Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Joffrey swung the axe, striking the white tree with a grunt. He pried his tool out, and struck the hardwood again, this time bringing the great tree down with a harsh snap and a tremendous roar as it slammed into the earth.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, taking a moment to catch his breath as he leaned on the axe. He could hear the distant mating call of the Silver Apes in the distance; long, ululating sounds which made his chest thrum in reverb. Crocodiles snapped at the unwary ones, their jaws snapping shut with sharp cracks that echoed throughout the vale and betrayed the presence of a river nearby. The rainforest was absolutely teeming with life.

"This should do nicely," he said as he examined the fallen tree.

"Do! Nicely!" someone called out. Joffrey shook his head, smiling at the red-and-purple parrot perched atop the tree to his side. It stared down at him, unperturbed before extending its beak to its left and gobbling down a hanging seed. The great white tree was identical to the one he'd just felled, and so were the scores of others which dotted the area; trunks straight as streetlamps and branches as gnarled as a kraken's tentacles. Their wide leafs crowded the skyline, and were high roads of a sort for a whole civilization of worms, caterpillars, and blue-headed ants which scuttled from tree to tree.

"Do! Do! Do!" chirped another parrot.

"Oh boy… don't you all start," said Joffrey.

"Nicely!" said the first parrot.

"Do!" said the second.

"Oh boy! Oh boy!" chirped one, unseen.

"Nicely! Nicely!"

"All start! Do!"

Joffrey chuckled as he kneeled, measuring the fallen tree with a length of rope he'd tied to his belt. He examined it closely before making a notch on the wood with a serrated knife. The wood felt firm, not a sign of rot in sight. He nodded as he stood up, grabbing the axe with two hands. "All together now boys!" he shouted.

"Together! All together boys!"

Joffrey cleared his throat, waiting for a lull in the endless repetition before he called out with a clear voice, pitching it to carry. "A beaaaar there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair! The bear! The bear!"

"Bear! Bear!"

"Black brown! Black brown!"

He brought down the axe, white splinters flying to the sides. "Oh come they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!"

"Black brown! Black brown!"

"-and covered with hair!" said Joffrey. Each time he brought down his axe he sang another verse, stressing certain words so his chorus could follow in true form.

"The maid with honey in her hair," he sang, the axe sinking deep into the fallen tree.

"Her hair! Her hair!"

"The maid with honey in her hair!" Joffrey cleared the splinters from the gouge in the tree with a gloved hand, examining it with appraising eyes.

He hefted the axe with a puff of effort and got to work again, cutting the great white log and leaving it at about four times his length.

"My bear! She sang. My bear so fair! And off they went, from here to there!"

"The bear! The bear!" parroted his chorus in a riot of rainbow colored feathers, taking to the air as Joffrey whistled for Stennis to come get him.

"And the maiden faaaair!" he said, extending the last word and letting it hang into the wind with a grave pitch.

-: PD :-

The big log barely fit into the wagon, and poor Stennis had a hard time dragging the loaded thing past the rolling hills of the Sweet Lotus Vale. The big ox had a foul temper, and Joffrey had to keep him constantly bribed with tender buds of yellow lotus; else the beast was liable to feed on Joffrey's own hand instead.

He made good time, singing such timeless classics as The Bear and the Maiden Fair, Fair Maids of Summer, and The False and the Fair. The rainforest kept well clear of the path, in no small part thanks to the efforts of the Prince's men. Eventually the panoply of green and white gave way to tilled fields and orchards, sporting a dazzling variety of tropical fruits.

Joffrey segued into Antlers of Bronze and Iron, and then into The King's Fist, growing more nostalgic by the song. He refrained from singing Renly's Rope though, as there was no better way to kill a pleasant noon.

"OH there Stennis! Ho!" He reined in the stubborn beast, looking at the couple of Summer Islanders walking in the opposite direction. The man had teak skin, while the woman was of a nut brown complexion and somewhat taller than her companion. Both of them were clad in true islander fashion, sporting cloaks of red, yellow, and green parrot feathers.

"Sweet day, Joffrey. Its good fortune we met you today," the woman called out, a surprised smile on her lips. Hara wore a revealing spotted panther pelt below her cloak of feathers, making her even more dazzling and, to Joffrey's mounting curiosity, even more formally dressed.

"Sweet day Hara, Zhantas," Joffrey called back in the Summer Tongue, nodding at the man as well. The tall, well-built Zhantas wore a long tunic dyed orange. It was spotted with countless yellow and red lotus flowers; the most formal attire he'd seen him wear since he knew him.

"Bringing in the second outrigger for your little project?" Zhantas asked him, coming to a stop next to Joffrey's seat atop the small wagon.

"Right you are," he said, unable to keep the joy from his voice. It had been shaping up quite nicely… He really couldn't wait to sail it through even a moderately strong wind. He was half afraid it would fly.

