”Singer !” Jaime Lannister yelled, looking back towards the other riders in his posse, ”Come up here and sing us a song !”

Tom O’Sevens was not accustomed to refusing the requests of highborn lords, and he certainly wasn’t going to refuse The Kingslayer. That is how he became ahorse that day. Jaime Lannister had decided to inspect his army’s camps between Riverrun and Casterly Rock, and when The Kingslayer asked him to join them on the ride, he knew he wasn’t ”asking”. So, here he was, outside the comforts of the castle, traveling down a road he didn’t care to be on, riding a horse he was sure did not like him.

”How may I be of assistance my lord?” He asked as he rode up on Jaime and his escorts.

”It seems to me, that the soul purpose of having a singer around is to hear him sing,” Jaime said. ”So, sing us a song, singer.” ”And not that damn bear song either ! And if I hear the words ’rain’ or ’Castemere’ come out of your mouth, I will cut out your tongue, knock you off that horse and leave you here bleeding to rot in the hot sun! That’s if the shadow cats don’t eat you first. They do love the smell of blood.”

Quickly thinking through his repertoire, and briefly forgetting who he was talking to, the singer replied, ”My lord, I am afraid that over the past few days of singing for yourself and the good Ser Frey, I have sang every song you know more times than the queen has forgotten what day it is.”

Jaime looked at the singer with one eye squinted, head tilted slightly, paused for what seemed to be an eternity, and said, ”I ask myself, ’what good to me is a man who eats my food, fondles my women, and rides my horses, if this man’s only discernible talent is singing, yet he refuses to sing?’ I’d hate to think what would happen to that man if my answer to myself was ’none’.”

Tom O’Sevens quickly replied, ”Of course my lord. I…I…do know one song that I have not sung for you. I wrote it on my way here to Riverrun, but I’m not sure that you will like it.” To which Jaime replied, ”It’s half a day’s ride to the next camp. I do not mean to ride the entire way with only the sound of my horse clopping through these mountains. You sing and I’ll decide whether I like it or not.”

The singer reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a woodharp. He plucked each string, re-tuning one, and strummed three different chords. He cleared his throat, strummed one more chord, and began singing as he placed the harp back in his saddlebag.

He was brave and strong
like in all the songs
his sword his closest friend
he forged his own
and had no home
and never knew his kin.

high born made
yet lowly raised
he never learned his letters
but always true
to see you through
a friend you’d find no better

black locks of hair
and maidens fair
he was born to have them all
he could be a king
and have a queen
but his father never called

with bull’s head helm
he runs the realm
his honor never higher
”Whitecloaks be damned”
they hear him say
”My sword is not for hire.”

”The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !”
they cry,
”Save us from The Others”
”The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !”
they cheer,
”A Brotherhood of Brothers.”
The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !
they say
”The highborn call him Bastard.”
The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !
they pray,
”Save us from our Masters !”

the small folk say
he fights for them
he’d never let them down
he fought for them
and they love him
but he’d never wear a crown

a beast came ’round
with fangs and claws
who liked to eat mens flesh
he fell upon
an island maiden
the bull opened his neck

battle tested
he was made a knight
his feats were all quite frightening
from where he came
no one would say
some say he was born from Lightning

three archers fight
right by his side
Notch ! and Draw ! and Loose !
if the boy king
caught up with him
they’d fit him for a noose

The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !
they cheer
The Small Folks High Born Bastard
The Bull ! The Bull ! The Bull !
they cry
”Save us from our Masters !”

The singer sat silent, waiting for The Kingslayer’s reaction.

”You know this man, The Bull ?” Lannister asked.

This time, being sure of who he was talking to, Tom O’Sevens lied.
”No my lord, just a story I heard an old man tell once.”

”Hmm. Pity,” said Jaime ”I would have liked to have met this man.”

”You may yet, Kingslayer,” Tom said…to himself.