Sorry, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's gotten worse over the past two days, and I can't write much. Please bear with me. I'll catch up as soon as possible in the coming days. Thank you.
The morning of King Joffrey's Naming Day was bright and sunny, with occasional breezes. Sansa stood by the tower window, watching the long tail of the Great Comet, clearly visible through the scudding clouds. Just then, Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her to the Tourney grounds. "What do you think this comet means?" she asked.
"It is sent from the heavens to honor your betrothed," Ser Arys answered immediately. "See how it shines, crossing the sky on His Majesty's Naming Day, as if the Gods have raised a banner for him to show their respect. The common folk are calling it 'King Joffrey's Comet'."
They must have told Joffrey that, Sansa thought. As for the truth, she wasn't so sure. "I heard the servants calling it the 'Dragon's Tail Star'."
"Yes, King Joffrey's Throne is the seat of the former Dragon King Aegon, and his Castle was built by Aegon's son," Ser Arys said. "He is the heir of the True Dragon – and besides, crimson is the color of the Lannister family, which is also a symbol. In my opinion, the comet must be sent from the heavens to proclaim His Majesty King Joffrey's ascension to the Throne. It foretells that he will ultimately defeat his enemies and achieve final victory."
Really? she couldn't help but wonder. Would the Gods truly be so cruel? Joffrey's enemies currently included her own Mother and her Brother Robb. Her father had died by the King's command, so would it be Robb and Mother's turn next? The comet was red, that was true, but Joffrey wasn't just a Lannister; he was also a descendant of the Baratheon family, whose sigil was a black stag on gold. Why wouldn't the Gods give Little Joff a golden comet?
Sansa abruptly closed the window and turned away from it. "You look very beautiful today, my lady," Ser Arys said.
"Thank you, Ser." Sansa knew Joffrey wanted her to attend the Tourney to show her congratulations, so she had dressed with particular care. She wore a pale purple gown and the moonstone hairnet Joffrey had given her. The gown's sleeves were long, concealing the bruises on her arms, which were also Joffrey's 'gift' – he had gone mad with rage when he heard Robb had declared himself King in the North and had sent Ser Boros to beat her.
"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm, and she took it, walking out of the room with him. If Sansa had to choose one of the Kingsguard to be her escort, she would prefer him. Ser Boros was hot-tempered, Ser Meryn was cruel, Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes always made her uncomfortable, and Ser Preston looked at her as if she were a simple child. Only Ser Arys Oakheart was polite and would speak to her sincerely. Once, when Joffrey ordered him to hit her, he actually protested. Although he still hit her afterward, he struck much more lightly than Ser Meryn and Ser Boros. At least he had pleaded for her; the others would have obeyed absolutely in such a situation... except for the Hound, of course. But Little Joff always ordered the other five to hit her, never the Hound.
Ser Arys had light brown hair and a pleasant face. Today, his white silk Cloak was fastened at the shoulder with a gold leaf, and his tunic was embroidered on the chest with a flourishing oak tree in shining gold thread, making him look quite dashing. "Who do you think will win today?" Sansa asked as they walked down the stairs arm in arm.
"I will, of course," Ser Arys replied with a smile. "It's a pity such a victory is nothing to boast about. This is just a small event, a small contest, with no more than forty participants, including Attendants and Free Riders. There's no glory in unhorsing green boys."
The last Tourney was different, Sansa thought. That one had been held by King Robert specifically for her father, and Officials and Nobles and Heroes and Warriors from all over the country had flocked there to compete, while all the residents of King's Landing had come to watch. She still remembered the unprecedented spectacle: the riverbanks lined with Tents, the Knights' Shields hanging outside the Tent entrances, a long line of silk pennants fluttering in the wind, and the gleaming steel Swords and gilded spurs shining in the sun. During the days of the Tourney, Horns sounded long, and horses' hooves thundered, and after dark, there were grand feasts and continuous music. Those were the most brilliant days of her life, but now they seemed like another lifetime. Robert Baratheon was gone, and her father had been deemed a traitor and beheaded on the Pulpit in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. Now, three Kings held sway in different parts of the country, and war raged across the Trident River. King's Landing was filled with desperate people from all sides, so it was no wonder they could only hold a Tourney for Joffrey within the thick City Walls of the Red Keep.
"Do you think the Queen Regent will attend?" Sansa always felt safer when Cersei was present to restrain her son.
"I'm afraid not, my lady. The important ministers are meeting; they say it's urgent." Ser Arys lowered his voice. "Lord Tywin is leading his troops towards Harrenhal and refuses to lead them here as the Queen Regent commanded. She is furious." Just then, a squad of Lannister Guards wearing red Cloaks and lion-crested helmets passed by, and he immediately fell silent. Although Ser Arys was fond of gossip, he knew to be wary of eavesdroppers.
Carpenters had built stands and an arena in the Castle's outer courtyard, but the scale was indeed pitifully small, and the crowd that had come to watch was only sparsely seated, about half full. Most of the spectators were Gold Cloaks from the City Watch or Lannister Guards in crimson Cloaks. There were very few Noble men and women present, only those who had remained at court: the pale-faced Lord Gyles Rosby coughing incessantly into a pink silk scarf; Lady Tanda sandwiched between her two daughters, the quiet but dull Lollys and the sharp-tongued Falyse; the dark-skinned Jalabhar Xho, who had been exiled and had nowhere else to go; and Miss Ermesande, who was still a baby, sitting on her wet nurse's lap. It was said she would soon marry one of the Queen Regent's cousins so that the Lannister family could take over her lands.
The King sat in the shadow of a crimson canopy, one foot casually propped on the armrest of a carved wooden chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him, and Sandor Clegane stood guard behind the royal box, his hands resting on the hilt of his Sword. He wore the Kingsguard's snow-white Cloak, fastened at his broad shoulder with a jeweled pin. The snow-white Cloak seemed somewhat out of place with his brown coarse cloth tunic and studded leather vest. "Lady Sansa," the Hound announced curtly when he saw her. His voice was as rough as sawing wood, and because of the burns on half his face and throat, his mouth twisted constantly when he spoke.
Princess Myrcella, hearing her name, shyly nodded at Sansa. The plump little Prince Tommen, however, eagerly jumped up. "Sansa, did you hear? I'm going to compete in the Tourney today!" Tommen was only eight years old, and seeing him reminded her of her own little Brother Bran. They were the same age, but Bran was currently in Winterfell, paralyzed but thankfully alive.
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