Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

She smiled like a lazy cat as she stretched, making her best impression of a jealous limpet as she cuddled even closer to Joffrey, savoring his athletic form with her hands.

"Someone woke up in a good mood," he said with a fond smile as he hugged her back with one hand, the other gently stroking her face.

"Now we can do this every night and no one in the kingdoms can bat an eyelash," she said in infinite contentment.

"I don't know, the forbidden aspect did give it a certain charm," Joffrey mused, gazing at the discarded crowns near the bed.

"I don't care, this bed was worth it," said Sansa, "Tiny rooms and abandoned closets are uncomfortable," she added before she smiled lightly, nearing Joffrey's lips. "Wait, do I have to call you husband now?" she asked.

Joffrey snorted, the air lifting a lock of Sansa's hair and hiding one of her eyes. "I recall you had no such problems doing so in Braavos," he reminded her.

"Hm. But now it's really legal. Husband," she said slowly, savoring the word.

"One night in bed and you're already submitting, wife," said Joffrey with a restrained smile.

"Oh, submitting am I?" she asked him as she climbed over him. "I think we'll have to do something about it, dear," she said with relish.

Joffrey's smile disappeared as he gazed at something behind her, "Sansa-" he was interrupted by a shadowed tendril emerging from his chest, and Sansa screamed as she turned and an enormous shadow consumed the room, a hundred tendril spearing her with axes and spears and arrows as the Purple stood idly by, doing nothing as she died in truth-

Sansa blinked, startled. She quickly relaxed when she saw Joffrey though, his ashen form already kneeling by the side of the bed and holding her hand tightly.

"Hey, husband," she whispered, having trouble with the words. Her throat felt so dry, or was that her head? She felt all buzzy, her mind sluggish and resentful.

"Hey, wife," he said, slightly choked as he stroke her arm gently. He looked like hadn't slept in a week.

Sansa felt strange, light and heavy at the same time. She could barely move her head, and her body hurt so much it kind of didn't anymore.

"We… won?" she asked him as memories emerged into her conscious mind, slowly.

"Yes Sansa," he said gently, "You won, the city is ours and the other 'Kings' are dead. It's over," he told her.

Sansa blinked slowly, the world turning dark again as she smelled something sick and sweet.

Milk of the poppy, she thought in a daze, trying to concentrate as the world grew dim.

No… there's so much to do… she thought with a sort of sluggish anger, Joffrey's face disappearing as she closed her eyes.

-: PD :-

Coming back to the land of the living was a bothersome affair, Sansa thought. It appeared she had been slipping in and out of consciousness for weeks now, battling a severe infection as the city slowly recovered from the battle.

The final butcher's bill had been insane, almost unheard of in terms of proportions since the Dance of Dragons. Neither side had broken completely, at least not before Stannis himself died. The slaughter had been hidden from each side by the nature of the wall, and it was said the piles of bodies had burnt well into the third day after the battle.

A whole night it had raged; the Night of the Wolf as the denizens of the city had taken to calling it. More than half the goldcloaks were dead or crippled, and the guardsmen recruits and trainers were even worse off.

The Lords of the Narrow Sea were simply… gone. Dealing with Joffrey during the first few weeks of her recovery made her want to wring his neck, as he hid what he'd done like a shameful cat trying to halfheartedly bury the slain pet bird. It seemed her near grasp with death and the horror of the battlefield had left him… determined.

He'd sought to bribe the Redwynes with half the Tyrell's holdings if they sailed their fleet to King's Landing 'right now damnit!' in the words of Sandor. Else he would send them one of the Redwyne twins -locked in the Red Keep since Renly's Folly- in pieces as an incentive.

