Finally, another chapter is done for this story! Took me a while, I'm sorry! I do hope you all enjoy this one and please, let me know if you do! :D
It was a glorious, sunny day again, the weather being just as splendid as it had been for the last fortnight. There was not a cloud in the sky or a breeze in the air and the sun was warmer than Sansa could ever have imagined possible.
Same as yesterday, nearly all of the clan had assembled in the sacred woods which stretched in-between the village and the Forest Temple. It was there that most of the important ceremonies their tribe performed took place, at the centre of a very large clearing surrounded by a dozen tall weirwood trees. Each tree had a face carved in its bark, its eyes directed toward the middle of the clearing. As for all the other weirwoods found in the Free Folk's lands, it was said to be the Children of the Forest who had given them their features. It was thanks to them and their ancient magic if the gods could see what took place in these woods and hear the payers of those who needed their help and wisdom.
With its dozen of weirwood trees all staring towards its centre, the weirwood circle was an especially sacred place. No one could hide a thing from the gods while standing in its midst and that was what gave it its undeniable power. It was the most logical place to hold the Horned Man's naming contest and thus they were all here today.
It's there that my maidenhead's sacrifice will be held as well, Sansa remembered for the hundredth time since the fighting had begun yesterday. As she had on each previous instance, she squirmed nervously in her seat, a shiver going down her spine. I've no need to be afraid, she reminded herself. The gods will be watching over me, same as they are today over the contenders for the Horned Man's title. Him who'll be chosen will be by the gods themselves and certainly worthy of performing their will with me.
All dressed in white hide with the Summer Maid's veil pinned over her braided hair, Sansa was installed in a high wicker chair covered with white furs. Wooden benches had been placed on each side of her for the Elders, the Priests and Priestesses of the forest Temple, as well as her family. The rest of the clan was gathered behind them in a large circle all around the centre of the clearing so that all could easily see the duels. Those in the forefront sat on fabrics and furs stretched over the floor while the others stood behind them, yet no one was placed directly before the weirwoods in order to avoid obstructing the gods' view.
All around Sansa, the atmosphere was very festive. People were chatting and laughing, drinking spruce ale from their horns, snacking on dried whale meat and smoking wild herbs with their long pipes. The scent of the thick smoke they produced was so strong and sweet, it was almost nauseating, and as it enveloped Sansa every now and then, she would begin experiencing the herbs' characteristic dizziness. No wonder some of those behind her were laughing so much. She wondered how anyone could smoke a whole pipe of the stuff and stiff manage to carry on a conversation.
Yet for as much as the crowd seemed disorderly, whenever a new bout started, everyone's attention returned to the centre of the clearing. All would grow silent for a heartbeat or two, until the two men whose turns it was to see their strength measured jumped on one another. Men, women and children would shout and cheer then and not stop until the match was over. Many got pretty carried away when they saw the man they had wagered some good or another on was about to lose, but the presence of the Elders and Priests always reminded them to remain relatively composed.
As for Sansa, she had never been quieter of her life. In the high seat she was installed in, everyone only had to look up to see her and this was making her quite uncomfortable. The attention having been named Summer Maid had granted her had been exciting to begin with - that was true enough – yet, the reality of what her election implied was rapidly starting to set in and with that, she found that she was growing more and more uneasy every day... Everyone in this clearing knew what would soon happen to her at the centre of the weirwood circle...
..that she would be naked but for her mask and veil, that the Horned Man would worship her body as the ritual asked before claiming her in the gods' name and delivering her maiden's blood to them.
The notion that those around her might be picturing her doing... doing all of that just now was nerve-racking and a little bit embarrassing as well to be honest. It may be a great honour to have been chosen, Sansa was too well-behaved and modest not to blush madly at the thought.
"Next!" Orog, one of the Elders, suddenly shouted from his place on the Elders' bench.
There were movements in the press, just before Sansa at the other side of the circle of spectators, as people made way for the next two opponents. At this point, those who remained had already fought at least twice and their number was getting smaller and smaller. The oldest and weakest had been eliminated yesterday and only the true contenders remained.
The crowd parted and Sansa grew stiff as she saw the next two adversaries make their way. It was the Hound - the Hound and another man with a red beard called Meryn. Gods, if only both of them could lose...
Each stood in place and waited, facing each other, as a Priestess and a Priest lit some fresh sage in the large censers around them in order to purify the air. At their feet, the snow had turned a pale shade of red. Though no one had been gravely injured so far, it didn't mean no blood had been shed. Tradition asked that contenders for the Horned Man title used no weapon but their bare hands. Only as thus could one's true strength be measured and also, it prevented anyone from being seriously wounded, in principle at least. Killing each other would make no sense among tribesmen.
