Cersei never claimed to be the woman that always knew what to do. There were many moments in her life when she was unsure of how to act when faced with a new challenge, a new and gnarly twist of fate. And the latter, for all the outwardly predictability, was still able to surprise her, in ways less than pleasant. The queen was now presented with one, embodied by that one boy, that little demon. And it was up to her once again to address the issue and make sure it never bothered her again and threatened to ruin her entire life. And, worst of all, perhaps, ruin the lives of her own children.

On that evening, the boy never confronted her. Yet, as he stood in the distant corner of the dining hall, occasionally approaching the Stark children to exchange a couple of phrases, the boy still threw glances her way. And with his look alone he kept reminding the queen of what she had done. And that he also knew everything yet opted to remain silent deep into the night, maybe hatching a plan to extort her on the basis of that knowledge. The thought alone filled Cersei with fury she was forced to conceal. She knew that killing him now, in the middle of Winterfell, was a new challenge to the lioness. He somehow survived the fall without a scratch, there was evidently more to him than a scrawny body and sharp tongue. That idea filled her with remembrance of the man currently in the brothel with northern wenches — her vile little brother.

Cersei asked Catelyn about the child. Fortunately, the latter's distaste for the servant boy associating with her children easily invited a discussion. A discussion that wasn't very fruitful, as Catelyn knew better than to divulge more than she absolutely had to. The child was a vagabond that could make himself useful around the place. There was something else Catelyn didn't tell her, and Cersei knew this. The queen once again examined the boy, his raven hair and blue eyes, and a small voice at the back of Cersei's blonde head was whispering to her a horrid suspicion. What could a child with Stormland features be doing around Ned Stark? No, she quickly dismissed the notion. Robert was a buffoon, too dumb to hatch such a plan. Which could not be said about the late Jon Arryn.

Much later, in the middle of the feast, the hunting party came back: the king, lord Stark and the rest, including ser Jaime. Cersei immediately sought out her brother and did so without much difficulty. After all, the men were starving and dying to get some nourishment. At the cost of renouncing the pleasure, Jaime left that celebration of life and a hunted boar's death, instead joining his sister at a more secluded part of the castle as per her unspoken request. Sometimes all she needed to do was to give him a sign. Jaime could see her distress, and he suspected that it had something to do with the morning incident. His suspicions were soon confirmed in one of the empty corridors of the ever-cold castle, with the news shocking Jaime even more.

"This can't be right, nobody could have survived that," he reacted to the newfound information.

"How could you not check the body?" Cersei hissed.

"I was too busy covering our tracks."

"You didn't do a good job, good sir."

The two blonde nobles saw the grinning boy in question sitting on the windowsill. His ability to appear out of nowhere was a power that Lannisters were not yet fully aware of.

"It's 'ser', lad," Jaime still corrected.

"Where I'm from, your only title would be 'prisoner-to-be'," Danny responded dryly. "Pushing children out of the windows is not exactly legal."

"Watch your tongue," said Jaime quietly, absent-mindedly tapping on the hilt of his sword. "I can always amend my little mishap."

"Oh, you still want to kill me. We could just let bygones be bygones, you know?" The boy tilted his head.

"You clearly don't realise your position," Cersei spat.

"You are the Queen. I'm not much on you peoples' laws, but I know that badmouthing you will give a lovely excuse to execute me. But I know where I stand — in front of you, knowing your great secret. And I'll be honest — your incest is no business of mine, nasty as it is. But trying to kill someone over it makes me tempted to act."

He spent years as a hero of justice. But with the usual crowd he encountered, the approach had been extremely simplistic. He dealt the punishment of exile back into the Ghost Zone, the Infinite Realm. Here, he was forced to deal with humans. Humans who embodied the justice of their own realm, in their own little and/or twisted ways. He couldn't count on the institutions, he couldn't act as he saw fit to someone whose hearts were still beating. He was mature enough to realise this, but he also knew that there wasn't much he could do with no consequences if not for him, then for people around. Danny might have been an unkillable mistake of nature, the Starks, their servants, even Hodor were not. Eddard had made his point clear.