The Redwynes complied, and with two hundred war galleys to play with Joffrey went berserk on the Narrow Sea. He knighted Mark Piper for his valiant showing during the Night of the Wolf, and then promptly told him to gather as many heavy infantry and knights as he could in less than three days. The nearby Riverlander host that had swept the city's immediate environs of bandits and deserters, as well as former Stannis stragglers, had been more than willing to accommodate. The gaggle of Stormords and knights that followed him everywhere like beaten dogs had been a huge help as well…

Tywin's belated cavalry arrived just in time for Joffrey to fold them into his force, and he had a quiet word with the Lord of the Westerlands regarding his mother. He then proceeded to storm every single keep and hovel that had supported Stannis, burning them to the ground if he deemed the possible losses not worth it. It was reported fishermen were still finding spiked heads all over Blackwater Bay's shores…

Thus Sansa awoke to a strange new world of shining new Houses like the 'Piper's of Driftmark', the 'Mootons of Cracklaw Point' and the 'Brackens of Sharp Point'. He even went the extra mile and appointed the 'Blackwoods of Stonedance' in symmetry so the eternal feud could continue but with ship combat instead of the endless old boring Riverland quarrel.

Sansa really didn't know what he'd been thinking with the last one.

In short, it was a mess. The Narrow Sea was devastated and the smallfolk grumbling lowly about 'foreigners', while the Reach had been devolving into a soft war of intrigue and positioning as Joffrey's half completed terms were exactly that, uncompleted. While Joffrey's punitive terms for House Tyrell had been known and clear since the morning after he was declared 'Stormking' –The Tyrell's now ruled less than a fourth of what they'd owned before, which were composed of Highgarden and a few bits of land around it- he had not staked out terms for the other houses or even the Paramountcy of the Reach itself; he'd been too concerned about getting to the capital as fast as he could and then butchering the Lords of the Narrow Sea to a man. Uncertainty had been the purest of poisons as far as the situation was concerned, and thus the Reach had fallen into a silent and not so silent war of violent intrigue, with lesser vassals jockeying desperately for someone they'd consider above Royal displeasure as the greater houses figured out who to join or backstab.

Sansa would have liked to give the Paramountcy of the Reach to the Florents, as their adequately strong holdings plus the former Tyrell lands would have balanced their lack of dynastic marriages amongst the other Reachlords, leaving them strong enough to rule in a way but still beholden to the Crown… but the time for that had long since passed as she lay bedridden and barely conscious. The Florents had been the most disadvantageous option for the Reachlords as a whole, so the surviving lords from Renly's Folly and the Night of the Antlers had promptly butchered them after Joffrey had left for the capital… or to put it in lordly speak; the brave Lord Florent and his heirs had been slain by vile smallfolk deserters. The previous marriage alliances forged by House Tyrell had seen them survive as lesser partner in a coalition of sorts between the Hightowers and the Redwynes. The Hightowers had emerged quite well from the war of intrigues, what with their intact influence and manpower; thus Sansa had seen no choice but to give them officially what had been by that point already theirs: The foremost position within the Reach. By giving them the Paramountcy, Sansa had at least extracted some concessions, including taking some chunks of the Reach -almost a fifth of its area all told- and giving it to the Stormlands and the Crownlands, which would be enough to help contain Westeros' breadbasket as she doubted the internal struggles unleashed by the fall of the Tyrell's would abate any time soon… the harbinger of poisons and intrigue would most likely plague the Reach for a few years.

She'd tried to smooth over the transition, but there were still a lot of vassal houses that had to be replaced, to the grumbling of the petty nobility and the smallfolk. She was fairly confident the Reach would not rebel or even fall into outright civil war –the plentiful hostages in the Red Keep would certainly help with that- but that didn't mean that they'd support the Crown in its time of need, or that their aid would be strong and coherent enough to matter.

There was a long line between rebellion and cooperation, and Westerosi knew that better than most.

"I'm sorry alright?" Joffrey said half-jokingly again as he grew tired of her silence.

Sansa shook her head lightly, emerging from her thoughts and cringing in pain when a stitch somewhere in her belly pulled.

Joffrey stood up quickly, but Sansa waved him down. The sight of his immediate worry did a lot to sooth her anger at him… some of it at least.

"It's a complete mess Joffrey. I know you wanted bloody retribution against the Narrow Sea but couldn't you at least work out a decent settlement with the Reach before you stormed away? We had even talked about it!" she asked him plaintively, leaning forward on the table.

