Arys urged his horse forward and suppressed his pleasure at this turn of events (and his annoyance he had not seen it coming to avoid it.) He put his boot in the man's face easily enough and both felt and heard the man's nose crack. "Unhand your betters, filth," he said. Belatedly the Dalts seemed to take an interest instead of merely chattering at his men at arms but he warned them away with a dark look. Isobel's horse was worse now it had been startled and he held to the reins lest it buck her from it's back. "Waynwood," he barked, "take this scum to the goldcloaks," the men at arms seemed curiously absent and he wondered how much trouble their was in the city. "My lady," he said, "I beg your forgiveness for letting him come so close, and I must ask a further indulgence, your horse is spooked and not fit to ride, might I ask you to ride with me so I might better guard your person?"