Chapter 133: Children of the Crown
The royal wheelhouse moved at the speed of an elderly mule climbing a mountain.
At least, that was how Prince Joffrey described it.
The enormous carriage groaned as its reinforced wheels pushed through the mud of the Kingsroad. Thick curtains covered most of its windows, protecting those inside from the cold wind and the unpleasant sight of servants struggling outside.
The interior was warmer than many noble chambers.
Soft cushions lined the seats. Small braziers provided heat. A narrow table held fruit, sweetcakes, watered wine, and several books that no one had touched since the journey began.
Joffrey sat near the largest window, staring outside with open disgust.
"At this pace," he complained, "we will reach Winterfell after I become king."
Myrcella looked up from the embroidery resting across her lap.
"The wheelhouse is part of the reason we are moving slowly."
Joffrey turned toward her.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It is very heavy."
"It is a royal wheelhouse."
"Yes."
"It is meant to be heavy."
Myrcella considered that.
"I do not think that is why it was built this way."
Joffrey's expression sharpened.
"Mother requires proper comfort."
"Mother is not the one complaining about how slowly it moves."
Tommen covered his mouth, attempting to hide a laugh.
Joffrey noticed.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing."
"You were laughing."
"I coughed."
"That was not a cough."
Tommen quickly looked out of the opposite window.
The youngest prince pressed both hands against the glass, watching soldiers trudge through the mud beside the wheelhouse.
"Do you think there are wolves nearby?"
Joffrey sighed dramatically.
"You have asked that every day since we left King's Landing."
"No, I haven't."
"You asked yesterday."
"I asked whether there were wolves in the Riverlands."
"And now?"
"Now we're farther north."
"We are not in the North yet," Myrcella said.
Tommen looked disappointed.
"When will we be?"
"When we cross the Neck."
"What is the Neck?"
Joffrey groaned.
"Do you listen to anything your tutors teach you?"
"Sometimes."
"Clearly not."
Myrcella placed her embroidery aside.
"The Neck is the narrow region connecting the North to the rest of Westeros. It is filled with swamps."
"Swamps?" Tommen repeated.
"Yes."
"With lizard-lions?"
"Some stories say so."
Tommen's eyes widened.
Joffrey rolled his eyes.
"There are no lizard-lions."
"There are," Myrcella said.
Joffrey looked toward her.
"You have never seen one."
"Neither have you."
"That proves nothing."
"It proves exactly the same thing as your argument."
Joffrey leaned back against his cushions.
"You have become very annoying on this journey."
Myrcella smiled sweetly.
"I have always been annoying. You simply noticed now because there is nowhere else for you to go."
Tommen laughed again.
This time he did not hide it quickly enough.
Joffrey threw a small cushion at him.
Tommen ducked.
The cushion struck the wall and fell harmlessly to the floor.
"You missed," Tommen said.
"I was warning you."
"You still missed."
Joffrey reached for another cushion.
Myrcella lifted one hand.
"Stop it. Mother will be angry if you damage the wheelhouse."
"I am the heir to the throne."
"That does not mean you are allowed to destroy Mother's cushions."
Joffrey folded his arms.
"One day, I will order cushions made from whatever I like."
Tommen looked thoughtful.
"Can cushions be made from wolf fur?"
"Everything can be made from wolf fur," Joffrey said.
Myrcella frowned.
"That is not true."
"Of course it is."
"Could a cup be made from wolf fur?"
Joffrey stared at her.
"That is a foolish question."
"It is your answer that was foolish."
Joffrey looked away.
The wheelhouse struck another rut.
Everyone shifted violently.
Tommen slid halfway from his seat and grabbed the edge of the table.
Several pieces of fruit rolled across the floor.
Joffrey slammed one hand against the wall.
"Can no one outside drive properly?"
A servant riding beside the wheelhouse pretended not to hear him.
Myrcella reached down and picked up an apple.
"It is the road."
"It is always the road."
"The road cannot defend itself, so you blame it for everything."
"The road is badly made."