Zhantas mirrored his smile, though it petered off into something bittersweet soon after. Hara had come to a stop next to Stennis, glaring at the ox when it tried to butt his head against her hand. The beast shied away from the dark brown eyes, looking at the ground instead.

"What are you two doing out here anyway? And in your summer best at that?"

Zhandar looked at Hara, and Hara looked at Joffrey.

"… Hara?" said Joffrey.

"We're going to Nivanze. The last love calls to us," she said.

Joffrey stared at the woman, stunned. "But Hara, I… Isn't this a bit premature?"

"The first blizzards in living memory have reached Walano. It's only a matter of time till they reach Jhala as well… the Last Summer grows short," she said.

"But that could still be a year or more away! I- Zhandar," he said, turning towards his friend, "We were going to sail the Sunray next month, I don't see why you need to do this now instead of-"

"We've been discussing this for months, friend," said Zhandar. "We decided last night, and already made our goodbyes. We'd waited for you but Sansa told us we'd find you on the road."

"She hid her grief well, but everything you could think of she said so as well," said Hara, not unkindly.

Joffrey sighed, jumping down from the small wagon and embracing Zhandar. "I'll miss you on the foresail," he said.

"It was not to be, friend," said Zhandar, patting Joffrey's back strongly, "… And despite your constant cheating, I'll miss our late nights of dice too," he added, his voice growing thick.

They separated. Zhandar cleared his throat before slapping Joffrey's arm with one of his big hands, "Bonol and Talthas already have a cask of the finest rum to celebrate our passing. Tomorrow at the lodge, don't miss out or my shade will steal your dice!"

"I won't," said Joffrey, feeling his own throat a bit tight.

"Don't miss us, it was meant to be," said Hara as they embraced as well. "Remember to move that shapely buttocks of yours from time to time, lest you grow roots into that weirwood," she added with a smirk.

"I'll try," said Joffrey, feeling a sad smile on his lips, "Take care, Hala. Thanks for everything."

They departed, tracing the same road Joffrey had taken. Theirs would take them farther away though, up the winding hills and into the Temple of Nivanze, where they would eat bitter fruits and make love until they closed their eyes together.

They would not open them again.

Joffrey's previous good cheer was in scarce supply as he guided Stennis, the wagon rolling up and down the hills as Ebonhead gradually came into view. It was the southernmost proper town in Jhala and the Summer Islands in general, straddling the mouth of the Jhol river and surrounded by beautiful swaths of black, tall ebon trees. It was mostly built out of ebonwood and other hardwoods, and most of the houses were raised on tall timbers above the wide river mouth, connected to each other by bridges. Canoes floated below, tied to pillars or in use by the town's inhabitants… of which there were fewer and fewer these past few months.

The Rite of Last Love had been growing in its practice as winter approached and the prophecies written on the Talking Trees of Walano came true. It was said there would be neither life nor body left in Walano –northernmost of the three main islands- by the time the Walkers got there… and Jhala would not be far behind.

Joffrey kept Stennis on the right track, avoiding the town proper as he turned west, following the coastal road. Soon enough he was upon a lone house built of sturdy ebonwood, surrounded by white sand which shimmered under the sun. His house looked like the tip of a dark brown thumb jutting out from the beach, the waves gently lapping at the small pier a short distance away.

Home.

Joffrey guided Stennis into the small shed past the house, removing his collar and leaving him next to the water trough. He patted the white teak log, leaving it on the wagon for now. "Soon," he told it.

He walked out of the shed, but before he made for the house a small bird of paradise perched on his shoulder. It trilled a sweet melody, the three blue feathers wobbling over its head as it looked at him. It took off for the tree line at the other side of the road, and Joffrey snorted before following.

The rainforest was light around him, the canopy leaving wide belts of sunlight that streamed past the leaves. Joffrey followed the small trail through the rainforest, smiling when he heard the whirlwind of sound coming up in front.

He found Sansa sitting below the pale brown Heart Tree, blood red leaves swirling away with the warm wind that carried echoes of frost. There must have been over half a hundred birds of paradise of different species perched around the Weirwood; wide swathes of cyan, vermillion, and scarlet. They trilled softly as they gazed at Sansa, the color of their feathers distorting into bright yellows and empty blues as the green valyrian candle in front of Sansa pulsed, small windows of change whirling around her.

They'd taken the surprising presence of a Weirwood Heart Tree as a suitable omen for building their home, but the tree still seemed out of place to Joffrey. He'd grown accostumed to seeing it under grey skies or over freshly fallen snow.

He gazed at the whirlwinds around Sansa as he came to a stop, leaning on one of the ebon trees surrounding the Heart Tree. Most of them showed endless expanses of snow; blizzards and snow dunes as far as the eye could see, Sansa's eyes and ears as she searched for the place where the Red Comet felt the strongest. One did not show the Lands of Always Winter though, for all that it was covered in snow and freezing gales. There were about a thousand walkers standing in a great circle atop a frozen shore, hands interlocked with each other. Their eyes seemed ablaze with the Comet's energy, their hands melding as they started to dissipate, the wind and the snow growing stronger each second until the frost made them one, an entire iceberg of sorts coalescing between them and growing taller and taller and taller until it approached the size of the Red Keep.

