I woke up with the sun's early rays battering my eyes. I shielded them out of instinct and turned to the other side of the bed and stretched, yawning heavily. I felt that the covers were far smoother than when I went to bed - almost silky. Intrigued, I opened my eyes and found two things that shocked me. One, I could see clearly - I have myopia - and two, the sheets were red. Like, blood red. Intrigued, I looked up, my hands still shielding my eyes from the sun, and saw a canopy which is, once again, blood red. I pushed myself up to sit down, sliding so smoothly on the sheets that I was surprised how I didn't just slide off the bed. I could see lions and stags dotting the sheets, the pillows, the canopy. Instinctively I take my hand to my hair, finding it to be soft and silky and blonde. Very blond.

'No.' I thought, 'It can't be.'

I hear a woman's voice, timid and filled with fear, from outside the door.

"Your Grace?" it says, "The tourney is starting soon."

"The tourney?" I ask, "Which tourney?"

"Your name-day tourney, Your Grace" it said

'Shit, shit, shit, shit.' I muttered under my breath.

There was no denying it. I was Joffrey Baratheon, the incest-begotten spawn wrongly considered to be heir to the Iron Throne, and this was my twelfth name-day.

I collected myself. This was about the best possible time for this to happen. Before Jon Arryn's death, before the start of the story. It was still absolute shit, but it could've been far worse. Imagine being put into Joffrey's shoes on the morning of his wedding to Margaery? At least I haven't burnt any bridges - not important ones, anyway.

"I'll get ready then." I said and jumped out of bed to get dressed, noticing that my pyjamas were also in that shade of red, dotted with golden lions and black stags all throughout. I stopped in my tracks as a group of servants came in and started to engage in what I assumed was a choreographed activity as they, in concert, fully prepared me before I could react. That was probably mostly due to the shock but they were also frighteningly effective. I was too surprised to offer a thank you, which with hindsight was a good thing because it would probably freak them out. I was dressed in a doublet partitioned in half, green with a black stag on the left and red with a golden lion on the right, buttons inlaid with gems. The whole outfit was so extravagant that it was completely tasteless, at least to my modern view, though it was no less comfortable than a suit, which was of some comfort.

I regained my senses and walked out of the door and into the corridors of the Red Keep, finding a knight in white armour with lifeless, pale grey eyes waiting outside the door.

"Care to escort me, Ser?" I asked the man.

I was slowly starting to remember more and more of Joffrey's life, though I wasn't confident in my knowledge of the intricacies of the keep and would rather not get lost. The memories were weak, almost distant, not carrying any of the emotional attachment that would normally be attached, though I didn't seem to be missing anything. He raised an eyebrow but then uttered a confirmation and started walking, and I followed in his footsteps - quite literally.

I found that the servants seemed to cower from me as I walked by - the horror that I felt at being so despised mixed with a sort of queer pleasure at this power I wielded over others to create an unnerving feeling, a bungled up mess of emotions that I couldn't quite unravel. I assumed that the second half was Joffrey's, though a pang of worry lodged itself in the back of my mind asking if it wasn't.

The walk was long, but pleasant and passed quickly. I felt a sort of giddy excitement at being here, in my favourite fictional world by far, and it worked to make me forget the consequences of me being here, if only for a few minutes. I eventually found myself in a balcony where a table with two chairs was arranged, one of them occupied by a breathtakingly beautiful woman that I understood to be Cersei.

"Happy name-day!" She said as she got up and walked over to me, arms outstretched.

I welcomed the hug, noticing how I stood at least an inch taller than her, even though Cersei was a tall woman. Joffrey really was freakishly tall for his age. I had a friend like that, though he looked nothing like the body I now occupied. After a few moments, she ended the hug and sat down at the table, and I did so as well.

"Thank you, mother." I answered, mustering a bit of warmth. I wanted to be nice, but I didn't feel anything for her and too much would seem suspicious.

"I couldn't wait to give you your present." She said with a tone of fake guilt and a smile on her face as a servant put a long box on the table.

