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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27883 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
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“Help! Somebody help!” Arya shouted.
Arya screamed and sobbed, refusing all efforts to console her. “He is not going to die! He can’t die. He’ll be alright. You’ll see.” She snapped, glaring at the Lannister soldiers and maesters rushing about the chamber.
Her face was streaked with tears, her skin pale. Arya stood up and rushed over as Kevan Lannister walked into the room, a grave look on his face as he considered his brother, unconscious on the bed.
“How is he?” Kevan asked her, but it was Tyrion who responded.
“Pycelle says that the blade missed his vital organs, but the wound is deep, and he lost a lot of blood. He lost consciousness and Pycelle says that given his advanced age, he is unsure when or if he’ll awaken.” Tyrion looked at his uncle for a moment.
“Did you find out anything? Was the knife poisoned? Who was he? Who sent him?” Arya asked, interrupting the pair.
Kevan shared a look with Tyrion who nodded his head. Turning to face her, Kevan replied, “We haven’t yet determined who he was or who sent him, but we have run what tests we could on the knife and given the nature of the assassin we’re reasonably certain the knife wasn’t poisoned. Tywin’s fate lies in the hands of the Seven now.”
Arya looked at him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. “Given his nature?” What does that mean? Do you know who he is then?” she asked.
Kevan considered her for a moment. “Some of the Lannister guards who apprehended him recognized him from their time in Harrenhal. It was one of King Robert’s bastards. A tall lad, strong too. Dark hair and blue eyes.”
Gasping, Arya stifled a sob. “Gendry…” she breathed.
Exchanging looks, Kevan and Tyrion considered her. “Do you know the boy then, my lady?” Kevan asked.
Nodding, Arya replied, “We were traveling companions until we were taken prisoner and brought to Harrenhal. I never imagined that he would do something like this though. How did he get inside the tower?” She asked.
“We’ll go confront him with what you’ve told us, my lady. For now, try and calm yourself. I’ll have Pycelle bring some dream wine.” Kevan said before leaving, Tyrion following closely behind.
Outside in the hall, Tyrion turned to face Kevan. “A traveling companion? Perhaps he was trying to protect her. Still, she raised a good question. How did he get so far inside the Red Keep and penetrate the Tower of the Hand?” Tyrion asked.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
The day had come at last. Her dreaded wedding to Balon Greyjoy. Cersei swallowed her fears, determined not to let them show. About her in her chambers a few ladies’ maids bustled about, finishing the final preparations for her wedding. They had dressed her in what could hardly be called a gown. A simple affair of grey and blue linen. It wasn’t much but it would have to do, she supposed, since it was the custom for weddings in the Iron Islands to take place on the banks of the ocean, where their drowned god dwelled.
Once finished they left her alone with her thoughts for a few minutes until a sharp knock on the door broke her out of her stupor. Stepping forward, Cersei opened the door. Standing there was Yara Greyjoy, dressed in her custom blue attire. She nodded and looked to Cersei.
“I see you’re ready. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.” She said, holding out her hand for Cersei. Taking her hand, Cersei followed Yara through the corridors to the entrance hall and out along a narrow path leading through the keep, towards a small sandy beach.
Waiting at the shore, stood Balon Greyjoy in his long grey robes, surrounded by his bannermen and one of the drowned priests. Yara led her to the banks of the ocean where Balon and the priest joined her. The priest bound their hands and they recited their oaths before the drowned god. The wedding ceremony done, they were led back to the Great Hall of Pyke where they enjoyed a feast of grilled fish, stews and fresh baked bread and ale. The hall was filled with boisterous laughter as they all took their seats, servants passing out platters of food and pitchers of ale. Seated beside Balon Greyjoy at the high table, Cersei felt her stomach churn, completely on edge. “Dear Gods. How am I to get through this?” She anxiously wondered.
After the feast, when everyone was drunk, the feast ended as the hall filled with shouts. “Bed. Bed. To bed with them. Time for the bedding.”
Cersei shuddered, swallowing as her nerves frizzed, her mind a tumble, her stomach twisting itself into knots. Had she managed to eat anything, she might have been sick. Standing, she let the men carry her off to the lord’s chambers, while the women led Balon Greyjoy away. Arriving at the bedchambers the pair were stripped and tucked into the bed, the curtains drawn as they crowded around the bed.
