Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Marethyu, Mike God of Lore, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 02: Wild Hunt
– Orys Baratheon –
The trick to getting in on the hunt that I accurately predicted was going to happen was laughably easy. I asked my father instead of my mother. Father is an avid hunter, which might be the only reason he's merely overweight and not fully spherical.
Yes, I realise that my mother is not going to be thrilled when she hears, but it's too late to stop it now. Joffrey is not a hunter, and my father is delighted to have me join in with one of his favourite hobbies.
"But-"
"Arya, you are eleven," Lord Stark sighs, stopping his headstrong daughter's complaints at not being able to join us. Her argument that she's still a better archer at eleven than half the men going didn't quite convince him (or sit well with those men since she said it loudly, right in front of them).
Hircine whispers into my mind, telling me that she is better than a lot of adults.
As she walks away, storms really, she happens to head our way as Father and I are close to the castle gate. Making a decision, I step into her path and for a moment, she turns an angry look toward me before she hesitates, realising who she's glowering at.
She isn't as prim and proper as her sister, but she isn't completely oblivious to court politics either.
"A huntress in training, then?" I ask, nodding at her bow.
"If they ever let me out," Arya grumbles before she catches herself. "S-sorry, Your Highness."
"It's fine, Arya. And who is this one?" I ask, looking at the wolf trailing behind her. It's impressive to know that despite its size, the direwolf isn't close to fully grown.
"Nymeria, she's called Nymeria," Arya explains, watching as I get onto one knee and hesitantly extend a hand toward the hound. I don't rush, letting Nymeria sniff my hand first to get used to my presence before I finally kneel down to stroke her soft fur.
"Nymeria? A strong name. She'll be a good hunting companion when you finally get out there," I praise, stroking the neck of the large hound. I'm not just flattering her, either. Honestly, I'm jealous. Arya perks up at that, clearly proud of her canine companion. "Since the wildlife have been spared your bow for today, I'll try to bring something back for you."
Giving her a grin and a wink, I pat the bow on my own back. She's still not thrilled at not being able to join us, but she gives me a curtsy (which was clumsy but somewhat charming), thanking me with a small smile.
The Starks have always been close to my father, and it's only natural that I continue that tradition. Spotting Joffrey watching us, I mentally sigh. Someone has to keep our families close, and I suspect that it won't be Joffrey despite his blushing betrothed.
He slips away with his Hound following him, running to tell on me to Mother, no doubt. I don't have a personal sworn shield of my own yet. When I was in Casterly Rock, my bodyguard was Addam Marbrand, a bannerman and heir of one of my grandfather's vassals.
Father disagreed with me having a sworn shield who held loyalty to the Lannisters instead of the crown and dismissed him when I returned. There are talks of Loras Tyrell becoming my sworn shield when he comes to King's Landing, along with my own betrothed, but we'll see.
The cynical side tells me that the Tyrells would have nothing to gain and plenty to lose should I die. If I died, the crown would go to Joffrey, and a Stark would become Queen instead of Margaery. If the Starks weren't known for their honour, I might be looking at them and wondering if I need to worry about a stray arrow during the hunt.
That's something Grandfather taught me. It's important to know who would gain from my misery or death, to know who I need to watch. Right now, there's just one that I think would enjoy seeing me fall in a hunting accident.
But he's short-sighted and running off to tell mummy that I'm out of bed and getting ready for a hunt.
"That girl's gonna be another Lyanna, just you wait. It's gonna take one hell of a man to handle her in a few years," Father laughs, getting a small chuckle from Eddard.
Whatever reminiscing they were about to do is cut off by the approach of the only thorn in this plan.
Mother doesn't look thrilled to see me dressed for the hunt, but as she looks between us, she immediately realises whose idea this was.
"My love, need I remind you that Orys was bedridden yesterday?" Mother starts, her tone clipped as she gives us both a scolding look.
"The lad's fine, Cersei. Look at him," Father says, patting me on the back. "The Northern air will do him good. You can't keep him bundled up in his room all his life. He's practically a man already."
"I'll be careful, Mother. This is a rare chance to hunt in the North," I say, maybe pleading a little as the little shit smugly grins at me from behind, happy that I'm in trouble. She turns her gaze back to me, displeased, but I can see her considering things before she sighs.
