After having kissed Elowen and attempted to include his tongue, Joffrey took a sip of the alcohol that he was carrying, his body still shaking with laughter.

All the feelings that Elowen had been feeling, just a moment prior changed almost instantly as she took notice of how gleeful Joffrey was. Hot fiery anger shot up and down her body as if it were fire itself.

And instead of hiding her anger, Elowen slapped her husband's arm harshly, her glare as icy as the snow in the North. Joffrey jumped out of his skin when he felt her hand connect harshly with his arm, the alcohol that he'd been drinking dripping down his chin and nose as he inhaled it while jumping.

"You can't hit me, I'm the Prince!" He instantly shouted at Elowen, prompting Wylla to lose the friendly demeanour and growl in warning at the Prince. The Prince's green eyes glanced down at the direwolf, that had decided to sit while the two stopped walking, before returning his eyes to Elowen icy blue ones.

"I can hit you, I'm your wife." Elowen replied, her anger evident in her tone, "And as your wife, I'm warning you that next time you do something like that I will slap you across the face, title, position and Crown be damned."

Her reaction shouldn't have shocked the Royal Prick, but it did. With his free hand, Joffrey rubbed his arm, where Elowen had slapped it and his eyes analyzed Elowen's stiff and angry figure. He was surprised more than he was shocked in all honesty, he expected all reactions besides the one in which he got hit.

And if truth were to be told, he had half expected Elowen to burst out crying in fear, or run away from him, but never did he expect her to smack him. Elowen huffed in frustration and kneeled down, petting Wylla and calming her down, while shooting Joffrey a nasty look.

Joffrey opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to say something akin to alerting her that he had as much right to do what he pleased to her as she had of hitting him, even more so as he was the Prince. But whatever he was about to say was drowned by Wylla's low growls.

Despite the direwolves forming a close bond with the Stark children, they were still wild beast by nature and heart, and therefore many did not trust the animals as far as they would have them chase a bone, but due to their nurture by the Stark children, the Stark Household knew that there was nothing that the wolves would not do to protect their humans.

The sound of wood hitting wood caught the attention of all three beings, although mainly the humans as they turned their heads in the direction that the sound seemed to be coming from. They knew that theoretically they were safe and protected as the Kingsguard had secured a perimeter around the location that they were staying in, but it didn't prevent the small feeling of dread that grew in them as the sound grew closer to them.

Until suddenly Arya leaped into their field of view, with her back turned to them and holding a stick, flicking it forward towards a young boy that approached her with a similar looking stick.

Elowen frowns at the sight of her youngest sister, confused as to why she was away from the family tent, but not at all fazed about the fact that Arya was weilding a wooden stick like a sword. Joffrey, on the other hand, looked constipated with confusion and wonder at the sight before him.

And the sentiments within him ranged from wonder, from the possibility of how he could exploit this event for his benefit and use it against both Arya and the boy; worry, for how his wife would react to seeing her younger sister, act in such an unlady like manner; and amazement; at how Arya seemed to be handling herself against a young boy that was at least an inch or two shy from being a foot taller than her and two sizes larger than her.

Despite not having paid much attention to anyone from the Stark family, Joffrey and the rest of the Baratheon Royal Family were forced to remember the names and faces of each of the members of the Stark Family prior to their arrival in Winterfell.

The married couple made no sound as they observed Arya and the ginger boy fight, watching as the ginger boy approached Aria quickly and was able to hit the youngest Lady of Winterfell on the arm hard, making her verbalize her pain.

At the sound of Arya's vocalization of her pain, Nymeria raised her head from the river and looked over to her humand, Wylla tilted her head as she looked at the young boy that had hit Arya and Elowen rose to her feet with a typical overprotective look on her face.

Even if Elowen knew that when practising sworshipting, one would have to get tapped or hit with the practise sword, the knowledge didn't help soothe her worry, nor her need to keep her sister safe from he boy that she was fighting against.

