Chapter 6: 5 Retracing Your Steps
Joffrey awoke as he thrashed along his bed, getting tangled on his bed sheets and rolling out into the floor. His muffled screaming brought the Hound crashing through the door and jumping on top of Joffrey with a dagger, trying to disentangle him from the bed sheets and his would be killer. "What the…" muttered Clegane as he slapped the screaming Joffrey hard, enough for him to focus on the Hound.
As Joffrey took stock of his surroundings, he looked at his hands, slowly flexing them back and forth. "Thank you, Hound…" he whispered as he got up and sat on his bed, touching his now unblemished skin.
He remembered as the searing agony of burning flesh gave way to the familiar torment of the purple.
Everything goes so wrong no matter what I do…
Perhaps that's what I'm doing wrong, moving out of the travelled path.
Joffrey nodded to himself as the Hound gave him a wary look. Better do everything exactly as last time… every other path leads to certain death… and the purple.
He shivered at that last thought. The purple didn't seem to get any bearable every time he died, in fact, Joffrey could swear it was sometimes worse. It pained him not to take action against confirmed traitors, but by now, there were few things Joffrey would have preferred to the godsdamned purple.
-.PD.-
The next days followed the course of his first life, something Joffrey was increasingly calling a 'standard course' on his head. It seemed, for now, the only way to keeps things relatively stable for Joffrey and avoid releasing all seven hells of pain upon him. Westeros was slowly looking more and more like a deathtrap, were any false step could end in oh so painful death and an even worse metaphysical damnation after that. He would sometimes wonder how the hell he had made it as far as he did in his first life. Maybe that one had been the outlier, and the rest were the normal ones? That chain of thought threatened Joffrey's sanity (as little as that remained), so he decided not to think too much about it.
Deciding not to make any big changes around, the trip north went mainly as standard, excepting two details. The first one was arms training. In his last life he hadn't been defeated exactly, but it had been a humiliating battle by any means. A King being held up for the entire fight by a single Tyrell soldier was simply unacceptable, besides, to make matters worse the wounds the soldier had inflicted on Joffrey before his death had likely been fatal… had they not burned him later anyway…
Joffrey shivered at the memory of the flames licking his skin as they got closer and closer…
So he had taken arms training with the Hound again, and was making slow progress yet again, now lasting about 4 parries in a supposedly 'all out' battle with the Hound, though Joffrey severely doubted the Hound fought him at his max in those sessions. Not that he complained, even using the whole ensemble of padded armor Joffrey still ended up feeling like shit and sore all over.
The other thing he did was hold the occasional conversation with his traitorous uncle Tyrion. His older self would have been surprised and horrified, probably. Still, after having fought with him at the Fall of King's Landing (well, rather the second Fall of King's Landing, Tyrion had apparently gotten his head chopped off at Harrnehall's heart tree by the Red Wolf before the first fall, so he hadn't been there when…. Crack… Crack… Crack…)
"Nephew?" asked his uncle, confused. Joffrey suddenly realized he was staring again at the tent's side, and quickly shook his head. "Never mind that, you were telling me about the voyages beyond the Jade Sea?" he told him. The imp looked a bit curious for a bit, well, more curious than he had been before, but quickly kept talking about the explorers beyond the Jade Sea and how few if any survived the terrible monsters and diseases that prowled the end of the known world. The imp told surprisingly interesting and entertaining tales, both informative and fun, if you took the time to listen to him. Something that struck him quite hard as he tried to… merge the two different understanding he had about his uncle.
The sheer bravery he had displayed, how he had talked to him and kept him calm through Stannis's attack. Those things had bothered Joffrey, so he had decided to get to know his uncle and would be murderer better. Instead, it had only deepened Joffrey's questions. If he didn't lambast and torment the imp and just sat and listened, Joffrey found out he had indeed a lot to say just about everything. Maybe the imp had been a Grand Maester in another life of his own?
It only made his transformation from laid back, witty intellectual uncle to would be murderer and regicide that much more troubling. Joffrey had not made the imp dislike him that much… had he?
There's something deeply wrong with you, Joffrey.
He ignored Eddard Stark's voice once more.
