Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"Come on, Ser Robar!" Joffrey shouted as he spurred Moonlight onward, ducking under a hanging branch before reaching the clearing.

Ser Robar Royce bit off a curse as he struggled to catch up, the rest of the Silver Knights close behind as they reached the mustering point and they spread out, forming a wedge with Joffrey at the tip.

"Lances down!" Joffrey called out as they reached the group of strawmen arrayed in a great mass. He slammed his lance through the first one's head, and then the second. By the third he lost his grip on it, so he took out his hammer and started bashing left and right as the rest of the knights formed up with him, taking out hammers and morningstars. Their frenzy against the targets made for sloppy shield handling though, they were neglecting their offhand again.

Not good.

The horses seemed bestial under the morning sun, clad in heavy barding as they were. They plowed into the straw army, running down and slamming aside the fake men before Joffrey blew the horn.

Not nearly fast enough, he thought as they wheeled as a group, retreating back the way they came. The great mass of armored horses soon reached the group of tents and tables arrayed to the east of the clearing, the scent of freshly cooked food hounding them forth.

"You're all making progress, but we're still not disengaging fast enough," he said as the silver-caped knights groaned. They dismounted and went immediately for the ale and the boar a couple of servants were spit-roasting near the tables.

"You've said that the last ten times," said one of the Redwyne twins –Horas- as he sat on one of the benches, massaging his thighs. Joffrey snorted as he put a leg atop the bench, leaning on it as he took a sip from the tankard waiting for him. The Silver Knights formed up around the table in a mess of jeers and laughs, and Joffrey had to suppress the slightly irrational urge to discipline them. They were not Guardsmen but the sons of nobles, many of them second or even firstborns. There was only so much stricture they'd take before walking away.

Brotherhood, not an army, Joffrey thought as Ser Robar sat on the bench. He just had to frame it the right way.

"The barding is too heavy, we're lacking momentum for the shock," said Ser Robar.

Shock won't do a thing against wights, Joffrey thought. He shrugged instead, "That armor will let us plunge deeper into enemy formations without losing too many horses. I think a bit of momentum is a price well paid."

Ser Robar copied his shrug, "Well, you're the one paying for all that barding," he said, a little smirk overtaking his features as he lifted the tankard, "And this, too."

"That too," said Joffrey, lifting his tankard up and to the middle. "Good run, men. Load up, we'll see if we do better with a full belly!"

"It'll only drag the horses down!" Ser Emmon called out, "Especially Hendry here," he added as Hendry Bracken choked on a piece of boar, turning to glare at him.

Joffrey chuckled with them, shaking his head. I hope their good cheer survives the Cycle.

He looked at Ser Robar as the knight tapped his thigh idly, at a tempo with a pattern long familiar to Joffrey. He smothered a tiny smile as he leaned back, "After that I want you to guide them through afternoon meditation."

"We have afternoon meditations?" asked Ser Robar, raising his eyebrows.

"We do now."

Ser Horas groaned, "But we already have them every morning!"

"Ser Robar," said Joffrey, "Be so kind? I'm tired of repeating myself."

Ser Robar shook his head good-naturedly, leaning back and looking at Ser Horas, "'Do you or do you not want to be one of the best knights in Westeros?'"

Ser Horas groaned again, not even deigning a response as he returned his eyes to the boar over the spit, a great gash on its belly where the spear had taken it.

Ser Robar chuckled, but he seemed uneasy all the same.

"You're going to groan on me as well?" said Joffrey.

"Not at all," said Robar, "Hells, I fight better after each session. That Yi-Tish fellow must have been a hell of a warrior," he trailed off as he looked to his sides.

Joffrey smirked, "You could say that."

Something's definitively bothering him…

"But..?"

Ser Robar sighed as he shook his head, "It's not worth bothering about," he said, lowering his voice.

"It's alright, we're all brothers here, remember?" said Joffrey, lowering his voice as well, hidden beneath the general ruckus of –generally- young and ravenously hungry men tearing into boar meat.

Ser Robar snorted, "Not officially. We need the King to proclaim-"

"You leave Robert to me," said Joffrey, "Now, why all the hemming and hawing?"

Robar sighed again, deflating under Joffrey's eyes, "I know how important you think those meditation exercises are. I'm worried I'll botch them."

"Ah," said Joffrey. "Come, walk with me."

