Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Joffrey blinked his eyes open.

He swallowed sluggishly, feeling a deep source of distress within him, a slow unraveling of the self as he breathed in slowly.

It got me, he thought in dawning despair, blinking again and again as the image didn't go away and his chest twisted.

He gasped for air, looking around himself. He could barely move his head, gazing at the winter frostland which had once been his chambers inside the Red Keep. Furniture had been cracked apart under the sudden onslaught of winter; the sudden, massive drop in temperature had twisted and buckled materials as if he were still inside the Purple, as if reality itself had started to melt.

He could barely hear anything; shuffling steps and distant voices. He blinked and saw the Hound trundling over the snow which now covered the floor, carrying a stack of wet wood and slamming it down next to his bed. Heavy furs wrapped his armor, and he was shivering wildly as he turned and stuttered something to a group of servants and armsmen wielding puttering torches, many of them wrapped up in torn curtains or bed sheets.

"G-G-grandm-master's… dead… Ser…" said one of the servants as he reached the Hound.

"Set the f-fire going," rasped Sandor.

They tried to light a fire next to him, but the cold was pervasive. One of the blue-faced servants fainted, falling to the floor with barely a sound as another one took over. Joffrey could see snow by the other side of the opened door, a few men moving every now and then carrying stretchers with people in them.

"D-Don't w-worry," the Hound said as he appeared within Joffrey's field of vision again. "S-Soon as we m-melt the ice, we'll g-get y-y-you out," he managed despite rattling teeth, one of the servants almost jutting a torch into Joffrey's shoulder. He had somehow been frozen to the bed itself, the ice forming a whole between him and the sheets.

"I-I-It g-g-got m-m-me," stuttered Joffrey, trying to make him understand. He had troubled breathing, his whole body oddly still as he felt the Cold Wind still ravaging his soul, the silhouette of the Red Comet still closing upon him as he blinked repeatedly and it remained there; seared into his retina, an afterimage of crystal slowly twisting along its own axis as plumes of red erupted from its back.

Every second it came nearer. Each second saw it just a tiny bit closer than before. It was massive, by far the biggest thing Joffrey had ever seen, a crystal landscape that filled the ghostly afterimage of his eyes.

His lungs sought air once more, and then realized they did not have the strength to do so. Joffrey suffocated slowly, the pain a distant nuisance as he gazed at the gently twisting construct of unknowable origin and pure purpose. The panicking voices lost definition as he gazed at the face of eternity, its red arms reaching for him and seeking to make them one as the Purple fractals melted away under its onslaught.

No, it can't end like this, he thought, watching the slowly tumbling sea of crystal, its chiseled edges so similar to the landscape of his own soul. He screamed at the void, holding unto the creaking Purple Pillars as he tried to wake up again, to feel the edge of reality once more, to rewind time and live.

He took a shuddering breath as the Pillars shattered, opening his eyes to life once more. The air was so cold it burnt his lungs. Great piles of snow covered his room, and a part of the ceiling had caved in and deposited shards of ice next to the window. He waited for Sandor to burst into his room, but he never came.

He heard the blizzard before he saw it; it howled like a caged demon, periodically gaining in strength only to grow quiet again a few seconds later. He could see it past his room's window; a harrowing gale of ice and snow blanketing the horizon and everything beyond it. He couldn't see nor hear anything else, not the hammers of the smithies, not the training armsmen of the Red Keep, not Robert shouting for his horse.

King's Landing was quiet.

He didn't feel any pain, though he seemed unable to blink anymore. He breathed his last as the Pillars squirmed inside his mind, their shattering forms giving way to the Red Comet as it moved past them like a whaler past flotsam, its form unperturbed, still spinning on its own axis in a beautiful kaleidoscope of red mirrors. He stood in awe of its silhouette, trying to comprehend the sheer magnitude of its essence, the weight it had in the present moment.

It was the most peaceful thing Joffrey had ever seen.

"What is it sweetling? Is the Hound frightening you? Go away with you dog, you're scaring my lady. I don't like to see you upset," he said as he acted like the charming prince his mother had commanded.