As for all of the previous contenders, the Hound and Meryn were bare-chested and only wore leather socks on their feet, a way to assure neither was advantaged by having put on an especially sturdy pair of boots. Sansa gazed at the two men in turn, her pulse hastening. While Meryn was undeniably muscled, he looked a mere boy next to the Hound. The latter's shoulders were so very broad, his arms thicker than some other men's thighs... Sansa had never even dared imagine any man could be so muscular! The Hound was not attractive in any way though: his physique may be impressive, there was something grotesque and even frightening about it and on top of that, his chest and stomach were covered with coarse, dark hair. It made her uncomfortable to look at him, especially knowing what had most likely motivated him to join in the competition.
While she knew she was not being appropriate, Sansa had spent the last two days glancing at the contestants' chests. Never in her life had she seen so many half naked men. This winter had lasted as long as her life and so ever since she could remember, people had always worn many layers of hides and furs whenever they stepped outside of their longhouses. Sansa had only ever seen her brothers and father without their shirt on. Today didn't feel like winter at all though. It was so hot, she didn't even wear mittens or a hood and she had not kept her cloak completely closed since she'd stepped outside this morning.
Sansa had been surprised at first to see how strangely alike and yet different all men were under their tunic. Some were very hairy, others barely, some were skinny, others fat, some pale, others tanned... One of yesterday's contestants had been a man old enough to be Sansa's grandfather and his chest had been all winkled and covered with thick and long curly, white hair and his belly had been huge! That such a man had hoped to be her Horned Man had horrified her! Thankfully, Loras had easily immobilised him to the floor for ten seconds, as the competition's rules demanded. It had been such a relief!
Loras, how beautiful he was – with or without a tunic on! There was not a hair that grew on his chest, he was as smooth as a newborn babe. Sansa longed to touch his lean muscles and see for herself how soft his skin was. Gods, how naughty she felt to have such thoughts – she was blushing madly! Yet there was no way around it: the simple memory of him was enough to send her heart racing! How she hoped he'd win... Still, she knew it was not her place to wish for any of the contenders' success and thus she had not prayed the gods that he won even once. It was their decision to take after all, though it would certainly make a lot of sense if they chose him. He was pious, respectful of the Elders and of their people's traditions. He was skilful in the arts of war, had all the qualities requested to be a good Horned Man!
"Oh, look, Sansa! Seems like the Hound is going to win again!" Arya exclaimed suddenly, taking Sansa out of her reverie.
Sansa had been so distracted by the thought of Loras that she had not even paid attention to the beginning of the match. It was a good thing that her sister forced her to focus. It wouldn't have looked very good for the Summer Maid to appear disinterested in the competition.
As Arya had said, the Hound had the upper hand indeed. Both men's torsos were covered with bruises received during their previous duels, yet the Hound had only a couple of fresh lacerations on his cheek and upper arms while Meryn's nose was broken and bloody. Judging from how groggy the man was and from the shouts of the people all around them, the Hound had only just punched him in the face. Sansa winced. She did not like the sight of all that blood.
"Oooh!" the crowd cried as one as the Hound threw himself at Meryn. They both fell to the ground and wrestled for a few seconds, still soon enough, the Hound flipped Meryn onto his stomach and twisted his arms behind him enough to make him yelp.
"One – two – three – four..." Ogor was counting, slowly, his baritone voice loud enough to be heard over the din.
Meryn was solidly pinned to the ground, yet in a last desperate effort, he tried to struggle himself free, pain written all over his face. The Hound pushed him harder into the snow, his whole body contracting. Each muscle of his arms and back grew infinitely defined with the exertion and somehow even more impressive. In spite of herself, Sansa stared, unable to take her eyes from his freakishly huge shoulders and biceps.
Please, keep him down, please keep him down, she repeated inwardly. For as much as she didn't want either to win, Meryn was worse than the Hound to be sure. She'd never liked him, for some reason she couldn't put her finger on. There was something about him which made her skin crawl.
"...eight – nine - AND TEN!" Orog yelled at the top of his lungs. The match was over, the Hound had won.
All around Sansa, the audience roared. Both men stood up, but it took longer to Meryn to do so. The bout had left him in a horrible state. A scowl on his bleeding face, he spat what had all the appearance of a tooth and glowered at the crowd, before putting his back to both Orog and his opponent and limping away without a word. As for himself, the Hound was smirking with a self-satisfied air about him. He didn't even flinch when Orog warmly grabbed him by the arm and congratulated him for yet another win, which was not like him seeing how little love he had for the Elders. It was strange to see him look so content. There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes and the way he smiled though. He looked like a man who knew he would soon be catching his prey after a long hunt. Sansa shivered.