"I- Do not take any risks, Orys. You've never hunted in this environment, and the North isn't the Kingswood," Mother finally sighs. Father beams, slapping me on the shoulder as she turns to Uncle Jaime.
"Yes, I'll go with them. One Princesguard, ready to protect our dear crown prince from any Direwolves or White Walkers that have slipped past the wall," Jaime jokes, pre-empting her request before she can even speak.
"Robert, my love, if anything happens to Orys on this fool's errand, you might as well keep heading north and join the Watch because it will be paradise compared to what I'll do to you," Mother says, her tone quiet but deadly serious. "Same for you, Jaime. Bring my son back unharmed."
Jaime gives her a mocking bow, but my father is too excited for the hunt to mind her threats.
"Time to see what you've learnt with Father, Orys," Jaime teases. He taught me a little swordsmanship from time to time when I was younger, but I've always preferred the bow.
Despite the babying by my mother and teasing, I can't hide my excitement as we get ready to set out.
– Queen Cersei Baratheon –
Robert was right about one thing. Orys was already a man; her little baby had grown up so fast. She knew Orys somewhat resented her protective nature, but she couldn't lose him. She still remembered holding him when he was first born, the fever that had engulfed him.
All the maesters had said he would die, they told her that the worst was all but unavoidable. It was the first time she truly prayed. Despite their claims, her beautiful baby boy had pulled through.
Seeing him thrashing around in his sleep, sweating and clutching his head in pain, had brought those foul memories to the forefront of her mind. Who could blame her for worrying for her son now that she had him back?
She still resented her father for outmanoeuvring her to foster Orys away from King's Landing, meaning she only got to see him on rare occasions.
But he was back now, and while she resented him being taken away, perhaps it was for the best. Orys had turned into a mixture of his father and uncle, sharing their better traits while not gaining their flaws. He reminded her a lot of a younger Robert before his constant feasting had put on the pounds, but Orys didn't drink, or at least avoided ever drinking to excess. He was a serious boy, not the type who would follow his father's example and leave the running of the Kingdom to others.
But while he looked similar to a younger Robert Baratheon, there were clear signs of his Lannister blood as well. The elegance that he shared with Jaime was mixed with the more rugged handsomeness of his Baratheon blood.
Watching Joffrey scowl as the hunting party left, she compared the two brothers side by side. She was almost certain that Joffrey was Jaime's son, but… she would have thought a pure Lannister would have been more handsome than a Lannister mixed with Baratheon. Yet, Orys was the better of the two.
Myrcella had Robert's eyes, Tommen had black hair, and Orys was clearly Robert's son. Joffrey was the last piece of evidence of her former affair.
Orys' return had… alerted her to the issues she had been trying to avoid. Joffrey was not a good prince. She spoiled him to make up for her missing son, true, but side-by-side, the pairing had not left Joffrey looking in the best light. The final straw for her had been her overhearing Joffrey 'joking' about the illness killing Orys so he could be the new Crown Prince to his Hound. She could hear the hope and malice in his voice. Joffrey hated playing second fiddle and wanted Orys to die.
Seeing her children ill would forever be a deadly sore spot for her, and she would tolerate nobody 'joking' that one of her children should die to such a thing. Not even one of those same children.
For the briefest moment, her mind went back to that damnable old crone who had poisoned her mind with nonsense. Maggy the Frog had once claimed that she would have three children, that all three would wear the crown, and all three would die wearing the crown. Well, here she was with four children. Did Maggy know that one of her children would be illegitimate? That sent a shiver of fear through her because if so, then the prophecy may still be true… Maggy may have meant that Orys, Myrcella, and Tommen would each wear the crown and die wearing it, with her outliving them all.
Orys would wear the crown, and he would not die wearing it, no matter what it took. If she had to kill everyone but him, she'd do it. Nothing was taking Orys from her.
But she wasn't stupid; Orys would grow to hate her if she constantly controlled him in the hope of keeping him safe. He would be king one day, and who would respect a King who was coddled so much?
Not that it would stop her from worrying out in the barbaric North. Jaime was with him, and Stark would not risk a crown prince dying in his lands; he knew the price of such a failure. She reminded herself that Orys would be fine, that he was not a child anymore, and that he had been very patient and well-behaved.
