Time passed quickly, and before long, it was the day of departure.
The northern wind felt even sharper than when they had first arrived. But King Robert was never one to sit still.
Especially in a place like Winterfell, where there was little besides stone and trees. The restlessness in his blood had reached its limit.
So on their final day, he insisted on making some noise.
"Joff, come!"
At dawn, a large hand slapped heavily against Joffrey's back.
Robert stood in full hunting gear, eyes shining with boyish excitement. "A Baratheon man should bring down his first boar."
Joffrey staggered forward unexpectedly, clutching his stomach. His face turned pale.
"Father..." he said weakly. "I think I ate something bad last night. My stomach hurts terribly."
"I don't think I can go."
Robert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Really hurts?"
"Really."
"Hmph. Fine. Rest, then."
He snorted and waved toward the waiting nobles. "Ned, let's go! Let these soft boys stay behind and sip their hot soup!"
Hooves and barking dogs soon filled the courtyard.
Nearly every male noble in the castle joined the hunt. It was a rare chance to display valor before the king.
Even Tyrion had mounted his specially modified saddle, riding out enthusiastically on the mare Jaime had given him.
Joffrey stood on the stone steps of the great keep, watching the hunting party depart.
'Boy. Don't compete with me for my chosen.'
The voice still echoed in his mind.
The Three-Eyed Raven had spoken through the heart tree.
A being beyond ordinary lifespan. A powerful sorcerer fused with a weirwood far beyond the Wall.
They said he had a thousand and one eyes, able to see past and future alike.
Fortunately, his name was Brynden.
Not Brandon. Not some blue-feathered monstrosity with two heads.
Dry leaves swirled around Joffrey's boots.
Bran Stark was destined to become the Three-Eyed Raven's successor. That path was written.
And besides, the boy had beaten Tommen rather harshly in the training yard. Even after Tommen had fallen, Bran had added an unnecessary strike.
Originally, Joffrey had no intention of interfering. As long as it didn't involve the Lannisters, it was none of his concern.
But that warning changed everything.
'Don't compete with me for my chosen.'
Joffrey slowly clenched his fist.
Oh? An ancient cripple living beneath tree roots dared to threaten him from miles away?
Not allowed to compete?
Then he would compete.
If he managed to bring Bran south to King's Landing, that would be interesting indeed.
Joffrey turned and walked back inside.
With so many men gone, Winterfell felt strangely hollow. Even Robb had assumed Joffrey would join the hunt and left with the others.
He found Bran in a western corridor.
The boy was crouched on the floor, trying to coax his direwolf into fetching a thrown stick.
"Go on!" Bran urged.
The wolf showed no interest.
At the sound of Joffrey's footsteps, its ears twitched. It glanced back lazily, then lay down again.
"Where shall we explore today?" Joffrey asked, patting Bran's shoulder.
Bran looked up, face smudged with dirt, eyes bright with excitement.
"The bell tower!" he exclaimed. "I know a secret passage that leads straight to the rookery's second level."
Joffrey tilted his head thoughtfully. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"It's fine. I've done it loads of times," Bran declared confidently. "Just don't tell my mother."
Since their encounter in the godswood, Joffrey had made a habit of seeking Bran out and letting him act as a guide through Winterfell.
Bran loved it. His older brothers rarely joined his adventures anymore.
And in truth, Bran was an expert.
He climbed like a squirrel, knowing every hidden corner and passage in the castle. Some places even Lord Eddard likely didn't know as well as his son.
More importantly, if Joffrey could keep an eye on the boy directly, that was better than any elaborate scheme.
So he stayed with Bran the entire day.
They slipped into the kitchens and stole two honeyed loaves while Gage wasn't looking, hiding in a storage room to eat until their fingers were sticky.
They visited the stables and asked Hodor for an apple, feeding it to Bran's pony while whispering a quiet farewell.
They went to the forge to see Mikken. To the maester's tower to see Luwin. To the warm chamber where Old Nan dozed.
After saying goodbye to each place, Bran's excitement faded into something softer.
"Will I be able to come back?" he asked, childish uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Joffrey looked at him steadily.
"Of course."
Of course not.
"When you miss your mother, or grow tired of the Red Keep, you can return whenever you wish."
Not until the White Walkers are gone.
Joffrey ruffled the boy's auburn hair. "Come on. There's one more place left."
They entered the First Keep.
It was a low, round structure from Winterfell's earliest days. Now only rats and spiders lived there.
The corridors were narrow and twisting. Windows were scarce. Even during the day, it felt dim.
Perfect for adventure.
They climbed from the second floor to the third.
From the third to the fourth.
Suddenly, the direwolf let out a low whine.
Joffrey looked up immediately.
A figure stood at the far corner of the corridor. Morning light streamed through a high window, outlining him in gold.
"What are you doing here?" Joffrey called loudly.
Jaime Lannister, clad in crimson, had been peering around the corner.
Startled, he stiffened and instinctively reached for his sword before recognizing Joffrey.
He relaxed and strode forward.
"I should ask you the same," he replied, flashing a sharp smile.
"We're exploring!" Bran announced, jumping out from behind the wall.
Jaime clearly hadn't expected him. His expression flickered for a moment.
"I... am exploring as well," he said, unconvincingly.
For Bran, that was enough.
The boy's eyes lit up.
He had always wanted to be a knight. He knew every tale of the Kingsguard by heart.
The two white knights who had come north with Robert were unimpressive. One bald with a sagging chin, the other with rust-colored whiskers.
But Jaime Lannister was tall, handsome, golden-haired and green-eyed.
He looked like a storybook knight.
Even if the realm called him Kingslayer.
Robert had started the nickname. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms followed.
Now that Joffrey had caught a possible culprit in the act, he began chatting casually. He deliberately wandered from topic to topic, bringing up tales Bran loved.
Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ryam Redwyne. The twin brothers who had slain each other centuries ago.
Jaime grew increasingly distracted.
His answers were absent-minded. His gaze kept drifting deeper into the corridor or toward the stairwell.
When he looked at Joffrey, there was confusion. And a hint of impatience.
"How long are you two planning to stay here?" Jaime finally interrupted.
Joffrey smiled pleasantly. "It's our last day. We should see everything."
Jaime's jaw tightened slightly.
He shrugged. "Then take your time. I just remembered I have something to do."
He turned and walked toward the far end of the corridor.
His steps were quick. Almost hurried.
"But that's not the way down," Bran called after him loudly.
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