The Walkers were soon overtaken by their creation, trapped within it. Behind them more Walkers and countless wights marched towards the construct of ice and red might, seeking to enter it before it froze over completely and it started its journey. Joffrey recognized the distant outline of Tyrosh, its great black domes wrecked and in ruins as thousands upon thousands of wights marched out of the city; exquisitely dressed magisters and collared slaves joined in death as legions of the end.

Sansa took a deep breath as the thrum of the windows decreased in pitch, growing lesser until they dissipated into harsh colors that left Joffrey's ears ringing, fractals peeking out of the edges of his vision. His wife had been experimenting, leveraging their understanding of their own souls to use the Purple's own energy as a source of power, a replacement for blood in a way. Even damaged and battered, the Purple's power, energy store, breadth of fractals–however one wanted to call it- seemed enormous compared to the minute cuts she'd been taking.

The Deep Ones had said the Purple spent the eons between cycles recharging somehow… and the passing of the ages showed.

She smiled when she saw him, her right eye swirling from white to bright blue as the many birds took flight in a storm of squeaks and feathers. She hadn't found the place yet, she would have told him immediately if she had.

"You're brooding again," she said.

"I met with Zhantas and Hara on my way back…"

Sansa grunted, standing up with shaky legs. Joffrey went to help her up, and they shared a kiss before they walked out of the clearing. "More and more people are taking up the Last Rite…"

"I'd rather die sword in hand, but I admit there's a certain allure to going out in a frenzy of sex," he said, smiling despite his will. He'd been surprised to find out that the Summer Islanders had a prophecy of the Long Night as well, though their version was surprisingly fatalistic given how normally outgoing they were.

The innermost and most sacred trees, tended to in Tall Trees Town -itself a center of religion and tradition in the Summer Islands- held carvings which spoke of the end times. The times when snow would reach the lands of summer, when the dead would shamble from the far north across the sea and bring an end to the world entire. Perhaps it was not all that surprising that the people of the islands had embraced death on their own terms, after being confronted with the apparent truth of their teachings.

"How far are they?" he asked her.

"Those in the mainland? The southwestern force reached the Red Mountains yesterday, chasing the remains of Aegon's supporters as they flee for Dorne. They've fortified the mountain passes as well as they can, but I don't think they'll hold them for longer than a month or two."

"That iceberg in Tyrosh will be heading for them? Across the Sea of Dorne?"

"I don't think so, they were building it on the southern edge of the island. Walkers are straightforward, they might as well be pointing their fingers south en mass," said Sansa.

"Hm. Lys then." Joffrey held Sansa's hand as they reached the end of the rainforest.

"Probably. There's no need to hit Dorne from the sea, not with an undead dragon and thousands of flying wights bearing down upon the mountain passes…"

"Their progress is accelerating…" Joffrey shook his head, trying to bring his mind to more pleasant thoughts.

Fortunately, Sansa did it for him. "I saw you found the perfect wood by the White Grove."

He smiled proudly, "I did. She'll sail Sansa, oh she'll sail," he said, filled with anticipation as they reached their little house by the beach.

-: PD :-

That night they cuddled side by side over their bed, the sheets of tropical silk and red feathers drawn up high. Sansa lied stuck to Joffrey's back as they shared body heat, the pale yellow logs by the fireplace doing little to dispel the chill in the air.

They'd lived a good life here, in the Summer Islands. They'd worked diligently to expand the Purple into what it had once been, using only sensations and vague feelings to try and patch up a working they didn't even understand completely… trying to mold it as Joffrey had done to include Brightroar's sheath into the cycle. They'd made some progress, steeling their souls against the strain of death… though how far back they could go again was still a mystery.

For all that there'd been valid reasons to take their time this life, Sansa had enjoyed the reprieve from the constant danger and intrigues of the world entire. They'd needed the time so she could train with the candle they'd stolen from the Citadel, time for Joffrey to learn more of the module… but she hadn't truly realized how much she'd really needed this. Both of them. To truly rest after all the wars and the secrets. To just live day by day and not worry over the moves of lords and sorcerers, to not suffer so much for the fate of a world entire.

They'd sailed under the summer sun and fished rainbow colored trouts. They'd made good friends with neighbors and travelling priests and merchants. They'd spent entire days lazing about in the house they'd built with their own hands. They'd made love under the stars, the warm sand keeping the cold at bay.

And yet…

"Feels guilty, just lying here," she said. Her arm was draped over Joffrey's chest, feeling the slow cadence of his breathing.

"Why?" he asked, playing with her fingers.

"Robb's out there in Tarth right now, killing and maiming and playing the general until he makes one more mistake…"

"While we're here biding our time?" he said.

