The small hand resting on the edge of the blanket could barely be called a hand anymore.
The fingers were twisted at unnatural angles, scraped raw and crusted with blood.
It looked more like a claw.
The absurd, ice-cold thought flashed through Joffrey's mind before he could stop it.
"Ned, the boy's tough. He'll pull through," Robert said quietly, rubbing Lord Eddard's back. His voice was unusually soft.
"Renly fell from the battlements as a kid and was out cold for days. Look at him now—running around like nothing happened."
Lady Catelyn covered her face, shoulders shaking.
"I knew this would happen… I warned him so many times, but he never listened…" She slumped against the bed, her sobs muffled and broken. "I knew it…"
Bran Stark lay under the blankets, his back a ruined mess.
Maester Luwin had done what emergency care he could. After examining the boy's legs he had shaken his head heavily.
Even if Bran lived, he would never stand again.
His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling—two empty black holes that caught no candlelight.
Watching it, Joffrey couldn't name what he felt.
Pity? Rage?
Why the hell did you go climbing in the middle of the night?
The question stuck in his chest like a thorn.
The kid had run himself ragged all day. By evening he could barely walk straight.
"We found him because of the wolf," a guard reported in a low voice. "It wouldn't stop howling. At first we thought it was a wild dog, then we realized. So we went to check."
He swallowed. "The second we opened the kennel the wolf shot out. We grabbed torches and followed."
"Then… then we saw him lying at the base of the wall. Not moving."
Tyrion rubbed his chin, his short frame almost lost in the crowd. "Smart animal." His tone could have been admiration or mockery.
He looked up at the guard.
"Anything unusual nearby? Was the ground stone or packed dirt? And was it right under his own bedchamber?"
The guard glanced nervously at Lord Eddard. "Well…"
Eddard didn't turn. His hoarse voice came from beside the bed, eyes still fixed on his son's pale face.
"Answer him."
"Yes, my lord." The guard licked his lips. "It was packed dirt—not too hard. As for the exact spot… I'm not entirely sure."
"It wasn't far from his bedchamber. Looked like he'd just climbed out the window and hadn't gone very high before he… fell."
"Not very high?" Joffrey spoke up.
Every head turned toward him.
He stepped forward. "Bran's room is on the fifth floor."
"Knowing him, he only climbs roofs or follows the outer ledges to other towers."
"So if he fell from that height he couldn't possibly—"
He glanced at the unnatural shape under the blanket and left the rest unsaid.
The maester sighed. "His Grace is right."
"If he'd fallen from the fifth floor, young Bran wouldn't look like this. From the injuries, it appears he fell from around the third-floor guest quarters."
"But why would he climb out a window?" Tyrion pressed. "If he wanted to go downstairs he could have used the stairs."
The room fell silent again.
Robert finally broke the choking quiet.
"Crowding in here won't help. Let the maester work."
"Ned, whatever medicines you need, just say the word. I'll have the best sent from King's Landing."
People began filing out.
Joffrey left last.
At the doorway he paused and looked back.
On the bed, those empty eyes were still wide open, staring straight at the ceiling.
For one split second Joffrey felt like something older and colder was staring back at him.
Not Bran.
"Kid. Don't steal my people!"
The words echoed in his head again.
Joffrey turned away and gently closed the door.
Robert stayed behind with the Starks. Only a few people remained in the corridor.
The three Lannister siblings stood a short distance away.
Jaime flicked his golden hair back, casual as ever, looking faintly bored.
"Let's go. I've been up half the night and I'm starving."
Despite everything, he and the queen were still perfectly dressed and immaculate.
Back in the guest breakfast room, servants brought out twice-reheated food—lukewarm oatmeal, overcooked bacon, a few small fish.
"Uncle, will Bran get better?" Myrcella Baratheon asked timidly, her golden curls spilling down like a waterfall.
Joffrey wasn't sure which uncle she meant.
Tyrion poured himself a cup of black beer and answered first. "His condition hasn't worsened. The maester says there's still hope."
"He'll live." His voice was gentler than usual.
Myrcella let out a happy little cry. Tommen gave a shy smile.
"Live?" Jaime speared a piece of roasted fish. "He'll just be a breathing cripple."
"Less than a cripple, really. A deformed freak."
He set the fork down with a sharp clink. "If that happened to me, I'd rather die clean."
The Imp hunched his oversized back and tilted his head at his brother.
"Dear brother, not to be rude, but dying means you get nothing."
"At least while you're alive there's still hope."
Jaime smiled back. "Your little demon life really is impressively stubborn."
"Enough," Cersei cut in. "Not in front of the children."
She stood abruptly, took the two younger ones by the hand, and headed for the door.
As she passed Joffrey her steps faltered for the tiniest moment.
But she said nothing, just walked faster and left the room—silently allowing him to stay in the uneasy standoff.
Now only the three of them remained.
Tyrion leaned both elbows on the table, big head tilted forward.
"What do you think?" His mismatched black-and-green eyes glittered in the dim light. "Doesn't this seem off to you?"
"It does," Joffrey admitted. "But he's always loved climbing."
"Loving heights and climbing out your own bedroom window in the middle of the night are two different things," Tyrion said, waggling a finger slowly. "Especially after the boy spent the whole day playing until he could barely stand."
Jaime watched with mild interest, like he was enjoying a play that had nothing to do with him.
Joffrey looked down and stirred his oatmeal.
What could he say?
That he suspected some ancient sorcerer beyond the Wall never slept and had used magic to puppeteer the boy? That he made Bran climb out the window and fall just far enough to cripple him—but not kill him—so the kid would stay in the North?
Who the hell would believe that?