Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Nadhata guided them through the slope, moving branches out of the way with gentle hands. The trail seemed seldom used, the ground beneath it reclaimed by weeds and flowers. Sansa and Joffrey followed her lead, the rainforest quiet.

"Have you ever been to Tall Trees Town?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Once, though we didn't stay long," said Sansa.

Joffrey remembered the throngs of people most of all, moving like waves of ants over hanging bridges, entire districts built over the Talking Trees like hanging, overripe fruits.

"The history of our people is written over the trunks, depicting our heroes and our villains. Our shames and our glories. Around the most ancient trees entire temples have sprung, guarding the tales of the very first islanders," said Nadhata. She wore her full regalia, a princess of the rainforest returning to some sacred domain.

Joffrey placed his hand on the branch she'd been holding, holding it in turn for Sansa. The long vine was filled with white flowers and coarse to the touch, red headed ants traversing its length and driven by some collective, unknowable purpose.

"There's a near-forgotten grove, deep within Walano. Only the High Priests of each Princedom know of it, though it does not really guard a secret. More of a by now discarded addition to the tales of the Days of Snow."

"It's carved, isn't it?" asked Sansa.

Nadhata ducked under a low hanging branch and a small violet-furred monkey the size of Joffrey's hand. It looked down at them with curious eyes as they lowered their heads, extending its hand to touch Joffrey's hair as he passed.

"It was," she said. "It spoke of a time long gone by. It is the root of the prophecy which every Islander knows since childhood, though most regarded it as mere myth before the dead rose… There is something different about that tree though. It's not a Talking Tree."

From one moment to the next, the sun shone from above. Joffrey covered his eyes as they emerged into a clearing, almost to the peak of the big hill. In between the sharp afterimage of the sun, right in the middle of it, laid a Weirwood Heart Tree; so pale it almost looked like a White Ebon tree. Its shadow stretched over the clearing; a massive, gnarled twisting of wood reaching high to the air. It was one of the biggest Weirwood trees Joffrey had ever seen.

"It's one much like this one," said Nadhata. A big overhang lay just behind it, protecting it from the northern winds. A cave breathed from the overhang, gusts of hot air rustling the red leaves periodically. The wind caressed Joffrey's skin, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on edge as he saw the face carved on the Weirwood.

Even though it lay battered by the ages, Joffrey could see it was a woman, scarred and old looking. A long gash ran through her eyebrow, reaching her eye and mangling her cheek. Her hair was long and straight, a shroud over her face that couldn't hide the penetrating gaze of her eyes. Joffrey couldn't move, staring at her as she gazed back, her eyes speaking to his heart.

They seemed haunted. Determined. Righteous. Sorrowful. Regretful. Victorious. They held a weight bigger than the oceans. Lighter than a feather. The weight of life. Of life lived. Of life understood. Of life cherished.

Of life slain.

Joffrey realized he was standing by the face's side, cupping its cheek. They were family.

"Azor Azhai," he whispered.

"The Last Hero," said Sansa as she kneeled by its side, her fingers tracing the flowing script surrounding it, twirling throughout the entire tree. It seemed illegible, degraded beyond meaning.

"Harsi Ma Bewa," said Nadhata.

"How did you know it was us?" he asked her, still looking at the face of his predecessor, the incarnation of his soul thousands of years ago.

Nadhata's voice came from behind him like the warm wind from the cave, "She will return, twice embodied and holding her soul in her hands, a change in the great rhythm as she unleashes it upon the warriors of the End. Twined souls travelling through the great circle, walking as one, theirs to live forever before the End, until the final death snows within..." She trailed off, the wind from the cave rustling the red leaves again. "… Only oral remnants of the words remain, but that was what lay carved on these trees... or so it has been whispered, throughout the ages."

He could hear Nadhata walking towards them. "Most of all, it was the way you looked. I had seen that gaze a million times before. In Walano before the Secret Grove. In Omburu below the Dead Tree… and here."

"You knew of the Cycle… you knew the Last Hero, Azor Ahai, Nissa Nissa, Harsi Ma Bewa, whatever you want to call he or her…" Joffrey trailed off, shaking his head, "You knew she'd return. You know it can be stopped!"

"Most in the priesthood think the Eternal Winter is inevitable. Inescapable," said Nadhata, walking past them and towards the cave. "These few rags of oral tradition but hopeful fabrications intended to sooth the souls of those who would live when the time came…" she whispered.

She stopped by the cave's entrance, a hand over the rough stone as she closed her eyes. "Only a few still held hope, clinging to old legends, awaiting her return… and I… I lost that hope, long ago," she said, shame shadowing her voice.

