A/N: REVIEW FOR IT FEEDS THE ENGINE OF CREATION~!

Bloody hell, fine!

Why must you all present me with all these juicy challenges and requests?! I've got too many sodding stories already! No more after this! 0_0 If you'd like me to write something personally for you I might be obliged to find the time but this constant flow of new stories needs to STAHP soon before I lose myself in Game of Thrones completely!

Help! A man is loosing his mind!

Also, I almost died the other day, so that might be why I'm writing so frequently and fluently atm when it comes to new stories. Now, I won't bore you with the details, but lets just say I got lucky, and this is coming from a man who once rolled his car and was struck by lightning afterward. So, yes. VERY lucky. A near-death experience has a way of changing a man. For me? I don't think I feel fear anymore, strange as that sounds.

Oh, the rest of my emotions are still quite there because I still remember being quite livid with the sonuvabtich responsible. But that matter is long settled. I still feel. I still hope my leg will get better. I still love writing. I still feel compassion for those close to me. I still have the will to make it through the day-to-day. Just...not fear. Not anymore. Perhaps I should thank him for that. I suppose the whole lack of fear thing should be concerning...hmm. Might wanna see someone about that.

Once more, this is a self-insert story, so please be kind.

They're not my forte, but I like to think I'm getting better at them.

Again, pure Game of Thrones story here, no Naruto, no crossover, no nadda. Yes, a pure Game of Thrones story... but with a twist. Now, with that out of the way I reluctantly present for your viewing pleasure...

...I Am Not The King.

As with "A Man of Many Faces" this will be gone in two days if people don't like it.

So by all means dear readers, do let me know, and soon.

Leaping right into the thick of things here folks~!

"They say death as a way of humbling a man.

Let's find out, shall we?

Now. WAKE UP."

~?

Rise

I couldn't breathe.

Instead, my muscles-and my throat!-clamped down like a vice, squeezing like a fist as I choked on my last breath in this world. I could see nothing. Hear nothing. Feel nothing, beyond the searing pain in my throat. Where was I? How had I gotten here? What was going on? I tried to suck in a reflexive breath only to find that I couldn't. Panic set in like old rot, gradually creeping through my thoughts as a spider would its web. My chest gave a feeble heave, to no avail. My lungs still starved. Life slipped away from me.

I needed to breathe.

My mind blanked and my vision hazed, all the colors of the world reduced to naught but a grey smear in my peripherals. I struggled and squawked and tried to raise my hands to my throat but they betrayed me, refusing to move. No, not just my hands, but my entire body. As though I were trying to force water through a broken sieve. Still my lungs begged for release, longing only exhale even as I scrabbled at the strange darkness I found myself cocooned in.

Why couldn't I breathe?!

Fear seized my mind anew in an icy vice, further tainting my thoughts further still as I spasmed in silence, because there was nothing else I could do. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. With no air in my lungs I could only struggle in the darkness, thrash as the pulse in my veins slowed to a trot, a crawl, then nearly nothing at all. Wherever nightmare this was, wherever I was, I wanted out of here. Out. Out! OUT! Right now! Right this very instant! I'd do anything. Anything! Just make it stop! Just let me out! Let me go! Please!

Why was everything so cold?

The darkness did not answer. It had no need to. I was nothing to it; just another mote of dust, just another speck in oblivion. Was this the afterlife? If so, I wanted no part of it. There was nothing here. Only death, cold and callous. So cold. So very cold. As each second slipped by I felt myself grow weaker, my face purpling from lack of breath, yet still something in me clung on in stubborn defiance. How long did I have left? Thirty seconds? Fifteen? A handful? Less? I shouldn't be cold, yet I felt colder, as though ice were seeping into my veins, the reaper's chill stealing up over my shoulder to sink its cold claws into my heart.

And then, quite suddenly-

AIR.

Without warning, whatever had been holding my throat shut this entire time cleared all at once. So too did the pressure. Instinct seized me and I bolted upright without thought or care-and felt something tumble from my eyes- as my withered lungs rejoiced with a great gasp followed by a whooping cough that would've woken the dead. Looking back, there was a certain irony to be had in that statement.

"Bwah!" I wheezed out! "Sonuvabitch!"

Not the most eloquent words of choice, I know.

I woke all at once, jerking upright with a hoarse shout, and promptly fell flat on my face for my trouble. Cool stone kissed my forehead and I flailed upright, greedily sucking down great mouthfuls of air. Sweet, blessed oxygen flooded my body as I planted my hands against the floor. Still reeling, it took me a moment to recognize the complete and utter silence engulfing me. I caught sight of myself in the polished stone then and my vision skewed wildly off course. An unfamiliar weight against my head caused my left hand to rise, even as I blinked bleary and tried to see what I was grasping in my right.

