Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

He was throwing up on the floor… again?

He struggled as the Hound helped him up, and sat him on his bed. Joffrey shook his head, looking at his hands. He was… alive again..? He had been killed and resurrected again?!

Joffrey let that thought percolate throughout his head for a while. As the Hound arrived again, this time with the Grand Maester in tow, one thought dominated Joffrey's mind.

I'm Immortal.

I'm fucking Immortal.

He didn't see it, but both the Grand Maester and the Hound were looking at his sadistic smile with differing levels of wariness.

Joffrey didn't know why, but it seemed he had all the time in the world. If he was killed he would just come back again, and kill the ones that killed him, simple.

With that in mind, Joffrey sat on his bed, pondering his plans. Trying to kill the Imp in such a convoluted way had been… not the best idea he'd ever had. Besides, he could just wait until he was king, then he could just order him behead, or better yet, force fed the Strangler.

Joffrey's chain of thought was interrupted by an unwonted shiver.

Well he would see how the imp would die, but that would come later. There was one person however who wouldn't be in his grasp when he was crowned. The Arch-Traitor's son, Robb.

His last plan had failed because it was too complicated, he would go at it simple this time. He could hardly wait for the caravan to depart North…

-

The journey North had been as boring and tedious as he remembered, possibly even more so. By the Neck, he could hardly restrain himself, wanting to shoot at every smallfolk farmer they passed. As it was he had quietly sneaked away at night and dissected a few rabbits he had managed to "acquire" from a nearby farm. It had worked, a little.

When they reached Winterfell his fat Father had already gone to the wolf bitch's tomb or whatever, and the Lady Catelyn was introducing her children to the rest of the Lannisters.

Joffrey barely managed not to slap the traitors useless daughter, Sansa. To think that he would be required to act the "courting prince" again made his stomach curl. But he would bear it, all for the revenge. After all, it wasn't too far now.

The spineless bitch had been the same as last time, wooing and cooing at whatever fake flattery left Joffrey's mouth. Margaerey had been a much better at pleasing him, her words always the right ones, praising him as was her duty. She was even more beautiful than the Northern whore. If she imagined Sansa was Maergery it made his duty a tiny bit more bearable. In truth he could hardly wait until the Tyrells smashed Stannis forces and brought him his prize.

He had not been as… hostile Joffrey guessed was the word, this time around. He had kept up to his good graces and acted like Mother had wanted him to, though it had been hard, and maybe a few of the northerns doubted something…

In any case, it had been worth it. He had been watching Robb and his bastard brother Jon in the training yard. He watched as the bout ended, surprisingly, in the bastards favour. The boys heartily shook each other's hands, jesting and laughing. A sudden stab completely unexpected pain seemed to claw at Joffreys heart for a second. Why couldn't he have a family like that?

Bewildered, Joffrey shook his head. Just as it had come, the feeling was gone. It was time.

Robb entered the armory a few meters away from the training yard. Jon was following close behind, but Joffrey got to Jon before he entered. "Jon… Your Father wishes to speak to you" He told him. The bastard looked at him a bit confused. Belatedly, Joffrey realized he hadn't spoken to him before… ever. Seeing Jon's doubt, Joffrey insisted. "He said it was urgent, something about…" think think "Arya, I think was her name?". At this Jon was instantly alert "Has something happened to her?!" he asked Joffrey, shaken. At his shrug Jon took off in the main keeps direction.

Joffrey nodded to himself, grabbing the crossbow he had left stashed right next to the door.

Inside, Robb had already removed his armor and was cleaning his sword. "I'll get you next time Jon, you'll see" Said Robb, still giving him his back as he continued to clean his sword. Joffrey checked around the armoury… there was no one. The crossbow was already cocked, and he carefully aimed it at Robb as he slowly walked forward.

Don't screw this up, don't screw this up. He thought as he steadily got closer. 8 meters. 7 meters… 6 meters…

"Whats going on Jon? Intimidated?" Laughed Robb as he stood up and turned around, freezing at the sight of Joffrey with a crossbow aimed at his heart.

Robb looked at Joffrey.

Joffrey looked at Robb.

The distance was 5 meters.

THUNG

The Bolt impacted Robb just above the heart, sending him crashing down against the sword racks behind him. Sudden sadistical elation filled Joffrey to the core of his being as he reloaded.

"You really thought you could plan your treason just like that? Young Wolf" He said his name with all the sneer he could muster. Robb was trying to speak, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

"Die Traitor!" Whispered Joffrey with all his being as he fired again, this time the bolt hitting Robbs head, leaving it a bloody mess.

"ROBB NOOOOOO!!!!" Someone screamed. Startled, Joffrey turned around to see the bastard of Winterfell staring at Robb's body, then at Joffrey.

Jon roared as he took a sword from the racks and charged him.

"I command you to stop!!!" Joffrey shouted, to no effect.

"I-I-Im the prince!!!" He screamed as he dropped the crossbow and fumbled for a sword. He would have to hold until the Hound found him!

Jon reached him just as Joffrey took a sword. He parried the first blow. The second blow chopped off his sword hand.

Joffrey stared in mild incomprehension as the stump squirted blood everywhere. He looked at it for maybe 2 seconds before the bastard rammed his sword through his chest. He tried spitting at him, but his body was unresponsive…. He had been defeated like an infant.

He could hear distant screams as the darkness seem to take him… and a pungent, sour smell seemed to take a hold of senses.

No… no…

He hadn't even died by the Strangler this time, but he could feel its effects, crushing his windpipe and twisting his neck like a coiled snake. Air burned in his lungs as he drowned again, the piercing, jagged pieces of his traquea stabbing him from the inside.

PAIN.

UNBEARABLE PAIN.

The purple consumed him.