Joffrey and Sansa followed her, entering the cave and descending down long tunnels of natural stone. Luminescent mushrooms guided the way, illuminating the cave network with soft green light.

Joffrey found himself staring at skulls, dozens of them lining the roughly chiseled walls as they entered a primitively carved cavern system, the roots of the sand-white Heart Tree snaking around them. The skulls looked small and sunken, with eye sockets bigger than any human skull he'd seen before.

"The Eternal Children dwelt here, once. Some say they chose this place as a home because of its unique connection to the bones of the earth, to serve as a watchtower against the northern winds. Others whispered it was the only place where they could live and not wither…. " said Nadhata, passing a hand over the skulls. The long feathers over her head scraped the ceiling, tiny bits of moss clinging to them before the cave expanded into a great dome of rough stone.

"A watchtower?" Joffrey asked her.

"A Heart Tree erected in a place from where they could keep their vigil, surveying the lands to the Far North for the Long Night's return," she said.

Sansa frowned, tapping one of the Heart Tree's roots. They twisted all around the cavern, great guts of pale wood twinned with each other and cupping them all within. This Heart Tree seemed bigger than even the one in Winterfell. "A vigil peering North…" she muttered, grasping one of the roots tightly.

"Those who watched over this place are long gone, but I… I hoped you could use this place," said Nadhata, "The Rite of Last Love will soon take me as well, but if you can learn something of use here then maybe… maybe I can atone," said Nadhata, though Joffrey barely heard the last few words. She'd spoken them only to herself.

Atone to the dead and the soon to be…

"The Greendream… Meera often said Greenseers communed with the Heart Trees, glimpsing visions of the past…" said Sansa.

Joffrey knew what she was thinking a second before she spoke. "Meera said you may have the gift, dear, but you're no trained Greenseer," he said.

"But I know the Second Sight. And if this Heart Tree was used to spy the Far North, maybe we could find the place Joff. The place where the Red Comet's power converges."

Nadhata pressed her lips, "Mehllo and some of the other priests would have been of more use. They knew the Long Dream much better than I do… but they all set out to find the Heralds years ago, when the dead began crossing the Narrow Sea into Essos. They are all probably dead right now..." she whispered as she sat over a low root, guilt choking her.

'And it was me who found you,' Joffrey filled in the unsaid in the privacy of his own mind. The way she'd said it though, it almost sounded as if Nadhata was a Greenseer herself…

"You can still help us," said Sansa, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her hands. "Bring us into the dream, Nadhata. Carry us as far as you can."

Nadhata reared back, stunned. "Me? Guide the Heralds…" she whispered. She shook her head after a long silence, closing her eyes. "My will was not… is not enough. I am not worthy."

Joffrey paced around the great cavern, hands behind his back. Even if they convinced Nadhata to guide them…

"And then?" Joffrey asked his wife.

"I search for the Cycle's power with the Second Sight."

Joffrey breathed in sharply, "This is a bit beyond replacing blood with the Purple's energy, Sansa. We don't know what the hells will happen if we bring something powered by the Purple into…" he trailed off, disbelief coloring his voice as he turned back to the nexus of roots, "The Old Gods," he finished.

"Do you think the risks outweigh the benefits?" she asked him.

There was no recrimination in the question, only honesty. It hanged in the air, and Joffrey closed his eyes as he thought about it rationally. There was no plausible reason why the Red Comet would interfere, but there was always a risk… as he well knew.

"They don't," he said, leaving the specter of his errors behind.

Sansa nodded as she turned to Nadhata, still kneeling in front of her. "The Long Night can be stopped, but we need to find its place of power first, the place where the Red Comet first infused its warriors during the First War for Dawn and still does today. We'll need you to carry us into the Greendream though… I don't know how," she said.

Nadhata opened her eyes, gazing back at Sansa and sharing unspoken words. The ceiling dripped with condescend air; eerie patches of hanging water which took minutes to finally let go off the ceiling. One of them dripped over Joffrey's hair, and he felt the warm, slick droplet with his hand.

He wondered if the moss would survive the Long Night, or if they would give way to the Cycle as well; even the little patches of life an affront to the Red Comet's purpose.

"They died and I lived…" she whispered.

"Then make that sacrifice not be in vain," Sansa whispered back.

A veil of formality descended upon Nadhata as she regarded his wife, and Joffrey could see a familiar glint of steel in her gaze as the High Priestess of Sweet Lotus Vale rose to her feet. "It will be my honor," she said after a moment, her figure carrying out a bow both slow and regal with meanings beyond Joffrey's understanding. He knew enough to tell it was part-apology, to dead comrades and old dreams.

The feathers of her dress billowed gently with the warm air of the deeper caverns, and her stride was sure as she approached the great knot of roots directly below the Heart Tree.