"And what would that be?" Jaime mockingly asked.

"Well, if I tell, my head will be chopped off first, as I said. Can't tell the king that the stag on his banner fits him all too well."

Jaime huffed, while Cersei kept eyeing Danny with suspicion. The boy was smart enough to realise this much, however Cersei knew that there would be a lot of people willing to believe his tale. He had no proofs and the words of a stable boy held little merit. However, the Queen could not let go of the idea that that child was more than he let on. What stable boy would speak so directly to the Queen of all people? And for someone the mere existence of rumours that would keep spreading if spoken out of the right mouths was a coveted treasure.

"You are admitting that your words won't change anything," Jaime told him.

"Maybe," Danny shrugged. "All the less reasons trying to kill me. All you would do is make a scene."

"What do you want, child?" Asked Cersei.

"I'm glad you asked. I only want a way home. But I don't know how. See how good of a deal I offer?" He raised an eyebrow. "You help me get as far away from your kingdom as possible, and you won't hear from me again."

"There is still an easier solution," Jaime said.

"Go on, then," Danny grinned and approached him, daring the man to slash his blade.

"That won't be necessary," Cersei stopped them. "What will this 'help' entail?"

"An access to the library of the Red Keep and a little room there until I leave."

"You lived beyond the Wall. Why do you need to go south?"

"I am not from there, despite what everyone believes. So...we have an arrangement?"

Jaime and Cersei quietly exchanged glances, with the former's being more of wonder at his sister's coming verdict.

"Yes. Let it be so. Lord Stark is coming south, it won't be very difficult to bring someone else."

Danny smiled. "I knew you would see reason. Have a good feast, Your Grace, ser Jaime."

He lightly bowed to each of them, and the court would consider it a clumsy attempt, but not without certain experience. He at least knew what he was supposed to do. As the boy left, Jaime eyed his sister with confusion.

"What are you staring at?" Asked Cersei.

"Where did this sudden mercy come from? He is still dangerous."

"We are doing this because you failed to kill him."

"At your urging, dear sister. But why are you so lenient all of a sudden?"

"Back then we had to act quickly. Now we can't just kill him for all to see. But if we take him with us, he will be in plain sight for us. We will know what he is up to."

"And he will be easier to kill on our territory," Jaime nodded as he realised the plan. "Sometimes I start to fear you, Cersei."

"Don't be ridiculous," the queen sighed. "Let's return to the feast before someone notices."

-Linebreak-

With a look of satisfaction plastered on his face, the half ghost rode alongside the retinue of lord Stark. The plan hatched by combined efforts of Tyrion and himself worked without a hitch. A couple of subtle suggestions and remarks from the queen, Danny urging Eddard and voilà — he was readily embarrassing himself with his miserable horse-riding skills. He was given a horse and a couple of advices that made sure the horse at least never pushed him off. Eddard's bannermen laughed a fair bit, but some were cooperative enough to aid him along the way. He liked those guys, even if some still feared his magic.

As for lord Tyrion himself, they parted on good terms. For some reason Danny had no time to find, seeing the queen look like she had swallowed a whole lemon brought joy to the little man. He also seemed to look past the man's deformities, or at least pretend better than most that he could do so. Thus, the dwarf was ready to shake the boy's hand. Danny, on his part, enjoyed the company of a man that shared his views on the world. That many problems could be solved by utilising a sharp tongue and quick wit. Tyrion was to depart for the Wall, as he had intended, and Danny was left wondering if the Lannister's companion Benjen was willing to forgive Danny's past transgressions borne out of mutual misunderstanding. The man never said anything, much like Jon, who wasn't very talkative, too absorbed in thoughts about his future life as the man of the Watch.

The boy also said his goodbyes to Theon and Robb, who were to stay behind. The former urged Danny to make most of his stay in the capital not only of Westeros, but of all debaucheries known to man. Sometimes he could come across as a hardly reasonable man with mind suspended between his legs. But Danny still liked how relatively laid-back he was to other male Starks, ever stiff as a stick. Robb's goodbye was just that by comparison — very formal, initially. But in hushed tones he asked one thing — to protect his family that was departing for the southern nest of vipers, as he knew the boy could. There were indeed many members of the Stark house, as Bran, Sansa and Arya were going, too, more than half of their family were going to be down south. And Danny made a promise to do what he could.

