Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"It was my greatest work. The best trick I ever played on Tywin." Gerion chuckled, leaning back on his wooden canopy chair. "It's almost a shame he never realized how thoroughly he'd been fooled…"

"So you never even set foot on fallen Valyria?" said Joffrey. He, Gerion, and Sansa were sitting back on the canopy chairs the islanders seemed to favor so much, which seemed more bed than chair to Joffrey in any case. They were resting on the Temple of Nivanze's outer terrace, slightly tired after the long walk from Ebonhead.

The place had a peaceful view to the west, the afternoon sun glinting slightly orange as it sought to sink beneath the Sunset Sea. The Red Comet was clearly visible by now, glowing crimson far to the North. Joffrey shuffled, scratching his neck. He wasn't entirely confortable here… For all he knew, Zhantas and Hara had died in this very room…

Gerion snorted, "Valyria? Madness." He shook his head before sipping from the holed coconut in his hands. "I cared less than a rat's arse for Brightroar and the supposed legacy of our House, may it serve as King Tommen's tombstone… though it seemed exactly the kind of idea that Tywin's impetuous little brother would fixate on." Sitting beside him, the differences with Tywin were obvious. His features were less stern, less bundled up and locked away than his brother's. The almost-brown tan should have been a dead giveway.

"And what better place to 'disappear' than Valyria?" said Sansa, smiling despite herself.

"What better place indeed! It worked perfectly. Half my crew 'deserted' in Volantis, making sure everyone heard we'd made it to the city and were preparing to sail east. The slaves we bought as replacement crew were manumitted two days away from the city, out of a supposed guilt attack on my part so I could 'make peace' with the Father before risking my soul sailing into the Smoking Sea. That part of the cover story never got through though… poor wretches were probably re-enslaved by the local magisters before they could spread the tale."

"And then?" asked Joffrey.

He leaned forward, growing more animated as he told the story. "We sailed to an abandoned bay near the Smoking Sea, where the 'deserters' lay waiting for us. We repainted the Laughing Lion, changed the figurehead to a harpy, and cut our sails into a more triangular pattern while my carpenters changed the spread of the oars. The Laughing Lion sailed into the Smoking Sea and was never seen again, but the Zaqnak na Kamdz was just another Ghiscari trader sailing south for Walano."

"That mustn't have turned well when you reached Lotus Port though," Sansa said after a moment. "Islanders hate the Ghiscary and all but slavers avoid the Islands."

Gerion chuckled, his cheeks growing a tiny bit red. "Well I didn't know that back then. Never listened to my Maester all that much, and I was much more interested on the inhabitants' other qualities... In the end we sorted out the misunderstanding though. Some of the crew were happy in Walano, but I wanted to put as much distance between myself and Tywin lest he learned of my presence somehow. I figured I'd make a quiet living here in Jhala, fishing out of Ebonhead or hells, maybe even entertaining the locals. That would have given Tywin a heart attack if he'd found me!"

"Another layer of security," said Joffrey, hiding a smirk. For all that Gerion had striven to get away from Tywin's shadow, it seemed a tiny bit of its shade still clung to him.

"Of course, anyone that knows Gerion can see where that plan would have failed," said Nadhata as she swayed into the room, her saunter so improper even a lowly wench from fleabottom would have blushed. It made for a strange contrast to the wealth and dignity of her dress; her exposed arms were peppered with sapphires and emeralds twinned with white ebon roots, and her head was crowned by many feathers of a dozen different colors. The pattern of her long flowing dress resembled a butterfly's; wide circles of blue and black lined with streaks of white.

Joffrey hid a shudder. He'd always been uneasy around butterflies after Naath.

The tall, ebon skinned High Priestess seemed much more relaxed now that Gerion was out of mortal danger, her spear lying idle by the wall. She spoke the Common Tongue with a sweet, lilting accent, "I think he tried the quiet life of the fisherman for a grand total of one week before he started making a ruckus," she said, smiling as she slid to his side by the long canopy chair and sneaked a hand under his doublet.

