I'm sorry, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's gotten worse these past two days. I can't write many words. Please bear with me. I'll catch up as soon as possible in the next few days. Thank you.
Sansa would pay any price for a chance to reunite with him. "I fear for the life of your opponent," she said solemnly to Tommen.
"His opponent is a scarecrow," Little Joff said, rising. The King today wore gilded armor, a roaring mighty lion carved on his chest, as if expecting to rush into fire at any moment. He turned thirteen today, well-developed and very tall, with the golden hair and blue eyes characteristic of the Lannister family.
"Your Majesty," she curtsied.
Ser Arys also bowed. "Your Majesty, please grant me leave to withdraw. I must prepare to enter the field."
Joffrey waved him away abruptly, his gaze still fixed on Sansa. He looked her up and down. "I'm glad you're wearing the gemstone hairnet I gave you."
It seemed the King intended to play the hero today, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty... and thank you for the compliment. Your Majesty, I hope you have a happy Naming Day."
"Sit," Little Joff commanded, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. "Did you hear? The Beggar King is dead."
"Who?" For a moment, Sansa feared he meant Robb.
"Viserion, the last son of the Mad King Aerys. He's been wandering the Free Cities since I was born, calling himself King. Hmph, Mother says the Dothraki finally crowned him, but with melted gold." He laughed. "Don't you think it's funny? The Fire Dragon was his sigil, and it's like your traitor brother being killed by a wolf. Maybe when I catch him, I'll really throw him to the wolves. Have I told you I'm going to duel him in person?"
"Your Majesty, I would be delighted to watch." I couldn't wish for anything more. Sansa kept her tone calm and polite, but Joffrey still narrowed his eyes, trying to discern if she was mocking him. "Will you participate in the tourney today?" she quickly asked.
The King frowned. "Mother says it's not proper because this tourney is being held to celebrate me. But if I did enter, I'd surely win. Wouldn't I, good Hound?"
The Hound's mouth twitched. "Fighting this kind of riffraff? Of course."
Sansa hadn't forgotten that he was the champion of her father's tourney. "My Lord, will you participate today?" she asked him.
Clegane's voice was full of disdain. "They're not worthy. This tourney is just a fight between gnats."
The King laughed heartily. "Ho, my dog barks truly frighteningly. I think I'll just have you duel the champion of today, to the death." Joffrey loved forcing people to fight to the death.
"Then you'll be one knight short." The Hound himself had never taken the vows of a knight. His brother was a knight, and he hated his brother intensely.
Just then, a blast of horns sounded, and the King sat back in his chair and took Sansa's hand. In the past, this action would have made her heart pound, but after she had begged him for mercy and forgiveness for her father, he had ordered her father's public execution. So now his touch filled her with loathing, but she knew she couldn't show it, so she forced herself to remain calm.
"Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard!" the Master of Ceremonies shouted.
Ser Meryn entered the lists from the west, clad in bright white armor inlaid with gold thread, riding a creamy white warhorse with a flowing grey mane, a long cloak trailing behind him like a snowy landscape, and a twelve-foot spear held in his hand.
"Ser Horas of the Redwyne family of The Arbor!" the Master of Ceremonies announced. Ser Horas entered from the east on a black charger, its barding in alternating shades of wine-red and blue, his spear also adorned with ribbons of the same colors, and a cluster of grapes on his shield as his sigil. The Redwyne twins, like Sansa, were guests whom the Queen Regent had forced to stay. She was curious who had suggested they participate in Joffrey's tourney; surely it wasn't voluntary, she thought.
At the command of the Master of Ceremonies, the two contestants immediately leveled their spears, spurred their horses, and charged. Shouts erupted from the guards and the nobles in the stands. The two knights met in the center of the lists, wood splinters flying and steel clashing. In less than a second, both the white and patterned spears shattered into pieces. Horas Redwyne was struck hard and swayed in the saddle, but managed not to fall. They each turned their horses at the ends of the lists, discarded their broken lances, and received new ones from their attendants. Ser Horas Redwyne, the twin brother of Ser Horas, cheered for his brother.
The two met again, but this time Ser Meryn shifted his spear point and thrust it directly into Ser Horas's chest, knocking him clean out of the saddle and sending him crashing to the ground. Ser Horas rushed to help his bruised brother up, cursing the whole time.
"Terrible fighting," King Joffrey declared.
"Ser Balon Swann of Stonehelm in the Red Watch!" the Master of Ceremonies' voice rang out again. Ser Balon's helmet was adorned with a pair of wide white wings, and his shield bore the image of two black and white swans fighting. "Morros of the Slynt family, heir to Lord Janos of Harrenhal!"
"Look at that ass!" Little Joff shrieked loudly, his voice carrying across half the field. Morros was just an attendant, and a newly appointed one at that, who had trouble even holding a spear and shield. Sansa knew that a spear was a knight's weapon, and the Slynt family was of low birth. Lord Janos had originally been merely the Commander of the City Watch, and had only recently been promoted by Joffrey to Lord of Harrenhal and a high-ranking court official.
He'd better fall off his horse and make a fool of himself in front of everyone, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. After Joffrey had sentenced her father to death and had him beheaded, it was Janos Slynt who had grabbed Lord Eddard's head by the hair and held it high for all to see, while Sansa could only stand by, sobbing and wailing.
Morros's black armor was inlaid with delicate gold scrollwork, and he wore a black and gold checkered cloak over it. His shield was painted with a bloody spear, the sigil his father had chosen. However, he seemed unsure where to put his shield, and just blindly urged his horse forward. As a result, Ser Balon inadvertently struck the center of his shield's sigil with his spear. Morros hastily dropped his spear, trying to maintain his balance, but failed. As the boy fell from his horse, one foot got caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged by the frantic warhorse all the way to the end of the field, his head repeatedly hitting the ground. Joffrey laughed loudly at the sight, but Sansa was horrified, wondering if the Gods had heard her prayer for vengeance. Finally, they managed to free Morros Slynt from the horse, and found that although he was covered in blood, he was still very much alive. "Tommen, we picked the wrong opponent for you," the King said to his brother. "This fellow is much worse than a scarecrow."
Next, Ser Horas Redwyne entered the lists. He performed better than his twin brother, defeating an old knight whose mount was adorned with silver griffin barding on a blue and white striped background. Although he looked impressive, his skill was not commensurate with his appearance. "Truly terrible,"
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