-.PD.-
He mostly spent his time in Winterfell on a repeat of past events, though it was surprisingly difficult. The consistent sneering and whining of his first life was a constant and fatiguing drain. After having been strangled multiple times, disemboweled by a sword, had every bone on his body shattered and then strangled again only to be burnt alive and strangled by some cosmic entity yet again… some things he just didn't feel were worth the effort. Still, to change the path meant certain death, so he soldiered on. He whined about using real swords to Ser Rodrik and Bran Stark yet again, though he did feel a bit of a hypocrite. He actually preferred his bouts with practice swords and fully armored in padded training armor. To train without them would leave Joffrey a swollen, suffering blob. And to do it with live steel was just… idiotic.
Bran Stark fell from the Broken Tower like always, and Joffrey guessed he'd had to send that assassin to try to kill him (and fail) again… though the justification for that blunder seemed awfully stupid in hindsight… he had been angry at Bran for… showing off…?
If he lived past his wedding this time, he would be sure to save his assassins for more pressing threats this time, Starks or not. Still, he was glad when they left Winterfell. Joffrey figured that he had killed or been killed by more than half of the Starks… the whole lot of them were better off in their snowy hell. Sadly they still took the two girls south, and he had to again stumble upon Arya, torment a no name smallfolk kid, and be attacked in kind by the oversized wolf.
-.PD
Events played out, weeks went by… and Stark made his move. In hindsight it was telling how choreographed the whole thing had been. The escalating tensions, dueling with his uncle Jaime on the streets, the death of his Father while hunting… it was eerily, as if events had been guided just right to plunge his kingdoms into chaos and war… Though he knew that was just an illusion. One wrong choice could (and had) spiral the whole thing out of control and he could end up beaten to death by a psychotic wolf or used as fuel for a pretty bonfire. Again, best not to risk it.
He was assaulted by almost a kind of… apathy? Everyone was dancing to the tune of destiny, and only he had the keys to change it. It should have made him feel as powerful as a god, but after all that had happened he just felt a crushing anxiety when he thought just how wrong things could go.
As Stark entered the room followed by his retainers and Goldcloaks, Joffrey tried to remember what he had said.
Everyone was solemnly staring at each other, hands on the pommels or spear shafts, slowly spreading their feet apart, ready for a sudden outbreak of violence… and Joffrey cursed.
"Kneel before your King, Lord Stark, and you will be able to return to your lands in the North in peace." Said her Mother dangerously.
"I wish to be crowned in…" Damnit, had it been a fortnight or a week? Think damnit.
Stark and his mother looked at him as he mulled it in his head.
Fuuuuuck… it hadn't been a month… right…? No, I'm sure…
More and more faces turned his way as he scrounged his head in concentration. Nothing would go to hell if he just said the words wrong… right?
Crack… Crack…Crack
Stark was looking a bit nonplussed as Joffrey scrounged his head in intense concentration, and Ser Barristan looked behind him to see if he was okay.
"mmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa fuck it. A week." He said, at last.
The long pause had kind of chilled the tension on the room, and the soldiers looked at each other ankwardly.
Joffrey scratched his head. "I want to be crowned in a week?" He kind of asked, only to shake his head. "Argh! Damnit! It was a fortnight! Yeah, a fortnight!" he said. Stark looked at him strangely as he struggled to say his piece.
"Well… get on with it!" urged Joffrey. He hadn't messed up… had…he?
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Stark seemed to shake his head as he got a parchment out of his pocket. "Ser Barristan, no one in this room could doubt that you are a man of honor" he said as he handed him the letter.
Yeeeeeeeeeeees!
The Stark retainers died en mass as Joffrey sagged in relief on his Throne.
-.PD.-
Joffrey had to contain himself not to jump into a dance and song as he walked aimlessly throughout the lower reaches of the Red Keep. All good for now! And with a bit of luck the other houses of Westeros will follow their path and all will be as it should be, he thought as he kept walking past a rusted off flood gate near the tower of the Hand.
There was suddenly movement behind him. In a blink, hard taught reflexes (mainly the desire not to end up stabbed in the back in the Battles of the Blackwater or the Falls of King's Landing) made him turn around as he unsheathed his trusty arming sword.
Behind him, the red, tear streaked face of Arya Stark eyed him in desperation, clutching some kind of short rapier… that was covered in blood.
Fuck you… fate?
Now all was going to go off the fucking rails.
"I saw nothing if you saw nothing!" he told her as he took a step back, moving his hands in a pacifying manner. Please just go please just go please just go.