"Heralds, hold unto my hands. Grab the roots with the other."

They did so. They were like a human chain linking two of the Heart Tree's roots together, with Nadhata right in the middle.

"Don't be distracted by what was, it will make you drift away. Be like an arrow shot from a Goldenheart bow; hungering for its target and nothing more," she said, her solemn voice rebounding inside the cavern.

"Understood," said Joffrey, taking deep breaths as he centered himself. He could feel Sansa through the Purple, doing the same as she prepared.

"I'm ready," said his wife.

"I'll release you within the Dream. Don't lose yourselves." Nadhata took in gasp of air, her eyes turning white as Joffrey felt himself fall from within. He let go, like a stone splashing against the water and sinking to the depths, the shock of the cold sea nothing to him.

-: PD :-

The flashes of timelessness were less disorientating than the sudden stops. Sansa felt as if she were standing upon the greatest of trees, looking upon the greatest of valleys. Winding rivers roared below her, and their whispers in the wind were almost overwhelming, their power almost drowning. She managed to keep herself coherent as she felt Joffrey's presence by her side, her constant companion through life and death.

Look, she felt him say. The horizon of her sight was shrinking slowly, a great curtain of white slowly enveloping the world and clouding it beyond.

Where is it? She thought as she opened her eyes to the Second Sight and tried to peer beyond the white curtain, seeking the source of its power. The Greendream grew impossibly sharp and turbulent at the same time, but the horizon kept shrinking at a steady pace. She realized it was the world itself, growing dim with the passing of the Cycle.

The Walkers did something to the Song. It turned mute under their passing; the melody of existence growing lesser and frayed under the white weight.

It won't be enough, she thought. The latent power of her own blood didn't hold a candle against the might of the Red Comet, and so Sansa drew sustenance from the Purple itself, bringing it forth just as she'd done in Carcosa. Purple fractals flooded the vale with power a thousand times stronger than Sorcerer's blood as the Pillars emerged like mirages in the desert; eternally tall structures chipped and scarred, growing from the edges of her vision as the Greendream trembled in recognition and buckled under the influx of power.

Something's wrong, whispered Joffrey, and she felt Nadhata's presence fade as the rivers of memory below suddenly churned, leaping at them and carrying a familiar hum.

Screams and dreams and colors of a thousand hues streamed past the edges of Sansa's vision in an instant. Prayers and pleas so quick that they seemed gusts of wind, all but forgotten under the heel of time. She felt her belly drop, as if she'd jumped from Winterfell's First Keep. She blinked, and it all stopped in front of a single image. A two hander made of Valyrian Steel, dripping with blood as a caring hand pressed a piece of cloth against the blade, cleaning it throughout its length. Sansa stared at the hand, hypnotized at it made its way to the end of the sword.

It was Ice.

"Father?" she said, looking up to see the young visage of Eddard Stark like she'd never seen him before. Young; haunted eyes not yet hidden beneath ice.

It was over in a second, a mind numbing wrench of speed and existence carrying her forward as she heard that familiar hum of power again. It echoed of life and death, of wheels within wheels. It echoed Purple.

A great fortification of tall towers and foreboding gates came into view as the God's Eye ran red with blood. It was as if the lake itself were feeding on it, great streams of the crimson substance swirling around the island that was their vantage point.

The enormous castle in the distance was burning; great stone towers seemed to melt and tumble to the ground as three dragons soared overhead, setting Ironborn archers aflame and making them leap over the walls to land on ground or lake.

Either would end their agony.

Harrenhal, she heard Joffrey whisper by her side. They had been carried back in time, the Greendream tugging them almost like a roped weight. But why?

She focused on the familiar hum. It was almost lost between the screams of the dying and the roars of Balerion, but she could hear it all the same. It echoed in time like a newly opened wound, resonating beyond them… and within.

Likeness calls to Likeness, she whispered. It was an elemental principle of all the magic's she'd seen or studied… so why not the Purple's?

Sansa stilled her heart, closing her eyes to the image of death and destruction. She opened her soul again, bringing the Purple into the vision and themselves. The image of Harrenhall's fall was suddenly tinged with soaring lines, crisscrossing its edges as she heard the thrum of the Purple coalescing around them.

She strained to hear the Purple's echo in time; their soul before it had inhabited their bodies. She drove herself towards it, following the echoes and guiding Joffrey towards them. To her astonishment, he seemed to be carrying his own self, his presence calm and serene. Time sped up beneath their gaze, faces and prayers and weather storming through her awareness like rainwater. It felt familiar, the dragging of their souls backwards against the pull of existence, and Sansa realized they'd done this before.

A thousand times, and more, said Joffrey, and she could almost hear the wan smile on his lips.

