14 Starks and Lemons

"WHAT DOES IT MEAN?! HOW DID YOU DO IT!" Shouted Joffrey at the tied man.

"Hmrpmm hmm hrrrmphh!!" mumbled the Ibbenese priest under his gag.

"Ah, eh, right" muttered Joffrey as he took off the gag.

The priest took several gulps of air, looking thoroughly dazed.

He was tied to one of the stone benches in the clearing on the Port of Ibb, looking like he was ready to piss himself.

"I don't know!!! I swear it by the God-King I don't know! I've never seen that script nor anything like it in my life!!!" shouted the elderly priest, looking at the dagger that was approaching his neck and trying to shuffle back.

"What about the tablet? Huh?! What's so special about it?!" shouted Joffrey. It was midnight on the Port of Ibben, but by the shouting, the bells and the pounding footsteps one would be excused to think it was midday.

"Nothing! It's just whalebone! Sailor superstition! Please don't kill me!!!" screamed the priest.

"Fuck, but—augh…" Joffrey stuttered as an arrow appeared inside his chest.

"There he is! Get him!" shouted someone in the dark, among a stampede of boots.

This was not one of my better ideas…

THUNK. THUNK.

Two more arrows embedded themselves, one on his lung and the other on his leg.

Arrows are bullshit. Got to find a way to get around them, he thought irreverently as he stumbled backwards, only to hit the rail and trip over it with his back. A fourth arrow gave him the impulse needed to clear that particular obstacle.

In between the pain he felt he was falling, and falling, and falling—

-.PD.-

Suddenly Joffrey sat up on his bed, shaking.

"Fuck" he said, with conviction.

Well, that was a waste of time…

…Or had it?

He knew that the strange… rune he guessed? Marked on the tablet meant nothing on Ibb, and that the material itself was pretty common all things considered. He'd seen a dozen like it being sold in the Lampway. To drunken sailors of all things…

Curiously enough, there had been no super storm in that life… that had to mean something, right?

Wait.

He shuffled to his left.

Yep, there it is. Just chilling in my desk… again.

He glared at the thing for a minute before huffing and taking it. He lay down on his bed again, this time peering at the tablet intensely.

It had to mean something, of that he was sure. The pattern was too intricate, too complicated. With tiny, almost microscopic curves and corners, small dots that adorned some of the outer areas and the repeating patterns that were at the center of it... it…

He had thought the storm was delivering a message, hadn't he?

Could it be possible that this… thing was connected to him not through circumstance but…

To everything? To what was happening to him?

"Do you have the answers?" he whispered at the tablet, staring intently at the rune.

He must have spent half an hour like that, before he huffed and lay back on the bed again, rubbing his sore neck and cursing the migraine that was developing inside his head.

I need to clear my mind for a while… this isn't getting anywhere.

He was thoughtful for a bit, before smirking. He rose from his bed and quick walked to the door. "Clegane!" he shouted.

-.PD.-

"Come on Robb! Hit me!" he shouted as he twirled the spear on his hands, spinning it from side to side and generally just showing off. You had to be very good to actually try that in a real battle, or else you were liable to getting your hands chopped off by a competent warrior. Or more likely impaling yourself through the shoulder.

Still, he was feeling reckless and jaunty today. Thinking hard didn't help, and getting drunk with Tyrion hadn't helped him with his runic dilemma at all. So he was trying something different.

It definitively wasn't because he wanted a bit of mindless fun. Not at all.

They were on Winterfell's training yard, surrounded by half a dozen mildly bored off duty Starkmen.

Should I actually call them greycloaks? Eddard never did say…

"Come on Robb! Show the prick who's the best!" shouted Arya from the rail. She had somehow sneaked past all the men (and more astonishing, through Lady Stark who was surely out there looking for her). The Stark men (Greycloaks?!) all shook their heads in resigned amusement, a sentiment Joffrey approved. The South was way too fond of relegating their noblewoman to the sewing area or whatever it was called. Out there in the seas he had met some pretty formidable female fighters, they were proof that the other gender could just as well skewer you like some kind of demented meat brochette.

Joffrey shuddered as he felt a ghost of a sensation from his lower belly all the way to his neck.

Unfortunately, most of them had been pirates, thought Joffrey with another shudder.

What was the real surprise was Sansa, looking with interest from the stone walkway above and to the back of the arena. He'd never thought she'd have an interest for weapons or fighting. Jeyne Poole was beside her, bored to tears if he had to guess.

TAP.