"He's just a boy Joff, he shouldn't be out there…"

"They grow up quickly in war… they always do," he whispered. "Have I ever told you about the Red Wolf?"

"Once or twice," she said with a slight smile.

He stopped playing with her hand suddenly, his fingers locked, "I still dream about him, some nights," he said, letting out a long breath of air as he resumed his fiddling, interlocking his fingers with Sansa's.

"I would find it hard not to."

"It's not the pain nor the violence that still haunts me… the focus of the nightmare changed, sometime between the Citadel and the Dawn Legion," he said, now caressing her arm. "It was the hollowness… Robb hadn't grown into a man. No, Robb Stark was dead inside, and no matter how many times that hammer fell, no matter how many of my bones he broke, he knew he'd never be alive again."

There was a moment of silence before Joffrey cleared his throat, "I'm not making it any better, am I?"

"Hm no, not really," she said, breathing deeply from Joffrey's hair and losing herself within the smell. Far from the stiff courtly perfumes, the sweat and grime and sea salt that often found its way into her husband's unruly mop held far more cherished memories. She sighed lowly, leaning into him as her mind returned to her family.

"It's kind of like the way Meera looked, when you told her Jon had died," she said.

"Similar in kind, though not in strength. I had taken everything from Robb, everything but war… that seems to be a common theme in his life, his destiny if you will. The way things happen if we don't oppose them with serious effort."

"What about Arya? I seem to recall she almost killed you once."

"Baelor's Sept," he said as if the memory pained him. "She should've gotten me there, by the rights of gods and men… She seems all over the place, looking back. Sometimes she fought and died after Robert's death, others she was taken hostage, a locked hellcat inside the Red Keep…" he snorted, "Once, I smuggled her outside the castle through a covered wagon just so she would leave me alone… only problem with that plan was that I didn't know how to drive one," he said with a little laugh.

Sansa chuckled with him; she could imagine it all too well.

"Mostly though, she tends to disappear," he finished quietly.

"I like to think she often makes it to Riverrun, and the Tully's keep it quiet so they can use her absence from the Red Keep as a bargaining chip against the Lannisters. For the eventual negotiations."

"… I think you may be giving your cousin too much credit."

She sighed, "Probably… you think she's alright? Wherever she is?"

"That one's willy, and hard to catch. For all we know she's in Volantis right now, convincing the rest of the Red Priests to sail west..."

She snorted, imagining her sister atop a stack of crates by the Red Temple of Volantis and pummeling every passerby with words… and fists. A long sigh escaped her lips, "Almost convinced me there. Running Arya. Brave little Arya." She grew quiet, "It's funny… I remember being so annoyed with her all the time. Like, righteously annoyed, something you'd level at someone who caused grievous personal harm."

"Like the Sealord after the table incident?"

Sansa chuckled silently, hiding her face in Joffrey's hair.

"After all this time you're still ashamed of that Sansa?"

"And the First Sword just standing there like a marble statue…"

They shared another chuckle at that.

She took a breath of fresh air, resting her cheek on Joffrey's head again. "Well, I suppose the hatred might've had a few similarities. But now when I remember my sister she just seems… I don't know, Impish? She's so gods-be-damned precocious," she said with a fond smile. "Running around with that sword and hopelessly trying to avoid her needlework… that really used to drive her up the wall…"

"Does, Sansa. Does drive her up the wall."

There was silence for a moment, and then Sansa breathed again. "We made fun of her, you know? Me and Jeyne… We and the other girls around Winterfell, we called her Arya Horseface… that was the least of the insults, though maybe the one she hated the most."

"It was just teasing. Besides, from what I know she gave as good as she got."

Sansa felt Joffrey's hand with her own, tracing the old woodworker's scars across the tip of his fingers. "Do you think she had a… a bad childhood?" She asked him, cringing at how the question had come out.

"All I can give is my opinion, and I think Arya is still a child and that she has a wonderful, caring family. That's a rarity and something you should rightfully feel proud about."

"That's sweet of you to say," Sansa whispered as she leaned back, looking at the ceiling.

Her sister was probably part of the horde shambling towards the Red Mountains, and yet here she lay, warm and comfortable. She dispelled the thoughts with a grunt, focusing on something useful.

"You're still undecided on Renly," she said.

"He's the perfect tilting dummy, why get rid of him early?" he asked as he turned to face her, supporting his head with an elbow.

"Don't be obtuse Joff, you know what I'm talking about. It's not about 'getting rid of him', it's about making him an ally."

"Can't be done Sansa, he's too enamored with the idea of being King. He'd grow to hate it, but he doesn't know that."

"Is it though? Is kingship what so obsesses Renly? He was not without reason when he fled the capital. Between Cercei and what he knew of the old you, he could have ended up…"

"Like Ned," finished Joffrey.

