Chapter 2:

Why was Joffrey staring back at me?

With these words in my head I fell back to sleep, and luckily, it seemed, so had the spiders and swords, leaving me to rest happily. And why shouldn't I? I had done it. I was the king! I had shot the moon, grabbed the stars, and reached through to this universe.

My chest swelled up so much with pride that I probably looked like a croaking frog holding its breath, but then I woke up, and worries awoke with me, and their teeth were sharp too.

I knew who I was-but what about when I was? It could be the morning of Joffrey's wedding (mine now, though!), and though I would be able to stop Sansa wearing the hair net, Joffrey would already have ruined everything for everyone, so I wouldn't be a great help, and, in fact, I would probably end up dying painfully with everyone spitting on me, shouting "good riddance!".

Surprisingly enough, I did not want my corpse to be spat on.

Again, the first thing I saw when I woke up this time was a shapeless lump, but upon closer observation, it turned out my eyes were not failing at working, but were looking straight into a massive white beard. Who did that remind me of?

As soon, as I thought it, the words were out of my mouth, and a second later my suspicions were confirmed.

"Who yu..? Wha...you wan...?"

"I am Grand Maester Pycelle, your highness. How are you feeling? The fever you had was strong, very strong". He broke off, nodding, reminding me of an old donkey braying its support and shaking its head in delight, or maybe he was still speaking – his voice was barely audible when he started, and his rheumy eyes gave me the impression of immense boredom and/or severe depression.

I was aware that I had just entered this new world, and all I was doing was judging the various stage of rheumatism this old man's decrepit eyes were in. it wasn't pleasant, and whilst he was mumbling about how many times he had cured fevers like this, I cast my gaze around the room, and almost gasped.

The sheer beauty of it was astounding. The paintings on the walls showed skill beyond compare, the weavings of the tapestries and rugs so intricate I couldn't believe this was done by hand. These tapestries were complex, masterful visions of the sunset, castles and knights of old, the colours so bright and wonderful they seemed to leap out of the cloth.

The furniture was exquisite, what had to be mahogany seats and tables, holding up goblets and books engraved with jewels and precious metals. It was beautiful...and all mine now. I smiled gleefully, feeling like a man who has just won the lottery, a Nobel peace prize, and 3 Oscars, all at the same time.

My glee clearly affirmed what Pycelle was saying, as his incoherent mumbles became slightly more audible mutterings, and I turned to him, trying not to look at his eyes, so crusty with eye discharge I wondered if he could see at all, or if he could, would it be through a yellow, sticky haze?

Avoiding these eyes, therefore, I turned to the most interesting thing about him – his beard – thick, snow white, and long, it hung around him, giving him an aura of wisdom. His beard...What was so special about that...?

"Your royal father has been holding off the start of the journey for you for a few hours now".

Journey? What journey? Suddenly it came to me like a crack of lightning-Pycelle's beard was cut off by Shagga before the Battle of the Blackwater, and this "royal father" had to be Robert Baratheon. Joffrey wasn't king yet-there was still peace!

My relief was extreme. Everything was all right-this expedition had to be to Winterfell, the time before anything significant had happened.

Well, now that you think about it, Jon Arryn was dead – which could potentially put things into motion that result in an on-going civil war involving an immense number of betrayals, rapes, tortures and deaths of mostly innocent civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time...but I'm sure that could be averted.

I got up, shakily, and tried to walk. It – by which I mean Joffrey's body – all felt weird, like putting on a sock or shirt backwards, and leaving it on you, itching constantly, for the whole day. As I turned round, slightly awkwardly, I found myself staring into a full-length mirror.

For a moment I thought Joffrey had suddenly appeared in front of me, before I realised that I was Joffrey...and he was me, a worrying thought which did not bode well for my sanity.

It did bode well for my looks though. A tall, handsome teenager stood in front of me, gold hair resting lightly on a face of sharply defined cheekbones and mouth, eyes, green as cut emeralds and sparkling, with (what I hoped at least was) intelligence and joy. Neck, slender and fine, with strong arms and legs to support me. "I like" was the only thought in my brain, although "stop with this self-adoration phase" was another. Thoughts of Borat's catchphrase reminded me of Earth, the small planet I called home, so far away it hurt to think how soon it was since I left it.

"Aye", my heart told me, "But what arrived in your place?"

Thinking of potentially having an evil monster in my place was bad, but in all probability Joffrey would be broken by my parents, and get up at 6:00AM the next morning to go to school, with no Sandor Clegane to get him out of it.

It wasn't a great thought though, and I turned away from myself, and back to Pycelle.

"What now, then?", I asked, unaware of what to do, what to say, who to be...

Before the words were out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake. If anyone was aware of how little I knew about life here they would suspect something, and though they could never perceive that someone had just possessed the royal heir, they might think insanity was rooted inside me, and that it would be prudent to hide me away, or even worse.

I shuddered. I had just crossed worlds, and been bitten by spiders, to get here. I wasn't about to leave at the hands of someone with "a kind death" on their mind.

"I mean, what time is it now, then?" Barely a second had passed since my blunder, but the seeds of worry had been sown. Was that narrowing of his eye from suspicion or simply from his probable Glaucoma? Was he thinking, wondering, suspecting even now who I was, or wasn't? I didn't know what to say, to think, to even remember. Hell, I couldn't remember anything about this life. My only thoughts in this body, per se, were how sexy I was and how repugnant my doctor.

I panicked from how wrong it had all gone, and how quickly, which of course, gave rise to more panic, narrowing my vision and ideas, until only one remained. "Leave", it cried to me, some intrinsic part of my being that hopefully knew what to do...or was it the remnant of Joffrey, placing the last nail on my newly constructed coffin which my action would drive, irreversibly, into the fresh wood of my Westerosi grave?

"The time is past noon, you highness. We must be off to meet with your royal family. Don't worry, your servants packed your items whilst you were ill".

The interjection to my thoughts cut through straight to me, accompanied by the whiney nasal sounds of Pycelle's voice. The information, delivered with the sheer repugnance I felt from the Grand Maester's tones, gave me relief from my worries.

Worries? RELIEF? Who was I, some endangered damsel, wandering through the woods, seeing a rapacious, violent outlaw, crouching with his weapon drawn and blood-lust in his eyes, behind every single rock?

No. That was not I, and I believed that and I knew that and I would make damn sure everyone else I met would as well.

These Westeros people named themselves after the items they sewed on their clothes, but I didn't need a lion, or a wolf, or a kraken to know who I was, and would be.

I didn't need a bloody animal on my breast.

"Let's go then", I told Pycelle, standing up straight, breathing in deeply, examining all my senses I had been given by, or taken from, Joffrey. I found them good, better than before, more than enough to conquer this old, treacherous cretin. "You've kept them waiting long enough. Tell me why I had a lovely sleep for the last few hours and you didn't wake me up? Don't lecture me about how it's my fault, when it was your responsibility. Look at the bloody chain you wear if you forget". It worked, and the old man suddenly became a fish, eyes bugging out and mouth flopping uselessly open and shut.

I turned round and walked out through the door. Luckily for me, it led into a large wardrobe, where I put on a light tunic, long trousers, and boots. There wasn't much in the sense of high-end attire, but what there was fit, was comfortable, and I was content.

"Lead on, then, maester" I called when I came back in.

"Let's go find my sweet family, shall we?"

He walked, or rather, shambled, along, out the door, huffing and puffing like a humanoid sheep chain smoker.

I followed, swaggering, hands through my belt and a smile on my face.

A smile of power, of victory, of glory.