The Greendream shook, a chorus of a million voices calling out in agony as time slowed to a crawl and a man's face loomed over their vision. He was holding an iron axe in each hand, his face and chest completely covered in bloodied script that had scarred. Sansa was entranced as she gazed at the lines and lines of script carved into the man's chest, puffing up as he roared. Around the tree men bled out, dead or dying as more warriors flooded Sansa's sight and killed and maimed like Wildling berserkers of old.

Father give me Faith. Warrior give me Strength. Stranger give me Death, she said, reading the star-shaped script carved on the axe-wielder's forehead.

They sped away before the man's axe struck the Heart Tree, forcing themselves through the chorus of death and pain and using the Purple's echo like a lifeline.

Joffrey? Thought Sansa, but the man in front of her was not her husband. He had a likeness to him though; stone faced as Joffrey was wont to do when he brooded. He stood by the side of the Heart Tree with a bronze shortsword by his belt, a retinue of warriors around him clad in bronze lamellar and wielding short spears.

A half dozen small children with abnormally large heads and wide eyes crawled around the Heart Tree, securing the man which hanged from one of the branches, tied to his wrists. He was of long brown hair, eyes as sharp as a hawk's as he gazed down below.

"You didn't have to tie me, I give my blood willingly to the Gods," he said in the rasping Old Tongue.

Not-Joffrey walked to the man, and as he neared Sansa realized he was different too. An aquiline nose and sharp features marred what should have been smooth lines, but the golden hair and the uniquely steely-green eyes were undoubtedly Lannister. "I should have given you to the lions. Feeding the Gods is too much an honor for you," he said, eyes filled with hate.

"Did my daughter convince you otherwise?" asked the hanging man, a mocking tone to his words.

"No, she wanted to toss you to Goldenheart herself," said Not-Joffrey, enjoying the slight jerk of surprise that moved the hanging man like a diminutive pendulum.

"May the crows eat your eyes out. May the worms drink your blood and leave none to the Dream. I curse you Lann, son of Tatyah. I curse you with my last breath," rasped the man.

Lann's face twisted in anger, and Sansa could hear the distant roaring of lions, echoing throughout the dream like enraged behemoths. One of them shoved aside the awaiting retinue with its golden mane, roaring at the tied man like a tempest. Lann raised his hand and silenced the lion with a wave, still looking at him. He shook his head, standing back.

"Dust-Which-Shadows-Death. I bring blood for the Gods," he said, voice oddly fornal as he looked to his side, the dream whispering understanding to Sansa and filling the gaps in her knowledge of the Old Tongue. She realized he'd addressed one of the Children of the Forest; her long, mossy hair almost touching the ground as she bowed in acknowledgment. She was wearing a dress of blood-red leaves, covering her almost completely.

"Your clan will fall! Do you hear me Lann?!" shouted the man as Lann and his warriors turned and walked away, the lion following them after looking back one more time, "They will! A year from now! A decade! A century! Time swallows all! Time shackles all--" his screaming turned into gurgling as Dust-Which-Shadows-Death climbed the Heart Tree and slit his throat with a knife made of obsidian. The other Children hung upside down from the other branches as they cut open his stomach with expert cuts, feeding the Heart Tree with his entrails.

She realized they'd stayed too long in the vision, and the edges frayed as she pulled again.

If I had bled and tortured my enemies in front of a Heart Tree, would I have been considered righteous by my ancestors? She felt Joffrey whisper.

Their minds were twinned together as they reached for that distant echo once more and the Greendream grew parched, slippery to the fingers. They pulled as they'd done to escape the Red Comet, though this time their minds soaring backwards towards it as she felt an ominous tingle.

The Greendream grew more and more unstable as the distant square towers atop Casterly Rock were reduced to nothing and forests reclaimed the great hill, the seasons passing like lighting as the scenery changed. A Giant kneeled in front of the tree, looking at it with suspicion as he left his great stone-headed hammer by the side, lifting up snow with its impact. Grey-eyed men rode direwolves into the clearing, and Children of the Forest looking solemnly at the Heart Tree's face. She felt this Heart Tree had always been meant to peer northwards, but the unexpected resonance of the Purple also made the Greendream carry her backwards, backwards to the time it had first seen the Purple.

A village of seal catchers screamed as Red enveloped them. A group of hunters shuddered as they heard something, turning from the bear carcass at their feet just as its eyes opened again. A man stood over a frozen hill so far to the north that only a barren wasteland of snow covered dunes remained. He frowned as his eyes scanned the horizon, looking at the red aurora that covered his field of view. It shrieked towards him in a second, and he didn't have time to scream as his limbs were filled with red, his flesh melting apart as the Red cradled him gently.

