Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"But that's just it Your Grace, she paid absolutely nothing!" the merchant blustered, thoroughly discontented as the seamstress shook her head harshly.

The woman shook her head again as she looked at Sansa, "If that cloth were any more rotten, mice would have jumped out of it! You said that-"

"Shut up you lying whore!" the man interrupted her abruptly, "I will see you flogged for this! Mark my wo-"

"SILENCE!" roared Ser Barristan after Sansa gave him a small look, settling the throne room into blessed silence so she could think.

Sansa took a deep breath as she leaned back on the damned pointy chair, accommodating herself over the red and yellow cloak she'd lain over it. "Master Tobias," she called out calmly, unhurried as she surveyed him from boots to head, "Only the Crown or its duly appointed Master of Laws has the authority to flog a resident of the city. And last I checked, the latter was in open rebellion and the former… well, are you proclaiming yourself a claimant to the Iron Throne, Master Tobias?" she asked lightly, as if she were asking him whether he'd like ham or cheese for his breakfast.

The man swallowed awkwardly, gazing around the Throne Room at the half century of Royal Guardsmen standing impassively in line, facing the rows of people awaiting their turn for a public audience. "Ah, no, Your Grace," he stammered.

"Good. Because both carry heavy penalties far, far worse than a mere flogging Master Tobias," she said as she stared at his eyes. "Now, I think I've heard just about enough about cloth quality without seeing it myself, do you have a sample?" she asked as her eyes shifted to the seamstress, who immediately looked flustered.

"I-I'm afraid not, my lady-"

"You shall address the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms as 'Your Grace' or 'my queen'," Ser Barristan interrupted her with a strong voice.

"Your Grace… If I may…" the merchant asked awkwardly over the resulting silence, shuffling his hands.

"Yes, Master Tobias?" she asked him.

"I could recognize it anywhere… that veil she's wearing right now was made from my cloth," he said deferentially.

Her eyes shifted to the seamstress, "Is that true, goodwoman?" she asked her.

"Of course n"- she stammered when Sansa kept gazing at her, swallowing something sour before nodding, "Yes it is," she nodded quickly.

"Ser Barristan," she asked the Kingsguard.

The white clad knight strode confidently to the seamstress, receiving the veil with surprising gentleness before returning and climbing the steps to the throne. People in the audience were murmuring as Sansa received the veil and examined it, putting it up against the daylight coming from the big windows.

"It looks a bit ragged, though not extremely so… subpar treatment post-harvest but nothing out of this world… " she said out loud as she returned it to Ser Barristan, "Hardly something that will last, but that would have been obvious by the low price you paid for it," she told her before nodding slightly. "You should have paid the price in full plus half its value again as restitution for the delay and wasting Master Tobias' time," she declared, turning to Master Tobias' grinning face before frowning, "Or you would have if the Master had not taken measures into his own hands and ruined your shop's door and lock in an attempt to retrieve the goods," she said with a frown, shaming the man into silence.

"As it is, we see no further need for restitution between both parties, both having induced unlawful loss on the other, of similar magnitude. In the future, we are of the hope that parties in a similar predicament will not waste the Crown's time and will instead seek the arbitration of the Royal Court of Commerce, or even better, consult the Royal Office of Weights and Measurements for quality references and their usual market prices… before jumping into a suspiciously good deal," she proclaimed.

The halberdier closest to her banged the butt of his weapon against the floor three times, the royal usher guiding the grieving parties back through the main doors after they had bowed or curtsied awkwardly.

Ser Barristan gazed at her, and Sansa shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Court is adjourned for today!" he called out, "All petitioners with red tablets will have priority tomorrow morning. If your tablet is not red then come during the afternoon," he said forcefully, a little bit of frustration peeking in his voice.

Sansa stood up when the hall was cleared, taking a deep breath and messing her hair a bit. She accommodated the small crown over her head as she descended the steps, waving away the sheepish royal usher.