Even after several years living here, Joffrey still found the easy intimacy of the Islanders bizarre. It all got even more complicated with Nadhata, as her own sexuality was a holy component of her office; a carrying out of her duties as important as a sermon was to a Septon. Gerion didn't even flinch, embracing the High Priestess by the belly and sitting her over him.

He'd really gone native.

"I started sailing with the swanships of Prince Dorrol Xhox, patrolling the trade routes for corsairs and slavers. The pay was good, the company better, and I got to hold a sword again." He shivered theatrically, "I still have nightmares about searching for that damned fishing rod, spending hours diving around the bay as it slipped my fingers again." He paused, leaning towards Sansa with a furtive air as Nadhata stroked his shoulders gently, "Sometimes I dreamt I had actually sailed into the Smoking Sea, but instead of Brightroar I was searching for that blasted rod."

Sansa laughed, "Not a fisherman's life for you then. But how did you become Prince Dorrol's Swanlord of all things?"

Gerion smirked, "Why, by climbing the ladder the hard way!" he said. Soon he was explaining some of his exploits, from raunchy happenings in Lotus Town to ludicrous escapes from New Ghis and everything in between; he gained the Prince of Sweet Lotus Vale's respect throughout the years as he was promoted to captain, then to Sail-lord, and finally to Swanlord: overall commander of all of his liege's fleets.

Nadhata smiled often. For all that Gerion had been living the life of an Islander, it seemed he had never been able to completely shed his Westerosi roots; half his stories involved Nadhata in some way, and it was obvious he regarded her as his wife in all but name. Gerion himself was funny, light hearted, and someone with a passion for living. He could see why Tyrion had loved him, one of the few lights within Casterly Rock as he grew up…

Joffrey felt his lips thin, thinking about his own uncle. "He always remembered you, you know?" he said all of a sudden. Gerion stopped mid-sentence, mouth clamping shut. "Jaime loved you, but Tyrion always looked up to you as… well, everything he could aspire to be in life," said Joffrey.

Gerion looked troubled, "I… leaving my nephews. It was the hardest part," he said, growing just a tad somber. "I almost took Tyrion with me."

"He would have liked that," said Joffrey.

"Did he have... a bad time, after I left?"

Joffrey frowned, tapping the chair, "No, I wouldn't say so. Things took a strain on him though. Without you around Tywin needed another target to discharge the family blame on, and Tyrion was the only acceptable target at hand. Jaime did what he could from what I understand, but Tyrion still had a few difficult years. Never stopped having them really, he just grew thicker skin."

Gerion scowled, shame and anger mixing within his features.

"You've already made your choices, golden one," Nadhata said in the Summer Tongue, "Do not let the past hold you." The abrupt revelation that Joffrey had been born of both his nephew's hadn't phased Gerion as much as this, and that spoke of a very open mind… that or he'd really gone native, as he'd seen a few Islanders do.

"I don't regret coming here. I've lived a good life, far better than I could have if I'd stayed at Tywin's side like a discount Kevan… what I've heard from Westeros only seems to confirm that," he said, pressing his lips.

"You don't sound convinced," said Sansa.

Gerion sighed, looking north. "It feels selfish sometimes. Jaime, Tyrion, Cersei… I left them all as pawns to Tywin, and that was never going to end well. And that's leaving aside this whole… end of the world thing."

Joffrey nodded. While he could understand him, he couldn't condone what he'd done. His long lives had seen him run from Westeros a thousand times, but he would die his last death there, fighting for kith and kin.

One last time, he thought.

"If you'd had a chance of saving your family from the Walkers… Would you have taken it?" he asked his great-uncle almost abruptly.

"Absolutely," said Gerion, "If I'd known what to do, what was coming…" he trailed off, eyes lost.