Ser Robar followed him as they walked a short distance away from the table, the constant knocking of carpenter birds on wood soon overpowering the sounds of the encampment. The greenery had a yellowish tinge around these parts of the Kingswood, lending it a autumn-like solemnity.

"Those carpenter birds," said Joffrey, waving at one of the tall trees which doubtlessly hid half a dozen of the hardworking birds, "How would you characterize their sound?"

Ser Robar seemed nonplussed, "Rhythmical. A pattern, I guess."

An interesting choice of a word, given that most people would have found the sharp knocks a chaos with no rhyme or reason beyond the frenzied haste of the bird in question.

"There is a sort of underlying pattern to it, isn't there?" said Joffrey, tapping one of the trees. "Have you heard it anywhere else?" he asked idly as he looked up at the yellowed crown of the tree.

Ser Robar shuffled, "Can't say I have," he lied.

Joffrey smiled, "I wouldn't worry about disappointing me Robar, I'm not lying when I tell you you're the Silver Knight who has… understood, the most."

"Ser Emmon is the better fighter," he said.

"He is."

"Ser Vardis is the better rider."

"He is," Joffrey said again.

Ser Robar shook his head again, "It's just, if all those facts are true, then why are you and Ser Balon constantly delegating on me? I'm a second son. I'm no leader-"

Joffrey put a hand on his shoulder, "Robar, you'll be fine. You just have to listen," he said, punctuating the last word as he looked at the knight's eyes.

He hesitated, looking down.

"I…"

"Yes?"

"A few of us have been… talking. About that rhythm-"

"Prince Joffrey, there you are!" said Samwell as he reached the two of them, huffing every step of the way. "The candidate you were expecting is here," he said, beads of sweat already travelling down his neck and infiltrating his silvered chestplate.

Joffrey grunted assent, "Hold that thought, Robar. We've work to do," he said as the three made their way back to the camp.

"Honestly I don't know how you find enough hours in the day to sleep, my Prince," said Robar.

It's complicated, thought Joffrey, letting his sight drift to the puffing form of Samwell Tarly.

"Cursing my name already, Samwell?"

"Oh. Never, my Prince," he said as his authoritative waddle pushed knights and squires out of the way, guiding Robar and Joffrey to one of the back tents. The Tarly scion got to skip half of the usual battle training in favor of his administrative duties -which certainly made the ragged Ser Balon happy- but made a poor fit for Sam's future survival.

So Joffrey had made him wear weighted armor for the better part of each day. And half the usual training or not, Joffrey had been putting a little extra personal attention on Sam during his daily bouts with the Silver Knights. It would save his life if he ever actually ended up in combat, and more likely still, would help keep Lord Tarly off Joffrey's back if he ever came snooping around King's Landing, searching for the fate of his son.

The Night's Watch, he thought, "What a waste…"

"What was that, my Prince?" said Samwell.

"Nothing, Sam." Bless Sansa's eyes. Well, her raven's eyes. Master Samwell's mind has better things to do than freeze atop the Wall until the Walkers march south…

"How are we looking on today's rations?" he asked his unofficial Quartermaster.

"Pretty well actually, the hunters are really earning their keep," said Sam.

Good. The less coin he used here the more he'd be able to pump into the Royal Shipping Company. I wonder if there's a piece of the Purple somewhere that would let me duplicate myself…

After everything he'd seen such a power would look positively quaint…

"Never thought I'd grow bored of eating bore," said Robar.

"Nice pun!" said Samwell.

Ser Robar blinked, but Samwell waved it away as if it were nothing, "Never mind," he said, quickly becoming immersed in a discussion with a group of servants laying down a crate between two tents and blocking a makeshift 'road'. "No no no! You have to take it to Ser Balon! I- Excuse me my Prince, I'll catch up to you, just keep going straight ahead, the green tent!"

"Will do, Sam," said Joffrey, suppressing another smile. He kept walking with Ser Robar, the encampment not all that big for all there was a lot of movement within it. Noble scions tended to need a level of pampering which was a bit more manpower intensive than a Guardsman's, sadly.

Still, he found himself oddly nostalgic as he made for the green tent. He suspected he was going to miss messing around this place, after his other duties absorbed him completely.

He sighed.

Kingly duties…

"He's come down a long way," said Ser Robar.

"We'll make a knight out of him yet," said Joffrey.

"I was talking about his weight. Still quite a bit on the pudgy side though."