The brief breath of reality was over in an instant, his awareness buckling under the pressure of the Red Comet as the Purple howled with him.

"Ow!" he gasped.

"Please, its nearly healed," said his mother.

"It's ugly," he said.

"A king should have scars. You've fought off a direwolf, you're a warrior, like your Father."

"I'm not like him, I didn't fight off anything. It bit me and all I did was scream… and the two Stark girls saw it; both of them."

"That's not true, you killed the beast"- the image trembled, the smell of summer dissolving to nothing as his mother's voice became intermittent –"someday you will sit on the throne and the truth will be what you make it."

Joffrey squirmed against the approaching weight of his end, the end of his iteration and his self. The end of the Purple and the world and all the races of man.

Ser Barristan looked perplexed, "Your Grace the Kingsguard is a sworn brotherhood-"

"You let my father die, you're too old to protect anyone," Joffrey spoke over him, the condescending tone a slap on the old knight's face. A great part of the court was in attendance, standing around the throne room as they witnessed the end of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His mother was gazing at the knight with a gentle expression that hid her satisfaction, and Baelish was all but smirking as Janos Slynt shuffled nervously. Even worms knew enough to fear old falcons.

He could feel Sana's presence as he looked at her, slowly diminishing as the Comet approached. She was terrified, struggling against the monstrous weight with all her might as she tried to reach him. He tried to hold onto her, trying to resist the pressure of the Cycle before it ground them to dreams and echoes.

Varys was talking now, nodding along with his words as he delivered them regretfully, "We have nothing but gratitude for your long-"

Joffrey squeezed his eyes shut, a low squirm sneaking out of his mouth. He opened them in an instant, breathing harshly as Varys started and turned to look at him.

Joffrey turned his head towards his wife, "Sansa," he said loudly.

She was dressed in a simple, bluish dress as she gazed at him. "Joff," she said, her face squeezing in pain, "It's not stopping!" she cried.

Joffrey screamed in agony, the weight too great as the Pillars tumbled and the Face of the Red Comet stared at them, the crystals glittering inside the throne room.

His mangled soul kept falling, his awareness of the outside diminishing.

This is it, he realized, the weight of his own mortality settling within him, a different pressure than the Red Comet; a certainty, a decree.

"So long as I'm king, treason shall never go unpunished," he proclaimed, pride and savage joy bursting within him as he gazed at Sansa and then Ned, "Ser Illyn, bring me his head," he shouted, the crowds of King's Landing taking up the cry as Sansa screamed and his own court tried to stop him, to no avail. He fought against the pull, his soul feeling like a sailor who briefly manages to break the waterline, hungering for that tiny breath of fresh air as the storm seeks to pull him under again.

He could somehow feel her presence as they managed to lock gazes. "I'm so sorry," he told her as he turned towards her. There was a knight holding her as she looked back, her screams and struggles stopping abruptly as she let out a long breath of air.

"It can't end like this," she whispered as her head swayed, trying to look at him through a veil of titanic exertion, and he somehow heard her despite the roar of the crowd.

"It won't. I won't let it," he said through gritted teeth, the Red Comet emerging above them in a whirlwind of distorted color and nonexistence.

It's presence was a muffle on the Song, a dampening of the subtle melody of existence as it pulsed and its arms extended towards them.

He could feel Sansa holding on to him, and they fought desperately against the red worming towards their souls, the Pillars still collapsing under the strain as the Comet lurked behind them and he tried to extend his awareness towards the fleeting gasp of reality, the fleeting wisp of existence sounding like an almost forgotten song of childhood; Sansa added her will to his own as they tried to remember.

They tried to remember what it sounded like.

"No please no!" she shouted.

"This one's your Father's, look at him and see what happens to traitors!" said Joffrey, holding a hand out towards Traitor's Walk and the heads that now adorned the pikes.

"You promised to be merciful!" said Sansa, Ser Meryn holding her by the shoulders.