Joffrey took a sip from his own coconut wine. The Summer Islanders liked mixing their drinks inside fresh coconuts, and the sweet flavor did a lot to help him be at ease in this place. The Temple of Nivanze, whom Nadhata was High Priestess of, was the place where the people of Sweet Lotus Vale often came for their Last Rites. The stone-and-mahogany temple boasted several floors with wide open windows; altars of lovemaking where the people would eat poisonous fruits and die making love to each other.

Nadhata often guided the ritual, especially for those marginalized by mainstream Islander society for one reason or the other; those who found themselves alone with no one to die with often came to Nadhata herself. She took to that task with transcendent fervor, guiding their souls to death through ecstasy, herself an instrument of divine mandate so that her people could die on their terms.

And not on those of the Walkers.

Joffrey accommodated his doublet, warding off the cold chill coming from the sea.

"Father! Father!" shouted big Tytos, running through the dirt trail that connected the beach to the terrace. He looked enormous for his sixteen namedays, showing the height and girth of a Summer Islander. Of course, the long lines of Lannister gold that flew behind him as he ran, of a color with his eyebrows, gave away his heritage. Gerion's jaw was unmistakable too.

"Found another ribbed octopus?" Gerion asked with a smile as the couple reached the terrace. Tytos' big sister Mdeta ran close behind, flushed from the long run. She seemed the polar opposite of Tytos, her skin as fair as Myrcella's but with hair as frizzled and wavy as a dark coral reef.

"Father, it's a ship. Dark lanteen sails, heading for the beach below!" said Tytos.

"Ghiscary." Gerion said the word as if it were a curse. He scrambled to his feet as Nadhata got up and grabbed her spear.

"My love, we need to secure the Temple," she said urgently.

"Go, and tell my Honorguard to help you!"

"What about you?!"

"Nephew, how good are you with that sword?" he said instead, looking at Joffrey.

Joffrey had stood up already, his arming sword in his hand as he craned his neck, working out the stiffness after lying in the canopy for chair too long. "Good enough," he said.

"We'll buy you time to prepare the Temple, I'll meet you there!" Gerion said, looking at Nadhata.

She stared at him for a second before shaking her head, "You can get the man out of Westeros…" she said with an irritated smile. She threw her spear to Sansa before vaulting the railing behind them and running up the sloped trail for the temple proper.

"Tytos-" Gerion cut himself off when his son took a heavy ebonwood shield from below the chair where he'd been laying an hour ago, a bastard sword of distinct Westerosi make in his other hand. His sister stood by his side, taking a long string from her pouch.

"We're going," he said with those defiant green eyes which must have confronted every Lannister father in history…

All except one, thought Joffrey, shaking his head as Sansa tested the weight of the short stabbing spear. "Must be raiders. Anything else and they'd be heading for Ebonhead," she said.

"Agreed. We can delay them on the beach. If we give 'em a bloody nose, they may turn back," said Joffrey.

Gerion nodded, "Let's go!" he said, taking out his own arming sword and dashing down the path. Joffrey followed him, buffeting aside wide leaves of green and white, blue feathered birds squeaking in surprise and flying out of their way.

They broke out of the rainforest at a run, and Joffrey shielded his eyes from the sun as he spotted the Ghiscary galley. There was still time to contest the beachhead. Even a handful of men could hold it, depending on the number of boats launched from the invading ship.

He immediately knew something was wrong however, spotting the slashed sails and the barely moving oars. They seemed disordered, most of them not even paddling water and merely moving in circles around the air.

"Helmsman must be drunk…" said Gerion, shielding his eyes as well. The ship wasn't even making for the beach, just kind of drifting towards the shoreline. "She'll break on those reefs by the north," he said, pointing to the right side of the beach.

"Sansa, can you peer ahead?" Joffrey asked his wife.

She planted the spear on the sand by his side, and let out a long breath of air as she joined her hands over belly. Her eyes closed as the wind picked up, calming her mind as she listened for the Song. The power afforded by Varys' blood had run out long ago, but the Purple was plentiful and a force orders of magnitude stronger than mere mortal blood.