"I'm sorry my queen, I don't know how they got past the door! I'll-"

"Calm down Kirt," she scolded him lightly as Ser Barristan returned to her side, "Just make sure it does not happen again. There are not enough hours in the day to see all legitimate complaints, so cluttering up that valuable time with stuff that could have been resolved by one of the lower courts defeats the whole purpose of establishing them in the first place," she explained gently.

"Of course my queen, it won't happen again," he said apologetically, bowing his head repeatedly.

"See that it doesn't," she said before walking out of the hall through one of the side doors, greeting Meera with a smile. "How long were you watching?" she asked her.

"Half an hour, I don't know how you can spend whole mornings at a time just sitting there," she said, perplexed as she walked with her, Ser Barristan half a step behind.

"Believe me, neither do I," Sansa told her with a sigh as all the exhaustion she'd been hiding from the audience suddenly manifested itself and she took a second to stop and lean on the corridor's wall.

"Maybe you need a bit of movement, stretch out a little," Meera said mischievously.

Sansa looked at her, smile growing as she turned to the kingsguard. "What do you say, Ser Barristan? Up for a little spar?" she asked him as she gave him her best young queenly look.

Ser Barristan shook his head with a halfhearted huff, "As you say, Your Grace," he said with a reluctant smile.

-: PD :-

The rhythmic taps of the spear against tourney steel were a godsend to Sansa's mind. After hours upon hours holding court, followed by relentless politics and juggling half a dozen different intrigues at the same time, the simple reality of a good spar had become a luxury to be treasured and savored to the last second.

Ser Barristan was a superb teacher, and she didn't know why Joffrey had never sought his instruction during his early lives. He adapted to a place just above her skill level, making him an infuriatingly good opponent who was always one step ahead, just close enough to extract every drop of sweat and skill from her body before trouncing her all the same, wrapping it all with a few pointers she would consult with her pillow.

She'd been keeping and increasing her strength whenever she could, mostly as a way to deal with the stress of rulership and worse, the stress of rulership without Joffrey by her side. She parried a sword strike and twirled below it, spinning the spear for a quick butt at Ser Barristan's calf, but he sidestepped it effortlessly as he closed the range and tapped her with the pommel of his sword.

"Keep the range, Your Grace. It is the motto of the breathing spearman," he chided her lightly as she retreated, rubbing the itchy training helmet that contained part of her long hair which even now struggled to erupt from within.

"I'm hardly breathing right now," she said in return as she dashed at him with a small bellow, jumping and going for a full strike on his chest. He managed to block it with his shield, trying to cut away at the spear with his sword before Sansa retrieved it for another stab. She was quicker, thrusting twice at his shield covered chest to distract him from the follow up thrust to the shin. He didn't buy the Ib-ke though, advancing on her as the sword twisted the spear away from its trajectory. She retreated, planting the spear on the ground and thus parrying the sword strike that came for her hip, before she used it as a pole to support her weight as she slammed into Ser Barristan's shield with both legs.

She sent him stumbling back as she landed half crouched, sprinting towards him and delivering a flurry of follow up strikes to keep him off his footing. "Sometimes I wonder where you learned those techniques my queen," he said after he'd warded her off with a coordinated strike of sword and shield.

"My husband is a man of many talents," she said cheekily in between huffs, but Ser Barristan was already on the attack again. This time he feinted perfectly, Sansa moving to cover the strike that never came and instead receiving a painful chastisement on her forearm.

"Point," she grumbled.

"You could still continue fighting with one hand and a stump! At least another ten seconds!" Meera called out from the fence.

"I once saw a man last around thirty," added Ser Barristan, a thoughtful frown of recollection adorning his features.

"Well, I won't," she grunted as she took off the training helmet and sat on a stool near the fence, turning around to see the rest of the main courtyard staring at the training yard, servants and guards looking at her discreetly. "Is it just me or has a sorcerer frozen time itself around here?" she asked out loud.

Just like that, the spectators returned to their duties, conversations and shuffling reviving as if by magic.

"Seems you scared off the sorcerer," said Meera as she came and leaned right next to her on the fence.

"I'll have a talk with the Centurion," Ser Barristan said somewhat apologetically, stashing the training gear with a frown.