Arya seemed to take a step back… and then plunged right into Joffrey with a cat like scream.
"Footwork" the Hound roared inside his head as Joffrey started parrying blows.
Oh Shit… Parry… If she died would the… Parry… Red Wolf come calling… Parry…
Somehow, the last parry ended up with Joffrey batting her sword aside and punching her with all his strength in the face… a favorite move by the Hound. She sailed sideways and smashed her head on a pole, falling to the ground unconscious.
Well… I'm truly fucked now.
He tried to feel a pulse as the godsdamned imp of all people had showed him. She was alive. In the Red Keep. Another bargaining chip in the completely incompetent hands of his family… They would sure find some absolutely important use for her in some way…
They wouldn't screw up yet again, would they?
I'm so dead, whispered a voice in Joffrey's head.
-.PD.-
Joffrey paced back and forth in one of the shady, damp caves that dotted the Red Keep. You'd think the Targeryans would have plugged all the holes in their master fortress, he thought irreverently.
He paced and he paced and he paced. "FUCK!.... SHIT!... TITS!" he said that last one channeling the imp.
The grey mound in front of him shuffled as it moaned. A scraggly, dirty head popped out of it as she took stock of all the ropes tied around her.
"You!" he said as he wheeled back to Arya. "Have you any idea what you've done! No?! Would you like getting used as kindling for Stannis's coronation ceremony's fire show?!" he shouted, channeling a somewhat budding sarcasm Joffrey had had absolutely no idea he possessed.
"…uha?" Said Arya, eloquently. "Or maybe you'd like to be used as a nail holder while you get hammered like a fucking plank!" he screamed at her as he sat opposite, breathing hard.
"uhm" grunted Arya, shuffling, probably trying to get out of the bindings.
"Look you dumb Stark bitch! This is how it's going to work! I'm going to cut you free, and you are going to do exactly what you were thinking about doing before you found me… okay?!"He said, well, more like begged.
"What… I was going to do?" She asked lamely, shaking her head in confusion.
"Yes! What you … you do remember what you were going to do, right?" asked Joffrey.
"I-I just wanted to escape!" she said, glaring fiercely at him.
He had changed things, if he just let her go now she could be captured before she leaves the Red Keep.
Oh gods…
-.PD.-
The covered wagon creaked its way to the Red Keeps inner gate. "Hold!" Shouted one of the Red Cloaks as he stopped the horses and walked to the handler's seat. "By order of the Queen Mother all traffic--- Your Grace?!" he asked, gobsmacked.
"Let me pass in the name of your King…" ordered Joffrey from the driver's seat, shaking his head.
"K-King –Joffrey! I hadn't recognized you! Open the gates at once!" shouted the guard.
Joffrey just shook his head again and sighted.
-.PD.-
I never actually learned how to handle a wagon. That particularly useful thought struck Joffrey as the wagon rumbled through King's Landing, the horses completely out of control.
If I die here, I fear the shame will be so big I won't wake up again. He thought flippantly as vegetable vendors scrambled out of the way and the carriage crashed right into a fish stand.
As fate would have it, Joffrey didn't die, he was merely propelled forward and stamped against a nearby house's wall.
A group of angry smallfolks gathered around the carriage as Joffrey got up from the foor, nursing a broken arm that dangled uselessly. He stumbled his way to the back of the carriage. "Look, you can keep the horses, just SHUT UP!" he screamed at the fish stand's owner. He should have skewered him instead like one of his fish, but if his first life had taught him anything was that smallfolks were always three insults and a sword blow away from a riot. He didn't want a riot right now, thank you very much.
He opened the back door of the carriage with his good hand and cut out Arya's ropes with her own sword. "Just do… what you think you should do…" Said Joffrey lamely as he tossed her the rapier and took a wary step back. Arya was looking dumbly at him "Why?" she simply said, a strange mix of gratitude and bewilderment. Her expression made Joffrey feel oddly proud of himself.
"Just go" he said as he walked away. It felt good to be appreciated for once…
Then he remembered what he needed to do to Lord Stark.
He sighted then. She won't be nearly as pleased when I chop off his head…
Though Joffrey thought he would be. The blood that would come off the traitors head—
"There's something deeply wrong with you, Joffrey" Whispered a moribund Lord Stark in his head. He shook the thought away.
