Chapter 127: Conflict

"They're not going to take my head."

Mance Rayder shrugged with an easy grin, showing not the faintest sign of fear. "I ate bread and salt at the king's table. I'm protected by guest rights. And I have no interest in the iron chair he's sitting on. Why would he risk angering the gods to kill a man who poses no threat to him?"

"But you were once sworn to defend the Wall, a Night's Watch brother, correct?" Samwell took a sip of wine, smiling slyly. "If I'm not mistaken, desertion is punishable by death. I imagine Lord Eddard Stark would be more than willing to carry out your sentence himself."

Mance's face remained unconcerned as he met Samwell's gaze. "I see you've done your homework, but don't bother trying to scare me. There's no malice in your eyes. Just as I came here, to this side of the Wall, with no malice toward anyone."

Seeing that Mance wouldn't be intimidated, Samwell dropped the subject and asked, "So, why are you really here, 'King' Mance? Surely it's not just to sample a Dornish wife's charms?"

Mance laughed heartily. "No need to call me 'King.' You're not one of my people. And as for my reasons—well, I simply wanted to see this southern king, to understand what sort of man he is."

"Well, you've seen him now." Samwell looked at him curiously. "What's your impression of King Robert?"

"An old, rusted sword," Mance said without hesitation. "Once deadly sharp, but now dulled with age."

Mance's beady eyes turned toward the bustling scene of the open-air feast, as if he could see the distant figure of the king laughing and drinking.

"He's a typical summer knight. Living in warmth and comfort has softened him." Mance paused. "But…"

Samwell finished his thought for him. "Winter is coming?"

Mance gave Samwell a long, appraising look. "You a Stark bannerman, lad? I don't recall there being a House Caesar in the North."

Samwell shook his head. "No, I'm from the Reach. As you say, a summer knight myself."

Mance's sharp gaze took Samwell in with new interest. "Few southern knights understand the true harshness of winter."

Samwell's face grew serious. "Mance, does that mean you've already encountered something… out there?"

Mance replied with a question of his own. "What do you think we might have encountered?"

Samwell ventured, "The Others?"

Mance chuckled again, dismissing the notion with a wave. "Stories about the Others have been told for thousands of years. No one's actually seen them—and neither have we."

Samwell breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He knew the Long Summer hadn't yet ended, and so the Others shouldn't appear, but he couldn't help worrying that his own presence might have somehow altered the course of things.

"In that case, what brings you south of the Wall, Mance? What has you so concerned that you'd risk crossing the Wall?"

Mance fell silent, his expression thoughtful as he chose his words.

"We haven't seen the Others, but we have seen giants, mammoths, and even the children of the forest… ancient creatures thought lost to time are returning in the land of perpetual winter. It's not a good omen."

He hesitated, then added, "And this summer has stretched on for over eight years now—too long. When summers are this long, they're followed by winters that are harsher and longer than anyone can imagine. So, yes, Lord Caesar… winter is coming."

The weight of Mance's words fell heavily on Samwell, as if he could already feel the icy winds of winter's approach. He knew that when the Long Summer ended, the Others would indeed return, bringing a devastation beyond what any of the Seven Kingdoms had yet known.

One of Samwell's motivations for seeking the Iron Throne wasn't just ambition. He believed that a unified kingdom, united under a single authority, would be better equipped to resist the coming threat of the Others. Otherwise, with the realm divided and in chaos, Westeros would be no match for the army of the dead.

Just as Samwell was about to ask Mance more about the situation beyond the Wall, they both heard a commotion from the main feast area.

"Summer knights," Mance sneered, shaking his head in disdain, before tearing into his meat once more.

Leaving Mance, Samwell hurried toward the feast.

"She has to be punished! She must face justice!" Queen Cersei's voice rang out sharply.

Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, tried to calm her. "Your Grace, please, let us first find out exactly what happened—"

"What happened?" Cersei pointed at her son. "Look what she did to Joffrey! Eddard Stark, you will hand her over at once!"

Samwell looked over and saw Joffrey, his right hand covered in blood, tears streaking his face, looking utterly pitiful as he cowered behind his mother.

It couldn't be, Samwell thought. Could Joffrey and Arya have somehow ended up in a similar fight as they had in the original timeline?

