Sansa treasured her time with Joffrey above all else. This was what her mother had taught her: learn to be a lady, then marry an honorable knight. In terms of his station, Joffrey was indeed her Prince Charming.
Today was certainly a fine day, for the Small Council had sent men to welcome the king's party: Lord Renly, Lord Barristan, and that tongueless Payne.
Sansa's longing for King's Landing grew ever stronger, for the lords who came from there usually seemed so noble.
Ser Barristan Selmy wore intricately sculpted, enameled white scale armor, radiant as a land blanketed in its first snowfall. White silver threads and clasps gleamed in the sunlight. When he removed his helmet, his white hair matched his armor. Even so, he looked vigorous despite his age, and every movement was graceful. The pure white cloak of the Kingsguard hung from his shoulders.
Lord Renly was about twenty, clad in fine steel armor as dark green as a dense forest. He was the most handsome man Sansa had ever seen, tall and powerfully built. Jet-black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his clean-shaven face, and his smiling blue eyes complemented the color of his armor. He held a Stag Helm in his arms, its two magnificent antlers glittering gold.
The third man, Ser Ilyn, was rather frightening. They said the Mad King had once had the King's Justice's tongue torn out. He looked so terrifying that Sansa made something of a fool of herself.
Sansa did not understand what was happening, so she turned to her prince for help. "Your Highness, have I done something wrong? Why won't he speak to me?"
"Our Ser Ilyn hasn't seemed very fond of talking these past sixteen years," Lord Renly explained with a mischievous smile.
Joffrey gave his uncle a look of utter disgust and took Sansa's delicate hand. "Aerys Targaryen had his tongue pulled out with red-hot pincers."
"Sansa, today I must discuss matters of state with these lords while we wait for the king and your father to return. I'm afraid your appointment with Myrcella will have to be postponed. Please convey my apologies to your sister. Joffrey, perhaps you would care to keep our guest company today," the Queen told Sansa.
"Mother, it would be my honor," Joffrey answered solemnly. He wore a handsome blue wool tunic and a black leather coat, his golden hair like a crown beneath the bright sun. Joffrey took Sansa's arm and led her away from the Wheelhouse. Sansa felt that she had never been happier.
Joffrey suggested that Sansa leave her little wolf behind. He would also leave his own "dog" outside-his guard, The Hound.
"My lady, there's no need to be afraid. I'm almost a grown man. Unlike your brother, I don't just play with wooden swords. I have this." Seeing Sansa hesitate, Joffrey drew his sword. It was a cleverly miniaturized blade, just the right size for a boy. The longsword was made of fine steel with a blue sheen, sharpened on both edges, with a leather-wrapped grip and a golden lion's head for a pommel. Sansa praised it again and again, much to Joffrey's satisfaction. "I call it Lion's Tooth."
And so Joffrey and Sansa put the direwolf and the guard out of their minds and headed west along the northern bank of the Trident.
Chapter 109: The Lion and the Wolf Clash
Joffrey took Sansa riding. His mount was Redmane, a fleet-footed red horse that moved swiftly. Sansa had to urge her mare on with all her strength to keep up.
Their adventure perfectly matched the tales in chivalric romances, and Sansa felt like a knight's companion from legend. Sansa was from the North, but her mother had always liked to raise her as a southern lady, as Catelyn herself had been in her youth.
Joffrey and Sansa searched caves along the riverbank and drove a shadowcat back into its den. When they grew hungry, Joffrey followed the smoke from a cooking fire to a country manor and ordered the rustics to prepare food and wine for the prince and his companion. Sansa felt she had drunk too much wine, and she had eaten freshly caught trout as well.
After eating and drinking their fill, they rode at a leisurely pace. Joffrey sang in a sweet, ringing voice, and Sansa felt her happiness was beyond words.
"Shouldn't we go back?" Sansa asked. After drinking so much wine, she felt rather dizzy.
"Not just yet," Joffrey said. "The old battlefield is up ahead, where the Green Fork bends. You know, that's where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen. He smashed his chest with a single swing-crack! His armor was crushed to pieces." Joffrey demonstrated for Sansa with an imaginary warhammer. "Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father became king. Hm? What's that sound?"
Sansa heard a noise coming from the woods. Instinctively, she wanted to take Joffrey away. "Let's go back, Joffrey."
"I'll go see what it is," Joffrey said. They heard sounds coming from the woods-the clack of wood striking wood. As they drew closer, they could also hear heavy breathing and the occasional grunt.
"Don't be afraid. I'm here," Joffrey told Sansa, drawing Lion's Tooth.