– Orys Baratheon –
Moving with slow, methodical steps, I avoid the branches on the ground as I prepare my bow. A fox, recent. Something nice and safe, enough for me to be able to put some distance between my noisy entourage of Uncle Jaime and Lord Stark's men.
It's hard to explain how I feel as I embrace the pact I have made, moving in an almost trance-like state of tranquillity. I can hear my prey. I can smell my prey.
I have the arrow nocked before I even lay eyes on my target, my heart beating slowly. In the frozen woods, it's barely visible as the white-coated fox moves through the snow, head and tail down to hide its presence.
Hircine, guide my shot.
As I release the arrow, it whistles through the air at great speeds as it flies straight and true. It passes through the trees, the fox's head snapping up at the sound, but far too late as I land my shot.
A month ago, I'd have been awed by such a shot. I hear Jaime ask what I was shooting at. I just smile, warmth and satisfaction rushing through me as I run ahead for my trophy. Lifting it by the tail, I see Jaime stop in genuine shock as he spots the small fox that I just hit while it was camouflaged at an impressive distance.
It's not an impossible shot; a skilled marksman could repeat my feat. That said, with my youth, it certainly attracts some attention as the rest of the hunting party comes to see what the shouting was about.
"Ha, maybe that old lion did teach you more than just counting coins," Father laughs proudly, watching me carefully extract the arrow so as not to damage the pelt any more than necessary.
"An impressive shot, Your Highness," Robb agrees, giving me a nod. "I'm impressed you could even see it."
"I saw its tail moving," I explain, feeling a sensation of approval come from my pact. This is no deadly monster or legendary beast, but a hunt is a hunt. Small as this may be, it is enough to get a sliver of approval.
I feel the essence of the fox taken, claimed by the Hunting Grounds. It will live forever, now a part of Hircine's eternal hunt. Hircine throws me a bone, a flash of insight, as I hand the fox over to one of the servants.
Taking a deep breath of the fresh northern air, I catch a whiff of what I am here for. There's a true hunt here, a prey worthy of my first true hunt. I can hear my father boasting about my prowess, but even as he slaps me on the back, my mind is on the hunt.
"What is it, Orys?" Father asks, looking in the direction I am staring.
"Look, just past those trees. Tracks, large tracks. An elk, maybe?" I ask, moving forward and kneeling to examine the somewhat fresh tracks. "Mother would not want me to hunt something this large…"
As I say that, I place my own foot in the hoof-print, a grin growing on my lips. It's bigger than any elk track I've seen down south. We're downwind, its scent being blown toward us, but it could be miles further ahead.
"But you want to anyway," Father says, making me nod. "You're the Crown Prince, Orys. If you want to hunt, then hunt. If you want to drink, then drink. If you want to fuck, then fuck. Every time you obey your mother, she tightens her grip just a little more."
"You're not going alone. I might not be as light-footed as you, but if we let you run off into the woods by yourself, I might as well go and stick my head in a dire wolf's maw right now," Jaime says, making me nod. "Still, you're not a child anymore. Maybe it is better to show her that."
Taking a deep breath, I look in the direction of the tracks with a growing grin.
"I'm old and fat; I'd slow you down," Father laughs, patting his belly with a self-aware grin. "If you don't find it by the time the sun is coming down, give up the hunt. I want you back with the rest of us before the sun sets. Jaime, knock him out and carry him back if you have to."
– Jaime Lannister –
His father was a very talented man, but there was one thing he was absolutely sure of. Tywin did not teach Orys to hunt like this. His father was a hunter, but Orys was either a prodigy or he'd been very well trained, and he just couldn't see his father prioritising such a thing.
Orys was in his element, moving through the trees with far too much familiarity as he tracked his target. Had Orys even had a chance to hunt in the snow before? Again, he didn't think so, but Orys didn't seem put off at all.
Orys was completely silent as he moved, avoiding branches hidden beneath the snow as he gestured for Jaime to stop. They'd been tracking the elk for nearly two hours, not that Orys had stopped even once. He was determined to succeed in this hunt, and while he'd engaged in some small talk, it was clear that Orys was heavily focused on the task at hand.
"It's close," Orys whispered as Jaime looked around, decidedly not seeing the large elk they were looking for. This was why he preferred dealing with men, not beasts. "Stay back. Your armour makes too much noise."
