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With Arya in front of them using her lit lightsaber as a torch, Nyra tried to guide their small group of five through the winding sewers of King's Landing away from the Tower of the Hand. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure where they were going, as she only had a vague knowledge of the layout of the sewers based on what her workers had informed her. But she knew that they were heading away from the Red Keep, and that was all that mattered right now. Behind her she heard Jeyne and Sansa both trying desperately to keep their womanly composure as they walked along a path of…well…pure sewage. The only one who seemed completely at ease was Osha as the last in line, the spearwife's hand having never left her spear-sword since the first sign of trouble had arisen.
She wasn't sure just how far they managed to travel, but as they walked all five had to stop and grab onto whatever they could as the very ground beneath their feet shook violently accompanied by the loud sound of what Nyra recognized to be a substantial amount of black powder and wildfire being ignited at once. The last defiance of the men of House Stark.
Arya, no doubt coming to the same conclusion, immediately turned and made to march back towards where they had come from. "Stop."
Nyra wasn't expecting her words to reach the young girl. But surprisingly Arya obeyed like she had been frozen in ice. "Jory and the others—"
"Knew their fates the moment they refused to join us in escaping." Nyra said harshly, tears coming to her eyes as the face of each man that stayed behind to buy them time flashed through her mind. "They knew. And they accepted it. If you go back now…all that will await you is capture or death. And then their sacrifice will have meant nothing."
Uncaring of the human waste and worse around her, Nyra went down to a knee before Arya and lightly tapped the girl on the chest right over her heart. "The North Remembers, Arya. Remember. Remember this anger. Hold it. Use it. But don't let it control you. Jory and the others gave their lives to give us a chance to escape. A chance to return to the North, gather what forces we have, and come back with the full wrath of the North with us. And you will be right at the front with my husband and your brothers when we do."
Rising to her feet, she put her arm around Arya's small shoulders. Looking behind her, Sansa looked to be just barely holding back her tears while Jeyne was openly weeping. Only Osha held her composure. The former spearwife turned sworn-sword holding her sword-spear hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Da North Remembers, little ladies," Osha echoed. "Even da Free Folk hold to that. We remember those dat help us. And we remember those dat wrong us."
"The North Remembers," Sansa nodded, along with Jeyne who repeated the phrase, though her words were little more than a whisper.
Nodding to each of them, Nyra moved away from Arya. "Now come. These sewers have been ripped up and rebuilt ever since the city was first built. It's a maze down here and it will take us some time to near the city walls proper. Let us just hope that Jory's last act was enough to hide where we went."
Ser Barristan, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was confused. A state he was unused to, and one he was not appreciative of being in. Ever since Robert had declared his last will to himself, the Grand Maester, and Lord Eddard, Barristan had taken it upon himself to stand vigil for the King outside his chambers as he watched various maids and servants enter and leave his room, providing him with what little comfort there was to be had in his last moments.
But then, seemingly without warning the bells started to ring. Something that greatly surprised him as he had been standing vigil outside the King's door and had not been notified of the King's death! A failure. Another one that ate at his conscience. He'd then been told, by a runner no less, that the Queen had ordered him to stand vigil for time till the King could be collected and examined by the Maester.
And it was during his vigil, while listening to the bells toll, that something else strange happened. The very Red Keep shook at its foundation as, what he'd come to recognize as the ignition of a large amount of black powder, rang out through the Red Keep. He wanted to draw his sword and rush towards the source of the noise, but his honor as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his duty to stand vigil over his King stayed his hand. Robert may not have been the best King to ever rule the Seven Kingdoms. But the man had his moments and was a far better King than King Aerys had been at the end of his reign. Plus, he knew that whatever was happening around the Red Keep, Lord Stark would set everything to rights. Especially as he had one of the three copies of King Robert's will. So, with that thought in mind, Ser Barristan stood vigil outside his King, giving the man the last respects he deserved.
But as night was beginning to set and with no word about what was happening around the Red Keep, he was ready to seek out his fellow brothers. But just as he was about to depart, another servant was sent to him with orders to attend to the Small Council chambers, which had been relocated to a meeting hall just off the throne room and far away from the Tower of the Hand. Something that confused him, but he was sure that Lord Stark had his reasons.