Joffrey chuckled, looking at the little glint within Ser Robar's eyes. Not as dumb as you pretend to be, eh? As if he'd needed confirmation.

They walked around a stuck wagon, the horses neighing shrilly as the rider tried to calm them down. "They usually have to beg and scrape for you to even consider training them, much less make them a Silver Knight," Robar said as they neared the tent.

"Intrigued?"

"He's got to be pretty good if he caught your attention."

"She, Ser Robar. She," said Joffrey, opening the tent flap.

Brienne was kneeling, fully armored as she passed a whetstone down her longsword. "My Prince," she said as she scrambled up, only to belatedly come down again and take a knee.

"Rise, Brienne of Tarth," he said as he examined her. They called her 'Brienne the Beauty', and it didn't take a prince to figure out why; her frame almost rivaled the Hound's in size, and her curt demeanor did her no favors. Still, there was something alluring in the sheer intensity of her gaze as she lifted her eyes from the ground. Ultimately, beauties were a copper a dozen in this land, but a woman with a strong mind…

Now if only I could communicate that to my lords…

"You have my sincerest thanks for inviting me here, my Prince," she said, "I promise you shall not be disappointed with me."

"I'm sure I won't," he said. Her longsword seemed well cared for, it's pommel molded by constant use. Robar contained a snort with one gauntleted hand, scratching his small beard before he turned to Joffrey.

She certainly lasted longer than you, Ser Robar 'the Red'.

Still, appearances had to be kept. "Show me then," he said as he turned, walking back through the camp.

"If she's searching for a husband, she won't find one here," said Ser Robar as the two made for the training yard, Brienne following from a respectful distance.

"I doubt that's her goal."

"Then why is she here?"

"Why are you here, Ser Robar?"

The counter-question took him by surprise. Ser Robar stammered for a second before shaking his head. "Glory," he said.

"Acclaim, prestige, brotherhood, skill," said Joffrey, his stride constant as he nodded at the Hound, who'd just reached the clearing and was dismounting from Stranger. "Things you knew second sons had to earn, fair or not."

Ser Robar frowned, lowering his head by a fraction. "It all sounds so simple when you say it…"

"It is simple. Thought it's also complicated at the same time. Simply complex, you could say." Joffrey snorted, "Kind of like life itself, huh?"

Ser Robar nodded slowly, looking strangely at him.

Joffrey shook his head, "In any case, I think you'll find a bit of a kindred soul within Brienne. Her curse was far worse than being born second."

"If you say so."

"I do. Sandor!" said Joffrey, waving at the Hound as the man trundled towards them, shooting glares at anyone who got close, "How are the Raiders doing?"

"Like shit," said the Hound, joining seamlessly by Joffrey's other side, walking half a step behind him. "Pocket stole Glyra's dagger, so she rammed it into his thigh for good measure."

"Business as usual then. Their Low Valyrian getting any better?"

Sandor broke out into an ugly cackle, throwing his head back as the burnt side of his face curdled in mirth.

"That bad, huh?"

Sandor's good humor disappeared as Ser Robar joined in with an unsure chuckle. "Maester Karton's lost what few hairs he had left, though he said Horwick was getting better," Sandor said, "You should see for yourself. It's all drunken rhyming to me," he added, leering at Ser Robar. The fact that Sandor preferred the company of dubiously reformed cutthroats to the proud youth of chivalry said a lot of both Sandor and knighthood in general.

"I'll do it tonight," Joffrey said as the reached their 'training yard'. There was no such thing, merely a circle of trodden earth where the grass had long since given way to mud. He reached the weapon rack and took a tourney bastard sword, turning to the sight of a stunned Brienne. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Ser Robar handed her one of the tourney longswords, and he stepped back with a private grin as a few Silver Knights congregated around.

"You're the one I'll be fighting?" she said, her grip on the longsword unsteady.

"Every Silver Knight has fought me. You have to win to get in," he said as he lowered his knees, sword circling slowly as he started moving sideways.

Brienne followed, both of them circling the mud as Ser Horas –or was that Hobar?- turned to his twin with a confused expression. "But-" he managed before the other slapped him on the back of the head.

She tensed as his left foot slid by a hair's breath. A good sign, thought Joffrey. He launched himself at her a heartbeat later, probing with two stabs. She deflected both, but his low sweep caught her off guard and she collapsed on the mud with an oomph.

