Sorry for the delay - I was busy with university exams as of late.

Off to the goods news: this story has now a beta! Thanks to Throwhardest, the new chapters shall be of an even higher quality!

Enjoy!

Lancel

Argh!- Lancel cursed - Damned thorny bushes! Gods, his incompetence knew no bounds.

Lancel's journey had been relatively smooth - at least until he had crossed into the Riverlands proper. The villages about the God's Eye were plundered entirely - not a single haystack was spared Lord Lannister's wrath. Lancel had been reduced to accosting Stark and Lannister deserters, and fleeing smallfolk for news - for he could certainly not show his face at any keep, not knowing to which King it answered to.

Still, how in the Seven Hells would Lancel break Lord Stark's death to the King?

The Chaos of King's Landing had made mountains of corpses, rivers of blood... the Red Keep had truly earned its name that day His cousin, Ser Jaime had been… ravaged by Lord Eddard. The Hand had disfigured his face and made him a cripple - only to eventually drown in his own blood.

A painful way to die.

Lancel knew very well that the King would be devastated by the news, or thirsty for Lannister blood - perhaps beyond reason.

Word was, the King in the North had finally pushed ahead through the Golden Tooth, and into Lannister land proper. His aim seemed to be the looting and pillage of the Westerlands - in response to what was done unto the Riverlands, Lancel believed - while Lord Edmure and his nuncle Ser Brynden had made a merry game of harrying the Mountain's men up and down the Riverlands.

Alas for the King in the North - the North itself seemed to be suffering from Ironborn raids. Chief among them was Victarion Greyjoy - who'd left some of his men to hold Moat Cailin, while he brought fire and sword to the smallfolk under the Starks' and Manderlys' protection.

Under such circumstances, Lancel believed that the King in the North must soon call off his campaign - for if he could not protect his lands, what King was he?

Stannis, the King's elder brother, fared better in the Crownlands. House Farring had defected alongside other houses, who the Lannisters had previously swayed to their side; the siege of King's Landing proceeded apace, and the only thing Cersei could do was delay the inevitable, for she fought forces both outside and inside the walls.

There were yet Baratheon loyalists in the city, the so-called Black Stags; this rag-tag bunch had challenged the already thinly stretched Redcloaks, who barely held the city. Lancel, however, was a touch more doubtful - rumours from the capital often were contradictory and not exactly reliable.

The King certainly couldn't stay in this village for too long; lest the Seven Kingdoms fall into complete ruin. Sherra yet insisted that the King was unable to travel, but Lancel didn't exactly see it - to him, Robert Baratheon seemed as hale and hearty as ever.

And in all his ruminations, Lancel failed to pay attention to his surroundings - his foot got stuck in one of the plant's roots, and he fell - face-first - into the dirt.

Lancel never once in his life had caught a break.

"What was that?" - "Look! There's someone there!"

Shit.

There were two men in front of him. One had only one eye, and a rusty pothelm on his head - while the other was broad and brawny, and wore a garish yellow cloak. "Bloody Hells, a Lannister!" The scrawny one exclaimed.

"Looks like one, at least," the other said, with an ugly sneer, "What's your name, boy? And don't lie to me - I'll know it!"

Lancel gulped. This could end badly. "I-I am Lancel Lannister, squire to King Robert..."

"See? A Lannister! Let's cut-"

"Shut up, you dim-witted fool!" The gruff soldier berated, "Did you hear what he said? He's the lost squire of old King Robert!"

He approached the dirty Lannister, kneeling beside him, "If someone knows what happened to the King, it's him. Bind the boy, let's bring him back to camp."

These men believe Robert to be alive… but who were these haggard lot?

Lancel tried to needle them into talking, over the short and very uncomfortable trip - but the pair were as closed as clams. Deep into the forest, where the trees were old, and their roots emerged from the ground, they reached a cave. Some patrols were about, their arms and armour as woebegone as their captors.

"Who's this, Lem?" The leader asked. "We've enough prisoners already - this close to a bloody outbreak!"

"We've found the King's squire," the so-called Lem answered, "The bugger probably knows what happened after the hunt! I'm sure the Bold would want to question him."

The Bold...? There was only one man with that moniker...

The guard whistled, "Shite, that's a good catch! Come on, bring him in!"

The place was hollowed out of the stone and soil - with the occasional huge roots of weirwood coming out of the walls. The tunnels and crannies were endless and Lancel soon lost his sense of direction; till the climb finally ended a set of stairs made from the roots themselves. The room they reached was large and had a firepit in the middle. A man most familiar to Lancel, sat upon a tangle of roots, and nursed the flame.

As he'd thought, t'was Barristan Selmy, the legendary knight - armour and garb not so pristine anymore, yet still the white of the Kingsguard. There were other men all over the cave, watching from the darkness.

"Lem, Jack. I see you've brought someone." The Bold rose from his wooden seat, approaching him. He cleaned off some mud on Lancel's face, and seemed to finally recognize him.

"Lancel Lannister... it seems Thoros' visions were true after all!" Visions? What is he talking about?

"Worry not - you're in no danger from me," Barristan assured him, "I only want you to answer my questions sincerely. Do you understand?"