"I was. I gave him a clean death. Look at him," he said, his smirk growing as he strutted over the small wooden bridge, looking at the impaled heads.

"Please let me go home, I won't do any treason I swea-" she cut off abruptly, taking in a harrowing breath of air.

The smirk felt strange on his lips, a fading echo dispersing with the wind. "Sansa," he muttered as he felt dizzy, holding his head with one hand, "We died before it grabbed us completely I think, but the Purple… we… we aren't stopping it." Massive pain assaulted his head, the swift emergence into reality almost too much for his senses. He rested a knee over the small wooden bridge, trying not to fall by the side of it and down the abyss where the Red Comet lurked.

"Watch your step, it's a long way down," said the Hound as he shoved Meryn Trant aside, reaching Joffrey and holding him up. "Are you alright?" he asked after a moment of hesitation.

"Joff, we have to keep fighting it. I, I-I think we might be slowing it down," said Sansa, her voice thick with fleeting hope. Ser Meryn was still holding her, looking at her and then at him with a puzzled expression.

"Sansa, what will happen if- if we reach my wedding? My original death?" he said as he stumbled towards her.

"We can't let that happen, we-" she cut herself off, tears slipping down her cheeks as the heard the thrum, "Joff, it's coming again."

No.

He pushed Ser Meryn away from her before hugging Sansa fiercely. "Don't let go," she said as she embraced him, holding tightly into each other as reality trembled.

"I won't," he said as the thrum reached a crescendo, "Search for me in the Song."

"We'll pool out strength. Together," she said as the thrum reached a peak and they gazed up.

The Red Comet was relentless as it tore reality wide open, fractals multiplying everywhere Joffrey looked, turning everything into itself. He struggled to maintain his existence, even a single train of thought as the Red Comet thrummed once more and he screamed in torment, bursts of Cold Wind ripping him apart even as the Comet's advance slowed.

He could hear the Song as he fell eternally; he reached for it, extending his awareness to that subtle constant that permeated everything. He concentrated on the song of existence as he pulled it, seeking to align himself with it. He felt Sansa adding her will to his, the Red Comet sinking into the distance as its red tendrils kept up their advance, the Song reaching a crescendo as reality passed by like lightening and he grasped for it and he-

Blinked.

The clear break was so sudden Joffrey almost fainted. In but a moment he was assaulted by reality; smells and noises and textures vying for his attention as the Song bloomed so strongly it turned into white noise.

He was standing, the remains of a smirk and an unfinished sentence echoing within him as he swayed, focusing on the frantic beat of his heart as adrenaline flooded his body from one moment to the next, his hair standing on edge as his body caught up to his state of mind and he wondered if the Red Comet was still reaching for him.

He realized he was staring at Sansa. She was kneeling on the floor; streaks of tears marred her cheeks, and her dress had been torn from behind.

"… Sansa?" he said.

"Joff?" she said as she blinked slowly.

"That's your King you're talking to!" said a man to her right, slamming the flat side of his sword against her back and eliciting a pained, surprised grunt from his wife.

Joffrey was by her side in an instant, delivering an extended Ho-Qing straight into the man's throat. He gasped for air as he stumbled back, but Joffrey's initial trajectory made him close the distance in a half second; his fists blurred as he followed up with two Joint Palm strikes that broke the armored man's jaw and then his nose. He seemed out of the fight as he collapsed backwards, so Joffrey abandoned the incipient killing blow and instead opted to retreat backwards to Sansa, trying to cover her right as he made ready to summon Brightroar.

He was breathing harshly, trying to control the flow of adrenaline through his body as his tunnel vision expanded slowly, surveying the area for his next assailant and his next strike.

He was very disorientated when he realized he was staring at the throne room, courtiers standing back in shock as both him and Sansa twisted by instinct, cycling constantly so as to disorient the next foe to attack, their backs covering each other. "Joff, what…" Sansa stammered, still shaking from the experience.