"I can hardly defend you if something goes wrong if I'm not by your side," Jaime reminded his nephew, but Orys just smiled.
"I'm an archer. If things go wrong, I won't be so close to the beast that I can't flee back to you," Orys reasoned, bow drawn and ready as Jaime considered his options. There was something in the way Orys was standing that convinced Jaime, the confident stance and focused eyes. Nodding once, he put his hand on his sword as he watched Orys move forward slowly. Gods, Old and New, don't let this be a mistake.
Orys crept forward like a shadow, utterly silent as he made his way to some bushes and very slowly pushed his way through them. Orys had taken a detour earlier, claiming that they were approaching from the wrong angle and their scents would spook their prey.
As Orys moved further forward, Jaime's caution won out, and he started to move as well. Slow, careful steps as he tried to keep his eager nephew in sight.
He froze as he saw the first sign of their quarry, and immediately, he regretted agreeing to this. The hulking beast may share the vague shape of an elk, but he'd never seen one so big or muscular before. With a pure white coat, the massive beast was grazing, but Jaime's eyes were on the pale horns, spotting an unmistakable red staining them.
Orys wasn't deterred, and Jaime took one look at his face and realised that it was not the face of a teenager. There was something he was missing about Orys, but as he gripped his sword in preparation for jumping to Orys' aid, he made a single step forward.
The crack under his foot made his eyes widen, realising his mistake as the creature snapped its head up and let out a bellow. It had seen him, but more importantly, it had seen Orys, who was closer, and with a speed that no creature that large should move with, it began to charge.
Orys' eyes widened for the briefest of seconds before they narrowed in utter focus and determination as the wall of meat and muscle rushed toward him. Jaime also moved forward, but Orys just stood there.
He'd seen men freeze on the battlefield, usually right before they died. Orys was not frozen; he was waiting. The beast charged right at Orys, who still had an arrow ready, but instead of firing at the creature's head, Orys surprised them both.
Leaping backwards, Orys fell onto his back as the creature nearly charged over him, one of its giant hooves coming down right next to Orys' head as he let the arrow fly. Partially under the beast, there was no way he could miss, and the arrow struck hard as it pierced the beast's fur. It embedded itself in the dead centre of the beast's muscular front, stopped from going in too deep by the thick muscles, but Orys had clearly hit something as the beast let out a cry and stumbled.
His eyes widened, not stopping his charge as the creature lost its footing and tumbled over his nephew, who let out a groan of pain from having the massive body rolling over him. As he reached them, he stayed his blade as he realised something that truly shocked him. The beast was dead.
He looked down at the grinning Orys, winded but alive as he accepted the hand up.
"How-" Jaime started, making Orys chuckle.
"Every living creature has a heart, and most stop moving fairly quickly when you put an arrow in it," Orys explained. "Look at this beauty. Have you ever seen anything like it?"
"I was more focused on the way it was about to gore my nephew than its majesty," Jaime replied, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I should have stayed back."
"It's fine, honestly; I wasn't sure I could get a good shot from the side, so this worked out really well. I won't tell Mother it nearly crushed my skull if you don't?" Orys offered with an ecstatic grin, making Jaime pause before he laughed.
"Yeah, let's leave that part out of the story," Jaime agreed. He didn't like lying to Cersei, but he found the idea of explaining that he'd let Orys hunt a giant elk and almost get gored and crushed even less pleasant. Orys moved to the creature, examining its antlers with a fascinated look before he pulled out his hunting horn, blowing it loudly to signal their location. He was not looking forward to trying to get this monster back to Winterfell. Somehow, he was fairly sure that if he tried to get Orys to leave it, Orys would drag it back himself, even if it took a week. "How did you know where to aim? I don't think this is an elk."
"It isn't, but most creatures of the same type have similar weaknesses. A direwolf isn't a dog, but their parts are roughly in the same place," Orys explained, still examining the creature.
"And if you'd have been wrong?" Jaime asked, watching as Orys paused.
"Then it wouldn't be my problem anymore and you'd be heading north to change that white cloak for a black one," Orys teased, making Jaime pause before he sighed. Yeah, the Wall might just look cosy compared to heading back to Winterfell without Orys.
As Orys focused on his prize, Jaime looked at his nephew with a hidden frown. There was no way he'd learnt this in Casterly Rock.