"The Kingsroad was built long ago."
"Then it should have been built better."
Myrcella looked toward him.
"Perhaps you can rebuild it when you become king."
Joffrey paused.
"I may."
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"From King's Landing to the Wall?"
"Yes."
Tommen looked impressed.
"That's very far."
"I know."
"How long would it take?"
Joffrey hesitated.
"A year."
Myrcella raised an eyebrow.
"One year?"
"Perhaps two."
"How many workers?"
"As many as necessary."
"How much stone?"
"Enough."
"How much gold?"
Joffrey's irritation returned.
"I do not need to know every little detail. That is why kings have servants."
Myrcella quietly resumed her embroidery.
"Then perhaps building roads is more difficult than saying you will build them."
Joffrey's face tightened.
Before he could answer, Tommen pointed excitedly through the window.
"Look! A castle!"
Joffrey barely glanced outside.
"It is a watchtower."
"It has walls."
"Small walls."
"Could we stop there?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Father wants to reach Winterfell before winter ends."
"It is already winter."
"Then before the next one."
Myrcella smiled.
Joffrey glared at her.
Tommen continued staring outside.
"What is Winterfell like?"
"Cold," Joffrey said.
Myrcella answered more thoughtfully.
"It is one of the oldest castles in Westeros."
"How old?"
"Thousands of years."
"Older than the Red Keep?"
"Much older."
Joffrey snorted.
"Age does not make a castle impressive."
"It is supposed to be enormous," Myrcella continued. "And part of it is built over warm springs."
Tommen turned around.
"Warm springs?"
"The water runs through the walls."
"How?"
"Channels, I think."
Joffrey waved one hand dismissively.
"A heated floor does not make a frozen northern ruin into a palace."
"It might make it more comfortable than the Red Keep during winter," Myrcella replied.
Joffrey stared at her.
"The Red Keep is the greatest castle in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Because Father lives there?"
"Because it is the seat of the Iron Throne."
"That does not make the bedrooms warmer."
Tommen nodded seriously.
"My room becomes very cold."
Joffrey looked betrayed.
"You are both impossible."
Tommen ignored him.
"Are the crypts truly beneath Winterfell?"
"Yes," Myrcella said. "The old Kings of Winter are buried there."
"With swords?"
"Stone swords."
"Why?"
"To keep the spirits inside their tombs."
Tommen became very still.
"Spirits?"
Joffrey's irritation transformed into amusement.
"Yes. Thousands of dead Stark kings."
Myrcella gave him a warning look.
Joffrey leaned toward Tommen.
"They wander the crypts when the castle sleeps."
"They do not," Myrcella said.
"They do."
"No, they don't."
Joffrey continued as though she had said nothing.
"They carry stone swords and search for southern children who enter without permission."
Tommen moved closer to Myrcella.
"Why southern children?"
"Because the northern ghosts hate the South."
"They do not," Myrcella repeated.
"How do you know?" Joffrey challenged.
"How do you?"
"I am the prince."
"That does not make you an expert on ghosts."
"It makes me an expert on many things."
"Name three."
Joffrey's eyes narrowed.
"Swords. Kingship. War."
"You have never fought in a war."
"I have trained."
"So have many stable boys."
Joffrey flushed.
Tommen tugged gently at Myrcella's sleeve.
"Are there really ghosts?"
She softened.
"Probably not."
"Probably?"
"Every old castle has stories."
"Does the Red Keep have ghosts?"
"Many," Joffrey said immediately.
Myrcella sighed.
Tommen looked worried.
"The Mad King still walks the halls," Joffrey continued. "Sometimes he—"
"Stop," Myrcella said firmly.
Joffrey smiled.
"Afraid?"
"No. You are frightening Tommen because you are bored."
"I am educating him."
"You are being cruel."
Joffrey's smile vanished.
"I am not cruel."
"You can be."
The words settled awkwardly inside the wheelhouse.
Tommen looked between them.
Joffrey turned toward the window.
Myrcella picked up her embroidery again, though she did not continue working.