"He won, Sansa!" Arya exclaimed, as if Sansa hadn't seen. Jumping from her seat, she gazed up at her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. By her side, Jon, their cousin, shrugged apologetically. He and Arya were very close and he often felt responsible for her behaviour.
"I can see it as well," Sansa said detachedly.
She couldn't show her - or to anyone else for that matter! - just how distressed she was. She had indeed hoped Meryn would lose, but to see the Hound be victorious once more... it was quite a lot worrying to be honest! At least, she liked the idea that the Hound was eliminating all those rivals for a more worthy contender. Because the gods would certainly never choose him as her Horned Man. It was simply impossible that it happened. He did not even believe in them for one, had given his name for all the wrong reasons! The gods certainly knew it and would make him lose sooner or later. They were probably just using him for the time being.
Orog cleared his voice and declared Sandor – the Elders were too nice to call him the Hound as everyone else did - had won the bout and with that the crowd clapped and cheered. Sansa smiled stiffly and applauded as well, as it was expected of her, but deep down she was feeling very anxious. It was then that the Hound gazed at her. Unwittingly, she met his stare, yet it was hard for her to stand it, for it was so charged and intent. It troubled her to think about what it might mean. She averted her eyes to look down at her lap, heat rising to her cheeks.
Later on around noon, just after she had eaten lunch with her parents and siblings, Sansa was helping her mother clean the knives and bowls the family had used. They were both on their knees by the creek, Mother rinsing the last knife while Sansa was drying the bowls with a piece of fabric. Looking at the water cascading joyfully before her still amazed her. Only a moon ago, there had been no creek at all in the forest and now with the snow melting so fast, it seemed as if a new one materialised every day. It was astonishing.
"Who would you like to win, mother?" Sansa asked even as she stored a bowl in their basket.
"You know it's not for us to decide, Sansa. I've told you before," her mother said, not unkindly.
Sansa had a hard time believing her mother had no preference whatsoever. She'd seen how stiffly she'd applauded anytime the Hound eliminated one more contender and the frown her mouth pulled in whenever she looked at him.
"You truly don't mind? You'll accept that I be scarified to anyone?"
"It's not that I don't care, Sansa, you're getting it wrong. As your mother, I do always hope for the best for you, but in this situation we're in, my preferences really don't matter. I told you already. The gods decide. It's not our place to disagree with them."
"But what if someone was strong enough to defeat everyone, even though he did not believe in the importance of what we are doing here?" Sansa let out, a little too vehemently, she realised after the words had left her lips. She blushed, certain that her mother knew exactly of whom she was thinking.
Sighing deeply, the older woman sent Sansa a reproachful look. "Sansa, the very fact that you're asking these questions is showing that you have doubts, doubts in the gods! You need to have faith in them. The Elders elected you as our Summer Maid and you should prove yourself worthy of the title," she told her sternly. With that, she handed her the last knife and stood from the creek's bank.
"I do trust in the gods..." Sansa murmured sheepishly. With her towel, she dried the knife, biting at her lower lip.
"That's good to hear," Mother said, wiping off snow from her skirt.
Her brows knitted, Sansa put the knife in the basket with all the others. "But... but what if the man who wins is not the one the gods had intended? What if he managed to trick them, somehow?" While she hated to disappoint Mother, Sansa felt compelled to go on. These thoughts had kept turning in her mind all day and she had to share them!
"Sansa, no one can trick the gods while standing in the weirwood circle. You know it as well as I do," Mother stated firmly. Bending down, she seized the basket's handle. She shook her head and sighed deeply, but when she gazed at Sansa again, her annoyance had faded. "But don't you worry, Sansa," she said, her voice softer now. "We all have doubts at one point or another. It's normal to have them and I'm glad that you share yours with me. Yet the gods know what they are doing no matter that we understand it or not. You need to trust in them and pray that they allow you to see the truth."
Sansa nodded, well aware that Mother was right. If only she could be that wise.
They both headed back towards the clearing, but they had not walked a minute that they came across Jeyne having lunch with her parents in the sun. Sansa started chatting and giggling with her friend and Mother continued on her way, telling her not to linger too much. It wouldn't look good for the Summer Maid not to have arrived when the bouts resumed. Mother was right, thus Sansa left not so long after, before Jeyne and her family were done eating.