– King Robert Baratheon –
As the party reached the clearing, he immediately thought two things.
The first was an expletive.
The second was that he should not have let his son go to hunt alone as he saw the sheer size and muscles of the dead beast. Orys was sitting on the body, which had a single arrow sticking out of its chest, a triumphant smile on his lips.
Orys was a humble bo- no, a humble man because if Robert had slain such a beast at Orys' age, he'd never have shut up about it. They'd have heard the boasting miles out.
"Father," Orys said with a respectful nod.
"How in the blazes did you bring this bastard down?" Robert asked, seeing Ned's shocked expression.
"With an arrow to the heart," Orys explained, patting the front of the creature where the sole arrow was. He couldn't see any other wounds on Orys' prey. There were no other arrow puncture wounds or sword slices that could contradict Orys' claim. Jaime just nodded, confirming Orys' story.
"A moose, this far south? And a damn large one at that," Rodrik Cassel muttered, and he heard another comment on the coat.
"A moose? Is that what this is?" Orys asked, looking at the moose as he rose to his feet.
"Aye, and one of the biggest I've ever seen," Ned agreed, looking over Orys' trophy. Maybe this would stop Cersei from mothering him so much. He'd grown into a damn fine man and didn't need his mother babying him. "It was charging before it collapsed. You hit its heart, mid-charge, with a single shot?"
Ned sounded in disbelief, examining the disturbed ground and surroundings.
"Impressive deduction, Lord Stark," Orys praised, nodding. "Yes, it was spooked and charged us, but I managed to strike true, and it fell quickly. A clean kill for such a majestic creature."
"He dove back as it charged him at the last damn second. Landed on his back and fired the arrow up into the beast's heart as it charged over him," Jaime added, his own disbelief obvious as he looked at Orys who just shrugged with a grin.
"I needed a good shot; if I'd dove to either side, it would have just turned and crushed me. Plus, it was faster than me," Orys explained easily. Looking at his son, Robert felt pride bloom in his chest as he threw an arm around his eldest with a cheer.
They'd managed to take down a pair of boars, but their haul paled compared to the legendary beast that Orys had slain. He'd make sure the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms heard of this deed, a start to Orys' own legend.
If he had his way, Orys wouldn't have to fight in any wars so it was good for him to build his reputation. It was certainly going to spread around the North as Ned's men and the servants whispered, turning into congratulations and praise being thrown Orys' way.
As they started making plans to get the massive bastard back to Winterfell (and the moose too), Robert frowned. He wasn't going to live forever. He ate and drank too much for that. Orys would be crowned sooner rather than later, and the fucking Targaryens were still out there.
He would not have his war come back to haunt his son.
– Orys Baratheon –
Well, I wanted the respect of the North, and I believe I've managed that one.
I know Hircine guided my shot, but only because I faced the threat head-on. If I'd fled, the moose would have become the hunter and I the prey; such is the way of the hunt. Instead, I faced it down. I aimed my bow. I fired that shot. Hircine just made sure that it pierced the thick muscles to hit my target.
Another lesson from grandfather. When you hunt something, put it down fast for both my sake and the sake of my prey. It took me a long time to realise he wasn't talking about animals.
Tonight was another night of celebrations, with myself as the guest of honour. Arya certainly liked her gift, the arctic fox I shot. They're going to make her a cloak from its pelt, and she's already wearing one of the fangs as a necklace. I'm fairly certain hugging the crown prince is against royal protocol, but she didn't seem to realise that, or maybe she just didn't care.
Father has decided that the moose is coming back with us, taxidermied to be put on display for all the Seven Kingdoms to know of my prowess. I kind of wanted to take its antlers for something, but I can get more.
There's been a lot of discussion over how it got this far south. Apparently, they're common on the other side of the wall but rare down here. Especially ones so large and with such a distinct coat. Their best guess is that it swam, as they are apparently far better at swimming than you'd expect.
I know better. It came from the Hunting Ground, released to be my prey. Our pact allows him to do that much. Some of the locals have already decided that the moose was an omen of some kind, too big and too striking to be a regular beast. Whether it is a good or bad omen is hotly contested. I've heard whispers that it was a messenger from the Old Gods and that a Southerner slaying it is a sign of bad things to come for the North. Still, it's just peasant talk and just as many see it as a good omen.
