[Chapter Size: 3400 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Winterfell, 298 AC.

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The courtyard fell completely silent as the blood from Joffrey’s forearm began to drip onto the ground, staining the frozen earth that morning in Winterfell.

The queen took a second to react, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.

“JOFFREY!!!” she screamed. Her precious lion had been wounded by that woman!

She quickly began running along the balcony with the Kingsguard following her, starting to descend toward the courtyard, while Sansa reacted shortly after, heart pounding with worry, mimicking the queen’s movement as Catelyn tried to catch her.

“Robert…” Ned glanced quickly at his friend, who was standing there, frozen, watching his son on the ground screaming in pain.

Jaime was the first to move, quickly checking the wound, shifting the boy to the side while examining his arm.

“That hurts!” Joffrey cried in tears.

“Call the maester!” Jaime shouted to everyone there, as Ned stood up.

“Call Maester Luwin!” Ned echoed quickly.

“Damn it… boy. How did she cut you like that.” the king muttered, still in shock, staring at Arya who still held the sword, eyes locked on Joffrey as his uncle helped him, while her guards moved closer to shield her, obviously.

After all, someone might try to attack her because of this, but everyone remained frozen, as another Kingsguard approached Jaime to check the prince’s condition.

It was at that moment the queen rushed through the crowd, lifting her dress to avoid tripping, running to Joffrey.

“Joffrey! My darling!” She hurried to his side, kneeling beside Jaime, seeing his bleeding arm, touching his face that also had a cut.

“What did they do to you, my baby? Quickly, call a maester!” she exclaimed.

“He’s already been called, sister,” Jaime said.

“It’s a shallow cut, he’s not in danger,” he informed, glancing at Arya, wondering whether this had been intentional or just luck… unsure if she truly could’ve inflicted a more serious injury on Joffrey or not.

“A shallow wound?!” Cersei snapped, turning her furious gaze toward Arya.

“You hurt my son! How dare you lay a hand on the prince of Westeros?! You tried to kill the future king!” she screamed in fury, as everyone began to murmur, immediately shocked and surprised by the accusation.

The king realized he had to intervene, stepping down from his platform and approaching quickly.

“Don’t be a fool. Didn’t you want this conflict in the first place? Your arrogant posture… look what it’s led to! The brat couldn’t even beat her in a sword fight.

You should be more worried about the shame your son has just brought upon all of us, across the Seven Kingdoms!” Robert growled at Cersei, looking at his son with disgust.

“Look at you, a boy who wanted to fight a girl… and lost.”

Perhaps he had never felt so much shame.

Joffrey forgot his wound and pain for a moment, looking fearfully at his father upon hearing those words.

“You mock me, king of Westeros? Then summon another to fight, and I hope you stand by your word when I accept your son’s challenges,” Arya said this time, staring seriously at the king, seeming to defy him right then and there.

She had used her gender to provoke the prince, but I didn’t like the king’s words.

The king raised an eyebrow at her with a grimace, but shrugged.

“So be it. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m in a foul mood. Come, Ned. We need to talk in your solar about important matters, and take the brat to the infirmary. The show’s over,” he announced.

It seemed like everything was starting to calm down. Arya sheathed Dark Sister while her sister Sansa and their mother also approached the prince, along with his two royal siblings.

Maester Luwin arrived and was examining his wound, and they quickly began to carry him away.

The queen gave Arya one last look, full of hatred, but Arya merely shrugged as her brothers came closer to her.

“You really put on a show. Proved your sword is sharp enough,” Robb laughed, not caring that she had hurt the crown prince.

“But that was brutal, what you did.”

“That’ll leave a few scars, and it’ll certainly remind him that just because he was born a prince doesn’t mean he’s invincible or can’t bleed like any other man,” Arya said calmly, as Robb raised an eyebrow, impressed by how easily his sister could say such things.

Either way, the royal guards of Arctic still eyed them as enemies, while Westerosi royal guards stared at them the same way.

Their father approached Arya at that moment. “Are you alright?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Arya nodded.

“Good. I’m going to speak with the king. Just let me know if there’s any problem,” he said and followed toward the castle, where the king was already heading in and impatiently calling someone.