He was jolted out it as a heavy, painful tap reached his shoulder.

"POINT!" Shouted Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's master-at-arms.

"This is a training arena Your Highness, now is not the time to play with weapons of war." Said Ser Rodrik, the rebuke as hard as he dared give to a Crown Prince.

Stupid noble deference, thought Joffrey. Nakaro would have had me cleaning the deck till my hands bled. Art would have bashed my head and left me unconscious.

…The damned Shadowcat would have just eaten me.

No wonder half the kings of Westeros had turned out so fucked up. Raised with no real expectation of what's out there in the real world beyond the fake courtesies and the fake deference.

… I guess that includes me, he thought ruefully before shaking his head once more. Right, focus.

"My apologies Ser Rodrik. Maybe we should try it again?" he asked. Rodrik gave him a curt nod as Robb smirked and returned to his position.

"Go!" shouted the Master-at-arms.

Joffrey charged without delay, spear darting in for probing stab at the belly. Robb parried and countered, but Joffrey dodged with a water dancing twirl to the left, bringing the spear with him for a long slashing attack. Robb grunted in surprise as he blocked, and cursed when Joffrey, instead of repositioning for another attack, actually slammed the spear's butt on Robb's sternum, dropping him to the ground with a muffled oumph.

"POINT!" shouted Cassel.

That was easier than I expected, he thought, mildly bewildered.

Robb quickly stood up, clearly wanting to clutch his chest but resisting the temptation.

"You okay?" asked Joffrey.

"I'm fine! Ser Rodrik, another one!" he shouted as he returned to his position.

"You sure? You took a pretty big hit--" Joffrey started only to be interrupted by Robb.

"I said I'm fine" he said, angry.

Rodrik looked at him, and Joffrey gave a shrug that seemed to say 'why not?'

Ser Rodrik nodded and then…

"Go!" he shouted.

Robb charged, this time clearly meaning business, swinging high with all his strength. He attacked constantly, trying to get through Joffrey's guard, but every time his spear was out of position for a parry, he dodged to one side or the other, bending at his hips to evade the slashes and jumping and twirling to the sides to evade the stabs.

"This is more like it!" shouted Joffrey, sweating as he managed a directional parry with the tip of his spear, only to go low and sweep Robb's legs from under him, dropping him to the floor.

"POINT!"

Joffrey wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead before offering his hand to the downed Robb. "Respect the spear eh? Still, you-" he started to say jokingly, but Robb ignored his hand and limped out of the arena, trying to hide a massive scowl.

He took a few moments to look at the circle of spectators, and he was surprised to find they were all scowling or angry in some way, glaring daggers at him and trying to hide it when Joffrey stared back.

Huh? Why are…

Ah…

His nasal twang had an annoying tendency to get out of control when he was distracted. He had been working on that for the last few lives, but it was possible it had run amok just when…

Oh boy, everything I've said for the last half-hour must have been received as an insult…

Robb's bastard brother Jon was red all over, glaring at him as if Joffrey would spontaneously combust. Joffrey gave him a bewildered look, and that seemed to be the wrong thing to do.

Biting of something sour, Jon looked at Ser Rodrik and shouted.

"Ser Rodrik! I want to fight!" he said, and the hushed conversation around the arena stopped instantly, as Rodrik looked nervously between Joffrey and Jon, sending the latter some kind of meaningful look.

He could just feel the 'UUUUUuuuuuuu' going on inside the head of everyone on the yard.

Fucking noble deference. Are they nervous it'll offend me to fight a bastard? Or offend that sour lemon they have for a lady?

Fuck it!

"Excellent! Ser Rodrik, could you send someone to fetch some training armor for--"

"That won't be necessary Your Highness" Said Jon, stretching the last part as he walked to the ring and grabbed a training sword. Had he somehow humiliated Robb so much that Jon was risking his famous temperament? The old Joffrey would have flogged him for that, and with Lady Catelyn leading a flanking attack on the Stark's side he doubted Ned would have achieved more than lowering the punishment to something less physical but more humiliating.

Joffrey raised his eyebrows before talking "I much prefer Joff or Joffrey if you have to" he said, taking care to keep that damnable nasal twang out of his voice.

"Right, let's do it" Joffrey quickly said, preempting Ser Rodrik's outburst entirely as he stripped his own padded armor. He only wore it to keep everyone around him from flying into hysterics anyway. Especially his mother. Speaking of which, he hoped she was far, far away now. She was probably sucking lemons in a corner with Lady Stark, at least that would explain their permanent scowls... ha!

