𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗

𝕰𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

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𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐕𝐀𝐑

Noise was all that Olyvar could hear.

The squire would've sooner be laying, or sitting down in the Hall with a generous cup of mead to keep him company, but instead his duty implied that he stood still behind his King, a long spear at hand and dressed up in his full armour – that didn't bear the coat of arms of the Freys (two towers joined by a bridge on a silvery field), like it used to, but a grey direwolf, that stood out among the snow white of the framework.

That position was rather uncomfortable, and together with the loud voices that filled the Hall, it didn't help at all with the light headache that the boy still had to endure – but there was nothing that could be done about it.

"I want his head cut!" was boasting a rather heated man, with long black beard and stoney features. Olyvar now didn't have any more difficulties recognizing his King's branch Lords: that grown man was Rickard Karstark, who had come from North, and had fairly good reasons to want the head of their new war-prisoner cut.

"We can't have his beheaded!" King Robb's voice was staunch, but Olyvar could also feel a slight undertone of annoyance, that the young King had done a great job hiding until that moment, but that was now slowly starting to creep up.

Olyvar would've really liked to help him, but he sadly was in no position to talk: no matter how many great reasons Lord Karstark could have to request their prisoner's head, the ladder was way too valuable for anybody to touch him.

Thanks to a very well planned and bravely conducted expedition, in fact, just a few days back the young King had led an extremely successful attack to one of Tywin Lannister's camps: the great liege Lord and father to the Regent Queen Cersei – in King's Landing – was also trying his best to keep his nephew, Joffrey Baratheon, on the dangerous seat that was the Iron Throne. Sadly, this nephew who claimed to be King, was also the very one person who had commanded Eddard Stark's (Robb's own father) execution.

Besides, Joffrey Baratheon was murmured to not even be a real Baratheon – and without the claim that the name gave him, there could be no claim to the Iron Throne either. But that, as Olyvar had to remind himself, made no matter: being the rightful or unrightful King of Westeros (or whatever other title the boy actually possesed; and although naturally, if Joffrey's claim to the Throne could be officially proven false, that couldn't but help the young Stark's cause), would not stop his King from fighting him – and hopefully beat him.

The quest so far had proven victorious, in any case: in fact, not only had they brilliantly defeated a rather geat slice of the Lannister's powerful army, but the opposite leader had also been taken as a captive. And, as proved the loud complaints of all the Lords surrounding Olyvar, the man was no usual hostage.

The squire had even seen the capture himself: he had ridden beside Robb the whole time (which had been the most frightening experience he had ever lived in his entire life, right in the thick of the conflict), handing him new weapons, food, and everything else that the King required. But having his own tasks to see to had obviously not stopped Olyvar from seeing the unfolding of the battle – from taking part in it, even. And his eyes had therefore not missed to notice the sudden but ferocious attack that the young King's direwolf – Grey Wind – had done to their soon to-be captive.