The trip down the King's road wasn't very eventful, but it was certainly an arduous one. Such an enormous procession was comprised of men and women who all had to eat, sleep and take dumps somewhere. Those nuisances were bound to make the trip extremely long, so much that Danny was half-tempted to just fly ahead and get down to business at last. But Cersei refused to send a raven ahead, nor could she trust him to go to the capital first. Eddard also wasn't too keen on the idea, so it died off quickly.

Needless to say, that during their time not on track the halfa was initially bored out of his mind. But he did enjoy the time spent alongside Arya and Bran. The two kids were still much younger than him, but were bright and showed interest in stories he had to tell them. So, Danny started riding near the boys' carriage, talking the day away. Bran was as excited as ever to hear of Danny's most strange life and people around him, and young prince Tommen, too, listened attentively. Although unlike Bran the boy was squirming and fidgeting each time a story took a more vicious turn. The young blonde stag was a timid and fearful, unlike his older brother, ever so proudly riding the horse alongside his father, only occasionally slowing down to talk to the half ghost.

"Careful with the steed, wildling," he said once.

"I appreciate your concern, Your Grace, but I am getting the hang of it," Danny smiled.

"You better. The horse is worth more than your life."

"Well, my life will only ever fetch half of the price," the halfa responded.

Apparently Joffrey was all too eager to poke someone he considered an insignificant barbarian. Rumours travelled fast, and like plague they passed to the entire His name was giving him the courage to do so against the boy that was taller, older, supposedly from the land where kids learn to kill before they learn how to talk.

"You must be thrilled, you left your crumbling shack and went to the capital in such company."

"Yes, being accompanied by such noble people is an honour."

It took the prince a moment to process that it was sarcasm.

"What was that?" He nonetheless asked.

"Have I insulted you, Your Grace?" Danny blinked innocently. "Apologies, I don't know your tongue fully yet."

Joffrey was oblivious to the fact that wildlings could speak the common tongue, and merely huffed.

"Then make sure to learn it properly. If you have enough brain capacity," Joffrey snorted and finally turned to leave.

Danny smirked as he watched the prince leave, before noticing Bran looking out of the carriage.

"He is in a good mood if he leaves me easily," Danny commented. "Are there any dead puppies around? He must have strangled a couple."

"Is prince Joffrey this bad?" Asked Bran.

"I dunno, maybe there is a kind side to him that we don't know of," Danny spoke with sarcasm, "Prince Tommen, Your Grace, could you tell us?"

The plump boy turned towards the window, his green eyes all over the place.

"He...I don't know..." he blurted out.

"I see," Danny mumbled. It was clear that if Joffrey's own brother was fearful of him, then the prince's character was as plain as day. If he hadn't got the idea already. As he thought about this, Danny noticed Bran's contemplative expression. "Does something bother you?"

"Sansa is going to marry him," Bran mumbled. "What if he harms her?"

Danny's lips thinned. "Well...it will suck to be her. Have I told you the story of Prince Aragon?"

"I'm serious, Danny, don't try to distract me," Bran responded.

The halfa looked at him and lightly smirked. "Well, you are going to be a knight by your sister's side," he said and lightly nudged him through the window of the carriage.  "You will be able to protect her."

"Yes," the boy nodded. "Me and Summer both."

"Summer?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "You finally came up with a name?"

"Yes..." Bran answered curtly. "Old Nan and some others keep calling me the 'summer child', so I decided to call my direwolf like this."

The halfa smirked. "Aw, I hoped you would call him after me. But hey, Jon already did that, so I don't mind."

"Your name isn't Ghost."

"Phantom is. But those are basically the same things," Danny winked. "My people nowadays call me by this name almost as often. But I sense that there's something else to your reasons."

