Carl used branches and vines to assemble a makeshift wooden frame that could be dragged along the ground. After securing the structure, he hauled the massive bison onto it. Then he fastened the frame to his own horse, Fox, and to Sandor Clegane's warhorse, Stranger.
Thus, with two horses dragging the heavy prey, Carl set off from the banks of the Trident River toward the Crossroads Inn.
Sandor Clegane was still unconscious. Carl poured more wine into his mouth, then lifted him up and laid him sideways over Fox's saddle.
As for Stranger's notorious temperament—how the beast tolerated no one except its master—it mattered little to Carl. In his hands, the fierce warhorse behaved better than it ever had under the Hound's command. Even when Carl forced it to haul heavy weight, Stranger did not dare rear or bite. Instead, it lowered its head obediently, not daring to resist.
And then there was the esteemed Prince Joffrey Baratheon…
Carl placed him atop Fox as well, letting him ride comfortably as they returned to the camp. But the prince was soaking wet from head to toe, and his luxurious velvet garments were long gone. He sat on horseback in nothing but his damp underclothes, shivering violently. His eyes were vacant, his face deathly pale, lips turned blue from the cold. He couldn't utter a single word.
So it was that Carl, riding the horse that originally belonged to Joffrey and leading the two men and the bison behind him, made his unhurried return to the Crossroads Inn.
Before they even reached the camp, just as they turned off the side road, the soldiers guarding the inn spotted the peculiar procession. Carl dragging a giant bison with two horses was certainly eye-catching, but something else immediately drew the guards' attention.
A sharp-eyed Lannister soldier caught sight of Joffrey's distinctive golden hair.
"Wait—is that…?"
"It's the prince!"
"Quick! Hurry!"
Even without his red finery, the prince's golden hair gleamed unmistakably in the sunlight. The soldier who first realized something was amiss yelled for the others, and several Lannister men sprinted toward Joffrey in a panic.
As soon as they reached the group, Carl addressed them calmly, before they even had time to ask.
"Prince Joffrey slipped while looking for rubies in the riverbed and fell into the Trident. It took me some effort to get him out. Quickly—take him inside and change his clothes before he catches a chill."
The soldiers looked at Joffrey—pale, shaking, soaked, and mentally shattered. Though suspicion flickered across their faces, none dared question the explanation. Saving the prince was their priority; everything else could wait.
Two or three of the quicker soldiers lifted Joffrey off the horse and rushed him toward the inn.
A steward, having noticed the commotion, hurried over. With just one glance, he understood the urgency and immediately began shouting orders.
"Michael, Jordan—report the prince's condition to the King and Queen, now!"
"Owen—find a physician! Bring him at once!"
"You—get hot water prepared! The prince needs a bath immediately!"
"And bring fresh clothes—warm ones!"
"Hurry! Move as if your legs actually work, you clumsy donkeys!"
Carl didn't know the steward, but the man's rapid commands and quick organization made it clear he was highly competent.
Orders were passed along in an organized blur. The named men sprinted off in different directions, disappearing into the inn. Within moments, Prince Joffrey vanished from sight, carried away like a lifeless doll.
Only once the immediate chaos had passed did the surrounding onlookers notice Carl standing calmly with the enormous bison.
Carl met their stares with a pleasant smile, as if finally realizing they were waiting for him to say something. He raised a hand and pointed behind him—to the limp figure draped over the gray-black horse.
"I'll need two strong men here. There's a drunkard who needs handling."
Three Lannister soldiers and two inn servants gathered to lift the unconscious Sandor Clegane off the horse and carry him away.
As they did, the strong smell of alcohol drifted through the air. Combined with the prince's condition, the men exchanged looks they tried—and failed—to hide. The onlookers also murmured among themselves.
They all knew what this meant.
The Hound, sworn to guard the prince, returned dead drunk… while the prince came back soaked to the bone, terrified, and humiliated.
Given Queen Cersei's temperament—and the royal couple's affection for their only son—Sandor Clegane was undoubtedly in for a vicious scolding, if not a brutal punishment.
The crowd could practically taste the upcoming drama. Many were already gloating in anticipation.
Their curiosity then shifted, almost naturally, to the young bastard who had been the subject of rumors that very morning. People had assumed the boy had run off because he couldn't bear the gossip.
Who would have thought he'd return leading a bison and escorting a rescued prince?
The turn of events was dramatic enough to leave the bystanders stunned—and excited.
What reward would the king bestow upon him?
A hundred gold dragons was no small sum. For an ordinary farming family, it was the lifetime savings of two generations. Yet compared to saving the prince's life, a hundred gold dragons suddenly seemed insufficient.
Some who possessed inside knowledge whispered even bolder speculations.
Perhaps the king would knight him on the spot.
Or… perhaps the king would acknowledge him—recognize him as his own blood.
After all, regardless of his illegitimacy, the boy was still the king's child.
His first child at that.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)