"You're going to have to do a lot better than that," he said as he circled her fallen form.

Brienne cursed, shaking the mud off her face as she stood up. She attacked with broad sweeps, pushing Joffrey back before he rolled on the ground and sprang up with a long stab. She parried it away, but Joffrey's fist caught her on the mouth and she stumbled back, blood running from her lip.

"Are you sure you really want this, Brienne?" he said, "You don't look very convin-" Brienne bellowed over his words, stumbling up and ramming him with the longsword. The tip slid off his plate as Joffrey spun, arming sword batting her weapon away and slashing downwards. She ducked low, riposting for his ribs before Joffrey blocked and he retreated backwards. Brienne followed through a series of furious stabs as their swords danced through the air, Joffrey grunting as he jammed her blade against the ground and kicked it. It tumbled out of her grasp, but she managed to duck under his follow up blow, scrambling for her sword and grabbing it by the blade just before Joffrey slammed her with a two handed hit.

Her parry tingled throughout the clearing, her shoulder slamming into Joffrey's chest before she hit him there again with the pommel, using the hilt as a hammer. Her skill with the Stormland's murderstroke variant was surprising, and Joffrey scrambled back in a complex water dancing feint.

He jumped at her off hand, parrying the longsword and driving her guard up. He twisted her off hand away with a Yii lock as his bastard sword redirected the pommel up, leaving her open for a head-butt that saw her slam against the ground.

He placed the tip of his sword right over her neck, breathing harshly as his chest ached. The vaguely amused banter surrounding them had died a swift death a while ago, the Silver Knights now murmuring to each other as Brienne sighed painfully.

"I yield," she said, her voice small as she closed her eyes.

"Well fought," said Joffrey, lifting the sword up and replacing it with his hand. "Welcome to the as-of-yet-unofficial Order of the Silver Knights."

She gaped at him, hope and suspicion warring in her eyes as she stumbled through the words. "B-but I lost!"

"No shame in that," said Joffrey, "No Silver Knight's ever actually beat me. You came closer than most though," he said, giving her a little smile.

It was as if the sun had just broken through the clouds. Her face transitioned through half a dozen emotions before she took his hand and he lifted her up.

"Congratulations," said Ser Robar, nodding absently. His brows were furrowed in deep thought as the Silver Knights slowly started clapping.

After that performance I think she'll fit right in. After his long lives, he'd learned that nipping a problem before it became a problem usually saved everyone a headache.

The sound of frantic hooves made him turn though, dispelling the warmth that had replaced the pommel-shaped ache on his chest, hand ready to draw his hammer as his knees bent.

"Prince Joffrey! Prince Joffrey!!!" bellowed Barret, reigning in his horse.

"What is it?" Joffrey asked as he jogged towards him, a dark feeling creeping up his gut.

"My Prince, I- It's the King," he said.

-: PD :-

"And he didn't drink a single drop of wine?" He asked him.

Ned shook his head, their long strides carrying them up the last set of stairs. "Said he didn't need it. He…" Ned trailed off, the sad smile all too fresh on his lips, "He said the fresh air tasted like summer wine already."

Joffrey grunted, looking at the floor as they reached the corridor. The door was guarded by Ser Barristan, who held it open as Mother left. Myrcella seemed red eyed, and Tommen was crying openly.

Did you have anything to do with this? Joffrey thought as he stared at her. Cersei seemed as shocked as him though, her eyes nervous as they cycled through everything in the hallway, likely trying to predict things through. They settled on him as they reached Ser Barristan.

"Joffrey-"

"Mother," he said. She flinched from his stare, and he blinked as he gazed down at Tommen and Myrcella, clutching her in anguish. No, Cersei had not killed Robert this time.

"It'll be alright, Tommen," he said, gently lifting his cheek and looking at his eyes. "It'll be alright," he said again, the trembling stopping for a few moments. Myrcella gave him a little nod, and he steeled himself for what was to come.

Vague whiffs of rot sneaked through the edges of his perception as Joffrey entered the Royal Bedchambers. The curtains were wide open, and sunlight bathed Robert Baratheon as he laid on his deathbed. His brow was lined with sweat, his face pale as he gazed at the sun with not a care in the world.

He craned his neck, and a strange energy seemed to lift him up as he saw Joffrey, "Son! About fucking time," he said as he propped himself up on his elbow, "Where did you find him, Ned? Beating the brains out of those knights of his?"