Ser Rodrik said nothing as he stripped. He was probably unwilling to countermand him unless it really threatened the life of one of the combatants. Maybe if he'd called for live steel or some--…

I actually did that the first time, didn't I?

A burst of familiar self-loathing skimmed through his body.

Someone so stupid didn't deserve to live, and yet here he was, living again and again.

"Jon! Please don't hurt him!!!" screamed Sansa from the walkway as he took off the last padded gauntlet.

He had to bite his fist rapidly to avoid the huge guffaw that threatened to escape his lips.

That was actually really cute.

He twirled the spear a bit before bowing low to Sansa. "Do not worry, my lady, with such clear concern as yours not so much as a single feather will touch me, I will be as light as the wind!" he said in his best Errant Heroic Knight Voice. He just couldn't resist.

Jeyne Poole was blushing madly and fanning her head, while Sansa was red too but her smile…

It was a bit confused and… thoughtful.

Knew there was a brain in there. Just have to stimulate it.

Ehhh… that sounded bad.

"Ready?" Asked Ser Rodrik.

Both of them nodded, Jon even angrier now, glaring at full throttle…

Ah, must have thought I was pissing the Stark's again. I must have a talent…

---------

AN: For an enhanced experience.

--------

"Go!"

Jon roared as he tried to sever his head. It was slow and telegraphed, but that hit could have broken his neck if he hadn't dodged it.

…

Nice!

He parried the next with his spear, and his riposte almost took Jon at the shoulder, but he managed to dodge at the last minute. Jon's counter tried to take Joffrey at the legs, but he lowered his spear just in time to block it. Joffrey followed up with a quick forward stab with the tip, which was also parried by Jon.

They were pretty evenly matched it seemed, and Joffrey was loving every moment of it.

At fucking last! He thought in a haze, after a bazillion beatings by the Hound and countless minor skirmishes, here's someone to take it to the limit!

Clink Click Clink THUD, Clink THUD-- the music of the duel entranced Joffrey, and he could see Jon in perfect focus. His face was a rictus of effort and concentration, clearly fully in the fight, just like Joffrey. An errant spear butt almost caught Jon in the sternum just like with Robb, but he blocked the wooden shaft with his wrist in a parry that must have hurt like hell, using Joffrey's surprise to try and pommel him on the brow. He twisted his head at the last minute, disengaging and trying to sweep his legs. Jon jumped over it, making use of his momentum to slash at Joffrey, who barely caught it with the shaft and counter attacked yet again.

Jon's sword came up, down, right and left without stopping, only to be blocked by his spear and returned in equal measure, clak, clak, clak, clak, clak—

Soon the rest of the yard and the spectators faded away, his vision tunneling and focusing solely on Jon. The cold, the heat and the sweat disappeared from Joffrey's mind… there was only Jon and the thrill of the fight, the rhythmic pounding and slashing and parrying, each time faster.

It was like having an incredibly interesting discussion with his Uncle, but with weapons instead of words. He felt he was somehow understanding Jon on some small level, an instinct, warrior to warrior.

"Faster, faster!" he whispered, and the rhythm of the fight seemed to accelerate even more, speed and adrenaline blurring the edges of his vision as his hands, feet and body seemed to move almost by their own will.

Clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak

Jon's eyes seemed unfocused, as if making use of every last sense, taking in his peripheral vision as if part of an integrated whole.

"FASTER, FASTER!" Screamed Joffrey, pivoting and stabbing with all his force, only to be parried by Jon, his face a sheen of sweat, his hands gripping his sword in a tight but somehow slightly loose grip, somehow still blocking his onslaught--

Clakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclakclak---

Joffrey's body was moving by itself now, and his mind was silent. He was taking in his reality second by second, completely focused on the moment, one with his body. He was now only following the rhythm, the song. He followed the tune absentmindedly, feeling it in his being… it was close to ending. The rhythm, the soft sound of boots on dirty snow, the clanging of the parries, the whoosh's of air as blows were dodged, they were leading to an inevitable conclusion.

They both knew exactly how it would end, he could see it in the way Jon's eyes widened minutely…

And it would be glorious, a sudden stillness in the midst of a crescendo…

…Only fate would not allow it.

CRACK.

The symphony was shattered by a single ugly sound. The sound of his spear shaft breaking under one of his parries. He saw microsecond by microsecond as the spear fragments flew to his sides.