Lancel nodded, choppily. He recognised Lord Beric Dondarrion, still hale and dashing despite his circumstances. The Lighting Lord whispered to a man in red - perhaps Thoros of Myr, Lancel thought; a Red Priest who often attempted to out-drink the King - no mean feat, that. He was much less… rotund than he had been - he didn't seem intoxicated either - a sea change compared to King's Landing.

But it was the Bold who spoke now, and Lancel had to pay attention. His first words were clear enough. "Is King Robert alive?"

"Yes, Ser," Lancel answered.

Hearing that, Barristan's tense posture softened, while the other leaders laughed and cried joyfully. "Wonderful news. How does he fare?"

Lancel rubbed his chin, "He was struck in the head, Ser. Some good folk from a village near Antlers took us in, shortly after emerging from the river. King Robert woke up some weeks ago - although greatly weakened."

Barristan hummed in the back of his throat. "And what are you doing in these parts?"

"King Robert sent me to out to scout - I've been accosting deserters and fleeing smallfolk for information," Lancel answered, "I managed to reach the Gods' Eye, but I had to backtrack - there are foreign mercenaries about."

"The Brave Companions," Barristan scoffed, "Rapists and scoundrels. We fight them relentlessly, but the damned curs always come back for more - Tywin Lannister be damned!"

"I saw some of their soldiers patrolling with the Boltons," Lancel said, "I believe they may have defected to King Robb's side."

That surprised Barristan apparently, "Hmm... the Leech Lord may have a hand in this. Mayhaps Hoat saw no more profit for committing with Tywin."

He sighed, and stood up, "Nonetheless, we have an oath to fulfil. We'll depart tomorrow - King Robert needs our aid."

Lancel rode his newly acquired horse through the dense forest, alongside the members of the King's Party. The thing was near a nag, but it served well enough - they would reach the King's village in near eight days, barring any surprises.

"How has the war treated you, Ser Barristan?" Lancel asked. The Bold already looked grim from a long campaign.

"Not much in the way of full-fledged battles," he answered, "We were busy searching for King Robert. Skirmishes against the Bloody Mummers, and sometimes Lannister patrols, but nothing more."

Lancel certainly couldn't think of anything better to do. The small group couldn't hope to fight an entire army. "I've seen you've taken some refugees under your protection."

Barristan nodded, "Aye. Villagers from the Riverlands, fleeing from war; and if I must be honest... I've never seen such savagery before in all my years."

"You were not at the Sack of King's Landing, Ser Barristan," Lancel muttered. "My uncle oft prefers to make it rain blood." I can't even comprehend how a kind man like Father could follow him.

"Aye, men know of Tywin Lannister. So he spoke, and so he spoke - That Lord of Castamere - Yet now the rains fall o'er his halls - With not a soul to hear." Barristan sighed, "T'is not only the peasantry that suffers." The Kingsguard led Lancel all the way to the rear of the column, where the refugees walked alongside the baggage train. They look half a step from death, the whole lot of them. Three boys caught his eye... nay, one boy and two girls, with short hair. "Who are they?"

"Lord Stark's daughters," Barristan explained, "We found them trying to cross the Riverlands. They were accompanied by Syrio Forel, the once First Sword of Braavos."

Sansa and Arya Stark - he'd never spoken to either, he thought. The former was lovestruck by the very image of Joffrey - oh, the Prince could be charming if he wanted to; the trouble was that he didn't usually want to. The other had a rather vicious look to her.

Undoubtedly they've been through a lot - especially considering they escaped just after the start of the Chaos. Must have been terribly hard to lose their innocence like that. T'was the ladylike Sansa that seemed the most shaken. Her once immaculate looks were ruined, her red hair cut short… Gods, it truly was a loss. Her once-pale skin was freckled like a peasant, and badly sunburned.

"I swore an oath to protect them," he continued, "It was the least I could do for Lord Stark, may the Gods make him rest. The man fought for his King 'till his last breath - as honourable as the tales made him."

Now the Bold took a deep breath. "Then there's the boy. Does he remind you of someone?"

Lancel didn't understand what the man was referring to. But then, the resemblance struck him. He was tall and strong, and looked more like a grown man than a teenager. Jet black hair, with deep blue eyes - a strong resemblance to Lord Renly, but it was an open secret he visited no whores. Others take me...

"A bastard of the King!"

Barristan nodded gravely, "The spitting image of King Robert at the Trident. Name of Gendry - apparently, he was a blacksmith for Tobho Mott, who was paid a lot of gold by some stranger to apprentice him. To me, it seems as if someone knew his true heritage, and sought to hide him."

That struck Lancel as odd - King Robert had sired a lot of bastards throughout the Seven Kingdoms - even two at Casterly Rock. Cersei had gotten her hands on them, and - "Did the Hand know of his existence?"

Barristan nodded, "It helped to discover the infidelity. It was the bane of both Lords Arryn and Stark - to some extent. Eddard could've gone straight to Robert and revealed the truth. But honour got in his way - and I believe the memory of Elia Martell, and her children yet haunted him." Another atrocity perpetuated by my uncle. "He offered Cersei the means to trap him when he urged her to flee - and opened the gate to the Chaos."

"And so Cersei planned to get Gendry killed," Lancel said, trying to follow along.

Barristan grunted, "And it didn't end in her favour. Gendry alone bashed the heads of three men, before fleeing with his companions."

"Not the first plot that failed her, ser!" Lancel japed. That got a small smile from the knight.