Gerion said nothing as he eyed her, his gaze quickly returning to the ship. "No watchmen either," he said. Tytos seemed more nervous, shuffling with the strap of his dark shield as he stared at Sansa sideways. He held his weapons in the classical sword and board style of the Seven Kingdom's, like a knight would.

The swirling vortex of distorted light slowly expanded into a small circle in front of Sansa, Purple fractals clinging around the air as if that section of reality was a painting, a flat space with no depth. The circle revealed the darkened hold of the Ghiscary ship, skeletons shuffling against each other and scraping pieces of rotten flesh whenever they clashed against the unmanned oars.

"Wights," hissed Sansa.

"What?! So far south?" said Gerion.

"Any Walkers?" Joffrey shouted over the grave droning of the circle.

"None that I can see!" said Sansa.

Mdeta gasped, shaking her eyes from Sansa and the shimmering lights. She seemed the most stunned by far, but she turned to Gerion quickly anyway, "Father, does that mean Walano-"

"No, we would have known."

"It's going to crash!" Joffrey shouted.

The Ghiscary ship kept leaning towards its side as a gust of wind inflated its ragged sails, the derelict smashing into the reefs a hundred meters from the beach. It wailed like a wounded kraken as it tore through another jagged rock, water flooding the lower compartments as it sank and tilted sideways towards the beach. It grounded itself between dark red corals, wights shrieking to the wind as they tumbled overboard and splashed against the crystal waters of the Summer Sea.

"We should get back to the Temple, we'll be overwhelmed," said Gerion.

"No, they'll catch us in the rainforest. We make our stand here!" said Joffrey.

Gerion's sight leapt from Joffrey to Sansa, and back again as his face paled. "You've fought them before?"

"A hundred times!"

The wights scuttled towards the beach like spiders, obscuring themselves with all the splashing water that couldn't quite hide their eerie blue eyes. Gerion cursed, shaking his head, "Command us then!"

Joffrey didn't waste time as he turned to Gerion's daughter. "Mdeta! Aim for the chests or the eyes if you can!" he shouted as more wights emerged from the holes in the ship, others crawling out of storm hatches.

Mdeta nodded frantically, taking a step forward and disentangling the goldenheart longbow from her back. She nocked a long shafted arrow taken from the quiver tied to her belt, the steel tip glinting in the afternoon sun as she drew the bow. She took a deep breath as she aimed up and slightly to her left, holding that position for a second before letting go with a grunt.

The broadhead slammed into one of the scuttling wight's eyes with surprising force, tossing it back beneath the waves. It floated back up, inanimate as Mdeta drew again.

"We'll countercharge as soon as they reach the shoreline, covering each other's backs! We can't let them form up!" shouted Joffrey. Wights were not as stupid as the uninitiated often thought; they were capable of basic tactical thinking beyond a straight charge, when it suited them. Those wights would reach the beach and form up, waiting for their brethren before the charge… they would have to bring the fight to them. "Tytos, take the front and use that shield! Gerion will cover your flank while Mdeta keeps shooting! Sansa…" he trailed off when he looked at her.

"Shove and kill, dear?" asked his wife, feeling the length of the spear with her hands.

"You know me." Joffrey smiled.

She snorted, twirling her spear into a low guard.

Mdeta tore the jaw off the lead wight with another arrow, but it kept scrambling for them. They were Ghiscary alright, sporting corsair cutlasses and boarding axes.

How to explain this?! Joffrey thought as the wights reached the beach, feet sinking into the sand as they fought against the waves.

"Don't worry about the sorcery!" he shouted, holding back a bit of hysterical laughter at the absurdity. Sansa was still keeping an eye out for Walkers, though there didn't seem to be any. Joffrey waited until the first wights shambled into the beach, soaked to the bones as their comrades behind trundled over knee-high water. "Now!" He roared as he charged, materializing Brightroar and illuminating the hungering faces with Purple.