A sudden spot of the arena came into sharp focus, and he could see Ser Rodrik slowly, slowly opening his mouth to call a halt. He saw the way Jon started to come out of the battle trance, eyes slowly widening.

NO. NOT YET.

Before Jon could so much as process what happened, Joffrey roared right in his face. "COME ON!!!"

Jon was startled into action, slashing against an unarmed Joffrey. He stepped to the side and bent just the right distance to let the sword fly by, and then leaned backwards as the backslash sailed just above his nose. Quick as lightning, Joffrey unsheathed the training arming sword tied to his back and parried the next 6 lightning blows in a glorious crescendo of steel.

-CLIN CLIN CLIN CLIN CLIN CLIN-

At the seventh, he twisted to the side and slashed upwards at Jon's sword, sending it flying and leaving his own sword one millimeter away from Jon's neck.

"Do you yield?" he asked Jon.

"I do" he said.

"Pleasure" responded Joffrey.

"Likewise" said Jon, nodding in respect.

….

Then the veil of sharpness and directed clarity that had sustained them was gone.

Both of them fell on their backs as if an anvil had just struck them on their heads.

Joffrey landed boneless against the mud, feeling pain and exhaustion coming from every fiber of his being.

He was suddenly aware he was drenched to the bone.

When did it start raining?

…

He realized it was not rain. It was his sweat.

Holy shit… I need water.

Suddenly he regained the power of hearing, and it was madness.

"ARE YOU INSANE?—LORD STARK WILL--- SNOW!!!—THE PRINCE—YOUR HIGTHNESS—HE DIDN'T KNOW—JON-- THAT WAS AWESOME!!-- " It was pure madness, everyone talking over each other as everyone in freaking Winterfell crowded both downed fighters.

"Water…" mumbled Joffrey. "WHEN THE KING—GET THE MAESTER--- LEAVE HIM ALONE--- JON HOW COULD YOU!" must have been a dozen people all talking at the same time.

"SILENCE!" he shouted with all his strength, trying to channel Nakaro.

Everyone blessedly shut up, and Joffrey looked up to see he was surrounded by Redcloaks.

"You! Bring me water, and you! Help me up" he rasped, pointing to one and then to another of the Redcloaks.

He was pulled up as the other one produced a wineskin, which, to his joy, had actual water.

He took a bit, only to spit it out. Then he took out a deep, long swill. He stopped drinking hallway through to let the water flow down his head.

"Thank you" he said as he shoved his way out of the circle and into the one surrounding Jon.

"Prince Joffrey, a commendable fight! Sometimes bouts can get a bit--" started Cassel, but Joffrey dodged him and ducked between two greycloaks.

He was now standing in front of a sitting Jon, who was breathed heavily, shaking his head repeatedly as if to clear it. Next to him was Robb, who was now wielding his lordly demeanor to full effect. "Your Highness, I take full responsibility--"

Joffrey didn't even hear him, he only pointed at Jon with an accusing finger. "You!"

Jon opened and closed his mouth like a fish "I'm s—I—That was--"

"BLOODY INCREADIBLE! THAT'S WHAT IT WAS!" he shouted as he offered him a hand up.

Again there was sudden silence as Joffrey hefted up the Bastard of Winterfell with a grunt of effort.

"Here, take this" he said, shoving the wineskin into his mouth. He eyed him in shock before he drank greedily… Only to suddenly drop it to the ground

"Oh no" he said.

Huh? Wha--

"JOFFREY!!!!" Someone screeched hysterically.

"SNOW!!!" Someone screamed in infinite rage, promising retribution.

"Oh gods, they must have run out of lemons" Joffrey said as both Lady Stark and Queen Cercei seemed to be barreling towards the training yard with more mass than the Ibb-Wogan.

Joffrey stared at them for 2 seconds before nodding and deciding a course of action that was for the best for all involved.

"Run!" he said.

"What?" asked a terrified Jon Snow.

"RUN YOU FOOL!!!" he shouted as he grabbed Jon's arm and dashed like hell from the yard, fleeing for both their lives.

-.PD.-

"And then everyone was like WOW! And the spear passed like, this close! And then you tried to punch him like POW--"

"Arya, Arya! Breath, please" said Jon.

The hyper excited Arya managed to shut up for a few seconds, no doubt to take a in some much needed air. Joffrey took advantage of the momentary pause to keep it that way.

"So, Jon, that… that was amazing" he told him. "Felt like we were fighting there, like, hours, or seconds, I keep changing my mind every time I think about it." He said.