Joffrey frowned as he looked at Sandor, a hand over the pommel of his sword but otherwise standing still as he stared at him. He thought it was one of the few times he'd seen him so confused, though he was not the only one. Joffrey was surprised to see him sporting a white cloak of all things, standing by the dais before the throne.

"What's the meaning of this?!" shouted someone as he made way between the crowds.

"Uncle Tyrion!" Joffrey realized as he turned, his voice thick with relief and vaguely hysterical. He kept listening for the thrum of the Red Comet, but the Song remained the same, reality stable as his eyes kept scanning the throne room. He eyed the armed man walking behind his uncle as he walked past the audience with a decisive stride, his face grim.

A sellsword of some sort? He thought, already plotting the trajectory of the kick that would leave him on the floor, a summoned Brightroar ending his life with a quick stab to the neck. The adrenaline burst was deserting his body, and a strange sort of unreality was settling his mind instead.

"Somebody get the girl something to cover herself… with…" Tyrion trailed of, his walk slowing down as he stared at the armored knight shuffling weakly on the floor and the couple at the center of the throne room.

"Joff, what's going on?" Sansa whispered as she abandoned the First Stance of Khai and put her hands over her tattered dress instead, covering her breasts as she looked around her.

"I don't know," Joffrey whispered back, still trying to make sense of the situation. It was clear something horrible had just happened… but they'd escaped the Red Comet, he couldn't feel its presence any more, closing in with the calm patience of a thousand stars and the power to boot. Sansa seemed equally confused, though rapidly assuming a courtly demeanor that only served to make her look… uncanny in that torn dress.

"What happened here?" said Tyrion, confusion warring with anger as his eyes cycled from Joffrey to the mewling knight to Sansa's torn dress.

"Tyrion," Sansa nodded politely, "My husband was just having a bad day and, well, hence all this show," she said with apologetic smile, dismissing the matter with a precise wave of the hand. She sniffled, and frowned when she touched her face and realized there were tears there.

Tyrion looked at her as if she'd grown a second head, "… I fear Ser Meryn's blows might have left you… confused, Lady Sansa," he said, "… You are not yet married to my nephew."

"Oh…" she said with an easy smile, as if it had been a simple slip of the mind. "Thanks Sandor," she said as the Hound walked in from behind her, putting a white cloak over her. He was looking at her as one might watch a Leviathan slowly emerge from the waves.

Tyrion gazed at her in incomprehension before turning to Joffrey, "Joffrey… were you punishing her?"

"I…" he hesitated, looking at the throne room again. The courtiers were murmuring between them, and he could see Lancel swaying one way and the other. He was white faced, a hand over the pommel of his sword as he seemed to struggle between striding towards them or running away… and settling on doing neither.

This… This has happened before… he thought as he blinked slowly, his gaze returning to Tyrion and the anger behind his eyes.

Has it? Had it?

Sansa exhaled, holding the white cloak tightly as her other hand held Joffrey's. "It's been a long day, we'll be adjourning the royal court until tomorrow," she said loudly.

No one seemed to move, the courtiers looking between themselves as Lancel took a step forward and then thought better of it.

Tyrion nodded slowly, "Please, my lady. Come with me," he said as he extended a hand towards her. Sansa demurred, turning her hack on him as she smiled and squeezed Joffrey's hand.

"Joffrey, snap out of it!" she whispered in his ear.

He shook his head again, feeling an alien weight over his it. He felt the ornate crown with one hand, tracing the gold lines with his fingers.

"Leave us, court is over for today," he said, his voice rebounding cleanly within the throne room.

That seemed to do the trick. The courtiers bowed quickly, leaving the room through the main doors as a gaggle of minor Lannister handmaidens approached Sansa warily. They seemed to flutter around them indecisively before Joffrey frowned.

"…What are you doing?" he asked them, fighting off another massive headache.

"Your Grace, well, we are waiting for, ah," one of them half stuttered as she looked at Sansa.

"Go," he said as gestured at the doors. The handmaidens all but scrammed towards it, curtsying and murmuring apologies. "And fetch the Grandmaester!" Sansa called out before they closed the doors, looking at Ser Meryn Trant as he tried to stem the bleeding from his nose, still squirming on the floor.