His arming sword parried the cutlass as Brightroar cleaved the offending wight's chest in two, still running as he spun and slammed the arming sword against the next wight's skull, this time Brightroar parrying the axe before cutting off the dead man's hand.

He was soon in the thick of it, charging left and right as the wights reached the shoreline and he pummeled them back into the sand. Soon they began to surround him, but Sansa was Joffrey's own shadow, shoving wights back with her spear's blade and butt. She held it above her head as Joffrey crouched slightly and she thrust at a flanking wight, shoving it back into the water. She spun with her husband, switching to a low guard and slamming the length of wood down a wight's neck like a hook, pushing it down where Joffrey cut his neck with a backswing of Brightroar . They were back to back as she tripped a wight and slammed its skull against the sand with the butt of her spear, quickly reversing the grip and hitting another one which sought to attack Joffrey from his blind spot.

Tytos had charged the arriving wights like a bull, slamming aside the first one with his shield and bringing down his sword on top of another one, sundering its head. His bastard sword seemed more like an axe as it tore through two wights cleanly, leaving only one that sought to ram its cutlass through Tytos' chest. He covered himself just in time though, taking the blow and using the kite shield as an anvil against his own sword as he cut off the wight's arm brutally. Gerion was by his side, fighting like a veteran sailor would; one handed sword parrying and slashing, his other hand grappling and tossing wights aside and against each other.

More wights reached the shoreline, shrieking in pain and hatred as they climbed the beach and emerged from the waves, scrabbling at the sand. Joffrey felt like an apprentice under Archmaester Benedict again, though instead of hammering steel he struck the skulls and spines of crawling wights, one standing up for every other he took down. One wight made it past Sansa's constant over watch, ducking under her spear and slamming against Joffrey. It tackled him from the side and against the muck, arming sword tumbling out of his hand.

'The Watchers of Stars.' He heard Shah's voice in his mind. He breathed in the smell of the Riverlands, the blood scurrying over the torn grain fields as soldiers made a pyre for Lord Darry's men. He felt the inescapable weight of the Dawn Commander's Armor. Wide eyed Onerays stood up and saluted, fists thumping against their chests.

He wrestled with the wight as his arms glowed Purple, fractals drawing long vambraces of darkest black, the color of the night sky. He struck the wight with one of his gauntlets, scraping flesh and bone with the three feline claws of dark metal melded over the knuckles. The piece felt as heavy as steel plate, but Joffrey moved as if he were unarmored, rolling with the wight and slamming his fist down on its shoulder joint, tearing it apart and severing an arm.

He blocked its clattering jaw with his other arm as it bit the bracer, blue eyes alight before a goldenwood arrow destroyed its skull as it zipped by, shards of bone cutting his face and peppering the sand.

Joffrey shoved the corpse aside as he rolled, avoiding an axe to the chest as Sansa roared and broke the offending wight's spine with the hardwood of her spear, shadowblade extending from her right wrist and slicing through another one as she followed him, her cover growing frantic.

The whole crew must have died almost at the same time, else they would have thrown the bodies overboard.

Joffrey could imagine it, a silent blizzard of hale and snow numbing the watchmen and making sure the sleeping seamen would never wake again. He rolled under another blow, his legs tangling the wight and making it fall to the side.

He saw Mdeta retreat backwards as four wights sprinted around him and Sansa. She nailed one at point blank range, shattering its ribcage as the other three reached her.

Joffrey let out a long breath of air as Stars formed out of dust and Purple, ramming the wights like a runaway mining cart and tearing one of them apart under his paws. Mdeta shuffled backwards, stunned, but her hands kept moving and she drew again, getting the surviving wight in the neck and making its skull fall to the sand, blue eyes still alight. She seemed to be whispering the same words over and over as she nocked again, looking at Joffrey.

Joffrey was already on his feet, retreating with Sansa as wights surrounded them. Gerion and Tytos were almost at their side, fighting their way back to Mdeta and Stars as well, overwhelmed by the entire crew of a Ghiscary corsair. "Joff, There's too many of them!" shouted Sansa. She never stopped moving, her spear in constant motion and her shadowblades occasionally emerging from her wrists, cutting those that got too close.

