"You don't believe me?"
Joffrey's voice carried a hint of wounded pride.
Arya balanced on one foot at the edge of the spiral staircase, her other leg lifted high in the air.
Both of her arms spun wildly like windmill blades as she struggled to maintain her wobbling balance.
"Yes, yes, I believe you," Arya said quickly as she switched feet. "You're a man of your word, a truly great person. Happy now?"
During the brief moment of stability, she stuck out her tongue and made an exaggerated face at him.
"Who would have thought you'd actually get the king to convince my father?"
The bald man nearby shouted immediately.
"No talking!"
His accent was thick, unmistakably from across the Narrow Sea.
"You are a tree now. Do trees speak?" He raised one finger and slowly wagged it with solemn authority. "Ten more minutes."
Arya puffed out her cheeks like she had stuffed two walnuts inside them.
But she truly stopped talking, merely snorting loudly through her nose as she continued maintaining her ridiculous pose.
"Go easy on her, instructor," Joffrey said gently. "She's still just a little girl."
The bald man with the hooked nose glared at him.
"I care nothing whether she is boy or girl," he declared like it was an iron rule. "I am her dancing master. Here, everyone listens to me."
"Syrio Forel served nine years as First Sword of the Sealord of Braavos. He knows how such things should be taught."
"The little prince should stop talking."
Joffrey obediently raised both hands in surrender.
Then he stepped back against the wall and quietly watched.
Finding this water dancer had been an excellent choice.
The swift and unpredictable sword style of Essos suited Arya far better than the rigid knightly techniques of Westeros.
Still, a question crossed Joffrey's mind.
Where had this man come from?
He had searched the entire city before, hoping to recruit this water dancer for himself, but found nothing.
Yet Eddard Stark had only been in King's Landing for a few days and had somehow brought him to the Tower of the Hand.
Still, perhaps that was for the best.
Joffrey studied the bald head and large nose thoughtfully.
Syrio Forel was far more controllable than a certain faceless killer who called himself "no one."
Jaqen H'ghar was far too dangerous. At this moment he was probably sitting in some dark cell beneath the Red Keep.
At some point Joffrey would have to find him personally and pull him out.
He certainly could not let someone else take advantage of such a valuable asset.
After watching Arya wobble for several more minutes, Joffrey bent down and picked up a long cloth bundle leaning against the wall.
He climbed the spiral steps.
As he passed Arya, he deliberately flicked his wrist, loosening the cloth slightly.
The leather-wrapped hilt of a sword slipped into view.
"For you," Joffrey said with a wink.
Arya's eyes widened instantly.
"A sword!"
"But I already have—"
"No talking!" The bald instructor shouted again. "Ten more minutes!"
A mischievous grin flashed across Joffrey's face.
Arya quickly covered her mouth.
When Joffrey reached the study at the top of the tower, he nodded politely to the northern guard standing by the door.
Sunlight streamed through the window and fell across Eddard Stark's sharp-featured face.
The new Hand of the King sat behind a wide desk, frowning as he pinched the bridge of his nose while reading a massive book in front of him.
The book was thick enough to serve as a shield.
Its title was also ridiculously long. Something about the genealogies and noble lineages of the Seven Kingdoms.
Joffrey could practically recite the important sections by heart.
After all, he had personally altered the parts about hair color inheritance.
But even now he still could not remember the full name of the book.
"That is quite a thick volume," Joffrey said as he walked closer to the desk, his tone playful. "It seems Lord Eddard's work is not too demanding if he has time to study such things."
Eddard looked up.
The bloodshot lines in his eyes were clearly visible.
"Your Highness mocks me," he said tiredly. "The 'important matters' His Grace assigned me are already enough to trouble me."
"I'm afraid," Joffrey replied while unwrapping the cloth bundle, "that there may be something else to trouble you."
"This is a gift from my father for Arya."
Inside the bundle was the short sword Robert had selected a few days earlier.
The blade had been polished again, and the scabbard replaced.
"My father said: The young girl trains diligently and deserves a proper weapon." Joffrey repeated Robert's words in the king's voice.
Eddard's mouth twitched.
Joffrey could almost hear his teeth grinding. But the honorable lord swallowed whatever curse he might have spoken.
He forced out a response.
"His Grace is most thoughtful."
Joffrey pretended not to notice the frustration hidden in the words.
He placed the sword on the desk and straightened his posture, adopting a more formal tone.
"I also bring the royal family's sincere greetings."
"My father will host a feast tonight in Maegor's Holdfast to celebrate the good news of Bran Stark awakening."
"Lord Eddard, this is truly wonderful news," Joffrey added privately.
"The gods are merciful," Eddard said, rubbing his face. "Thank you for delivering the message personally, Your Highness."
"I will attend on time."
Joffrey nodded but did not leave immediately.
His eyes drifted naturally toward the open book on the desk.
"Ronald Arryn and Serice Tully," he read softly from the page. "One son and one daughter… tall, healthy appetite, blond hair."
His gaze moved further down.
"Joanna Arryn and Jaremy Tully… one son, died young, bright red hair…"
After reading for a moment, Joffrey smiled innocently.
"Lord Eddard, it seems I underestimated you. Not everyone has the patience to read such a dull book."
Eddard calmly closed the volume.
"I have only just taken Lord Arryn's place. It is wise to learn more about the past."
"That makes sense," Joffrey said with a nod. "But why not simply ask those who worked closest with him?"
Eddard looked up sharply.
But seeing Joffrey's relaxed expression, he eased slightly.
"Did Lady Lysa not take everyone with her back to the Eyrie?"
"Of course not," Joffrey replied casually.
"Lord Arryn lived in King's Landing for many years. Some people must have settled here and chosen to remain."
"At the very least, Ser Hugh stayed."
Eddard's eyes sharpened.
"Ser Hugh?"
Joffrey shrugged.
"He was Lord Arryn's squire. A few years older than me. When we were at the Red Keep, he often came to play."
"Though he mostly wanted me to speak well of him to Lord Arryn."
Joffrey laughed lightly.
"He wanted to become a knight more than anything. Of course I refused. He still had a long way to go."
Then Joffrey's tone shifted slightly. "But before we left for the North—when we went to Winterfell to visit you—"
"My father broke tradition to honor Lord Arryn and knighted him."
Eddard tapped the desk slowly with his fingers.
"Then why did he remain in King's Landing?"
"Oh, that," Joffrey said casually.
"He borrowed a large sum of money to buy himself a suit of armor. He's waiting to compete in the tournament."
"Otherwise what else is there to do in this miserable place?"
At that moment, Joffrey suddenly stopped speaking.
Eddard looked up.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Then both of them burst out laughing.
"After all," Joffrey said, "it's the tournament His Grace is holding for the Hand and the prince."
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