Arya found herself lifted onto a horse by a man, though she remained wary.
"A friend of my father? Then why don't I know you?"
Samwell, noticing the keen, gray eyes of the young girl, smiled and replied, "Your name is Arya Stark, right?"
"Yes. And yours?"
"My name is Samwell Caesar, Lord of Eagle Nest."
Although Arya had never heard of the House Caesar or Eagle Nest, the man's noble attire and his refined manners seemed reassuring. Gradually, she lowered her guard.
"Are you going to take me back?"
"Yes. Otherwise, your father will worry."
"But… if I go back, he'll be angry with me…"
"Because you injured Prince Joffrey, right?"
"Yeah."
"Don't worry. Kids fighting is perfectly normal."
"He started it!" Arya insisted. "I kept telling him I didn't want to fight, but he wouldn't stop, so Nymeria bit him."
"I believe you." Samwell nodded understandingly. "Prince Joffrey likes to throw his weight around and can be petty, running to tattle about the slightest offense."
"Exactly! All I said was I didn't like the Queen. How is that an insult? He ran off to tell the King and Queen! It's so unfair!" Arya fumed.
"Well, that's the Lannisters—proud and touchy." Samwell chuckled. "I don't like them much either."
"Really?" Arya's opinion of Samwell instantly improved.
"Of course. A Lannister once stole my wife." Samwell put on an exaggeratedly aggrieved expression.
Nothing bonds people faster than a common enemy.
"The Lannisters are so horrible!" Arya exclaimed in solidarity. Then her eyes lit up, and she said, "Lord Caesar, why don't you marry my sister? Then she won't have to marry that nasty Joffrey!"
Samwell burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm just a humble lord. I don't dare steal a bride from a Prince."
Arya scrunched her face in frustration. "Why are all the good people never the ones who get to be princes? And it's Joffrey who's the prince…"
Samwell ruffled her hair playfully and asked, "Where's your wolf?"
"I sent Nymeria away... otherwise, they would've killed her," Arya mumbled, bowing her head. Her eyes began to glisten with tears.
Samwell sighed, realizing that Nymeria the wolf hadn't escaped her sad fate of banishment after all. He couldn't help but wonder if this "little wolf" in front of him would follow the same path her character had in the original story.
"Nymeria is a beautiful name," he complimented, carefully choosing his words. "Do all of your siblings' wolves have names?"
"Yes! Robb's is named Grey Wind, Jon's is Ghost, Sansa's is Lady, and Rickon's is Shaggydog. And Bran…"
Samwell's eyes narrowed slightly. "What about Bran's?"
"Bran hasn't decided on a name yet..." Arya's mood darkened further. "He fell from a tower, and we still don't know if he's woken up…"
So it had happened after all.
Samwell mused on how certain fates seemed unavoidable. Were these characters doomed to follow the same courses, or was there some three-eyed crow weaving their fates?
"The gods will watch over him," Samwell said reassuringly, and with that, he urged his horse toward the camp.
When they arrived, however, the tents were gone, with only a few guards posted around.
Seeing their banners bearing the direwolf sigil of House Stark, Samwell approached.
"Lady Arya! It really is you!" The Stark soldiers hurried over to thank Samwell. "Thank you, lord Caesar! We'll take her from here."
Samwell handed Arya to them and asked, "Has His Majesty already departed?"
"Yes, my lord. The King has gone ahead to Castle Darry."
Nodding, Samwell decided to accompany them toward Castle Darry.
As it came into view, he advised the soldiers, "You might want to send someone ahead to inform Lord Stark, so he can come out to meet her."
Seeing the soldiers' hesitation, he added, "There are Lannister guards at the gates. If you walk in unannounced, they might try to detain Lady Arya."
Grateful, the soldiers sent one of their own to relay the message.
Before long, Samwell saw a stern-faced man approaching on horseback.
He had a long, solemn face, chestnut hair blowing in the wind, and a well-kept beard streaked with gray. His gray eyes were steely and solemn, with a touch of barely restrained anger.
"Arya!"