Renly Baratheon was smirking as he turned to his nephew. "Joffrey, how did you end up getting bested by a girl?"

"She set her wolf on me!" Joffrey screeched.

"She didn't just set the wolf on you for no reason."

"I—I saw her practicing with her sword, so I challenged her—"

"You challenged a little girl to a duel?" Renly was openly laughing now.

"I did it for my mother's honor!" Joffrey shouted. "She insulted my mother, so I was just going to teach her a lesson."

"But she ended up teaching you a lesson instead. Well done, nephew."

"Silence!" Robert barked, glaring at his brother. Then he turned to his son. "So you challenged her, and she set her wolf on you?"

"Yes!" Joffrey's face twisted with indignation. "She did it on purpose—to break my hand!"

"Robert!" Cersei hissed through clenched teeth. "That girl did this to your son. She has to be punished!"

"All right." Robert sighed. "Eddard, bring your daughter here. I want to hear what she has to say."

"Yes, Your Grace." Lord Eddard bowed with a resigned expression and went off to find Arya.

Samwell couldn't help but feel a twinge of irony. Despite the small changes to the timeline, it seemed that the lion and the wolf were fated to clash. Even without the butcher's boy involved, it was all happening again, this time in the name of "the queen's honor."

Perhaps these families were simply destined to be at odds.

And with Arya and Joffrey's clashing personalities, it wasn't entirely surprising.

With the mood now dampened, no one was in the mood for further celebration, and the feast quickly dispersed as everyone waited for Arya to be brought forward.

But after a short time, only one of Eddard's men returned, bowing to the king as he explained, "Your Grace, we can't find Lady Arya anywhere. Lord Stark has sent out search parties and wishes to apologize for this inconvenience."

Cersei's response was cutting and bitter. "Gone missing? Or is Eddard Stark hiding his daughter? After all, those Starks—"

"Enough, woman!" Robert snapped in irritation.

He rose to his feet, and with a finality that left no room for argument, said, "That's it for tonight. We'll deal with this once Eddard finds his daughter."

With that, he turned and walked out, ending the feast.

The crowd began to disperse, each group making their way back to their own camps.

The next morning, Samwell rose, washed, and headed out to break his fast. To his surprise, he came across Mance Rayder—still lingering around.

"Good morning, Master Bael," Samwell greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning, Lord Caesar," Mance replied with an easy smile, thoroughly embodying his disguise as a bard.

Samwell had to admire the man's audacity, staying on as if nothing had happened, even knowing his cover was blown.

"Any news about young Lady Stark?"

"Not yet. Lord Eddard is beside himself." Mance shook his head. "I hear that Robert has sent men to Hayford, summoning Lord Darry's men to aid in the search."

Samwell nodded. He knew Hayford was the closest castle nearby, and the men of House Darry would be familiar with this region.

It seemed Arya had truly vanished, slipping away like a ghost in the night.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Mance, Samwell continued to the meal tent, where he realized that this might be an ideal opportunity to get closer to Eddard Stark, the newly-appointed Hand of the King. If he wanted Eddard's cooperation in the plans he was devising, now was the time to see if the man's reputation for integrity was well-founded.

After finishing breakfast, Samwell requested to join the search efforts.

...

In a patch of riverbank thicket, Arya Stark lay exhausted and starving.

She knew she'd made a mess of things.

Letting Nymeria bite Joffrey—she knew this would be no small matter.

They'd kill Nymeria for this.

And so, she chased the direwolf off.

At first, the little wolf didn't want to leave her master, but after Arya hit her, scolded her, and threw stones at her, Nymeria finally retreated into the forest, hurt and disappearing from sight.

Only then did Arya break down into tears.

After crying, she was still too afraid to go back, so she wandered aimlessly through the forest, like an abandoned little animal.

Suddenly, she heard an eagle's call.

Looking up, she saw a hawk with a pure white tail circling above her.

It's so beautiful, Arya thought.

In the next moment, she heard rustling in the woods, as if someone was following her.

Panicking for reasons she didn't understand, Arya turned and started running.

Then, she heard the sound of hooves.

The sound came closer and closer.

"Ah—"

A large hand seized the back of her collar, lifting her up.

"Don't be afraid. I'm a friend of your father's."

(End of Chapter)