CHAPTER 5: HOT BLOOD IN THE SOUTH

'Gods, where is that girl.' Everything had gone to shit ever since Arya had run off into the forest. According to Crown Prince Joffrey, the girl had assaulted him with clubs and had her direwolf savage him. According to anyone with common sense, however, the little shit probably provoked the reaction out of the wolf. He had had a history with assaulting creatures in the past, poor Tommen had to watch as his older brother cut the kittens out of a kitchen stray, and he had also nearly died to one of Lord Tytos' lions beneath Casterly Rock, marking the end of their existence once and for all. For Lord Lannister could not allow his legacy to be destroyed by the work of one foolish boy and a pride of captive lions, the last stain of his father's rule left in The Rock at the time.

Whatever the case, Arya was missing, and he would be damned to the seven hells before he allowed the girl to die under his watch. Jon would skin him alive surely, maybe even enlist the Bastard of Bolton he had heard about for some tips. That was something he rather needed to broach with his Lord Uncle, the existence of that true bastard needed to be brought to his attention.

Before much longer, a horn was blown signaling that a scouting party had come across the girl somewhere. Making haste to said location, Asher saw the girl being held down by five soldiers, while being tied in bonds by a sixth. In his best lord's voice, Asher yelled, "Halt! Stop that this instant!"

The soldiers holding the girl did not allow her any relief, but the binder did stop in his process. "That is the daughter of a Lord Paramount, the Hand of the King! Do you have any sense?"

One of the men restraining her spoke up, indicating himself as the sergeant, "The girl struck the Prince, and she tried to claw us apart besides! She's as wild as that wolf of hers!"

Asher stood firm upon his mount, and replies, "The King could have you all gelded for this. Give her to me, she will not fight returning with me."

With a bit of grumbling from the men, Arya was let go. She sprinted as fast as the could to his horse, and he picked her up into saddle before being restrained by the strongest hug a tiny girl could give. "I was so afraid Asher, that stupid Prince and Sansa, they ruined everything."

"Tell me on the way back to camp Arya, let us try and make sense of this."

Upon returning to camp, the Lannister soldiers tried to corral him towards the Queen's tents, but he managed to slip away quickly to the King's. Hoping to find Lord Stark there, he made way as fast as he could. If he could get ahead of Joffrey's bullshit spewing everywhere he could salvage the situation somewhat, he did not think the King had been sober enough when the events unfolded to hear the Crown Prick's side of the story. When he dismounted with Arya and entered the tent, his Lord Uncle was thankfully present speaking to His Grace in front of the court.

Deciding to try and get things moving before the Crown Prince would appear, he announced his presence, "Your Grace!"

The King and his Lord Uncle turned to see him, with Lord Stark visibly relaxing ever so slightly in the presence of his youngest daughter, "Ahh, Hill! You've found the girl then, have you?"

"Yes Your Grace," he replied, "Me and some of the Redcloaks found her in the forests aloft a tree."

The King chuckled at that, "HA! Your girl has spirit Ned! The wolf's blood is strong in this one! Now, what's this business between you and my son? I thought you said you had those wolves trained Ned!"

Before Arya could begin her tirade, he squeezed her shoulder to restrain her before telling what he believed to be the correct story, "Your Grace, I believe that Lady Arya was playing near the stream with her friend, swinging around a few sticks and branches as swords and axes. While there, the Crown Prince and her Lady Sister came across the group. The Crown Prince himself seemed to take offence at the common born boy getting physical with the daughter of his father's most trusted Lord Paramount, the Hand of the King, and tried to intervene. In doing so, he grabbed a branch of his own and took a swing at the boy. When he did so, Lady Arya's direwolf interpreted this as an attack against her owner, and reacted as any good bodyguard would. She did not do any lasting damage to the Prince from what I have heard, and has proven her loyalty to her Lady's house in doing so."

The Kings pondered his explanation, before the Queen barged in with Prince Joffrey in tow. He spun his own tale about being beaten by clubs before being set upon by a savage wolf. The King seemed to hate being put in the situation between his best friend's family and his own, and began heavily drinking during the discussion. By the time that all accounts were heard, King Robert was too far gone to make any reasonable choice. While wanting to keep his silence, he spoke up with a suggestion to try and benefit both parties.

"Your Grace," he began, "Why not simply send the wolves back north? They are wild animals, as you have said, and belong back where they can roam free. The children of the Lord Hand have come to adore their wolves, and if they were returned to their brothers to the north, then they would be away from both the royal family and from the south. Have a detachment of Stark men bring them north, and we can continue south. Lady Arya can spend the rest of the journey south under strict watch, and the Lady could also offer sincere apologies to His Grace and Crown Prince Joffrey for her conduct."