Bran deflated, but soon his look turned determined. "Winter is coming, that's what our house words are. I'd like a piece of summer near me when it does come."

"Someone's a philosopher. You sure are more imaginative than I was when I came up with my name. But it still beats Inviso-Bill," Danny shuddered. "Who even came up with this stuff?"

The younger boy smiled.

"I'll go check on your sisters, if I can," Danny responded, glancing at one of Starks' men, Jory. Out of the guards, he was perhaps the least cautious about the boy's power, known well to those few who witnessed it. Whether it was rashness or understanding standing behind the welcomed rationale, Danny knew not.

"Perhaps you should try making new friends," Jory tried to direct the unstoppable force where it wouldn't hit any definitely not unmovable objects.

"The Hound looks like a nice pal," Danny jested.

"He is no scarier than you are," Jory huffed.

"I wonder why I don't seem to make any new friends," the halfa said. "If you think that I shouldn't bother the girls, then you should have said so," he then once again smiled.

"Yes, it is better that you don't disturb them at the moment. Lady Arya can wait."

"She is locked with her own sister, the septa and the Queen. Nothing I do is gonna make her feel worse."

Bran snickered. "Yes, she must feel awful."

"Well, maybe we could offer her to join our sword-waving sessions."

"Arya is a future lady," Jory argued. "That's not something for her to indulge in."

"MY princess is her age," responded Danny, proud gleam in his eyes. "And she can beat all of you, she knows a lot that I do, because I trained her."

"You trained a princess?" Asked Bran. "What's she like?"

"Look at Arya and you will know. They are the same in every way."

"Does this mean you know Mance Rayder?" Jory raised an eyebrow.

"No, she is not related to him if that's what you mean," Danny smiled and lightly nudged his horse for acceleration. "She is related to me."

The procession once again came to its next stop. At the intersection of several rivers and roads stood a relatively small castle. However, it was not spacious enough to provide lodging for over four hundred men and women. The rest either chose or had to set up camp outside, like they had been doing for the entire trip. Danny could only imagine how much fortune the royal entourage brought to the lord-owner. From what he had been told, lord Darry had been a Targaryen loyalist back in the day, and their family spilled blood in the name of their prince.

Danny would be staying in one of the tents. A small tent all to himself, however, so it was a decent privilege, given the conditions. The best even the king could hope for is nothing compared to his castle bedroom. And was the king making up for cramped conditions with entertainment, bringing Ned along. The lord of Winterfell in general rarely could leave his liege's side. That left a large window of opportunity to do their own thing. Danny left Bran and Tommen alone to do his own thing for an indefinite amount of time.

He had spent quite a while without any practice. And if his afterlife had taught him anything, it's that a danger could always come unexpectedly. Best not to get rusty with his moves. After finding a secluded spot by the river, gazing upon the watery blanket that shimmered under the sun, he thought about how he should go about it. Soon after he decided to train his physical form. Whilst his supernatural physiology allowed for incredible feats of strength, his muscles still needed training, especially as he was in human form. Lest the aforementioned feats ripped said muscles apart. That could, thankfully, be prevented with good exercise, and that's what he did for a decent chunk of time, until one of the push-ups round was interrupted by a surprised call.

"Danny?"

The boy glanced to his side and saw Arya, accompanied by a tall ginger boy, several years her senior. The halfa got up, fixing his light, blue tunic. His only set of clothes had needed a wash.

"Lady Arya," he greeted half-officially, half-jokingly. "And a friend," he added.

"What were you doing?" The girl asked.

"Keeping in shape," Danny beamed. "But I can ask you the same question."

"Ser...lady Arya ast me to..."

"Ser? That's a new one," Danny kept smiling. "Well, I was about done anyhow..."

"You can stay if you want," Arya offered. "We just wanted to play with swords."

The halfa looked at their belts. "But swords are sharp metal things. Which I don't see on you two."

"Well...not swords, really. We got sticks, though!" The girl cheerfully said.

Danny searched around for any extra sets of eyes. "Do you want an almost real thing?" He whispered.

Arya's eyes gleamed as she nodded rapidly. "Yes, please! But...nobody will like you stealing them."

