King sat heavy in the high seat of Darry, his face closed and sullen. The audience chamber of Ser Raymun Darry was crowded as king heard the incident that had happened few days past at Ruby Ford amidst the royal prince, Joffrey Baratheon, and younger daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Arya Stark, and a butcher's boy, Mycah.
Arya had said her piece and so had Joffrey, the two versions of events very different.
When his son was done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. "What in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this? He says one thing, she says another."
"They were not the only ones present," Ned said. "Sansa, come here." Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. "Tell us what happened."
His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. "I don't know," she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see . . . "
"Perhaps, I can shed light on truth, Your Grace," an orotund voice echoed in the chamber and a young man walked in as Sansa feebly fell silent.
He was near six feet tall and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. His raven locks were pulled back in a bun at the crown of his head. His face dusted with little beard was devoid of emotions but his emerald eyes shone with life. He wore a plain emerald green tunic over layers of boiled leather and chainmail. On his left shoulder was perched an owl with feathers as white as freshly fallen snow with few streaks of midnight black. It gently wobbled its head and many a lady among the crowd cooed throatily.
He traversed the chamber, eager eyes following him and muttered voices wondering what he would do. He stopped beside Ned in the centre of the room. The owl flew off his shoulder into the ramparts with barest of noise as he kneeled before the king and bowed his head.
"Your Grace," the same orotund voice echoed again.
"Ah! Harry!," the king exclaimed, "Rise. Enough with all this pomp. I grow weary of all this. What is it that you say of truth?"
The queen made to protest but a look from the king and she fell silent.
"I do not doubt the words of Lady Sansa, Your Garce," he started, his voice smooth as silk, "She is a lady of noble birth who has spent the past eleven years of her life learning to sew and learning to stitch, revelling in the tales and songs of brave and noble knights and warriors in shining armour saving damsels in distress and protecting their lords and kings and small-folks but she knows not that the very same knights and warriors shit and piss themselves as they lay dying, writhing in agony as blood pours and pools around them, she knows not of blood and gore that flood the battlefields.
"Though she is of the North and her house words are 'Winter is Coming' she is but a sweet little summer flower so sheltered that even the slightest of wind and barest of sun and she would fall off. So, something as traumatic as witnessing her beloved and her betrothed Prince Joffrey . . . . how has my prince put it . . . . Ah! yes! . . . . . being savaged by a vicious beast certainly would have been distressing and it is no wonder that she remembers nothing."
"But I know of another, another who was a witness to the incidents of that day. Someone who though young has seen his fair share of death and devilry, and so happens to remember what exactly happened that day at Ruby Ford. May I, with the permission of His Grace, present Mycah, the butcher's boy," he finished with a generous wave of his hands.
An ungainly lad with a coarse, freckled nose and red hair stepped forth from the crowd, his eyes downcast and trembling.
"Mycah," shouted Arya and he seem to shrink back onto himself. Jory held onto Arya as she tried to reach for Mycah and Ned was thankful for Mycah looked as though he wanted to bolt.
Harry led a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder and the lad stopped trembling.
"I'm certain that Prince Joffrey would be most pleased to see him, after all when Lannister men and Baratheon men and Stark men scoured the length and breadth of the countryside in search of the younger daughter of Lord Stark, Arya Stark, the sworn shield of Prince Joffrey, Sandor Clegane, rode for the butcher's boy. I my prince saved him some trouble and you some worry and fetched him for the royal court."
Ned didn't know of this. If the prince had sent his hound after the butcher's boy then Ned had little doubt what fate awaited him if the hound had indeed found him before Harry had. Ned spied a look at the queen and the prince. The prince's cheeks were tinged with red, his face contorted in rage; the queen still half-smiled but her eyes betrayed her rage.
He glowered at Mycah through his thick beard. "Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king." Then he looked over at his son. "While he speaks, you will hold your tongue."
Mycah started his story and it was exactly as Arya had said it. His a shuddering breath he fell silent.
"Certainly, my king you would not believe the words of this butcher's boy over your own son," the queen said.
It was Harry who answered, "Her Grace, Queen Cersei, condemns the words of this boy because he is lowborn just as she would condemn the bruises of bastards and lowborn in practice arena on a noble but I ask you, your Grace, King Robert, you who is a great warrior and has fought and won many a great battles and slain many a great knights will the blade of the same bastard or lowborn not kill a noble on a battlefield same as the blade of any noble were it to slit his throat or pierce his armour or perhaps it will become blunt and cause him no harm.