On her way back, Sansa heard voices coming from the other side of the creek, behind the tree line. She slowed down and pricked up her ears, curious despite herself.
"It's good to see you be interested and taking part in the clan's activities for once, Sandor," an old woman was saying.
Sansa gasped and halted at once. Sandor? That woman was speaking to the Hound! And judging from her voice, she was most certainly of the Elder Council, though Sansa wasn't sure of whom it was. While she knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, doing so was stronger than her. Without thinking more of it, she silently stepped behind a large blue spruce tree nearer the creek's bank and listened.
"Whatever your reasons, Sandor, this is excellent," a man continued. She recognised his baritone voice as Orog's, the Elder in charge of the matches. "You cannot remain aloof from the rest of us forever. It's about time you get more involved and become well and truly a member of this clan. As it is, with your longhouse being at the very edge of the village, it's almost as if you were not part of it at all sometimes. Besides, it's too big for a man living alone. You still have no wife - at your age – no family, no friend..."
"I like being on my own," came the Hound's raspy voice.
Her heart in her throat, Sansa leaned further against the spruce's trunk, her whole body shivering, until she could glimpse the scene which played at the other side of the creek. There was four Elders, two men and two women, standing in a half circle before the Hound, all so small next to him. The Hound had put a tunic on, as well as a cloak of fur and hide. Even in the distance she was at, Sansa could clearly see the angry, dark purple bruise he had under his eye.
"Some people enjoy loneliness and need more space than others," Orog agreed, "but being part of a community is important notwithstanding and you need to find balance between the two. If you win this contest and become our new Horned Man, which I'm sure you will, then I hope it will mark the beginning of a new chapter for you." Smiling smugly, he added: "Because I have an inkling I know why you decided to join in the competition."
All four Elders chuckled at that. "We all do," the other man said in a thin, shaky voice. "Eddard's daughter, she's very beautiful. She's still young, but she has the potential to become an excellent wife to whoever wins her heart or manages to steal her away from her family. I can see why she would sway even a man like you to come out of his seclusion. If it's her who convinced you to head in the right direction, than none of us Elders is going to complain. The gods find all sorts of ways to make us do their bidding."
"Indeed," came an old woman's voice, and with that, the four Elders bowed their heads in respect to the old gods of the forest.
The Hound stayed silent and eyed them all in turn, his features unreadable. Still, he didn't say a word to contradict them.
"You'll be encouraged to court her afterwards, of course. By the Others, we'll even insist you do so!" said Orog with a grin. "It's a good omen for the summer to come and the clan's prosperity that a Summer Maid and Horned Man choose one another for husband and wife. You'll have our approval and blessing, with hope that the young lady is as easily won as this competition."
There was laughter then and though the Hound did not share the Elders' mirth, the corner of his mouth curled faintly and he nodded. In shock, Sansa brusquely turned her back to the spruce's trunk, her heart hammering in her chest. Behind her, the Elders kept talking, but she couldn't distinct their words anymore. Then less than a minute later, they all left, leaving her alone in the silence of the woods.
For what appeared like an eternity afterwards, Sansa stayed immobile against the spruce, her chest heaving. How can this be? she wondered, at a lost. Though the Elders knew the Hound's motives were anything but godly – they had said as much themselves! – they'd joyfully congratulated him for having given his name to be her Horned Man. And to hear them, it was as if Hound had already won the title. They had even told him they would encourage him to court her afterwards! Gods, Sansa's knees grew weak under her at the thought. She wanted to sob. Never in a million years could she envision herself being the Hound's wife! But the Elders apparently could. For the first time in her life, Sansa doubted their wisdom. It was a troubling notion, but how could she not after the scene she had just witnessed?
It was true what Orog had said though, that it was a good sign for the summer to come that a Summer Maid and Horned Man fell in love and united for life following the sacrifice. It was not mandatory but very well seen and common. The only problem was, the Elders had it all wrong to begin with! The gods would never, ever allow the Hound to win! It was the last thing they could logically wish for!
Oh gods! I think I should go now, Sansa realised. She had stayed behind far too long, she knew it. On the verge of tears, she started running towards the clearing. Would she be late for the next duel? Oh by the Children! I should've left with Mother, she regretted as she kept sprinting.
When a few minutes later, Sansa finally rejoined the crowd, she could hardly hide how troubled she was. She slowed down, panting. People were staring at her, she noticed uneasily as she strode towards her high seat.
"Are you alright?" Father asked as he saw her arrive. He looked her up and down critically, frowning. "What happened, Sansa?"
Unsure what he meant, Sansa gazed down at herself only to realise in dismay that she had spruce sap all over her beautiful, white dress.
