"You don't believe me?"
Joffrey's voice carried a note of wounded innocence.
Arya balanced on one foot at the very edge of the spiral staircase, the other leg kicked high. Her arms windmilled like a broken windmill as she fought to stay upright.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah—you're a man of your word, the greatest guy ever, happy now?" Arya switched feet in a hurry. In the split-second of balance she stuck her tongue out at him and pulled an exaggerated face. "Who knew you'd actually get the king to talk to my father?"
The bald man beside them barked instantly.
"No talking!"
His accent was thick, straight from the far side of the Narrow Sea.
"You are a tree right now. Do trees talk?" He raised one finger and wagged it slowly, full of solemn authority. "Ten more minutes."
Arya's cheeks puffed out like she'd stuffed two walnuts inside them. But she shut up, only snorting loudly through her nose while she held the ridiculous pose.
"Take it easy, coach," Joffrey said gently. "She's still just a little girl."
The bald man with the big hooked nose glared at him.
"I don't care if it's a boy or a girl," he declared like it was holy writ. "I am her dancing master. Here, everyone listens to me."
"Syrio Forel served nine years as first sword to the Sealord of Braavos. He knows how these things should be taught."
"Little prince should keep his mouth closed."
Joffrey raised both hands in surrender and stepped back against the wall to watch quietly.
This "water dancer" had been an excellent find.
The light, tricky Braavosi style suited Arya's small frame and wild spirit far better than any heavy Westerosi knight's technique.
But how the hell had the man turned up?
The question turned over in Joffrey's mind. He'd had people quietly searching King's Landing for months trying to recruit this water dancer and come up empty. Yet Eddard had only been here a few days and had somehow quietly brought the man straight into the Tower of the Hand.
Still, it worked out.
Joffrey glanced at the big nose under that shiny bald head.
Syrio Forel was at least a lot more controllable than a certain Faceless Man who called himself "no one."
Jaqen H'ghar is too dangerous. He's probably rotting in one of the black cells under the Red Keep right now.
He'd have to find the right moment to go looking and personally pull the man out. No sense letting anyone else get their hands on him.
After watching Arya wobble through another few minutes, Joffrey bent down and picked up the long cloth-wrapped bundle leaning against the wall.
He stepped onto the spiral stairs. As he passed the girl he deliberately flicked his wrist so the wrapping slipped open just enough to show the corner of a leather-wrapped hilt.
"Present for you," Joffrey said with a wink.
Arya's eyes went wide. "A sword!"
"But I already have—"
"No—talking!" the bald instructor roared again. "Another ten minutes!"
A satisfied little smirk flashed across Joffrey's face.
Arya quickly clapped both hands over her mouth.
Up in the Hand's solar, Joffrey gave a small nod to the Northern guards stationed outside the door.
Sunlight from the window fell across Eddard Stark's sharp-featured face. The new Hand sat behind the wide desk looking thoroughly miserable, pinching the bridge of his nose while he read from the enormous book in front of him.
The thing was thick enough to use as a shield.
Its full title was something ridiculous about the lineages and histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms—Joffrey couldn't even remember the exact wording anymore, even though he could recite the key passages he'd personally altered, the ones about hair-color inheritance.
"Such a thick book?" Joffrey strolled over, tone amused. "Looks like your new job is pretty light, Lord Eddard, if you still have time for scholarly pursuits."
Eddard looked up. The bloodshot eyes were impossible to miss.
"Your Grace shouldn't tease me. His Grace the king's 'real work' is already giving me enough headaches."
"In that case," Joffrey said as he unwrapped the bundle, "I'm afraid I have something that'll make it worse."
"This is a gift from my father for Arya."
It was the short sword Robert and he had chosen days earlier. The blade had been freshly sharpened and the scabbard replaced.
"Father said: the girl's been training hard, so she deserves a proper weapon." Joffrey delivered the line in Robert's booming voice.
Eddard's mouth twitched. Joffrey could actually hear the man grinding his teeth.
But the honorable lord managed to swallow whatever curse was on his tongue in front of the children.
He forced the words out through clenched teeth.
"His Grace is… most thoughtful."
Joffrey pretended not to notice the frustration and weariness in the man's voice.
He set the sword down, straightened his back, and put on a slightly more formal expression.
"At the same time, I bring the crown's warmest regards."
"My father is hosting a feast tonight in Maegor's Holdfast to celebrate the joyous news that Bran Stark has woken up."
"Lord Eddard, this really is wonderful news."
"Gods be good," Eddard muttered, rubbing his face hard. "Thank you for delivering the message in person."
"I'll be there on time."
Joffrey nodded but didn't leave immediately.
His gaze drifted naturally to the massive open book.
"Ronald Arryn and Cersei Tully," he read softly from the page. "One son and one daughter… large of frame, healthy appetite, golden hair."
His eyes moved lower.
"Joanna Arryn and Gyles Tully. One son, died young, red of hair…"
After a moment Joffrey's smile turned even more innocent and harmless. "Lord Eddard, it seems I underestimated you."
"Not everyone has the patience to wade through such a dull book."
Eddard closed the volume with a perfectly calm expression. "I've only just taken over Lord Jon's position. It's wise to learn as much of the old history as possible."
"True," Joffrey nodded understandingly. "Then why not simply ask the people who were closest to him?"
Eddard's eyes sharpened with caution, but seeing Joffrey's relaxed face, he eased slightly.
"Didn't Lady Lysa take everyone back to the Eyrie with her?"
"Not everyone," Joffrey said matter-of-factly.
"Lord Jon spent many years in King's Landing. There are always a few who put down roots and didn't want to leave."
"At the very least, Ser Hugh stayed behind."
Eddard's gaze turned keen. "Ser Hugh?"
Joffrey shrugged. "Jon Arryn's former squire. A few years older than me. He used to come looking for me in the Red Keep all the time."
"Mostly hoping I'd put in a good word for him with Lord Jon." Joffrey flashed a bright smile. "He was desperate to become a knight."
"I never agreed, of course. He still had a long way to go."
Then Joffrey's tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful.
"Still… right before we rode north to Winterfell, my father decided to honor Lord Jon by knighting him after all."
Eddard tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Then why did he stay in King's Landing?"
"The fool borrowed a pile of money to buy himself a fancy suit of armor so he could compete in that damned tourney." Joffrey shrugged casually. "What else is there to do in this stinking city?"
He suddenly stopped.
Eddard looked up.
The two of them stared at each other for a beat.
Then they both burst out laughing.
"It's the tourney His Grace is throwing for the two of us," Joffrey said, grinning. "The Hand and the Prince."