Chapter 7: Court at the Crossroads
A few hours later found Robert holding court inside the common room of the Crossroads Inn. The room was split into three factions.
On the Lannister side was the fuming queen, her brat of a son, her swordsman brother and a gaggle of courtiers and supporters.
On the Stark side, Lord Stark, Arya, myself, Jon and off to the side a bit Sansa, with all of our massive pets in attendance. A number of lesser lords aligned with the new Hand, likely due to being shut out of court by the Lannisters in the past.
The third faction were basically there for the entertainment. The most prominent members were Robert’s youngest brother Lord Paramount of the Stormlands Renly Baratheon, and Lord Commander Barristan.
Sitting in the middle of this clusterfuck and looking mighty unhappy about that fact was King Robert.
“Let’s get this mess done with quickly,” Robert stated.
“And what mess is that exactly?” Eddard asked icily.
“What mess? What mess, Lord Stark?” the queen hissed. I’d never heard a title used a swear-word quite that well before. Bitch had skills. “How about the mess that girl of yours made of my son’s arm! She and her beast, trying to cripple my Joffrey!”
“That’s not true,” Arya spoke up. Her voice was loud for such a tiny thing, carrying over the entire gathering. She was too young to understand that calling the queen a liar in front of the court, reduced as it was for travelling, wasn’t likely to help in this situation. I barely avoided laughing. “That’s not true,” she repeated. “Nymeria only bit Joffrey because he was going to hit me with his sword!” There was a long moment of silence after that.
“So that’s why Ser Rodrick waits until the kids are older to give them live steel,” I said sotto voce. “They get too excited and try and poke little girls.”
It sounded quiet, but was perfectly pitched to carry, and I saw at least half a dozen people struggle not to laugh. Robert himself was shaking his head and trying to maintain a kingly demeanor without much success. The queen shot me a poisonous glare, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her to present this as anything but youthful idiocy precipitated by the jackass prince.
“You hit me first!” Joffrey yelled. “With that stick!” I could see the moment that the queen realized she’d lost control of the situation with Joffrey going off script.
“You were cutting Mycah’s face!” Arya retorted.
“He hit you with a stick!” Joffrey shouted, spittle flying from his red face. Honestly, this was hilarious.
“We were training, you idiot!” You tell him, Arya.
Joffrey paused a moment to gape at her astounding logic. I could see the queen gathering breath but beat her to it.
“Are we sure it’s Sansa that’s marrying Joffrey, and not Arya? Because they already sound like an old married couple,” I said in the gap of sound again. At least a third of the adults were coughing into their hands to hide their laughter, while Robert had face-palmed.
“And then you set that beast on me!” Joffrey argued, changing the subject when he was losing. This time it was Arya’s turn to be taken aback.
“Poor show, Prince Joffrey. You can’t just ignore her point like that,” a lord in green-enamel with a Baratheon stag – Renly, perhaps - said, getting in on the fun. I could actually see the queen’s blood pressure rising.
“And now we go back to the beginning of the argument,” I added. Arya needed the help; she was only ten.
“Ya! I already told you, Nymeria was just protecting me. It’s your fault for trying to hit me with the sword!” Arya rallied.
“Shut up! It’s your fault! It’s all your fault! And you threw Lion’s Tooth in the river!” Joffrey yelled.
“Enough!” Robert boomed out, silencing both of the children.
“Lion’s Tooth,” I heard Renly mutter to himself, cracking up. Everyone was looking at him as he laughed. “Lion’s Tooth. That’s just, too funny.”
Robert looked at him. “Really, Renly? Do you need to excuse yourself?”
“And miss this fine entertainment? No, I’ll try to control myself,” he said, getting a hold on his laughter. “Pray, brother, continue.”
“So. Without interruptions I want to hear what happened. Remember that lying to me, your king, is a terrible crime before Gods and men. Arya, you go first,” Robert instructed.
And so Arya relayed her story. How she and Mycah were “training” or play-fighting, when that great bully Joffrey rolled up and slashed the unarmed Mycah’s face. Then Arya, wanting to save her friend and whack the bully, did just that, smashing her stick on the back of Joffrey’s head. Then they fought, and the horse ran away, and Nymeria saved her, and she took that sword and threw it in the river, and Ser Rodrick says Joffrey shouldn’t have sharp steel anyways so there. And maybe he’d think better of hurting her or her friends next time.
It was objectively a hilarious recounting, made so much better by the ridiculously serious court being held inside an Inn’s common room.
Then it was Joffrey’s turn, and he told a story that his mother had obviously concocted for him. It cast him in a great light, and had no relation to the truth whatsoever that I could tell. After he finished, he looked at his mother for approval. I could tell that she was torn, between praising him for being a mama’s boy, and face-palming since his account directly contradicted some of the things he’d said in the earlier exchange with Arya. He was just too wound up and discombobulated to realize it at the time.
