Mark followed after Arya and her friend, Mycah, with a smile wide on his face. The three of them had gone out exploring while the rest of the royal party had stopped to rest for a day, and together, they decided to go to The Trident, to where King Robert Baratheon had smashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's chest, and won the Seven Kingdoms.

Arya had clearly been itching to get away, stifling under the strict expectations befitting the Hand of the King's daughter, while Mark wanted a break to get away from his cousin Rodrik, who, true to his word, had him training constantly with him, and Jory Cassel, the captain of Lord Eddard's guard. 'And I also get to take care of his horse, and help him put on his armor, and clean his armor, and clean Vengeance.'

The three of them had only brought broomsticks with them, to play at being knights, fighting on opposite sides of Robert's Rebellion. Mycah was the oldest, the biggest, and the strongest, but Mark had the advantage of having been shown proper footwork, though Rodrik had not yet actually taught him anything to do with real sword work.

Arya on the other hand, was the smallest, the youngest, but by far the fiercest. She would receive a smack, but not back down at all, like a normal girl would. Arya would instead strike back, harder and faster than before, though she was still no match for either Micah or Mark. But, as Mark never forgot, her direwolf Nymeria was never too far off, and the wolf was just as ferocious as her owner.

'Rodrik's wolf Anogar is much larger already, though. But Nymeria more than makes up for that, she's so fast, and ever bit as wild as Arya is.'

They passed time that way for hours, swinging their mock swords around, moving up and down The Trident as they played. And they talked as well, Arya about how she wished she wasn't a girl, and that she could one day be a knight. Mycah gave Mark a look of jealousy, which Arya shared, at how Mark was being trained by Rodrik, and would one day be a knight as well, like his father, and his elder brother.

The three of them were all still having a lot of fun, as one last fight went on between Arya and Mark against Mycah, who had proven to be enough for both of them to struggle against. The battle between them went to a pivotal moment, as Mark took a misstep, criticizing himself for his mistake as he fell over himself trying to backpedal away from Mycah.

Mark decided he wanted a break, and sprawled out across the grass, enjoying the moment to breath, while leaving Arya to face Mycah alone.

Mycah was pressing the advantage he had, laying down heavy strike after heavy strike, as Arya backpedaled. Finally Arya planted her foot and made her own swing, though Mycah deflected the blow, and brought his stick down onto the backs of Arya's fingers, causing her to cry out, and drop her broom handle down into the grass.

Suddenly, a boy's laughter interrupted the friendly dueling, and everyone's attention was drawn to Prince Joffrey, laughing at them. Standing at his side, was Arya's elder sister Sansa, who looked absolutely horrified when she realized that it was Arya who had been fighting with Mycah.

It was her voice that cried out next, "Arya!" She was clearly offended by her sister's boyish behavior.

"Go away!" Was Arya's eloquent response, "What are you even doing here? Go away!"

Joffrey half asked, half laughed, before looking at Sansa, "Your sister?" Sansa nodded, so Joffrey looked back at Mycah, clearly judging him, "And who are you?"

Mycah was clearly fearful of Joffrey, and he dropped his broom handle into the grass as he answered, "Mycah, M'lord." He looked away from Joffrey, clearly recognizing the prince, and stared at the grass at his feet.

Sansa was still looking at nothing but Joffrey, "He's the butcher's boy."

Arya glared at her sister, "He's my friend, you leave him alone."

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey swung himself down from his horse, a beautiful blood bay courser, "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy." Joffrey's face glittered with cruel amusement, "Let's see how good you are."

Mycah stood, unmoving and frozen in place, fear clear on his face. So Mark decided that it was time that he stand up, which drew the attention of Joffrey away from from Mycah.

Joffrey looked at him, not in any way recognizing who he was, "And who is this?"

The question seemed to have been directed at Arya or Sansa to answer, but Mark wasn't going to be cowed by the arrogant prince, "My name is Mark Ryswell, my prince."

Later, Mark would wonder what had come over him, but as a sneer crossed Joffrey's face, he continued speaking, "But who are you, to criticize us for playing with sticks? You are no knight, and from what my cousin has said, you swing a sword about as well as I do."

The arrogance and amusement on Joffrey's face turned to rage in an instant, and Mark knew that he had gone way too far in his goading of the prince, "Than grab your stick, and let's see how good you are then!" Joffrey's hand moved to his hip, grabbing the hilt of his sword, and pulling it free from its scabbard.