The crown prince was taken away with the other royal guards, and Arya noticed that Myrcella hadn’t gone with her mother into the castle. In fact, they had forgotten her. The girl timidly approached Arya.

“Can we talk?” she murmured, a little shy.

Arya nodded, analyzing the girl who was older than her.

Inside the solar…

“Damn it, Ned, I didn’t know your daughter would put my son on the ground. What a disappointment,” Robert muttered with a long sigh. It had been shameful to see his son lose in such a pathetic way.

He sat in his chair, and Ned moved to stand before him, on the other side of the table.

The king’s sentinel was also inside the solar, acting as security, but the king quickly glanced at him.

“You can leave,” he requested.

“My king, I wouldn’t recommend that,” the old knight murmured, but Robert wasn’t willing to negotiate.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m with my old friend, in his home. Wait outside the door,” he demanded firmly.

Ser Barristan Selmy had no other choice and left.

“I need some wine. You got any, Ned?” Robert demanded, looking around the shelves in the solar, but Ned shook his head.

“The last bottles I had, I ended up removing… so I wouldn’t make more mistakes like last time,” he said with a tone of guilt, offering no further details.

“Forget the wine then… I want to talk about what we discussed yesterday,” Robert said.

“If you want to talk about the offer to be your Hand in King’s Landing… I’m afraid I have to say I won’t accept,” Ned said seriously.

“You’re really going to leave me stranded among those vipers? Those lions just waiting for the moment to see me fall? You saw how pathetic my son is! Controlled by his mother!” the king said furiously.

Ned seemed a bit shaken but sighed, giving his friend a serious look.

“You know what happens when a Stark goes to King’s Landing, Robert. I don’t want to be part of that madness, and I don’t want to step foot in that damned city again, where my brother and father were killed by that mad king,” Ned said with even a rare hint of indifference.

“I still won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Ned. Either way… hand me a piece of parchment and a quill,” he demanded, as Ned raised an eyebrow.

“For what, Robert?” Ned asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? Your daughter just won that wager. I’ll be returning the Gift to you,” he replied, making Ned raise another eyebrow.

“Are you sure about this, Robert? It’s been over two hundred years since that agreement was made, and you want to break it. And you’ll do so just like that?” Ned wanted to be certain.

“Obviously, I wagered it. I didn’t bet in the name of the realm — I did it in my son’s name, to see just how pathetic he turned out to be,” Robert said with disgust.

“But that was an agreement those damned dragons made. So I feel free to undo their damned decisions. Won’t it be better for the North to have the Gift? Then so be it,” Robert said as Ned handed him the parchment and quill.

Robert began writing an official letter, then called for Barristan Selmy, who always carried his royal seal as security. Robert signed it with the golden seal of the crown of Westeros, declaring that the lands would now be returned to the administration of the North, directly to House Stark.

Robert didn’t even notice the stunned and somewhat fascinated look on Ned’s face as he read the document.

After two hundred years, those lands would be theirs once again. Ned began trying to envision how to manage that region. There were already several parts of the North lacking proper administration. How would he deal with the Gift? He’d have to speak with his daughter. Perhaps the answer lay beyond the Wall.

“There. I keep my word. Now, I want to know about something else… Your eldest daughter with my son,” he said calmly, looking at Ned like a hawk.

That would be a highly political decision for the fate of the North.

Ned sighed. “No,” he replied, looking at his friend.

“No?! You refuse to unite our families?” Robert stood and slammed the table in fury. He might have understood the refusal to become Hand, but to reject what he had always wanted — to unite both families, when he and Lyanna Stark had never been able to marry?

“Why?” Robert growled. “Is it because of your son? Is it because of the Arctican king?” he fumed.

Ned looked at him seriously, without lying. “Yes. It’s mainly because of Jon, though he’s not the only reason I’m refusing.”

“So you intend to turn your back on me and the Seven Kingdoms, Ned? Is that what I’m hearing?” the king said, his tone growing increasingly dangerous.

“Don’t make me choose between Jon and you, Robert. I don’t want to be dragged into this madness having to pick one and turn my back on the other. I want to stay out of it, and you have to understand that.”

“What happened out there in the courtyard wasn’t a small thing. Your son will carry resentment for what happened today, along with your wife. He might come back to this to hurt Sansa. I won’t let my daughter be mistreated, and I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a war that the two of you started.

