Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and elements from A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R.R. Martin. No copyright infringement is intended.
This northern summer was as cold as a mild winter in the westerlands. Sandor couldn't imagine what it must be like in the winter or why people chose to live here. Hosts and guests alike waited in the courtyard while Robert visited the tomb of his beloved dead Lyanna Stark. Cersei was furious; her twin kept his arm around her and whispered to her, but it wasn't enough to soothe her. She and the king would fight tonight, and Joff would come distraught to him.
Another gust of bitterly cold wind blew, sending hair and cloaks fluttering. A little girl turned so that her auburn hair streamed behind her instead obscuring her face. She was one of Lord Stark's daughters, though Sandor had forgotten her name. She was looking at Joffrey and smiling shyly. Sandor nudged the prince, "Your future bride, Your Grace."
Joffrey didn't spare the girl a glance. "I'm cold. What's taking Father so long?"
If Cersei heard her son complaining, she would become more infuriated and things would be even worse tonight. Sandor tried again to distract Joff. "She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?"
Joffrey stared at the Stark girl, who began to blush. "She is. But I don't know if I like you looking at my future queen, dog."
He suppressed a chuckle. "I will look elsewhere, Your Grace." Ever obedient, he scanned the crowd again. The big lackwit stableboy was still trying to coax Stranger towards the stables. Sandor laughed as his horse kicked and sent a guardsman scurrying out of the way.
"Was Lyanna Stark more beautiful than my mother?" Joffrey asked.
Sandor froze. There was no right answer to that one. Say yes, and he insulted the queen. Say no, and he made the king seem a fool. "It's not for me to say," he said at last. The prince didn't look appeased so he added, "I'm a dog. What do I know of beauty?"
Under Lady Stark's direction serving women began to distribute heated wine to the royal party. The children got warm milk. Sandor kept his now empty wine cup against his lips to hide his smile at Joffrey's offended expression. Before the prince could give the order, he snatched a cup meant for the Imp and handed it to Joff.
As Joff sipped his wine, Sandor watched the queen. He could feel her anger grow with each passing moment. But she said nothing when Robert finally returned, laughing, with his arm slung around the shoulders of his friend Ned Stark. Sandor was certain she would say plenty later.
"Perhaps we should spend some time in the yard this evening," he suggested. If the boy was tired enough, he would go to sleep sooner and be oblivious to the worst of it.
"No. I'm tired," Joffrey replied.
"The Stark boy is older, Your Grace. He has the advantage. But surely you want to beat him at swordplay tomorrow. I can show you a few tricks."
"All right."
That matter settled, Sandor turned his attention to shouldering the crowd out of the way, clearing a path for his prince.