Jon nodded jerkily, still somewhat shocked at the whole situation. And with the whole thing of being a runaway from Tully Justice.

"Yeah… If you had been a little better, or me a bit worse, I think the fight would have been nearly as… intense I think is the word… Where did you learn to fight like that with a spear.... Joffrey?" he nearly croaked his name. For all his fire on the yard, getting Jon to actually say his name had been an endeavor. Maybe even harder than trying to convince him he was not going to tell the king to castamere all the Starks.

"Port of Ibben" said Joffrey, peeking through the window. "Those bastards know how to crack a skull with one, let me tell you that" he said as he gazed downwards. "I think the coast is clear, for now. We should wait a few more minutes before we move" he said.

That had been a bad thing to say. As soon as Jon remembered his situation he shrunk into himself, taking the proud mantle of the Broody Starks, practically a clone of Eddard. "Lady Stark is going to send me to Greywater Watch after this, I'm sure of it" he said, the despair evident in his voice.

"Hmm… and with the help of my mother…" muttered Joffrey.

"No! She can't do that! I'll go with you!" shouted Arya suddenly.

Jon snorted as he mussed her hair "You'll stay right here, understand?" he said with a halfsmile as Arya swatted his hand away.

Joffrey looked at them sadly, wondering how he had fucked up so badly with his own brother and sister.

"Look, there only one choice" He said, getting both their attentions.

"How did you know to hide here anyway, the Broken Tower is barely spoken of here in Winterfell, and we live here!" asked Arya, eying him suspiciously.

"Hmm, well, you could say.. hehe… it's a pffff-family secret" he said, darkly chuckling at his own joke.

She stared at him in mild incomprehension before he nodded. "Right, nevermind that. We are boxed in and every second we waste will make things harder, so there's only one choice…" he said, looking seriously at them.

He let the silence stretch for a few seconds before grinning.

"Preemptive strike! Though we will need allies, and a plan… yes… yes…" Joffrey cackled as he thought it through, and Jon grew wary, very wary.

-.PD.-

King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, was hungry and confused.

Ned's littlest one had whispered that Eddard had a stash of ale somewhere here in the kitchens, and that he was planning to ambush him with it. And what better stratagem than to reverse the ambush! He hadn't thought the silent wolf had it in him anymore, to mess with him like in the old days… Ah… those were the days…

As he crossed the empty kitchens, he was confronted with a strange sight. His eldest, Joffrey, talking with Ned's bastard. When Joffrey saw him he stood up and waved at him, telling him to come.

Maybe they found the ale before I did...

"Hey R-Father! You missed the duel of your life about an hour ago, seems Ser Rodrik keeps a tight ship here on Winterfell, eh Jon?" Said his son.

The bastard nodded mechanically, "Aye Your Grace, and your son sure knows how to land a blow!" he said, the line forced as if rehearsed. To be honest he looked like he was going to pee himself and only the constant stares from Joffrey prevented him from bolting.

"Is that so?" asked Robert with a wistful smile. Bastard or not, his son being friends with a Stark brought back more fond memories. Maybe not all had been shit after Lyanna's death, after all…

"Sure, come on, sit! We'll tell you all about it!" Said Joffrey.

It was strange, his son was never like this… but they did have a good story apparently, and that was better than he could say of what waited for him in his chambers.

Still, after all these years of awkward silences…

"Ah, it's just that I'm looking for a present Ned left…" he trailed off as Joffrey slowly raised an ale keg from below the table, grinning like a fool.

"Isn't this supposed to start the other way around?!" Robert asked, bewildered.

Joffrey's smile widened.

"Mother thinks we went out hunting. We have all the afternoon to ourselves…" he said.

Robert sat.

-.PD.-

"HAHA… HAHAHA… A… a spear to the face!!! Bring a Maester! Indeed! Hahahaha!!!" The King laughed as he stumbled to his chambers. He hadn't been this merry and proud in years! He laughed again as he tried to open the door, but the handle flew away from him before he could grab it.

"Robert, you fool! I searched all over for you! Stark's Bastard pummeled poor Joffrey to--"

"I KNOW!!! BUAAAHAHAHAHA!!! They told me all about it! And then they ran away!" he said as tears of laughter flowed down his cheek.

Cercei looked nonplussed at Robert's reaction, and her face turned red with fury.

"WHAT?! YOU KNEW!? AND YOU DID NOTHING!?" her verbal pounding had just began when she noticed Robert wasn't ignoring her as usual, sinking into a dark ennui as he left her to do whatever she wanted.