"Like father." Sansa nodded. "So there was a real fear for his life. Add to that the constant animosity between the two factions, and the fact that he'd been steadily sidelined from the keys of power by the Lannisters… especially after Jon Arryn's death… it's not hard to see why he would rebel."

"That's only part of the picture, dear. Renly thrives in court, he relishes the pomp and being at the center of it all, and I'm not sure Storms End is enough to sate his needs."

Sansa hummed, "I think that if we befriend him at the start, get him on side, and depending on the circumstances around Robert's death… we could delay any rash decisions. Once Robert is dead he can't complain about grasping Tyrell influence at court, so we could get them on side quickly as well."

Joffrey looked like he'd chewed something sour. "Bloody Tyrells… That'll mean a betrothal at least, probably two."

"Robb and Maergery could make a fine match, they cover each other's weaknesses," said Sansa, though she couldn't hide the slight animosity in her voice.

"And fill his innocent ears full of Tyrell poison," grumbled Joffrey.

"She's not that bad," said Sansa, finding herself in the uncomfortable position of having to defend Maergery Tyrell of all people. "We merely have to redirect her impulses to something more productive. Besides, Robb may be clueless about some things but he's enough of a Stark to-"

He scoffed, interrupting her, "I have a counterargument to that. It's called Jeyne Westerling."

"Well of course the other choice is Tommen, how's that for a sacrificial lamb to the Tyrells?"

"Gods, please no."

"I thought so," she said, crossing her arms.

"Okay, get the Tyrells on board. Make Renly feel safe and… I guess we could also make him Master of Ambassadors, that job will practically be pomp and feasting most of the time… at least before the War for Dawn."

"Good idea. We'll have to handle it carefully so he doesn't see it as a demotion from Master of Laws," she said. "What about Stannis?"

"He's in the shed, what about him?" he said.

She resisted the urge to slap a hand over her face… or his. "Honey, that joke grew old the day after you bought him from Bonol. "

Joffrey smiled. She knew he was laughing on the inside, the damned joke never grew old on him.

He grew serious after a moment, a frown dominating his features, "There I truly see no other choice. The man's rightfully convinced I'm not Robert's son and there's nothing we can do to change his mind... besides, he's the other readily available tilting dummy," he added somewhat sheepishly. "No short victorious war at the beginning and we'll have lords chafing and testing the boundaries everywhere. We'll be thrice as slow preparing the realm for Winter."

Sansa hummed, deep in thought. "True. And from what we know of him he wouldn't be deterred even if he only had a sword and one man to his name. Five thousand levies plus whatever mercenaries he manages to pick up… they're not the hundred thousand Army of the Reach. We won't have as incredible a victory as last time… "

"I'll just have to smash that Aegon dunce harder then. I hope you're not going to suggest we befriend him too?"

"Of course not." Sansa scoffed, "He needs to die, and preferably by your hand. It's a self-feeding problem though… With no warrior king reputation he'll have an easier time gathering support. We don't know how much of Varys' work in the Vale was after Jon Arryn's death. He may have been sowing the ground for a restoration decades ago; Aegon could count on half the Vale if he's lucky and we're not, or Dorne in its entirety if Doran backs him like in this life… maybe even both. With those numbers it'll be harder to get a crushing victory to truly cement our rule."

Joffrey leaned back as he drummed fingers over his chest. "Regular victory would cement it too, just not in the same way… We need to receive him on a prepared beach head, crush him utterly and hand out the Golden Company's famed bracelets to the Guardsmen and the lords and knights… it would be almost impossible to get there in time though."

"What about catching him out at sea?"

"That would be even better, though even harder to accomplish. No real way to intercept… by the time we knew he'd decided on a beach head he'd be landing already. We could block off escape with the Royal Fleet though."

Sansa brushed her hair, "What we need is information."

"Varys won't break."

She looked down to her hands, examining her wrists.

Her husband's mouth twitched. "You're planning something."

"Just a second string for our bow. I'm not even sure if it'll work. For now we should move forward on the assumption that both Dorne and the Vale will rise up in rebellion around year three or four."

"Blood and Mud," said Joffrey. "… Do you really think he's a Blackfyre?"

"The Illyrio Mopatis connection seems to point in that direction… besides, his blood… it was powerful Joff. The winds I brought forth from it almost tore the ship's sails. We should have taken half as long to reach Oldtown."

"Hm. That would explain why he was so useless promoting Daenerys' and Viserys' cause. It wouldn't have made sense to just use her as an expensive distraction if he'd really been a Targeryen loyalist." Joffrey frowned, scratching his small beard. "Speaking of her, what about Daenerys?"

"Joff, no."

"I'll wear you down eventually," he said with a goofy grin.

"We handle her cleanly. No dragon choirs, no catapults, and definitively no exploding Harrenhall." Sansa's cheeks turned red as she smiled. It soon dissipated though, as they remembered the specter of her second coming to Westeros. There would be no dealing with Daenerys and her dreams of righteous rule.