For several minutes, only the creaking of wheels and distant shouts of soldiers filled the silence.
Tommen eventually spoke.
"Will Bran Stark show me the crypts?"
Myrcella glanced at him.
"Perhaps."
"He is the one who likes knights?"
"Yes."
"How old is he?"
"Close to your age, I think."
"Can he ride?"
"Of course he can ride," Joffrey said. "He is a northerner."
Myrcella nodded.
"I heard that he is very adventurous."
"What does that mean?" Tommen asked.
"It means he is always exploring the castle."
Joffrey gave a dismissive snort.
"He climbs the walls."
Tommen's eyes widened.
"The castle walls?"
"Walls, towers, rooftops—anything high enough to make sensible people worry," Myrcella said.
"How do you know?"
"One of Mother's ladies heard it from a northern visitor."
Tommen leaned forward eagerly.
"Does he climb all the way to the top?"
"Probably," Joffrey said. "Perhaps he believes he is a monkey."
Myrcella frowned.
"He is supposed to be very skilled."
"At climbing?"
"Yes."
"That is not a noble accomplishment."
"It sounds difficult."
"Servants climb ladders every day."
"Ladders are not castle walls."
Joffrey looked away.
Tommen was already imagining it.
"Maybe Bran can show me how."
"No," Joffrey said immediately.
"Why?"
"Because if you fall and break your neck, Mother will blame everyone except you."
Myrcella gave Joffrey a rare approving glance.
"He is right."
Tommen looked disappointed.
"I wouldn't fall."
"Everyone who falls probably thinks that beforehand," Myrcella said.
"But perhaps Bran can show you the safer parts of Winterfell."
"And the crypts?"
"Yes."
"And the godswood?"
"Yes."
"And the direwolves?"
"If the wolves allow it."
Tommen smiled.
"I think Bran and I will become friends."
"Perhaps," Myrcella said.
Joffrey looked out of the window.
"If he has any sense, he will spend his time watching the Kingsguard instead of climbing old stones."
"But climbing sounds more exciting," Tommen replied.
"You say that because you have never watched Ser Jaime fight."
"I have."
"Not properly."
"I watched Ser Barristan for nearly an hour."
"You fell asleep."
"I was resting my eyes."
Myrcella laughed softly.
Tommen smiled.
The tension eased.
Joffrey took a sweetcake from the table and bit into it.
"What about the others?" Tommen asked.
"What others?"
"The Stark children."
Myrcella began counting.
"Robb is Lord Stark's heir."
"He is almost grown," Joffrey said.
"Sansa is the eldest daughter."
Joffrey's posture changed slightly.
Myrcella noticed immediately.
"She is supposed to be beautiful," Joffrey said.
Myrcella's smile became knowing.
"So that is why you remember her."
"I remember because Mother mentioned her."
"Many times?"
Joffrey frowned.
"Enough."
"Mother says she is graceful," Myrcella continued. "And well-mannered. She sings and embroiders."
Joffrey brushed crumbs from his tunic.
"She should."
"Why?"
"She is a noble lady."
"So am I."
"Yes."
"Do I need to sing for you?"
"No."
"Then why should she?"
Joffrey looked irritated again.
"You twist everything."
Myrcella returned to her embroidery.
"I think she may be friendly."
"She will be."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am the crown prince."
"That does not mean everyone will like you."
Joffrey stared.
Tommen spoke innocently.
"Do people not like Joffrey?"
Myrcella hesitated.
Joffrey answered immediately.
"Everyone likes me."
Tommen looked reassured.
Myrcella wisely said nothing.
"What of the other girl?" Joffrey asked.
"Arya," Myrcella said.
"Mother called her difficult."
"Mother calls many people difficult."
"Mother is usually right."
Myrcella smiled faintly.
"I heard Arya prefers swords to sewing."
Joffrey laughed.
"A girl with a sword?"
"Women fought during the Age of Heroes."
"Stories."
"There are women warriors in the North."
"Wildlings."
"Not only wildlings."
