PETER DINKLAGE SAVES WESTEROS
Part 2 – AN ARSE IN THE PAYNE
He alternated the beast's gait between a fast walk and a trot since he turned south with the warning. No, more a message. Not that one had been given him. He had observed as his new lord commanded and was now going to report.
"HO! Butthole!" that always angry voice yelled. "Watch out!"
Instinctively he pulled back on the reins as he jerked his head about to find the source of the cry.
"Behind you, arsling!" a different, though also familiar voice taunted.
Close now, the beat of hooves slowing down could be heard over the constant drumbeat of twenty thousand men, near as many horses and draft animals, and supply carts marching up the Kingsroad between the Green Fork and the Mountains of the Moon. The pair stopped either side of him.
"Devon. Bryce," he quietly acknowledged his fellow squires; who he had served with under Lord Kevan. For once, while looking down, he saw their faces; such was the size of the creature he now rode, very carefully compared to the near garron sized mounts of theirs.
"You look a little unsteady in your seat there Payne," Devon, the older of the two – near thirty, said while giving a disgusted up and down inspection of him.
"A lot of horseflesh for a tiny twat like you," chirped the early twenties Bryce, a distant House Turnberry cousin of Ser Lambert's; and, one doomed like him by paucity of connections to a lifetime of squiring.
He pretended to pat the temperamental animal reassuringly. Still wishing that Lord Tyrion had not arranged for an "improvement" in mount to match the "improvement" in status for whom he squired. "Ironbarb and I are getting along well," he mumbled.
"Ironbarb?" laughed Devon. "Is that the name your lord gives his cock?"
"No wonder yer arse looks saddle sore, Payne," Bryce chortled.
"Aye, but you think he'd be used to it by now."
"And its only a barb, what with the Imp being so small."
"You shouldn't lie like that about Lord Tyrion," he protested softly.
"Oh, so it is big then. How big? Bigger than Lorimer the boy fucker's?"
Podrick realized he never should have opened his mouth. Everyone being so much cleverer than him, twisting his words to make him wear the motley. Could he stop the rumor started about his last master's execution being for buggery and not just about the stealing of one of Lord Lannister's hams? No. So in his brutally long two weeks service under Lord Kevan he had kept his mouth shut and his eyes firmly fixed on his toes as answer to all the bullying done him by the other squires; all older, bigger, and meaner than him.
"Oi! Podrick! What the fuck you stopped for, boy? You got a message or want to complain about a fucking hangnail?" yet another frightening voice bellowed loudly to be heard from a distance over the din.
"Whose this arsling? Another of your butt lovers?" Devon hissed.
Podrick took his own advice and stayed mute.
"Keep moving hedge knight, if you know what's good for you. We're talking with our friend," Bryce threatened; openly placing his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Unmoved, more likely encouraged even, by the threat, the unkempt figure in well-oiled black ringmail walked his mount right up to Bryce. And with a wolfish grin asked, "Who are these pricks, Podrick?"
"We squire for Lord Kevan Lannister himself," Bryce boasted. Or rather lied, for that lord had departed for King's Landing the same day Podrick had gained his new master.
"Oh, do you? Well, I kill for the Imp," Bronn announced, pulling out his sword and placing it at the squire's throat in a blink. "Piss off before I run a foot of steel through you."
As Bryce's hand jerked back from his sword, Devon frantically jabbed spurs to his mounts flanks to take flight in an instant. Bronn edged his horse around the side of Bryce's and then smacked its rump with the flat of his blade. And off he shot like a spear from a ballista.
"Friends of yours?"
"No."
"I imagine." Then, "Has Lord Lannister stopped to gather his captains?"
Podrick nodded, followed by a quiet but urgent, "I must find Lord Tyrion and tell him."
"Wait here, he'll be along in a minute or two."
Something chastising must have noticeably passed over his tilted down face.
"The halfman's safe enough without me. There's only so many hours of Shagga's stench a man can take. What good am I if I pass out from it?" Bronn confided, black eyes staring down the long line trudging northward to battle.
"How will the other great lords know to fear me if I am not accompanied by my own personal mute executioner from House Payne?" Lord Tyrion had replied to Podrick's squeaky, "Me?" when told he should accompany his master back up the line to the conference site. "Or I could take Bronn and leave you in charge here. Chella would be pleased at that. I've seen her eyeing you. But I can't tell if she is horny or simply hungry."
So Podrick had gladly ridden back the way he had come; awkwardly atop the giant monster of a horse. At least here, once his master's and his own beast were attended to, he could hide at the edge of the gathering with the other squires and busy bodies. Thankfully, direct attendance upon Lord Tyrion beneath all those watching eyes had not been necessary even though his diminutive master had strode right away to the middle of the pack near to his ferocious father.
"As near as we can tell, for they push their outriders down the road at us to keep our scouts blind, after a day's pause by the Twins, the Northern host is moving south joined by 'the late' Lord Frey's levies," Ser Addam explained; the seed for the meeting.
"How many days before our armies meet?" Lord Lydden queried.
"Three to four depending on how quickly we march," the commander of the scouts judged.
"Better four or five," Lord Lefford commented. "No need to push the supply chain any harder than we have to. If the Stark boy wants a fight, he'll keep coming at us.
"And the farther away from the Twins, the better. Don't want them to have an easy bolt hole to retreat to," Ser Flement pointed out.
"How large an army do they have?" Ser Harrys asked.
"Near as large as ours as far as we can tell. They are devilishly clever at ambushing both our individual spies and groups of our light cavalry," Ser Addam cautiously noted.
"The Starks must have offered Lord Walder something devilishly clever to make him forsake the Lannister blood-ties forged to his house with my Aunt Gemma's womb," Lord Tyrion quipped.
"He supports his overlord as honor demands," one of Lord Crakehall's sons disputed.
"The only thing that horny old goat wants to fuck more than whichever pliant chit keeps his bed warm at night is Holster Tully."
"Enough of that, Tyrion," the Old Lion growled.
"When last I visited Winterfell, the Stark boy was not yet betrothed. I smell more womb based blood ties being forged, lord father," his lord forged on undaunted.
To this, Lord Lannister did not respond. Verbally. Even from his distant perch, Podrick saw a thoughtful look cross that powerful, whiskered face.
"Then I will give the Frey girl a baby after we crush their host and take off the boy's head," The Mountain rumbled.
"Assuming Robb Stark's body is there for you to remove it from, Ser Gregor," his master twitted.
Grunts of amusement issued from most mouths, until …
"Explain yourself, Tyrion."
"We are not the only Lannister army that the Starks need to contend with. Has a warning been sent to Jaime of the Frey's betrayal?"
"Our scouts tell us the Northern host is marching down the Kingsroad at us," Lord Kevan's goodfather complained.
"An army, Ser Harrys. But not necessarily 'the' army. Certainly a sufficient sized ruse to keep our attention focused and marching farther and farther away from Riverrun whilst the main part, or at least the most mobile part, has crossed the Twins and aims to bugger my unsuspecting brother in the rear. It would cut our supply lines back to the Westerlands and give the defeated Riverlands new hope to fight us. But what do I know compared to so many mighty captains?"
Most of the gathered lords and knights shook their heads at the daring idea his master had suggested.
Of Lord Lannister, Podrick could not say one way or the other.
Though a few definitely looked thoughtful.
"Lord Tyrion, I will have a squadron of scouts swim the Green Fork and look for signs," Ser Addam declared.