Between rumor, word of mouth from merchants and then refugees, and plentiful use of the glass candle, Sansa had been able to reconstruct some of the broad happenings of her homeland these past few years. She didn't know what changes had influence Daenerys Targeryen this time, but her initial conquest had been far less brutal in the beginning. Her conquest of King's Landing had been much cleaner than last time, though her rule had been chaotic from the start. In time, the strain of rule had obviously been too much for the famously unstable Targaryen psyche to handle.

The Faith Militant had been reestablished by Cersei in a fit of stupidity that had been out of all proportion even for her, and Daenerys had inherited the mess. Her attempts at dealing with them had swung from extreme to extreme, from bribing them with gold and privileges to holding public beheadings on Baelor's Plaza. Aegon, her supposed cousin, had refused to recognize her authority, and she had refused his offer of marriage. Aegon himself had been pushed out of the Stormlands and back to Dorne by the Tyrells, where he'd decided to wait out the clash between Daenerys and the Lannister-Tyrell coalition.

Said clash had been brutal. Tywin's stratagem actually managed to kill Viseryon out near the God's Eye, though it cost him his army and in all likelihood his life, for he was never heard of again. Most of the Westerlands' chivalry perished with him.

After the Second Field of Fire, Daenerys had grown even more erratic. The Reach devolved into a civil war of its own, and she flew there herself to aid her chosen factions. On her absence, the Faith Militant grew bolder, to the point of actually storming the Red Keep as their fanaticism spread to the countryside.

Events grew less clear as the continent dissolved into anarchy, the march of the Others adding fuel to the fire. Robb led the North's survivors back down the Neck as the Walkers marched behind them, his outriders pillaging what was left of the Riverlands and riding into the Crownlands. By then Daenerys had already burnt Baelor's Sept to the ground with most of the upper leadership of the Faith and the Faith Militant still inside, unleashing wide scale religious war within the Crownlands as her unsullied were hacked apart in the streets by the smallfolk. Drogon had been carrying out fire breathing runs on Fleabottom when Ser Barristan Selmy had unclasped his white cloak, taken his sword out, and pinned Daenerys to the throne she'd loved so much.

Three days later, when she'd carried her gaze across the sea through the glass candle's distorted light, all that'd remained of King's Landing had been a giant crater, still smoking with Wildfire.

Burn them all, Daenerys had screamed as Ser Barristan ran her through. Sansa shivered.

She was taken out of her reverie by the Red Comet blinking unknowingly in the distance, lying still over the frozen north.

"… We should do it soon. Safer than way…" whispered Joffrey. He was gazing northwards, his eyes peering beyond.

Sansa looked at the things they'd hung over the walls of the small bedroom: Bright tapestries made of tropical feathers, wooden masks bearing prayers to the Gods of Love and Hearth, paintings of the Tyroshi skyline. Small model swanships hanged from the ceiling, the strong yet precise cuts revealing his husband's chisel. "I don't think we've ever lived so calm a life… it's eerie."

"Feels like the quiet before the storm, doesn't it?" he asked her.

She sighed, gripping him tighter.

"We'll be ready this time. We were made for this," he said, his eyes alight with certainty. Small Purple fractals came alive over his hand, his breathing steady as he sought to bring forth his soul into their reality.

"You've made progress," Sansa whispered, watching as his whole forearm glowed with Purple light. The fractals weaved over it, forming the outlines of a bracer and gauntlet.

"The trick was to bring it to something physical. Something material our minds can imagine," he said, looking at his arm. The Purple was solidifying, the contours acquiring weight as Joffrey took another deep breath. He'd told her the module depicted the weight of the Purple streaming out of his own soul, surrounding it rather than holding it within. A way to bend the tune of the Song.

"And of course the first thing you thought of was armor," she said, a chiding smile on her lips as she looked at the gauntlet. She was fascinated by the way it grew around his hand, slowly pushing hers away. It was black, sporting a million indentations so close to each other that it felt smooth to the touch; they were the fractals of the Purple, carved directly into the piece of armor in swirling patterns of right angles. Sansa swore she could glimpse stars far within the void of the dark gauntlet, the distant dots sweeping in and out of her vision as Joffrey tilted his hand. It still felt warm to her touch.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.

He smiled, "It's hard to explain. Conversations with Captain Shah. The sound of my gauntlets striking Ser Robar during the battle in Renly's camp. The feeling I had when I reached the peak of the Mountains of the Moon. The weight of my armor back in the Dawn Fort. My lessons with the Archmaesters; Benedict's hands guiding my own as I held the hammer, Valleyn pointing to the stars…" he trailed off, looking at the gauntlet. "It feels as if I were giving voice to them. All those feelings. Experiences. Distilled into the Song right in front of me."

Sansa caressed his hand as the gauntlet melted into nothing, her eyes finding his. They would make it right. For their friends and family, for the people they would rule.

For all the living.

