"White Walkers?"
Tyrion spat out a mouthful of spit.
He yanked the reins, face openly mocking. "Little Joff, have you been listening to too many old nursemaid tales?"
"Starting to mutter 'Winter is coming' now too?"
Joffrey raised his hand and gave a sharp smack to the rump of the gentle mare Tyrion was riding.
With a startled whinny, the animal took off at a bouncy trot, carrying its surprised rider away.
"You little shit…" Tyrion's short curses quickly faded on the wind.
Watching the Imp's back grow smaller, a dark shadow passed through Joffrey's eyes.
This was one of the few people in Westeros with an actual brain.
Yet even his first reaction was to treat "keep an eye on what's happening beyond the Wall" as a children's bedtime story.
Joffrey turned away and walked slowly back into the courtyard.
It had been two full weeks since Bran's fall.
The boy still hadn't woken up.
The bitter smell of herbs hung in the air day and night. Lady Catelyn refused to leave her son's bedside and had grown noticeably thinner.
Robert's planned departure kept getting delayed.
In the first few days the king had visited often, booming out words of encouragement in his loud voice.
But his enthusiasm quickly wore thin in the face of repeated silence.
Bran showed no improvement, didn't wake, and didn't even twitch an eyelid.
The king's deep-seated disgust for weakness began to surface. He started spending more time drinking and complaining.
Joffrey, however, hadn't been idle.
Every afternoon he went to the maester's tower and spent several hours in Luwin's library and apothecary.
The thick tomes he had borrowed from Pycelle finally proved useful, containing many recipes for medicinal draughts.
"I didn't realize Your Grace had an interest in these subjects as well," Maester Luwin said, blinking his small gray eyes with clear surprise.
"I just happened to read them," Joffrey replied. It wasn't a lie.
During those idle afternoons in King's Landing, he really had gone through quite a few books.
It had since become a habit.
One day while visiting Bran as usual, Lady Catelyn actually looked up.
Her thick auburn hair was tangled into a mess. She looked frail sitting in the chair.
"You know more about this than you appear to, Your Grace," she said, her voice still hoarse.
Joffrey gently set the packet of medicine on the bedside table. "It's nothing much. I'm just glad if it eases your mind, my lady."
That was also true.
Giving help in someone's darkest hour meant far more than adding flowers to a bouquet.
Catelyn might always remain suspicious of the Lannisters.
But at least for now, the instinctive hostility had completely vanished from her eyes when she looked at him.
At night, Joffrey stood by the window, turning his failure over and over in his mind.
He had changed the timing, changed the location, even changed the trigger.
Yet the outcome remained exactly the same.
"A horse with a broken leg should be put down. A blind dog should be put out of its misery," Robert slurred drunkenly as he hurled his cup. "Why are we being so weak when a child is crippled? Where's the mercy in dragging this out?"
Joffrey listened with a blank expression.
He was thinking.
Could the assassination still happen?
He had been so certain before—after all, the biggest culprit had been himself.
Now he wasn't sure anymore.
Supernatural forces had clearly stepped in. No matter what he did, would some invisible hand keep pushing everything back onto the predetermined track?
Cersei stayed silent through Robert's drunken rant, only pulling Tommen and Myrcella closer.
The two young children had long learned to stay quiet in front of their drunk father. They huddled against their mother like two frightened little animals.
So who else would do it?
Joffrey scanned the people present.
The Lannister siblings had no connection to Bran's fall. He had already confirmed that through his probing the past few days.
It couldn't be her… could it?
He glanced at poor, innocent-looking Myrcella and immediately shook the ridiculous thought out of his head.
Before leaving, Joffrey went to the godswood one last time.
The heart tree still wore its terrifying carved face, but facing it now, Joffrey no longer felt the same shock as before.
"I know you're watching."
"I know you're listening."
He kept his voice low. The rustling leaves swallowed every word.
"Bran will wake up. He will become your hand, your eyes, and your tool."
"Just as you planned."
Joffrey stood before the black pool, staring the heart tree down.
"But you should know—tools can also cut the hand that uses them."
"Whether you're fighting the Others or have some other purpose."
"This matter between us is far from over."
"Brynden Rivers."
After speaking directly to the face.
No miracle occurred. No divine message came down.
The tree didn't suddenly grow legs and stomp him into the ground.
It seemed the Three-Eyed Crow was merely another piece struggling on a different board.
It had its own limits too.
Back in the courtyard, Robb sought him out.
"Got your things packed?"
The red-haired youth pulled him into a quiet spot beside the stables, clearly wanting to speak privately.
Aside from everything else, Joffrey had spent time with him learning how to act as castellan.
The experience had hardened Robb's face somewhat, but now at the farewell, the mask he'd been forcing on cracked.
Joffrey nodded. "Almost done."
"Has Jon already left? I saw him this morning—he didn't look good. You should have looked after him more."
"What's there to look after?" Robb muttered, grinding grass under his boot. "He's going to join the Night's Watch. He gets to go to the Wall and fight wildlings."
"Now I'm the one stuck here holding the castle."
He looked up and forced a smile that wasn't really a smile.
"You came here, took my father and two sisters, and left me all alone in Winterfell. You're really heartless!"
Joffrey said nothing, just stared at him silently.
After a few seconds, Robb cracked first.
He stepped forward and punched Joffrey lightly on the shoulder.
"My father will be busy in King's Landing. He probably won't have much time to look after my sisters," he said in a tone like he was entrusting them. "Arya is still young and wild. You have to help me keep an eye on her."
"As for Sansa…" His voice softened. "You'd better treat her well. Otherwise I'll have to ride to King's Landing and settle accounts with you."
"I will," Joffrey nodded.
"See you then." Robb turned away, straightening his back again.
He walked back to the center of the courtyard and calmly began directing the loading of the wagons, once more the young acting lord of Winterfell.
Not long after, Rickon came running up clutching a direwolf doll, with "Shaggydog" trailing behind him. He wrapped himself around Robb's leg, crying that his mother and father didn't want him.
It instantly shattered the dignity Robb had just rebuilt.
Watching the scene, Joffrey swung up onto his horse.
He shook the reins and joined the column heading south.
The journey to the North was over.
It was time to return to King's Landing.