Joffrey moved when Elowen stood, an action prompted by his few years of being raised to be the Heir to the Throne, how he always had to walk ahead of a woman or man with a status lower thn his, which included his wife. Unlike his wife, who merely stood up, Joffrey stepped forward, clearing his throat and bringing the attention of the fighting children.

It would've been amusing to see Arya and the boy jump at the sound and turn their faces at the golden haired Prince, and his fire haired wife were he not the Prince and Elowen, his Lady Wife.

Arya's grey eyes focused on her eldest sister, as if holding a silent conversation that only they could hear, and judging by the way that Arya's face shifted ever so slightly, the answers she was receiving from the Princess Consort weren't anything that she was happy about.

"And who might you be boy?" Joffrey questioned, walking past Arya and closer to the boy, watching as he dropped the stick, as if it was burning his hand holding it any longer.

"Mycah, my lord...." the boy questioned, only to be reminded harshly by Joffrey about the blonde boy's correct status, which only made him blush, making his cheeks match his hair almost instantly.

"And you wish to become a Knight in King's Landing, to join the Gold Cloaks, the City Watch of King's Landing, protect the people, do you not? Or mayhaps, the White Cloaks, the Kingsguard, the sworn protectors of the King and his Royal Family?" Joffrey taunted, pulling his sword from its sheath and letting it rest by his leg.

"She asked me my Prince, she asked me." Mycah mumbled weakly. his eyes flying to Elowen and Arya, who were both looking between him and the blond prince. Elowen looked positively distraught, she knew her place, she knew that she couldn't oppose the Prince too much before they were married before the eyes of the Seven, and even after they were married, she needed to be careful.

Back in Winterfell, without the Royal Family around, Elowen wouldn't have stood for this type of badgering, even if it came from her own brothers. She would scold them and remind them that death didn't descriminate between rich and poor, saints and sinners, weak or strong men, but that the way people treated them would matter, mayhaps not in the moment but if in the future they would happen to need a helping hand.

Arya was fuming, she clenched the stick, biting the inside of her cheek so hard that it drew blood, ready to hit the Right Royal Prick at the first opportunity she got.

"Pick up your sword knight, and show me what you've got. Man against man." Joffrey continued to taunt, raising his sword to Mycah's face, pressing the edge of the blade to the ginger boy's cheek, clearly awaiting his next move, his offense against the Crown.

"That was my Lady Wife's sister you just hit Mychah, did you know that?" Joffrey continued, watching at the boy's eyes widden, renewed fear appearing in them, sparking something within Joffrey, an emotion that wasn't clear to Elowen, but was very clear to the youngest of the Stark Ladies.

Pride mixed with disgusting lust, something that Elowen and Arya had been warned about, with visual examples of what it looked like curtsy of their older brothers sneaking them out of the Keep and into the pub just outside the gates.

Arya's lips curled into what would've been a snarl, if she were Nymeria, and she ordered the Prince to stop his actions, making him turn his head to her slightly in amusement.

"My Prince, my sister is right. Mycah was foolish and unaware, his father's punishments are more than enough to make him regret his insolent actions." Elowen's near diplomatic words escaped her lips much closed than the Prince was expecting, but it didn't matter to him. Joffrey always liked to punish people by his terms and hand, his orders and while Elowen's sweet voice and diplomatic words might win him over nearly every time, this time wasn't one of those times.

He slowly began to cut Mycah's cheek, deeply enough for the skin to split and blood to draw. And certainly enough for Arya to swing the wooden stick with all her might and hit Joffrey over the head with it.

The effect was instant, Joffrey fell to his knees, the pouch of the drink slipping from his hand to the ground and spilling, looking like blood. Mycah ducked away and ran the moment his heels turned, and Elowen reached forward, her hand attempting to grab the wooden stick from her sister's hand before she could do any more damage.

Surprisingly, however, Joffrey was quick to get back on his feet, flailing about his sword as if he were trying to swat a fly instead of trying to cut Arya, who was quick to use her sister as a shield.