Throwing aside his mounting fear, Mark didn't know what came over him, but he continued his teasing of the prince, "What a valiant knight you are, my prince! Challenge the young squire to duel, his broken broomstick against your steel blade! I'm sure the bards will sing a story of this for years to come, the brave lion prince against the vile squire from the Rills!"

Joffrey was completely enraged, and he ran forward, his sword poised in both hands, and began to slash wildly at Mark. Joffrey was older than Mark, and much taller, but Mark was small and quick, rolling and dodging away from each strike as he was backed closer and closer to the river. Everything else faded out of focus, only the prince and his sword seemed to exist, as he backpedaled and rolled, all of the footwork training he had done with Rodrik more than paying off as he maintained the balanced shuffle that Rodrik had taught him.

And then suddenly, Joffrey was staggering forward, Arya standing behind him, after bringing her stick down hard on the back of Joffrey's head, and after a brief moment, he spun around to face her, his anger growing and growing. He was screaming now, curse after curse at Arya, his reckless swings getting closer and closer to Arya, who was scrambling as fast as she could to get away from Joffrey.

Mark gathered his courage, and rushed back towards Joffrey, who now had his back turned from Mark, so he sprinted at Joffrey and launched himself at his back, wrapping his arms around the prince to being him down to the ground. Mark landed on his back, as Joffrey's sword flew from his grip, his body hitting the ground hard.

There was a loud cry from Joffrey, as Mark stood up, and looked around for a brief moment. Mycah had run away as fast as his legs could take him, and Sansa was standing next to her horse, having dismounted at some point, with her hand over her mouth. Arya was standing a couple of feet away, and looked like she was about to run, but she must have decided against it, as she ran back towards Joffrey, who was still laying on the ground, cradling his left wrist, and there was a gash on his forehead above his left eye, where he must have fallen down on a rock.

Arya got to Joffrey, and delivered a quick kick to his chest, and grabbed his sword from where it had fallen next to him. It was a very ornate sword, blue-tinted steel, with a leather wrapped grip, and a golden lion's head pommel. And then Arya ran over to the river, and chucked the beautiful sword into the water, it disappearing quickly beneath the churning water. Arya then turned to run away from them all, but Mark stopped her.

"Arya we need to go back, right now."

Sansa ran past them both, right to Joffrey's side, who was still laying on the ground, "My prince, my prince! Look what they did to you!" She turned to look at Arya and Mark both, "You ruined it! Leave! I HATE YOU!"

Mark needed no more encouragement, he grabbed Arya's hand and pulled her behind her, breaking into a sprint as Joffrey screamed curses at them both. Arya scrambled at first to keep up, before pulling her hand out of his and running beside him.

They ran for nearly ten minutes without stopping, before Mark had to stop, his breath coming in gasps, placing both hands on his knees. Arya stopped next to him, looking tired, but impatient, "We need to keep going, we need to get away. That was the PRINCE! And we probably broke his wrist!"

Mark shook his head, straightening up, "He attacked us first, with a REAL SWORD! The King will surely see we are not at fault, and your uncle will protect us."

Arya still looked fearful, "We hurt the PRINCE! He is cruel and will say it was US who attacked HIM!"

"He will say it was us, but there are two of us, and Mycah was there as well! Plus Sansa will surely tell the truth, and your uncle will believe the four us, and convince the King it wasn't us."

Arya was still refusing to be calmed down, "Sansa loves the Prince; and you heard her! She said she HATES US! Stupid Sansa!"

Arya was pacing back and forth, so Mark moved forward and put his hand on her shoulder, making her stop to look at him, "Your Father is the new Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in all Seven Kingdoms. You are his daughter; no harm will come to you."

She took a deep breath, and nodded, "Okay, we go back."

Mark let out a nervous laugh, before looking around him to try to get his bearings, as a thought came to him, 'I tackled the Prince and probably broke his wrist, and I am not kin to the Starks. Will I be safe from the Prince's wrath?'

Mark and Arya walked into the camp, nearly five hours later, well past sundown. They were noticed instantly by a Lannister guardsman, who said that they were to follow him to an audience with the King and Queen. The looked at each other, both incredibly nervous, before following silently behind the guardsman.