Turning to lay on her back, Cersei closed her eyes, praying it would end soon. She tried to will herself away inside, as Balon Greyjoy moved over her, hands pushing her thighs open.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Roose Bolton sat in the great hall at Winterfell, the ancient seat of House Stark. The direwolf sigil had been removed from nearly every surface of the holdfast, replaced with the flayed man of House Bolton. Sipping his Hippocras, Roose surveyed the men gathered before him. The prisoners bound before him were the last of the Iron Islanders still in the north. They had been rooted out of Moat Cailin by Theon Greyjoy on Ramsay’s orders, shortly before his death. There were about forty of them, bound and forced to kneel. Roose considered them for a moment, trying not to breathe too deeply.
They were a ragged, filthy lot. Mostly sick, injured and weak soldiers that the main force had abandoned when they returned to the Iron Islands. “It appears the Crannogmen have made sport of a few of them,” He briefly thought, recognizing some of their maladies.
They smelt like they hadn’t bathed in weeks, which they probably hadn’t. Roose thought for a moment, before speaking, voice completely void of any emotion. “You have been charged with invading the North, raiding its towns and villages, kidnapping, killing and raping innocent people. As punishment for your crimes, you will each be castrated and placed on a ship to sail back to the Iron Islands.” He said, ignoring the desperate pleas and begging of the Iron Islanders as his men closed in around them, dragging them off to the keep outside.
After they were led away, Roose Bolton turned to face the man standing to his left. “Maester Luthor, I have decided to go to the aid of the men of the Night’s Watch. I will lead a small force of 5,000 Bolton men to the wall to assist Lord Commander Snow in driving off the Wildling forces advancing South. I want you to dispatch riders to all the surrounding villages to conscript troops.”
The Maester bowed low, his heavy chain clanging. “As you wish, my lord.” He replied.
Still not finished, Lord Bolton continued to speak. “While I’m gone, you will manage things here at Winterfell in my absence. Forward any vital messages to me at the Wall.” The Maester nodded his head in reply, once more.
Turning, Lord Bolton addressed the Steward to his left. “I want you to begin stockpiling supplies, weapons, food, horses, wagons, etc., in preparation for the campaign.”
The steward bowed low and nodded. “Of course, my lord. I shall prove worthy of your trust.”
Walking off, Lord Bolton left the hall to gather his things. Walking through the upper corridors, he ignored the servants who scattered at his approach, hastily disguising angry glares. “So, what if they didn’t like him. Few people did. So long as they obeyed him. He may have to remind them at some point who was in charge but for now, he’d let them be,” He decided. Reaching the Lord’s chambers, he pushed open the door, stepping inside.
Walking inside, he crossed the room heading towards the large wardrobe to select some of his warmer clothing for the journey. It was sure to be much colder at the wall than here in Winterfell. Searching through his closet he pulled out several thick woolen shirts and a few pairs of breeches, his cloak lined with wolf fur and a pair of thick fleece lined gloves. Closing the closet door, he crossed the room again, intent on stowing the clothing into a small trunk at the foot of his bed. Upon opening the trunk, he paused, setting the clothing on the bed before sitting. Reaching into the bottom of the trunk he pulled out a small silver pendant. Opening the clasp, he started as he saw the face of his first wife. Heart panging with grief at her loss, he closed the locket and dropped it back inside the trunk.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Jaime hastily surveyed the situation, studying his enemies. “Soldiers from the Vale.” He realized. Swearing under his breath he set about, preparing to meet the enemy head-on.
Nearby his captains rode up and down behind the men, issuing orders, the officers and troops hastily moved into formation, panicking as the sudden enemy onslaught hemmed them in.
“Steady, steady. Don’t panic, men. Push them back!” A captain shouted.
Turning to face his cousin, Jaime tugged on Stafford’s arm. “Listen, there are only a few thousand of them. They don’t have enough men to withstand a real battle. Their goal is to free the prisoners. Take your men and go to reinforce Ser Gregor’s troops.”
Nodding, Stafford Lannister turned to obey, but paused and looked back over his shoulder. “What about you, cousin? You’re still not fully recovered from your time in Riverrun’s dungeons. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.