"And we can cut orselves," added Mycah.

The halfa's eyes suddenly glowed as the temperature around dropped. To the amazement of children, very soon in his arms appeared two short swords that Danny put into the ground blades-down.

"I made them so dull they can't cut a piece of paper," He said. "Go wild. But better put on some gloves."

"Wh-wha did you do? Are the tales true?" Mycah stuttered fearfully as Arya ran off to grab some gloves for herself. The butcher's boy always wore his.

"Don't worry. So far all I've been doing are stupid party tricks."

Mycah wondered what that young man considered an actually viable use of his magic. And it made him weaker in the knees being alone with him.

Eventually Arya came back, gingerly carrying a pair of gloves. She soon ran towards one of the swords and picked it up.

"Woah! It's so light," she gasped and waved the blade around.

"Well, ice is lighter than metal," Danny crossed his hands and shrugged. "I also made them hollow. Have a go, you two."

The two kids quickly let go of any doubts and were now hitting each other's weapons. Eventually the halfa joined in, too, although he was strictly on the defensive. He wasn't much of a swordsman still, several weeks under Ser Roderick's training did little to change this, but those were young amateurish children.

"You should try hitting feom two directions," Danny advised, waving his own ice sword. "I can't block two of you at once."

Arya and Mycah looked at each other and with grins they attacked once again. The sounds of chirping ice filled the air, as Danny kept blocking their attempts. Not to say that he didn't let some hits through. Definitely on purpose and not because he was overly confident. They would have continued to try, if it wasn't for a surprised call that came from behind them.

"Arya?"

It was Sansa, of all the people, accompanied by the gracious Prince Joffrey, who eyed the scene with great amusement.

"Your sister?" He asked. "And the wildling boy. And...who are you?" His eyes landed on Mycah.

"Mycah," the boy muttered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes. "M'lord."

"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa said.

"He's my friend," Arya said sharply. "You leave him alone."

"I decide what's of the interest to the prince. You, oaf," Joffrey pointed towards Danny, who curiously eyed his own body, far from oafish. Maybe compared to a nine year old girl. "Is this what you savages do? Fight little girls?" He mocked, descending from his mount, sword in hand.

"You haven't seen many fights, have you, Your Grace?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

Joffrey looked at Phantom's own sword. "What's this, you fight with a glass sword?" He laughed.

"It is ice," Danny corrected.

"Ice," Joffrey repeated with disbelief. "Do you really hope that it can do anything against steel?"

Danny sweatdropped. Alright, so he wasn't going to ask where he got it.

"My tools and abilities never failed me in a fight."

"Oh, I don't doubt that you've killed plenty of little girls in your day, wildling," Joffrey spat. "But how will you do against a capable foe?" He asked, raising his blade to Danny's chest.

In the next second it was lazily swatted away from the prince's hand by the halfa's own blade.

"Perhaps you can introduce us?" He asked.

"I'll cut off your tongue," the boy hissed and pointed a finger at him.

"For that you will need a sword," Danny commented, gesturing towards the sword. "Pick it up."

Joffrey's furious gaze jumped from the discarded weapon and to the teen, the cautiousness fighting with anger for dominance over his actions.

"Pick. It. Up," Danny repeated.

The fear in the end trumped all the rest. Joffrey eyed the much taller boy, the sword in his hand, and the gaze of ice-blue eyes that seemed to dare him to even try.

"I won't forget this," Joffrey threatened. "You do not give the prince commands!"

"It was not a command, your Grace. I told you, you can't kill a wildling without a weapon. It was an advice," Danny said and grabbed the blade of his own sword, suggesting that the prince should take the weapon.

Joffrey regained his arrogant composure, head high, he snatched the sword from Phantom's arms. A wicked smile crossed the blonde boy's features as he was now back in charge of the situation, as he perceived it.

"My prince," Sansa spoke gushingly. "Let us leave them alone. We can do other things in the meantime."

"I'm not interested in knitting," Joffrey huffed, "Good wildling," Joffrey taunted, now pointing the edge towards Danny's cheek. "Keep it that way and know your place."

