Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

Strange Joffrey had helped his servants stowing his stuff on board the chests and then on top the carriages. In truth Joffrey had done more to pack his stuff than the rest of the servants combined. They had been too shocked at the changed entity that was Joffrey, and had ended up packing less than a third themselves, which had of course made them even more scared in fear of retribution by the until last night cruel prince. Sandor wasn't surprised though, not after the shit he had seen inside that cave. Sandor had resigned himself from it all, and had decided to watch everything as if it was all an incredibly interesting and insane mummers show.

Strange Joffrey's reaction to the King and Queen were interesting. With the Queen there was no sight of his usual mewlings, and he seemed unresponsive to her spoiling him. He did smile at her and the affection behind his hug had been both simple and real, which had left Cercei slightly disconcerted. His reaction to the King however, was even more different from the usual. Before today, and for the last years, King Robert and his Son had barely spoken to each other, considering they were family. Now though, he found them idly chatting about different types of warhammers and how to use them, a subject Strange Joffrey seemed to know about a lot, to his Father's surprise. There was a distance however. Joffrey's smile didn't seem to reach his eyes, and he always looked a bit sad and disappointed after a small chat with Robert, which anyway were not quite so frequent.

The preparations took three more days before the whole caravan was finally ready to depart Kings Landing, and 3 more because of the search for Lord Baelish. In that time, Strange Joffrey acted (for his now changed personality) relatively normal. However, on the eve of the third day, Sandor had accompanied him to the Royal Armory.

The guards on duty had been surprised to see him there, as Joffrey generally didn't bother them besides coming in here once a year to mess with a crossbow. They were even more surprised when Joffrey saluted them like old friends, names and all. They quickly unlocked the door and one of them accompanied the prince toward the weapon racks. Sandor thought he would have stopped by the crossbows… he should have known better. He made a beeline for an arming sword that seemed to suit his height perfectly, and then took a well-crafted one handed axe, which he put on his belt. "You know how to use that thing?" Sandor asked, against his better judgment. Joffrey seemed to take it in good humour. "Want to test them out in the yard later?" he asked him with a knowing smile. Sandor could only nod and curse his big mouth.

Finally, Joffrey led him and the guard towards a door in the back of the room, were several odd knickknacks that didn't fit in the other categories were stowed. "I wouldn't worry with this one's m'prince, these haven't been catalogued by the Master-at-Arms since the Mad King." Said the guard, eying the rusted morning stars and a couple of weird, broken, curbed swords.

"Exactly, Theo. Imagine the treasures that could be buried in here!" Said Joffrey, amused as he dove right into the huge pile of junk. Sandor had the sinking suspicion the Prince knew exactly what was in that pile. After more than 10 minutes of searching, in which Joffrey repeatedly denied the guards offer to summon some servants to help with the task, he finally found what he was looking for.

It was 2 sets each of 6… throwing blades? Joffrey seemed happy, but not surprised to have found them, strapping the 2 sets to his riding leathers, one on his left side, and one on his right. "Did you know a Qohorik Merchant gifted this set to the Mad King, only for him to toss the poor sod into the black cells? Kings can be very fickle…" he said the last part mostly to himself, rubbing his face again before diving again in the pile of junk. Sandor would have asked him if he knew how to use the throwing knives, but then again had no intention in being a target for a "demonstration".

Then, to everyone's surprise, after 2 more minutes of searching, took out a Valyrian steel dagger. He promptly took its sheath and placed it on his belt, below his left throwing set and opposite to his axe. The arming sword he strapped it across his back.

Sandor would have expected the sight of Prince Joffrey armed to the teeth and spoiling for battle an amusing one. It was not. Joffrey walked back and forth, tensing his muscles, accommodating the whole set as if he knew what he was doing. Finally, he nodded to himself. "I'm good, let's go Clegane. Thank you Theo". He said, handing the guard a silver stag and promptly exiting the room.

The guard stared at Sandor, incredulous. "Don't ask me" he huffed, hurrying after his prince.

-

Joffrey made good on his promise. They squared off in the training yard the next morning, clegane using a tourney sword instead of a training one to Joffreys insistence. He was armed with tourney arming sword.

