed in recollection, remembering the hilarious expression on Ned's face as instead of following all precedent and trying to win her heart himself, he shoved his best friend at the second most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms…

And so another circle closed as the daughter of the man who killed Arthur Dayne clasped hands with his nephew, stories closing and long awaited dues fulfilled as time moved on.

Robert chuckled as Ned slapped his back, emerging from the flood of guests to say something which Robert couldn't quite comprehend but seemed to have him quite amused. He slapped him back, laughing as Ned almost lost his footing. It was funny to see him drunk again, after all these years. Memories of old seemed intent on flooding him today as he remembered two young idiots sneaking through Jon Arryn's wine cellar, a result of youthful exploration which ended with Ned puking his guts while trying to stall the Old Falcon, buying time for Robert to hide a comely wench under his bed.

Joffrey sniggered as he looked at Jon and Sansa swatted his head. His son turned to him and said something indistinct, which Robert nodded away with a chuckle of his own. He had grown so much in so little time, his son, as if fate had called in its debts from the wrongs of Robert's own life to set the balance straight once more. As it should have been. As it should be. He gazed at the servings of roasted boar the maids were leaving everywhere atop the tables, avoiding the ones that had been turned over in the midst of the revelry. This particular feast had gone out of control a while ago, and it didn't seem to be stopping any time soon… truly one for the records.

My son killed this, Robert thought as he took a bite out of the boar, flavor flooding his mouth as he sighed deeply.

He wondered why it tasted better than any boar he had ever killed.

He realized the sappy, sticky feeling in his throat was satisfaction. A happy, calm thing that settled to the core of his bones. He took another gulp of ale to swallow the mellow, sticky sensation that had crept up his throat, that deep feeling which made him realize he was content with his life, perhaps for the first time ever. He'd done good, he hadn't screwed everything up.

He winced slightly as the dull headache that had been plaguing him since the middle of the bout intensified. Fortunately, another gulp of ale seemed to drown that particular woe. He felt so tired, so exhausted… spent even. As if tonight he'd pooled all of his strength and vitality to return to the old days of yore, a nearly forgotten youth as he briefly became who he had been, who he was.

He wiped a lone tear off his cheek before he downed another tankard, taking a deep breath. The numb pain in his forehead was spreading slowly, but he felt it was no worse than any wound he'd taken in his youth or even thirty minutes ago as he'd sparred with his son for that matter.

He'd screwed up, more times than he could count… But his son would not. With the backing of a whopping five kingdoms through blood and marriage, his son would be secure in his rule. With a loving and smart wife by his side to prod him and make him excel, a loyal and competent Hand to handle the transition, a capable mind with a penchant for copper counting, and arms strong enough to wrestle a bull or smash in a pretender's head if the need ever arose, he realized he was no longer worried about his son's future.

Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, could take that legacy.

"Don't let them rule you, do what you feel is right and bollocks for the consequences," he told his son the advice he'd liked to have received when they crowned him, almost twenty years ago.

He seemed startled by the sudden piece of advice, nodding thoughtfully despite the alcohol before saying some sort of gibberish Robert couldn't comprehend. It had the tone of a question though, his hand rising hesitantly to touch Robert's right cheek.

He waved his son away as he stood up and walked towards Ned. He embraced his surprised friend, who seemed green enough to vomit as if they were all fifteen year olds again. Ned gibbered something that made the men around him laugh, and Robert laughed with them, with his best friend. "I'm glad you came south," he told him with a smile. The swaying Ned nodded heartily at that, slapping him in the shoulder and gibbering something back which sounded nice, thoughtful, and slightly melancholic.

Pure, typical Ned.

Robert chuckled as he walked away, his field of vision dimming from the right as he searched around with one eye.

Ah, there it is, he thought as he reached his discarded warhammer. He'd forgotten why he was searching for it, but he knew it was very important he had it in his hand right now. The entire right side of his face felt oddly lax as he sat down away from the party at the other side of the training yard, leaning his back on the wooden fence and letting his head rest against it.

He crossed his arms around his warhammer, smashed Rhaegar Targeryen's chest once more in the privacy of his own mind, and realized the memory no longer gave him such a vicious feeling of satisfaction anymore… Rhaegar Targeryen died unmourned, his legacy in ashes… but what did he care? So many opened things had been closed, so much time had passed him by, new youths and new faces and new dreams and new regrets. The old gave way to the new, and the reigns of life passed from the old to the young, who had the dreams and the strength to impose their will on this harsh world of them all.

He drank from his tankard one more time, savoring the strong, proper flavor of a good stout, and smiled.

Who was he fucking kidding? Smashing in Rhaegar Targeryen's fancy chest plate and adorning his guts with fistfuls of rubies would never get old. He chuckled lowly at that, something about that thought brought a smile to his face.

The chuckle died off as he blinked with one eye, confused. What was he doing here again? And why did he have his arms wrapped around his warhammer?

Ah, right. Father always said Baratheons should greet the Stranger with a weapon in hand, he remembered. His dimming vision was replaced by the sight of the Windproud leaning sideways in the midst of the storm, the scene framed by two of Storm's End's crenellations as guards roared and little Stannis pleaded for the Gods to spare Father and Mother. He'd always liked to think the wild, big figure atop the main mast slamming an axe against the ruined mainsail had been Father, big and strong and proud to the end as Shipbreaker Bay swallowed him whole.

Robert wondered if Old Steffon had also felt proud of his son as he died, gazing at his ancestral keep and the two figures perched over the crenellations. He mused about that as his grip on the tankard went lax, forehead resting on his warhammer as he let out a long breath and went still.

-: PD :-