When the royal party reached the Gate of the Gods in King's Landing, the northerners pinched their noses while the southerners took a deep breath.
The stench of sweat, dung, and rotting refuse had fermented under the summer sun and now rushed toward them like a physical force.
Flower petals had been scattered on the ground to welcome the king's return.
Among them lay strips of dyed cloth in every color imaginable.
"Ah, this smell feels like home," Robert laughed loudly from his saddle, waving energetically at the cheering crowd.
Sansa nearly gagged from the smell. Joffrey had anticipated it and handed her a handkerchief.
Fortunately, when Aegon had ordered the city built, he had considered such problems. The Red Keep stood on a hill high enough for the sea winds to carry away the worst of the odors.
Passing through the great bronze gates, the procession entered the courtyard of the Red Keep.
Servants hurried about unloading baggage. Guards rotated shifts, stripping off armor coated with travel dust.
Robert jumped from his horse and clapped an arm around Eddard Stark's shoulder.
"Ned, the Tower of the Hand's been prepared for you," the king boomed across the courtyard. "Get some rest. You'll need to attend the small council meeting tonight."
Then he turned, flashing his wine-stained yellow teeth in a grin.
"Joffrey, you come too."
"You're old enough now. Time you started learning how to rule."
Joffrey nodded.
Most likely Robert had watched Robb trying to fulfill his duties as acting lord in Winterfell and suddenly remembered that his own son should be taught something about governance.
The group soon split apart.
Eddard and his household followed servants toward the Tower of the Hand.
Robert headed straight toward Maegor's Holdfast.
The timing was perfect.
Joffrey quickly caught up.
He climbed the spiral stairs behind Robert and soon walked beside him along a stone corridor.
"Father, there's something I've wanted to ask you."
"Go on."
"It's about Lady Lyanna."
The words struck directly at the heart.
Robert's eyes, usually clouded by drink and temper, flickered with something entirely different.
Pain? Nostalgia?
Or perhaps the wounded pride of something taken from him.
"Why ask about that all of a sudden?" Robert's voice lowered.
Then suspicion followed immediately.
"Did your mother put you up to this? That woman…"
"No, no," Joffrey quickly replied, adding a careful hint of hesitation. "A week ago, when we were near the Green Fork, I ran into Arya."
"Lord Eddard's younger daughter."
He began describing the scene vividly.
The dirt-covered girl.
Her bruised arms. Her swollen knuckles gripping a wooden stick she refused to drop.
And the stubborn fire in those gray eyes.
"That spirit reminded me of how you once described Lady Lyanna."
Robert did not answer immediately. He walked to an arched window and stared at the gray sky outside.
When he spoke again, his voice held only a gentle kind of remembrance. "Yes. Lyanna was a wild girl too."
"Rickard Stark, Ned's father, always threatened to whip her so she'd learn how to behave like a proper lady."
"But she never listened."
"She would sneak into the armory and play with spears taller than she was.
She once stole an untrained mare from the stables and rode it straight out of the castle. Nearly broke her neck.
And there was another time…"
His voice slowly faded.
Joffrey continued softly. "Arya truly carries the Stark blood."
"She wants to learn sword fighting, but there's no one proper to teach her. She just pushes herself and drags a butcher's boy into the mess."
"I was thinking…"
He spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him.
"If Lord Eddard could find her a proper instructor, someone like the one who once trained Lady Lyanna...
Perhaps the North might one day produce another legendary woman."
Finally he added with a sigh.
"Of course, it's a Stark family matter. Lord Eddard would never agree. I just think it's a shame…"
"Shame my ass!" Robert's eyes lit up. "I'll handle this myself!"
"I'll speak to Ned. Lyanna's niece wants to learn swordplay? Then she'll learn! Damn it, I'd like to see who dares object."
After listening to Robert rant enthusiastically for a while, Joffrey raised his head.
Now came his real purpose.
"Father."
"In that case, I'd like to give Arya something. That broomstick she uses is ridiculous.
But ordering a new sword would take too long. Could I choose one from your armory?"
Robert stared at him for two seconds, then burst out laughing.
"You've got a good heart, boy!" the king said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, let's go pick something. I've got plenty of fine weapons in there."
They did not return to their chambers. Instead, they exited through a side door and entered a small courtyard.
A heavy oak door reinforced with iron bars stood ahead. A guard waited beside it with a halberd.
The wagons had only just unloaded their cargo, and servants had recently finished arranging the contents inside.
"Leave the door open. I'm just grabbing something," Robert said.
"Yes, Your Grace."
They bowed.
The room inside was a spacious stone chamber with walls covered in weapons.
Swords, axes, warhammers, and spears lined the racks, each with different shapes and styles.
Several suits of armor hung nearby, while shields bearing various heraldic symbols rested in the corner.
Though unused for years, every piece had been polished until it shone.
Robert strode inside, grabbing a sword from the wall and drawing it halfway before returning it.
"This one's too heavy… that one's too flashy…"
"Ah, this one's good!" He lifted a sheathed short sword. "Lyanna once had something similar…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Then he frowned and slowly scanned the room.
From left to right.
From top to bottom.
"That's strange…" Robert muttered, walking toward a display stand.
It was empty.
"Get in here!" the king suddenly shouted.
He pointed at the empty stand. "What happened here? Are you sure everything was unloaded?"
One of the attendants flinched.
"Your Grace… perhaps it was overlooked. We'll search again."
Time passed slowly. Eventually the attendant returned, his legs trembling as if he might collapse.
"Your Grace… the wagons are empty."
"That item may have been lost…"
"Lost?" Robert roared. "My things! How do you lose the king's property?"
He glared at the man before turning back toward the empty rack, frowning deeply.
It almost seemed as though even he wasn't sure what exactly had been missing.
Finally the king snorted.
"Forget it. I'll spare you this time. But not again."
Robert handed the short sword he had chosen to Joffrey.
"Take this one."
Joffrey accepted it and spoke casually. "Father... was the missing item a dagger?"
"I think I remember it. Valyrian steel blade, dragonbone hilt, with a ruby set into it. You won it from Lord Baelish at the tourney last year."
Robert's eyes shifted. Then he slowly nodded.
"Yes...I believe it was that one."
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