"Sorry," he said again, and the fact that it sounded genuine almost made Sansa madder. "Not everything's bad though. The Riverlords are in love with you, for one," he said with raised eyebrows.

No wonder, given the fact that several of their number had risen to legend after the Howling of Wolves.

Damned Westerosi and their penchant for naming. It's ridiculous, she thought with a huff. It was uncertain whether the 'Night of the Wolf' or 'The Howling of Wolves' would prevail… though that didn't stop the bards.

Of course, there was also the little fact that half the Riverlands now had kin ruling over the Narrow Sea. They would have followed Joffrey into the hells just for that.

She sighed, smiling teasingly, "And the Stormlords with you. The 'Stormking!' bit is getting tiring though. Do they have to shout it so loudly every time they see you?" she asked as before forking a piece of lettuce.

She still had trouble with meat -or any food truth be told- after…

She left the fork, surreptitiously pushing the plate away.

"You're one to talk," Joffrey said from his side of the small table, "This whole Magnar thing has a certain sexy flare though," he mused cheekily.

Sansa snorted halfheartedly. "All for the price of a little carnage…" she mused lowly, frowning when Joffrey managed to hear her.

His face crumbled as he frowned, "Sansa I'm sorry-"

"No, no, it's okay," she waved him away, looking through the window.

Let it go. Let it go please, she thought desperately as she blinked slowly.

"… Sansa…" he muttered after a moment of painful silence, "You need to talk about it. You of all people should know that," he said, the harrowing honesty too much for her to bear.

She breathed slowly, fisting her hands lightly under the table so Joffrey couldn't see them.

It's okay. I'll just train a bit with Ser Barr- With Joffrey, just need to move about and vent, she thought franticly as the pressure in her throat kept increasing, but her thoughts could not ward away the steadily creeping miasma of discomfort flooding her chest.

She tried with all her strength to hold it in, but she couldn't let a lone, traitorous sob escape her lips.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" she said as she stood up from the table and shuffled away from Joffrey, but he was relentless as he gave a few quick steps and hugged her tightly, dooming her. It was as if a faucet had been torn open, Sansa thought as she found herself sobbing incoherently, crying into Joffrey's shoulder in deep gasps that left her without air.

"I-I-I'm-m o-o-ok-kay," she sobbed as she felt her knees go weak, Joffrey supporting her weight as he carried her across the deserted, small dining room to the nearby couch.

"We can take turns being the strongest," he whispered gently as they sat on the couch, Sansa taking in a harrowing breath of fresh air as she tried to cuddle closer to him, feeling cold even as the early evening sun glowed from the nearby window.

"Oh Joffrey… it was so terrible," she whispered the word even as she knew it would never even approach the magnitude of what she truly meant, "The screams…" she managed, holding on to him so tightly she feared she'd rip the back of his doublet.

"I know," Joffrey whispered back gently, rocking her slightly. There was truth in his voice, a calm and serene certainty that Sansa latched on to as she cried.

"The f-fires a-and the s-s-smell," she tried to explain, failing miserably as the sobs took control of her. Joffrey seemed to know exactly what she was trying to say though, what she had to explain even if it didn't make any sort of sense.

He whispered sweet nothings as they spent the rest of the evening there, holding tightly into each other as the rest of the world faded for a while.

-: PD :-

The weeks following Sansa's recovery were characterized by tying loose ends, something which Joffrey could approve of. Renly was one of them, and had made a pest of himself even in death when he found the man dead inside his luxurious cell. Joffrey had been intending on the Night's Watch for the bastard, a suitable punishment in his mind for the pompous prick…

Alas, it seemed that the violent loss of his lover and the crumbling of all his dreams had been too much to bear for Renly. The sight of his supposed uncle hanging from a rope tied to one of the chandeliers had shaken him more than he was willing to admit –more than quite a few of the strange and twisted things he had witnessed during his long life- and he didn't quite know why. Perhaps it'd been the eerie sensations and similarities that the scene had brought to mind, carrying along memories of despair and relentless suicides when the Purple had finally broken him, many many years ago. Regardless, the man had done no favors by dying inside the Red Keep, unleashing rumors of kinslaying amongst some of the courtiers that had been unhappy with his reign anyway, as well as those more devout to the damned Seven. Joffrey doubted they'd take his explanation -not being a kinslayer anyway because he was actually a bastard- very well…

He'd captured Melissandre -Stannis' pet sorceress and magical killer- when he'd stormed Dragonstone though. She'd been fairly incoherent when he'd brought her to the Black Cells, but after he'd started- well…

The screaming grew old weeks ago, Joffrey thought as he sighed.

