"White Walkers?"
Tyrion spat slightly as he spoke.
He pulled back on the reins, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "Joffrey, have you been listening to too many old nanny stories?"
"Starting to mutter about 'Winter is Coming' now?"
Joffrey raised his hand and slapped the rump of the gentle mare Tyrion was riding.
With a startled whinny, the horse lurched forward, carrying its unprepared rider into an awkward trot.
Tyrion's small body bounced on the saddle as his curses quickly faded into the wind.
"You little bastard..."
Watching the retreating figure, a shadow passed through Joffrey's eyes.
Tyrion was one of the few truly intelligent men in Westeros.
Yet even his first reaction to the warning to pay attention to what lies beyond the Wall was to treat it like a bedtime story meant for children.
Joffrey withdrew his gaze and slowly walked back into the courtyard.
It had been two full weeks since Bran's fall.
The boy still had not awakened.
The bitter smell of herbs filled the castle day and night. Catelyn remained by her son's bedside constantly, her body growing thinner with every passing day.
Robert's planned departure had been delayed again and again.
During the first few days, the king had visited often, speaking loudly in encouragement.
But enthusiasm faded quickly when faced with unchanging silence.
Bran showed no improvement. He did not wake. He did not even stir.
Robert's instinctive dislike for weakness began to show. Gradually he spent more time drinking and complaining.
Joffrey, however, did not remain idle.
Every afternoon he went to the Maester's Tower and spent hours in Maester Luwin's library and apothecary.
The thick book he had borrowed from Pycelle proved useful now. It contained many recipes for medicinal mixtures.
"I did not expect Your Highness to study such things," Maester Luwin said, blinking his gray eyes with clear surprise.
"I merely happened to read those books," Joffrey replied truthfully.
Back in King's Landing, during long idle afternoons, he had read many things.
Eventually it had become a habit.
One day, during his usual visit to Bran's room, Catelyn unexpectedly looked up.
Her thick auburn hair was tangled, and her body seemed fragile as she sat beside the bed.
"You understand more than you appear to, Your Highness," she said hoarsely.
Joffrey placed the packet of herbs beside the bed. "It is a small thing. If it eases your mind even slightly, I am satisfied."
That was the truth.
Help given in desperate times meant far more than favors offered when all was well.
Catelyn might always distrust the Lannisters.
But at this moment, the instinctive hostility in her eyes toward Joffrey had vanished.
That night, Joffrey stood by the window, reviewing his failure again and again.
He had changed the timing. He had changed the location...He had even changed the cause.
Yet the outcome remained the same.
"A horse with a broken leg must be killed. A blind dog must be put down."
Robert, already drunk, slammed his cup onto the table.
"Why does no one dare show mercy to a crippled child? What kind of cowardly nonsense is this?"
Joffrey listened expressionlessly.
He was thinking.
Would the assassination attempt still happen?
Previously he had been certain it would not. After all, the greatest mastermind behind the original incident had been himself.
But now he was no longer sure.
Supernatural forces had clearly intervened. Perhaps every action he took would simply be pushed back onto the original path by unseen hands.
Cersei said nothing after hearing Robert's drunken rant.
She simply pulled Tommen and Myrcella closer to her.
The two younger children had long since learned to remain silent when their father drank. They curled beside their mother like frightened animals.
Then who would do it?
Joffrey glanced around the hall.
The Lannister siblings had nothing to do with Bran's fall. His earlier tests had already confirmed that.
Could it be her?
He suddenly thought of a ridiculous joke and glanced at the delicate Myrcella.
Then he shook his head and dismissed the absurd thought.
Before leaving Winterfell, Joffrey visited the godswood one last time. The heart tree still bore its terrifying carved face, but the awe he once felt had faded.
"I know you're watching."
"I know you're listening."
He lowered his voice as the rustling leaves swallowed each word.
"Bran will wake. He will become your hands, your eyes, and your tool...Exactly as you planned."
Standing beside the pool, Joffrey faced the heart tree directly.
"But remember this. A tool can cut its master. Whether your goal is to fight the White Walkers or something else entirely..."
"This matter between us is not finished."
"Brynden Rivers."
After revealing the name openly, nothing happened.
No miracle.
No divine message.
The tree did not suddenly grow legs and crush him into the ground. That alone proved something important.
The Three-Eyed Crow was merely another piece on a different chessboard.
Even it had limits.
When Joffrey returned to the courtyard, Robb came to find him.
"Have you finished packing?"
The red-haired boy pulled him toward a quiet corner near the stables.
Putting aside everything else, Joffrey had spent the past weeks helping Robb adapt to his role as acting lord.
The experience had hardened Robb somewhat, but now that the farewell approached, cracks appeared in the mask he had been holding together.
Joffrey nodded. "Almost."
"Has Jon already left? I saw him this morning. He looked terrible. You should have taken better care of him."
"What does he need care for?" Robb muttered, grinding grass under his boot. "He's going to the Night's Watch. He'll go to the Wall and fight wildlings."
"I'm the one stuck here guarding Winterfell."
He looked up and forced something that resembled a smile.
"You came north, took my father and my two sisters away, and left me alone in Winterfell. That's pretty cruel."
Joffrey said nothing. He simply looked at him.
After a few seconds, Robb was the first to break.
He stepped forward and punched Joffrey lightly in the chest.
"My father will be busy in King's Landing. He won't have time to watch my sisters."
He spoke like someone entrusting something important.
"Arya is still young and wild. Make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble."
"And Sansa…" His voice softened for a moment. "You'd better treat her well. Otherwise I'll ride to King's Landing and settle things myself."
"I will," Joffrey said, nodding.
"Then I'll see you again."
Robb turned away, his back straight once more.
He returned to the courtyard and calmly directed the loading of the wagons, becoming the young acting lord again.
Not long after, Rickon came running with his direwolf toy dragging behind him, Shaggydog following close.
The little boy wrapped himself around Robb's leg, crying that his father and mother had abandoned him.
The fragile dignity Robb had just rebuilt collapsed instantly.
Watching the scene, Joffrey mounted his horse. He flicked the reins and joined the column heading south.
The journey to the North was over.
It was time to return to King's Landing.
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