Instead, he was desperately trying to hold himself, both hands clutching his mouth.

"What!?" she screamed at him, thoroughly annoyed with the way the whole situation was turning, her face scrunching in a rictus of righteous fury.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. He coughed and breathed through his hand, one, two, three times, his face getting redder and redder.

Finally he couldn't contain himself no longer. "SUCKING LEMONS! INDEED! BUHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" He roared as he fell to the ground.

When he looked up and saw Cercei's puckered face, he blew up again.

10 meters away, two heads slowly retracted themselves back to their hiding spot, on the other side of the corner.

The Imp looked at Joffrey with something bordering on religious awe.

"Master, teach me." He said with a shallow bow and his damnable smirk.

This time it was Joffrey the one who couldn't keep it together as he exploded into laughter, cheeks flushed with wine. He quickly silenced himself when he heard someone running through the hallway.

"I think she's unto us!" screamed Joffrey.

"Every half-man for himself!" shouted the Imp as he jumped into the nearby storage cupboard, leaving Joffrey alone in the corridor with the rapidly approaching, furious footsteps.

"You damned traitor!!!" he slurred as he got up and shambled as fast as he could out of the corridor, only to bump against Eddard Stark, torch in hand and the other one not too far from his sword's pommel.

"I heard the noise, what's happening?!" he said, looking beyond Joffrey at the corridor and considering whether or not to call the guards.

Joffrey took a deep breath before shouting.

"LEMONS!!!"

-.PD.-

The strange happenings around Winterfell snowballed spectacularly, and turned into an unprecedented 2 full month stay as Robert simply refused to leave. He was reported as saying that the last time he had had this much fun had been 20 years ago, and that if anyone forced him to go back to King's Landing before every last bit of 'good times' had been expended then he'd plop the crown on Balon Greyjoy's scraggly bald head and sail for Lys.

Theon had not been particularly amused with that one.

Any attempts at curtailing the madness by Lady Stark or Mother ended up making it all worse, as somehow the whole 'lemons' thing had spread throughout the whole keep. And if any of them so much as cursed, they would play right into the joke and send their spectators into struggling fits of coughing to disguise the laughter.

Of course you could trust the damnable imp to degenerate the situation even further. The occasional howls of laughter the servants heard throughout the days tripled in frequency when Tyrion started to leave actual lemons on the most random of places.

How he got a hold of the rare Dornish delicacy was anyone's guess, but a particularly memorable example of it had been when, at one of the big feasts, an oblivious servant had deposited a dish and a cup in front of Lord Stark.

Nothing out of the ordinary for a long feast, with one exception. The cup had a whole lemon, just jutting out from the top as if it were some kind of messily prepared parody of a Summer Islander drink.

When Ned saw it, he chuckled a bit, muffling it with his hand. That was probably the extent to which the whole debacle would have gotten to, but when Lady Stark, who was sitting right beside him, turned to see what had the usually reserved Ned chuckling…

Well, she saw the lemon.

And before she could contain herself, she scowled. She couldn't help it, really.

It was just for a second or two anyway, before she got the expression back into carefully crafted neutrality.

But Ned had seen it.

…He'd seen it.

And he had grunted.

And grunted, again and again, each time louder than the last. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to disguise it, his frame bouncing up and down minutely, desperately trying to hold it under control. The Honour of his Lady Wife was at stake, as well as the dignity of the Royals!

He whined minutely, on the verge of collapsing.

And of course, that was when Robert, who was sitting on his other side, looked at his friend to see what the big deal was, after munching off a truly monstrous chicken leg.

And saw Ned's face, velvet red as he stared at a lemon in a cup.

The chicken remains had exploded out of Robert's mouth, peppering Ned and Lady Stark with chicken debris in a glorious collage of food and saliva, Robert's mouth making a pretty good personification of the gift that keeps on giving as a veritable torrent of food landed on poor Eddard.

Then Ned Stark, to the wild consternation of everyone… actually howled with laughter. He had clutched the table, as if trying to deal with an immense recoil as gales of laughter were forcefully emptied from his body, like some kind of trapped daemon that had finally been exorcised.

Needless to say, the rest of the table had soon followed.

Joffrey had been sitting a fair distance away, along with Jon and Tyrion. They had watched the unfurling madness in amused silence, only broken when the damnable Imp extended his hand towards Joffrey.