Melissandre tried to squish herself against the wall as he entered the room, shrieking desperately as she averted her eyes and her chains rattled.

"By the Seven! Joffrey, what did you do to her?!" Sansa asked, dumbfounded as the sorceress kept shrieking like a madwoman, pulling on her chains as much as she could as she tried to hide in the corner of the black cell.

"Nothing!" Joffrey blurted, his hands in the air, "She just gets like that whenever she sees me," he defended himself.

"Nothing?" Sansa asked skeptically, gazing at the unlit braziers around the chained murderess.

"Well…" Joffrey tilted his head a bit, reticent.

"Joffrey…" Sansa sighed.

"Sometimes I come here and light the braziers… it seems to…" he hesitated, finally shrugging when Sansa kept looking at him, "Well, make her loose her mind faster," he said guiltily. "She was not coherent enough to interrogate, so I thought I might as well…" he trailed off with a considering hand, vaguely aiming at the crazed sorceress.

"And why didn't you just kill her then?" Sansa asked plaintively.

"Well, I thought you'd want the pleasure after what the bitch did to Ned," he said with an awkward smile.

Sansa just stared at him, shaking her head slowly. "Just kill her, Joffrey. The screeching is going to leave me deaf," she told him.

"Oh, alright," he said with a self-conscious shrug, walking up to Melissandre and scowling when her screeching increased in intensity. "By the Old Gods woman, what the hells is wrong with you?!" Joffrey grunted as he materialized Brightroar and slit her throat. The screams stopped just half a second before Joffrey did the deed.

"No… it can't…" she gurgled, wide eyed as she stared at the bloody form of Brightroar. She bled out, stunned surprise warring with horror in her face before she tilted forward and moved no longer.

"Why would a shadowbinder work with Stannis anyway?" Sansa asked the question that had been plaguing her for a while as she looked at the corpse uneasily. She allowed herself a slight breath of relief at the death of Ned's assassin, before larger concerns took over.

"She spouted some drivel about Stannis being the chosen one of the Red God when we captured her," Joffrey told her as he returned towards the door, "Dragonstone barely put up a fight when we showed up; the garrison all but begged us to storm the castle when we landed," he said while shaking his head, as if he could barely believe his own words, "The mad bitch had really gone insane when she returned to the island with the dregs of her zealots and coverts after the battle here, her chosen one dead by your hand. She'd been burning innocents like firewood conjuring who knows what before we stopped her," he said lowly.

"I knew she'd burnt Selyse and Shireen," Sansa mused, shaken by the tale, "But I didn't know it had been that bad," she whispered.

"Let's just say the shadows were getting pretty strange before I clubbed her head, though nothing outright magical seemed to happen before we stopped the ritual or whatever the fuck she was doing," he said.

"Fucking magic," he spat with feeling, "Always tries to pull one on me," he grumbled with the air of someone airing a stubborn grievance.

Sansa shook her head, "The Red God's chosen one…" she mused. "Azor Ahai? You must admit, the similarities between that legend and… well, us…" she trailed off as they ascended through the dimly illuminated staircase that connected the Black Cells to the rest of the keep.

"I've often wondered about that myself," Joffrey agreed, "It's steeped in R'hllorite mysticism, but the similarities at the core of the story seem too significant for it to be a coincidence. He must be who the East remembered as my predecessor, our 'Last Hero' here in Westeors," he mused, "The iteration of the Purple that managed to hold back the Cycle's scouts," he said in a lower tone of voice, frowning.