"Don't bother, I don't mind the gossip," Sansa told him as Meera hummed.

"What about my turn?" asked the willy Reed.

"Yard's free," Sansa told her with a lifted hand.

"You know I hate the yard," she pouted.

"Fine," Sansa huffed, "Ser Barristan, go get yourself cleaned up, we'll be safe and sound in the Godswood," she told him.

"Aye Your Grace," he said with a perfect bow, pointing a familiar frown at Meera as she happily went for her trident.

-: PD :-

The spar with Meera was a much more lighthearted affair, indistinguishable from gossip and giggles even as she showed her some nifty tricks crannogmen could do with a pole weapon. This was the usual way they conversed, as Meera had little stamina to sit through the long court sessions like Wylla or Talia did, whispering in her ear about affairs of state or merely chatting to stave off the harrowing boredom that seemed to permeate many of the petty squabbles of the citizenry of King's Landing. The small but progressively growing courts she had established had been based on the Braavosi High Trade Council, the body that oversaw the litigation of the thousands of disputes that occurred every day at the City-in-the-Lagoon.

Westerosi legal culture was much less developed than Braavos', which was both a pain and a blessing. She'd more or less had a free hand in establishing its foundations, which had been a blessing for the serious legal burden on a system that had depended almost entirely on a handful of people. On the other hand, petitioning the Crown for an audience was an ancient prerogative and pride of the citizenry of King's Landing, and taking it away entirely was a nonstarter. She'd been threading a hellishly complicated middle ground of delegation, efficiency, and legitimacy which had honestly started to take its toll on her other schemes and her psyche. Father helped inmensly, but his recent duties had seen him socializing with the passing Riverlords away from the capital, on their march towards Bronze Gate.

Fortunately, Meera did her best to help. Mostly by trying her damnest to pierce her gut with a trident… which was a better prospect than Lyra's efforts now that she thought about it. At least Meera was not trying to bash her skull in.

"Uff-" Sansa grunted as the blunted trident slammed into her lightly armored belly, throwing her backwards. Lady barked from her nest by the Heart Tree's roots, as if disappointed by Sansa's lack of poise. She'd been prowling the Kingswood again, Sansa knew, though you couldn't have guessed that by the way her pristine coat of fur seemed to shine under the afternoon sun.

"You're distracted again," Meera said cheekily as she dodged her thrust and locked the spear with the trident, leaving her vulnerable to a swift kick.

Sansa sighed as she defended herself, "Legal stuff," she pouted, "I'll be having a meeting with Tyrion in about an hour or so. More work," she told her before giving Lady an accusing look. Her direwolf looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow, sprawling on her little nest with puppy eyes.

Considering the direwolf was by now bigger than any dog in the Crownlands itself the vision was at least mildly amusing… which Sansa reckoned must have been the point.

"At least you're not thinking about your beloved," Meera said the last words all mushy, almost mumbling them before grinning silly.

"Oh so that's how you want to play it?" Sansa arched her eyebrows as she struck and deflected, "Takes one to know one. And I understand it, truly. Jon may be my half-brother but I'm not blind," she said with a grin.

"I- wh- what?!" Meera complained wordlessly, parrying strike after strike with her trident.

"I get it Meera! There's something about the broody ones, you just want to give them a big sloppy kiss and suck the angst right out of them," she explained as she feinted.

"Wha- SANSA!" She screeched as she turned beet red and the spear sailed effortlessly through her parry, smacking her in the knee.

"Ouch!" Meera said as she limped back, "Unfair! Totally unfair!" she complained in between bouts of budding, hysterical laughter.

"So stoic but so soft! At the same time even!" said Sansa as she tried not to laugh and Meera held her mouth with both hands, dropping her trident, "Frowning as if they were constipated before finally deciding to lay down their duty"- she said the last with an exaggerated manly knight voice -"and deigning themselves to feel this strange and forbidden thing called happiness…" she said grandly before trailing off as Meera pleaded for her to stop, laughing like a madwoman. She continued, merciless, "Struggling with their conscience as they stop suffering for a second and deign to demean their all glorious purpose for…" Sansa trailed off once more as her handmaiden took in a much needed breath of fresh air.