A war that began mostly because of your wife’s actions, and even the Citadel itself.”

“So that’s it? You believe all this mess started with us? Your son is the innocent one?” Robert muttered angrily.

“I believe Jon’s words. When he said he was cornered and intimidated by that citizen, I believe him. This all began with that chaos. You know that. This madness never should have started in the first place, Robert,” Ned stood firm in his words.

He could have suggested Robert try to reconcile with Jon, but according to Jon’s words, that wouldn’t happen so easily. After all, Jon might be preparing an attack on the Throne in the future to claim the crown.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Robert was furious. His journey to Winterfell was testing several limits of his patience.

Either way, he turned to face his friend one last time, no longer wanting to see him.

Ned had refused to be his Hand and had also rejected the marriage between his daughter and Robert’s son — something that would have made Sansa a queen. It was something every lady in the realm dreamed of.

“I want to know one last thing… The letter… is it true the Arcticans are closing themselves off?”

“Yes. Jon said they are isolating due to a war and won’t be departing anytime soon. Once it begins, the kingdom will be closed. We might not hear from them for years,” Ned murmured.

“I see,” was all Robert said in the end, turning around and leaving, not wanting to see the face of his old friend anymore, while Ned simply sighed.

He had to make difficult decisions there, but all of them were important for the future of his family and their safety.

The Lord of Winterfell looked at the king’s decree. He would have to inform the Night’s Watch about the change regarding the Gift.

Meanwhile, Arya was once again in the godswood with Princess Myrcella. She had asked to talk, and when they arrived at the place and were alone, she began asking questions about Jon and Arctica.

Arya answered the questions without any issue, and the girl suddenly broke down in tears beside the heart tree, with her Arctic royal guards at a distance. Arya had asked them to step back, since she wanted a private conversation.

“You know… I always heard you were savages, that you lived primitively, raped women…” She began to choke through sobs.

“I was so afraid. But when I saw you, I realized it wasn’t anything like that.

You don’t seem anything like what my mother kept saying… and what they keep telling us about the kingdom beyond the Wall… it all seems completely wrong compared to what I thought it was…”

She began crying even harder.

“I’m sorry for what your mother did to you. From what I heard, it was clearly a move of hers — even destroying her own daughter’s reputation just out of ego,” Arya tried to comfort her.

“My father and grandfather wanted me to marry your brother… My mother said so many things… that made me never want that at all…

She said I would be raped every day.”

Then she stopped, the words stuck, hard to pull out, filled with shame.

Arya couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Still, her fear of marrying Jon seemed rather vague.

After all, Jon had never responded to any of those rumors. He himself had said he wasn’t interested.

Arya could tell he was hiding something too, especially when he talked about the Baratheon children — something he never shared with her.

And now she was beginning to understand.

After last night’s feast, the queen had said too much, dropping hints.

As the girl kept sobbing, wiping her eyes, Arya studied her blonde hair and green eyes — features that didn’t resemble the king’s in the slightest.

There was nothing of Robert in her.

“The past is done. Move forward,” Arya said firmly.

“I’m sure a princess can recover from this…” she added in the end.

“I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to marry again,” she murmured through tears.

“You can’t say that,” Arya said, though she doubted any highly beneficial marriage for her house would be likely.

No great lord would want to join with a princess who wasn’t a maiden anymore, but she was still a princess and could possibly marry into lesser houses.

Other princesses, far more promiscuous, had managed it before in Westerosi history.

They stayed there for some time as she wiped her tears and turned back to Arya.

“Can you tell me about your travels?” she asked, wanting to change the subject, and Arya nodded.

“Where is Myrcella?”

At the same time, inside the maester’s chamber, Cersei exclaimed, finally realizing her daughter’s absence, while Catelyn had been speaking of her own daughter near the entrance, and Sansa stood nearby, deeply worried about the prince who had just taken milk of the poppy to sleep, while Maester Luwin was bandaging his wounds.

At that moment, Catelyn glanced toward the corridor and spotted someone that made her frown as she saw Cassandra passing by. The woman only shook her head and said nothing, avoiding eye contact and walking on, while Catelyn stared at her as if two blades had just been thrust into her back.