"Hm… perhaps an avenue to work on in the future? Having her working for us instead of Stannis could be a boon," said Sansa.

Joffrey was surprised by her willingness to make use of Ned's killer, to say the least. He often forgot that she, too, had grown from the trials and tribulations served up by the Purple and all it entailed.

"Maybe," Joffrey told her after a moment, before tilting his head a little. "You think we won't succeed during this life?" he asked her, the light tone of the question betraying its gravity.

Sansa remained silent as they left the Black Cells entirely, arising to the surface and returning to the realm of those who had not yet lost all hope.

"I don't know…" she said finally, "With Father and Tyrion gone there's a lot we won't be able to do, or at least a lot that will be delayed…" she said slowly.

"We can only do our best," Joffrey said it with the air of long experience, and Sansa sighed as she smiled and grabbed his arm.

"Let's hope it's enough," she said after a deep breath.

-: PD :-

The other loose end to be tied was none other than Varys himself. Joffrey had wanted to murder the eunuch ever since he'd learned of the young pretender across the sea, but Sansa had cautioned against it, claiming quite a few reasonable arguments that made him more useful to them alive…

Times had changed.

Sansa's spies had finally succeeded in tracing the other end of the plot that had killed Tyrion. His mother had been an unwitting pawn of the Spider, as Sansa had learned. Between her directions, Butter Fingers' talents, and the aid of Wylla Manderly, they had managed to learn that the cooks who had fed the assassin had been under the directions of Varys himself. The cooks had mixed a rare poison with the flour that had seen the girl die in the very room she'd killed Tyrion, though it was unlikely the dosage had been so perfectly calculated; most likely the Spider would have preferred she'd died a few hours after the morn –perhaps in one of Red Keep's corridors - so as to keep his involvement under plausible deniability.

The cooks themselves -two men working at Chataya's- had been found with their throats slit, but intensive canvassing and investigative work had left Butter Fingers with a most auspicious lead; the physical details of two orphans which had somehow managed to beg around the prestigious whorehouse for a whole hour despite the persistent attempt by the private guards to kick them away from the street. From there it had been a matter of cross examination and endless reviewing of reports from spies around the city, but the answer had been obvious since the discovery of the orphans… or 'little birds' as Varys –the sick fuck- liked to call them.

And now the time had come.

Joffrey looked at Sansa as they crouched behind the boulder, only a few steps away from the waves of Blackwater Bay, roaring as they crashed against the beach.

"You sure he'll come out here?" he asked her.

"Almost certainly. We have all his other escape routes mapped out including the second decoy, it has to be this one," she murmured.

Joffrey nodded, staying still and letting his mind wander as he listened to the sea. It was not long before Varys appeared on the little beach below the Red Keep, huffing as he walked quickly from a hidden passageway. He carried a small backpack as he made for the boat, no doubt spooked after Joffrey had sent a few Royal Guardsmen to arrest him. Varys had been too well prepared to fall to such a brute move, as he had a dozen contingencies in place to both learn about any arrest attempts and to make use of said heads-up to flee before he was caught.

Unfortunately for him, Sansa had not been idle as Joffrey had been painting the Stormlands with the blood of chivalry.

"What is-?" Varys said lowly as he stumbled back, two Raiders standing up from the getaway skiff which had been tied nearby.

"I'm afraid it won't be nearly as easy, my dear Master of Whispers," Joffrey said as he walked from behind the rock, cutting Varys' escape route back to the Red Keep.

"Your Grace," he said as he immediately went still, his eyes shifting to him, Sansa, and the Raiders by the boat. Joffrey could see the dozens of responses being created and discarded by the second as Varys took stock of the situation, before he accepted his fate and sighed. "I would have dearly loved to see it," he whispered almost too lowly for Joffrey to hear him as he took out a small vial from somewhere within his sleeve and opened the tiny cork.

"We'll be having none of that you fat fuck," said Sandor as he emerged from the boulder right by his side and smacked the eunuch in the head with the pommel of his dagger.

The Spider collapsed on the sand with a dull thump.

-: PD :-

"I'll handle it Sansa," Joffrey said once again.