"Uncle, would you walk with us?" said Joffrey.

-: PD :-

"Yes, there was a battle a few days ago… that's the reason you've been… in a mood, Your Grace," said Tyrion, still not quite getting his bearings as he accompanied Joffrey and Sansa throughout the corridors of the Red Keep.

Joffrey had been visiting several rooms, growing more frustrated by the second before he'd finally asked for the way towards Lady Sansa's current chambers.

Under normal circumstances, Tyrion would have urgently tried to channel his nephew's attentions towards other things, fearing for Lady Sansa's very life and dignity… alas, these were no normal circumstances.

Sansa herself was walking with her torn dress as if it were but the latest fashion in King's Landing, her dignified stride a strange counterpoint to Joffrey's prowl. As the lady nodded and smiled at the frequent passerby's, Joffrey stalked through the halls like a caged lion, his body holding an easy tension which seemed a second away from a sort of violence leagues away from his usual tantrums.

"Yes, the battle, of course," said his nephew, "What was the name again? I seem to have forgotten it," he said.

"Oxcross, Your Grace. Robb Stark shattered Ser Stafford's host around Oxcross, three days' away from Lannisport itself," he said, as if explaining to a simpleton.

"Oxcross…" Joffrey muttered, "Oxcross… Oxcross…" he said as he frowned.

"Yes, the battle was fought around Oxcross," said Tyrion, studying his nephew.

"… Tyrion, how long ago was Jon Aryn's death?" Sansa asked him.

"More than a year ago… I take it you forgot about the date too?" he said as he watched the composed woman, her eyes still puffed and red even though she gazed at the corridors as if she owned them.

"Oh… Well, it's been a tough few days," she said as she smiled apologetically, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'what can you do about that?'

"Is this it?" Joffrey asked as he opened the door.

"Yes, that's where Lady Sansa has been staying these past few months…"

He heard Joffrey scoff after he'd entered the room. "You, out," he said, and Tyrion stood aside to let another of Sansa's forced handmaidens shuffle away from the room, holding her dress tightly and looking only at the floor.

"Room's clear," Joffrey said as he held the door open.

"Thank you Tyrion, you've been a wonderful aid," Sansa said as she entered the room. Tyrion's last efforts to save his future goodsister tried and failed to emerge from his throat. Instead, he hummed acknowledgment.

"Yeah, thanks uncle," said Joffrey, before looking behind him. "Hey Sandor!" he called out.

The kingsguard had been following at a prudent distance, and blinked at the Prince's unusual form of address.

"Yes, Your Grace?" he said warily.

"Mind the door, would you? We are not to be disturbed," he commanded before closing it with a thud.

Tyrion looked up at the burnt half of the Hound's face.

"What the Seven Hells was that about?" he asked, mostly to himself.

That was definitively the strangest conversation I've ever had…

"Fuck if I know," he said with a massive shrug. He stared at the door for a few more seconds, as if trying to extract secrets from it, before walking towards it and leaning on the wall. "I'll…" he seemed to hesitate for a second, looking away from Tyrion, "Interrupt if…" he couldn't finish the sentence, looking uncomfortable before he shuffled within his plate and turned to stare blankly at the other end of the hallway.

Tyrion shook his head, deciding to go back to the throne room and to interrogate a few witnesses.

-: PD :-

Joffrey closed the door with a thud, allowing himself a second of respite from the constant battle awareness. "Sansa," he whispered as he hugged her.

"I thought we were going to die… to truly die," she said as she seemed to melt within his grasp, letting out a long breath of air.

"Me too, me too, dear… Wine?"

"Anything," she said with a weary sigh, kissing him before letting him go. Joffrey went to the nearby cabinet as she took a moment to survey the room, fingers tracing the hanged clothing and various other knickknacks ordered around the cupboards.

"This… these dresses are mine," she said as she held one against her shoulders, looking at the bright green cascading over her chest.