Cassandra walked into the kitchens, giving orders to the servants. As she turned, she ran into Lord Stark, who was coming out of the pantry, pausing when he saw her. Cassandra, surprised, looked at him too, noticing the bottle of wine in his hand.

She wondered why he had it, before looking at his face — which had suddenly gone pale.

“I… I’m having a hard time,” he murmured. The talks with the king had shaken him. He needed something — even if he knew he shouldn’t.

“You don’t need to say that, Lord Stark. I have nothing to do with it,” she said curtly and began to turn away, before he caught her hand, taking her by surprise.

“What are you doing, Lord Stark?” she murmured.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“We can’t. Are you insane? After everything that happened, the last thing I want is to be seen speaking with you about anything other than work,” she said angrily.

“Your wife wants to poison me at any moment.”

“She’s not my wife,” Lord Stark said.

“You’re still married by the southern religions. So, she is your wife,” she replied, trying to pull away as he held her.

“Lord Stark, the servants are looking at us,” she whispered, as he looked around and saw several servants stopping their tasks and watching them curiously.

He quickly let go of her hand, and everyone returned to work, ignoring them in the kitchen.

“Forgive me for that, my lady,” he murmured.

“Cassandra. Just Cassandra, Lord Stark,” she said, wanting to keep things in terms that would protect her.

“Still… we need to talk,” he insisted.

“Fine, but another time, privately. Somewhere no one can see us together. I don’t want more attention than I’ve already drawn.

Good luck with your… endeavor,” she said, glancing at the bottle of wine.

“Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”

She turned and left to attend to her other tasks in the castle, while Ned simply sighed.

In the end, he returned the bottle of wine to the pantry.

That night, there was no extravagant feast, just a good meal. Since the coffers had been quite full in recent years, they were able to host the royal family well.

“Are you alright, brother?” Tyrion murmured beside his brother, who had stepped away from his guard duty to eat with him.

“No. Nothing about this place pleases me,” Jaime murmured, glancing around at everyone eating.

“Looks like the king and Lord Stark are at odds,” Tyrion murmured, looking toward the high table, where the king and his friend weren’t exchanging a single word. Robert looked furious.

“That’s because you didn’t hear,” Jaime said.

“He refused the marriage between Joffrey and Sansa.”

Tyrion looked surprised, while the Stark girl didn’t seem to know, still gazing adoringly at the prince.

“That’s a feast for our sister, who was counting on it. How interesting… The North is growing stronger and losing ties with the South. Ah, I wonder… When those monsters from the North come like a colossus to crush us, will the Seven Kingdoms be able to handle it? I mean… the Six Kingdoms,” Tyrion began to jest.

“That’s not funny, Tyrion,” Jaime murmured.

In the end, the feast was not lavish and didn’t have much conversation. Still, Tyrion continued to observe everyone around him. Arya did not sit at the high table, preferring to remain more distant with the Arcticans, while Sansa and her brothers sat with the royal family at the main table with their father.

Joffrey ate with his left hand, struggling quite a bit, while the other was completely wrapped in cloth and bandages. His gaze was brazenly fixed on Arya, but the girl didn’t care in the slightest.

In the end, Winterfell awoke to a calm morning, but Lord Stark was caught off guard when a knock came at his door. Ned was already preparing to meet with Cassandra, but fate interrupted him at that moment when Jory informed him that Ser Barristan Selmy wished to speak with him.

Upon opening the door, he found the old knight.

“Lord Stark, may we talk? I happened to have the day off,” he said.

Lord Stark paused a moment and finally nodded, unable to refuse. He knew Barristan must have a reason to speak.

They walked outside, heading straight for the godswood. Arya hadn’t gone there that morning, and Ned assumed she’d come only later. She was probably having breakfast in the great hall.

“So… how can I help you, ser?” Ned asked, while Barristan remained silent.

He stood like that, observing Ned very carefully, as the two of them stood there alone. Ned didn’t understand what exactly the old knight wanted with him.

“Just as I thought…” Barristan murmured, looking at Ned as realization dawned in his eyes.

“…He’s not your son.” That was all he said.

—-

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In the next chapter, we’ll return to Jon’s POV.

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