"Stop it!" Arya shouted. And her direwolf, Nymeria, growled in repetition of her mistress's actions.

"That's alright, milady," Danny grinned. "His Grace doesn't seem to realise this training sword is as dull as his feeling of self-preservation."

"Yours doesn't seem to fare much better," Spat Joffrey and prepared to swing the sword with all the grace of a baseball batter.

But the strike was slow and clumsy, and Phantom managed to duck under, hands behind his back. And as he did so, his leg struck Joffrey's, forcing the boy to fall on the grassy ground with a loud yelp.

"Enough!" Joffrey exclaimed as he got up, as Sansa immediately tried to tend to her betrothed.

"My prince, did he hurt you?" The girl asked.

"Silence!" The blonde continued, spewing curses as he did grass. "You are a dead man!" He yelled and stormed off.

As he was passing the trees atop of his small steed, Danny moved his finger and very soon the prince's pained yelp rang across the riverbank. A branch.

"Half-dead, actually," Danny said quietly, before noticing Arya and Mycah looking at him worriedly. "What?"

"This isn't good," Arya mumbled. "He is going to do something nasty."

The halfa smirked and kneeled to the girl's eye level.

"I fought against dragons and literal forces of nature, kiddo. What's one little brat?"

"And Sansa...following him around like a loyal doggy."

"I can't deny that your sister is a bit...what's the word...meh, in love?" Danny shrugged. "In a rather unhealthy way, though."

"What do we do then?"

"For now? Nothing, I'm afraid. Everyone around knows what Joffrey is and still this betrothal is underway," Danny shrugged again. "Calling it off now will be... unpleasant, I think. This is all the king's idea from what I heard. Anyway, let me worry about my fate. Which is to die to the next idiot wanting my job," Danny's lips thinned.

He suspected that Joffrey would do something stupid. Sure, the brat couldn't even scratch him, but there were other ways. Danny's thoughts, as usual, went over the worst case scenario, only for their neighbour in the house people called brain, the rationale reasoned, as it usually did, that he should sit and wait instead of making it worse. After all, he did nothing criminal. Even though even a single slap could warrant an execution, as shocked Bran explained after Danny told him the tale. Once again, the teen was in awe of impeccable justice of that world. But if Joffrey would complain to his father, it wouldn't be until his return in the evening. His contemplations on the matter were dropped when somewhere between lunch and whatever food intake lies before dinner, he was approached by one tall man.

"Can I help you, Ser Clegane?" Danny smiled and took a bite out of an apple.

Half of the brutish man's face was deformed by a horrific burn. Combined with his greasy long hair, a snarl he seemed to nearly always wear, mixed together to form a very loathsome-looking brute. A perfect bodyguard for a perfect prince.

"You are Danny, right?" He asked.

Danny looked around, seeing nobody else at that forest clearing. Of course there wasn't. He himself decided to tempt fate and see what Joffrey would do.

"Daniel Fenton-Phantom at your service, noble knight," Danny responded. "What have you come here for?"

"The prince says you attacked him."

"I gave him the sword, I was weaponless. His fault for being so bad at this. But hey, that's what he has you for, right?" Danny smirked. "To protect him from the likes of me and to punish them because he doesn't have the guts to do anything himself. Admit it, Clegane."

"He is a coward. And a brat," the knight responded. "But they pay me well for my job."

He must have been sincere, given how he was obviously there for one job only.

"Not very noble of you," Danny noticed the knight's hand by the handle of his giant sword. "But chivalry is dead, am I right?"

"Quite."

Clegane took out the sword and swung it, missing by a couple of inches, when the boy suddenly vanished, much to the man's surprise. Sandor looked around, seeking to find a trace, before suddenly hearing a voice above and to the right.

"But I wonder..."

Clegane turned his head to the right only to be met by a kick. Danny jumped off the man's shoulder where he was weightlessly standing and pushed him to the ground so hard that Clegane finally fell on his back, with the teen himself softly landing on the nearest fallen tree.