Arriving before the Small Council, Barristan's confusion only grew as he saw the rest of his brothers of the Kingsguard, save for Ser Jaime, standing guard within the hall. At the center table were the members of the Small Council save for three. Lord Stannis, Lord Renly, and most surprisingly Lord Stark as well were absent. And sitting at the head of the table was the disinherited Joffrey Baratheon with the Queen Mother sitting on his right. Thoughts of just why Joffrey was sitting at the position reserved only for the King or the Lord Hand sent a shiver down his spine. Combined with the absence of Lord Stark, he had a feeling he knew what was going on.
"Thank you for arriving so promptly, Ser Barristan," the Queen said kindly, far too kindly for his liking. "I apologize for taking you away from your vigil of my late husband, King Robert. But several matters have arisen that must be seen too. Firstly, I know you are in possession of a copy of the late King Robert's will. I would have you present it."
The sinking feeling in his gut did not dissipate in the slightest. Even more so when he glanced towards the Grand Maester and found the man pointedly not looking at him. "Where is Lord Eddard Stark?"
None on the Small Council gave any indication that something was amiss, and he didn't expect them to. He knew all these men. He knew they all played the 'game', as the nobles liked to call it. However, the disinherited prince was not an experienced player of the game. And the expression on the disinherited prince's face told him all that he needed to know. Lord Stark, if he wasn't in the black cells, was dead. Neither option boded well. Especially with the Queen Mother now all but demanding the King's last will.
"We know that you have a copy of the will, Lord Commander," the Master of Coin said, his voice slippery as a wet eel. "We merely wish to verify the contents against the wills brought forth by Lord Stark and the Grand Maester."
He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. "Grand Maester, surely you and Lord Stark have shared the contents of the King's will to all those present?"
The Grand Maester sighed and nodded, "I have indeed, Lord Commander. And I sent a copy of the will to the records of the Citadel as soon as we three left the late King's side. While I have said the King's words, it is not the place of the Maesters or the Citadel to name succession. We merely advise."
Barristan could see the double meaning of the man's words. He, and possibly Lord Stark, had delivered Robert's will. But the Queen and those remaining on the Small Council did not care. Which meant that the disinherited Prince before him was now crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. His third King to serve. And the second that did not inherit the throne through 'legitimate' means. But could he truly serve this new King?
Glancing around, he realized he had no friends. He could draw his sword, but what would that accomplish? Would his brothers in the Kingsguard stand with him to see King Robert's will fulfilled? He doubted it. They no doubt already knew what had been written. Yet they were not standing guard over Lord Stark, as they should have been. No. They were standing here, standing guard over a boy who should have been disinherited.
"Your silence speaks loudly, Lord Commander," the queen said, rising to her feet. She stood to her full height, head held high and picked up a small bell. After giving it a ring, the doors behind him opened and a dozen gold cloaks stood at his back. "Ser Barristan. You have served the crown faithfully for longer than any other. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owe you their thanks. But it is now time to put aside your sword and your armor and rest. Return to your family home with your head held high and enjoy your peace, knowing that you have served the realm better than any before you."
Barristan was taken aback. The Kingsguard was his life. He'd sworn an oath. An oath that was meant to last till his last breath. But then again…the Queen Mother and Joffrey were not the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. Would it truly be breaking his oath to…take them up on the offer? Or at least make the appearance of doing so? "The Kingsguard oaths are for life, your grace," Barristan said sternly, eyeing the Queen and the disinherited prince. "We do not simply…retire. Only death relieves us of our oaths."
The Queen just smirked at him. "Whose death, Ser Barristan? Yours? Or your King's"
The blow was a harsh one. Exacerbated further as the little shit spoke up as well. "You let my father die during the ambush, and nearly let my brother die as well. You're too old to properly protect me."
He was tempted, gods know he was tempted to draw his sword right then and there. "Your grac—"
"The Small Council," the Queen pressed on. "Has decided to allow you this honor given your years of service. And they have also decided that Ser Jaime will take your place as Lord Commander."