-.PD.-
The same guard straightened as he opened the Red Keep's gate… and nearly closed it from horror as he saw his King.
"Your Gra--?"
"Not. A. Word." Said Joffrey as he limped past the gate, holding his useless arm and being generally miserable.
This better be worth it. If it all goes to shit again I don't know what I'll do…
-.PD.-
Everyone was silent as the people awaited the verdict of their King. The shocking revelation, the treason of the late Kings best friend was incredible…
Joffrey shuffled, nursing his now tied up arm, trying to take in his chair's shade, and failing. The day was hot and Joffrey was silently smoldering in the midday heat.
Everybody was staring at him. Oh, right, my part.
"The King's justice…" He started… What had he said exactly…?
Not this shit again.
He sighted, tired. I just want to lay down…
"The justice… ah damn it. Ser Illyn, take his head." He ordered. He covered his ears in annoyance as Sansa screamed and fainted as Lord Stark's head was cut off and his mother nattered as she tried to rush Lord Stark to stop the inevitable.
Joffrey felt…
Tired.
"Let's go Hound." He said as he stood up, heading to his horse.
-.PD.-
Joffrey anxiously followed the Raven correspondence throughout the "War of the Five Kings" as it had been called shortly before he died in his first life. When Stannis came a knocking, Joffrey felt, for the first time, shame for his actions. When the runner arrived from the Red Keep, telling him his mother had sent for him, Joffrey struggled with what to do. "Joffrey, If you won't fight for them, why should they fight for you?!" Exclaimed the Imp, gesticulating to the watching soldiers everywhere as wildfire explosions echoed through the city and the harbor.
He didn't care that much for the soldiers… but he didn't want to be seen as a coward. What happened last time… had been awkward and shameful for the King of the Realm, being incapable of defending his own capital. But the alternative meant forging a new path… and that had consequences.
The fire consumed his body like it was firewood, eagerly leaping to his face---
No, never again!
"I… I'm sorry uncle" He said, surprised he actually meant it. "Ser Boros, Ser Meryn, you will represent the King in battle… Good luck." He said as he step down the stairs. He felt the soldier's stares on his back as he moved with the runner back towards the Red Keep. He wanted to shout at them that this was the only path! He wanted to make them suffer for making him feel this way!
I have to. It's the only way to survive.
-.PD.-
When the Tyrell's arrived (and didn't start cutting down Goldcloaks) Joffrey exhaled in relief. Stannis had been routed, and the Lannisters had won. He had had to endure his Grandfather's pompous entrance, but it was worth it. It was all worth it.
Less enjoyable was the spectacle that followed next morning. Watching Tywin enter the Throne Room on his fucking horse again was almost more than he could bear. Why the horse? For all of his seriousness and harsh demeanor, his Grandfather had a flair for the dramatic and an ego bigger than said horse.
As he entered, Joffrey proclaimed. "I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, First of his name, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my Grandfather, Tywin Lannister, Savior of the City, and Hand of the King!"
That was a mouthful… For all his prowess, Tywin hadn't even helped that much in the counter attack. The Westerlands Army was still at Harrenhal, cowering on fear of the Young Wolf. It had been the Tyrells, and of course the imp that had turned the tide, not that anyone would admit that.
As the arrogant bastard retreated with an amiable "Thank you, Your Grace", leaving horse shit all over the floor, Joffrey called Baelish and gifted him Harrenhall, same as last time. Joffrey was honestly surprised as to how someone could look so harmless yet possess so much influence. He hadn't forgotten that in another life, Baelish had arranged a Tyrell alliance and marriage… with the Red fucking Wolf.
Best for him to stay out of the way and at Harrenhall then.
The only silver lining in the whole deal was his prize, his Maergery. Of course, they had rehearsed all the show that followed, same as last time. Loras proclaimed that he wanted Joffrey to marry Maergery as his reward for aiding the Lannisters in their darkest hour. They made quite the spectacle for the courtiers as his mother and Grand Maester Pycell debated over the possibility of dropping Sansa's betrothal with the consent of law and gods. And so, just like that, Joffrey had exchanged the mostly worthless, naive Sansa for the far more pleasant Maergery.
