Farewell to Winterfell

Maester Luwin's death cast a shadow over Winterfell.

The gray-haired, frail old man had served diligently for decades. Every one of Lady Catelyn's children had been delivered by his hands.

He had already become a part of Winterfell.

Now, Winterfell had forever lost a respected maester—the old man who read beneath the rookery, the teacher who told stories to the children and urged them to study.

"He was a good man."

"He was the most devoted of maesters. He kept his vows throughout his life and fulfilled his duties faithfully."

"Winterfell will remember his contributions. People will miss his kindness, wisdom, and character."

The septon recited prayers for the old man lying in the coffin.

"May he rest in peace in heaven..."

Maester Luwin was gradually buried beneath the cold, dark earth.

Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn stood at the front. The Stark retainers all bowed their heads in silent mourning, while Bran and Arya cried the hardest.

Sansa, her eyes red-rimmed, threw herself into the Prince's arms.

"Gods have mercy. Bless Maester Luwin's soul in heaven."

Joffrey comforted her. "They will."

Maester Luwin had not needed to die. What a pity—he had woken at the worst possible time.

Fortunately, the loose ends had been cleaned up fairly well. The Starks only knew that someone had murdered the old maester, and their investigation over the past few days had yielded nothing.

A bloody storm that a secret letter might have stirred up had been smothered. But only for the time being.

Joffrey could not help feeling a little troubled.

Lysa Tully was truly a madwoman. She had actually dared to trust Littlefinger.

Lysa's position was too perfect. She was both Catelyn's sister and the wife of Hand of the King Jon Arryn. If she simply claimed that the Lannisters had murdered the Hand of the King, it would be a blessing if the Starks merely grew suspicious.

For Joffrey, the lion and the wolf could not be allowed to grow too close, but they could not be allowed to fight each other either.

Fortunately, Lysa still had something to care about. As long as she understood that the throne's power was enough to destroy both her and her frail son, she would keep her mouth shut.

The burial ceremony in the sept ended.

Joffrey thoughtfully took Sansa to the Godswood to ease her mood.

The Old Gods' Godswood within the castle.

Ancient, sturdy oak trees often blocked the paths. Blue-gray sentinel trees grew hard needles, while ironwood lived up to its name, black from trunk to branch and hard as iron.

This Godswood matched the character of The North perfectly.

Cold, stern, and resilient.

They came to the black pool at the center of the woods. The branches and leaves of an ancient Weirwood spread and intertwined, forming a dome over the entire lake.

Joffrey stepped closer.

Over countless years, fallen leaves and broken branches from the Weirwood had created soft earth. With every step, he could feel the ground reluctant to let go of the feet of the living.

The primal forest possessed an indescribable air, as though the Old Gods were watching people through thousands of invisible eyes.

Joffrey gazed at the long, melancholy face upon the Weirwood.

Its pale bark made its sunken eyes seem even redder. Though it was only dried sap, it always brought blood to mind.

Was the Three-Eyed Crow watching this place now?

Joffrey knew the crow's abilities. Weirwoods were the crow's most powerful eyes, and ancient Weirwoods held many memories that the crow used to observe the world.

Joffrey pressed his palm against that face, and the Recollection Rune immediately showed him countless scenes.

He saw the past that the crow had seen as well.

Sansa's mood had improved considerably. "Father said we'll set out south the day after tomorrow."

Joffrey turned and wrapped an arm around Sansa.

"Yes. Thanks to Lord Eddard, we won't be separated."

Embarrassed and annoyed, Sansa pushed him away. "How are we not being separated? You're not traveling with us. We might not see each other for months."

"Don't be angry. I have serious business to attend to."

He cupped Sansa's face. "I have a surprise for you the day after tomorrow. Guess what it is."

"What surprise?"

Joffrey gave a mysterious smile. "You'll find out then."

Sansa kicked him in irritation.

Winterfell grew busy.

Lord Stark, soon to head south and take up the post of Hand of the King, was taking nearly half the household with him.

His second son Bran, eldest daughter Sansa, and second daughter Arya would all set out with their father and live in the Red Keep in King's Landing.

Winterfell's Steward Vayon Poole, Sansa's best friend Jeyne Poole, captain of the guard Jory Cassel, stablemaster Hullen, Septa Mordane, and other retainers would accompany them.

The sky had only just begun to brighten.

Winterfell's East Gate was filled with people saying farewell and seeing them off.

Bran rode an enormous steed excitedly, swaying crookedly as he rode from the castle toward the gate.

He spotted the Crown Prince by the roadside.

"Your Highness." Bran bent at the waist. The dream that night had not been the end. Afterward, the Crown Prince had even given him a mysterious power to fend off attacks by monsters.

Bran felt nothing but deep gratitude.

Joffrey waved. "See you in King's Landing. Travel safely."

Bran nodded as solemnly as he could, then immediately galloped toward the Kingsroad beyond the gate. This felt wonderful!

Arya rushed over at that moment, her target Jon beside Joffrey.

"Jon, I'll miss you."

Jon rubbed his little sister's hair. "I'll miss you too. Don't worry. We'll meet again."

Joffrey took out a steel plate and handed it to Arya.

"This is for you. It's a treasure. With it, you and Jon can talk even from opposite ends of The North."

Arya accepted it hesitantly.

Jon smiled and pulled out his necklace. Hanging from it was an identical steel plate.

He spoke into the plate. "Arya, it's real."

Arya heard Jon's voice at the same time from both him and the steel plate.

"Wow!"

She glanced at Joffrey. The inexplicable resistance she had felt toward him before instantly faded by more than half. "Thank you."

Joffrey returned her smile. "Goodbye."

"Dear nephew, look who's here." Tyrion truly hated his short legs.

Cersei hugged Joffrey reluctantly.

"Little Joff, what were you thinking? The Wall is freezing. Did Tyrion talk you into going?"

"See? It's my fault again!" Tyrion complained quietly to Jaime beside him.

Joffrey patted his mother's back. "It has nothing to do with Uncle. I wanted to see The Wall myself, and while I'm there, I can show the royal family's concern for The Night's Watch."

"Don't worry, Mother. Nothing will happen."

He winked at Tommen and Myrcella behind Cersei.

After spending these days together, his younger brother and sister thought much better of him. At last, he received two smiles.

Cersei boarded the Wheel Palace with worry in her heart.

Finally.

Sansa approached gracefully in a silver-white fur cloak.

"Where's my surprise?"

Sansa was full of anticipation.

Joffrey brought out a wooden tray, its farewell gift covered by a vivid red cloth.

"Lift it and see."

Sansa pinched one corner of the red cloth and slowly raised it.

"So beautiful."

Everyone's attention was drawn toward it.

Clusters of roses, crystalline as frost and snow and ice-blue as the Deep Sea, formed a magnificent, vibrant Queen's crown.

Joffrey placed the crown of roses upon Sansa's head.

"These are Winter Roses grown in the Glass Gardens. They were born to belong to you."

"That spring, Rhaegar disregarded everything and gave that crown to Lyanna, the Queen of Love and Beauty in his heart. My love at this moment burns ten thousand times hotter than his."

"That was the Tourney at Harrenhal."

Joffrey gripped the girl's hand tightly. "But we will surely have the happiest ending."

Sansa blushed deeply.