Barristan was now clenching his fist so tightly that it was shaking by his side. "You give such a position to a man who not only failed in his duty, betrayed his oath, but also bathed his sword in the blood of a King he swore to serve? How long till history repeats itself, I wonder."
The Queen's once gloating look shifted to one of contempt. "Be careful with your words, Ser Barristan. It is only because of your years of service that you are being given the chance to retire in peace. A keep will be provided to you and servants to see to your needs. Now, how do you wish to leave the Red Keep? As a man of honor who held true to his oaths? Or as a traitor who failed multiple Kings? Choose."
There were only a few times in his life that he could truly remember feeling rage like this, with both instances many years in the past. When Ser Jaime slew the King he swore to serve, and when Elia Martell and her children were butchered like animals. Moving slowly, he undid the buckle of his sword belt and placed his Valyrian steel sword on the table of the Small Council. He then reached up and undid the clasps of his white cloak and laid it down on the table as well. Each movement felt like a blow from King Robert's hammer when the man was in his prime. But this was not the end. No. And he was not betraying his oaths. Quite the opposite. It was his 'brothers' in this very room that were betraying their oaths. But even if he stood alone, he would hold to his oaths.
"One last thing, Ser Barristan," the queen said. "The supposed will from my late husband. It would not do for you to be traveling Westeros with such a traitorous document in hand."
He could hear the undertone in her voice. The will needed to be left behind. Or he would either not leave the Red Keep alive, or he would be branded as a traitor. And neither would serve what he needed to do. So, reaching down to his belt, he produced the King's will and laid it down on the table.
Standing within the depths of the Red Keep's black cells, Petyr Baelish was doing his utmost to avoid listening to the anguished screams, pleas for mercy and begs for death that were coming from behind the solid oak door before him. After Ser Jaime's failed attempt at securing the Stark girls and Nox's whore, a title insisted on by the Queen Mother, a search of the now ruined Tower of the Hand was conducted. And while they found several bodies, what was telling was what they didn't find. Specifically, the bodies of the Starks or the whore. And while there might've been no more Stark servants to question, there were still the servants from the Red Keep that performed their duties in the former Tower of the Hand.
Nearly two dozen servants had been dragged down to the black cells on Joffrey's orders. And deciding that they needed to be sure that they were telling the truth, the King had ordered them to be put to the question. Which gave Baelish the opportunity to further engrain himself in Joffrey's court, as loath as he was to do so. It was a necessity. So now, here he sat, listening to the agony filled screams of the condemned while two members of the Kingsguard stood with him, while their charge was within having decided to personally oversee the questioning of the servants.
He honestly did not know how much time had passed, not that he could tell in the black cells, but eventually the screams of agony ended as the last of the servants no doubt met their gruesome end.
The door finally opened as the boy King walked out. His once pristine red, black, and gold doublet was covered in blood. Spatters of blond were scattered across his face and in his golden hair. But his hands were still clean. Showing that while he had watched the torture, he had not directly participated. But more than that, the boy was wearing a grin larger than any Baelish had ever seen. After a quick glance down, he could spot a distinctive bulge in the boy King's trousers. He knew that there were those who found sexual excitement and even release at causing pain. And he was not surprised in the slightest to find that Joffrey was one of 'those' types as well.
"Your grace," Baelish intoned, bowing his head in deference to his 'King'.
The boy king didn't look at him, not directly at least as he seemed to be still in a state of satisfied relief. "You were right, Baelish. Something that I am finding true about you more and more as of late," Joffrey said, his smile never leaving his face. "The Starks had a tunnel leading to the sewers. It's more than likely that the Starks bitches and the whore went down into the sewers to escape. And that coward destroyed the tower to prevent us from finding them."
Baelish scowled at this. Holding the whore and the Stark girls was key to his long-term plan. But still, even without them his plans could still succeed. "You have dispatched the Hound to lead the gold cloaks and find the Stark girls and the whore in the city. I am sure that he will not let you down, your grace. And now that we know they have retreated to the sewers like the rats they are, it will be easier to find them."
Joffrey nodded at his words. "Yes, yes. Send word to my dog. Tell him to search any access to the sewers, specifically those near the main gates of the city. I want those bitches and whore brought back here…and I might just give them to my new High Inquisitor."