At the Master-At-Arms signal they charged. Sandor initially went at it slow, not wanting to leave the prince a cripple and his head on a pike above Maegor's holdfast.

That had been a mistake. In two moves Joffrey had him at his feet. "Come on Clegane, I promise not to maim myself. He said, reading his thoughts. With a grunt and a huff, the hound was back up, and he was not going to hold off now. At the signal, they clashed again, and to Sandor's mounting disbelief, Joffrey was holding his own against him. He appeared to weave back and forth, attacking the joints in his armor with his arming sword, leaving painful bruises, attacking like lighting, not leaving room for Sandor to think. After withstanding the hurricane for hours, or it could have been minutes, the attacks started to come in slower as the prince's body simply wasn't used to this kind of punishment. Sandor was winning 5 bouts to 4, until the prince locked his blade with his in closed combat, jamming it with his own blade while he stomped hard on Cleganes feet. The entire maneuver took him by surprise, and his sword was snatched away from him, giving Strange Joffrey his victory. In the end it was a draw, 5 to 5.

Prince Joffrey was a mess of sweat, ample bruises and hard breathing, but had an uncharacteristic smile on his face. "Ah Sandor, you're always the best for getting back in shape" he gasped beteween breaths. One of his eyes was slowly growing smaller, pressed by the bruises around him, and he was bleeding from his sheen. Sandor cursed himself at the sight of blood.

Joffrey however could have cared less, in fact it seemed he hadn't even noticed it. He took a big gulp of water from his waterskin, "AAAAhhhh, A good fight Clegane, I really needed that." He told him. "I didn't know you were so good" Sandor huffed, himself tired after the intense beating. It was strange, there were several moments that Joffrey should have pressed his advantage to win several of the bouts he had eventually lost. That could easily be attributed to lack of skill to detect them, but Sandor had seen Joffreys eyes. They had been looking straight at the spot that would have guaranteed him a victory, but he hadn't taken them. Had he thrown some of the bouts? Why?

The mystery that was Strange Joffrey seemed to intensify by the day, and the next events only made it grew.

"JOFFREY!!" Screamed a female voice as a red figure dashed through the courtyard, and started calling for a Maester. It was Cercei.

Shit. I'm dead. Was the only thought that crossed through Sandors head when the Queen looked at him with infinite rage. "Arrest him now!" she screamed as she pointed at him. Several of the redclokes that had been entranced watching the fight suddenly snapped out of it and moved towards Clegane, following their Queens orders.

"Absolutely not! GUARDS, HOLD!" Shouted Joffrey. His voice carried across the courtyard like thunder, absolutely devoid of the old nasal twang and mewliness that had been so natural from the little shit. It was a command issued as if in the battlefield, the tone perfect for carrying itself through the song of steel and death.

The guards stopped in their tracks. Technically the Queen outranked the Prince, but all their instincts were telling them to OBEY. That gave Joffrey the time he needed. "Mother" he said as he turned to face her. "I'm completely fine, I was just having a friendly bout with the Hound."

"Friendly Bout?! You're bleeding!" She said as she looked at his sheen. "Oh" Said Joffrey as he looked downwards, "Its just a scratch" He said. Cercei seemed dumbfounded, and Joffrey took the opportunity to lean closely and whisper something into her ear. It couldn't have been more than two sentences, but the Queens expression went from enraged to considering, then a slowly building pride. "Well said my son" she said as she stood up. "But this is enough for today, and I still want Grand Maester Pycell to check that wound" she said as she, with one final glare towards the hound, left. "As you were" she ordered from the red keeps main gate, almost as an afterthought. The redcloakes visibly relaxed and backed off, eager not to tangle with the Hound and for a bad reason too… besides, they had been having just too much fun with the bouts.

-

When the search for Lord Baelish was called off, the caravan finally set out of Kings Landing, heading North. The rescue parties had started looking more like hunting parties, fueled by recent rumors about Lord Baelish's involvement in the death of John Arryn. Rumors that coincidentally started amongst the Prince's serving staff, Sandor noted wrily.