Joffrey spotted a clearing in the woods overlooking the river.
There, Joffrey and Sansa saw a boy and a girl playing at knights. Both held sticks and charged about the grass, hacking at each other with boundless energy.
The boy was older and stronger, and he pressed the attack. The girl was thinner, dressed in dirty leathers, and struggled frantically to fend him off. Her counterattacks had little strength, however. The boy swept his sword around and struck her fingers hard, making her drop her weapon in pain.
"Little sister, keep your footing steady. You need to eat more, or you won't have enough strength. Shall we call it a day?" Another, more mature boy had been watching their fight. Jon picked up Arya's stick, then went to examine her injury.
"My lord, I didn't mean to. The lady made me do it," the boy said pitifully.
Joffrey burst out laughing. Startled, the boy who had been fighting turned around, loosened his grip, and dropped his own stick. Arya glared at them while rubbing her fingers, giving Sansa a fright.
The three of them had also noticed the unexpected arrivals: Joffrey and Sansa.
"Arya, is that you?" Sansa exclaimed in surprise. It really was her sister. And the other spectator was her bastard brother, Jon.
"What are you doing here? Stay out of our business." Arya's eyes brimmed with angry tears as she shouted at them. "Go away."
"Your Highness, we didn't know you were coming. If we disturbed you, please forgive the offense." Jon cautiously stepped forward and bowed. He could smell the wine on Joffrey. This did not bode well.
The butcher's boy also grew flustered. "Your Highness."
Joffrey looked at Arya and Jon, then at the butcher's boy, then at Sansa, his gaze sweeping over them several times. "These are your bastard brother and your sister?" he asked.
Sansa nodded. She had never felt so ashamed.
Joffrey looked again at the butcher's boy, an ugly lad with a freckled face and thick red hair.
"And who are you, boy?"
"My name is Mycah, Your Highness," the boy hastily murmured.
"He's the butcher's apprentice," Sansa added.
"He's my friend. Don't you bully him," Arya said quickly.
Jon frowned. He did not have a very good impression of this prince, especially when the prince was drunk.
"So a pig butcher wants to be a knight, does he?" Joffrey dismounted and walked toward Mycah with his sword in hand. Delight shone in his eyes. "Butcher boy, pick up your sword. Let's have a bout and see whether you're good enough."
Mycah stood frozen with fear, but Joffrey kept advancing.
Smack! Jon Snow moved faster than Joffrey. His palm struck the butcher's boy hard across the face, instantly reddening his cheek. "Get out of here! Who do you think you are? You're nothing but a pig butcher's apprentice. You think you deserve to cross swords with a prince? Get out, you idiot!"
Arya watched the scene unfold, too distressed to speak.
Jon slapped him several more times, finally knocking some sense into Mycah. Suddenly understanding, Mycah dropped his stick and ran in the opposite direction.
The slaps were so loud that even Joffrey paused in surprise, but Jon's words pleased him so much that he overlooked what Jon had done.
"Your Highness, he's only a stupid butcher's boy. He knows he was wrong. Why don't we go back?" Jon urged kindly.
"Quickly, pick it up. I remember you. You're a decent swordsman too." Joffrey's eyes shifted. "Since he's run away, you can fight me instead. Pick it up. Or can you only bully little girls?"
"No, I can't. I'm only Lord Eddard's bastard." Jon hurriedly waved his hands.
"Bastard, bastard. I hate bastards like you most of all." As though something had occurred to him, Joffrey suddenly spoke with vicious anger.
"Pick up your weapon." Joffrey raised his longsword, and Jon pretended to tremble. The prince was even madder than he had thought. "That butcher's boy struck this lady's sister. Why didn't you step in? Are all bastards as full of wicked thoughts as you?"
"Don't!" Arya shouted.
Joffrey's longsword pierced Jon's cheek. A bloom of blood appeared on his face, and the wound began to bleed.
"Stop!" Arya screamed furiously, then grabbed a fallen stick from the ground.
Sansa was terrified. "Arya, stay out of it."
"Little girl, don't get involved. This is a men's game. I won't hurt him too badly," Joffrey told Arya, then fixed his gaze on Jon.
"Don't do anything, Arya." Jon stepped back and hastily tried to stop her. If Arya struck the prince with her stick and truly knocked him senseless, things would only get worse.
Seeing this, Sansa hurriedly jumped down from her horse, but she was already too late.
Jon picked up Mycah's wooden stick, blood running down his face. "I yield, my prince."
"That won't do. A knight can't yield so easily." Joffrey laughed, advancing relentlessly with his longsword.