All four men; Baelish, Joffrey, and his two Kingsguard turned and stared back into the torture room. Though Baelish had to quickly avoid his look as he could see a body devoid of flesh laying out on a table. "High Inquisitor, your grace? I do not know if I deserve the honor. The Seven merely blessed me with this skill, and I use it to serve them and yourself, your grace." A man with short cut black hair with red spots covering his face stepped out of the torture room. He was wearing an identical look as Joffrey, one who'd taken great pleasure in what had just transpired. Which, of course, was the exact reason Baelish had spent as much coin as he had in making sure that he, and his companions, were well hidden.
Joffrey waved him off. "You will be my High Inquisitor, Septon Ramsay Rivers. Answerable only to a few. And you will go out and use the gifts that you have been gifted with. I will make the announcement in the morning. Along with my other announcements. Make sure that you are…presentable for tomorrow, High Inquisitor Ramsay."
Ramsay bowed, an act Baelish mimicked as the King abruptly turned and marched out of the dungeon. Once the two of them were alone, the septon glanced towards his longtime benefactor.
"Well, well…So, that is the boy King," Ramsay said, his smile still in place as he used a rag to clean the blood from his hands. "He is just as dull in the head as you said, Baelish."
Scowling, Baelish rounded on Ramsay. "Watch your tongue, Ramsay. You are no longer in the North. Here in King's Landing, even if you think you are free from unwanted ears, you are not. You will keep such thoughts in your mind, where they belong. Lest you find yourself back on the block where I found you, or worse."
Ramsay just shrugged. "Aye. I owe you. But don't think that I don't recognize that the only reason you saved my life and the life of my compatriots is because we can do that which you cannot. But if you stick to our deal, the North and one of the Stark bitches as my plaything, then I see no reason why we cannot remain friends."
Baelish looked away as the two Stark girls appeared in his mind. "Arya. You can have the little wolf. Sansa…I have other plans for her. Plans that require her to be…unspoiled."
Ramsay shrugged. "One bitch is as good as the other. Without flesh, we all look the same. And she will be the perfect centerpiece for the Northern lords to kneel on when they swear their allegiance back to the true rulers of the North. Just remember, Baelish. The North remembers. Our friends. And our enemies."
Glancing at the rabid dog he'd pulled out from the jaws of the wolves; Baelish kept his expression completely neutral as he made his way out of the dungeons. He was tempted, by the gods was he tempted to head deeper into the black cells to where he knew Eddard was being kept. But now was not the time to gloat. Not yet. That time would come, and he would savor it like the finest of wines. But he still had much that he needed to see before he could risk such a move. The most important of which was his contingency against the rabid dog he had just introduced to the board. Joffrey was a pot of wildfire by himself. The creature behind him was an entire cask. One that, as soon as he outlived his usefulness, he would see disposed of.
Leaning out from behind a corner of a rough stone building, Nyra stared carefully at the gold cloaks manning the Iron Gate leading out of King's Landing. The sun had still yet to rise, but the horizon was starting to brighten announcing its approach. And with the sun soon to rise, the gold cloaks manning the Iron Gate were being rotated. Ideally, she would have wanted to use the Dragon's Gate, as that would have put them directly on the Kingsroad heading North. But she had scrapped that idea before they even left the sewers. Primarily because, when they were discovered to still be alive, that was the gate they would most likely be trying to leave from. Which meant it would be the most vigilant on checking those who were leaving the city.
Even though they had been out of the sewer since sunset the previous day, Nyra had opted instead to stay in the city instead of trying their luck with the gate guards. They needed to leave the city as inconspicuously as possible. And five women, three of them girls, trying to leave the city in the dead of night was just not done. So, she had opted instead to let the girls rest and wait for just before first light when the guards would be rotated. It was possible they would be looking for them. However, the poor light would make it hard to see their faces if they kept their cowls up. And she was counting on the fact that these new guards were still trying to fully wake themselves. Something that she knew was a problem with the guards before first light.
Satisfied that the guards were rotating, Nyra quietly slipped away from where she was watching and made her way down several back alleys before ducking into what was little more than a ruined food stand that looked to have not been used in years. And it was within that stall that she found Sansa, Arya, and Jeyne still sound asleep on the ground with Osha standing vigil over their charges.