This, of course, put the king in a difficult situation. The prince was injured, which was bad. He was adamantly lying, which was worse since it was next to impossible for Robert to call him on it. Partially because his mother had obviously put him up to it, and partially because a dishonest untrustworthy prince was a legitimate issue for succession in a medieval society.
“And what am I supposed to do with this? She says one thing, he something else entirely,” Robert sighed.
And then Ned went in for the kill.
“They weren’t the only ones there,” Lord Stark said. “Sansa, come forward.”
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Oh, mistake there Stark. Sansa’s the useless sort. Give her half a chance and she’ll just make things worse, totally unwilling to face facts and side with her family against that festering boil called Joffrey. It was obvious that Sansa was torn between the two sides, not seeing it as truth versus lies, but as Joffrey versus Arya.
So I decided to help her out, and stepped forwards. “Perhaps it’s unfair to expect Lady Sansa to disprove her future betrothed’s little story,” I said. “She’s of an age to be blinded by the lustre of love, after all, and the Lannisters are very pretty.” I had forgotten how satisfying it was to tear people apart with my words. Pity the Lannisters that had reminded me.
“But I can with absolute certainty that Nymeria saved the prince’s life,” I continued, stunning the room.
“How did it do that!” Cersei shrieked. “That beast nearly took off his arm!”
“Well, let me tell you a story. There I was riding over to the Ruby Ford, to see where the previous tyrant prince who thought he could abuse a Stark lady met his end,” I said. She blanched, then reddened with anger. “Then what do I hear but yells and screaming of children. A panicked boy ran out of the bushes, a cut along his cheek, soon followed by an expensively caparisoned horse. I rushed forwards, and saw some fifty paces distant a certain blond-haired boy holding my lord’s daughter at sword-point. I was too far away to block his blow, but had arrow to string and was about to make my shot when a wolf protected my charge, tackled the boy, and disarmed him.
“So I tell it true, Your Grace.” My voice was as cool as ice as I pronounced the iron, bloody reality. “You should be laying down offerings to the gods Old and New for “that beast”. For if it hadn’t acted, you’d be burying your son.”
Her face was white with rage. “How dare you. How DARE YOU!” she hissed. I lost it a bit after that.
“How dare I? I? How dare YOU!” I shouted her down as everyone stared. “Let us put aside for a moment the fact that you obviously coached him on that transparently false story to present to the king, an act that is itself a crime.
“You are risking setting the Crown and its greatest supporter at odds, and over what – jealousy for a dead woman, or how well your husband and my lord get along? A few scars, marks on the skin that most every boy gains during his play? Yours are acts that even a charitable man might consider treason.”
Recovering from his shock, Jaime Lannister took a step forwards, drawing his sword. “I am not a generous man, and I do call your insults to the queen and prince treason. Surrender of I’ll cut you down where you stand.”
I channeled my mana, cast my spells and prepared to move as Togo lifted his bulk off the ground with a rumbling growl.
“Cease!” Robert boomed, his voice now full of furious command. “I can call treason within my own presence, Lannister! Sheathe that blade before I make you eat it. And you, Odysseus, will apologize for your words.”
I bowed. “Of course, Your Grace. I apologize. I thought I had calmed down, but I was obviously still overwrought by seeing my lord’s ten year old daughter threatened for playing with sticks.”
“I said enough, damn you!”
The queen’s eyes were wide as saucers, her face a rictus of hate. “Robert, I want him punished,” she hissed. “I want them all punished.”
“Seven hells,” he swore. “And what then. Should I also punish you for conspiring to lie to me? And how should I punish the girl, a child, while I’m at it? Whip her through the streets? No harm was done beyond some hasty words, let us leave it at that.”
“So he can simply insult me like that, in front of the whole court? What kind of a man are you!” she seethed.
“What kind of man am I? I am the king!” he barked, his fat finger pointed at her face. “And I warn you, if you cannot keep your tongue civil, then keep it still. Your rash and womanly actions have caused me enough grief today.”
Her face twisted in hate, and then she got a gleam in her eye. “What of the direwolf,” she called out. “What of that monster that savaged your son.”
Damn. Well, hopefully Robert wasn’t about to give Cersei a consolation wolf. And I clearly needed to increase the time spent trying to figure out a proper remote curse spell; I wouldn’t be safe until I killed off that bitch queen and her psychotic shit of a son.
“I’d forgotten about that,” Robert said, settling into his seat. “A direwolf is a savage animal.” He paused to consider things. “Very well. Have Ser Ilyn take care of it.”
