Outside the noisy hall, in the dark and empty courtyard of Winterfell, two figures were deep in loud conversation.
Joffrey stood just inside the doorway, listening.
"…being a bastard…" That was the taller one.
"…dwarfs all over the world…" That was the shorter one.
The talk had zero substance.
They kept circling the same point: both their unknown birth mothers had probably been women.
Joffrey shook his head in the shadows.
Just no moms.
He already had his hands full with his own.
Through the open doors he could see Cersei still seated on the dais, lips pressed tight. In four straight hours of feasting she hadn't touched a single bite.
The voices in the courtyard finally died down.
Joffrey smoothed his expression into casual boredom and strolled out.
"Uncle, what were you and that Stark boy whispering about out here?"
Tyrion lifted his oversized head. "Eavesdropping isn't very princely behavior."
Joffrey ignored him and walked straight up to the long-faced, brown-haired youth.
He nodded toward the white direwolf lying silent as a ghost in the shadows.
Pretending he didn't already know.
"What's his name?"
"Ghost," Jon Snow answered.
He paused, then added carefully, "He's called Ghost, Your Grace."
Joffrey waved it off. "We're not in the Red Keep. No need to be so stiff." His tone stayed easy. "I'm already calling your brother 'brother.'"
Tyrion let out a short, mocking laugh.
He rocked his big head like he'd just figured something out, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nice. You two future brothers can keep chatting then."
"I'm going back inside for another drink."
He turned and waddled off on his short legs toward the hall. At the doorway he tossed one last line over his shoulder.
"See that, kid? That's what happens when you keep a wolf as a pet."
"From now on, anyone who wants to get close to you will know exactly where to start."
Joffrey kept a pleasant smile on his face as he watched the small-but-massive figure disappear.
Gods-damned Imp!
Is keeping your mouth shut really that hard?
At least it was Jon Snow standing here.
The boy had no idea.
While Jon was still digesting the jab, Joffrey smoothly took over the conversation.
"Looks like I found the right person after all."
"Everyone said Lord Eddard has six children. Until I met you I'd only seen five."
He kept his voice light, just curious teenage talk. "What, you not glad we're here?"
Jon stayed quiet a moment, then lowered his eyes.
"I'm a bastard," he said, low but steady. "I don't have a place at the table with you."
Joffrey raised his voice in mock surprise.
"That's strange."
"Far as I can tell, you look more like a Stark than any of your brothers."
"Otherwise how did I spot you so fast?"
Jon's head snapped up. A tiny spark of hope flickered in his gray eyes.
"Really?"
"Of course… not." Joffrey drew the word out and grinned. He jerked his chin at the direwolf. "I recognized him."
The wolf's ears twitched. Its pale red eyes turned toward Joffrey.
Jon rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, embarrassed.
The little joke melted some of the awkwardness. Conversation started flowing.
But while the talk stayed light on the surface, Joffrey's mood slowly sank.
This northern trip had been pushed forward three full months thanks to him. It still wasn't even 298 AC yet.
Yet the deserter from the Night's Watch had still shown up before they arrived, and the Stark kids had already found the direwolf pups.
The timeline was holding tighter than ever.
Joffrey twisted his fingers, thinking.
A strange irritation crawled up his spine.
In his memories the exact dates of these events were fuzzy; he couldn't pin down the gaps.
What worried him most was Littlefinger's letter accusing the Lannisters of murdering the Hand.
Would it come before? After?
Or was it still scheduled for tonight?
After a moment he decided to stop waiting and make the first move.
He said goodnight to Jon, went back into the feast, and slid up beside Cersei wearing his most innocent smile.
"Still mad at Father?"
Cersei snorted through her nose.
"Had enough to drink?"
"Finally remembered you still have a mother?"
Her tone was mocking, but the edge was softer than it was with anyone else.
"I see you're turning into that drunk just like him. Might as well crawl into the crypt and keep the dead woman company."
Joffrey offered a few soft words of comfort, then quietly steered the talk where he really wanted it.
"Mother," he leaned in closer, voice low, "did you mention Lady Lysa to Lady Catelyn yet?"
Sitting nearby, Catelyn Tully's cheek twitched.
Cersei leaned back, green eyes narrowing at Joffrey, then flicking sideways.
"I was thinking," Joffrey went on, sounding guilty, "maybe Lady Lysa ran off because of something I said."
"I overheard Father once—he wanted to send her boy to Casterly Rock to be fostered with Grandfather."
"But Lord Baelish told me with a big smile that little Robert would probably end up on Dragonstone with Lord Stannis, scooping up bird shit."
Catelyn's ear tilted obviously toward them.
"Little Joff, you're drunk," Cersei cut in.
Joffrey's voice grew even more mournful.
"So I thought it was strange and mentioned it to the Hound."
"I didn't know Lady Lysa was right there and might have overheard."
"Everyone knows she lost so many children it nearly drove her mad. She treasures little Robert more than anything."
"Was it my loose tongue that made her rush back to the Eyrie and skip Lord Jon's funeral?"
Cersei pulled him close, arm around his neck.
"Oh, my sweet Joff, of course it wasn't your fault."
"You didn't mean any harm. She chose to run. Why blame us?"
She paused, then raised her voice just enough.
"Lady Lysa certainly won't hold it against you. Right?!"
Catelyn, now fully turned toward them, gave a startled little jolt. She sat up straight again and answered quickly.
"Yes… yes, of course."
Then she frowned hard, staring down at her folded hands.
Joffrey dabbed at the corner of his eye with his sleeve.
He'd had to work for that one.
Mission accomplished, he drifted back to his seat and settled in to wait for tomorrow.
The feast rolled on.
In the middle of all the wine and noise, nobody paid any attention to the small exchange.