"I need to be here and ask questions as well," Sansa said the same again.

Joffrey took a deep breath, the moldy air of the Black Cells filling his nostrils with half remembered horrors and glees.

"I work better alone with this," he said again, the excuse sounding frayed to his ears as the Spider began to wake up, weakly struggling against the chains that held him against the torture table.

"You'll need a sounding board to make sure he's not lying," she countered, crossing her arms. It was only the three of them in the room, and only Sandor and the two Raiders from before even knew the Spider was here right now and not carrying out his dastardly escape across the Narrow Sea.

After all, it would not do for the King to torture his prisoners himself… especially not after what happened to Renly…

"I need space to…" he trailed off, taking another deep breath. "Sansa I… I really, really rather you don't watch this," he finally admitted, gazing away from her and the wide array of torture implements by the nearby tray. It had been a long, long while since he'd done this… and the prospect of it still made his blood sing in anticipation.

"We swore we'd be in this together, I swore I'd be with you during the good and the bad," she said defiantly, "I'm not a hypocrite. I didn't swear to stand by your side only to leave it when things turn… harsh," she said with grim determination, pursing her lips.

"Sansa I… please don't," he begged her.

"Don't you remember, Joffrey?" she aksed him lightly. "If I am but part of a weapon, then so be it… but I'll be where I belong. By your side…" she quoted softly, looking at his eyes.

He swallowed drily, forcefully as he stared at her deep blue eyes, struggling with them until Varys coughed, blinking slowly as he gazed around the room and it was time.

Time to start.

-: PD :-

He enjoyed it. He couldn't help it. He couldn't repress a smile as he tore Varys open, slowly and expertly as the intricacies of prolonging a man's suffering came back to him as if he'd never forgotten them. He was soon lost within himself as Varys screamed and he cut away, twisting and breaking. Sansa never lost her composure as she saw this cursed part of himself with her own eyes, in detail like never before. A small part of himself could feel her burning gaze as he worked on Varys, reveling in the blood as he screamed internally and Sansa worked with him, calmly trying to extract every single drip of knowledge from the Spider as Joffrey's hands went slippery with blood. He couldn't stop, not even to scream.

They ended up with nothing.

Varys withstood the breaking and destruction of his body like Joffrey had never seen before. When Baelish had already began to scream for mercy, Varys had kept breathing slowly and stoically, screaming and bellowing his pain and his despair but not giving a single coherent word, so strong had been his force of will and the strange conviction that guided him. Joffrey worked on him for the whole night, until finally, at dawn, the Spider expired. He'd known the eunuch was no ordinary man, but he'd expected something from him, anything. Who was Aegon Targeryean in truth? Where would his ships resupply after Lys? Where would they land? How did he communicate with him? Who else was in on the plot? Why did he do this?!

He snarled with red rage as Varys died, seeking to prologue the suffering just a bit more as he breathed his last. He bellowed in fury as he hacked away at the body with an arming sword, tearing and raging as Sansa ceased her questions and turned from the dead body to STARE AT HIM.

He came back to himself as he breathed harshly, struggling for air as he leaned on the blood soaked table, swaying as his chest tightened like a snake and he thought he'd die, one step away from clawing at his throat for air as he realized he was soaked in Varys' remains.

He was halfway convinced he was dying; the Purple coming for him as he stumbled away from the table and leaned against the wall, his eyes moving by a will of their own and focusing on Sansa, fearing her.

Her gown was splattered with Varys' blood, her face streaked with the lines of red that Joffrey had spread around the room as he hacked at Varys like an animal. She stared at him, her expression neutral as Joffrey despaired.

She hugged him wordlessly, not minding the blood as she tried to calm him down. Joffrey stood like a plank as she squeezed tightly, holding him no matter what, resisting his feeble attempts to shove her away.

He broke.

It'd been years since he'd last shed tears, but somehow they came; slowly, painfully, rolling down his cheeks as he bared his cursed insides to Sansa's eyes and she didn't say a word, her strong hug anchoring him and warding away the Purple.

-: PD :-