The three girls had taken off their fine dresses and were garbed only in rough cotton tunics that she'd purchased for a few silver stags after they exited the sewers. Their faces were all dirty and their fancy hair styles had been discarded. And each smelled like they could use a good bath. Osha was similarly dressed in a rough tunic, though hers was far larger to help cover the brigandine armor she wore underneath and refused to part with. Her Valyrian spear-sword was similarly wrapped up in scraps of cloth and twine, giving the appearance of a walking stick, if one didn't look too closely.
Quietly, Osha and Nyra woke up the three girls. No doubt this had been the most uncomfortable night's sleep any of them had ever experienced. But considering the road ahead of them, it was going to be their norm for some time. Once the three girls were awake, Nyra went about explaining just how they were going to be getting out of the city.
"They're changing the guards," she explained to the girls as she sat down near to them. "No doubt the suspicion that we didn't perish in the Tower of the Hand has spread, so these new guards are more than likely on the lookout for us. If word has reached this far out from the Red Keep. There are no Lannister men at arms, so that gives us a slight bit of hope that they don't know to look for us yet."
The girls, even Arya, were rightfully fearful and there was no hiding that. And Nyra was willing to admit that even she was afraid. They had attacked House Stark in broad daylight, all but declaring war on House Stark and the North as a whole. If they were captured…well… History had shown that women prisoners of war, even highborn or noble ladies, fared well while in captivity.
"We wait for the guards to finish their rotation," she continued, doing all she could to keep her confidence as she spoke to them to try and alleviate some of their concerns. "Stay quiet as we walk and let me do the talking. You three are my daughters, and Osha my sister. We're leaving the city to head out to our family home in Rosby after having sold all our wares in the city. None of you will talk. Osha, your accent will give away your northern heritage almost immediately. And as for you three, none of you have learned how to not talk like a highborn. So, stay quiet. Once we get past the guards, there is a stable just outside the gate. We'll see if we can hire a carriage to ride to Rosby. If we can't, we walk. Once we're past the stables, we either ride or walk down the road for a day before cutting back north. Understand?"
The four all nodded and, after taking a calming breath, Nyra led them out of the alleyway and towards the Iron Gate. Before walking out onto the main street leading through the gate, Nyra had all the girls pull their hoods up to cover their heads and told them to keep their eyes on the ground. After all, low born women didn't often look the gold cloaks in the eyes.
Steeling herself, Nyra marched them out onto the main road and made their way towards the Iron Gate. As they approached, Nyra eyed the four goldcloaks that were standing guard just underneath the gates. Along with the other dozen that were scattered on top of the gate and those scattered nearby. Each of whom looked like they were still battling the sleep from their eyes. 'Good.'
Approaching the gate, Nyra wasn't surprised when one of the guards pushed himself off the stone wall and put himself directly in their path. "Hold," the guard said, looking over the five of them. "What's five women doing leaving the city?"
"We came lookin for work, good ser," Nyra responded, doing her best to mimic the accent she'd picked up in King's Landing while keeping her northern tone buried. "Me daughters and I have a daft hand with a needle and we hoped to find some work…but we couldn find nothin. And…And I don't want me daughters to end up in the silks, if I can help it… Even if me sister and I needed to work in such manner to get coin to go home."
The guard looked her up and down in a leering way as he stepped forward. "Shame you two didn't stay longer…I would've become a regular patron of yours. Perhaps you and I can go and…discuss your leaving while your sister and daughters wait for the sun to rise higher?"
Nyra artfully lowered her eyes and took his hand in her own. "You…You flatter me good ser. But we have a long road to Rosby…and we want to be off. Please, can we pass through?"
The gold cloak looked down at his hand, noticing the two silver moons in his palm. "You must have done well for yourself," the man said, moving aside. "Let them through. And should you ever find yourself back in King's Landing, lass, expect to find me to call upon you for your services."
Nyra smiled and bowed her head. "I will be lookin forward to that day, good ser."
