Time flew. The day to leave had arrived.
The North's wind cut sharper than when they first rode in.
But the king could never sit still.
Especially in a place like Winterfell—nothing but stone and trees. Robert's restless blood was boiling over.
So on their last full day he demanded some action.
"Joff! Let's go!"
At dawn a heavy hand slapped Joffrey's back.
Robert stood there in full hunting gear, eyes bright as a kid's. "Time for a Baratheon man to bring down his first boar."
Joffrey stumbled forward two steps, clutched his stomach, and went pale.
"Father…" His voice came out weak. "I must've eaten something bad last night. My guts are killing me."
"I… I can't go today."
Robert eyed him suspiciously.
"Real pain or fake?"
"Real."
"Fine, fine. Stay in and rest." He grunted, then waved at the waiting party. "Ned, we're moving! Let these delicate boys hide inside and drink hot soup!"
Hooves and barking dogs filled the yard.
Almost every nobleman in the castle rode out with the king. Showing courage in front of Robert was too good an opportunity to miss.
Even Tyrion climbed into a custom saddle on the mare Jaime had given him and joined the fun with a grin.
Joffrey stood on the main keep's stone steps and watched the whole column ride out.
"Kid. Don't steal my people!"
The voice had been looping in his head for days.
Clearly the Three-Eyed Crow speaking through the heart tree just for him.
The power belonged to a sorcerer who had lived far beyond any normal lifespan, fused with a weirwood beyond the Wall.
Legend said he had a thousand and one eyes and could see past and future.
At least the man's name was Brynden.
Not Brandon, and not some two-headed blue bird.
Dry leaves swirled around Joffrey's boots.
Bran Stark was destined to become the next greenseer and set off looking for that crow.
Besides, the little shit had beaten the crap out of Tommen in the training yard the other day—kicked him while he was already on the ground.
Joffrey hadn't planned to get involved. As long as it didn't touch the Lannisters, he was happy to stay out.
But that warning changed everything.
"Kid. Don't steal my people."
Joffrey slowly clenched his fist.
Oh, really?
You crippled old bastard living inside a tree root.
You're thousands of miles away and you think you can threaten me through a goddamn tree?
Don't steal?
Watch me.
Once I get the boy to King's Landing, we'll see who eats shit.
Joffrey turned and walked back into the keep.
With most of the men gone, Winterfell felt empty. Even Robb had assumed Joffrey was hunting and left with the party.
He found Bran in the west corridor.
The boy was squatting on the floor, trying to get his direwolf to fetch a thrown stick.
"Go on," Bran urged.
The pup couldn't have cared less.
When it heard Joffrey's footsteps its ears twitched. It glanced back once, then flopped down again.
"Where are we exploring today?" Joffrey patted Bran's shoulder.
Bran looked up, dirty little face splitting into a huge grin.
"The bell tower!" He jumped up. "I know a secret passage that goes straight to the second level of the rookery."
Joffrey shook his head, looking worried. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"No way, I've done it tons of times." Bran thumped his chest. "Just don't tell my mother."
Ever since the godswood incident, Joffrey had been asking Bran to show him around Winterfell every chance he got.
Bran loved it. His older brothers had stopped tagging along ages ago.
And the kid really knew his stuff.
He was like a squirrel—climbed everywhere, remembered every hidden corner and secret passage in the castle.
Places even Lord Eddard probably didn't know about.
On top of that, keeping the boy right next to him was a lot simpler than any complicated plan.
So Joffrey stuck to Bran like glue the entire day.
They hit the kitchens, stole two honey-glazed rolls while Cook Gage wasn't looking, and devoured them in the storeroom until their fingers were sticky.
They went to the stables, begged Hodor for an apple, fed it to Bran's pony, and whispered quiet goodbyes.
They visited Mikken at the forge, Luwin in the maester's tower, and even stopped by Old Nan's warm little room.
After all the goodbyes Bran looked a little lost.
"Will I ever come back?" His voice carried that small-child worry.
Joffrey looked at him and answered firmly.
"Of course you will."
Of course you won't.
"When you miss your mother or get tired of the Red Keep, you can come back anytime."
Until the Others are wiped out, you're not leaving King's Landing.
Joffrey ruffled the boy's chestnut hair.
"Come on. There's still one place we haven't seen."
They stepped into the First Keep.
The low, round fortress dated back to Winterfell's oldest days. Now it belonged to rats and spiders.
The corridors twisted and turned. Windows were rare, so even in daylight the place stayed dim.
Perfect for exploring.
They crept from the second floor to the third.
Then turned toward the fourth.
Suddenly the little direwolf let out a low whine.
Joffrey looked up fast.
A figure stood at the far corner of the hallway.
Morning light slanted through a high window, outlining the man in gold.
"What are you doing here!" Joffrey shouted, a smile tugging at his mouth.
Jaime Lannister—dressed in his red cloak—had been poking his head around the corner like a thief.
He jumped at the voice, spun, and reached for his sword.
When he saw it was Joffrey he relaxed and strode over.
"Let me ask you the same thing," Jaime said, flashing a razor-sharp smile. "What are you doing here?"
"We're exploring!" Bran popped out from behind the wall and answered first.
Jaime clearly hadn't expected company. His face froze for half a second.
"I… I'm exploring too," he lied badly.
For Bran that was plenty.
The boy's eyes lit up with hero-worship.
He had always dreamed of becoming a knight and could recite every Kingsguard tale by heart.
The two white cloaks who had come with Robert were Ser Boros—bald and double-chinned—and Ser Meryn with his rust-colored beard.
Neither looked the part.
But Jaime— "the Lion of Lannister"—tall, handsome, golden hair and green eyes—was at least the closest thing to the legends on the outside.
Even if everyone mostly called him Kingslayer.
Robert had started it two years ago and the name spread across the Seven Kingdoms in no time.
Now that he had the possible culprit in front of him, Joffrey kept the conversation going.
He steered it toward knightly stories Bran loved—Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, Ryam Redwyne, the twin brothers who died on each other's swords centuries ago…
The Kingslayer grew visibly restless.
His answers came distracted. His eyes kept flicking down the corridor or toward the stairs.
He looked at Joffrey with open confusion and a hint of impatience.
"How long are you two planning to stay up here?" he finally cut in during a story about the Mad King.
Joffrey smiled. "Last day. Might as well finish exploring."
Jaime's mouth twitched.
He shrugged. "Take your time. I just remembered something I need to do."
He turned and walked quickly down the corridor—almost fleeing.
"But that's not the way down!" Bran called after him.