Further, thought Sansa, shivering as she reached for the echo which was now an ear-splitting roar of existence, the dream fraying as she tasted Purple.

-: PD :-

The great barren field stretched as far as the eye could see; a snow-filled wasteland topped by the occasional dune, not a living being in sight. A lone mountain glittered in the night, and Joffrey could breathe the chilled air as if he were there.

It was growing colder.

There was a Heart Tree by his side, gnarled and bent, almost hidden between the dunes; a silent witness to what was to come. The silence was eerie, and he trembled as he held Sansa close for there was no longer an echo; he could feel the Purple right here as the air kept getting colder; a subtly worming presence that shadowed a lumbering titan, a reaching hand grasping for this place.

He realized he was not gazing at a mountain, but at a crystal palace so large it's size paralyzed him. It was wider by far than Ebonhead, wider than all the cities of Westeros. Wider than Volantis and Braavos and Lorath and Yin and ancient Zamettar combined. It was a hollow dome with pillars that reached high to the sky, a glittering newborn glowing red in the midst of the white wasteland as he felt the heavy hand of the Cycle. The Red Comet was so far away it wasn't visible to the naked eye, perhaps not even to a Citadel Far-Eye, but Joffrey could feel it awakening all the same. He could feel its dread weight as it reached for the frozen ground from beyond the sun's orbit, sculpting a mesmerizing vista of crystal in front of his very eyes.

Joffrey realized he was watching the beginning of the First War for Dawn; the Cycle awakening and building something in anticipation of the Red Comet's arrival, thousands of years from now.

Each pillar that surrounded the hollow dome beneath was as thick as King's Landing, leaving gaps just as wide between each other and forming a grand, hollow circle between them all. The crystal pillars were crowned in light; reefs in a sea of energy that looked like a red aurora descending from the heavens. The crystal pillars were like fixed sails catching the might of the distant comet; red lines that warped reality itself seemed to traverse the heights, reaching down to the enormous, concave crater at the bottom of the newly created structure.

More than the otherworldly sight, more than the shadows shuffling within it, Joffrey was struck numb by the muteness of the place. Here the Song faltered, and Silence reigned in its stead. The sheer wrongness of it choked him, a temple erected to the worship of nonexistence; a quiet drowning of all that was.

What is reality with no one to experience it? He thought as he gazed at the Crystal Palace. He could feel the Purple surge into existence as well, its patterns and fractals streaking in between the red aurora and disappearing like mist.

The Cycle was not yet mighty enough to end life… but when the Red Comet completed the long journey and its gimlet eye stared down into the Far North, into this silent temple… then, Joffrey knew, there would be no hope.

He took in a harrowing breath of air, trembling as he tried to stand up. He fell on his side, realizing he was holding Sansa's hand instead of Nadhata's. He used his grip on the roots as support, shaking his head like a dazed dog as he tried to remember where he was.

"I could feel your presence diminishing, witnessing the passing of the ages," said Nadhata, awe writ clear on her face. "What did you see?" she asked, by their side in an instant.

Sansa squeezed his hand harshly, sounding choked as she spoke. "The place we were looking for," she said.

"The Crystal Palace," Joffrey said slowly.

-: PD :-

Winter had reached Jhala. Soft snows fell over Ebonhead, straining the roofs of the raised town. The streets were almost deserted; occasional figures walking down the alleys with bags or thin-looking oxen in tow. A medium sized Swanship waited by the docks, its great sails still tied to the masts. A mixed crew of Islanders and other dribs and drabs from the Summer Sea were walking over gangways with sacks of wheat and fruit, carrying some of the island's last harvest aboard.

"You two sure about this? We have enough space and supplies for both of you," said Gerion, trying one more time.

Joffrey just shook his head, "We part ways here, uncle. Even though Tytos was quite insistent," he said with a smile.

"Some things never change. Especially when it concerns boys and their swords," said Sansa.

Gerion snorted at that, "You could say that," he told Sansa with a wink before turning to Joffrey. "He pestered you both like I pestered Ser Arthur Dayne back in the day. Even a little advice would keep me up for hours, practicing it in the yard…" He trailed off, looking down at the pier. "Listen I… Nadhata didn't tell me everything, before she…" he sighed, fidgeting with the pommel of his arming sword.

Nadhata had officiated her own Last Rite yesterday, along with Prince Dorrol Xhox and the last few Islanders which remained in Jhala proper.

"She was a brave and fierce woman, Gerion. A loving mother and a caring leader," said Sansa, holding his shoulder, "We'll remember her."

