The inn's grand hall had been transformed into a temporary council chamber, filled to the brim with the important figures of the realm. The air was thick with tension, a mixture of incense, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Lord Eddard Stark, face somber, stood near the center, flanked by his children. Jon's shoulder was heavily bandaged, and his face bore the faint traces of dried blood. Arya clung to him, still sobbing, her small frame trembling with residual fear and frustration.
Even the butcher's apprentice, Mikke, who had delivered the frantic message moments earlier, was overwhelmed by the grandeur and authority surrounding him. His wide eyes took in the noble faces of knights, lords, and men-at-arms, yet the boy remained silent, too awed and nervous to speak.
Eddard's voice cut through the hall, steady and commanding. "Get my son and daughter something to eat. They're frightened enough." He spared no glance for the others; no amount of pleading or argument could make him prolong this matter. The fragile alliance between House Stark and House Lannister was at stake, and words might only inflame the situation further.
He surveyed the faces gathered before him. Apart from his own retainers, every expression was guarded, wary, or outright hostile. Lord Renly, with his half-smile, betrayed little of his thoughts. Ser Barristan's gaze remained grave, unreadable as ever. Lannister men, naturally, radiated disdain. But even amid the sea of suspicion, Ser Jaime and The Hound displayed a degree of restraint, their icy composure contrasting sharply with the tension in the room.
Jon's face was tight with unease. The South, he realized, was treacherous. Even in the presence of the King, threats seemed to lurk in every glance. Eddard's warnings about the cunning of southern lords rang true. The boy's mind raced with scenarios, each more dire than the last.
"I think we should leave this matter here for now," Eddard said, directing his attention to the King. "I'll take the children to eat something first."
Cersei's lips curved into a disdainful sneer. "Presumptuous! How dare you speak to His Majesty in such a tone?"
King Robert stirred in his chair, frowning deeply. "Eddard, I don't wish to prolong this. Best we resolve it quickly."
"I've made the situation clear," Eddard replied, voice icy yet controlled.
Cersei's fury erupted. "Your bastard son and wild girl ganged up on my son, and your daughter threw rocks at him! You even let a Direwolf loose on him!"
"He has a name," Eddard interjected sharply. "My son is Jon. Show some respect."
"Hmph," Cersei replied, her tone dripping with scorn. "A bastard is a bastard, Lord Eddard."
"That's not true!" Arya shouted, stepping forward. "My Direwolf didn't bite anyone! Joffrey attacked Jon first, and my rock only hit the horse because he was bullying him!"
"Joffrey has told us everything," Cersei retorted, voice full of venom. "You and your bastard were the aggressors. You struck him with sticks and set a Direwolf on him!"
"That's not how it happened!" Arya's tears threatened to spill again. Eddard's hand rested gently on her shoulder, grounding her.
"It absolutely was!" Joffrey interjected, his face pale, avoiding Arya and Jon's eyes. The performance was carefully calculated, a mixture of bravado and guilt.
"You're lying!" Arya screamed, her voice echoing through the hall.
"Shut up!" the Prince yelled back, but before tensions escalated further, the King's booming voice cut through the room.
"Enough!" Robert's glare silenced all. The hall fell into a tense hush. He leaned forward, eyes flashing as he addressed the children. "Mikke, Arya—tell me what happened. Every detail, truthfully. Remember, lying to the King is a grave crime."
Turning to Joffrey, Robert's voice softened only slightly. "Your turn will come. Until then, keep silent."
Mikke stammered as he recounted the chaotic encounter, his words measured but filled with the terror of the moment. Robert's brow furrowed, but Barristan and Renly watched Jon closely, noting his meticulous attention to detail. Despite his youth and status, Jon had demonstrated remarkable composure, having even saved Mikke's life during the fray.
When Arya recounted her version, every gesture, every shout, every scuffle was vividly described. She included the moment Joffrey, terrified, had called out for his mother—a detail that drew stifled chuckles from Lord Renly, much to the King's chagrin.
