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The next day…

Kirth pulled his horse to a stop in front of the King's. His cousin had been spot on with the description; Robert Baratheon was, indeed, one of the fattest men the minstrel had ever seen. He felt sorry for the fat man's horse; the animal must have been barely able to walk with all that weight on top of it.

The King was surrounded by dozens of retainers, his Kingsguard, and a wheelhouse that most likely contained his family. One of the Kingsguard moved his horse in between Kirth's and the fat King's. "What is your business here?" he asked in a gruff voice.

Kirth managed to perform a mostly proper bow. "My name is Kirth, Your Grace" he said to the King. "My cousin, Lord Stormheart, sent me to accompany your caravan on its way to Winterfell".

"Was your cousin the Storm lad?" the King asked.

"He was, Your Grace" Kirth replied. "He's taken his bastard name and applied it to his new house name".

Robert Baratheon gave a hearty laugh. "Taking a bastard name and turning it into a noble house. I like your cousin, minstrel. Come! Hopefully your songs can keep us warm as we travel into the colder climes".

"It would be my honour, Your Grace" Kirth said as he brought his horse slightly behind the fat King's. Pulling out his lyre, he asked "What would you like to hear, Your Grace? The Rains of Castamere?"

"Gods, I hate that song!" the King countered. "Sing something the rest of us might enjoy!"

"I have just the thing!" Kirth said. Stringing the lyre, he began to sing. "A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!" As he continued, the rest of the caravan started to join in. "Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear! They danced and spun, right to the fair!" The chorus of voices continued to sing for quite some time, carrying across the landscape as they trod across the Kingsroad.

Eventually, when night had fallen, the caravan made camp on the side of the Kingsroad. Kirth groaned as he dismounted his horse, thanking the gods that they had finally stopped riding. Handing the reins of his mount over to Ser Heddle, the minstrel stumbled over to a small stream and began relieving himself. Lifting his head to the night sky, he groaned in relief. He then heard a strange noise coming from nearby.

Looking around, the minstrel noticed some activity over to his left, where the King's horses were tied up. Squinting in order to see, Kirth was shocked to find bandits in the midst of stealing the horses. Stuffing his manhood back into his breaches, he said "I don't think the King would take too kindly to having his horses stolen". The would-be horse thieves stopped dead in their tracks, looking at him.

Suddenly, a few of the horse thieves drew their weapons and started walking toward him. In desperation, the minstrel looked down in order to find a rock to throw. Finding a good-sized stone, he picked it up and threw it at one of the thieves. The stone hit him directly in the head, knocking him out cold. Unfortunately, the others came too close for that trick to work again. Kirth barely managed to dodge a swing of a sword before he was struck in the head. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Rolling onto his back, he was sure that his end was near just before Ser Heddle stabbed the one horse thief through the throat with his sword. As the Knight withdrew his blade, the minstrel was slightly coated in blood that spewed from the man's neck. Managing to roll out of the way as the corpse collapsed onto the ground, Kirth got on his hands and knees before retching onto the grass.

The next thing he knew, Ser Heddle was helping him to stand. The minstrel was glad for the assistance, as his head was throbbing and he could barely keep on his feet. "Did you kill them?" he asked, noticing after the fact that he was slightly slurring the words.

"Only some of them" the older man replied, helping the minstrel over to their bedrolls. "The rest ran away; horse thieves are never the bravest sort of criminals".

Kirth barely acknowledged the Knight's comment; as soon as he was laying on his bedroll, everything became black.

The following morning, Kirth rubbed his forehead as he walked over to his horse. Ser Heddle had assured him that the blow he had received wasn't fatal, but it would persist for quite a while. As the minstrel untied his horse, one of the Kingsguard approached him. "You are Kirth, the minstrel?"

"I am, indeed" Kirth replied.

"Ser Meryn, of the Kingsguard" the other man said. "I come bearing the King's thanks for saving his horses from those cutthroats".

"Well, I cannot take full credit; my companion, Ser Heddle, did most of the work".

"I've already spoken with him" Ser Meryn said. The other man looked out at the Kingsroad before saying "Ser Jaime was supposed to guard the royal steeds. He was most likely off ignoring his duties".

Hardly surprising, Kirth thought; the Kingslayer didn't strike him as a man who would enjoy menial tasks. "'Twas fortunate, then, that Ser Heddle and I were there".

"Indeed" Ser Meryn replied.

"Well", Kirth said, mounting his horse, "I'm glad I could be of some small service". The caravan was soon ready to leave, and as Ser Heddle brought his horse beside Kirth's, they could hear the fat King bellowing "Come on, already! I don't want to die of old age before we get to Winterfell!"

"Ah, minstrel" someone called to Kirth from behind him. The person rode up beside him, and Kirth saw that it was none other than Jaime Lannister, brother of the queen, speaking with him. "I wanted to thank you for your valiant defense of the royal steeds".

"You're welcome, my lord" the minstrel replied. "I hear that you were assigned to guard the royal steeds last night. I find myself wondering why you weren't there; a man of your superior skill should have dispatched them with ease".

The Kingslayer paused for a moment before saying "As you say, they wouldn't have been a challenge for me. Horse thieves are below me". He looked Kirth directly in the eyes and said "Soon, you will singing songs of my glory, minstrel" before riding ahead.

With the Kingslayer out of sight, Kirth made a mock bow. "Thank you for your service to the crown, Oathbreaker" he muttered to himself. Looking over at Ser Heddle, Kirth realized that his cousin had been right: this was going to be an eventful journey.