Joffrey dismissed the subject with a wave.
Tommen looked interested.
"Will Arya fight the Kingsguard?"
"No," Joffrey said.
"Perhaps she will try," Myrcella replied.
Joffrey smiled.
"Then she will embarrass herself."
"Or surprise you."
"She will not."
"You have never met her."
"I know enough."
Myrcella shook her head.
"Then there is Rickon," she said.
"The youngest."
"Yes."
"Does he have a wolf?" Tommen asked.
"I heard all the Stark children have direwolves."
Joffrey snorted.
"Pets."
"Direwolves are not ordinary pets."
"They are animals."
"Large animals."
"I am not afraid of wolves."
Tommen looked through the window again.
"What about Theon Greyjoy?"
"He is Lord Stark's ward," Myrcella said.
"Hostage," Joffrey corrected.
Myrcella glanced toward him.
"Mother says wards should not be called hostages."
"Mother also says many things in public that she does not say in private."
Myrcella could not argue with that.
Tommen reached for a pear.
"Is Jon Snow one of Lord Stark's children too?"
Joffrey laughed.
"He is the bastard."
Tommen looked confused.
"That does not answer him," Myrcella said.
"It answers everything."
"No, it doesn't."
Joffrey turned toward Tommen.
"Jon Snow is Lord Stark's bastard son. He was not born from Lady Catelyn."
"But Lord Stark is still his father?"
"Yes."
"Then he is one of the children."
"Not in the same way."
"Why?"
"Because bastards cannot inherit."
Tommen thought about it.
"But he already has a kingdom."
Joffrey stopped moving.
Myrcella slowly looked up.
Tommen bit into his pear, unaware that he had said anything unusual.
Joffrey's expression hardened.
"He rules wildlings."
"He rules Winter's Heaven," Myrcella said.
Joffrey turned toward her.
"It is the same thing."
"No, it isn't."
"It lies beyond the Wall."
"Yes."
"Filled with savages."
"The envoys described cities."
"Northern envoys."
"They described roads, schools, hospitals, and enormous buildings."
"They were frightened fools."
"They were chosen by Lord Manderly."
"Lord Manderly is fat."
Myrcella blinked.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"It means he enjoys food more than good judgment."
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
Tommen raised his pear.
"Is Winter's Titan truly larger than castles?"
Myrcella nodded.
"Thousands of people in White Harbor saw it."
Joffrey shifted uncomfortably.
"Ships appear larger from shore."
"Not four kilometers larger."
"That number is probably false."
"Perhaps. But the ship is still real."
Tommen's eyes brightened.
"Does it really have smaller ships inside it?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Ten were seen leaving its side gates."
"Like little boats coming out of a whale?"
Myrcella smiled.
"Perhaps."
Joffrey rolled his eyes.
"It is still only a ship."
"A ship that ordinary ships cannot follow," Myrcella said.
"Because northern sailors are cowards."
"Several southern ships also tried."
Joffrey became quiet.
Myrcella continued carefully.
"The stories may exaggerate some things. But Winter's Heaven exists."
"Anyone can call a frozen village a kingdom."
"People other than Jon Snow call it a kingdom."
"That means nothing."
"It means they believe him."
Joffrey's face tightened.
"He is still a bastard."
"Does being born a bastard make his city disappear?"
Joffrey turned sharply toward her.
"You are defending him."
"I am stating what is known."
"You have never met him."
"Neither have you."
"I do not need to meet him."
"Then neither do I."
Joffrey's voice rose.
"Blood determines greatness."
Myrcella's expression became thoughtful.
"Father did not inherit the Iron Throne directly from the Targaryens."
Joffrey went very still.
Tommen stopped chewing.
Myrcella immediately realized the danger in her words.
Joffrey's face reddened.
"Father had Targaryen blood."
"Yes."
"He was the rightful king."
"After winning the rebellion."
"He defeated Rhaegar."
"Yes."
"That proved his right."
Myrcella tilted her head.
"Then deeds also determine greatness."
Joffrey glared at her.