-.PD.-
The next days and weeks were much more pleasant with Maergery as his betrothed. Always saying the right thing, praising him, and bowing to the will of her King when appropriate. She was certainly the ideal queen, with both grace and beauty, and, unlike Sansa, she didn't look like she was on the verge of crying every day.
Though… She did seem a bit insistent, trying to steer him away from some choices and into other ones. After some of their discussions Joffrey would find himself… making a decision that he had not agreed on earlier. That bothered him a bit. Plus, he didn't remember her being this way in his first life… or did he? Had he somehow changed things even though he roughly followed the path this time?
More questions…
Events mostly preceded as standard, the Red Wedding, the flight of Stannis North, and other less notable events. The Red Wedding in particular was a stone of his back for Joffrey. Knowing the Red Wolf menace was gone for good made him almost forget the insolent ways of his grandfather. Almost.
As the day of his wedding approached, Joffrey's shakes, which had relegated themselves mostly to the background, started to come back more often. Dreams of burning alive and poisoned plagued his sleep, and his conversations with Maergery seemed only to make it worse. For some reason he was a bit more tense and stressed when he talked to her these days…
-.PD.-
Finally the big day arrived. Joffrey could barely keep his breakfast in his stomach as the guests presented their gifts and wished him their best. Joffrey however could see how they eyed Maergery with some kind of… pity? When the guests noticed him looking at them they quickly turned away, eager to be out of his sight.
The best gift, as always, was the magnificent Valyrian steel sword that had been recycled from the traitors arsenal. …Widows Wail, as he had named her before and did so again now, was both beautiful and deadly. Joffrey remembered thinking it was a shame he hadn't had it sooner to battle with it… he knew better now. The battlefield was a horrid place where he hoped he never had to return again.
When the imp presented him his book, Joffrey prepared himself to cut it to shreds all over again. "'The Lives of Four Kings', Your Grace. A book every King should read." Said the imp, handing him the vast, embroided tome to the applause of the audience. As he stood up to cut it in half, Joffrey hesitated. The damned Imp's wit and intellect was as sharp as valyran steel, that much Joffrey knew just by talking to him somewhat more often in this life. That made him more than a bit envious, to be smarter than the King…
Respect and Envy… wouldn't old Joffrey be surprised. He thought somewhat sardonically. Fuck it, if he can read it, so can I.
So he just smiled and nodded, taking in the book. He'd read it later, maybe there'd be something useful there after all, and if not he could always shred it later.
The dinner proceeded almost the same as last time, Joffrey thought, though his memory of that day was far from perfect. He barely even touched his cup, only moistening his lips at most, his eyes never leaving the imp. Shit, need to torment him like last time. He had forgotten about that!
As he emptied his wine cup on the imp, and continued to torment him in an unseemly manner, Joffrey felt the tiniest twinge of guilt, but ruthlessly suppressed it. This was the man that had killed him, after all.
As the imp searched for the cup below the table, the giant cake arrived. Warily, conscious now of how close he had been on his first life of cutting his own hand with Widow's Wail, he cut the cake. The pigeons that burst from it where a lot less impressive when you knew they'd come out… though their bloodied remains… seemed to energized Joffrey as he looked at them. As their blood soaked a bit of the cake, Joffrey felt pleased with himself.
"There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey" Said a dead man in his head.
"Shut up Stark!" He shouted, almost tossing the sword. The stunned silence from the crowd made him scowl as he turned back. Time to end the charade traitorous imp!
"Imp, you are my cup bearer! Refill the cup!" he commanded. The imp looked humiliated and almost.. hurt? He didn't remember that… as he grabbed the cup that had been laid next to Olenna Tyrell, pouring the wine and holding it to him.
Joffrey felt his breath quicken as the moment of his first death approached. Now was the moment of truth. Not accepting the cup, he stared at the imp.
"You drink it" He said, icily, looking at the traitor in his eyes. The imp stared back at him, bewildered and wary.
"DRINK IT!" He bellowed, setting his hand on his sword's pommel.
The imp knew he was going to die, Joffrey had to be prepared for anything, after all he admitted it freely, the imp was brave. It was possible he could even try to kill Joffrey right then and there once discovered. He should bring in his Kingsguard to hold him and make him—
"Certainly" He said with a forced smile. "I've never refused a free drink before!" he shouted as he downed the cup in one gulp.
What the…
Joffrey stared in shock as the Imp killed himself.
"Uncle… why?" He asked dumbly.