-: PD :-

The Pebble Lodge was a tavern in all but name … though perhaps calling it a brothel would not be incorrect either, from a Westerosi point of view. The building was held up by tall timbers over the mouth of the River Jhol; it was a homely affair of stools and tables, tall torches and thatched roofs. Half of it was bereft of walls, letting the warm breeze from the ocean carry on into its interior.

Bonol was red faced, holding his fist over his mouth so the spittle wouldn't hit Joffrey. "And then he said, 'tis only a little cat, Hara'!" he said.

Joffrey slammed the table with his hand repeatedly as he struggled for air, "If that panther doesn't kill you Zhantas then-"

"-I will!" finished Talthas, chuckling loudly. The three of them were in one of the outdoor tables, looking out to the sapphire blue sea. The crystal clear water lapped gently against the tall timbers, rocking the tied canoes in a lullaby of creaking wood. Joffrey memorized the scene so he could paint it later.

He knew the beautiful scenery was deceptive though. Not even the Summer Islands could be completely aloof from the end of the world, for the winter chills drew ever southwards, far in advance of the White Walker's floating islands of ice. Raiders and Corsairs also drifted like flotsam from the north, the more desperate among them raiding the isles' shores for supplies before making south for Sothoryos. The idea was to hug the great continent's shoreline as they sailed south in search of warmer climates which would deter the Others. Hara had always pitied them, for all that she'd crushed their skulls more than once when they'd raided Ebonhead.

"Hara." Joffrey chuckled, holding up his wooden mug. "Here's to both of them."

The other two Summer Islanders clashed their mugs with Joffrey's, and all three downed the spicy rum in one quaff. Joffrey leaned back, the sweet spice tingling nostalgia, sorrow, and contentment. Celebrating the dead with rum was a time honored tradition in the Summer Islands, and Joffrey found the liquid oddly fitting for the task. The dead should be remembered with joy, for sorrow there was aplenty.

They kept honoring their friends, the afternoon sun keeping the chill at bay as fishermen returned in their catamarans carrying clams, octopuses, and broad-leafed salmon. Joffrey leaned back on the pillar to his back, frowning when he heard that eerie laughter in the distance yet again.

For all that the sound was pleasant to the ear, there was something about it that seemed deeply unnatural to Joffrey, though his friends all had blank stares when he asked them.

"I need to pee. Don't finish that bottle without me!" he told them.

Bonol looked away innocently as Talthas winked at Joffrey. "I'll keep it out of his grubby hands Joff, don't you worry," he said.

"Yeah, and keep it in yours," said Bonol.

Joffrey walked through the men and women serving seafoods and carrying tall pitchers of rum or coconut wine, frowning again when he heard another run-away chuckle. He drifted past islanders embracing each other over long palm leaves that served as impromptu mattresses of sorts, sharing their passion with men, women; whoever wanted to partake in the moment. A Westerosi would liken the place to a house of pleasure, but in truth free love was a principle that was lived by in every corner of the Summer Islands. If anything, lodges were a bit more formal.

He followed the unnatural sound through the indoor section of the Pebble Lodge as another runaway chuckle raised the hair at the nape of his neck, and turned around a wooden wall to the sight of Tywin Lannister laughing like a madman.

He sat with two beautiful islander women perched atop his knees, the first as dark as the ebonwood around them, contrasting the much more clear nut-brown complexion of the second. Both of them were laughing wildly, red-faced as if they'd heard the best joke in existence. Tywin was dressed in islander fashion, with a cloak of bright feathers connected by a beautifully carved goldenwood brooch, worn over a more traditional doublet and ox-hide breeches. An arming sword was strapped to his belt, very similar to Joffrey's.

Joffrey stood there, stunned as Tywin said something that had the two women laughing again, his own deep timbered chuckle making Joffrey's hair stand on edge. He shook his head good naturedly, gripping the ebon-dark woman's buttocks as he leaned back, his relaxed gaze falling on Joffrey.

He tensed, just as shocked as Joffrey as they stared at each other like gaping fish.

Joffrey was still processing the sight of Tywin Lannister laughing when the man himself stood up, the women by his sides looking at him in confusion as he mumbled something. Joffrey was about to say something when the man suddenly bolted, making a run for the window.

"Wait!" shouted Joffrey, breaking into a run and knocking a serving woman over, rum spilling over his doublet as Tywin leaped out the window. Joffrey reached the windowsill seconds after, watching Tywin break his fall with a perfect roll before regaining his feet and sprinting down the wide wooden bridge-street, running away from the beach and towards the tall houses of central Ebonhead.

Joffrey leapt down one of the tall timbers instead, sliding down until he reached river-level. He sprinted through the tied canoes, long jumps carrying him from one to the other as he looked up and to his right.