Gerion nodded in thanks after a moment, his eyes a bit red as his gaze returned from the pier. "She didn't explain everything, but she implied you two would try to fix… this," he said, waving his arms vaguely at the falling snow. "I can stay here, help you somehow-"

"Uncle, no," said Joffrey. He couldn't stop thinking about Tyrion in that moment, stomping his foot down in Oldtown and determined to accompany him to Valyria. "Go south, cherish your children," he said, holding his hand out, "Live well."

Gerion sighed, grabbing Joffrey's forearm. "Safe journeys, nephew," he said before slapping his shoulder, "And take care of that sword," he added almost absentmindedly.

He turned to Sansa, grabbing her hand and kissing it as he bowed. "Farewell to thee as well, my lady. Safe journeys."

"Take care Gerion. And you take care of those children of yours, charming rascals both," said Sansa, holding his hand with hers.

"My children…" he whispered, oddly pained for a second. He seemed about to say something when someone called out.

"Swanlord, we are ready!" the shout drifted from the ship.

He sighed once more, rooted in place. "They insist in calling me that, even though my prince is dead and the princedom lies dissolved…"

"You're still their leader," said Joffrey, meeting his eyes. The other man nodded after a moment, taking a deep breath.

"That I am, as crazy as it may sound sometimes. Goodbye nephew, and good luck," he said, bowing respectfully like one lord to another, before walking towards the ship. Joffrey and Sansa waved their goodbyes as the swanship sailed away, south east towards Sothoryos and beyond, in search of time and warmth. The great white sails soon crowned the swanship, making it seem like a bird in flight as it left the little harbor.

Sansa sighed as she leaned on Joffrey's shoulder, their hands clasped together as they watched the ship disappear under the horizon. She had hoped Nadhata would join the crew, but her holy mandate would allow no other course but to see her duties carried out to the end, and perhaps even more fervently than before. They spent long days communing with the Heart Tree, learning about olden times when Starks rode direwolves and entire clans disappeared from the land, learning about the layout of the Far North, past the Frostfangs and beyond into the Lands of Always Winter. They'd spoken for many a night as well; about the hidden, half-forgotten parts of Summer Islander prophecy that carried a glimmer of hope in the form of the Heralds, the only glimmer of hope in the otherwise fatalistic, mainstream islander worldview. Perhaps… perhaps in the war to come, she'd see Nadhata again. Not in the form of the broken, last priestess of Jahla, but in that of the vindicated leader with hope shining bright in her heart.

Their walk back home was almost solemn, most of it spent in silence as they passed abandoned orchards of tropical fruits. Rotten melons, pineapples, and mangoes littered the way, but Sansa held a different fruit in her hand; scarlet red and the size of a pear, rugged yellow veins running from top to bottom.

She looked at it thoughtfully, "What if we win?" she said.

Joffrey grunted inquisitively, staring at the sky as they walked. The clouds were growing thinner, the winds carrying just a tiny hint of warmth.

"What if the plan… what if the war works? What if we manage to somehow punch through to the Crystal Palace… what do you think will happen then?"

"It will end," said Joffrey, stone-faced. "One way or another," he whispered before returning his gaze from the skies.

They walked in silence towards their house, almost reluctantly so. She felt worry tug at her belly, her chest compressed as she pulled her hair back. What if they couldn't return farther back than Oxcross? Even if they returned to the morning a few days after Jon Arryn's death, the task ahead of them would be almost insurmountable. A delicate balancing act between victory and escalation, death and total war, family and truth.

They would need authority and respect like no other ruler before them. They would have to become living legends in the minds of their people, proportional in awe to the horror of the Long Night.

Joffrey was right, of course. She could feel it within her, just as he did. One way or the other, it would end.

Tonight, their gentle dream would end as well, perhaps for the last time. She stood in front of the doorway, strangely hesitant before she realized Joffrey had stopped behind her.

He stood there in the porch, looking at the crystal clear sea. The midday sun often banished the cold for a few hours every day, briefly returning the island to its old, colorful splendor. It did so now as the light snowfall petered out for the moment, the clouds letting in occasional flashes of sunlight like a slowly widening curtain; great slashes torn by the hands of some brilliant giant.

"Sail with me," he said all of a sudden, his cheeks flushing with color as he turned to her.

Sansa felt a smile grow on her lips as she gazed at her husband's eager expression, all the worries and the revelations evaporating for a second and leaving her jumpy, strangely lightheaded. Steel-green eyes twinkled, and his face seemed to banish the weight in her belly, leaving her oddly giddy as if she were a little girl again.

"Together," she said, an unbidden smile on her lips.

-: PD :-

The Sunray soared, cresting another wave in a splash of foam. The catamaran seemed like a bird in flight, its white ebon hull shimmering bright under the midday sun. Its single sail looked ready to burst open, gobbling the wind and propelling the ship to ludicrous speeds; a white streak over the water, parting the seas with grace and furious speed.