He lifted his eyebrows "Why what?"
So, I changed things, willingly or not. The imp probably plans to kill me at another time, and---
Cough! The imp wheezed.
"I didn't remember Braavosi Amber being so sour!" he said as he wrinkled his nose.
A slow, burning realization seared past his head as Joffrey watched his own uncle die.
It hadn't been him.
… and coughed… and coughed again and again as he stared at his hands in confusion.
He was a scapegoat.
He collapsed on the floor as his head turned an ugly purple and his hands scrabbled at his neck. People where already shouting, but unlike when Joffrey had died, no one was calling for help.
Joffrey shook his head. "Someone bring the Grand Maester! Your King commands you!" he shouted. "U-uncle.. hold on!" he said uselessly as he stared helplessly. His uncle Jaime suddenly emerged from the crowd at a dead sprint and kneeled in front of the imp. "TYRION! WHERE'S THE GRAND MAESTER!" He bellowed with all his strength as he desperately shook the imp around.
It was all useless. With one final gurgle, the imp lay dead.
Joffrey stared around him as the courtiers and everyone else stared dumbly at the scene in front of them. Though no one except his uncle Jaime seemed too bothered by the death apart from its gruesomeness, in fact, his mother looked positively interested as she looked at the imp, then horrified when she looked at Joffrey and probably remembered he had been a handful away from suffering the same fate.
Things were more complicated than he had thought…
-.PD.-
After a thorough checking of all the food and wine (only the wine on his cup had been found to be tainted) the celebrations resumed, albeit in a much more somber mood. There was no choice but to go no, the Affairs of the Kingdoms waited for no one said some of the more cynical courtiers. The fact that no one had even questioned that the wedding would continue on as planned spoke leagues as to what the nobility present thought of the Imp.
Joffrey was still kind of processing it all as he tried to figure out who exactly wanted him dead. All those considerations however faded away as he was carried by the woman of the party to his bedding.
He was promptly carried to his bedchambers and locked inside… confronted with a naked, gorgeous Maergery, staring back demurely at him, hiding her lower parts coyly with her long legs.
Gods…
His mind blanked as he processed the sight. He had already seen a naked woman before… a now strangely distasteful and pleasurable memory of a crossbow and a tied whore assaulted him… He had never actually done the deed. He had preferred… bloodier hobby's. It was really a belated hindsight.
Time to fix that.
"Don't be shy, Your Grace, your natural charm will surely transfer itself to the bed in no time" she told him as she patted the bed seductively.
She sure has a way with words. Thought Joffrey as he breathed quicker.
Damn, I need something to calm myself.
He looked behind him and found a conveniently placed wine bottle. Suppressing shivers at the familiar memory, Joffrey praised fate in his mind. At last something goes my way.
The bottle seemed new and sealed. It was a fine vintage of Dornish red with the best complements of Oberyn Martel in a letter beside it. He quickly skimmed the letter and left it in favor of the wine. Even so, he took a minuscule sip from it and savored it before discreetly spitting it out at the cup…
Not even a trace of sour. It was even a bit spicy.
Content, he downed the whole thing. He could already feel his nerves steading as he advanced on Maergery, and they started kissing.
His heart beated away franticly as the kiss deepened, and both fell on the bed. This was even better than he had imagined!
His hands started exploring away as his heart soared even higher. Thump. Thump. Thump.
This… this was what it meant to be King!
Thump. Thump.ThumpThumpTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.
His heart hammered away in a frenzy as they continued to mingle on the bed. This…. THUMP is THUMP not THUMP norm---
THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
Joffrey cried out as his heart beat seemed to reach such a velocity it was as if it was no longer beating, just one pulsing stream.
Then it finally stopped.
Silence.
Joffrey screamed wordlessly as his heart stopped completely, and felt a deep, aching pain on his chest. "…Joffrey?" asked a flushed Maergery.
This can't be happening.
He fell out of bed, clutching his chest with both hands. He couldn't even speak as his body seemed on fire. "Joffrey!!" screamed Maergery.
One of the Kingsguard ruptured through the door, and rushed Joffrey. As more and more people streamed in, Joffrey had one last thought as the purple creeped into his vision.
I can't believe I died a virgin again…
His neck snapped and his throat collapsed in the purple void.
He screamed into the abyss as the purple consumed him.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone