Callem Cole was not someone who craved adventure or excitement. He hadn't grown up wanting to be a squire or an outlaw, hadn't idolised Knights, dreamt of notoriety or thought of travelling to far lands. He never imagined proving himself in battle or winning tournaments. Those things seemed to him to be highly risky endeavours, and Callem had always been cautious, even as a child.
The only thing he'd ever planned to do was become a respected smith like his father, and live a peaceful life in the village where he was born. One day he would marry a local girl and love her forever, support her and their children by taking over the business after his father passed on. Hopefully he'd be able to leave it to his own sons in turn. Callem had a natural talent for shaping and tempering steel, and his careful nature and creativity enabled him to make pieces of similar quality to his father's.
So how did I end up here? he thought, for not the first time. Without a good part of his arm, unlikely to work the furnace again, and en route to KingsLanding, a place he'd never been to, nor much wanted to go. With a childhood friend whom he remembered mainly as someone with a penchant for getting into trouble so often that he was always either covering for her or saving her from the various misadventures and scrapes she found herself in.
But here he was. And here she was. Still with all the same attributes that had made her such a trouble-magnet as a child, still headstrong and with scant regard for rules or norms, and now with new attributes to boot. Long legs. Caramel coloured skin and dark brows and lashes. Light chestnut hair streaked with sun and a wide mouth that was hard to look away from whether it smiled or pouted. Breasts.
Callem had barely seen the girl in years, the last time only briefly and from a distance, at her brother's funeral. There had been no body to bury, and only a handful of people willing to publicly admit any grief for a boy who'd committed such a treasonous act as attacking their future King. He'd brought disgrace to their village. The girl had been crying on her father's shoulder, and Callem had wanted to help her, but didn't know how. At the time it'd seemed easier to just do nothing, keep his distance.
There were many in the village muttered that the girl had too much of her mother's savage blood, that she'd been a bad influence on her younger brother as they grew up so that it was no wonder he'd turned out how he did. But Callem knew this was projection after the fact, and that the girl was no worse than any other child, her mother no worse than any other foreigner trying to adjust to a new life.
The girl had left the village straight after the funeral and not come back again. Even when the butcher slit his own throat in the bath, with the knife he used to skin pigs, she hadn't returned.
When I next saw you, kissing the Kingslayer that day in the rain, I felt that same urge to help you, Callem thought to himself, sitting in the wagon. I knew you didn't know what you'd gotten yourself into, you didn't know who he was. I still want to help you, if you'd let me.
Callem remembered waking last night and lying in the dark, keeping his breath even and slow, listening to the girl and the Kingslayer together. He hadn't moved, or said anything to her later. But when she'd got up that morning glowing with contentment, he'd wanted to ask her what in Seven hells she thought she was doing. You know who he is now! You know, and still you let him do that! Every time that she'd hummed a tune, laughed at nothing, or smiled secretly to herself, Callem had wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her daft head.
Don't you know how stupid you're being? Don't you realise how dangerous he is, how totally wrong for you? A man that famous and powerful will use and discard you like a shit-rag. He won't want to marry you forever, or support you and your children. But the Kingslayer terrified Callem, so he hadn't yet spoken a word of his misgivings to the girl.
'Your turn,' the girl said, giving him a nudge with her foot. The Lady Knight had gotten hold of a pack of cards from somewhere for them, and for the past two hours they'd been playing a traditional village game, using acorns to bet with. So far Callem was winning by miles. The girl was an easy opponent. Whenever she had good cards, it was written all over her expression as if she'd shouted it out loud.
Like now. Callem watched as she tried to keep a straight face but even with an eyepatch, her other eye gave her away. Maybe she doesn't play cards much. She really has no idea how to bluff. Or, maybe she's distracted and not really thinking about cards at all.
Callem turned his cards over to fold, thwarting her win.
'You're too lucky,' she said, throwing her cards down, but she didn't look like she cared. She'd lost every turn so far, yet radiated happiness. She sung the words to a melody under her breath, and smiled as she shuffled the pack to deal again.
It was on the tip of Callem's tongue to say something to her. I'll tell her some tales I've heard of the Kingslayer. How he pushed a child from a window, how he brutally killed his own cousin and an innocent guard. How he attacked Lord Stark unprovoked and killed his men in KingsLanding. I mean, I hate to ruin her good mood, but she needs to see reason.
The girl was easy to talk to. Normally, Callem was reticent to speak to anyone unless he really had to, because of his stutter. But she always let him finish his sentences, never appeared impatient or frustrated, and not once interrupted or predicted what he was going to say, no matter how long it took him to say it. Callem opened his mouth to tell her what he knew, when there was the sound of the back of the wagon being unlocked and then Maester Qyburn was there, peering in.
This time when he removed Callem's bandage and examined the wound, the Maester declared it no longer required his attention. The stitches were removed and the stump painted with a drying ointment. 'Ser Jaime says you're to ride from now on,' the old man informed him.
What, on a horse? Callem was unsure how he'd go controlling it with one hand. But the Maester shooed him off towards the men watering their horses at the nearby pond. The Kingslayer wants her all to himself, Callem suspected, but knew there was little he could do about it. Maybe once they reached KingsLanding, tomorrow, they'd have some time alone together again. Maybe she'll listen to me then.
He wandered off and observed the girl as she attempted to hobble around the rest stop, Qyburn accompanying her in case she fell over. But she didn't. She managed to make it a full lap around the pond, albeit very slowly and awkwardly. Good for her, Callem thought, wanting to clap and cheer her effort. She's going to cope fine. If she can walk without toes, then maybe one day I can work steel without a hand.
Callem noted that the Kingslayer was also watching her, although trying to be discreet about it. When she got back to where she'd started, he came over to Maester Qyburn and dismissed him. Then the Kingslayer helped the girl up into the wagon. Callem saw his hand linger around her waist, saw him lean over and whisper in her ear. The girl laughed and Callem turned away, frustrated. I want to help you, but I can't. Would you even listen to me?
The Lady Knight noticed Callem walking aimlessly around and took him with her. She helped him get on her mount when it was time to ride off, and then sat behind him so he didn't have to control anything. He was grateful for her kindness, and he had to admit that riding in the fresh air was a pleasant change from being cooped inside. But when he saw the Kingslayer leave the wagon, re-mount his own horse and ride past them to the front of the procession, looking satisfied and smug, Callem felt anger rise in his gut. He wished to all the gods that he had both his hands again and could punch that smirk right off the man's sickeningly handsome face.
He'd kill me. But it would almost be worth it.
They stopped for the night, with Steelshanks confident that tomorrow evening they'd reach the Capital. Callem helped Brienne with the horses and preparing the meal, as best he could. None of the men paid him any attention at all, which was fine with him. Brienne said he could take the girl her food, so he carried it over carefully with one hand.
She was delighted to see him when he undid the gate. 'Gods it's been boring as fuck without you in here, Cal,' she said.
He handed her the bowl and sat down to keep her company as she ate.
'I-I-I saw you w-w-w-walking before,' he said. 'G-good job.'
'Thanks. It wasn't as bad as I expected, y'know? Running is gonna be the tricky bit. I saw you riding with Brienne. Lucky you.'
'Yeah, it w-w-was f-fun.'
'I can't wait to ride a horse again. I don't think I've ever gone so long without being on one my whole life.' Callem noticed that she looked sad for the first time all day, and guessed she was thinking about her own horse, Sooty.
He remembered the black horse as a foal, how no-one could catch it or handle it. The farmer who'd owned its dam and sire had offered it free to anyone who could take the unruly beast away. As it grew bigger it had begun to chase the village dogs and cats, trying to trample them if they strayed anywhere near. Callem remembered the day the farmer had gathered some men together to shoot it with arrows as it was becoming too great a menace, but the girl had followed them to the paddock and as the horse galloped towards them, had stepped out into its path without fear.
She'd led it out of there with just a strand of baling twine around its neck. The only person who hadn't been surprised had been her mother, who'd simply nodded and said, 'That one will do. A horse that runs towards a fight is a good horse.'
She has a way with horses. But that horse was one in a thousand, a freak of nature. She won't find one like that again, Callem thought.
The girl shovelled in the food as if she hadn't eaten in days. 'So, you're all good now, huh? How long d'ya think you'll hang 'round the Capital for?' she asked, with her mouth full.
'A day or t-t-two. As long as it t-t-takes me to f-find a lift back, I guess,' he shrugged. 'How 'b-bout you?'
She looked down, her expression giving away her thoughts as clearly as it always did. 'I dunno. Maybe a little longer.'
The Kingslayer won't want you around. He has his sister in the Capital, his job on the Kingsguard. You were just a toy, to keep him amused.
'I c-can wait. We could get a lift b-b-back together,' Callem suggested.
She smiled, handed him the empty bowl. 'Sure.' But her face told him she was bluffing. She's a terrible bluffer.
That night, Callem was woken from his spot near the fire by a hand shaking him. He started upright with an exclamation, but the Kingslayer held a finger to his lips and frowned for him to be silent.
'Come with me. I need your help with something,' he said, quietly.
Needs my help... with what? Callem got up and put on his coat and boots, which took a while because of his single hand. The Kingslayer stood and watched him with arms crossed, but offered no assistance. Finally when Callem was ready to go, they walked out into the night to where a horse was standing by a tree already saddled, with a pack hanging from it. Callem hesitated, but the Kingslayer grabbed him and lifted him onto the animal's back. Then he untied the reins from the branch, swung up behind him and they rode out.
Callem didn't dare ask where they were going. He gripped the pommel of the saddle tightly with his hand and tried not to let his imagination run away with him. But the further they rode through the dark trees, twisting and doubling back without any apparent direction, the more apprehensive he became.
After about half an hour, the horse turned onto a road running through the forest. The Kingslayer reined it in, jumped down. Callem clutched at the saddle, reluctant to follow. Will he kill me now, far from the camp? Will he simply abandon me here in the woods?
'Stay on there,' the Kingslayer said. 'He's yours now.'
Callem must have looked bewildered.
'Take the packhorse and ride North along this road to where it joins the King's Road. From there, you'll be back in RedHollow in under two weeks. The horse is from the village, he knows where to go. There's enough food for you, and blankets, in the pack.'
'B-b-but -'
'Don't ask questions. Just go.' The Kingslayer waved at him impatiently. 'I'll walk back, I know the way.'
Callem shook his head. 'W-what about... ?'
'The girl? Nice of you to care about her well-being. You almost got her killed, you know. I warned you when I spared your life that day, that if you ever breathed a word of having seen us to anyone, I'd kill you. You did though, didn't you? You told Locke, and he found the girl because of it.' The Kingslayer regarded him coldly. 'She was tortured because of you.'
'Th-they- they pulled out the nails and p-peeled the skin off t-t-two of my f-f-fingers! Th-they c-c-cut the flesh off. T-til there was just b-b-bones!' Callem tried to make the older man understand. He felt again the horrible dread fill him, as Locke's men had held his splayed hand to the stone. The unbearable agony as they'd begun to carve into his fingers. They'd said they were going to do all his fingers the same, but he'd talked after two. When they'd chopped his hand off, it had been a relief.
'Two fingers?' the Kingslayer scoffed. 'You didn't last very long, did you?
I'm no-one brave, no-one heroic. I'm not a Knight or Lord, only a villager. I'm sorry that I'm not like you, invincible, Callem thought.
'I'm j-j-just a smith's s-s-son,' was what he said.
'Yes, you are. So go home and be a smith. Or whatever you can be...' the Kingslayer snorted, '...one-handed.'
Still Callem didn't move to turn the horse.
The Kingslayer clenched his jaw. 'If you're concerned about the girl, don't be. She has a different future ahead of her. One that doesn't involve villages, and smiths, and delivering other people's goods for them. She won't serve anyone any more, she'll have servants. Maids, handmaidens, people to look after her. Whatever she wants, she'll have.' He gave Callem a look as if daring him to say anything of it, as if even talking about the girl made him feel protective of her.
'W-w-what if Ivvy doesn't w-want all that?' Callem asked.
The Kingslayer looked at him with barely concealed contempt. 'She wants me, and the rest comes with it, so - ' Suddenly, he stopped. 'What did you call her?'
'I-I-Ivvy,' Callem stuttered.
'Is that her name? Ivvy?'
'I-i-it's short f-f-for Iv-v-v-' Callem took a breath. 'Iv-ve-ve-ve-ve-' He strained to pronounce the name, but knew he wouldn't be able to. Hardly anyone could, let alone someone with a speech impediment.
After watching him struggle fruitlessly for about a minute, the Kingslayer sighed. 'Never mind. Just fuck off, before I change my mind about sparing your life.'
Callem knew he had no choice in the matter. He picked up the reins and kicked the horse on. The horse pricked its ears and turned towards the North, its hoof beats picking up eagerly, as if it could hardly wait to get home .