"It's another swell! Hold on Sansa!" Joffrey shouted, pushing his weight against the tiller. The Sunray responded immediately, turning against the oncoming wave and tearing it asunder. Sansa spluttered indignantly as she was buffeted by saltwater and her pony tail stuck to her neck, feeling like a piece of moldering seaweed.

Joffrey laughed wildly, holding his belly with one hand as the other kept a firm grip on the tiller. He was bare chested, his form lean against the tiller as his muscles bulged with strain, mangling the ship around like a small, unruly pet. "Wait until we get back to shore Joff! Laugh like a boar then!" she shouted, struggling to contain the monstrous chuckle lurking in her belly as she held on to a taut length of rope.

Jhala kept fading in the distance, though she realized she didn't care that much at all.

Joffrey had built the Sunray on his own, from design to carpentry to seamanship. The katamaran followed traditional Summer Islander design principles; essentially a wide raft held over two great outriggers with the tiller right in the middle, a small bench nailed by its side. He'd built his own modifications into it of course, streamlining the design like a Braavosi architect planning out his masterpiece.

A sudden gust of warm wind slammed into them from the right, and Sansa scuttled to that side of the ship as the starboard outrigger rose with the force of the wind, carrying her up like a seesaw. She grunted as she leaned back, only her legs still on the ship proper as she pulled on the length of rope tied to the top of the mast, making weight. Joffrey was doing the same, and they grinned like fools when they saw each other, hanging in midair as the outrigger kept climbing and they were almost vertical against the sea, an inch away from capsizing. Joffrey whooped as the Sunray slammed back down into the sea, the cyan blue waters reflecting the gently chiseled hull like a Myrish mirror.

"Friends to port!" shouted Sansa, pointing to her left as she spotted streaks of bluish grey periodically jumping out of the water. There must have been a dozen dolphins jumping in two's and three's, keeping station with the Sunray and chirping to each other like old women at the market, shoving one another mischievously. Sansa grinned, blinking slowly as she directed one of the dolphins against Joffrey. It jumped across the ship in a clean leap, buffeting Joffrey in the head with a fin.

"Hey!" Joffrey shouted, rubbing his cheek as he sent an accusing glare down to Sansa. She looked up at the sky instead, humming innocently as she gazed at the parting white clouds.

"Alright! Let's show these bastards some speed!" shouted Joffrey, standing up next to the tiller and pulling a rope. The mainsail extended completely, and Sansa was jerked back by the sudden acceleration. The dolphins were still keeping stations, mocking him relentlessly with flips and insolent chirps.

"Sansa! Loose the jib! Let her fly!" he roared with a big grin.

Sansa chuckled as she ducked under the boom mast, crawling to the bow of the Sunray as it cut through another wave and it splashed her with warm saltwater. Her cloak of bright feathers was undaunted though, yellow and scarlet tips swaying with the wind as she reached the prow. She blinked the salt out of her left eye, untying the knot below her with precise motions.

"Hold on Joff!" she roared back as the wind intensified and her hair flew loose from its ponytail, flying from side to side like a red banner in the hands of an overeager knight. She pulled the rope with a huff of effort and unleashed the jib in all its splendor, rope sizzling as the sound of canvas on wood filled her ears. It depicted Sansa's own humble interpretation of Stars, yawning lazily as he gazed upwards to a field of stars; his tongue lolled to the side, almost like a dog's, eyes half closed under the wind.

Let the boar laugh at this, she thought with a wide smile. She'd all but forgotten that little bit of creative interference in Joffrey's pet project.

Joffrey sputtered indignantly, but his catcalls soon devolved into bare-chested thumping and great roars of joy as the jib rippled and ballooned forward, the Sunray almost flying above the waterline as it kept speeding up. Each swell made it jump in longing to the skies, and Sansa felt her stomach drop each time they slammed back down into the sea in grand sprays of saltwater. They quickly left the grumbling dolphins behind, the winds carrying them south with no destination in mind.

The catamaran seemed to glide over the water, and Sansa feasted her eyes on the perpetual rainbows which streaked from the sides of the outriggers. They were quickly swallowed by the sea, and would cease to be should they stop… but today, for now, she and her husband flew on the backs of rainbows. Sansa got back to the tiller, gripping Joffrey tightly and kissing him silly. He fought back with everything he had, still gripping the tiller with one hand as the other took the back of her head and deepened the kiss as far as it could go. He tasted of sweat and saltwater with just a tiny breath of sweetened mango at the end.

She lost herself in his taste as she gripped his head with both hands. Joffrey was hers to do as she wanted, and no man, no law, and no cosmic force was going to take him away from her.

