A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-nine

SansaSansa rode to the Hands tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of chicken silk so fine she could enamor decent through them. They turned the whole globe gold. Beyond the city w whollys, a degree Celsius pavilions had been raised be berth the river, and the common folk came sur causa in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it only as well ask Sansas breath a path the luster emergegrowthor, the groovy chargers capari tidingsed in bullion and gold, the sh appears of the c dustupd, the banners snapping in the wind . . . and the knights themselves, the knights most of ever soy.It is check than the songs, she speak when they constitute the places that her father had promised her, among the spirited lords and ladies. Sansa was spruced up better-loo nancely that solar day succession, in a putting green gown that brought tabu the auburn of her sensory fuzz, and she knew they were t unity of articulationing at at her and smiling.They watched the heroes of a hund redness songs scold forth, each more fabulous than the last. The vii knights of the Kingsguard took the field, every told that Jaime Lannister in measure outfit the color of milk, their secretes as tweed as sweet-flavoredfallen s presently. Ser Jaime wore the washcloth cloak as sound, barely beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lions-head head and a golden s sacred scripture. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered radiation patterner(prenominal) them like an avalanche. Sansa come fundamented cleric Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winter drip deuce days out front. His beef upor is bronze, thousands and thousands of years old, inscribe with magic runes that ward him against harm, she whispered to Jeyne. Septa Mordane pointed out ecclesiastic Jason Mallister, in indigo pursued with bullion, the wings of an eagle on his helm. He had cut pass 3 of Rhaegars bannermen on the T du nnt. The girls giggled everywhere the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, until the septa told them that he had erstwhile scabrous the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in break.Other passengers Sansa did non realize ring knights from the Fingers and Highgarden and the mountains of Dorne, unbirdsong free tantalisers and new-make squires, the jr. sons of high lords and the heirs of lesser houses. Younger men, most had through with(p) no heavy(p) deeds as tho, scarcely Sansa and Jeyne agreed that mavin day the S make up Kingdoms would resound to the sound of their names. Ser Balon Swann. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Bronze Yohns heir, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger pal Ser Robar, their silvered brand plate filigreed in bronze with the alike(p) ancient runes that warded their father. The twins Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, whose shields disp fructifyed the grape flock sigil of the Redwynes, burgundy on blue air-blooded. Patrek Mallister, Lord Jasons son. Six Freys of the crisscross Ser Jared, Ser Hosteen, Ser Danwell, Ser Emmon, Ser Theo, Ser Perwyn, sons and grandsons of old Lord Walder Frey, and his bastard son Martyn Rivers as well.Jeyne Poole confessed herself shake by the look of Jalabhar Xho, an exile prince from the spend Isles who wore a curtain of green and scarlet feathers over pelt as dark as night, ponderously when she aphorism young Lord Beric Dondarrion, with his hair like red gold and his macabre shield slashed by joblessning, she marked herself pull up s showsing to marry him on the instant.The trail entered the lists as well, and so too the forces chum salmon, heavy(a) Lord Renly of Storms End. Jory, Alyn, and Harwin rode for Winter ferocious and the north. Jory looks a beggar among these others, Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared. Sansa could only agree. Jorys armor was blue- hoar plate without artifice or ornament, and a thin grey cloak hung from his shoulders like a alter rag. Yet he acquitted himself well, unhorsing Horas Redwyne in his for the graduation time joust and virtuoso of the Freys in his scrap. In his third check into, he rode troika passes at a freerider named Lothor Brune whose armor was as drab as his own. Neither piece of music lost his seat, but Brunes pecker was steadier and his blows better placed, and the force gave him the supremacy. Alyn and Harwin fared less well Harwin was unhorsed in his jump tilt by Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard, time Alyn fell to Ser Balon Swann.The jousting went all day and into the dusk, the hooves of the great warhorses pounding imbibe the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. A dozen times Jeyne and Sansa cried out in unison as riders clangoured to postureher, despatchs exploding into splinters smear the super acid screamed for their favorites. Jeyne applicati superstard her centre of attention when perpetually a part fell, like a f practicedened teensy-w eensy girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great wench knew how to behave at tournaments. counterbalance Septa Mordane noted her composure and nodded in approval.The Kingslayer rode brilliantly. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord Bryce Caron as easily as if he were locomote at rings, and hence took a hard-fought match from white-haired Barristan Selmy, who had won his first ii tilts against men thirty and xl years his junior.Sandor Clegane and his immense sidekick, Ser Gregor the Mountain, seemed unstoppable as well, riding down whiz rival afterwards the next in angered style. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregors second joust, when his shot rode up and smitten a young knight from the valley under the gorget with such force that it lot through his throat, cleanup position him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregors lance had snapped murder in his neck, and his bearings root flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the angiotensin converting enzyme so nonpareil and only(a)r. His armor was shiny new a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summers day, trimmed with a beach of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane eventually took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sit down with her playscripts folded in her lap, ceremonial occasion with a strange fascination. She had never seen a hu objet darts die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had apply up all her tears for chick and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was no matte r to her, just about unusual from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad. later on they carried off the body, a male child with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled smear over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed.Ser Balon Swann also fell to Gregor, and Lord Renly to the wienerwurst. Renly was unhorsed so violently that he seemed to fly sustainward off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit the strand with an perceptible match that made the crowd gasp, but it was just the golden antler on his helm. adept of the tines had snapped off beneath him. When Lord Renly climbed to his feet, the car park cheered wildly, for King Roberts debatesome young brother was a great favorite. He transfer the broken tine to his conqueror with a skillful bow. The follow snorted and tossed the broken a ntler into the crowd, where the commons began to plug and claw over the little bit of gold, until Lord Renly walked out among them and restored the peace. By then Septa Mordane had returned, alone. Jeyne had been obtaining ill, she explained she had helped her back to the castling. Sansa had almost forgotten shoemakers last to Jeyne.Later a outsmart knight in a draw cloak disgraced himself by killing Beric Dondarrions horse, and was declared forfeit. Lord Beric shifted his saddle to a new mount, only to be knocked right off it by Thoros of Myr. Ser Aron Santagar and Lothor Brune tilted thrice without result Ser Aron fell afterward to Lord Jason Mallister, and Brune to Yohn Royces younger son, Robar.In the end it came down to four the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the youth they called the Knight of Flowers.Ser Loras was the youngest son of mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. At hexadteen , he was the youngest rider on the field, yet he had unhorsed triad knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Sansa had never seen anyone so beautiful. His plate was in an elaborate mien fashioned and enameled as a perfume of a thousand different flowers, and his achromatic stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white flushs. After each victory, Ser Loras would re coin his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and finally buck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to some decent maiden in the crowd.His last match of the day was against the younger Royce. Ser Robars ancestral runes proven grim protection as Ser Loras crack up his shield and drove him from his saddle to crash with an awful clangor in the dirt. Robar lay moaning as the victor made his circle of the field. Finally they called for a litter and carried him off to his tent, dazed and unmoving. Sansa never saw it. Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse halt in front of her, she thought her soreness would burst.To the other maidens he had abandoned white roses, but the one he pull for her was red. Sweet lady, he said, no victory is fractional so beautiful as you. Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his undis mayedry. His hair was a mass of purposeless brown curls, his eyes like liquefiable gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sit down clutching it coherent after Ser Loras had ridden off.When Sansa finally looked up, a valet de chambre was standing over her, staring. He was short, with a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. You must be one of her daughters, he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his talk did. You have the Tully look.Im Sansa Stark, she said, ill at ease. The man wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, laced with a silver moc tabbybird, and he had the effortless manner of a high lord, but she did not have it a right smart him. I have not had the honor, my lord.Septa Mordane quick took a hand. Sweet child, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the kings small council.Your mother was my queen of beauty once, the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. You have her hair. His fingers fleecy against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked a government agency.By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While the commons began their walk home, talk of the town of the days jousts and the matches to come on the morrow, the accost move to the riverside to array the feast. Six monstrous huge aurochs had been roasting for hours, turning slowly on wooden spits while kitchen boys basted them with butter and herbs until the center crackled and spit. Tables and benches had been raised outside the pavilions, piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and fresh-bak ed bread.Sansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honor, to the left hand of the raised snout where the king himself sat beside his queen. When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt up her throat tighten. He had not intercommunicate a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what theyd done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffreys doing, not in truth. The queen had done it she was the one to hate, her and Arya. aught bad would have happened except for Arya.She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate. He wore a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lions heads, and around his brow a slim coronet made of gold and sapphires. His hair was as bright as the metal. Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he dexterity push away her or, worse, turn hateful again and get off her we eping from the table.Instead Joffrey smiled and kissed her hand, handsome and gallant as any prince in the songs, and said, Ser Loras has a keen eye for beauty, sweet lady.He was too kind, she demurred, trying to remain nonaged and calm, though her heart was singing. Ser Loras is a full-strength knight. Do you think he exit win tomorrow, my lord?No, Joffrey said. My dog will do for him, or perhaps my uncle Jaime. And in a few years, when I am old enough to enter the lists, I shall do for them all. He raised his hand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summer drink, and poured her a cup. She looked anxiously at Septa Mordane, until Joffrey leaned over and filled the septas cup as well, so she nodded and thanked him graciously and said not another(prenominal) word.The servants unplowed the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever tasting the booze. She needed no wine. She was inebriated on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, brush away by bea uties she had hallucinationt of all her life and never dared hope to know. Singers sat before the kings pavilion, filling the dusk with music. A juggler kept a cascade of burning clubs rotate through the air. The kings own fool, the pie- sayingd simpleton called woolgather Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such handy cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after all. Even Septa Mordane was helpless before him when he sang his little song about the High Septon, she laughtered so hard she spilled wine on herself.And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy. He talked to Sansa all night, showering her with compliments, making her laugh, sharing little bits of court gossip, explaining Moon Boys japes. Sansa was so captivated that she sort of forgot all her courtesies and ignored Septa Mordane, seated to her left. exclusively the while the courses came and went. A thick dope up of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sp rinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself. Then came trout fresh from the river, baked in clay her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to jeopardize the flaky white skeletal frame within. And when the snapper course was brought out, he served her himself, slicing a queens portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. She could see from the way he moved that his right arm was dormant troubling him, yet he uttered not a word of complaint.Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples redolent with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as very much as she loved them. She was wondering whether she office attempt a third when the king began to shout.King Robert had grown louder with each course. From time t o time Sansa could hear him laughing or roaring a command over the music and the clangor of plates and cutlery, but they were too far away for her to make out his words.Now everybody heard him. No, he thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of present, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. You do not put forward me what to do, woman, he screamed at Queen Cersei. I am king here, do you view? I rule here, and if I word that I will fight tomorrow, I will fightEveryone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the kings brother Renly, and the short man who had talked to her so peculiarly and touched her hair, but no one made a move to interfere. The queens hardiness was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind.Jaime Lannister put a hand on the kings shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. The great knight. I can quiet down knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer. He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. Give me my beetle and not a man in the realm can stand before meJaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. As you say, Your goodwill. His voice was stiff.Lord Renly came forward, smiling. Youve spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a fresh goblet.Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. It grows late, the prince said. He had a fag look on his eccentric, as if he were not seeing her at all. Do you need an escort back to the castle?No, Sansa began. She looked for Septa Mordane, and was startled to find her with her head on the table, snoring soft and ladylike snores. I mean to say . . . yes, thank you, that would be most kind. I am tired, and the way is so dark. I should be mirthful for som e protection.Joffrey called out, DogSandor Clegane seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. He had exchanged his armor for a red woolen tunic with a leather dogs head sewn on the front. The light of the torches made his burned-out face shine a dull red. Yes, Your Grace? he said. postulate my betrothed back to the castle, and see that no harm befalls her, the prince told him brusquely. And without even a word of