"Father!" Arya looked down, not meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
Lord Eddard Stark took her in his arms, a look of relief softening his face. "Are you hurt?"
"No…" Arya mumbled from within her father's embrace. "Just… really hungry…"
"We'll get you some food."
Eddard turned to Samwell, giving him a respectful nod. "Lord Caesar, thank you for helping to find Arya."
"No thanks are needed." Samwell spurred his horse closer, riding alongside Lord Stark. "You have a remarkable daughter, my lord."
"She's too headstrong, though." Lord Stark sighed.
"Well, children fight now and then," Samwell replied lightly, hoping to ease the man's worry. "Considering your friendship with the King, this really is a minor issue. But it's best to keep it private; with too many onlookers, His Grace might feel forced into a difficult position."
Lord Stark gave a thoughtful nod. "Thank you for your advice."
"My pleasure." Samwell smiled, hoping that perhaps he could finally alter the course of events.
They entered the castle, though the way was blocked by Lannister soldiers.
"Lord Stark, I see you've found your daughter?"
The speaker was a striking man with golden hair and green eyes.
He wore a set of pristine white armor, as polished as freshly fallen snow, adorned with fine silver accents and delicate etchings. At his side was a gilded sword, its hilt crafted in intricate floral patterns. A pure white cloak, symbolizing his role in the Kingsguard, draped his shoulders.
Samwell recognized him instantly—Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.
Once, Jaime's greatest ambition was to become a knight as legendary as Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Yet fate had instead burdened him with the infamous title of Kingslayer.
For it was Jaime who had slain the very king he'd sworn to protect—"Mad King" Aerys II Targaryen.
"Yes," Eddard Stark replied tersely, and tried to move past without acknowledging Jaime.
"One moment, my lord." Jaime stepped into Eddard's path, an insolent smile playing on his lips.
Ever since his fall from grace, Jaime had adopted a more cavalier outlook on life, indifferent to almost everything. Only his twin sister Cersei still held a place in his heart.
Lord Stark's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Kingslayer?"
Jaime shrugged, gesturing toward Arya in Eddard's arms. "Your daughter injured my nephew. Do I not have the right to question that?"
Lord Stark's voice softened in a reluctant admission. "Arya is just a child…"
"But Joffrey is a prince," Jaime countered. "Tell you what, His Grace is in the castle's receiving room now. Let him decide."
Eddard, recalling Samwell's earlier warning, hesitated. "It was only a scuffle between children. There's no need to bring it before His Grace."
"Afraid to face the King?" Jaime taunted. "I thought honor was a Stark trait. Or is Stark honor limited to sheltering kin while sidestepping accountability?"
"Joffrey started it!" Arya burst out, unable to hold back any longer.
"Be silent!" Lord Stark scolded her. After a pause, he sighed. "Fine, I'll come with you."
From a distance, Samwell could only shake his head.
So bound by honor, this man was—straight to his own detriment.
You're the Hand of the King! He could have just brushed past Jaime. Would the Kingslayer have dared to stop him?
Watching Lord Stark follow Jaime toward the receiving hall, Samwell shook his head, utterly disappointed in the new Hand of the King.
The outcome was obvious.
Before a crowd, the Queen would stoke tensions, Joffrey would manipulate the truth, and the King would find himself cornered. A small incident between children would escalate into a preview of the clash between the Lion and the Wolf.
Was this what fate looked like? Or perhaps fate was shaped by each character's own choices and the aspects of themselves they could not alter.
For Arya Stark and Prince Joffrey, their personalities guaranteed conflict.
And for Eddard Stark, his nature made him an easy mark for a woman like Cersei, not to mention the more skilled schemers.
Samwell felt grateful his plans did not hinge on this Hand of the King's help. In fact, with a man so bound by his honor, he might need to help Eddard more than rely on him.
The man had no hope of surviving the Game of Thrones, but he was trustworthy enough to be a solid ally.
Therefore, Samwell felt that if he could lend a helping hand to Duke Eddard, he should try his best to do so. The friendship of House Stark is still very useful, and the several "little wolves" were all people with great potential.
(End of Chapter)