"Who sent you?" He sat on the log cross-legged. "The prince? Or the Queen?"

Shaking off his surprise, with agility unbecoming of the walking armour rack, Sandor got up, resuming a stance. He didn't like this. The boy was so fast he couldn't even see or feel him getting atop of him. Danny didn't look like he weighed a lot, but even then Clegane should have felt extra pounds atop of him.

"What's it to you?"

"Well, Two-face, if it's Joffrey, then he is an inconsiderate idiot. If it's Cersei, then I am all for this little game. You are sent to kill me, so would it hurt to tell?"

"If that's your last wish, it was both. The prince's idea, the queen's approval."

"And nobody will miss a little wildling," Danny spoked, sounding ready to tear up.

"Now shut it, and hold still. I will make this quick. Probably."

With a roar Clegane attacked him, swinging his longsword towards the boy's head. Danny dodged once more and punched Sandor right in the gut. A loud metallic noise rang through the creek, and it took the knight several seconds to process what happened, as the boy was already a fair distance away. He looked down and to his shock he saw a gaping hole in the suit of armour, right above where his heart was. His eyes then turned to Danny, who absent-mindedly rubbed his fist.

"You...punched a hole?" Clegane asked.

"How did you guess?" Danny laughed. "I can hit harder, though. Having second thoughts, Clegane?"

"Are you going to run around or are you going to fight?" Sandor spat.

"Someone is cranky," responded the teen as his hand and eyes ignited. "I will bring you to your boss kicking and screaming."

A fling of his hand, and a green blast erupted, almost hitting the dodging knight and scorching off the bark of the nearest tree. Before Sandor could process this, he had to dodge even more shots that threatened to change the proportion of his burnt and healthy body parts. Deciding to close the distance, Clegane rushed forward,  dodging the lazily launched beams of light. He  made a swing — a last ditch effort to block one of the projectiles, and to his surprise it quickly dissipated, but amidst the ensuing light show he didn't see how the grinning little devil got close and prepared to land a punch. Sandor raised his sword at the last second, and the following second it snapped like a twig and the fist impacted the knight's chin, sending him flying down the small ravine. Grunting in pain, Clegane looked up and saw how the boy's hand was bleeding. The boy put one palm over another and hissed as the same burning light cauterised the wound.

"Sheesh, serves me right, got too carried away," Danny said. "You almost cut my fingers off..."

"What in seven hells are you?!" Sandor rasped as he tried to get up, but the foot on his chest stopped him. 

"A half-ghost," Danny shrugged and spoke as if it explained everything. "An interesting experience, actually. Dying was the most unpleasant part."

"You look too alive to me," spat the knight.

"I'd argue. My body is as cold as a corpse even now. In any case, Clegane, make sure to tell the Queen all the details. Until then, let's make a detour."

Clegane did not like that smile and those glowing eyes.

-Linebreak-

"What's the meaning of this?" Asked Ned Stark, his voice ringing across the room.

The main hall of the castle was incredibly crowded, which brought all the more questions to the lord that knew as much as many others. Only that it had to do something with him and his men. Ned saw Ser Raymun Darry, the owner of the castle, collected and cold. Lord Renly, a tall and handsome man, the poster image of what his older brother Robert used to be back in the day, was giving a small smile, seemingly bemused at the transpiring spectacle. That mood he never lost. The old Ser Barristan was grave. The Lannister men crawling around the room were hardly going to show any empathy.

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner!" Cersei spoke.

"Quiet, woman," snapped king Robert. He straightened in his seat. "I am sorry, Ned, but this ridiculous business needs to be over and done with."

"And what business is that?" Asked Ned.

The Queen stepped forward. "The wildling boy you brought along attacked my son! Joff told us what happened," the queen said and pointed at her son, a slash wound across his cheek. "That animal cut him with a sword and pushed him in the dirt!"

Ned wanted to object. He didn't know the boy for long, but simply attacking the prince was not something Danny would do. Although, he was known to be brash and disrespectful to any authority when he did not like them. And there definitely was something not to like about prince Joffrey. The Queen showed the evidence of misdemeanour. Furthermore, a grave crime. Although her distaste seemed strange, given how she had clearly insinuated her permission to bring Danny along. There was nothing he could say without damaging the position, but the simplest thing.