If nothing else, I established myself as one hell of a hunter.
Tomorrow, most of us set off for King's Landing. Lord Stark has accepted my father's offer, both of them. We have our newest Hand of the King, and Sansa is to be my sister-in-law. Mother is a mixture of emotions at the moment. She's furious that I was left to hunt something more or less alone; she's happy we're going home, and I don't think she approves of Sansa.
Uncle Tyrion is going further North to the Wall. I can't deny I'm curious, but who knows what he's up to?
My father hinted that I should take a Northern girl to my bedchambers tonight, so I can make some progress on 'making the eight' before I'm married. If I had chosen a different pact, I very likely would take his advice but I won't dishonour Margaery so easily.
As I look around the feast, my eyes linger on one of the Stark children. Brandon? No, just Bran, I think. I've never spoken to him, but I can sense it. The Prince of Paths said that my very presence is disrupting fate; everything I do is something that was not meant to happen, and no matter how small, that can have wide consequences.
Bran's fate has been altered; I can see the golden thread around him, weaving a new fate for him. This is what she wanted, I'm sure of it. Not Bran specifically, but she needs me for something, and I think it's related to those threads.
Relaxing, I take my mind off my pacts for a night. Well, I try. I feel the Prince of Hedonism whispering into my ear, offering another pact. All I'd have to do was enjoy myself; how easy is that? Power, for nothing more than a little revelry.
I'm not so naive as to not realise that when a deal seems too good to be true, it usually is. The thrill of the hunt was pure ecstasy to me, and while I've always enjoyed archery, it has never been to this scale. What changes would a pact with the Prince of Hedonism make?
As I'm speaking to Lady Stark, the Prince of Lust and Perversity continues to tempt and tease me. Visions of Lady Stark on her knees, showing the guest of honour some northern hospitality right here in the middle of the feast flash through my mind. I know it's just him poking fun at me, I can feel the Prince's amusement, but I also know he could do it.
With his power, he could send this rowdy feast into an orgy of depravity on a scale most could hardly comprehend. He just needs someone to let him in. I see myself entangled with the three female Starks, the entire hall filled with debauchery.
He whispers that with just a touch of help from him, I could have Sansa tonight. Joffrey's blushing bride-to-be, beneath me and calling out my name. Joffrey is scowling, even as Sansa tries to engage him in conversation, bitter that I'm the guest of honour.
The more I try to ignore him, the more he escalates. I can tell he finds poking fun at me entertaining as he shifts the vision, whispering into my ear. My mother doesn't see me as an adult, but with his help I could show her just how much of a man I've become. She says something to me, and for a moment, her figure shifts. Her expensive dress fades, revealing her nude body, covered in seed, the Queen looking like a well-used whore.
I don't have to push the whispers away, feeling the others take offence to his overt attempts at gaining a pact, dragging him away. Despite that, I can hear him laughing as they drag him off.
They've picked the wrong time to try and tempt me, anyway. I can feel my pact with Hircine growing stronger, only slightly. I've got a hint of approval from the Lord of the Hunt. The moose was hardly the legendary beast some make it out to be, but it's a start.
Getting an idea, I reach out to Hircine and ask him something. He pauses, considering my request before he agrees. As Arya bothers me for the story of the moose hunt again, I chuckle even as I reach out to her.
She was sad she missed out on the hunt, and it's not fair that someone with her potential is missing out because of her age or gender. As the night goes on, I watch her get sent to bed. Nearly an hour later, she finally falls asleep and I feel my idea go into effect.
Tonight, she'll dream of the hunt. I'll be joining her soon enough because when you dream of the Hunting Grounds, it isn't just a dream.
– Arya Stark – Days Later –
Watching the spoiled ass of a prince slice into Mycah's cheek, she felt her patience snap despite Sansa's shout as she moved forward. With one of the sticks she and Mycah had been pretending were swords in her hand, she moved to clobber the ass, striking the arm that was holding his sword.
Joffrey let out a cry of surprise, though she hardly hit him as hard as he deserved. Just enough to knock the sword away from her friend.
"You filthy little bitch!" Joffrey shouted, a scowl on his face as she backed away just in time for Joffrey's sword to swing through where she had been standing. He didn't let up, swinging wildly at her as she scurried away, ducking under a wild slash and trying to get away from the enraged prince. Tripping and falling onto her back, thanks to the stupid dress she was wearing, she watched as Joffrey moved forward with a hateful scowl, sword aimed at her.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Nymeria start to move, and she knew that if Nymeria even touched a prince, her companion would be killed. Going to shout out, she blinked as something flew over her head and struck Joffrey in the side of the face, knocking him back at the same time as a loud whistle briefly paused Nymeria's charge.
It was time enough for Arya to get up and move to her direwolf, calming her before Nymeria could maul Joffrey.
"What the hell is going on here?" Orys demanded, looking between them all as he stormed forward, Joffrey looking at him in shock and confusion.
"Y-you threw a rock at me," Joffrey said, clutching the side of his head where it was already bleeding in disbelief.
"You were swinging a real blade at the daughter of our new Hand. You're lucky I didn't put an arrow through your back," Orys replied, his tone as cold as the nights back home. "Now, somebody answer me. What in the seven hells is going on here?"
Arya went to speak before Sansa cut in first.
"Arya hit Joffrey first," Sansa said, making Arya turn to her sister in disbelief and betrayal.
"He was cutting Mycah for no reason, and I only knocked his arm away with a stick-" Arya shouted back, stepping forward before Orys gestured for her to stop. Reluctantly obeying, she reached up to stroke the fox fang she wore as an amulet as Joffrey went to speak.
"The butcher's boy was attacking my future sister-in-law. I was only-" Joffrey tried, silenced by a single look from Orys.
"Arya, start from the beginning. Tell me everything; don't leave out a single detail," Orys commanded, making her straighten up. He almost sounded like her father when he was angry, at least with the sheer sternness, and she obeyed instantly.
She told him how she'd convinced Mycah to practise sword fighting with her with some sticks. She kept going, explaining how Joffrey had arrived and tried to get Mycah to fight him, even though Mycah only had a stick and Joffrey had a real sword. Sansa went to defend her beloved, as Arya described Joffrey slicing into Mycah's cheek, but with a gesture, Orys silenced her.
Joffrey tried to speak up multiple times, but again, Orys shushed him. Joffrey's face was amusing as he got hushed, but she kept going, not leaving anything out. As she finished, he turned to Sansa.
"Has your sister forgotten anything or misremembered any details?" Orys asked, and for a moment, Sansa glanced at her future husband and went to speak, but Orys spoke again first. "Consider this an order from your Crown Prince; I want only the truth."
Sansa froze before she looked down and mumbled a 'No, Your Highness'.
"Mycah, was it? Come here," Orys ordered, making her friend hesitantly stumble forward. Given that he'd just been cut up by a prince, his hesitation was understandable, but Arya gestured for Mycah to join them. Orys wasn't like his creep of a brother.
Orys reached into his satchel, extracting some parchment. He wrote something on a small piece before pulling out a small pouch. Counting the gold dragons, he separated some and handed them over to Mycah along with the note.
"My apologies for my brother's actions, Mycah. The Gold Dragons are for you, an apology from House Baratheon. Hide them well. As for the note, take it to the camp and give it to the camp physician; he'll look at your wound," Orys explained, making Mycah bow and quickly thank Orys, who dismissed him. "Joffrey, you realise that if you were any less of a shit fighter and had actually managed to cut Arya for tapping you with a stick, you may have killed Lord Stark's daughter? Do you have any idea what that would do to the Seven Kingdoms? Do you even care?"
"I-"
"If the next words out of your mouth aren't an apology to Arya, I'm going to hit you,"
Orys' words were spoken in a soft, calm tone, but as Joffrey tried to protest, he proved that he meant them. The back of Orys' hand struck Joffrey's cheek, knocking him back as the baby whimpered.
"Now, Joffrey," Orys ordered, looking so much more like a prince than Joffrey ever could. "I won't ask again."
"I- I apologise, Stark. I overreacted," Joffrey spat out.
"Now, hand me your sword; you can't be trusted with it if this is how you're going to act," Orys ordered, eyes narrowing as Joffrey hesitated.
"It was a nameday gift from Mother. I don't have to-" Joffrey started, flinching back as Orys just reached forward and snatched it away.
"Oh, don't worry, we're going to go and see Mother now. Father too," Orys warned, making Joffrey go to respond before he stormed off. "What a mess."
"I, thank you, your highness," Arya said, trying to curtsy, but he just chuckled and ruffled her hair.
"You're welcome. It's the duty of an older sibling to deal with the younger's mess, and Joffrey does seem to like making messes," Orys chuckled, giving his brother's retreating back a dark look. "Come on, before he can try to lie his way out of this. Oh, and Sansa?"
"Y-yes, Your Royal Highness?" Sansa said, back straightening and face pale.
"I understand the desire to ingratiate yourself to your new betrothed but don't be so quick to turn on your family. It's an extremely unattractive trait and not one I want in my future sister-in-law," Orys warned, making Sansa go even more pale at the disapproval in his eyes.
As Orys followed his brother, Arya gave Sansa a dark look and quickly went after Orys.
– Shortly After –
"What in the seven hells were you thinking, boy?!" King Robert bellowed, the court deathly silent as he glared at his son. Joffrey stuttered something, pale with a bandage around his head.
"But- she hit me, and Orys could have killed me with that rock-"
"It was barely bigger than a pebble; it was meant to distract, not seriously harm you," Orys said bluntly, standing beside his father.
"Gods be willing, maybe it knocked some sense into you. I swear by the Seven; I'll have your sword smelted into a cane just so I can beat you with it myself if you step out of line even once on the way back," the King warned, face red.
Joffrey had tried to lie, but it was his word against theirs. Surprisingly, it was four against one as Mycah was questioned, and Sansa backed up her story this time.
The Queen was silent, looking between her two sons as the King took several deep breaths before turning back to her.
"You weren't harmed?" King Robert asked, and she quickly shook her head.
"No, Your Grace," Arya replied quickly. "Joffrey isn't very good."
She couldn't help but add the last part, getting an exasperated look from her father for it, but King Robert actually laughed, just a little.
"Thank the Gods. Orys, you believe he was truly trying to hurt her?" King Robert asked, making Orys nod grimly.
"I had a clear line of sight. If Arya had been slower to dodge back, he'd have sliced her throat with the first attack, and he just kept swinging," Orys agreed, arms crossed and Joffrey's sword at his waist. Her father looked toward Joffrey at Orys' words, anger clear in his eyes even as he held his tongue.
"Joffrey, you are not to be given a sword again until I say otherwise. If anyone sees Joffrey with a weapon of any kind, it is to be confiscated," King Robert finally said, and Joffrey went to speak up. "I'm not done, boy. When we get back to King's Landing, your true punishment will start. For now, be thankful that I'm letting you use a knife at the dinner table; I've half a mind to have the maids use your cutlery for you as well since you clearly can't be trusted with anything more dangerous than a wooden spoon."
Joffrey turned red at his father's words, blotchy cheeks darkening as he turned a glare toward Orys for just a moment.
"Stop that, boy. If Orys hadn't been there, if you'd actually cut Ned's girl, things would be far worse for you. If you'd hurt, or Gods forbid, killed Ned's daughter, I'd have sent you back up North to take the Black. Hound, take Joffrey to his room. He isn't to leave until I come to get him myself," the King ordered, making Joffrey's massive bodyguard nod. "What a fucking nightmare. Sorry your girls got caught up in this, Ned."
"I'm sorry your boys did too, Your Grace," her father replied, turning and giving Orys a thankful nod. Orys gave him a small nod back.
As she looked up at Orys, she smiled shyly at him as he gave her a wink. Orys was everything a Prince should be, reminding her of the Princes and knights from the storybooks.
"Drop the bullshit. My boy caused this whole fucking mess. Orys, next time, use a bigger rock," the King grumbled, making Orys' lips twitch slightly. She let out a sigh of relief as things seemed to be over, the tension starting to bleed out of the room.
Orys was quickly grabbed by his mother, but they made eye contact for just a moment and she mouthed a thank you to him. Sansa and Joffrey hadn't seen Nymeria, but Orys had. He'd seen Nymeria going for Joffrey, that's why he'd whistled.
She didn't want to think about what would have happened if he had mentioned that, but he'd left that little detail out of the retelling. Her hand came to touch the fox fang again, even as she followed her father away from the court.
Being sent to bed, she was soon asleep as she dreamt of hunting through endless forests with Nymeria at her side.