She was right, they just kept coming in two's and three's out of the waves, threatening to overwhelm them all. Joffrey groaned lowly as he hacked a wight apart with both swords, swinging wildly as another wight tried to grabble him. They couldn't die, not yet, not here with his uncle and his cousins right by his sides.

No, thought Joffrey, the weight over his body growing greater. For all the living.

The Purple blackness over his arms began to crawl upwards, covering his shoulders with pauldrons of defiant, roaring lionheads made of raw, green copper-

"Protect the Swanlord!" Joffrey heard Nadhata roar before he turned. She led two dozen men of Gerion's Honorguard as they emerged from the rainforest in a line, charging with goldenwood shortbows. The Summer Islanders were clad in tough, feathered serpent leather; the big snake heads served as helmets and each was crowned with three arm-long red feathers. They loosed a volley as they ran, bringing down half as many wights before switching to small buckler shields and ebonwood clubs tipped with steel, smashing into the wights around Gerion's family with an oddly stuttering battlecry.

Nadhata was at the forefront of the charge, a short stabbing spear in her hands as she parried and struck the offending wight, the Honorguard slamming into the wights like charging giants against a spear levy. Each of them towered over the dead Ghiscary, maces ripping apart limbs and tough hardwood sandals crunching down skulls and chests.

The skirmish turned against the wights as their numbers diminished, their swarming tactics growing ineffective under the shield wall of sorts which now formed around Gerion. Joffrey and Sansa used the formation as an anvil, hammering the wights against it until only broken wrecks remained.

Gerion wiped blood off the long gash by his cheek, obsessively checking over Tytos and Mdeta for wounds. Tytos tried to pry him off, but Mdeta was still a bit shocked. They all bore bites and scratches, but nothing that seemed life threatening. Joffrey absently noted to clean and bind the wounds later, to prevent infection.

"… Good enough?" Gerion asked Joffrey as Mdeta hugged him, the Honorguard securing the beach and killing any wight still moving.

"He can be a tad modest at times," said Sansa, a rueful smile on her lips as she leaned on her spear, catching her breath.

"Traitor," Joffrey told her, hiding a smirk. He smashed a crawling wight's head with Brightroar, the blade shearing halfway through the rotten Ghiscary and refracting the sun's light over the ocean in long lines of gold. The green pauldrons dissipated so quickly he almost thought he'd imagined them.

"Is that… is that Brightroar?!" asked his great-uncle.

"It really does shine gold," muttered Tytos, the Honorguard giving Joffrey and Sansa a wide berth.

By far the most stunned of the gathering was Nadhata though. She'd walked up to the couple almost in a trance, staring at them before she dropped her spear as Joffrey's vambraces dissipated in a kaleidoscope of Purple fractals.

Patterns within patterns, thought Joffrey. The battlefields varied, the reasons changed, the times twisted, but the core truth of war always remained. A cycle within his lives even as his struggle repeated through time, following in turn the cycle of the Long Night. Wheels within wheels. He shook his head. Battle always left him a bit melancholic.

"Nadhata?" Sansa asked as Stars tilted his head in confusion.

Joffrey realized he'd been staring at the High Priestess, Brightroar still in his hands as the wight below stopped struggling. Where those tears in her eyes?

She dropped to one knee, the bright sapphires and emeralds shining under the sun as she crossed her arms over her chest and grabbed her shoulders.

"Harsi Ma Bewa," she gasped reverently.

Joffrey didn't understand the conjugation. He looked at Gerion with a frown, but his uncle's gaze lay frozen over Brightroar, mouth moving silently like a gasping turtle.

It was Mdeta who answered the unspoken question though. She whispered the words she'd been repeating since she'd seen Joffrey unleash the Purple, then translated them to the Common Tongue. "It means Heralds of the End," she whispered.

-: PD :-