Jaime laughed and nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll lead things here.” He said. With that Stafford left and Jaime turned to face the enemy. Grabbing his horse’s reins with one hand and wielding his sword in the other, Jaime rode out into the fray, sword swinging and slashing, parrying blows and cutting down enemies as his horse reared, kicking out at any enemy that got too close.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
The Blackfish advanced, his broadsword in one hand and his shield in the other as he pivoted, ducking a swing of the Mountain’s massive sword, his shield moving quickly to block an arrow from one of the Mountain’s archers. Nearby his bowmen fired missiles at the Mountain, that was deflected by his heavy armor. He ducked another blow by the Mountain and turned intent on attacking him from the side but the Mountain roughly pushed past him in a rage, heading for the bowmen who quickly scattered. Taking advantage of the distraction, the Blackfish rushed him from behind, aiming a blow for a weak point in one of the Mountain’s exposed knees. The hard steel sunk deep into flesh as the Mountain howled in fury and pain, lashing out around him with his sword.
Brought down by the pain of his injury and the weight of his armor, the Mountain stumbled, falling to one knee on the ground as the Blackfish closed in, the Mountain’s men now frightened away, fleeing at the imminent defeat of their leader. The Mountain swung out with his sword, but the Blackfish, with some effort, managed to parry the strike, knocking the sword away. He raised his blade ready for the deathblow when a loud voice shouted and made him pause.
“Hold there, old man. I shall fight you now.” Stafford Lannister roared, his men following up behind him as he raced forward to block the Blackfish’s attack and reinforce the Mountain.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Jaime was breathing hard, sweat dripping into his eyes as he parried a blow from one of the Knights of the Vale. The lad had some skill, he grudgingly admitted. Had he been fully recovered from his ordeal in the dungeons of Riverrun, he would have been able to make quick work of the lad. Exhausted and reaching his limit, Jaime did his best to remain calm as he blocked a vicious thrust from the lad’s sword.
“Nice try, kid. But you’re going to have to do better than that. Even on my worst day, I’m still leagues above you, fool.” Jaime taunted him, hoping to make him angry so he’d slip up.
The lad said nothing, his jaw set firmly as he glared at Jaime, refusing to take the bait. He rushed forward, following up his thrust with a slash to the right but again the Kingslayer managed to block him.
“Come on, kid. Surely you can do better than that.” Jaime laughed, easily dodging him when a nearby Lannister soldier stumbled into him while busily engaged in his own fight, causing Jaime to lose his balance. Swearing and reaching out to blindly to right himself he screamed as a sudden blinding pain shot up his left arm. He looked down, seeing a bloody stump where his hand had been. Swinging out blindly through the pain, he landed a lucky blow against the kid who had been just as surprised by his lucky blow as Jaime. The lad fell dead on the soft grass and Jaime fell to his knees in agony, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his stump.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
The Blackfish swore under his breath, turning to face his new opponent as the Knights of the Vale rushed to take on the enemy reinforcements. The battle was raging fiercely, Stafford Lannister’s youth and speed making up for the Blackfish’s skill and experience. Further up the column, a horn sounded and the Lannister forces cheered, having driven off the enemy soldiers. Cursing them, the Knights of the Vale retreated dragging the Blackfish along behind them before the now victorious Lannister troops could turn their attention towards them. Regrouping, the Lannister forces took stock of their losses. None of the prisoners had escaped but they had lost over 200 men and dozens more were wounded along with a number of their horses. Most devastating of all was Jaime Lannister.
Stafford Lannister rushed back to the front of the column, spirits soaring in his victory only to pale when he saw his cousin. Jaime Lannister, sat perched on a camp stool, a Maester bandaging the bloody stump where his off hand once was. Jaime swore under his breath, ducking his head as his cousin approached.
“Dear gods, Jaime. What happened?” Stafford asked, kneeling beside him and unstrapping his helmet.
“Its nothing. I just wasn’t quick enough and my opponent landed a lucky blow.” Jaime replied though he didn’t appear quite so confident now.
“But Jaime, you’ve lost your hand…” Stafford said.
“So, I’ll just use the other hand. It’s nothing.” He said.
TBC
Author’s note. In the next chapter, we’ll learn the fate of Tywin. Jaime recovers in King’s Landing. Sansa arrives at the Eyrie. Roose Bolton arrives at the Wall and meets face to face with Jon Snow. Lysa and Petyr learn of the Blackfish’s actions during their absence. And Cersei…well, you’ll either sympathize with her predicament, be indifferent or continue to hate her. Either way, Cersei will always be a villain in this story, but in the next few chapters, we’ll see her trying to influence her new husband for good or ill.
- 14
- 15
- 16
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl