One Lion Among The Black Herd

[Edric's POV, 1st]

After days of riding with hardly any breaks in between, we entered the Crossroads Inn. Even though I wasn't particularly weary, most of the men accompanying me were. They deserved a night with warm food and featherbeds. 

"Your Grace..." The Innkeeper, Darrel, lowered his head. "I will prepare rooms for each of your companions at once."

"It will be well appreciated." I smiled, leaving ten gold dragons on the table. "Keep the change."

"You are too kind, Your Grace." Darrel humbly accepted the lucrative tip. "Make yourselves comfortable. If there is anything you need, simply say the word."

"Some ale would be appreciated." I nodded, my stomach rumbling as I caught the wondrous sniff of sweet cakes. "And food... lots of food."

We took up a good portion of the inn, eating and drinking our fill. Arya stared daggers at the Hound occasionally, excessively stabbing her food.

"You ordered ale, but you don't drink the fucking thing." The Hound observed as I had water instead.

"You know what happens when I get drunk." I chuckled, passing it on to him. "On the bright side, there's more for you."

"More for me." He nodded, grabbing the cup and chugging it greedily. 

"Lads, don't be shy." I looked at Dallin and Ragnor, the two surviving young men from Mistwood who had joined me. "Eat and drink as much as you like. It's your reward for the courage and strength you both showed at Mistwood and all the battles before that." 

Though hesitant, they accepted my gift and loosened up. They took my words a little bit too much to heart... and got supremely drunk. They danced, smiled and laughed for hours. Truth be told, it was nice to see them cheerful. The death of their three 'brothers' had not been easy for them to accept.

"My beautiful lady - I, Ragnor, the Great Slayer of Stone Crows and the most handsome man to ever come from Mistwood, declare my undying love for you!" You are so, so, soo beautiful... and long... and tall!" Ragnor 'grandly' approached, stumbling his way forward. "You are a tree that I'd... hiccup... like to climb!"

"Gods, you are piss-drunk." Alisha, one of the whores laughed, pushing him back.

He tripped and dramatically fell to the ground as if he had suffered the greatest betrayal of a lifetime. Not even seconds later, he began snoring. I chuckled, shaking my head. 

"So much for Ragnor the Great!" Dallin laughed. "Hahaha.... he is out cold with one push!"

"Forgive Ragnor's vulgar words." Arthur looked at the woman, smiling. "He is usually shy around women... but it seems that the beast within stirs when you put ale in its stomach."

"Oh, no... he was amusing if anything." She shook her head.

I saw Arya reaching out to one of the cups of ale, but I grabbed her hand.

"What?" She raised an eyebrow. "I just want to see how it tastes."

"A little lady shouldn't drink." I shook my head. "Water is all you need."

"Fine... I'm going to sleep." I let go, and Arya stood up and walked upstairs.

In the end, I didn't stick to just water. I cheated a little and had some ale myself. Not too much... but just about enough to loosen up and enjoy the night.

"Do any of your men... need additional company?" Darrel cupped his hands together.

"Eh..." I shrugged. "I'd say Ragnor, but he's fast asleep on the floor."

"I'll have one of the less ugly ones." The Hound stood up, towering over Darrel. 

"... Of course." Darrel gave him a nervous smile. "Have your pick. I am sure the lucky woman will be honoured to sleep with the famous Hound."

He didn't give a reply, walking past him.

Some time ago, I definitely would've stepped in and cock-blocked him.

However, now, I don't find myself caring that much. The Hound had served me faithfully for quite some time now, and, as any man, he had his needs. Given his half-burnt face, getting someone to sleep with him without added incentive wasn't a common occurrence. So... he frequented whores. 

At the very least, she will get paid... and, if they do it in darkness, she could imagine a tall, strong, handsome knight taking her from behind. In Sandor's case, two were true. I'm sure he's far from the worst of her clients.

I didn't linger around for too long, preparing for tomorrow. I recalled Arya's distaste for the Hound before going to rest... which had been silently prevalent throughout our journey. Before going to sleep, I checked up on her.

"You have history with my Hound?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

"I hate him." Arya frowned, sitting on her bed. "One day, I'll kill him."

"... Is that so?" I chuckled. "You have a way to go before that."

"It's not funny!" She stood up, a fire lighting up in her grey eyes.

I raised an eyebrow. 

"I don't understand why you have a dog like that following you around. He's a monster. He killed Mycah."

"Who is Mycah?" I blinked as a confused expression washed over me. I knew who it was... but obviously I had no right knowing.

"He was my friend. We used to practice sword-fighting and explore everywhere along the way to Darry... until Joffrey and Sansa got involved. Joffrey hurt him, then we got into a fight and... the Hound rode him down after that. I had to send away my direwolf because it bit Joffrey, and I was scared they'd kill it."

She looked sorrowful, which was not common for her.

"If I never got involved with him... he would still be alive. Part of it is my fault."

"It's not your fault or Mycah's." I reassured her, shaking my head. "Joffrey's a cunt, and so was Cersei. The Hound... he's a monster, yes, but he's a dutiful dog that doesn't bite unless ordered to by his master. Whichever of them it was, the Hound was just following orders-"

"That... doesn't make it any better." She frowned, shaking her head. "He still killed him. An innocent boy."

"Killing the Hound won't bring him back."

"But he'll pay for it." Arya raised an eyebrow. "You are the King... aren't you? Shouldn't you be just?"

"The world isn't black and white as you think, Arya." I sighed, looking directly at her. "To me, Mycah is just some dead boy, and the Hound is one of the strongest fighters in all of the Seven Kingdoms who was just following his orders."

"Some King you are." She stared daggers up at me.

"Yes... I'm a monster, too." I admitted, patting her head. "But you knew that already."

She moved back, sliding off my hand. Strangely, she didn't speak. A conflicted expression mirrored her heart.

"Wasn't your father Hand of the King... why didn't he judge Sandor for his supposed crime? He was a man of unquestionable honour who always did the right thing."

"... I don't know-"

"I'll tell you why... he just wasn't important enough. It was a direct order from the royal family, and they likely spun the truth to make it seem that he attacked Joffrey. If the Hound didn't kill him, someone else would." I explained, shaking my head. "Our world is cold and uncaring to those without a name. I know this much... after all, I grew up as a bastard among trueborn lords and ladies. I'd imagine it's far worse as a common lad."

"..."

"Now, if you found a new friend and the Hound killed him for no valid reason, I'd have his head on a spike the same day. But... that previous incident has nothing to do with me."

I stated, turning away.

"So... what?" She questioned. "Am I supposed to just forgive him for killing my friend?"

"If you want, I can hand Joffrey to you, and you can beat him all day long." I glanced back, smiling slightly. "He is likely the one who gave the order... your grudge is with hi-"

"I want to." She replied without hesitation.

"In turn, you won't foolishly try to kill the Hound."

"... Fine." She crossed her arms after hesitating for a moment. No doubt, the thought of beating Joffrey was enticing. "All day long... remember."

"You're a vicious little thing." I chuckled. "I pity my future self."

She smiled slightly. "You're stuck with me."

"... Aye, I am. Have a good night."

I turned away and went to my room. It was still somewhat uncomfortable for me to be promised to a little girl... but I couldn't just ignore her. Though, she was more of a little sister to me than someone I'd have any romantic interest towards.

[Jaime Lannister's POV, trying something different in terms of style.]

The further along Jaime was dragged North, the more he came to regret his decision. 

That little bastard prince spoke such sweet words, saying precisely what I had wanted to hear, Jaime thought. How could I have fallen for it all? Are his words magic as well... or am I just another fool?

Here he was, the famed Kingslayer, in the freezing cold in the middle of nowhere with forty Northmen escorting him. He had no father, no mother, no sister and no lover—only shit for honour and a black cloak awaiting him.

But I was alive, Jaime thought, thanks to the mercy of the same boy who had made it his life's goal to crush House Lannister. The same boy I had knighted. How remarkable and prodigious he was… until we fought on separate sides.

Why had he spared me? Jaime questioned himself. Was it the awe and admiration he had? Despite everyone seeking my head, he fought against it. He should have raised his Warhammer for my head and avenged his loving father.

Jaime looked down, feeling weary of it all. He was a man with nothing left... just letting the rushing waves of life take him. He didn't even have the will to put an end to it.

"Castle Black is not too far now, Kingslayer."

They were taking a short break in a makeshift camp after riding for quite some time.

"And what will happen then?" Jaime questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think a hundred petty thieves and rapists trained by upjumped knights could stop me once I have a sword in my hand?"

"Mayhaps not." The Northman shrugged. "But where will you run to, Kingslayer? Your imp brother is half the Seven Kingdoms away, and all you have are enemies for hundreds of leagues. You would be rode down like a common dog before you even go past Winterfell."

"I have nothing to lose," Jaime replied, smirking slightly. "You do."

The man punched him right in the face.

"Ts..." Jaime spit onto the ground. "You hit like a woman."

"Is that what you and your whore sister were into?" One of the other Northmen laughed. 

"..." Jaime frowned deeply, clear furry flashing in his emerald eyes.

"Look at that; you made the Kingslayer upset!" Another chuckled. "He's going to go and cry to his father... oh, he's dead, isn't he? Hahahahaha."

Give me a sword, Jaime thought. I'd only need a single moment to slit all of your cunt throats open.

"You wouldn't be laughing if you didn't have forty bastards behind you." Jaime countered, tilting his head slightly.

"His Grace did want you with a black cloak... but Lord Robb wants you dead - buried in the snow." The one who had started insulting him smiled. "Which do we, as men of the North, follow?"

"The King, naturally." Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"... That is funny coming from a Kingslayer. Did your Kings tell you to kill them before you drove your sword into their chests?"

"Robert asked for it when he came for my head," Jaime replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Heh... though the King wants you as man of the Watch, he didn't quite specify if he wanted you whole."

"..." Jaime blinked, watching as the man drew an axe.

"I think we ought to take your precious right hand."

"You..."

"No one will cry for you here, Kingslayer."

They forced his hand onto a log and prepared to cut right through it.

Whooosh...

CLUNG.

They struck wood. Jaime's horrified expression faded almost instantly as he realised his hand was still there.

"... HAHAHAHAHA, would you look at his face!?"

"The Kingslayer was about to shit gold like his father!"

"Maybe we should've scared him a bit more... I'd like some gold."

"..." Jaime didn't say anything, breathing a silent sigh of relief. This fear... he realised that he still had something that he valued—his skill. The very thing he prided himself on since he could swing a sword.

"Unlike you, we are the King's men." The northman remarked. "We can follow simple orders, fortunately for you. But... that doesn't mean you can walk away unharmed."

They proceeded to roughen him up before continuing the journey north.

...

When Jaime finally reached Castle Black, the northmen didn't linger around and rode south. They left him to the Brothers of the Night's Watch, who mocked him most of all. He was an easy target, hated by everyone. The fact that he possessed skills that they could only dream of and was the famous son of Tywin Lannister only fed this hatred.

A place where a common thief mocks a Lion, Jaime thought with disdain. The Night's Watch.

"Welcome to the Night's Watch, Kingslayer." Bowen Marsh, the Lord Steward and Castellan of Castle Black, stated. "You are seventeen years late... but you are finally home. Let's not waste much time and see if you are who they say."

"You would test me?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. "The best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Aye... you are no better than anyone else here. Your Lannister name means nothing nor anything you did before. I will judge you on your performance today."

Jaime was pitted against the best fighters Castle Black had to offer, bar the deserters and the rangers who went North of the Wall. He defeated them all swiftly with powerful and quick blows. Despite being wounded and in overall poor condition, he was still Jaime Lannister.

"Mayhaps I should be the one training them," Jaime remarked. "I never thought much of the Night's Watch... but this truly is laughable."

"These men will be your brothers soon enough, Kingslayer. You would do well to keep your snarky remarks to yourself." Bowen advised.

Your brothers, Jaime thought scornfully. I only have one brother... and he sits comfortably as Lord of Casterly Rock.

"Or...?" Jaime tilted his head.

"I cannot protect you from what may happen."

Bowen had been right... Jaime got his ass beat in the night by an onslaught of Night's Watch members. He slept on the ground, defeated and bound, with no man willing to help him. He ended up madly laughing at his own misery.

The door to the chamber, with Maester Aemon slowly walking inside.

"In all my years... I never thought a Lannister would wear a black cloak."

"... I have yet to wear one." Jaime countered. "I will not, either. I would sooner kill every man here."

"To be so young, proud and confident..." Aemon walked slowly with the help of his cane, following Jaime's voice. "You've lost a great many things in your years, yet you still have strength. The Night's Watch will need that strength, your sword, in the Winter to come..."

"... Will it?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Tell me... how can I swing a sword with my arms bound?"

"And why are you bound, Ser Jaime?" Aemon questioned.

"The envy and hatred of black sheep." 

"True enough..." Aemon nodded. "You think nothing of Night's Watch and even less of its brothers. The more you hold them in disdain, the more they will hate you."

"Let them hate me." Jaime laughed, tilting his head. "What do I have left to lose?"

"You might believe that you have nothing to lose, but you still have much to gain." Aemon countered. "The best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, some say..."

"Wouldn't it be a pity if such a man died rusting away in the snow?"

"..." Jaime lowered his head. Yes, he still had his sword arm. But what for?

"True Lions lead, Ser Jaime. They do not hold those beneath them in contempt. You could do a great deal with your abilities... you only need the will."

Jaime watched as Aemon slowly left. He closed his eyes and just went to sleep.

Lions lead, Jaime thought. How could I not hold these dregs in contempt?

~

After a long ride, Edric Storm arrived at King's Landing under the morning sun. His black shadowskin cape, which he had looted from one of the mountain clansmen leaders, adorned his armour. He had an imposing presence, his stag horns drawing the eyes of all who saw him. His white falcon, which he had named Freedom, flew above him.

His Kingsguard rode along, along with his Mistwood squires, the Hound, Garlan Tyrell, Melisandre and Arya Stark.

Edric didn't waste much time reaching the Red Keep, riding straight for it. He had gathered quite a crowd of inspired smallfolk who wanted to see him off. It was not every day you saw the King return from a long adventure.

"Your Grace." The guardsmen bowed.

Edric nodded, smiling at them.

He opened the doors to the great hall.

'Wonder what's been happening in my absence...'