The North, Winterfell
The reminiscing between Robert and Eddard had long since ended. Eddard Stark held a grand banquet to host the guests who had come from afar. The scene was vast and bustling; he knew that what his good brother Robert loved most was a lively atmosphere.
Joffrey, who disliked such crowds, made an excuse to slip out early. At the entrance, he ran into Robb Stark, who had also come out to seek refuge. It seemed our young wolf was also not particularly skilled at social interaction.
"Your Grace, do you also dislike noisy scenes?" Although Robb was a proud man, he strictly observed his duty by addressing Joffrey as 'Your Grace.' In the education of House Stark and in his own eyes, this was the necessary etiquette for a vassal toward his liege.
"No need for that, Robb. Just call me Joffrey. Today, there is no 'Your Grace' here." Joffrey gave Robb plenty of face; he believed that the North might become a great help to him in the days to come.
Moreover, Joffrey eagerly hoped to shed his former arrogant and unruly image, wanting people to praise his goodness to ensure he could better secure his position on the iron throne in the future.
Joffrey and Robb were around the same age, and young people always found things to talk about. The two sat on the ground, right on the steps at the entrance of the banquet hall.
Robb introduced Joffrey to the customs and geography of the North, including the Wall, the Nights Watch, wildlings, White Walkers, and more.
"Robb, do you think White Walkers really exist?"
Joffrey was somewhat puzzled. Logically, by this time Eddard Stark should have already executed a deserting member of the Nights Watch, and legends of White Walkers should have spread. Yet, having stayed here for a day, he hadn't heard any rumors.
"To let you know, news of the White Walkers' reappearance arrived the very day you arrived..."
As expected, Robb looked around and spoke of what he had seen and heard during the day, looking as if he were hiding a guilty secret.
"But even if there really are White Walkers, they can't cross the Wall. It's said the Wall is reinforced with the magic of Brandon the Builder..."
As Robb was speaking, Jon Snow appeared out of nowhere. He still held some youthful longing for the Wall.
Furthermore, he was very clear about his status as a bastard. In the future, Robb would become his liege lord, Bran and Rickon would be household knights or lords, while he, as a bastard, could only leave in sorrow.
"Joffrey, this is my brother, Jon."
Robb deeply loved his brother. From childhood to adulthood, Robb had never looked down on him or excluded him for being a bastard; instead, he gave Jon the same love he gave Bran and Rickon.
Joffrey looked closely, took a sharp breath, pulled Jon down to sit beside him, and patted his shoulder.
"So it's you, kid!"
"Does Your Grace know me?"
"I didn't, but I do now. And don't call me Your Grace."
Joffrey looked at Jon Snow as if he were a treasure. He had almost forgotten this kid; in the original story, this boy had quite a lot of screen time. He definitely needed to get on his good side.
Looking at him now, good heavens, this kid was almost half as handsome as himself.
"Brother, did you just say you want to join the Nights Watch to guard the Wall?"
"? Did I say that?"
"That's not important. What's important is whether you truly want to go."
"Yes, Your Grace. I want to go to the Wall, to protect the realm, and to resist the White Walkers." Jon Snow was a bit stubborn; Joffrey could tell he was using this to mask his inner feelings of inferiority.
"Your ambitions are truly grand!" Joffrey put his arm around Jon's neck. "I've heard those things crawling out of the ground aren't so easy to deal with. How does our Lord Snow intend to handle them?"
"I..." Jon was a young man after all and couldn't handle a joke; his face flushed red as he began to stammer.
"Alright, Your Grace, let him be. Jon is my brother. He won't go to the Wall, and I won't treat him poorly."
It was Robb who saw Jon's embarrassment and spoke his intentions with a smile. "No matter what the future holds, Jon is my good brother."
It had to be said that Robb was a very good person, and he also saw that Joffrey had no intention of making things difficult for Jon.
Joffrey couldn't help but laugh heartily. Teasing his little brother Jon had put him in a great mood. He pulled an exquisitely decorated dagger from his robes and tossed it directly to Jon without hesitation.
"Take it! My little brother, if you get bullied in the South, mentioning my name might work. But those ghostly things won't kneel and surrender just because they hear the name Joffrey Baratheon."
Jon scrambled to catch the item. Before he could look closely, he heard Joffrey say:
"I've heard that only dragonglass and fire can kill White Walkers. I have no use for this thing, so I'm giving it to you. If you ever really run into a White Walker, don't go wetting your pants!"
"Thank you, Your Grace." These words were Jon Snow's heartfelt gratitude. Joffrey was one of the few people he had met from outside Winterfell who didn't mock him for his lowly status.
With his right arm around Jon and his left around Robb, Joffrey felt a bit excited. He felt like he had just latched onto some very powerful allies.
Both of them were promising talents. In the future, securing his throne would depend on these two little brothers. But the first priority was to save his father-in-law's head.
...
The Dornishman's wife was as beautiful as the sun,
Her kisses warmer than the spring;
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,
And its kiss was a terrible thing.
The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,
In a voice as sweet as a peach;
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,
With a bite like a cold, sharp leech.
He lay on the ground as the darkness rang,
And he tasted the blood on his tongue.
His brothers knelt down and prayed for his soul,
But he laughed and he laughed as he sung:
Unknowingly, the banquet at Winterfell reached its climax. King Robert Baratheon, with his large belly, had his right arm around Benjen Stark and his left around Eddard Stark. Without a hint of kingly pretension, he boisterously led the entire hall in song.
They were all nearly dead drunk. While the three of them sang loudly, they also shed silent, emotional tears. Their hair was now graying at the temples; time had eroded their bodies and aged them, yet it could not wash away their brotherhood.
Robert was still Robert, Eddard was still Eddard, and Benjen was still Benjen.
Once upon a time, they too were young knights, once successful and proud, once indulging in the scenery, once drunk in the laps of beauties. They couldn't go back; nothing could go back...
"Brothers, oh brothers, my end is near,
The Dornishman has taken my life,
But it matters not,
For all men must die,
And I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"
The singing echoed through the hall. Though it sounded like wailing and howling, it did not lack heroic spirit; it wasn't about technique, it was all emotion...
In his half-drunk state, Robert's peripheral vision inadvertently caught the entrance of the hall. There, a young stag had his arms around two wolf pups, laughing loudly.
He froze, then smiled, tears streaming down his face, because that image was once his own youth...