Maester Luwin's death cast a shadow over Winterfell.
The slight, gray-haired old man had served faithfully for decades. He had delivered every one of Lady Catelyn's children.
He had become part of Winterfell.
Now Winterfell had lost a respected maester forever. It had lost the old man who read beneath the rookery, the teacher who told the children stories and urged them to study.
"He was a good man."
"He was the most devoted of maesters, faithful to his vows and duties all his life."
"Winterfell will remember his service. People will miss his kindness, wisdom, and integrity."
The septon recited prayers over the old man in his coffin.
"May he rest in the heavens..."
Maester Luwin was gradually lowered into the cold, dark earth.
Lord Eddard and his wife stood at the front. The Stark retainers bowed their heads in silence, while Bran and Arya wept hardest.
Sansa, her eyes red, threw herself into the Prince's arms.
"Gods, have mercy on Maester Luwin's soul in heaven."
Joffrey comforted her. "They will."
Maester Luwin need not have died. Unfortunately, he had woken at the worst possible time.
At least the loose ends had been tied up cleanly enough. The Starks knew only that someone had killed the old maester, and several days of investigation had uncovered nothing.
The bloody storm that a secret letter would have unleashed had been stopped. But only for now.
Even Joffrey found the matter a headache.
Lysa Tully. What a madwoman, to put her trust in Littlefinger.
Lysa's position was uniquely dangerous: she was both Catelyn's sister and the wife of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. If she claimed the Lannisters had murdered her husband, mere suspicion from the Starks would be the best Joffrey could hope for.
Joffrey could not let the lion and the wolf grow too close, but he could not let them fight, either.
Fortunately, Lysa still had someone she cared about. Once she understood that the power of the throne could destroy both her and her frail son, she would keep quiet.
The burial service in the sept ended.
Joffrey thoughtfully took Sansa to the Godswood to ease her grief.
It was the castle's Godswood, sacred to the Old Gods.
Ancient, thick-trunked oaks often blocked the paths. Blue-gray sentinel trees grew tough needles, and the ironwoods lived up to their name, dark from top to bottom and hard as stone.
The Godswood matched the character of the North.
Cold, solemn, resilient.
They reached the black pool at the center of the wood. The branches of an ancient weirwood intertwined and spread overhead, covering the entire pool like a dome.
Joffrey stepped closer.
For thousands of years, fallen weirwood leaves and broken branches had made the ground soft. With every step, it felt as though the earth was reluctant to release the soles of the living.
The ancient forest had an indescribable air, as if the Old Gods were watching people through thousands of invisible eyes.
Joffrey gazed at the long, melancholy face carved into the weirwood.
Its pale bark made its deep-set eyes look all the redder. Though the streaks were only dried sap, they invariably brought blood to mind.
Was the Three-Eyed Crow watching this place now?
Joffrey knew what the crow could do. Weirwoods were his most powerful eyes. Ancient weirwoods held countless memories, and through them, he watched the world.
Joffrey pressed his palm against the face. The Recollection Rune immediately showed him countless images.
He, too, saw the past the crow had seen.
Sansa had recovered some of her spirits. "Father said we're leaving for the south the day after tomorrow."
Joffrey turned and put an arm around her.
"Yes. Thanks to Lord Eddard, we won't have to be apart."
Sansa pushed him away in embarrassed annoyance. "How will we not be apart? You aren't even traveling with us. We might not see each other for months."
"Don't be angry. I have a good reason."
He cupped her face. "I have a surprise for you the day after tomorrow. Guess what it is."
"What surprise?"
Joffrey smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out then."
Sansa kicked him in frustration.
Winterfell grew busy.
Duke Eddard, soon to travel south and take up the post of Hand of the King, was taking nearly half his household with him.
His second son Bran, eldest daughter Sansa, and younger daughter Arya would all make the journey with their father and live in the Red Keep at King's Landing.
Winterfell's Steward, Vayon Poole; Sansa's best friend, Jeyne Poole; captain of the guards Jory Cassel; master of horse Hullen; Septa Mordane; and other household retainers would accompany them.
Dawn had only just broken.
The East Gate of Winterfell was crowded with people saying their farewells.
Bran, thrilled to be riding a tall horse, came wobbling through the castle to the gate.
He spotted the Crown Prince by the roadside.
"Your Highness." Bran bowed slightly. His dream that night had not been the end of it. Afterward, the Crown Prince had given him a mysterious power to fend off the monster's attacks.
Bran felt nothing but deep gratitude for him.
Joffrey waved. "See you in King's Landing. Take care on the road."
Bran nodded, trying to look solemn, then galloped toward the Kingsroad beyond the gate. It felt wonderful!
Arya came rushing over then, heading straight for Jon beside Joffrey.
"Jon, I'll miss you."
Jon ruffled his little sister's hair. "I'll miss you too. Don't worry, we'll see each other again."
Joffrey took out a steel disc and handed it to Arya.
"This is for you. It's a treasure. With it, you and Jon can talk even with the whole North between you."
Arya accepted it hesitantly.
Jon smiled and pulled out his necklace. Hanging from it was an identical steel disc.
He spoke into the disc. "Arya, it's true."
Arya heard Jon's voice both from his mouth and from the disc.
"Wow!"
She glanced at Joffrey. Most of her inexplicable resistance to him vanished at once. "Thank you."
Joffrey smiled back. "Goodbye."
"Nephew, look who's here." Tyrion truly hated his short legs.
Cersei held Joffrey tight, reluctant to let go.
"Little Joff, what are you thinking? The Wall is freezing. Did Tyrion put you up to this?"
"See? My fault again!" Tyrion complained under his breath to Jaime beside him.
Joffrey patted his mother's back. "Uncle had nothing to do with it. I want to see The Wall for myself, and it's a good chance to show The Night's Watch that the royal family cares."
"Don't worry, Mother. I'll be fine."
He winked at Tommen and Myrcella behind Cersei.
After spending these past few days together, his younger brother and sister had warmed to him considerably. At last, he got two smiles in return.
Still worried, Cersei boarded the Wheel Palace.
Finally,
Sansa approached gracefully in a silver-white fur cloak.
"Where's my surprise?"
She looked at him expectantly.
Joffrey brought out a wooden tray. Bright red cloth covered his parting gift.
"Lift it and see."
Sansa pinched a corner of the cloth and slowly raised it.
"It's beautiful."
Everyone's eyes turned toward it.
Roses as crystalline as frost and snow, as ice-blue as the deep sea, clustered together to form a magnificent, radiant Queen's crown.
Joffrey placed the crown of roses on Sansa's head.
"These are Winter Roses grown in the Glass Gardens. They were meant to be yours from the moment they bloomed."
"That spring, Rhaegar cast everything aside to give such a crown to Lyanna, the Queen of love and beauty in his heart. My love for you burns ten thousand times fiercer than his."
"That was the Tourney at Harrenhal."
Joffrey gripped the girl's hand tightly. "But ours will end as happily as a story can."
Sansa blushed.
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