Before the King could say a word about the proposal, the Queen began raging again about how a child had scarred her son, nearly a man in his majority. The King had heard enough of the 'foolishness' as he said, and decreed that the Lady Arya Stark would have to formally apologize, and the wolves would have to be sent north. Her discipline would be left to Lord Stark to hand out, and the Crown Prince was mollified by the idea of the wolf girl bowing and scraping before him.

Arya, after having been explained to on the way there what may occur in order to save the life of Nymeria, went along with his wishes. Joffrey, insufferable as he was, demanded she kiss his boots. Arya visibly struggled, shaking in all honesty, but with a cough from himself and a firm look from her father, she went through with the degrading act. After having been explained to her what could have happened after having struck a Prince, Arya knew she had to bend this once, if only to save the life of her wolf and trouble to her family.

As the Stark Family filed out of the tent, Sansa appearing just in time to see her Lady Sister groveling at the feet of her betrothed and was rather bewildered at the sight, Asher made to leave as well. A look from the Queen told him to stay however, and Ser Jamie came up to him after the tent had mostly cleared out of occupancy. "That was well handled Asher, Joffrey was sated and the Starks wolves got to live."

Asher sighed, before tiredly responding, "I confess, I did not think that the young Lady could hold her temperament well enough for it to work. I had a long ride to explain to her what could happen if she were not to listen to me, and she will not forget the embarrassment she suffered today at the hands of the Prince."

Jamie nodded, "The girl certainly reminds me of her, and your, aunt, the Lady Lyanna."

Asher, now firmly awake, asks, "You knew her?"

Ser Jamie looks apologetic at that, "I never knew her personally, and only saw her for the first day or so of the Tourney at Harrenhal. Once I was knighted, I was shipped away to King's Landing to guard the Red Keep. What I got to see though, your sister is her writ young and again."

From what Asher had heard of his aunt, the Lady Lyanna, prior to her kidnapping at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen, had had the wolf's blood flowing strong in her veins. Not unlike what he had heard about his father from his Lord Uncle, she was an active child and young woman in her time, not unlike young Arya Underfoot. "Thank you anyway Jamie, that is more than I knew of her yesterday."

Jamie's smile disappeared as he hear the coming of his sister, the Queen, from behind him.

"Your grace," Asher said, as he bowed in deference to her.

"Ser Hill," she began, a more formal and cold tone about her than she frequented when only surrounded by Lannisters, "You may have pacified my son and saved those wolves for now, but a Lannister never forgets when a debt needs to be paid, and those wolves owe a debt to me for harming my child."

Asher felt himself snap into focus, knowing that the lives of the wolves and continued passive relations between House Stark and House Lannister may rest on this exchange, and responded in a measured tone, "I only wished to preserve the peace between the Crown and House Stark, Your Grace. We have had an unprecedented time of peace under His Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, and I did not want such a peace to be broken over the killing of a few measly pets to the daughters of a Lord Paramount. By sparing those wolves and still getting a fair punishment for the young Lady of House Stark, I sought to show the power of House Baratheon while mollifying House Stark."

The Queen eyed him with cold emeralds, before glancing to her brother, "Where he gained such sense of politics is beyond me, certainly not from you brother."

Jamie gained a smirk at this, "Of course not dear sister, he had a strong and capable mind of his own, and certainly took the time to study as frequently as possible while under my care. Grand Maester Pycelle hosted the boy frequently within his library."

Asher cracked a smile at that, before adding, "The Grand Maester did not have time for a lowly bastard such as myself, he merely tolerated me while I worked my way through his supply of knowledge."

The Queen made a small smile at that, before she and her brother left to rejoin the rest of the royal family. As he quickly escaped the tent, he thought on his first great success as a political mind. Well, first obvious one at least. 'Lord Tywin would be proud of me I hope, maybe it is time I wrote to Maester Creylen. It has been some moons.'

Thankfully for all involved, the ride south's greatest inconvenience was the royal wheelhouse's usual troubles. Other than The Hound running down a child in the name of the Crown Prince. Yes, other than that beautiful piece of knowledge. How Prince Joffrey would hold onto the Iron Throne for longer than a fortnight he would never know. The Hound certainly should have known better than to prey on little boys, considering his own treatment as one.

Other than that, life moved on. With Arya restrained in the back of the column within the Stark Guard, there was next to no chance of her getting into trouble once more with the royal family. The unfortunate outcome of this quietness is that he had little to no access to either the Princess or Sansa for the remainder of the trip. The Queen was keeping a short leash on her family now, and Sansa did not wish to upset them any further, so she remained fully in either her own tents or quarters, and the wheelhouse.