"This has all happened before… the Red Comet must have… Gods…" Joffrey muttered before taking a long sniff from a jug by the cabinet at the other side of the room.

Sansa ripped apart what was left of her torn dress, leaving the broken rags on the floor as Joffrey returned with the pitcher and two cups. "It's more water than wine, but it's something," he said as he placed it over the small table by the front of the bed. He trailed off when he looked at her bare body. "Oh… Sansa… I'm so sorry," he whispered as he looked at the bruises around her belly.

Those must have come from 'yesterday'… because of me…

"I'm fine," she said as she shook her head, her elaborate braids half collapsing because of the sudden movement. She took one of the served cups from his hand, taking a long sip before frowning.

"It's something at least," she said with a self-depreciating smile before downing the cup in one gulp.

"Indeed," he said, his voice far away as he gazed at the watered wine swirling inside the cup. Sansa took a deep breath before leaving it on the table and walking back to the side of the bed, where she'd left the green dress.

"Ugh… It's one of those," she said as she held it on front of her. "Help me out?"

"Sure," he said after downing another cup. He walked behind her, helping her don the fine dress which Sansa distantly remembered had been one of her favorites about twenty-five years ago.

"Hrm," she grunted as Joffrey tied the lace at her back, "Tight in all the wrong places too," she said.

"I think the last time I saw you wear one of these was before you greeted the Purple," he said as he finished the knot. "Ser Meryn left a pretty nasty bruise back here; sure you don't want me to treat it?"

"I'll be fine, it didn't even draw blood," she said as she turned. "And you? You holding up okay?"

She caressed his cheek, examining the younger visage of her husband. Far from the hard, taut rope of muscles he became mere months after wake up, this Joffrey's physique looked almost indolent.

"I'm fine… looking forward to meeting the Red Comet again in my nightmares," he said as he closed his eyes and leaned on Sansa's hand. She smiled, but found out she couldn't keep it going. She sniffed as she hugged him again, and Joffrey returned the embrace wholeheartedly. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, clasping each other tightly and shivering ever so lightly.

They could still feel the cold.

"I can't seem to stop sniffling," Sansa complained as they sat by the table, Joffrey serving himself another cup of watered wine. He raised an eyebrow when she shook her head, leaving her own cup empty. "Feels like I've been crying for a whole week," she said as she massaged her face.

"You probably were," said Joffrey, looking at the red puffs around her cheekbones. He nursed his cup of wine close to his forehead as he shut his eyes.

"Your doing?" she asked him gently.

"At my command." He was filled with shame, his eyes still closed. "'A King should never strike his lady'," he quoted in disgust.

"Never saw that side to Ser Meryn… or, well, never remembered it at least," she said with a warped smile.

"… Joff," she called out to him.

He opened his eyes almost against his will, gazing back at her with a tired expression.

"We're past our time then?" she said.

"By little more than a year, I think."

"And we're… we're in our original lives, before the Purple took us for the first time."

"Seems so," said Joffrey. "Seven Hells… what a fucking mess this is."

Sansa stayed silent for a while. That just about summed up the situation.

"The Red Comet almost got us… I could feel the tendrils of its might reaching for us," she whispered after a moment, "Forever grasping, even as the shockwaves left by its movement flayed our souls…"

"The Cold Wind a mere wake left by that thing…" said Joffrey. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened if they'd not already been in the throes of death when the Walkers impaled them. The red tendrils had not caught them, but it had been a near enough thing.

"Joff… what if the Purple… what if we got damaged?" she said, a horrible vision clogging her throat, "What if this is as back as we'll ever go again?"

"It would be bad. Really bad," he said, eyes glazing over as he thought about the implications.

"We must be smack in the middle of the War of the Five Kings… that means… Oh…" she trailed off as the implications set in.

"Lady is long gone and I… I executed your father already. And Robb… Oxcross… I don't remember that battle, but Oxcross is right in the middle of the Westerlands. This must be the high point of his campaign against the west," he said, flinching at every word.

