The sound of hooves and cheers drifted in from the front courtyard just as Joffrey and Bran were in the armory watching the master-at-arms sharpen a longsword.
The high-pitched whine of grindstone against steel slowly died away. Everyone turned toward the returning hunting party.
Robert rode at the head, chest thrust out proudly.
He looked as smug as if he'd just won a major battle.
Behind him, a cart carried an enormous carcass.
Deep brown bristles stood stiff as steel needles. Two curved tusks like scimitars jutted from its upper jaw. Even dead, its small eyes still held a frozen, vicious glare.
The thing had to weigh thirty stone.
"Ned, I told you to throw that damn bow away!" Robert's booming voice filled the yard.
"Out there all day with me and you didn't bag a single rabbit." He swung down from his horse with surprising agility. "Come look at this monster I took down!"
Guards and servants gathered, murmuring in awe.
Robert grew even more animated, waving his thick arms and spraying spit as he talked.
"Gods damn it!
When it charged, they all screamed for me to run. I stood my ground until the bastard was right on top of me—"
He thrust forward sharply with an imaginary spear.
"One jab! My boar spear went straight down its throat and out its ass!"
His exaggerated gestures drew fresh cheers.
Robert spotted Joffrey and strode over.
"Too bad you missed it! You should've seen your old man in action." He grinned and slapped Joffrey's shoulder with a blood- and mud-stained hand.
"Next time, no more excuses. This is a skill that needs passing down!"
By evening the hunt had become the main event.
Just like the night they arrived, Winterfell blazed with lights for the farewell feast.
Everyone was already sick of the same dishes.
All eyes fixed on the roasted boar dominating the center of the hall.
The cooks had it on a special iron spit, skin roasted golden and crackling. Fat dripped into the coals below, hissing and filling the air with a rich, mouthwatering scent.
Robert sat in the high seat, mouth never stopping once the feast began.
One hand gripped a roasted leg, the other a wine cup, as he retold the hunt again and again.
Each telling added fresh details.
How huge the boar was, how ferociously it charged, how steady he stayed, how perfect that spear thrust had been.
The listeners cheered on cue and raised their cups to toast the king's bravery.
But one look at Lord Eddard's strained smile told Joffrey the man shared his own heavy sense of dread about what lay ahead.
"Too bad you didn't come," Robb leaned in, cheeks flushed from wine and excitement. "When that boar burst out of the bushes, Theon nearly fell off his horse!"
Theon Greyjoy flashed a white grin across the table. "I was just shifting position to get a clean shot."
"Bullshit. You dropped your bow in fright."
"That was because the king suddenly roared 'This one's mine!' I couldn't stop in time, so I let it go on purpose."
The two boys started bickering. Joffrey smiled along but let his gaze drift.
Bran and Rickon sat farther down, secretly feeding meat to the fuzzy little wolf under the table.
Sansa sat primly beside her mother, stealing occasional glances at Joffrey and quickly looking away when their eyes met.
Jon and Arya had probably grown bored with the long feast and slipped off somewhere.
Joffrey sipped his thick ale slowly, eyes moving to the ends of the long table.
Cersei at one end. Jaime at the other.
The entire hall separated them.
They hadn't exchanged a single word or even turned toward each other all night.
The queen herself cut her food with elegant precision, occasionally chatting and laughing softly with the noblewomen beside her.
Everything was too calm.
Unnaturally calm.
The feast stretched deep into the night.
By the fifth retelling of "the king and the boar"—now including the beast's supposed thoughts as it charged—Robert finally let out a satisfied burp and waved everyone away.
People stood. Servants began clearing the tables.
Joffrey caught the staggering Bran near the doorway.
The boy had run around with him all day and stayed up this late. His eyelids drooped heavily; he walked like he was half-asleep.
"We leave tomorrow," Joffrey said, crouching to the boy's eye level.
Bran rubbed his eyes and mumbled an "Mm."
"So get a good night's sleep. No climbing, all right?" Joffrey looked at him with genuine concern.
"I'm worn out from today… of course I'm not climbing." Bran covered his mouth and yawned hugely.
Watching the boy shuffle away, Joffrey let out a long breath of relief.
He'd done it.
All day he'd kept Bran glued to his side and steered him clear of any dangerous spots.
The twins hadn't gotten a moment alone either.
Tomorrow morning the column would ride out.
They just had to get through tonight safely.
Back in his chamber, Joffrey didn't go to bed right away.
He paced the dimly lit room, thick carpet swallowing his footsteps.
[Stargaze] was still on cooldown. He couldn't check tonight's events.
In the past few days he had used the skill on Littlefinger back in King's Landing instead, wanting to see what trouble the weasel might stir while they were gone.
Things here in Winterfell were under control.
With his interference, Bran hadn't gone near any high structures. They'd visited every fun corner and said all the proper goodbyes.
It should have been airtight.
Yet the strange unease in Joffrey's gut only grew stronger.
Time crawled by.
He forced himself to lie down and close his eyes.
In the dream he found himself in a strange place—dark and narrow.
He was climbing. Fingers and toes dug into loose bricks and crumbling stone. Cold dirt packed under his nails.
Above him the tower spiraled upward into blackness.
He climbed for what felt like forever.
Finally he reached an open window.
A raven perched on a nearby gargoyle, black eyes fixed on him without blinking.
It lifted its tail and dropped a stinking load of bird shit.
He ignored it, straining to pull himself up and peer inside.
A hand suddenly shot out from the shadows.
It wasn't human.
It was made of deeper darkness, edges blurred and trailing faint black mist.
Silent. Lightning fast.
The instant the freezing touch hit his chest—
The sickening drop came.
Joffrey jolted awake, bolting upright.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Even that damn kid shows up in my dreams."
He climbed out of bed, pushed open the wooden shutter. Cold night air swept in, drying the clammy sweat on his skin.
The castle lay quiet, only the scattered torches of patrolling guards moving along the walls.
Then—
A piercing, mournful howl tore through the courtyard.
Sharp. Painful. It shattered the night's silence.
It wasn't human.
It was a wolf.
Bran's direwolf.