It took all her control to set a steady pace of walking instead of running as she desperately wanted to. Only when the gate was to her back did she allow herself even the slightest bit of relief. It was only a short walk outside the gate to a large barn house where multiple horses were tied up, along with several open wagons and even a simple carriage. None of which had any wagoner or coachmen present. Cursing the early hour, she peered inside each wagon looking for anyone, and eventually found a man sleeping in the back of one.
Giving the man a shake, Nyra fought against recoiling as the man's head perked up. His breath rank of stale ale and rotten meat. And he was missing more teeth than he had. "Pardon, good ser," she said, keeping up her King's Landing accent. "We be lookin for a ride to Rosby and have coin to pay."
The wagoner groggily looked the five of them over, his eyes perking up a bit at the sight of Sansa and Jeyne. "Rosby, ya say?"
"Yes," Nyra nodded, her eyes flickering back towards King's Landing nervously.
The man grumbled and sat up. "Cost is three copper stars for a ride to Rosby. But I ain't move a fuckin bit till I had some food in me bel—"
Nyra dropped two silver stags on the wagon right next to the man. Perhaps five times more than the amount the man requested. "We are…anxious be off, good ser. Surely you can find some food on the road?"
The man eyed her, then the coins. "Fine," he said, scooping up the two coins and pocketing them. "Get settled in the back and I'll get the horse's hitched."
With Osha's aid, they managed to get the three girls into the back of the open wagon as the wagoner hitched two horses that looked extremely old and worn to the wagon. Soon enough, they were all aboard with the wagoner snapping the reins and urging the horses down the road. With the walls of King's Landing slowly shrinking behind them, Nyra let herself relax, even if only slightly, for the first time in over a day. But her relief was short lived as she saw Arya clutch at the hilt of her saberstaff hidden beneath her tunic as the young girl eyed the walls of King's Landing. "Riders."
Nyra's heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she turned her attention back towards the Iron Gate. True to Arya's word, no less than a dozen riders wearing red cloaks and armor were riding out quickly from the Iron Gate and heading straight towards them. And while the sight of a dozen Lannister men at arms was worrying enough for her, it was the man leading them that drew her attention. A large man, one of the largest she had ever seen in her life and one she easily recognized.
"Don't make any movements until I give the word," Nyra hissed quietly to the girls and Osha. All of whom were clutching at their concealed weapons, save for Jeyne who was unarmed.
Due to the poor condition of the horses pulling them, their pursuers were able to overtake them just as the walls of King's Landing were starting to truly fade from view. The red cloaks didn't say anything, they simply rushed past the wagon before turning their horses around and blocking the road, forcing their wagoner to curse and pull roughly on his reins to bring them to a jolting stop.
No one said anything as Sandor Clegane, wearing a white cloak draped over his shoulders and running down his back, approached the wagoner. "Ser Clegane," the wagoner stuttered, clearly recognizing the man.
Sandor didn't say a word in response, instead he brought his horse up to the side of the wagon right next to where Nyra was sitting. Nyra didn't move as Sandor reached out a gauntleted hand and pulled her cowl down, revealing her face to all. "Lady Nyra Nox," Sandor intoned, drawing a sharp look from the wagoner, which was accompanied swiftly by the sound of a dozen swords leaving their sheathes as the red cloaks drew their weapons and surrounded them while a few others raised crossbows towards them. "King Joffrey Baratheon has commanded your immediate return to the Red Keep."
Nyra glanced around, staring at the more than dozen men with bare steel in their hands before glancing towards those under her charge. Arya and Sansa were both palming their lightsabers and Osha had a death hold on the hilt of her weapon as well. There was a chance that they could overtake the men. However, given that a few had crossbows it was not a guarantee that they could make it through the encounter unscathed. In fact, there was a good chance that at least one of them would die. Be it by bolt or blade. But the alternative was going back to the Red Keep…where they would no doubt be held hostage at best…or tortured and killed.
Meeting the eye of each of her charges, she saw the same look in each of them. The same understanding. None of them were willing to go back. And they all, even Jeyne, understood what that meant. But maybe there was a way that they could tilt the odds slightly more in their favor.
"Tell me, Sandor," Nyra said slowly, purposefully reaching her hand out and lightly touching his face. Right over where he had been scarred horribly before Sansa had healed him at Harrenhal. "Is this truly what you want in your life? To be a 'dog'…or be your own man?"