Joffrey had pointedly ignored it, but the Imp had shaken it again, not even looking at Joffrey as he waited patiently.

Joffrey had clutched his head with one hand and handed the Imp a bag of gold dragon with the other one.

You win this time… somehow…

-.PD.-

The merry atmosphere had been like a soothing balm for Joffrey's mind, taking the edge off the recent developments. Besides the frightening thought that a part of his (hopefully) former sadistic past was hiding inside him somewhere, the whole situation with the tablet had him stumped. To have the rules of the game change after so long filled him with uncertainty, fear and excitement in equal measure. Could he die? Really die? Did he even want to? Why was this happening to him?

He had spent countless nights staring at the damned thing without result. The rune was complicated, that was for sure, and it seemed to hint at something… but what? Strangely enough, the Rune only appeared to cover the top segment of the tablet, less than a quarter of it actually…

The implications of that little fact were… even more obscure.

It was like trying to read Tyrion's Lives of Four Kings (which after all this time he was barely a third through) without even knowing the language! Impossible!

So he had spent the months hanging out with the various Starks, mostly Jon and Sansa. With Jon he trained every day in the yard, and with the ever present threat of lemons both mother and stepmother kept a healthy distance from it. He was vaguely sad that in a few lives he would be better than Jon, and so his training experience with him would not be able to be repeated, so he tried to make the most of it.

He learned a ton of stuff about him, and was somewhat surprised when one day he realized he thought of him as a friend. Those had been a rare sight since his first life and beyond.

Jon, it turns out, was the undisputed brooding champion of Winterfell, edging out Ned by a few icy expressions, something that him and Tyrion mercilessly ribbed upon the Bastard. He had been raised in a painful limbo between Nobility and Bastardship, between the loving atmosphere of his family and the toxic one of his stepmother. For all of his silent demeanor he had a rich inner world that strongly reminded him of Ned's talks in the Godswood (and Joffrey still went there almost daily). He was good with the sword (obviously) loved Arya with his soul (still obvious) and his grand dream was to, someday, become a glorified, celibate guard on the edge of nowhere with nothing to do but to, as Tyrion so eloquently put it, freeze his balls off (what?!).

Not that they'd be of much use there, Joffrey had said, to the general amusement of Team Lannister.

They had managed to not get too big a laugh out of it, not out of any respect to a red and snorting Jon, but because their bellies had hurt so much. The childlike mood that had taken over Winterfell like a bad bug had reached such incredulous proportions that every time Robert even looked at Ned they had to pinch themselves or otherwise explode into laughter for no reason.

Tyrion had dialed down on the random lemons after that… he had been afraid someone would have a heart attack.

He had also spent quite some time with Sansa. A proposition that would have no doubt surprised his former self. She was sweet and caring in a more genuine way than the platonic "'relationship'" they had in his first life, if he took the careful steps necessary to make her feel a bit more like her equal than the 'prize to be wooed' ideal that had been hammered into her by her damned Septa.

…Now there was a chief lemon sucker if I ever saw one…

Unfortunately for him, the Imp had heard that remark, and when Sansa innocently commented one day about the curious bowl full of lemons her, the Septa and Arya had found propped up in the Septa's seat, he'd had no choice but to tell her the whole joke.

Which, now that he thought about it, had helped with one of the long endeavors he had dedicated himself to here in Winterfell. He had spent the months subtly probing her, getting past the layers of stereotyped, imported Southness and the 'romantic' but laughably innocent stories of Knights and Princes, trying to activate the uncanny intellect he had glimpsed in previous lives.

It was a slow going process, but he had not been disappointed. He could already glimpse the flashes of insight and maybe even the beginnings of a playful mischief… or he was completely wrong with all of this and he was chasing shadows.

The sound of revolving bowls brought him back to reality. "Done!" said Sansa as he turned back.

They were out enjoying the breeze below Winterfell's Heart Tree, and was using a little (somewhat ominous) trick he had learned in the life after the Leviathan.

In front of him, on the ground, were 6 upside down silver bowls they had 'liberated' from the kitchens, all identical. Sansa was to the side, looking at him with a vaguely amused and thoughtful expression.

Joffrey stared at the bowls, before closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, as if settling in for a long meditation under the Heart tree or on top of a ship's mainmast.

Breath… Out… Breath… Out…

He tried to feel it, deep inside him…

Soon he found it, a ghostly sensation between a shiver and an intuition.

He opened his eyes and pointed to the fourth bowl. "That one" he said.