They were led into the King's own tent, where he sat, red-faced and looking irritated, with the Queen beside him. The Queen looked irate, her eyes narrowed at the two children as they entered, looking every bit the angry mother.

Robert Baratheon sighed, taking a draft from his tankard, and emptying it. "A rider came from a small holdfast, a small distance from Castle Darry, and told me that Sansa Stark had arrived at their gates, demanding aid for my son. He had gotten hurt in a fight with Arya Stark, Mark Ryswell and some common boy."

The King's attention focused on Mark, his eyes looking him over, "Which boy are you?"

"M-Mark, Your Grace." The response was nervous and stuttering, and Mark wanted to kick himself for seeming so afraid, though he was deathly afraid.

The King nodded, "Tell me what happened then, boy. Why does my son have a broken wrist, and why was his sword thrown into the damned Trident?"

Mark swallowed, knowing that he would need to tread carefully with his answer, as the Queen's eyes seemed to bore a hole straight through him, "Lady Arya, myself and Mycah were playing at sparring, with broomsticks, Your Grace. Mycah had just struck Lady Arya, when Prince Joffrey arrived with Lady Sansa, and he took offense at Mycah harming Lady Sansa's sister. He pulled out his sword and ordered Mycah to spar with him, but Joffrey had live steel, and Mycah only a stick."

The Queen interrupted Mark with a scoff, "A common boy, sparring with a Lady. He should learn his place then."

Just as when Mark had taunted Joffrey, a strange courage welled up within him, and he glared back at the Queen, "We were playing, my Queen. Your son meant to fight with live steel against a stick. I call him a coward."

The King's boisterous, drunken laughter boomed throughout the tent. "I like you, boy! There was no harm in children playing. Why then, did Joffrey get hurt while no one else did?"

Arya drew courage from Mark's dismissal of prince Joffrey, "Joffrey attacked Mark after he called him a coward; he almost killed him!" She looked at the Queen, glaring at her, "So I hit him in the back of the head so hard my stick broke."

Once again, the King's laughter blocked any attempt to continue talking, until Mark cut in, "The Prince was so mad at Arya that he took after her, and began to swing at her, a Lady, who was defenseless. So I tackled him, and in the fall he broke his wrist and must have hit his head on a rock, Your Grace."

The Queen looked furious, "You insulted and attacked your Prince!"

Mark knew that the King was on his side, and stood his ground against the Queen, "I defended myself and Lady Arya against the attacks of your son, who meant harm upon us for his own amusement."

The Queen snapped, "You Lie! How dare you talk to your Queen like this!" She glanced at Robert, "Are you going to let them get away with this?"

Robert looked at Cercei dismissively, before glancing at Mark with a smile, "To me, it sounds like a fight between children, where our son was being a right prick, woman. Joffrey will heal, and hopefully learn his lesson, he was beaten by a girl and a little boy." Robert looked at Mark and Arya, "Away with you two, it is late, and your father is worried sick, girl."

Arya took no moment for pleasantries, and spun around and ran out of the tent, while Mark bowed as respectfully as he could, before following Arya out of the tent, immediately following after her. They headed across the camp, to where the Northmen had set up, centered around Lord Eddard's tent. Arya made to go to the tent she shared with Sansa, but Mark grabbed the back of her arm and stopped.

She spun around angrily, "Let me go!"

Knowing better than to do so, Mark held on as she tried to shake him off, "We have to go see your father, I'm sure he is worried about you."

She stopped and scowled at him, before finally nodding in agreement, "Fine, just let go of me!"

Mark nodded, letting his grip on her arm go, before waving her ahead of him, as she seemed to start to drag her feet, knowing that she was going to face an angry father. As they headed through the camp,

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay, and another short chapter, but it will have to do, as I do not want to switch point of view in the middle of a chapter, and I had no reason to continue things from Mark's point of view. In case anyone is wondering, chapters will almost always be from Rodrik's view, but there are exceptions where it will switch when necessary. Mark is a clever, excitable kid, and I hope you guys liked him. Oh, and Nymeria did not make an appearance because she was not needed to intervene, and from what I can tell, the direwolves only get involved when necessary for the safety of their bonded Stark.

I have two finals tomorrow, and a paper I have to write and have done in 24 hours, so I probably won't have an update until sometime after Monday, but who knows. Until next time.