When the sound of hooves and cheers rolled in from the courtyard, Joffrey was in the armory with Bran, watching the master-at-arms grind a longsword.
The sharp screech of steel against stone gradually faded as everyone turned toward the returning hunting party.
Robert rode at the front, chest puffed out like a conquering general.
Behind him, a cart carried a massive beast.
Its dark bristles were stiff as iron needles. Two curved tusks jutted from its jaw. Even in death, its small eyes still held a trace of savage fury.
By its sheer size, the boar must have weighed close to thirty stone.
"Ned! I told you to throw that useless bow away!"
Robert's booming voice echoed through the yard.
"You spent all day and didn't even catch a rabbit." He swung down from his horse with surprising agility. "Come see the monster I brought down!"
Guards and servants gathered, murmuring in awe.
Robert grew more animated, waving his thick arms as he spoke.
"Damn thing charged straight at me! They all told me to run, but I stood my ground. Didn't move an inch until it was right in front of me—"
He mimed a fierce thrust.
"One strike! My boar spear went in through its throat and out the other end!"
The exaggerated gesture earned another round of cheers.
Robert spotted Joffrey and strode over, clapping a muddy, bloodstained hand onto his shoulder.
"You missed it! Should've seen your father's glory." He laughed loudly. "Next time, no excuses. This skill of mine needs an heir!"
By evening, the hunt became the centerpiece of a farewell feast.
Winterfell was lit brightly once more.
The dishes were much the same as before, and many had already grown tired of them.
All attention centered on the roasted boar set in the middle of the hall.
It was mounted on a special iron spit, skin crisped to golden perfection. Fat dripped into the coals below, hissing and releasing a mouthwatering aroma.
Robert sat at the high table, barely pausing between bites and drinks.
One hand held a roasted leg, the other a brimming goblet.
He told the story again and again.
Each time with new details.
The size of the beast. The ferocity of its charge. His own calm bravery. The perfection of his thrust.
The audience dutifully raised their cups, praising the king's valor.
But Joffrey only had to glance at Eddard's strained smile to know that he was thinking of darker things.
"Shame you didn't go," Robb said, cheeks flushed from wine and excitement. "When it burst out of the bushes, Theon nearly fell off his horse!"
Across the table, Theon flashed a grin. "I was adjusting my position. Preparing to shoot."
"You dropped your bow."
"That was because the king shouted 'It's mine!' I threw it on purpose."
The two began bickering, and Joffrey smiled along.
His gaze wandered.
Bran and little Rickon sat farther down, secretly feeding scraps of meat to their direwolves under the table.
Sansa sat beside her mother, poised and proper, occasionally sneaking glances at Joffrey before quickly looking away when their eyes met.
Jon and Arya had likely slipped away, unable to endure the endless feast.
Joffrey sipped his thick ale and let his eyes travel to opposite ends of the long table.
Cersei sat at one end.
Jaime at the other.
An entire hall of people between them.
They had not spoken once. Not even a passing glance. Cersei even ate elegantly, laughing softly with a noblewoman at her side.
Everything was too calm.
Suspiciously calm.
The feast stretched deep into the night.
By the fifth retelling of "The King Versus the Boar," complete with invented thoughts from the animal itself, Robert finally let out a satisfied belch and waved his hand.
The hall began to empty.
Joffrey stopped Bran near the doorway. The boy had run all day and now could barely keep his eyes open.
"We leave tomorrow," Joffrey said, crouching to meet his gaze.
Bran rubbed his eyes and nodded sleepily.
"So tonight, get proper rest. No climbing, all right?"
"I'm too tired to climb," Bran mumbled, stifling a long yawn.
Joffrey watched him go and released a slow breath.
He had done it. All day, he kept Bran at his side, steering him away from towers and hidden corners.
Jaime and Cersei had no chance to be alone. By tomorrow morning, they would depart.
If only tonight passed safely.
Back in his chamber, Joffrey did not lie down immediately. He paced the dim room, footsteps swallowed by thick carpets.
Stargazing was still on cooldown.
He had used it days earlier on Littlefinger in King's Landing, wanting to see what schemes were brewing in their absence.
Winterfell, he believed, was under control.
Bran had stayed away from dangerous heights. He had said his farewells. There should be no chance for disaster.
Yet the unease in Joffrey's chest only grew stronger.
Time passed.
He forced himself into bed and closed his eyes. In his dream, he stood somewhere unfamiliar.
Dark. Narrow.
He was climbing.
His fingers dug into crumbling stone. Dirt filled his nails.
Above him, a tower spiraled endlessly upward into blackness.
He climbed and climbed.
At last, he reached an open window.
A raven perched on a gargoyle beside it, unblinking black eyes fixed on him. Then it lifted its tail and dropped filth onto the stone.
He ignored it, straining to see inside the window.
A hand emerged from the shadows.
It was not human. It was formed of deeper darkness, edges blurred with drifting mist.
Silent.
Swift.
The moment its cold touch met his chest—
He was falling.
Joffrey jerked awake, sitting bolt upright. He wiped his forehead.
"That wretched boy. Even in my dreams."
He rose and opened the window.
Cold night air swept away the clammy sweat.
Winterfell lay quiet. Only a few torchlights moved along the walls where guards patrolled.
Then— "AWOOOOOO!"
A piercing howl shattered the silence.
Sharp. Agonized. Not human.
A wolf... Bran's direwolf.
__________
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