She calmly lowered her eyes to her embroidery.
Tommen looked between them.
"Does Jon truly ride a giant eagle?"
Myrcella smiled slightly.
"The Stark family saw him arrive on one."
"Northern exaggeration," Joffrey muttered.
"They saw it themselves."
"They are his family."
"So?"
"They would lie for him."
"Lord Stark is famous for not lying."
Joffrey had no immediate answer.
Tommen leaned forward excitedly.
"How large is the eagle?"
"Large enough to carry a man."
"Could it carry two?"
"I do not know."
"Could it carry me?"
"Probably."
"Could it carry Joffrey?"
Joffrey frowned.
"Why would I ride someone else's animal?"
"Because it can fly."
"I can ride horses."
"Horses cannot fly."
Joffrey looked insulted by the comparison.
Myrcella covered a smile.
"Jon Snow also has giants," Tommen continued.
"Everyone knows," Joffrey said.
"Do giants eat people?"
"Probably."
Myrcella sighed.
"No one in the envoys' reports said they ate people."
"They may not have seen them eat."
"Stop frightening him."
"I am not frightened," Tommen said quickly.
Joffrey leaned toward him.
"You should be. They are said to be forty feet tall."
Myrcella corrected him.
"Not all of them."
"How would you know?"
"I read the reports."
"Why?"
"Because they were interesting."
Joffrey leaned back.
"Books make people strange."
Myrcella looked pointedly at him.
"Lack of books does the same."
The wheelhouse fell silent for one moment.
Then Tommen laughed so suddenly that he nearly dropped his pear.
Joffrey reached for another cushion.
Myrcella took it before he could.
"Give that back."
"No."
"I was not going to throw it."
"You were."
"I was moving it."
"Toward Tommen's face?"
"Yes."
"That is called throwing."
Joffrey folded his arms.
Tommen finished the pear.
"Will Sansa like us?"
Myrcella smiled.
"I hope so."
"She will like me," Joffrey said.
Myrcella turned toward him.
"How do you know?"
"Because I am a prince."
"Jon is a king."
Joffrey's face hardened instantly.
"Stop saying that."
"It is what people call him."
"I do not care."
"You clearly do."
"I said stop."
Tommen, still trying to understand, asked:
"What if Sansa likes Jon more?"
Joffrey stared at him.
Myrcella slowly covered her mouth.
Tommen continued innocently.
"He is her brother. She already knows him."
"That is different," Joffrey snapped.
"I know."
"Then why ask?"
"Because she might miss him."
Joffrey looked toward Myrcella.
She was trying very hard not to laugh.
"There is nothing amusing."
"No," she said, voice strained. "Nothing."
Joffrey's eyes narrowed.
"Sansa will admire me."
"Perhaps."
"She will."
"I said perhaps."
"She is meant to be a proper lady."
"And proper ladies admire princes?"
"Yes."
"Always?"
"Yes."
Myrcella thought about that.
"What if the prince is unpleasant?"
"I am not unpleasant."
Tommen looked toward the window.
Myrcella glanced at him.
Joffrey noticed both.
"What?"
"Nothing," Myrcella said.
"You looked at Tommen."
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because he was looking outside."
Joffrey glared suspiciously at both of them.
The wheelhouse rolled onward.
After a while, Myrcella set aside her embroidery completely.
"What makes someone a real king?"
Joffrey answered immediately.
"A crown."
Tommen considered.
"People following him."
Joffrey looked toward him.
"That is part of it."
Myrcella folded her hands.
"What if someone has a crown but no one follows him?"
"He is still a king."
"What if someone has no crown, but thousands follow him?"
"Then he is a lord."
"What if they call him king?"
"They are wrong."
"What if he rules a kingdom?"
Joffrey's irritation returned.
"You are speaking about Jon Snow again."
"I am asking a question."
"You already know the answer."
"I know your answer."
"That is the correct answer."
Myrcella looked toward Tommen.
"What do you think?"
Tommen's brow furrowed with concentration.
"A real king protects people."
Joffrey laughed.