Arya looked like she was about to cry, while the queens eyes gleamed with wicked victory and sadistic joy.
“Robert, you cannot mean to do this,” Lord Stark protested.
“Enough, I do not wish to hear anything else on the matter. It is closed,” Robert said. “Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.”
I bent down to Arya’s ear, and whispered in it.
Ned was starting to droop in defeat when the little spitfire spoke out, shocking the court.
“I demand a trial by combat! I refuse to lose my pet without due progress,” her clear voice rang out. It’s due process Arya, but nicely repeated otherwise.
I bent down to whisper in her ear again.
“Ahem. I meant process. I refuse to lose my pet without due process,” she clarified blushing.
“You can’t ask for a trial by combat for a wolf,” Cersei scoffed.
“Actually, Your Grace, I believe you’ll find she can. The wolf is her property, and as killing it is removing her property from her, she has every right to trial by combat,” I interjected.
“Then she should simply be paid a sum equal to her losses,” the bitch queen argued. “Given the rarity of direwolves, and taking into account its wild behavior, I think a single silver stag appropriate.”
“On the contrary, Your Grace. Those of us capable of emotion judge our pets, our companions, by how much we love them. I suspect that Lady Arya values her love more than a million gold dragons,” I retorted.
“Ten million!” Arya piped up.
I smiled. Good girl.
“A trial by combat for the wolf,” Robert said incredulously. “Why not. The day’s been ridiculous enough already. Very well. Cersei, I assume you’ll be championed by your brother? Arya, by Odysseus?”
Ser Jaime nodded and stepped forwards, but I shook my head. “Given the circumstances, Your Grace, I thought it might be more fitting if Togo were to champion Arya. If that meets with your approval, little lady?” I asked.
It wasn’t that I was scared of Jaime; I knew I could hit him with three arrows at fifteen paces before he reached me. But this day, when the Kingslayer died, was going to be famous. It made for a much better and more damaging story if he fell to my dog, and the Lannisters needed taking down a few pegs.
“It does,” she replied, trying and failing to channel Sansa’s serious nature.
Robert just sighed. “Very well. Championed by a dog. Of course. We’ll have it outside, then.”
We trooped outside into the inn’s courtyard. Other members of the travelling party were gathered about, waiting to hear the gossip from the evening’s entertainment.
I bent down next to Togo, activating Haste, Regeneration, Oak-skin, Thought Acceleration and a Physical Buff on him.
“Alright, buddy. You know what to do. Nothing fancy. Just tear his fucking throat out,” I told Togo.
He looked at me like of course, you idiot, and huffed.
“In the sight of gods and men we are gathered to determine the innocence or guilt of this girl, Arya Stark. May the Mother grant her Mercy, may the Father give such Justice as is deserved, and may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion,” Robert intoned, ritual words of a trial by combat flowing out of his mouth. “Begin!”
And like an arrow, Togo was off, charging at Lannister. He seemed taken aback by my dog’s speed. Knowing that he couldn’t face Togo’s charge head on, he tried to sidestep while bringing his sword down on Togo’s neck. But Togo reacted faster than that, springing forward diagonally with an extra burst of speed.
The sword, swung skillfully by Lannister’s strong arm, proved ineffective against Togo’s literally oak-tough flesh, and only penetrated an inch or so into Togo’s flank. Togo bowled him over, and in a screaming moment of flashing claws and fangs had caught Jaime’s throat and lower face in his massive jaws. With a crunch Togo tore it off, blood spraying in the evening sun.
He swallowed, and howled his victory.
“No! Jaime!” the queen screamed, hurling herself forward over her dead brother. “Jaime, Jaime! Jaime, don’t die Jaime, please, please, don’t leave me!” she cried.
Robert shook his head bitterly. “Well now, it’s done. The wolf lives. I hope this was all worth it,” he spoke, his tone dark and heavy.
The queen turned to him, lost in her rage. “You!” she screamed, then she just kept screaming, her hands held like claws as she scratched at Robert, trying to catch his eyes and face, to cause damage that would do nothing to assuage the hurt in her heart.
He caught her after a moment, held her in a bear hug. “Ser Barristan. The queen is distraught. Show her to her wheelhouse and keep her there until she is calm,” he grunted. Then after the knight had taken her he said something else. “Gods be good. What a fucking mess. And knowing Tywin, it’s just starting.” He was mumbling to himself, but I heard every word.
That night I went into the yard, and gathered a jar of the blood-stained sand, sealing it with wax. With any luck, I’d figure out a sympathetic curse soon and wipe the Lannisters out root and branch. They were vipers, and I had no desire to leave them hiding in the grass and waiting to strike me.