Tywin ran like a startled dear, knocking fishermen and port hands out of his way. Joffrey ran parallel to him, dodging the town's pillars and using rows of jointly-tied canoes as an impromptu walkway. He cursed when he realized the line of tied canoes came to an end abruptly, his head swiveling widely for new targets as he refused to lose momentum and kept running. He leapt and landed on an untied one, the startled fisherman shouting at him before he jumped to another one. The next canoe tilted over as he jumped from it with all his strength, spilling both sailor and freshly caught fish into the river as he reached one of the tall timbers barely, a painful thump reverbing through his chest. He climbed upwards as the fishermen insulted his line up to three generations back, using the pillar and the discarded, tied lengths of rope as a ladder.

"Sansa!" he shouted at the seagulls perched on the railing above him, startling them into a ruckus of shrill cries and feathers.

This couldn't be happening. What the hells was Tywin Lannister doing in Ebonhead?!

He vaulted over the railing when he reached the top of the wooden walkway held by the pillar, now into the town proper as Tywin slid under a stand selling boiled clams, just a few steps in front of him. "Hey!" Joffrey shouted, running over a nearby table and scattering mugs and dishes as he used it to jump over the stall without losing speed. The Lord Paramount broke right, turning for an alleyway of sorts between two big ebonwood houses. Joffrey ducked below an angry butcher, pushed aside a startled peacock trader, and sprinted for a stack of crates. He jumped over one, then two, and finally a third as he leaped into the roof of one of the houses. The teak creaked under his feet as he scrammed after Tywin, the man making for the eastern edge of town as a wide winged pelican flew above him, periodically making out low, hoarse calls as it kept station with him.

He leapt from roof to roof, the houses reaching dry land as the wooden boards below were replaced by sand and mud. Tywin looked behind him, his run losing speed for a second before Joffrey leapt from above, tackling him into the ground and making both of them roll with the force of the landing.

Tywin's expression seemed irreverent, and the mere sight made Joffrey shudder and loosen the grip on the doublet. "Come to take my head before the end of the world eh?! What did Tywin offer you? One last arselick before the Eternal Winter?!" he shouted, slamming his head against Joffrey's nose.

Joffrey recoiled, blindly blocking a haymaker with his right arm. He socked Tywin on the jaw with his other fist before they devolved into wrestling, spinning on the sand before they reached a deadlock of tangled arms and locked legs. He took the time to really stare at the man's face, and frowned. It was eerily similar to Tywin's, but seemed younger and filled with laugh lines for all that the man was scowling at him right now.

Joffrey resisted a push to shove him aside, slamming back Tywin's hands against the sand. His long blonde hair was braided in intricate, interlocking ponytails: southern islander fashion Tywin would have sooner killed himself than be seen sporting in public.

"You're not Tywin!" said Joffrey.

"And thank the heavens for that!" said not-Tywin, speaking the common tongue with a thick Westerlands accent. "Else my diarrhea would have devalued the realm's coin years ago!"

"What?"

"It's the long-eels, very tasty but you might as well drink wildfire!" he said, using the distraction to change the lock on Joffrey's legs and flip their positions. Joffrey went with the move, taking not-Tywin's knee to the belly before he used the momentum to roll again and pin the man against the sand once more. He head-butted the bastard for good measure, leaving him slightly dazed.

"Move and the sand will drink your blood, foreigner." Joffrey couldn't see who had spoken, but he felt the edge of steel against his neck. He tilted his head minutely, spotting the same ebon skinned woman from earlier in the lodge out the corner of his eye. She held herself regally, standing tall and holding a short spear in her hands whose end could nick Joffrey's neck in half a second.

"Swanlord, are you unharmed?" she asked slowly, her tone far more formal than he'd heard her speak before.

"He is, but you won't be if you so much as scratch my husband's skin," said Sansa, her voice coming from behind him as the woman grew tense and immobile… probably feeling a dagger by the side of her neck right now.

"Well, it seems we're in a bit of an impasse," said not-Tywin. "And as much as your nubile body tempts me, I don't do family... so you might as well get up and go back to Tywin with your tail tucked in."

"You're not Tywin," Joffrey said again, frowning.

"Have you ever seen Tywin laugh? Seven hells, no wonder you look like you've seen a ghost… Wait, does this mean you're not a Lannisport cousin looking for my head on a platter?" he asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

"Why would we want to curry favor with him? The Westerlands doesn't even exist anymore," Sansa's voice floated from behind.

"Tywin laugh… a laughing lion…" muttered Joffrey, staring at the awfully familiar man's face. "Great-uncle Gerion?"

"Surprise?" said Gerion, examining Joffrey's face. He looked thoughtful, "Huh… Great-uncle indeed. There's no mistaking it, you look like Jaime's spit at that age. You're his or Cersei's?"

"Both," said Joffrey.

"Oh," said Gerion.

"Swanlord?" asked the spearwoman.

The pelican landed next to Gerion with a thud, gazing at him closely with a beady eye.

"It's so uncanny," muttered Sansa. "Can you laugh one more time?"

-: PD :-