The Northern Barrier

Boiling hot water, like blood, flows through the thick stone walls of Winterfell, ceaselessly dispelling the endless cold winds of the North.

It is said that this castle is 10,000 years old.

It is a northern home built by Brandon using magic and giant stones above the hot springs.

It wasn't Brandon, Duke Eddard's older brother who was hanged by the Mad King, nor his uncle or great-uncle Brandon who died young.

Rather, it was the earliest one, Brandon the Builder, a great ancestor active in the Age of Heroes.

Coincidentally, he and Joffrey also had some connection.

Storm's End is a fortress built by the legendary first Storm King, Durren, on a promontory north of Shipwreck Bay.

The Storm King at that time married the daughter of the sea god, so the gods summoned storms and waves that destroyed his castle six times in succession.

It wasn't until the seventh time, when a little boy guided the construction of the castle, that it finally withstood the eternal wrath of the gods and has stood majestically ever since.

This little boy is also Brandon.

Storm's End is now the home castle of House Baratheon, and was granted by Robert to Joffrey's third uncle, Renly.

So Joffrey sometimes wondered if Brandon should test the waters in the South first.

Once he felt he had mastered the craft, he went to the North to rebuild his real home.

But whatever the legends may be, Winterfell before us is indeed like a weathered giant, its massive body large enough to house thousands of people.

The tower stands tall under the sky, and the moss on the stone walls has witnessed countless summers and winters.

This place is also a microcosm of the decline of the North.

In the early morning, Joffrey stood behind the stone window of the tower, looking down at the crowds coming and going in the courtyard below.

The Stark family guards are changing shifts.

They wore grey-black leather coats lined with chainmail for easy movement, and grey cloaks trimmed with white satin.

Their faces were red from the wind, but their expressions were solemn, their movements were neat and efficient, and they looked full of vitality.

They all exuded an air of elite skill.

But there are too few people.

Only two hundred.

This is Duke Eddard, one of the Seven Kingdoms, Warden of the North, and his entire standing force in Winterfell.

Joffrey could even recognize many of those faces; some of them he had seen before on the walls of Carlin Bay.

By the way, Carlin Bay was also built by Brandon.

This shows that Duke Eddard was not a kind and honest man.

He also knew to deploy manpower in advance in order to enhance his own image.

Just then, a familiar, hoarse voice came from behind.

"Your Highness is up very early."

Joffrey didn't turn around, but simply responded politely.

"uncle."

Tyrion strolled over, wrapped in a thick fur coat embroidered with gold thread depicting a roaring lion, making him look like a little bear from Casterly Rock.

He struggled to stand on tiptoe and cling to the wall to barely reach the windowsill, and looked out following Joffrey's gaze.

"What are you looking at?" the little devil tilted his head. "The poverty of the North?"

"I'm looking at the defense," Joffrey said honestly.

"The city walls here are thick and the towers are sturdy, but we don't have enough manpower."

"If someone can launch a surprise attack before the vassals are summoned, these guards won't even be able to fill the city walls."

Tyrion scoffed.

"Who would fight in this godforsaken place? Savages? They'll have to get over the Great Wall first."

Joffrey did not respond.

Wisps of smoke rose from the distant winter retreat town.

There was little entertainment in the castle, and most of the king's retinue crammed into the town.

Caravans from Baigang also arrived and set up temporary stalls on the outskirts of the town.

"That's Robert's style," Tyrion said with his usual mockery. "Wherever he goes, he turns it into a marketplace."

Joffrey shook his head, slightly worried.

"With a large crowd and a lot of people, the excitement also means chaos."

"My father has brought too many people of dubious origin along the way, and I am worried that this will cause trouble."

"Hey, what's wrong with you today?" The little devil glanced at him sideways.

"What happened that made you hiding here worrying?"

But before Joffrey could answer, he jumped down from the wall and waved his hand.

"But don't tell me I just want to find a warm place and a girl to spend the day comfortably."

His short body cast a long shadow in the rising sun, and as he stumbled to the doorway, Joffrey saw Sandor Clegane standing guard there.

"Dog, why didn't you tell me my uncle was coming?"

The hunting dog deliberately looked around, pretending to survey its surroundings.

"The little devil is here? I don't see him."

Then he lowered his head and glanced down.

"Oh, so young master Tyrion is here. My apologies for not recognizing him."

Watching the two bicker, Joffrey's worries lessened a little.

Yes, what's there to worry about?

What worries him is that he doesn't even know what he should be worried about.

How should I portray this role?

That very night, after the banquet ended, Joffrey tried out his new skill: stargazing.

And focusing on Caitlin, the observations documented her situation at the time.

The maester of Winterfell sent her a wooden box containing a Milton lens, and found a secret letter at the bottom of the fake box.

It was probably Lysa Tully who issued the accusation letter at Littlefinger's behest.

Unfortunately, the two sisters used ciphertext, and Joffrey couldn't understand its meaning even after looking at it for a long time.

Before he could copy it down, Caitlin had already stuffed the letter into the fireplace and burned it.

As for the other private matters I witnessed, I won't say more.

After enjoying the cool breeze for a while, Joffrey went down the spiral staircase to the ground and then ran into Robb, who was about to leave, in the courtyard.

"Joffrey, I've been looking for you." Robb's eyes lit up as he waved the wooden sword in his hand.

"Let's go, let's go to the training ground. I've been thinking about it all night and I've found a way to counter your move."

Joffrey instinctively wanted to dodge.

Robb has been launching challenges every day without fail for the past few days, and has lost every time.

He can now deliberately go easy on the red-haired boy to maintain his unquenchable competitive spirit.

However, practicing with him every day is really exhausting and mentally taxing.

Fortunately, we have a legitimate reason today.

"No." Joffrey shook his head, a perfectly measured hint of regret in his expression. "Your sister invited me to visit your castle."

Robb's face fell instantly.

"Sansa?"

"All she does is take you to see flowers and embroidery! What's the point of that?"

"Don't worry about her, I'll show you around later."

Joffrey simply smiled, his gaze passing over Robb's shoulder and looking down the corridor.

Robb immediately began to criticize his sister.

"All those stories she heard were either told by the old nanny or adapted from folk songs; they weren't actually true at all..."

His voice grew softer and softer.

Suddenly, the red-haired boy took two steps closer: "Is she behind me?"

Joffrey smiled and nodded.

"Ah! I just remembered, Theon asked me to shoot arrows."

"I'm going now."

Robb ran off without looking back.

At the other end of the corridor, the sound of soft footsteps slowly followed.

The girl lowered her head, hiding her expression.

Pretend you know nothing about the little incident that just happened.

"Your Highness, we may depart now." Sansa gave a proper curtsy.

Today she wore a long blue velvet dress with silver snowflakes embroidered on the cuffs, and her maroon hair was carefully braided and hung over her shoulders.

Joffrey bowed slightly and gently took her hand through his sleeve.

"My pleasure."