My fingers curled around something gilded and golden.

In that same instant, my vision cleared and I saw it. My face. No. Not my face. The crown nestled against my pale forehead. Pale hair. The young visage that was most assuredly not mine gazing back at me; this strange pale reflection that had no business being there, alongside the gaudy doublet I wore. And of course, the crown.

Crown.

Crown?

CROWN?!

My face twisted in surprise and the nasty little visage of Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister!-mirrored my contempt wholeheartedly. Joffrey. One of the most hated men in Game of Thrones. I wanted to punch him. Myself. Ourselves? Somehow this all felt vaguely familiar, as if I'd dreamt through a similar experience, only to have forgotten it upon waking. Was that it, then? Was this a nightmare? Some fever dream as I lay dying? I'd been having a lot of those lately, but something in my gut dissuaded me.

A muscle jumped in my jaw, pounding alongside three veins in my forehead.

Sputtering, I crashed backward; in place of the darkness that had dominated my vision I found myself staring at a high, vaunted ceiling. A great room-sept, my panicking mind babbled-sprawled out around me, silent and cold, the air swelling with incense. As if for a funeral. My gaze snapped back and forth like a broke rubber-band, confusion mounting with every moment. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't meant to be here. Should not be here. I was no king. I didn't want to be a bloody king, dream or no! Kings have responsibilities! I'm too lazy for that shite~!

Alright, calm down, this is probably a dream. Yes! That must be it, I'd never write something like this, so it has to be a-

"By all the gods...!"

My ears perked up of their own accord.

I knew that voice; yes, I knew it painfully well. It did not, however, make my reaction any less poignant. This couldn't be happening.

"Ach, my head...

Damnit, even had the little shit's voice...

Wow. Charles Dance really did live up to his reputation as an actor. I hadn't even done anything to him, yet he looked like he'd seen a ghost. All told, Tywin Lannister seemed about as startled to see me as I was him, and thrice as shocked. I was I'm not pleased to say that I nearly died then and there due to my own stupidity. Not through any verbal action on my part, but from the weapon still clutched in my right hand. I was, after all, still holding a sword. Widow's Wail, was it? In struggling upright I nearly opened my lap with the damn thing.

Still cut my hand, though.

"Oh for crying out loud?!" I hissed, dropping the Valyrian-steel blade like a scalding iron. "Why can't I catch a break today?!"

Under any other circumstance I might've found his expression priceless; one didn't surprise Tywin Lannister. The one and only time I'd seen that expression was when he'd been shot on the privy by Tyrion. Shit. Tyrion. A spark of confused hope ignited in my chest despite the confusion, only to be swiftly buried as my gaze flitted about the room. Right, right, there was Tommen opposite Tywin, which probably meant Cersei was probably somewhere nearby at the very least and oh gods how am I going to deal with her-

Strong arms wrapped around me like iron bands and crushed my head into a woman's bosom.

"Joffrey!"

Well!

There was my answer.

Gods above and below this was going to suck...

A/N: Once more, this will be gone in two days if people don't like it. So by all means dear readers, do let me know. NO MORE CHALLENGES OR REQUESTS AFTER THIS PLEASE. Don't tempt a poor man beyond his means! Have mercy m'lords and m'ladies~! I need to work on the rest of my stuff and I just caaan't do that when I'm getting 50+ bloody requests a day! They're all so...good...tempting... so unique...NO NO NO! Bad Neon! Resist! *Slaps self* Think of the fans!

Yes, this is Season Four.

Yes, that was the Sept of Baelor.

Yes, I've been resurrected/reincarnated as Joffrey. In full view of a lot of people. You thought "I Am Not A Dragon" was going to be nuts? This'll be off the bloody rails.

So, in the immortal words of Atlas...

...Review...would you kindly? And of course, enjoy the preview! 'Tis a pair! Amusing! And a surprise!

(Preview)

"Stop, you idiot! He's not guilty!"

"Be that as it may, the evidence is clear-

"Fuck the evidence! I'm the king and I say release him at once!"

Baelish grimaced.

"My lord, if you would just give me a moment-

"Moment received." came the cold reply. "Now off with your head."

The boy was...receptive.

Where once he had been little more than a raving sycophant, Joffrey was suddenly calm. Quiet. Measured. Willing to listen. Asking questions-the right questions, always inquisitive. As if he were another person. His quick execution of Lord Baelish had prove he would not shy from violence, yet his suddenly staunch defense of Tyrion confounded and infuriated him in the same measure. Perhaps his "death" had opened his eyes. Perhaps not. Perhaps he had never been dead at all Pyscelle reasoned, but that was madness. He'd seen the boy die. Yet here he was, looking to him for advice.

...grandfather?"

Tywin didn't know what to make of it...

...and it almost made him proud.

R&R! =D