"For a pathetic little kiss!" Meera harrumphed before blowing up in hilariously high squeaked giggles, Sansa laughing as well as they commiserated. They sat down together, against one of the Heart Tree's roots and leaning together as they weathered the occasional outburst of returning giggles.

They spent the rest of the hour there, chatting about everything and nothing, commiserating about 'the broody ones' and further plotting a certain match perfect for one Lyra Mormont.

The Hound would never know what hit him.

"It really is amazing," Meera said idly during the last pause in the conversation, giving Lady a bit of ham from the basket they had carried with them to the Godswood. The direwolf sniffed it delicately before slurping it in one go, scratching her head against Meera's hand almost as if it were a regal curtsy before settling back down.

"She is," Sansa agreed easily, giving her grey-white follower a smile.

"I mean, not only her. But the fact that all your brothers and sisters also got one," Meera told her, "And that they're all so obedient and similar to their masters," she added.

"Ghost, the only living being that can out brood Jon," Sansa said glibly.

Meera turned red again as she coughed, "Yeah… isn't it strange though? They're also on your House's sigil, so they must have meant a lot to the Starks of old…" she mused.

Sansa frowned lightly, picking up on the way Meera was trying to lead the conversation. It was a topic she seldom approached, but when she did it was always carefully, and very obliquely.

"… Meera, you've been dancing around this topic since the day I met you at Fort Cailin," she cut to the heart of the matter. "Why don't you just say what you want to say?" she asked of her.

Meera seemed paralyzed, like a startled deer. She seemed to be munching on something dry, struggling to speak.

"Come Meera, spit it out!" Sansa called her out lightly, secretly wary about what could have her in such a state for so long. She smiled, "Or I'll tell Jeyne all about the oh so painfully brief and chaste kiss my honor stuffed half-brother gave you before riding off into the sunset and war!" she said triumphantly, deciding to tack this from another direction.

"You wouldn't!" Meera squeaked despite herself.

"So painful! As if he were committing the greatest sin against the Old Gods and the New! I didn't hear what he told you but I'm sure I could come up with a brief approximation, something like 'Move on if I fall, don't wait for me'," Sansa savored the words as if they were a well-cooked steak, "Jeyne will positively melt through the courtyard's cobblestones! I'tll-"

"I think you're a warg!" Meera squeaked at last, cutting Sansa mid-sentence.

"I'll… wait, what?" she asked her with a colossal frown, Lady tilting her head as well as she gazed at Meera.

"A warg, a skinchanger, someone who can peer into the minds of other living beings and experience what they feel, even control them if he or she is strong enough," she explained painfully.

Sansa looked at her for a second before bursting out in laughter, shaking her head at the good joke. She trailed off when she realized Meera was serious.

"You can't be serious," she told her, nonplussed.

"But I am! Father had his suspicions, and your invitation was the perfect excuse to see for ourselves-"

"So you were spying on me?" Sansa asked her, stunned.

"Not like that! We serve the Starks, if there's one thing you can be sure of Sansa, is that we serve the Kings and Queens of Winter, always," she said suddenly, the abrupt, absolute certainty in her voice convincing Sansa more than a dozen apologies put together.

They stayed quiet for a moment, each thinking deeply before Sansa stood up. "That's old northern superstition Meera," she said as she walked to the chest close by to stash her spear. "I don't know what tales they told you in Greywater Watch but-" she stopped abruptly as she spun and blocked Meera's silent trident thrust with her spear, the bronze tip but a hair's breath away from her skin.

"How did you stop me?" Meera asked commandingly.

Sansa shook her head angrily as she stood back, "Meera! What were you th-"

"How did you stop me?!" she almost shouted again.

"I saw you! Now, why-"

"Nonsense Sansa! I struck from your blind spot, you couldn't have seen me even through the corner of your eye!" she said forcefully.

"I-, Meera-, I know what I saw, else how did I block your thrust in time?" she explained to her as if she were a simpleton, frowning at her own explanation.

