After the brief welcoming ceremony, everyone moved into the great hall of Winterfell's main keep.
The atmosphere was… complicated.
The moment Robert arrived, he grabbed Eddard and insisted on going down to the crypts to see the woman he had been thinking about for sixteen years.
His first love.
Probably.
The queen's face turned cold the instant she heard it.
"We have ridden since dawn. We are cold and weary," she said.
Her voice was not loud, but it carried clearly across the hall. "And the first thing you wish to do in another man's home is visit a corpse?"
Under the king's glare, she turned sharply and left, taking her twin brother with her.
Joffrey blinked.
With the adults busy handling their own matters, he suddenly realized something.
He had just become the representative of the royal family.
After all, when the sky falls, the tallest man holds it up. And he was taller than Tyrion.
This was an opportunity.
Joffrey immediately signaled for the servants to bring forward the prepared gifts.
For Robb, the eldest son, he presented the wolf-headed hand-and-a-half sword.
The moment it was drawn from its scabbard, Robb couldn't look away. "This… but I'm not yet of an age to wear a sword."
He said the words, yet his fingers had already tightened around the hilt.
His other hand kept brushing along the blade as if afraid it might vanish.
He looked toward his mother, Catelyn, with hopeful eyes.
"What does that matter?" Joffrey laughed openly, without a trace of malice. "I'm two years younger than you, and I already have my own sword."
With Eddard absent, the decision fell to Catelyn.
Her gaze lingered for a moment before she gave the slightest nod.
"Thank you, Prince Joffrey," Robb said quickly, clearly eager to find something to cut the moment he had the chance.
For Sansa, Joffrey had commissioned a harp in King's Landing. Its body was carved with intricate winter roses.
The red-haired, blue-eyed girl gasped softly as she accepted it.
Her fingers brushed the strings lightly.
She dared a shy glance upward, her cheeks flushing, before lowering her head and murmuring her thanks.
Joffrey thought to himself that appearance truly did matter.
He had been carefully groomed by Cersei that very morning. At this moment, he looked like some elven prince who had wandered into the wrong story.
As for the other Stark children, each received something suited to them.
An illustrated manuscript titled Tales of the Heroines of the Seven Kingdoms.
A wooden knight figure with removable armor and movable joints.
A gray-and-black direwolf plush sewn from soft wool.
Lady Catelyn thanked him for each gift in turn. The tightness around her mouth eased slightly, though the caution in her eyes remained.
If Joffrey were honest, there were other gifts he would have preferred to give. A needle. A wheelchair. A nutcracker.
That would have been thorough.
But on the surface, each present appeared thoughtful and well-considered, fitting their ages and personalities.
The children were delighted.
Before long, Joffrey was laughing and playing alongside them.
As for the certain bastard with the inconvenient surname?
"Jon… what? Snow?"
"Never heard of him."
Under the heavy, unspoken rules of the world, Joffrey had neither reason nor ability to present him with a gift. Doing so would only raise suspicion.
After playing with the young wolves for a while, evening arrived.
The great hall of Winterfell transformed for a grand feast.
Long tables overflowed with food.
Whole roasted pigs with golden skin. Thick sausages sizzling with fat. Large cuts of mutton and carrots dusted with pepper.
Honey-glazed chickens stuffed with apples. Roasted onions drenched in gravy. Endless bread. Barrels of ale and Summerwine flowing without restraint.
Though still a boy, Joffrey had a drunken father. He found himself raising his cup again and again.
"Joff, pour him another!"
Robert wedged himself into the high seat, his booming voice shaking dust from the rafters.
Robb, seated nearby, flinched at the roar. He had clearly never experienced a feast of this scale.
Youthful pride and alcohol made a dangerous mix. And Joffrey had been deliberately encouraging him to drink.
This was already the second time Robb had nearly passed out.
"Brother…" Robb slurred, lifting his horn cup stubbornly and draining it.
He threw an arm around Joffrey's shoulders, breath heavy with wine.
"Your swordsmanship… isn't it taught by the Kingslayer? Tomorrow… hic… tomorrow we should spar…"
"Robb!" Lady Catelyn snapped, unable to endure it any longer.
Eddard added a stern look. "You were allowed one cup. I stepped away for a moment to speak with Benjen. How are you already this drunk?"
Robb showed no concern for the coming punishment.
He could no longer hear them.
Before Eddard finished speaking, Robb slid off the bench and collapsed beneath the table, completely unconscious.
Laughter broke out around the hall.
Robert leaned back in his chair, his belly shaking with amusement.
"Wine is the hero's companion! The more you drink, the braver you become!"
"At their age, I never went a day without wine or women. Leave the boys be. Come, Ned, drink!"
After a brief commotion, Joffrey helped the servants drag the unfortunate wolf out of the hall.
Once finished, he returned to his seat and swirled the wine in his cup lazily.
Thanks to his skill, he had been drinking heavily all night without the slightest haze in his mind.
One northern noble after another had come to test him.
Each ended up red-faced and defeated.
The looks directed at Joffrey gradually shifted from curiosity to astonishment. Soon, more men gathered—some unwilling to accept defeat, others seeking favor.
Joffrey accepted every challenge, treating it as a test of his limits.
One round. Two rounds. Three.
Between drinks, he glanced at the system interface he had almost forgotten.
[Providence Points: 63 out of 99]
Sixty-three?
He clearly remembered it being in the thirties the last time he checked.
At first, he thought it was a mistake.
Then a broad-shouldered man from House Manderly, famous for his drinking capacity, staggered aside and began vomiting loudly.
[Providence Points +3]
Joffrey's eyes lit up.
So that was it.
Proud. Not angry.
Wine.
He lifted his gaze and surveyed the noisy hall. Food and alcohol filled the air, forming a hazy warmth.
Robert was reminiscing with Eddard.
Cersei sat alone, elegant and distant, her expression cold.
Tyrion was nowhere to be seen. Most likely, he had slipped off to find private company.
Joffrey smiled faintly and raised his cup once more.
"To the North!"
"To the king!"
"To the long summer that never ends!"
Cups clashed loudly again.
And in the corner of Joffrey's vision, something shimmered quietly—something not meant for mortal eyes.
__________
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