"You could say that," said Ned, sitting on one of the chairs by the side of the bed. Joffrey sat by Robert's side, on the bed. He grimaced as he peeked under the blankets and saw the bloodied bandages around Robert's guts.

"That fucking boar," he muttered. The irony was not lost on him. Robert Baratheon's first death had been at the tusks of a boar, and so would be his last.

"Biggest one I've seen in my life. It was glorious," said Robert. "You should have seen it… Should have seen your old man like he used to be," he said as he lay back on the bed, coughing something red into the handkerchief in his hand.

Joffrey sighed, leaning back as well. "You're one reckless fool, you know that right?"

"Heh. That apple didn't fall far from the tree," said Robert, "Though the boar will make a far better wall ornament than the Mountain, that's for damned sure!" He chuckled, a rolling snort not unlike that made by the beast which killed him.

Joffrey's smile was stillborn, "Robert-"

"Ned, leave us for a moment, would you?"

Ned grimaced as he stood up, shooting Robert a long look.

The King grunted, "We already said our goodbyes you honorable fool," he said, hiding a smile.

"That we did, old friend," Ned said after a moment. He gave Robert a nod, and Robert nodded back.

"Oh and Ned," Robert called out before he left the room.

Eddard stopped by the door, turning back.

"Remember what I said about the damned boar and the funeral!"

Ned chuckled against his will, "I said we'd prepare it just how you like it, but I won't lie to you now, Robert. I'm going to make sure they roast it good."

Robert's expression grew thunderous, "You savage northerners! No respect for last wishes," he said, and they both shared a good long laugh, something unspoken passing between the two.

And if their eyes grew a bit misty, then it must have surely been Joffrey's imagination.

Ned closed the door, and Joffrey turned to find Robert's eyes fixed firmly on him, not a trace of mirth on them.

"You stopped calling me Father around the time we went to Winterfell," he said after a moment.

Joffrey's heart thumped like a gong, and he gripped the sheets like lifelines as he leaned forward. "Robert I-"

"No, no, it's alright," he said as he shook his head. He turned to look at the sun streaming through the window, a small smile on his lips, "Gods know Ned Stark makes a better father than I ever did."

"You…" Joffrey cleared his throat, "You did well. Myrcella is an intelligent, strong girl. And Tommen will grow up to be a man you would be proud of, I promise."

Robert turned to stare at him, "And I believe that promise, I believe it more than I believe in the Father. That conviction in your voice… it's so strong you could weigh the damned thing." His smile grew wan, "Tommen, Myrcella… And you, the greatest legacy I'm leaving to this wretched city." He grew quiet, shaking his head in incomprehension, "It was so sudden, like night and day. From spiteful brat to everything I should have been."

Joffrey opened his mouth, but Robert waved a paw at him, "Let me speak damn it, a son should hear his Father's last words."

A son, he thought, the grimace fresh on his lips. Could he let Robert die without telling him the truth? There would be no more lives after this one, no more chances. He fisted his hands, growing white under the strain.

"Like night to day," he said again, "A master of sword and mace, a courteous young man drawing confidence from within instead of beyond. You've seen battle before, haven't you?" His stormy blue eyes bored on Joffrey, the Demon of the Trident rousing from the depths of that blue ocean.

Joffrey held his breath, holding Robert's stare before sighing. "Yes," he said.

Robert sagged back, as if released of a burden, "It was during that night, a few days after Jon died. Something happened to you. Something great and terrible."

"I dreamed," Joffrey whispered, "I lived a thousand lives and grew to hate what I was."

Robert nodded.

"Was there war?" he asked after a while.

Joffrey closed his eyes, breathing deeply, "Great and terrible."

"Great and terrible," said Robert, taking a deep breath, "You could sum it up in those two words, couldn't you? That thrill behind every hammer blow, that momentum that makes you feel invincible. Unstoppable."

"And then you look around," said Joffrey as he opened his eyes, "And realize what you've done."

"Dead friends and old regrets," said Robert, wincing as he shuffled in his bed. He placed a hand over the sheets, roughly where the boar had taken him. "Then you look at those green boys playing at war and realize there's nothing you can do to stop it. To stop the cycle. You can just try to-"

"Make sure they don't die, when the time comes," said Joffrey.