"You did see me, just not through your eyes," Meera said calmly as she stood back and gazed to her side. Sansa looked as well, gazing at the alert form of Lady as she stared at them from her nest of roots, still as a statue.

"I- You're not-" Sansa shook her head, looking at Lady and back to Meera again and again.

"You're a natural Sansa, you have such an innate talent you hadn't even realized it! Has there been any time when you've felt strangely connected to Lady?" she said quickly.

"I, no, yes, but she's Lady! Of course we're connected!" Sansa tried to explain, mostly to herself.

"Almost as if you shared thoughts and emotions?" Meera asked piercingly, "Like you dreamt of being her?" she pierced deeper.

"I- n-" she stuttered as she gazed at Meera, her hands moving to where she knew Lady had just positioned herself, just by her side. She rubbed Lady's head gently, repeatedly as she tried to calm down her anxiety and Meera's eyes bore relentlessly into hers.

"Calm down, breathe Sansa," Meera told her as she gently lowered her to the floor, sitting by her side and opposite to Lady's. "There's nothing to be afraid of, the Starks of old had that direwolf on their banners for a reason. You're rediscovering a legacy of your family right now, something deeply yours as much as your House words or Winterfell itself," she explained slowly, possessed of that serene certainty again.

"No, I mean, yes…" Sansa muttered as she blinked, steadying her breathe, "You're right," she said as her eyes focused, turning from the ground back to Meera's face, "Joffrey had theorized about the magical powers of Westeros' oldest dynasties. The Red Comet's arrival must have somehow repowered them from dormancy, as it did with Daenerys' dragons and the Warlocks and the Cultists," she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other as Meera's expression of supporting acceptance turned bewildered.

"The Starks led the charge on the White Walkers during the First war for Dawn," Sansa said as she stood up, the hair at the back of her neck standing on edge as she paced to nowhere in particular, Meera trying to get a word in edgewise as she stood up after her. "My ancestors erected the Wall, they ruled over the Children of the Forests and the Giants, the legends say they rode their direwolves into battle," she muttered almost in a daze as she turned to gaze at Meera.

"Sansa I- I know it can seem intimidating," Meera said as she reached her, frowning as she followed a prepared speech that had clearly just become obsolete, "I mean, that, -" she seemed at a loss for words at Sansa's reaction.

"Intimidated?" Sansa asked in turn as she gazed at Meera's eyes, "Meera I was so stupid! Of course I should have the potential, sorcerous power is a legacy of House Stark! It practically must have been to defeat the Scout Walkers with bronze. But I never thought I… That my bond with Lady…" she trailed off as she turned to look at her Direwolf, "… could be the result of ancient bloodlines returning…" she was breathing deeply, gazing sharply at Lady as her direwolf stared back, feeling her without touching, sharpening her mind against the uncannily familiar sensation like never before, the one that had always been there. She immersed herself in it, jumping straight into it and feeling as if she'd just dived from the Red Keep, straight into Blackwater Bay as sge shivered.

"I never thought that our bond…" she trailed off once more as she frowned intensely, "Gods Meera it was so obvious…" she whispered as she kept staring at lady, her breath hitching when one of her eyes turned white.

Meera shivered in awe as Sansa and Lady both looked at her at the same time, one of Sansa's eyes a milky white as she blinked slowly and started to lose her balance.

"You can't do that yet! You need training!" she said urgently as she grabbed Sansa firmly before she fell to the ground. Sansa shook her head in a daze before she regained her footing, Meera still holding her arms tightly.

"Teach me," Sansa told her after she'd returned fully to herself.

"I don't know as much as my Father or even my brother Jojen! We all know but scraps that have survived-" Meera gibbered before Sansa squeezed her arms tightly, sternly but not painfully.

"Meera Reed, teach me," her Queen commanded, her blue eyes as deep as winter storms as they bore on her own, her direwolf sitting by her side like a grey marble statue who happened to blink, gazing at Meera serenely.

Meera Reed felt something deeply primal within her as she fell on her knees, the rusty words of the Old Tongue coarse to her ears.

"Yes, Magnar," she swore.

-: PD :-