Sansa broke the kiss as she felt a multitude of beings high up in the air. She looked up and saw scores, hundreds of wings over the Sunray; vermillion and cyan and bright yellow hiding the sun as another great flock of Summer birds migrated south, escaping the cold.

They trilled and jabbered, sang and chorused, some of them almost touching the sails as they flew past the ship in a riot of color. "There must be thousands of them," said Sansa, awed.

"And the prettiest one landed right here. Lucky me," said Joffrey, passing a hand over her coat of feathers until he touched flesh and kept going. Sansa sighed deeply, leaning into him as the Sunray broke another wave. She sat on one of his knees as her arms snaked around his torso, gripping those taut muscles of his as she kissed him again. The better grip helped immensely.

"Prettiest, bravest of them all," whispered Joffrey as his lips slid off hers and travelled down her neck, making her shiver. "Furious like an autumn storm. Gentle like a summer breeze."

"Your poetry has improved," she muttered, closing her eyes as she felt his back with her palms. He was an orb of warmth, radiating heat that held off the steadily cooling breeze.

"Strong like winter gales, tender like newborn spring," he said as he left her neck and kept going downwards. Sansa gasped gently, her nails sliding off Joffrey's back and reaching his waist.

The Sunray buckled lightly under a side wave, and Sansa chided Joffrey as her hands reached his breeches. "You keep your hands on the tiller, I'll keep mine on yours," she whispered into his ear before biting it.

The poet went mum after that.

-: PD :-

The great winds which had carried them forth had faded with the night, and the Summer Sea was as calm as a cup of milk. The Sunray floated adrift, its sails tucked and folded. Joffrey and Sansa lay on the middle of the raft, the stars their ceiling.

They lay sideways, side by side with their foreheads almost touching each other's. Each held half a fruit, scarlet red with yellowed veins. Its skin felt rugged to Joffrey, as if barely able to contain what lay within.

He breathed in the chilly air, eyes leaving the bright stars overhead and focusing on the two blue ones right in front of him. He cupped Sansa's cheek, tracing her high cheekbones with his thumb. It felt like the fruit's diametric opposite; pale and smooth.

She'd always been beautiful. A traditional Tully flower, tall and graceful even as the Stark blood within lent her a pinch of exotic allure. Now, under the stars and garbed in a rainbow of feathers dominated by red, of a color with her auburn hair, her beauty seemed ethereal. Like some mythological being come to lay his weathered soul to rest.

"Sansa... If we never wake up again-"

"Shush you," she said, kissing his lips lightly.

So many things to say. Regrets and satisfactions. Feelings and memories. How could one say goodbye to the other half of one's soul?

"I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she said. So many things to say, so simple the answer.

Each ate their half. The Death Fruit tasted bitter, though not repulsively so. It had a spicy aftertaste, like sweet ginger.

Joffrey held both of Sansa's hands as he scuttled closer, crossing her arms with his in between their chests, touching her forehead with his. "Together," he said.

"Together," she whispered back.

They laid there, staring into each other's eyes as their breaths grew shallow. They cuddled close as they died, his heart thumping loudly as his vision grew dim. Sansa tried to press herself tighter somehow, though they were already as close to each other as humanly possible. They gripped each other strongly all the same, shivering under the cold as the Song grew in volume and Joffrey's eyelids drooped.

One more time. Please, one more time. That's all I ask.

He closed his eyes for a long second, and opened them to the realization that the great starry vault above them was now Purple. Instead of stars, constellations of fractals crisscrossing its length as a distant figure glowed red. He held on to Sansa as the wind blew and the Sunray rocked; cracked Pillars rising slowly from the depths of the ocean like awakened behemoths made of soulstuff and Purple. They carried them aloft at an ever increasing speed, even as they splintered and broke from the strain. Joffrey could hear the Song winding back, a great river of sound as his soul ached, his awareness centering on a summer morning years ago; a young boy oblivious to the world around him and to the consequences of his actions. The Purple squealed under the strain, the Song stuttering as Joffrey remembered that lazy morning; hounds barking in the distance and one guarding his bed. King Robert with empty eyes as he prepared for a hunt. Myrcella walking down corridors lost in thought. Baelish scheming in his solar for coin and ruin. Jaime garbed in gold and silver, standing by the door and looking beyond it in longing as Mother's hair was combed by quiet handmaidens.

He was the Pillars, and the Pillars were him. In here with no true physical barriers, their souls intermingled as they'd been created, Sansa and Joff, Joff and Sansa. The flow of the Song stuttered again, Pillars shattering as they reached out with hands of Purple and the morning of their rebirth beckoned in the distance.

-: PD :-