The column reached the Gate of the Gods. Northerners pinched their noses. Southerners drew deep breaths.
Sweat, shit, and rotting garbage fermented in the summer heat and slammed into them like a wall.
Petals scattered for the king's return lay trampled on the ground beside colorful rags.
"Still smells like home," Robert laughed from the saddle, waving broadly to the crowd.
Sansa nearly gagged. Joffrey already had a handkerchief ready and passed it to her.
Thank the gods Aegon had the sense to build the Red Keep on high ground. The sea breeze usually scrubbed the worst of it away.
They passed through the bronze gates into the castle courtyard.
Servants scrambled to unload baggage. Guards rotated off duty and peeled off their dusty armor.
Robert swung down, threw an arm around Lord Eddard's shoulders.
"Ned, the Tower of the Hand's already been aired out for you." The king's voice boomed across the yard. "Rest up. You're at the small council tonight."
He flashed a yellow-toothed grin stained with wine and turned.
"Little Joff, you too."
"You're old enough now. Time you learned how a kingdom runs."
Joffrey nodded.
Robert had probably watched Robb stepping up as acting lord in Winterfell and finally remembered he had a son who needed teaching.
The groups split. Eddard and his people followed servants toward the Tower of the Hand.
Robert headed straight for Maegor's Holdfast.
Perfect timing.
Joffrey caught up quickly.
He matched his father's pace up the spiral stairs, then walked beside him down the long gallery.
"Father, there's something I've been wanting to ask you."
"Speak."
"It's about Lady Lyanna."
The words hit like a hammer.
Robert's eyes—usually glazed with drink and temper—flashed with something raw.
Pain? Memory? Or the sting of something stolen?
"Why bring her up now?" Robert's voice dropped.
Then suspicion sharpened it. "Your mother put you up to this? That woman!"
"No, no," Joffrey said quickly, letting just the right amount of hesitation creep in.
"About a week ago at the Green Fork I ran into Arya—that's Lord Eddard's youngest daughter."
He painted the picture: the dirt-covered girl, arms covered in bruises, knuckles blue but still white-knuckling that broomstick, gray eyes burning with stubborn fire.
"That same wild spark reminded me of what you've said about Lady Lyanna."
Robert didn't answer right away.
He stopped at an arched window and stared out at the hazy sky.
When he spoke again his voice had softened into something almost tender.
"Yeah… Lyanna was a wild one too."
"Lord Rickard Stark—Eddard's father—used to swear he'd take a whip to her until she learned to act like a proper lady."
"She never listened."
"She'd sneak into the armory and swing spears taller than she was."
"She stole an unbroken mare from the stables once, jumped on bareback, and nearly broke her neck."
"And one time…"
The memory trailed off.
Joffrey spoke gently.
"Little Arya really is a Stark through and through. It's almost a shame to watch."
"She wants to learn swordplay but has no proper teacher—just beats herself up and drags the butcher's boy into it for practice."
"I was thinking…" He made it sound like an afterthought. "If Lord Eddard found her a real master—at-arms, the way they taught Lady Lyanna back then…"
"The North might end up with another legend in skirts."
He finished with a regretful sigh. "Of course, it's a Stark family matter. Lord Eddard would never allow it."
"Just seems a waste…"
"Waste my ass!" Robert's eyes lit up. "I'm deciding this one!"
"I'll talk to Ned myself. Lyanna's niece wants to learn sword? She learns! Damn anyone who says otherwise!"
Robert ranted on, spitting and waving his arms. When he finally wound down, Joffrey looked up.
He slid in his real goal.
"Father…"
"In that case, I'd like to give Arya something. That broomstick of hers is ridiculous."
"But ordering a new blade would take too long. Could I pick something from your armory instead?"
Robert stared at him for two beats, then burst out laughing.
"You've got a good heart, boy!" The king clapped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, we'll pick one right now. My storeroom's full of fine steel."
They skipped the royal apartments and cut through a side door into a small courtyard.
A heavy oak door banded with iron stood guarded by a spearman.
The wagons from the road had just been unloaded; servants were still arranging the racks inside.
"Leave it open. I'm just grabbing something."
"Yes, Your Grace." The men bowed.
The stone room was wide and cool, walls covered with every kind of weapon—swords, axes, hammers, spears—in every style.
Several suits of armor hung on stands. Shields painted with house sigils leaned in the corners.
None of it had been used in years, yet every piece still gleamed.
Robert strode in, grabbed a longsword at random, drew it, snorted, and shoved it back.
"Too heavy… too fancy…"
"Ha—this one's decent!" He lifted a sheathed shortsword. "Lyanna had something like this once…"
He stopped mid-sentence, brow furrowing as he scanned the room left to right, top to bottom.
"Strange…" Robert muttered. He walked to a display rack.
It was empty.
"Everybody inside!" the king bellowed.
He jabbed a thick finger at the bare rack.
"What happened to the piece that was supposed to be here? You're certain everything was unloaded?"
The servant by the door flinched.
"Your Grace, maybe it was overlooked. We'll check again."
Time crawled.
The man finally returned, legs shaking so badly he looked ready to drop to his knees. "Your Grace… the wagons are empty."
"It… it must have been lost…"
"Lost!" Robert roared. "How the hell do you lose one of my things?"
He glared at the servant, then at the empty rack, brows knotted.
He didn't even seem to remember exactly what had been there.
Finally the king gave a heavy snort.
"Fine, fine. I'll let it go this once. Don't let it happen again."
He thrust the shortsword he'd chosen at Joffrey. "Here, take this one."
Joffrey accepted it, then asked innocently, "Father… was the missing piece a dagger, by any chance?"
"I seem to remember a Valyrian steel blade, dragonbone hilt, with a red ruby set in it."
"The one you won from Lord Baelish last year."
Robert's eyes changed.
He nodded slowly, thoughtful.
"Yeah," he said. "I think that was the one."