"Your Grace," he spoke. "I will accept the responsibility for the actions of my subordinate. Still, I ask you not to pass the harshest of judgements."

"Beh," Robert barked. "What do you even have this wildling for?"

"He is quite literate. Even the maester found some of his explanations of stars' nature intriguing. And he is also one of the strongest fighters I know."

"Him?" Asked Lord Renly. "Isn't it that thin lad wearing black?"

The moment he finished his phrase, the doors of the hall opened, and everyone was greeted and shocked by a new sight. There was the subject of discussion, and there was Clegane, the Hound, bound by feet and legs by a tightrope, pulled across the ground in all of his armour-clad heaviness. Few could see his humiliated and furious face underneath the long, dirty bangs of hair as Danny threw him at the Queen's feet as her face was inches from contorting into a snarl.

"Your Grace," he bowed. "You needn't have sent your servant after me. I would have come at your first command."

"What's the meaning of this?" Robert demanded to know.

"A misunderstanding," Danny responded. "Ser Clegane thought I would run. I didn't know that to bring me here was his only intention. Unfortunately, when I learned this, I was already halfway here."

He said this, but his pointed look was directed at the Queen. She of all the people could infer the true meaning of his deceitful words.

"Then why bring him tied up?!"

Danny smiled. "I don't like him."

Ned wanted to fall through the ground.

"Untie him! And get him out of my sight!" Robert commanded to his men. As they did, the king stared at the boy. "So this answers your question, Renly. Since you are here boy, tell me what happened between you and my son. And know well, that to lie to a king is a grave crime."

"Of course. Prince Joffrey and Lady Sansa saw me training with a sword, alongside Lady Arya and Mycah, the butcher's boy. His Grace didn't seem to believe in my fighting abilities and so, I suggested a little duel. Only he had a sword."

"What do you mean? You were weaponless?" Asked Renly.

"Yes. Ser Clegane, since you are here, were you beaten by my bare hands?"

Sandor shook off the ropes and gave Danny a burning glare. "Your Grace, this is a little demon from Seven hells. He broke my sword with his fist, his palm..."

His eyes widened as he saw the boy's hand. "It...it's healed!"

"Take the buffoon away," The annoyed king said.

"I know where the door is," the Hound mumbled and turned to leave, perhaps too quickly. But everyone could see a gaping hole in his armour.

"I was trained in martial arts, Your Grace."

"You lie!" Joffrey burst, "You had a sword! You cut me with it!" He pointed to his cheek.

"I recall Your Grace getting hit by a tree branch on your way out."

Renly choked a laugh. The trial seemed to amuse him a lot so far.

"That's not true!"

"You saw Clegane's armour. Your Grace, I clearly don't need a sword."

"Seven hells! One says his thing, one says another! What am I supposed to think?"

"The boy is wild just as his people. And dangerous. Robert, I want him punished."

"If so, I can't promise that my dying words will be pretty," Danny responded dryly.

Cersei knew perfectly what he meant. Her attempt to kill him with Clegane's assistance failed. Her hopes were on Robert's 'justice'. Yet that allotted him too much time to speak freely. She hadn't wanted a trial, she'd wanted him dead. Now she was obviously walking a thin line. Yet the desire to avenge any and all grievances against her son, no matter how small, burned bright.

"Punished?! For all we know, Joffrey WAS hit by a stupid branch. It probably won't even leave a scar."

"Is this how you dismiss your son's pain? Never thought you to be so ignorant." 

"You know how many of those scratches I got back in my day? Ned, see that your wildling knows his place."

"Gladly, Your Grace," Ned spoke with relief.

Danny gave a triumphant smile to the Queen, and, once everyone started going their own ways, gave a light shrug. No, he wasn't giving his blackmail away so easily. But the richest woman in the Seven Kingdom could not possibly to be so niggardly so as to not buy him some nice clothes. For the inconvenience caused.