I gingerly opened it to find a steel object inside, one I recognized to be a sword of gleaming blue steel, with a leather grip and a gold lion's-head pommel. It was less gaudy than I was expecting, which was a relief. I picked it up and found it to be well balanced and suited to my age and dimensions. I put it down after inspecting it for a few moments.

"Thank you!" I said as I bent down to hug her again, surprising her, and then returning to my seat.

"What will you name it?" she asked.

"Lionheart." I responded.

"An excellent name." she said, very proud though with no reason for such.

Servants soon arrived, removing the sword box and replacing it with a selection of breakfast foods so wide that would be more reasonable in a buffet. I broke my fast, eating and talking with Cersei, which delighted her.

— — — —

Tourneys are the most boring thing since watching paint dry. I don't understand how anyone could find any sort of enjoyment in watching two men ride around in a circle trying to throw each other off their horse with a long stick. Clearly all this jousting must have caused some sort of brain damage, because there is no other explanation.

I was the centre of attention, something which I never liked. The number of lickspittles, toadies and sycophants that tried to get in the future King's good graces was impressive, though it didn't make it any more tolerable.

I had received a truly gigantic amount of gifts. Christmases had always been extravagant - I had two, one for each side of the family, and they were both large families, meaning I always got dozens of gifts - but this was on a whole other scale. After the first few I stopped paying attention, though I did receive a book on the Laughing Storm by a Maester Rogar which caught my eye. I spent the time primarily inspecting my new sword, though I dabbled in the other gifts as well. I paid just enough attention to more or less have an idea of what was going on, though it was painfully obvious that I was bored out of my mind.

I got out of my stupor just as the final match was held, and I pushed myself to pay attention to this one. It was Jaime against Loras, and I knew what would happen, though I couldn't do anything about it. I noticed Littlefinger and Robert making their bet as the joust continued, eventually ending with Loras unhorsing the Kingslayer on the eighth tilt. Cersei was horrified, Littlefinger seemed disappointed and Robert was exhilarated at the result. I made a mental note of the fact that the armoury would soon gain a Valyrian steel dagger.

The joust was followed by a melee which was won by Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone who bested Thoros of Myr, while the archery competition was won by Jalabhar Zho. The former was interesting, though very violent, but the latter was even more boring than the tourney, if such was even possible. Eventually we went into the main hall for a feast, one so grand I could barely wrap my head around its scale. The toadies returned in force and it took all of my self control to maintain a veneer of respectability. The occasion went deep into the night and by the end of it most people were drunk and Robert had groped half a dozen wenches, though I categorically refused anything alcoholic. Not only did I not have a taste for it, there was also the problem that I was twelve, and twelve year olds should not drink. I was sure my new disposition had caused heads to turn, but people knew better than to question the crown prince, especially when the crown prince has a sadistic streak.

I was eventually able to extricate myself from the feast well past nightfall and went back to my rooms. By now my knowledge of the keep was enough, so I didn't ask for an escort, but one followed me just the same. Arys Oakheart was his name, a handsome man with light brown hair. I walked down the corridors, the knight of the Kingsguard following me, a dull clanging following me as his sabatons hit the ground. It was a long distance to my apartments - seriously, I don't understand how Robert got so fat. The sheer amount of walking that one needs to do is immense. I found a group of servants waiting inside - apparently I had a team dedicated to me, as they were the same ones - and they went to run me a bath and prepare my clothes while I sat in my study and opened the aforementioned book on the Laughing Storm. I knew the general story of the guy - his daughter was betrothed to Duncan the Small who eloped with Jenny of Oldstones, he declared independence, was beaten in a trial by combat by Duncan the Tall and then got his heir betrothed to Princess Rhaelle, and that is where Robert's claim came from. I didn't get very far before they were ready, but I did find something which amused me. Apparently, he was illiterate but loved stories and - as a full grown adult - had his maester read them to him.

The bath was just right and I sighed as I slid into it. I was handed a bar of surprisingly smooth soap. I washed myself as the servants tended to my hair, and I was done within about a quarter of an hour. I got out, was dried and dressed, and then slid into the bed, making sure to position myself in the middle. The candles were blown out and I drifted to sleep soon after, the beginnings of a plan starting to form in my mind.