"Lady… Father… no…" she stuttered before shaking her head and staring at him like a hawk. "What about Arya? Bran and Rickon? Jon?" she asked urgently.

"Arya had not been seen since the day Robert died… as for Bran… He's crippled, can't walk. I remember…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Remember what Joff?"

"… Theon killed him, after he took Winterfell. Rickon too I think... I'm not sure if that's already happened."

Sansa cupped her mouth between her hands, blinking slowly as her eyes swelled again.

"Jon must have already sworn himself into the Night's Watch…" he whispered.

Each lone tear that fell from her cheeks was a fresh wound on Joffrey's heart, and he didn't have the moral fortitude to stand up and hug her. How could he, when all that was happening right now was his fault? His original actions that ended up seeing half her family dead. His idiotic choice back in Carcosa when he could have been patient and killed himself right away, biding the time for the trip there again.

This whole life was a nightmare to Joffrey, every stare from every servant and courtier and old friend serving to carry him back to a past he'd though ground to dust long ago.

Sansa sighed, massaging her temples. "This body seems all too willing to cry at the slightest prodding," she complained after a few sniffles, standing up angrily and ripping another chunk out of the tattered dress over the floor. She used it as a makeshift handkerchief as she sat back down, cleaning her face.

"I'm sorry," said Joffrey, feeling hollow.

"That was more than a century ago Joff. You might as well have been another man," she said.

The air he breathed in felt poisoned, heavy. "And back in Carcosa?"

"That was utter stupidity… you headstrong idiot," she said as she slapped the handkerchief down on the table. "I told you, but you just wouldn't listen! You'd think over a century of life would install some Gods-be-damned patience on you!" she screamed, breathing harshly as she settled back on the chair, her angry expression melting away into wariness.

Joffrey closed his eyes, unable to look at her.

They stayed like that for another while, and the sun had moved meaningfully when Joffrey managed to open his eyes again. Sansa was leaning on the table, fiddling absentmindedly with the makeshift handkerchief.

He moved his hand towards hers, but they retreated below the table.

"Do you think the realm can be saved, at this point?" she said after a moment.

He sighed. "I don't know… there's too much animosity against the Lannisters. Large sections of the Riverlands have been razed, and the North and West have bled a lot of manpower. Stannis, Renly if he's still alive, and Balon are all in open rebellion…. And there's still Aegon and Daenerys unaccounted for…"

"The Crownlands should still be mostly intact," she said.

Joffrey massaged his face, trying to get his mind back to the game of supplies and mathematics, troops and lords, loyalty and betrayal; the Game of Thrones. "Hmm… Around seven thousand men plus whatever Lannister forces remain around Harrenhall… Yeah, I could stop Stannis when he comes knocking, and the Reach…" He grimaced, "We'll hold, but it'll be bloody… there'll be widows from Maidenpool to Highgarden…"

"You could marry Margeary," she said, her eyes hooded, "I'll be your Mistress of Whispers. With the Reach and a hundred thousand men we can take care of Balon, the Vale, Aegon, maybe keep Dorne in check. Give Robb the North, it won't matter in a few years."

"Sansa, no," he said as he shook his head. "We don't even know if this is permanent, we're building castles over clouds."

"The Purple's raw Joff, tell me you don't feel it."

He shuffled, looking away from her.

"It feels wounded," she whispered.

"Wounds can be mended."

"You don't know that Joffrey."

"The Red Comet didn't subsume us, it didn't make contact with our souls," he said, slamming his hand against the table. "We're still alive, and until we know if this is the new normal I won't stand for… insane plans."

Sansa looked away. "Insane was delaying our deaths back in Carcosa… this… this is just controlling the damage," she whispered.

Joffrey worked his jaw as he leaned back on his chair, letting out a mighty sigh. "We'll have to wait a few days, weeks maybe. See how the Purple looks then…"

"And what if we can't go back? What then Joff?"

"I… I don't know. I don't know Sansa," he said, feeling ice in his belly.

-: PD :-