Sansa let out a breath as she shook her head, flipping the bowl and revealing the Whalebone tablet.

"Yet again… alright, one more time" she said, a determined frown on her face.

Joffrey smiled good naturedly as he turned back again "As you wish" he said, enjoying her befuddled tone of voice.

He soon heard the bowls being shuffled about again, and the process was repeated.

Only this time… he was sure, it was not in the bowls.

But how? Could this strange instinct fail him? It hadn't in the dozen times he'd done this with the Hound… but—

Wait! He could feel it--

…Actually…

He gazed at Sansa accusingly, mildly surprised. "You still have it!" he said.

She smirked a bit in mischief as she showed him her hand, which had never dropped the tablet. It lasted for less than two seconds before a ghostly Septa inside her head admonished her and she lowered her head a bit, internally reprehended.

Yep, there's the playful mischief again, he thought.

He loved to discover things like that, little, intriguing nuggets of her character that sometimes popped up. It gave him a curious sense of wellbeing, gradually getting to know her like that. It was a shame that he would never actually know her completely, nor have a lot of meaningful experiences together. No matter what he did, things would go to shit after the first year, and to see her turn into an emotional wreck time and time again… He… He couldn't do it. Better to bail out of the Kingdoms as always, and incidentally avoid getting killed for that ugly lump of iron.

"How do you do it?" she asked as she handed him the tablet and sat beside him below the Heart Tree.

Joffrey thought really hard about it, but in the end it was a kind of instinctive knowledge he just knew if he cared to listen. One thing about the mysterious tablet was certain though…

"Magic" he said.

Sansa huffed "That's what they always say… Still trying to decode it?" she asked.

…She must have seen my eye bags, the scribbled parchments and the pile of books in my room and connected the dots…

"You're very perceptive" he told her with a smile. She ducked a bit, but slowly, almost haltingly, she raised her head again to look back at Joffrey in the eyes.

YES! Take that Lady Stark! And your damned Septa too!

She looked at the tablet for a bit before commenting, "Well, it's not in the Old Tongue, at least I know enough to say that…"

"Yeah, was one of the first things I checked, not even close" Said Joffrey.

Sansa leaned back on the uprooted stem she was sitting on, looking thoughtful as she bit her lip.

The wind blew a bit harder then, scattering the leaves of the Heart Tree all around them. The twirling red little things mixed up with her scarlet hair as it too moved with the wind, the play of reds slowly forming a shroud around her face.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" asked Joffrey, startled.

"I asked you if you'd checked with the Maesters?" she repeated.

"Ah… yes, I asked the Grand Maester, he was as clueless as I was" he said absentmindedly.

"No no, I meant if you checked the Citadel. If there's one place on Westeros that could help you, that'd be it, I guess." She said.

"Didn't work either, they sent me a raven telling me they had no idea too" Said Joffrey.

"And how much time did they search?" she asked him.

Joffrey counted a bit in his mind. That had been another sadly lacking skill he'd been training throughout his lives. "Hmmm, minus flight time… two weeks?" he said.

Sansa nodded before looking straight at his eyes "Two weeks doesn't sound like a lot of time to search for something as seemingly old as this… And, I've never been to the Citadel but I know it's huge. They couldn't have been very thorough… Have you… thought about going to see for yourself?" she told him, a bit ashamed of asking the Prince to go visit the Citadel of all places.

Joffrey sat very still as he digested that. Two weeks… of course! Inside his head he was treating this as if the fate of the world depended on it, but from the perspective of the Maesters it must have looked like a princely whim, an impulse of the moment. What did Joffrey, dumbest noble of the Seven Kingdoms, want with a strange symbol no one had ever seen before… they probably thought he had invented it himself to prank the Maesters.

So what did they do? They went through the motions and called it a day when they found nothing in all the obvious places.

"That's it!" He shouted. "The Citadel itself… Sansa you are right!" he laughed as he got up and grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around once before setting her down and pumping his hand.

Fuck yes! After months, a promising lead at last!!!

…

Wait.

He abruptly stopped cheering and looked at Sansa.

Gods, I've never seen someone blush so hard.

What a strange impulse… Joffrey hoped he hadn't freaked her out with that. It had just felt appropriate, to celebrate a bit after all the fruitless searching…

They calmly walked out of the park as if nothing had happened, and Joffrey grimaced as something twirled inside his belly.

There's weeks of hard riding ahead, I can't get a bug now! He thought furiously as he tried to remember if he'd eaten anything that smelled funny lately.