"That is childish."
"Why?"
"Because kings command."
"Can they not do both?"
Myrcella smiled.
Tommen continued.
"Father protects us."
"Father is king," Joffrey said.
"And Jon protects Winter's Heaven."
Joffrey's smile disappeared.
Tommen looked uncertain.
"That is what the stories say."
Myrcella nodded.
"It is."
Joffrey looked between them.
"The Iron Throne makes Father king."
Myrcella asked:
"If the Iron Throne were destroyed, would Father stop being king?"
"No."
"Then the chair does not make him king."
Joffrey frowned.
"The crown does."
"If he removed the crown?"
"He would still be king."
"Then the crown does not make him king either."
Joffrey's face became red.
"You enjoy twisting words."
"I enjoy thinking."
"Too much."
"Perhaps."
Tommen spoke quietly.
"Everyone knows Father is king."
Myrcella turned toward him.
"Yes."
"And people in Winter's Heaven know Jon is their king."
Joffrey stared at his younger brother.
Tommen shrank slightly into his seat.
Myrcella reached over and squeezed his hand.
Then she looked toward Joffrey.
"Perhaps that is the answer."
"What?"
"A king is real when enough people believe he is one."
Joffrey looked away.
The wheelhouse struck another deep rut.
The entire carriage lurched sideways.
Joffrey slid from his seat and struck one knee against the table.
Fruit, cups, thread, and sweetcakes scattered everywhere.
Outside, men shouted.
The wheelhouse stopped.
Joffrey rose furiously.
"I will have that driver whipped!"
"It is not his fault," Myrcella said.
"He cannot control a carriage!"
"The wheel is trapped."
"He should have avoided the mud."
"The road is entirely mud."
"I do not care!"
Cersei's voice sounded faintly from the forward section of the wheelhouse.
"What happened?"
A servant answered quickly.
"Another wheel is caught, Your Grace!"
Joffrey pushed aside the curtain and looked outside.
Dozens of men were already gathering near the rear wheel.
Far ahead on the road, Robert and Barristan rode beyond the slowest wagons.
Tommen climbed beside him.
"Father is very far ahead."
"He hates waiting," Joffrey said.
Myrcella joined them near the window.
Robert's laughter carried faintly back along the road.
Tommen smiled.
"Do you think Father is going to meet Jon Snow?"
Joffrey answered immediately.
"Father is going to name Lord Stark Hand. He is not traveling north to meet some bastard."
Tommen looked toward Myrcella.
She watched the distant king riding beside the white-cloaked knight.
Robert had asked questions about Winter's Heaven throughout the journey.
She had heard him questioning captains, merchants, guards, and anyone who claimed to have seen the Titan.
He tried to disguise curiosity as amusement.
He was not very successful.
"Perhaps not," Myrcella said.
Joffrey looked toward her.
She continued watching the road.
"But I think he wants to."
Joffrey's expression hardened.
Myrcella noticed but said nothing more.
The servants began pushing the wheelhouse again.
The carriage shuddered.
The wheel slowly emerged from the mud.
The journey continued.
Tommen returned to his seat, already asking whether giant eagles slept in nests or castles.
Myrcella picked up her embroidery.
Joffrey remained near the window.
He stared northward.
Somewhere beyond that road lived a boy born without a legitimate name.
A bastard.
A boy who had not inherited a throne.
A boy who had not waited for a crown.
Yet merchants spoke of him.
Knights debated his soldiers.
Lords measured his wealth.
Even Robert Baratheon wanted to meet him.
Joffrey had spent his entire life hearing that one day he would become king.
Jon Snow had simply gone north...
And become one.
Joffrey let the curtain fall closed.
He did not know Jon Snow.
Jon had never insulted him.
Never threatened him.
Never spoken his name.
But for the first time, the crown prince felt something cold and unpleasant settle inside his chest.
Resentment.
Not because Jon Snow had taken anything from him.
But because he already possessed everything Joffrey believed should belong only to a prince.
End Chapter 133
-----------------------
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