The Prince had been busy those days. He had asked permission from his Mother to gather an official retinue for his to command. He didn't know what he had said to her, but it had worked. The prince barely had permission when he stormed through the red keep, searching for a few servants by name, about 3 or so. He then did the same in the barracks and got a hold of 6 red cloaks. None of them had known the Prince, but you wouldn't have known that from him. He greeted them as old friends and made it clear that he just expected all of them to do their duties as to the best of their abilities.

The caravan settled into a steady routine as they journeyed north. The Prince and him would train in the morning, though never as hard as the first time, mainly focusing on fitness training as Strange Joffrey's technique was excellent and somewhat unpredictable. It appeared to rely more on speed, agility and endurance than raw power, and it seemed to combine elements from regular knightly combat, water dancing, street brawling, and other influences he could not really pin point… excluding one: His own. That particular revelation was like a brick to Sandors head. Joffreys footing seemed somewhat grounded in the Hounds own style, and his fighting style was liberally peppered with dirty moves that Clegane had thought up himself.

He had taken more wine than usual that night…

The subject of the Prince's change in demenour had basically dominated the rumor mills amongst the soldiers and servants, and especially, to the Queens amusing disapproval, the imp. After training they would help his retinue packing everything and ride out. The Prince seemed to dislike the carriage, though somedays he would ride there with the Queen and his brother and sister. He rarely came out of it very happy. Sandor supposed it was because of the weariness with which his brother and sister regarded him, though that started to decrease by the time they crossed the neck. 3 weeks into the journey Joffrey would often ride his horse alongside the carriage, jesting and teasing Myrcella and often Tommen too, but with not a hint of cruelness, and even sometimes playing games with them on the stops.

But that was later. The first week of travel Joffrey mainly rode with Tyrion, debating ideas and concepts that were admittedly beyond the Hounds understanding. He still remembered the imp's first interaction with Strange Joffrey.

"Uncle! Good to see you haven't started your drinking binge without me!" he said as he just strolled into the imps tent the first day of the trip.

"Nephew!" The imp smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I've got plenty of arbor gold here if you want to join in." he said, hefting a gold-yellow bottle. The imp eyed Joffrey warily but disguised it much better than Myrcella had a week ago.

Joffrey didn't know or didn't care, as usual. He sat on a nearby stool as the imp served him some arbor gold in a cup. "Thank you Uncle. Robert won't let me drink more than one cup, more than a little hypocritical if you ask me" He said, not gulping but slowly savoring the fine vintage "Clegane, don't just stand there, grab a stool and get some wine" the prince ordered him.

"I'm glad you like it. So, what can I do for you Nephew" Said the Imp as he handed a cup to Sandor. That seemed to take a bit of wind from Joffrey's sails. He gave an uncanny self-depreciating smile, and snorted a short laugh. "Everyone reacts the same…" He said as he downed the cup with one gulp. As Tyrion refilled it, he continued. "What if I don't want anything… What if I just want some conversation with the smartest man in Westeros?". There was silence as Tyrions surprise manifested itself on the jug, spilling some of the wine in the prince's boot. He didn't seem to mind though. "Ah, where are my manners. Tyrion, for being a little shit towards you, I gift you this." He simply said, handing him a boxy looking bundle after he downed the refill in one go again.

Tyrion was mute as he opened the package, not that Sandor blamed him. It was very amusing to see different people's reactions to Strange Joffrey. "Into the Dragonpit: My experiences tending the Targeryen Dragons, by Grand Maester Mellos." The imp read out loud. "I believe you have been searching for that tome for quite some time uncle." Said Joffrey, sipping from his cup.

"I… I did nephew. You have my thanks for this. It must be the first time in a hundred years this book's been read" he said as he stowed it away in his travel trunk. Joffrey snorted, "More like two days". The imp looked up in sheer disbelief "You've red it?"

"Aye, my favorite part is when he talks about cleaning the scales themselves. Did you know they used specially made copper implements for it?" Joffrey said, extending his cup for a refill. "No, no I didn't" Said Tyrion, more to himself than his audience as he absentmindedly poured some more wine into the Princes cup.

Sandor looked down into his cup.

It was already empty.

"Ah, fuck it. Might as well" He thought as he motioned the imp with his cup.

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