Jon sensed that something was very wrong. This prince was wielding a real sword and had drunk a great deal of wine. Such a person was dangerously unpredictable.
Jon raised the stick first, and Joffrey charged straight at him with a diagonal slash. His fine sword easily hacked into Jon's wooden stick.
Still, Jon found an opening against the drunken boy. Joffrey's footing was far too unsteady, and his sword strokes were wild.
Jon cautiously moved in beside Joffrey. He did not attack, only defended, avoiding the most dangerous strikes. Then a crack in the stick caught Joffrey's sword. This was his chance.
"Damn you! What are you doing, you bastard?" Joffrey roared as Jon pulled. Jon was stronger and a better swordsman. He meant to take Lion's Tooth from him.
Joffrey hastily pushed his sword back, pulling the blade free of the stick. Burdened by misgivings, Jon did not dare press too close.
Jon dodged backward, but the blade cut another long, diagonal wound across his shoulder. Blood gushed out again. This wound was longer, and the blood soaked his clothes red.
The sheer amount of blood, that vivid red, made even Joffrey hesitate.
Sansa screamed desperately, "Stop! Both of you, stop! You're ruining everything!" But neither listened to her.
Enduring the pain, Jon wrested Joffrey's sword from him and threw it to the ground, far away.
Arya hurled a stone. It missed Joffrey but struck his horse, which bolted out of the woods in fright. Joffrey stared at the two of them and cursed foully.
Sansa had no idea what to do. She could only watch helplessly, her vision almost obscured by tears.
"I hate you." Arya rushed to her brother's side and looked at the wounds on Jon's face and shoulder. Joffrey was a madman, yet Sansa was still so infatuated with him.
Joffrey sobered a little. He seemed to have cut the Hand of the King's bastard. That was not good.
"You're a madman, an idiot," Arya cursed, then began crudely bandaging Jon.
A gray shape appeared beside Arya and glared viciously at Joffrey. The direwolf wanted to lunge at him, but Jon held her back. She bared her teeth at Joffrey and began to growl, her sharp fangs like blades.
Joffrey fell to the ground in fright, landing in the dirt. He did not dare retrieve his longsword. He knew what happened when a wolf knocked someone down. His pretty face and hands would be ruined.
Joffrey looked up at the direwolf and Arya and whimpered in fear. "No," he said. "Don't hurt me, or I'll tell Mother."
"Don't bully them!" Sansa screamed at her sister.
"I'm sorry, my prince. Let's end today's game here," Jon managed. The blood dripping from him made him look terrifying.
Arya and Jon ran toward their mounts, with Nymeria following behind her.
After they left, Sansa walked over to the prince. His eyes were squeezed shut in distress, and he was breathing rapidly.
Sansa knelt beside him. "Joffrey," she sobbed. "Oh, look what they've done, frightening you like this. My poor prince, don't be afraid. I'll ride back to that manor and find someone to help." She reached out and gently brushed aside his soft golden hair.
Joffrey's eyes snapped open, filled with nothing but hatred and utter contempt. "Then get out." He spat at her. "And don't-you-touch-me."
Chapter 110: Arguments and Reassurance
The great lords gathered in the King's Hall, packing the room at the inn to bursting.
"That's what happened." The wound on Jon's face had already been treated, and thick bandages covered his shoulder. Arya stood beside him, still sobbing.
The butcher's boy who had run back with the news also stood in the hall. It was his first time seeing so many important people, but he seemed utterly dazed and did not dare speak.
"Get my son and daughter something to eat. They've been frightened badly." Eddard did not want to hear any more. Continuing would only do greater harm to the fragile alliance between Stark and Lannister.
Duke Eddard looked at the people in the hall. Apart from his own men, their faces were hardly friendly. Lord Renly wore an ambiguous smile, and no one could tell what he was thinking, while old Barristan looked grave. The rest were Lannister men and naturally full of hostility. Ser Jaime and The Hound, however, did not seem quite so cold, which surprised Eddard.
Jon's expression was grave. The South truly was no good place. Their Lannister enemies seemed ready to surround them. He was somewhat worried about his father's fate.
"I think we should leave the matter here for now. I'll take the children to get something to eat," Eddard repeated to the king.
The corners of Cersei's mouth rose as she looked disdainfully at Jon and Eddard. "Insolence! How dare you speak to the king in that tone!"
The king shifted, then frowned deeply. "Eddard, I have no intention of pursuing this. It would be better to settle the matter quickly."
"I've already explained the matter you're asking about very clearly," Eddard replied helplessly, his voice cold as frost.
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