Robert grunted, "That why you took those 'Silver Knights' under your wing?"

"Among other things," he said, nodding slowly. "We'll need another breed of knight for what's to come."

"Another breed of people," said Robert. "That's what you've been doing, isn't it? This Blackworks of yours. All the young strays you've been picking up. All the pretty paintings Sansa's legions have been putting up. What was the name of the one over the thing you're building in the Dragonpit? With the knights and the workers and the maidens? The one where they're all looking at the morning sun."

"Together," said Joffrey.

"Together," said Robert, looking up at the ceiling, "I wonder what terrible sight you must have seen that night. The enemy that would threaten this great and terrible New Westeros whose foundations you've built."

"An enemy we'll drown in steel and fire and fury," said Joffrey, the nape of his neck tingling on edge as he leaned closer.

"There's the conviction again," he said with a wan smile, "You didn't promise victory though."

Joffrey bit his lip, "I can't."

Robert was pale, but he still smiled as he took another deep breath. "That's wise of you." His hand was trembling, and Joffrey grabbed it all of a sudden, steadying it with both his own. It felt cold.

"Help me up," he said, straining as he tried to stand up. He felt so frail, so different from Joffrey's childhood memories. He helped him walk towards the two chairs by the window, and they received the full brunt of the sun as they walked fully into the light.

"That night," Robert said a moment after they sat side by side, his voice laced with an almost inaudible tremor. "Did you see what- what lay…?" He trailed off, the blue storm within his eyes growing tame.

Beyond.

Joffrey gripped Robert's hand tightly, lifting it below his chin and holding it close. "Maybe," he said after a breath. "We've always thought of it as something different. Seven Heavens. The Eternal Dawn. The Green Dream. Something Beyond this place."

The corner of Robert's mouth turned up. Joffrey too heard the rising conviction within his voice, his brow furrowed as he tried to explain it to him, to himself. "But it's not. Not really. It's here. It's now." He frowned, holding Robert's hand like a priceless talisman, "It's around us. And within us."

"Here…" whispered Robert. He smiled fully, his whole face engaging as he relaxed under the sun. "I was never meant to live inside musty keeps." He snorted, blinking under the glare, "I much preferred the sun as my roof."

Joffrey smiled with him, "I know."

"Did I ever tell you I was proud of you? In the dream?"

Joffrey looked down, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath and the knot in his throat came and went, the Red Comet crossing the light of the sun and glittering orange. "I- Not in- not in as many words."

"I'm proud of you," said Robert.

He sighed. His eyes felt moist, the glare of the sun too intense to stare at for long.

He turned to look at Robert, and was surprised to see a moist sheen within his blue eyes too. Today the sun seemed especially bright.

"Could I ask you a favor?" said Robert

"Anything."

"Fetch me my warhammer, would you? It's beside the bed."

Joffrey stood up and went to get it. He stared at the big warhammer for a second before lifting it up reverently. It felt light in his hands as he walked back, its part in the Song slow and steady.

"Robert. There's something I need to tell you."

He crouched by the side of the chair. "Robert?" he asked again, grabbing his arm.

He was staring through the window, blue eyes still like becalmed seas. Joffrey breathed deeply as he let himself fall back, sitting on the chair's armrest. He placed the warhammer vertically, between Robert's thighs, wrapping it with his arms, the head resting over his chest. Robert Baratheon no longer breathed, but Joffrey could still feel his presence.

Though perhaps presence was too strong a word. His life made ripples. It changed the rhythm. It had imprinted the Song with his actions; like waves lapping over the surface of the Sunset Sea.

An Imprint, thought Joffrey as he stood up. The body of consequence a life had done.

You could even call it a spirit, he thought as he glanced down at Robert one last time, his smile whimsical. Waves who would never really dissipate, stretching into infinity by the influence of its source. "Here and now, Robert. Here and now," he said as he gripped his shoulder.

It was a form of immortality, in a way. A note in the eternal symphony.

He walked out of Robert's room, closing the door gently.

"The King?" said Ser Barristan, white brows furrowed in concern.

The Repository was close indeed, Joffrey could feel the great plumes of red thrumming through his belly; a furious tempest pushing against a weight of crystal and silence which spun slowly on its own axis. The beginning of the end was now closing.

"The King is dead," said Joffrey.

Ser Barristan's eyes widened, then steeled.

"Long live the King," he said.

-: PD :-