Hot water flowed through the thick stone walls of Winterfell like blood through veins, endlessly pushing back the biting northern wind.
It was said that this castle had stood for ten thousand years.
Built by Brandon the Builder with magic and massive stones above natural hot springs, it was the ancient heart of the North.
Not Eddard's elder brother Brandon, who had been executed by the Mad King. Not the uncle or distant relative who shared the same name.
The first Brandon. The Builder. A legendary figure from the Age of Heroes.
Coincidentally, he even had some connection to Joffrey.
Storm's End had been built by Durran, the first Storm King, on a headland overlooking Shipbreaker Bay. Because he married the daughter of the sea god, the gods sent storm after storm to smash his castle down.
Six times it fell.
The seventh time, a young boy offered guidance on its construction, and the fortress finally stood firm against the gods' fury.
That boy had also been named Brandon.
Now Storm's End belonged to House Baratheon and had been granted by Robert to Joffrey's uncle, Renly.
Sometimes Joffrey wondered whether Brandon had practiced in the south first, perfected his craft, and then returned north to build his true masterpiece.
Whatever the legends said, Winterfell stood before him like an ancient giant.
Vast enough to house thousands, its towers pierced the sky, and moss clung to its stones as witness to countless summers and winters.
It was also a quiet symbol of the North's limits.
At dawn, Joffrey stood by a stone window in one of the towers, looking down into the courtyard below.
Stark guards were changing shifts.
They wore gray-black leather coats over light chainmail, gray cloaks trimmed with white. Their faces were reddened by the wind, yet their expressions were steady, movements disciplined and sharp.
They looked like elite soldiers.
But there were too few of them.
Two hundred.
That was all Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, maintained at Winterfell as standing forces.
Joffrey recognized some faces. He had seen more than a few of them at Moat Cailin.
Moat Cailin, too, had been built by Brandon.
Which meant Eddard was not entirely naive. He had shifted men in advance to give the appearance of strength.
A familiar hoarse voice sounded behind him.
"Up early, Your Highness."
Joffrey did not turn. "Uncle."
Tyrion walked over, wrapped in a thick fur cloak embroidered with a roaring golden lion. From a distance, he resembled a small, furry creature from Casterly Rock.
He had to stand on his toes to reach the windowsill and follow Joffrey's gaze.
"What are you looking at?" Tyrion tilted his head. "The North's poverty?"
"I'm looking at defenses," Joffrey replied calmly.
"The walls are thick. The towers are solid. But there aren't enough men."
"If someone struck before the bannermen could gather, they wouldn't even be able to fill the battlements."
Tyrion snorted. "Who would bother attacking this frozen wasteland? Wildlings? Let them climb the Wall first."
Joffrey didn't answer.
Smoke rose from the winter town in the distance.
Most of the king's attendants had spilled into it. Merchants from White Harbor had already arrived, setting up temporary stalls outside the settlement.
"That's Robert's style," Tyrion said dryly. "Wherever he goes, a market follows."
Joffrey shook his head slightly. "Where there are crowds, there is chaos."
"Father brought too many unknown faces along the road. I worry something might happen."
Tyrion squinted at him. "What's wrong with you today? Did something happen? Hiding up here brooding?"
But before Joffrey could answer, Tyrion hopped down from the wall and waved dismissively.
"Don't tell me. I plan to spend today somewhere warm, preferably with good company."
As the small figure walked away, his shadow stretched long in the morning light. Near the doorway stood Sandor.
"Hound," Joffrey said, "why didn't you tell me my uncle was here?"
Sandor glanced left and right theatrically. "The Imp was here? I didn't see him."
Then he lowered his gaze deliberately. "Oh. There he is. My mistake."
Watching the two exchange barbs eased Joffrey's mood.
Yes. Why worry?
The problem was that he did not even know what exactly he was worrying about. How was he supposed to play this new role?
On the night of the feast, Joffrey had already tested his new skill, Stargazing.
He chose Catelyn as his focus.
Through her, he had observed a wooden box delivered by the maester. Inside was a Myrish lens, and beneath the false bottom lay a secret letter.
Most likely Lysa's accusation against the Lannisters, written under Littlefinger's guidance.
Unfortunately, the sisters had used a cipher. Joffrey could not decipher its meaning before Catelyn fed the letter into the fire.
As for other private details he glimpsed, those were better left unspoken.
After standing in the cold for a while, Joffrey descended the spiral stairs.
In the courtyard, he ran into Robb, who looked ready for another duel.
"Joffrey, I was looking for you." Robb grinned and waved a wooden sword. "Come on. Training yard. I thought all night and figured out how to counter your move."
Joffrey almost sighed.
For days now, Robb had challenged him relentlessly, only to lose every time.
Joffrey had even begun holding back slightly to preserve the red-haired boy's pride. But daily sparring was exhausting.
Thankfully, today he had a legitimate excuse.
"I can't," Joffrey said regretfully. "Your sister invited me to tour the castle."
Robb's face fell instantly. "Sansa?"
"She'll just show you flowers and embroidery. What's the fun in that?"
"Forget her. I'll show you around later."
Joffrey smiled and looked past Robb's shoulder.
Robb continued complaining about his sister's stories. "They're all from the old nurse or songs anyway. None of it's real..."
His voice trailed off.
He leaned closer. "Is she behind me?"
Joffrey nodded.
"Oh. I just remembered Theon wanted to practice archery with me."
"I'll go now."
Robb fled without looking back.
Moments later, soft footsteps echoed from the corridor. The girl kept her head lowered, pretending she had heard nothing.
"Your Highness, we may depart," Sansa said with a perfect curtsy.
She wore a blue velvet gown trimmed with silver snowflakes at the cuffs. Her auburn hair was carefully braided and draped over her shoulder.
Joffrey bowed slightly and gently offered his arm.
"My pleasure."
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