How Myrcella was not throwing things at the walls he would never know. The girl just could not sit still for so long without something of substance to do. At least he had Arys with him, and she had Sansa and Tommen with her. 'Gods, with Joffrey in there with them…she will be nearly insufferable once she is given freedom to roam again.'

At that, he looked forwards towards what would surely become his Lord Uncle's greatest source of headaches, other than His Grace himself of course. King's Landing, the capital city of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Home to House Baratheon of King's Landing, and the city where his father and grandfather were murdered. That was something he himself had come to terms with years ago, something that certainly took time after Ser Jamie took it upon himself to enlighten him on the subject.

He had not talked to Jamie for days after that, and it was months before he finally braved the throne room once again. That tower of knives and sword, which in hindsight was a rather poor design for a seat containing the most important man in the realm, was something that he thought would never be comfortable to sit on 'All that steel, and the most powerful man in the realm must truly have knots on his ass from it.'

He smirked at that, before looking to Arys and remarking, "Ready to return to the city of shit?"

Arys cracks a small smile at that, and remarks, "Last I checked, that city of shit is the reason that either of us is relevant at all. If not for it, you would be a nobody bastard, and I would be a lesser son sweeping the floor of my family's keep."

Cracking a laugh at that, Asher snarked, "Well, at least I can find a real and true challenge here. Ser Barristan is certainly a better sparring partner than you, you wilted oak leaf."

Both of them laugh and fall into a companionable silence, something he had come to appreciate about his Oakheart friend, and continue the monotonous trot towards the world's largest supply of shit. Well, Westeros' largest at least, Qarth, Pentos or Braavos may have more stockpiled in their cities. If only the shities of the world would hire Tyrion to do their sewage systems, Lannisport smelled like a dream compared to the capital.

The brothels would surely go hungry without him, as they have for moons while the King and Little Lion were in the North. Gods, His Grace would surely return with the loudest cheers from the Street of Silk. At least Her Grace would receive a break from his attentions, not that she received them often. Her fuse was certainly short in the days following the altercation on the Trident. Whoever though Joffrey armed and unsupervised was a splendid idea needed their capacity checked by a maester. Half the council would ask for the King's to be checked after bringing his honorable Lord Uncle to this viper pit. The other half…well the less said the better.

Hopefully Lord Renly, the fop that his is, did not blow any more of the crown's limited budget on anything excessive in our absence, the Gods surely know as well as anyone else that the King will be hosting a tourney for their return. 'Poor Uncle Ned, he has no idea what he is about to inherit financially. Maester Pycelle will hopefully be prepared with smelling salts to wake him after he sees how deep in debt the crown is.'

The boy had been serving him well in the conflict thus far, diligent in supplying him wine at least. He was almost as good a sword as half the men at arms, which at nearly ten namedays was surely something unseen since Ser Jamie himself. Not as prodigious as him, of course, as no bastard could ever be as good as Lord Tywin's son.

Tylarr himself was an average knight in most aspects, the thirdborn son of his lowly branch of the Lannister family, second cousins with Lord Tywin and his late Lady Wife being closer than most, but not nearly close enough to get noticed regularly. He was not overtly skilled at arms, though better trained than most he came across. Not overtly beautiful in the Lannister manner, but certainly prettier than most he'd see. A loyal Westerman to the core, he had followed his Lord Cousin through every battle since Reyne and Tarbeck, and had been rewarded with knighthood and a strong position in the Lannisport Guard.

Ever since the Greyjoys, up jumped rapists that they are, decided that attacking Lannisport itself was a grand old idea, he had been incorporated into his Lord's personal men at arms. The siege of Pike was taking it's sweet time for now, the city of Lordsport had fallen quickly in the fighting, and it would be naught on two days until they breached the walls of the castle itself. It would end like all other struggles where the house of Lannister was antagonized, with men killed and women taken as spoils for themselves. A shame that it would be too early for the boy to whet his lower blade, there were certainly spoils aplenty here.

The boy, Asher, had proven himself in the fighting. He took up a blade in the quick sack of the city, killing three men, boys really, who had tried their best to defend their lands. Heh. Tried. Anyone with castle training could have killed as many, he had seven to his name in the fighting, but it was impressive nonetheless to see such conviction in the lad. He had the makings of a true Lannister soldier, even if he was only a half-blood bastard. If he could keep that cold face upon himself, Lord Tywin may even take closer notice of him for himself. It was the Lord's bidding through the mouth of Ser Broom that landed him with himself as a squire, of that he was sure. He began as a page for him at seven, but he scarcely needed any help in learning the skills necessary to carry himself throughout his life as a knight. If not for Ser Jamie's superior existence, he would think the lad was the Black Dragon come again.

Now, where was he with that drink?

AN:

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