Ser Barristan and Renly exchanged glances. Renly's laughter erupted, a short, hearty sound that filled the room. "Truly, my brother is far too dramatic. I can find my own way," he said, bowing to Joffrey with a sly smile. As the door closed behind him, Eddard caught his whispered words: "What a 'Lion's Tooth' indeed," followed by more quiet laughter.
Joffrey's account, pale and trembling, differed markedly from the children's. His version, told with careful calculation, placed him as the victim, his dignity assaulted by bastards and wildlings alike.
"Enough!" Robert roared again, rising heavily from his chair. "Joffrey's tale is one, Arya's is another. That is enough. I'll have a Maester attend to Jon's wounds immediately."
Cersei's lips pressed into a thin line, unwilling to relent. Ser Jaime stepped forward, attempting to temper his sister's wrath, but Cersei's eyes burned with indignation.
"There was another person present at the time," she insisted, pointing at Sansa.
"Enough, woman!" Robert's voice thundered. "Do you want us to lose all face?"
Sansa felt a wave of relief wash over her. Dressed in a blue velvet gown with white embroidery, a silver chain glinting at her throat, and her auburn hair shining in the dim candlelight, she had been spared the brunt of the confrontation. She exchanged a reassuring wink with Arya and Jon, then offered a polite nod toward Joffrey.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said softly. "It happened quickly. I only saw Jon and Joffrey confronting each other."
Robert regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Forget it, all of you. Joffrey, Jon, Arya—this matter ends here."
Arya, furious at her sister's intervention, lunged at Sansa, kicking and punching. "Liar! You liar!" she shrieked. Jon and Jory restrained her, but her small fists continued to flail. Eddard helped Sansa to her feet, noting the pallor in her face.
"What now?" Robert's brow furrowed, troubled.
"She's wild, like her Direwolf," Cersei spat. "Both that girl and the bastard must be punished."
Eddard's temper flared. "Your son cut Jon and nearly ruined his sword-hand. How can you suggest punishment?"
"Seven Hells, spare your King!" Robert exclaimed. "What do you want me to do? Drag Arya through the streets? Make Joffrey kneel? It's a child's fight—let it end!"
The Queen's protests died in Ser Jaime's firm gaze. Eddard remained silent, his eyes lingering on Jon's wounds in quiet protest.
"Joffrey will apologize to the child," Robert commanded, though Cersei ignored him. "I will see he receives the best treatment, the finest gold dragons, but do not expect him to bow to this bastard. Three hundred gold dragons, perhaps? Compensation for a noble knight?"
"Gold, gold, always gold," Robert sighed, shaking his head. "Look at what you've made of my son."
He approached Jon, patting his uninjured shoulder. "You're brave, lad. When you're healed, we'll hunt together. My son… he's absurd. My apologies to you."
Turning to Joffrey, he scolded gently. "Next time, don't call me for such nonsense. Eddard, discipline your children; I'll handle mine."
Joffrey's face twisted in resentment, his youthful pride stung by the reprimand. Jon, observing keenly, understood fully the nature of his displeasure.
Cersei's final concern was the Direwolf. "What of the beast that terrorized your son?" she demanded. Arya stiffened, even though Nymeria had fled far into the woods.
Robert bellowed. "Enough! The boy isn't disfigured, and Jon will live. This matter is closed!"
Mikke, who had served under Jon's careful guidance, received a sudden command. "That Butcher's boy—serve Lord Jon from now on, not the cook."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Jon said, bowing slightly. Even a bastard's attendants could rise in status through merit.
Cersei huffed indignantly. "Keep a close eye on that Direwolf, Lord Eddard. Its pelt is worth many gold dragons."
Jon remained silent, understanding the outcome fully. It was far from perfect, but it was at least acceptable. The fragile peace held—for now.
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