"This boy was one of the only four who were at Ruby Ford that day and he had said his part and now it is for His Grace to judge the guilt and innocence of all as he deems right. We all await His Grace's justice." Harry finished and fell utterly silent, his head bowed.
"I adjudge Arya's and the butcher's boy's words true . . . There was a great uproar but the king pressed on . . . . My son acted unbecoming of his station and started it all and the girl only defended herself and the boy. Ned, I'm sorry for all this unpleasant business. I will see that my son is disciplined."
"No harm done, Your Grace," Ned said with a vast relief.
Robert walked away. The queen and the prince left immediately after, amidst raucous mutterings.
Ned turned for Harry but the assembled crowd had started to disperse and he and the butcher's boy had melted into the crowd. Ned scanned the crowd and spotted the back of a head with a bun on its crown. He tasked Jory to bring his daughter to their rooms and hurried after him.
Ned caught up with him at the gatehouse, where he stood beside Ser Barristan, the two talking in low whispers. As Ned neared the duo, Harry turned towards him and bowed, "Lord Stark."
"You have my thanks, young man," Ned said.
"I did nothing but what was right, my lord," Harry said softly.
"Perhaps, I could learn of the identity of this righteous young man," Ned said lightly.
"Harry, squire to Ser Barristan Selmy, the Commander of the Kingsguard, at your service my lord" Harry introduced himself formally.
"No last name."
"They don't have last names in Flea Bottom, my lord," Harry said.
"He was but four when a dear friend of mine, Ser Chelmsford, chose him as his squire. He found him in the streets of Flea Bottom beating a boy twice his age black and blue, a boy who was trying to rape a girl. Ser Chelmsford was but a hedge knight but only because he could never contend himself with a settled life. He loved his travels far too much to pledge his sword to any lord for there would have been many I assure you Lord Stark. Ser Chelmsford was a fine swordsman of that make no doubt. Harry here accompanied him on his travels as his squire through the seven kingdoms and at times even across the narrow sea.
"Last year, he paid me a visit. He was ill and was dying. He wanted me to take young Harry as my squire. I was sceptical about it. Harry was a boy of fifteen the past year and to take a boy of such an old age as squire was atypical. So, the bold rascal challenged me to a single combat," Ser Barristan recalled fondly, "Though he lost at the end, he had convinced me to take him as my squire. He is excellent with a sword and perhaps unmatched with a bow. He is equally nimble with his heart and fiddle. The small folks celebrate him like none other. He spends his days amidst the high born training and the evening amidst the small folks playing and singing. I'm glad I kept him for I doubt I will find another like him."
"Ser Barristan is too kind," Harry said, his cheeks flushed.
"I dare say his praise is hard earned. I look forward to knowing you better, young man" Ned said.
"You honour me with your words, Lord Stark."
A young lass in a brown roughspun stumbled over to where the trio stood.
"My Lords," she said, bowing clumsily, her eyes only for Harry.
"Come, Harry, sing us a song," the young lass pulled at the sleeves of Harry's tunic, his voice full of childish vigour.
"Go on, Mary, I will join you in a moment," Harry gently urged her.
"Okay," and she skipped back through the darkness towards the camps.
"Do not let us hold you any more, Harry," Ser Barristan said.
"The queen is a prideful woman and she had lost face in front of the full court. She will not take this affront to her pride lying down. She will retaliate of that I have no doubt," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper and deadly serious, "I've sent Mycah away with some of the men I know from my travels for if he had stayed he would have turned up dead sooner rather than later. I dare say the same fate may befall the direwolf of your daughter, Lady Sansa, in the absence of the other direwolf. If you would rather have her live, sent her back to the North. Steal a night's march on her, I would say."
And with that, he left whistling a jaunty tune. The men in camps slapped him on his back and hugged him and cheered him and the lass from earlier jumped onto him. He caught him mid-way and spun her around, her joyous laughter resounding all around.
Ned knew little of the queen and the court politics but what he had witnessed today in the audience chamber of Ser Raymun left a bad taste in his mouth. He may have once known the man that now was king but no longer.
He started towards where Lady was tied with dull, heavy steps. He doubted he would find any laughter today.