Star Trail Undercurrent

The rough laughter of the hunting dogs echoed from the woods.

"Children, come quick!" His voice held a mischievous glint in it. "There are knights dueling here!"

Joffrey and Sansa rode forward.

After passing through a few trees, the view suddenly opened up.

This is a clearing in the woods, slightly elevated, offering a perfect view of the shimmering Green Fork River and its flat banks.

On the patch of grass, trampled and somewhat messy, stood a girl who was as thin as a rake.

She was covered in dust, wearing a dirty leather riding outfit, her right hand tightly gripping a broom handle, and sucking on her left knuckles.

"Arya? Is that you?!" Sansa exclaimed in disbelief.

The girl suddenly turned around, her long, thin face revealing a pair of gray eyes that widened in surprise, then tears of shame and anger welled up in her eyes as her secret was exposed.

"Get away!" she shrieked, like a wolf cub whose tail had been stepped on. "Don't interfere in our business!"

Joffrey's gaze swept across the open space.

Besides Arya, there was a sturdy boy huddled by the tree trunk, unsure of what to do with his hands and feet.

He nodded to the boy, his tone calm: "Are you her companion?"

"M-Your Highness...my name is Mikael." The boy hurriedly dropped the stick in his hand and staggered forward to bow.

He trembled under the hound's cold gaze.

Arya rushed forward and blocked the boy's path with her arms outstretched.

"You are not allowed to bully him!"

With that outstretched arm, the bloodstains and bruises hidden beneath the sleeves were all exposed to the sunlight.

"Oh my god!" The observant Sansa immediately covered her mouth. "How did you get beaten up like this?"

The boy shuddered again and, as if avoiding a White Walker, took two steps to the side in terror.

"Your Highness, it wasn't my idea to fight her." His voice trembled with tears as he repeatedly emphasized, "She forced me to do it... really, she forced me!"

Arya's face instantly turned red to the roots of her ears, enough to prove that what the boy said was true.

Joffrey dismounted gently and handed the reins to the hound.

Then he carefully walked up to Arya and crouched down so as not to startle anything.

"Are you practicing your swordsmanship with him?"

Arya glanced at Mikey, who was hiding further away, a hint of confusion and grievance flashing in her gray eyes.

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

"Then you could just tell your father," Joffrey coaxed. "Have him hire a real swordsmanship instructor for you. Wouldn't that be much better than... well, sparring with Michael here?"

"Girls can't be knights," Sansa retorted softly from the side, her blue eyes filled with an unquestionable disapproval.

"That's not necessarily true." Joffrey turned his head and smiled slightly at her.

"Nymeria, the warrior queen of the Rhoynar, landed with ten thousand ships and conquered Dorne." He had memorized these stories by heart in order to deal with them.

Arya's voice suddenly rose, filled with unbelievable excitement.

"You know her too? My wolf is called Nymeria!"

At her call, a wolf cub, just as dirty as she was, silently darted out from the bushes.

Joffrey watched it cautiously, his body maintaining a slight guarded stance.

I was afraid this guy would suddenly go crazy and bite me.

"Didn't I write that in the book I gave you?" He maintained his smile. "It's mentioned at the beginning of Volume Three."

"Oh, right." Arya scratched her bird's nest-like hair. "I...I haven't seen it yet."

Sansa spoke again, her tone even more certain: "Father will not agree. A lady should not wield swords."

"That's alright." Joffrey stood up and dusted off his knees.

"I'll talk to my father about it later and ask him to persuade Lord Ed."

Sansa looked at Joffrey with a puzzled expression, her pretty face showing a great deal of confusion.

Why do you always speak up for her? Is she your god?

Joffrey couldn't explain it.

He couldn't tell Sansa that beneath her sister's wild and untamed exterior lay the power to turn the future upside down.

It remains to be seen whether, under his intervention, she will still embark on that solitary path to becoming a top assassin, the "Faceless One."

But in any case, investing early will always guarantee profits.

Arya's wariness had vanished, and Joffrey seized the opportunity to pull her over.

"Let's go, we should head back."

It was already late when we arrived at the camp.

The hunting party has returned, but with little to show for it.

But the king's enthusiasm remained undiminished, and he recounted loudly around the campfire how he had dealt with a bull that afternoon and ultimately mercifully released it back into the forest.

Joffrey ate a quick bite and then, citing exhaustion, returned to his tent.

The Hound sat by the door, wiping the blade of his two-handed greatsword with an oilcloth, his body casting a long shadow in the distant firelight.

"Are you really going to find a coach for that wild girl?" Sandor asked vaguely without looking up.

"Of course." Joffrey didn't stop walking. "Would I ever break my promise?"

The hound sneered through its nose and wiped its sword even harder.

Lifting the curtain, a small tallow candle was already lit inside, its dim yellow light barely illuminating the cramped space.

Joffrey sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath.

And clear all the trivial matters of the day from your mind.

The cooldown for [Stargazing] has ended.

He closed his eyes, focused his mind, and, as if adjusting the focus of a camera lens, locked onto that focal point deep within his consciousness.

Caitlin Tully.

The field of vision suddenly shifted, then gradually blurred as it stretched wildly.

Joffrey felt himself being thrown extremely high into the air in an instant, with an invisible wind whistling around him.

Below was no longer the campsite on the banks of the Green Fork River, but a vast, desolate sea.

He plummeted downwards, and things before him gradually became clearer.

Finally, he came to a steady stop on the deck of a sailboat that was cutting through the waves.

A woman was leaning against the railing of the ship, her back to him.

She wore simple, coarse cloth clothes with an inconspicuous wool cloak over them, dressed like the most ordinary traveler.

An elderly man with white hair was vomiting beside her, his thick beard covered in filth.

The woman gently patted his back with her left hand, and due to the movement, the hilt of a dagger was slightly exposed at her waist.

Her right hand, hidden under her cloak, was wrapped in white linen bandages.

Joffrey looked away, a slight throbbing pain shooting through his temple.

really.

He slowly exhaled, as if trying to release all the pent-up emotions in his heart.

The worst has happened.

Catelyn did not stay in Winterfell to watch over the unconscious Bran; she quickly and secretly headed south.

And he carried with him the Valyrian steel dagger with the dragon bone handle.

Who is pushing this forward?

That dagger was for the little finger, but it was lost to Robert in the tournament the previous year.

Joffrey also confirmed with his own eyes that it was placed in the king's personal armory and taken all the way to the North.

Littlefinger and the Spider are far away in King's Landing, separated from Winterfell by thousands of miles, making it extremely difficult to manipulate the situation precisely.

Joffrey walked to the table and pulled out a piece of paper.

His first thought was to warn Tyrion to be careful on his journey south and not to go looking for trouble.

The quill pen hovered above the paper, unable to fall.

Tyrion is probably still at Castle Black, standing on the Wall and urinating towards the frontier.

He would then make a brief stop in Winterfell before heading south along the Kingsroad, his whereabouts uncertain.

The royal messengers were too ostentatious, and even the crows were not reliable enough.

Sending a message is not safe; in fact, it could prematurely ignite the situation.

After much deliberation, Joffrey lifted a corner of the tent flap.

The night was deep outside, and Robert's cheerful laughter drifted from the campfire party.

It can't be...

Joffrey began to silently assess his own resources in his mind.

The end of the journey south.

It is the beginning of another storm.