Because as much as I literally squealed with joy when the Purple Wedding came around, I really want to believe that Joffrey wasn't always the monster we've seen in the show... :)

Snow in Kings Landing was rare, extremely rare, and yet now that it was happening, he was confined in bed, feeling both hot and cold at the same time, his brow burning but hands shaking underneath the covers that had been put over his body.

Joffrey hated it. After all, what twelve year old boy would want to be stuck in his room by orders of the master while it snowed outside?

Heaving a defeated sigh, he barely managed to turn his head before a slight throbbing appeared in the back of his skull, the awful ache returning with a vengeance. He squeezed his eyes shut- damn the bloody fever! Of all the people it could have affected, of course it had to be him, and because of it, he couldn't even be down with the others, let alone take a step outdoors.

Outside.

He'd pleaded with his Mother earlier to let him out, just take a few steps in the castle gardens, but she would hear none of it, going on about how he needed to recover so that he could attend his lessons with the masters and go back to wielding his weapons. If he were honest with himself, Joffrey would rather spend his time outside than cooped up having to listen to uninteresting lectures and pick up swords his arms could barely carry.

Mother had left him about an hour ago now, gently stroking his blonde hair as she promised to be back in a while, knowing he needed to sleep if he wanted to get rid of the illness, but the damn illness was what was preventing him to drift of in the first place, the sweat sleeked mane sticking to his head being only a minor problem.

Again, the boy cast a longing glance throughout the window, watery eyes following the tiny white flakes in their descent, floating down to land gently on the ground, covering it in a thin white sheet, and Joffrey could swear he'd never seen anything more wonderful in his short life so far. Blue irises trailing along the white gardens, a flash of gold caught his attention, and, squinting his eyes, he barely managed to make out his little sister, Myrcella, crouched down in the middle of the pale sea, her hands roaming through the snow and molding a small ball out of it.

He couldn't make out her face, but surely she must be lonely, out there on her one, he thought, as nobody seemed to notice her, not even Tommen, who clung to them both like there was no tomorrow at the moment.

The bright white stung his eyes, and the blonde had to scrunch them up as the unwanted tears welled up due to the stinging brilliance below. It wasn't fair, and he couldn't do a thing about it, as he turned his gaze away from the gray sky outside to the dull walls of his bedroom, his little sister's laugh but a dim sound in the distance. He tried to ignore it, he tried to block out the sounds of fun and games that he could not share in, but Myrcella's voice kept drifting in, breaking the barrier of both the windows the dull throbbing in his head. Joffrey turned in his bed, unwilling to partake in his sister's happiness at first, but as what felt like hours rolled by and his loneliness increased, and still his sister was out there, he couldn't ignore the slight tug coursing through his limbs, encouraging him to move.

Heaving a frustrated sigh and knowing he was not going to find sleep anytime soon, Joffrey put shaking arms at either side of himself and gave a slight push, easing him upwards a little and sparing a moment to catch his breath, the action in itself having demanded quite a bit of effort from his already drained body, but he knew it would be worth it. Sparing a glance around the bedroom and listening out to make sure nobody would barge through the door and force him once again on his back, the twelve year old got to his feet, a little unsteady at first, and grabbed one of the spare blankets that had been carefully put atop his bead over his shoulders to ease the tremors that still affected them.

After making his way to the door and peering around the corridor a little hesitantly, Joffrey made his way down, careful so as to avoid the crowded areas and the room he knew his parents would be bound to be in, knowing exactly where he was headed and that were he to be seen, it would mean a one-way trip back to his bed, which the prince had gotten quite tired of at this point and would be glad to escape, if only for a little while.

Myrcella was still there when he finally managed to make it to the gardens, the red dress she'd been wearing covered in white and her hands now covering a gradually forming snowball. She didn't hear him at first, engrossed in the shaping of whatever she was making, and Joffrey was content just looking at her for a while, observing how her delicate hands lovingly shaped the round form and how it placed two small stones in it's middle, giving yes to the sphere, now a head.

As she took a step back to admire her handiwork, she must have seen him in the corner of her eye, as she seemed slightly startled "Joff'!"

Joffrey could swear he felt the edge of his lips curling upwards into what must have been a failed attempt at a smile, for the cough that he pathetically tried to cover up must have deformed it quite quickly. He barely noticed she'd come over before he felt a small, warm hand on his hunched shoulders, and as he looked up, he could make out what must have been a concerned smile. "Aren't you meant to be sleeping? The master said that you were still not feeling well this morning."

"I don't feel so bad now." He lied, not really wanting to have his sister drag him all the way back to his bedroom, knowing she could very well do it if she wanted to. "I promise." He added as she raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

It may not have totally satisfied her, but as she went back to adding little stones along her snowman's body, Joffrey guessed it had been enough, and that even if his forehead felt like it was on fire right now, he could deal with it later.

"Can you help me?" She hesitantly looked up at him after a few moments of silence, "For the face?" She added, pointing to the still untouched upper part of her snowy sculpture.

"Of course, little sister." He smiled faintly, as she handed him the few stones she'd been holding in her hand, delicate fingers brushing against his sore ones, the coldness immensely soothing.

And as he placed the smile on the frozen figure, noticing it mirrored his little sister's one, Joffrey thought it was worth the lecture and the extra time he'd get to be confined in his bed again, right now, Myrcella's beam being more valuable to him than the richest of the Seven Kingdoms put together.