"Ser Clegane!" one of the red cloaks called out, nudging his horse towards the wagon, ending up right next to the large man and Nyra. "The King is waiting. We need to bring these traitors back to the Red Keep to face the King's Justice."
Sandor didn't respond to the man. Instead, he just stared at her. Then at Arya. Then Jeyne and Osha before finally falling on Sansa. The girl who had changed his life. The one who removed his disfigurement and showed him nothing but kindness when no one else would. Pulling back slightly, Sandor drew his blade as well, his eyes firmly fixed on Sansa before turning towards the red cloak next to him. "Fuck that little shit King."
The man beside him had no time to react at the insult Sandor spat before the Hounds blade sung through the air and cut clean through the man's exposed throat, toppling the man from his horse with his head just barely hanging onto his body.
The men surrounding them could only stare, completely dumbfounded as they watched one of their own fall from his horse with his head holding on only by a small amount of flesh, curtesy of a knight of the Kingsguard. And that moment was all that they needed.
Arya was the first to move, the little wolf bringing her lightsaber to bare in an instant as she ignited both sides ends of her saberstaff and charged headfirst towards the nearest red cloak. Osha was barely a step behind her, spear-sword unsheathed as she moved in the opposite direction of Arya towards the red cloaks. Sansa had pushed Jeyne down so that the young girl was lying flat against the wagon as Sansa stood above her, lightsaber ignited and ready to defend her friend. Nyra was not idle either. Before the first body could hit the ground, she lunged for the driver's seat. She hadn't even realized she's been using the Force to increase her mobility before she forced her shoulder into the wagoner, forcing the man from his seat and throwing him a few paces away from the wagon.
Snapping the reins, Nyra had to brace herself as the wagon lurched as the horses began to run as fast as the two older beasts could. "Ayra! Osha!" Nyra yelled back at the two as the wagon lurched down the road, she wasn't worried so much for Sandor as the man was on a proper warhorse and would not have any issue with keeping pace with the wagon. But Arya and Osha were both on foot.
Glancing behind her, she ducked her head on instinct, just in time to feel the rushing of air as a crossbow bolt passed over her head. Arya, using her lithe size to her advantage, darted back and forth between the horses, her purple saberstaff alight and cutting though flesh and armor like it was nothing, though she was clearly taking care to avoid the horses if possible. Osha was not as careful as the former spear-wife slashed at the horses' legs, causing the large beasts to rear back in pain or fear, making either their riders to fall off or for the horses to fall atop their riders. Not to be outdone, Clegane expertly control his large warhorse while using his sword to cut through his opponent's with ease.
"Arya! Osha! Now!" Sansa screamed from her place standing up on the wagon, using her lightsaber to cut down any crossbow bolts that came their way.
Arya and Osha finally glanced their way, just now realizing how much distance Nyra had managed to put between them after taking control of the wagon. Cutting down one last opponent each, the two raced for the wagon. Osha's longer legs and experience gave her an initial edge, but Arya wasn't a normal girl. She was a Force adept, and perhaps one of the best of her husband's Apprentices behind Jon, though her husband had confided in her that in a few years she could potentially overtake his first Apprentice. And as such, she was able to call upon the Force to strengthen her legs, making her run faster than anyone reasonably could. Reaching them, Arya jumped easily into the air and landed right next to her sister, while Osha had to run and grab hold of the edge of the wagon before vaulting herself up into the back.
"Sandor!" Nyra shouted for the man, snapping the reins again to urge the horses to run faster.
The imposing knight cut down one last man, the last of those who'd ridden out with him, before pulling his warhorse around and urging it into a sprint to catch up with them. "Where the fuck are we going now?" Sandor yelled over the hammering of horses' hooves as they raced down the Rosby Road. "The little shit and the queen bitch will send word to Rosby to hunt us down."
"Once we're out of sight of King's Landing, we cut north into the woods!" Nyra shouted back. "We lose the wagon and take the horses or travel on foot."
Sandor didn't respond. He merely urged his horse to run faster as Nyra mimicked his actions with her two much older horses as the sight of King's Landing slowly shrunk behind them.