Winterfell, the great hall.
By the time Domeric entered, the room was already packed.
Clearly, it had been commandeered on the spot as the king's court.
He swept his gaze across the shifting crowd.
King Robert sat at the high seat at the far end of the hall, his face grim. Queen Cersei and Jaime stood beside him.
The "great emperor" Joffrey had his arm and head wrapped in thick silk bandages. He looked like a mummy—pitiful to behold.
On the other side stood Lord Eddard, Arya in his arms, sniffling and trembling. The girl plainly knew she'd caused trouble, and she shook like a leaf.
Domeric stepped closer. Arya's face was smeared with mud, her tears leaving pale tracks down her cheeks. She didn't look injured.
And why would she be? In Winterfell, who would dare lay a hand on a duke's daughter unless they were tired of living?
Domeric knew that, by the story's fate, Arya and Joffrey were bound to clash sooner or later—he just hadn't expected it to happen this fast.
They'd known each other less than two days.
"Ser Domeric."
Sansa slipped into his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest as if seeking shelter. "Arya won't be hurt, will she?"
She was clearly frightened for her sister.
"She'll be fine," Domeric soothed her, stroking her hair. "I'm here."
"Enough. Everyone's here."
Robert looked around, then boomed, "Let's begin."
Privately, he was thinking: what a mess. It was just children fighting—someone hit too hard, someone bled. Hardly the end of the world.
But Cersei, that foolish woman, had insisted on making it a spectacle. Now Robert was stuck. He was the king—he had to uphold his authority.
If he couldn't even protect his own son, how could his bannermen ever respect him?
"Your Grace," someone began, "Lord Eddard's daughter Arya, together with a butcher's apprentice, attacked Prince Joffrey—and a wild wolf bit his arm…"
"That's not what happened!" Arya shouted. "He started it! He was bullying Mycah!"
"You're lying!" Joffrey snapped. "You and that butcher boy beat me with sticks—and you set a wolf on me!"
"It didn't happen like that!"
"It did!"
"You're a liar!" Arya screamed.
"Shut your mouth!" Joffrey roared back.
…
Arya and Joffrey kept yelling, glaring and edging toward each other, as if they might start fighting again right there in front of everyone…
"Enough!" Robert thundered as he rose.
A bear-paw hand slammed down on the table. His voice brimmed with anger.
"You're meant to marry one day—how can you brawl over something this small? Shameful!"
The hall went quiet at once.
Robert blew out his mustache and glared at Arya. "Girl. Tell me exactly what happened, from start to finish. And you'd better tell the truth. Lying to a king is a grave crime…"
Then he shot a vicious look at Joffrey that clearly said: one more word and I'll skin you.
Arya began recounting the whole thing. When she reached the part where she'd cracked Joffrey's head open with a stick, people couldn't help it—laughter rippled through the hall.
"Hah—" Domeric laughed too.
Only when all eyes swung to him did he realize he'd laughed a bit too loudly.
He coughed and improvised, "Prince Joffrey is truly brave—armed with a fine steel sword, yet brought to a bleeding head by a little girl with a stick…"
The hall erupted again. Someone even laughed so hard they choked.
Cersei, Jaime, and the Lannister men all turned cold looks on Domeric.
"This isn't the time," Eddard cut in quickly, rescuing his future goodson. "Arya, go on."
…
After Arya, it was Joffrey's turn—but his version barely resembled hers.
For a moment, even King Robert couldn't tell where the truth lay.
"I say we end it here," Robert declared, heavy with relief. "Children squabbling, that's all."
"Robert." Cersei rose. "She must be punished, or the crown's authority means nothing."
"And how would you punish her?" Robert's face darkened. "She's your future gooddaughter, and she's a child. You want to whip her through the streets?"
Gods, it was a child's fight. Nobody died. No real harm done.
Cersei's eyes blazed. "Joffrey will bear scars for life."
"Then let him," Robert snapped. "Maybe it'll teach him something."
He strode toward Eddard. "Ned, you discipline your daughter. I'll discipline my son. Otherwise once they're wed, it'll be a damned nightmare."
Some amusing image clearly surfaced in Robert's mind—he burst out laughing.
"Your Grace," Eddard breathed, visibly relieved, "I'll see to it."
But Cersei was not finished.
"And what of that wolf?" she demanded. "It mauled your son and trampled the crown's dignity. Will you just let it go?"
Robert stopped, frowning. "I'd forgotten the damned beast. But it's vanished—gone."
"Who says we have no wolf?" Cersei pointed to the other direwolf in the hall—the one that had come with Sansa.
She meant to kill an innocent wolf to soothe her rage and restore her son's pride.
"But it's done nothing…" Eddard protested, stuck.
"Enough, Ned," Robert said, forced to give Cersei face in front of everyone—especially when he owed House Lannister three million gold dragons.
Besides. It was only a wolf.
"Direwolves are wild," Robert added, as if that settled it. "If you don't put it down, your eldest girl may suffer for it."
Sansa understood then. Panic flooded her eyes. "No! Don't kill Lady! She's good—she never bites!"
So that was the wolf's name: Lady.
"It wasn't Lady!" Arya cried. "Nymeria bit him!"
No one cared.
…
Domeric held the devastated Sansa and studied the young wolf beside them.
He didn't know why Sansa had named a wolf Lady, but the more he looked, the more it fit.
Sansa had said she was the smallest, prettiest, and gentlest of the litter.
Lady stared up with bright golden eyes. Domeric reached down and stroked her thick fur.
"Please, Your Grace," Eddard pleaded, seeing his daughter's anguish.
"This isn't mine to stop," Robert muttered, venomous now. "That mad woman—"
He fell silent and started to leave, heavy steps thudding away.
A dead hush filled the hall.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, strode forward, about to seize Lady and carry out the sentence.
Queen Cersei's green eyes gleamed with triumph—as if she could reclaim her son's lost dignity by killing a wolf.
"Wait."
Domeric stepped forward and planted himself in the Hound's path.
He was tall and straight-backed, though not nearly as huge as Sandor's hulking frame—yet in that moment Domeric carried a pressure that made people want to yield without understanding why.
"Prince Joffrey and Lady Arya each tells a different tale," Domeric said calmly. "The truth is unclear…"
"But this innocent wolf should not die for a crime she did not commit. I ask that the gods decide her fate."
"So…"
"I demand a trial by combat."
Time seemed to freeze.
The hall fell so silent it felt like a play with no actors left—quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
Astonishment, curiosity, disbelief—and something like long-missed excitement—flickered across King Robert's face.
"Young man," Robert said slowly, "you're truly willing to fight a trial by combat… for a wolf?"
"Not only for a wolf," Domeric answered, "but to keep a girl from breaking her heart."
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GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT 🩸🏰
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📢 DARK SECRETS RISE IN THE NORTH! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐺🩸
Beneath the Dreadfort, old horrors stir.
Power, bloodlines, betrayal, northern cruelty, and buried secrets wait beneath one of the most feared castles in Westeros.
❄️ The North remembers.🏰 The Dreadfort hides.🩸 And some secrets should have stayed buried.
Uncover what lies beneath before anyone else does.
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