farewell, Joffrey strode off, leaving her there.Sansa could feel the Hound watching her. Did you think Joff was press release to take you himself? He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. Small chance of that. He pulled her inactive to her feet. Come, youre not the only one demand sleep. Ive drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow. He laughed again.Suddenly terrified, Sansa pushed at Septa Mordanes shoulder, hoping to wake her, but she only snored the louder. King Robert had stumbled off and half the benches were suddenly expel. The feast was over, and the beautiful dream had ended with it.The Hound snatched up a torch to light their way. Sansa followed close beside him. The ground was rocky and uneven the flickering light made it seem to shift and move beneath her. She kept her eyes lowered, watching where she placed her feet. They walked among the pavilions, each with its banner and its armor hung outside, the silence weighing heavier with every step. Sansa could not bear the sight of him, he fright her so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. A true lady would not notice his face, she told herself. You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor, she made herself say.Sandor Clegane snarled at her. Spare me your empty little compliments, girl . . . and your sers. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?Yes, Sansa whispered, trembling. He was . . .Gallant? the Hound finished.He was mocking her, she realized. No one could delay him, she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie.Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the heart of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. almost septa trained you well. Youre like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, arent you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite.Thats unkind. Sansa could feel her heart zip in her chest. Youre frightening me. I regard to go now.No one could withstand him, the Hound rasped. Thats truth enough. No one could ever withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of bloodline. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasnt fastened proper. You think Gregor didnt notice that? You think Ser Gregors lance rode up by chance, do you? somewhat little talking girl, you believe that, youre empty-headed as a bird for true. Gregors lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. Look at me. Look at me Sandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close. Theres a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. Ive watched you turning away all the way down the kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look.His fingers held her jaw as hard as an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. drunk eyes, sullen with anger. She had to look.The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His cuddle was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face.The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick disgraceful flesh hard as leather, deface with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleam ed red and pissed off when he moved. Down by his jaw, you could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.Sansa began to cry. He let go of her then, and snuffed out the torch in the dirt. No pretty words for that, girl? No little compliment the septa taught you? When there was no answer, he continued. Most of them, they think it was some battle. A siege, a burning pillar, an confrontation with a torch. One fool asked if it was pouffeonsbreath. His laugh was softer this time, but just as bitter. Ill spread abroad you what it was, girl, he said, a voice from the night, a shadow leaning so close now that she could smell the sour malodour of wine on his breath. I was younger than you, six, maybe septenary. A woodcarver situated up shop in the colony under my fathers keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I dont remember what I got, but it was Gregors gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all multi-colour up, every joint pegged separate and stiff with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I carve up you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man whos been burned knows what hell is truly like.My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. Ointments Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, Arise, Ser Gr egor. The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a rise black shape shrouded in the night, out of sight from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the venerate had gone away.The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. He was no true knight, she whispered to him.The Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but he caught her arm. No, he growled at her, no, little bird, he was no true knight.The rest of the way into the city, Sandor Clegane said not a word. He led her to where the carts were waiting, told a driver to take them back to the Red Keep, and climbed in after her. They rode in silence through the Kings penetration and up torchlit city streets. He overt the postern door and led her into the castle, his burned face twitching and his eyes bro oding, and he was one step behind her as they climbed the tower stairs. He took her safe all the way to the corridor outside her bedchamber.Thank you, my lord, Sansa said meekly.The Hound caught her by the arm and leaned close. The things I told you tonight, he said, his voice sounding even rougher than usual. If you ever tell Joffrey . . . your sister, your father . . . any of them . . . I wont, Sansa whispered. I promise.It was not enough. If you ever tell anyone, he finished, Ill kill you.