"Oh!" she let out, horrified. "I... I fell down... onto the ground. I'm fine. But... but, will it wash off, Mother?" she asked, gazing pleadingly at her.
"What is it?" Mother asked, approaching her. She rubbed at the sap with her palm. "Well, this is going to be hard, but it can be done." Then, in a rough murmur, she added: "Sansa, what in the gods have you been up to? Be careful! You're the clan's Summer Maid, not some child playing in the forest!"
"I'm sorry, Mother!" Sansa whispered, tears pearling at the corners of her eyes.
"It's alright. Dry those tears and get back on your seat now. The competition is about to resume. Make us proud, daughter."
Sansa nodded and climbed back into her place. She did not want to shame her family by showing how distressed she was, no matter how much all she wanted to do was to cry in despair. She had to be brave.
Mother told me earlier that no one can trick the gods while standing in the weirwood circle, Sansa reminded herself. The Elders could be wrong – had to be - they were only human after all. In the end, it was always the will of old gods of the forest which prevailed, especially in a place as holy as this one.
The notion gave Sansa hope and when Orog announced that the matches would resume, she had faith once more that all would turn out alright... until she saw the next two contestants. Her heart dropped from the moment they stepped at the centre of the clearing. It was the Hound... the Hound and Loras.
Oh, the Others be damned! Sansa thought, sweat beading down the nape of her neck. She had known from the start this was likely to happen and yet now that it took place in truth, it was no less nerve-racking. Seeing the Hound and Loras stand side by side at the centre of the clearing, waiting for their duel to start, it seemed impossible that the latter would not be defeated as easily as that. The Hound was so much taller, so much broader and more muscular, had to be at least twice his weight! He was such a brute…
Still, the gods were almighty and many miracles had happened thanks to their help in their people's history. In her youth, Sansa had heard many a story in which a young and fair hero had been underestimated because he appeared less strong and capable than his opponent. Perhaps Sansa was just about to witness one such instance and that Loras would prevail in spite of what logic suggested. And then, his exploit would become to stuff of legends! Besides, Loras was surprisingly strong despite his slender frame. His main strengths were his skill with a spear and longbow and at first, Sansa had feared that being without his weapons of choice would not play in his favour, yet so far he had triumphed to all of his matches, though his victory had sometimes been very thigh.
"Hopefully the Hound won't break his perfect little nose like he did Meryn's. The boy wouldn't be as pretty afterwards. Don't think Renly would like that very much," a man said behind Sansa.
Laughers followed his words and Sansa frowned to herself, keeping her stare fixed before her. Why would Renly care more than any other member of their tribe if Loras was injured? They were close friends, that was true enough. When the Hound had eliminated Renly yesterday afternoon, Loras had run to his side to care for his broken finger, but that was what friends were for after all.
Fresh sage had been ignited in the censers and the Priest and Priestess who'd lit it had retrieved their seat. All that remained was for Orog to announce the start of the bout. He did and even before he had shut his mouth, Loras jumped at the Hound and punched him in the jaw. He was fast and managed to kick him in the stomach before he could react, but it was like hitting a tree. The other man barely moved of an inch. Unfazed, he hit Loras back on the cheek, sending him reeling.
The crowd was roaring so loudly, it hurt Sansa's ears. Her back was as straight as an arrow, her hands stiff and clutching at her skirt. As for Loras, he barely managed not to fall backward. When he stood straight again, Sansa inadvertently let out a small cry at seeing the bright red hue his cheek had taken. Loras wouldn't be so easily defeated though. With a resolute look in his golden eyes, he attacked the Hound again, as rapid as a gust of wind. He is so brave, she thought, sitting at the edge of her seat.
Yet despite his size, the Hound's agility and speed was renowned all over the Free Folk's lands and once more today, he proved his reputation had been well earned. He predicted Loras' move even though his approach suggested he would aim for his head and in an eye blink, he caught him by the arm as he tried to punch him in the gut. Then effortlessly, he pulled him along with him onto the floor and they both rolled into the hard packed snow for a moment. It didn't take very long before the Hound had the upper hand. As much as it distressed Sansa to admit it to herself, it was easy to tell who was going to win. And indeed, they had not wrestled a minute that he had Loras immobilised under him. Orog counted till ten, as slowly and steadily as always.
When Loras stood up again afterwards, he smiled, his perfect bottom lip split and bleeding, and warmly congratulated the Hound. Many bruises had appeared on his torso and arms, Sansa noticed, and he was distractedly rubbing one on his shoulder. "You deserve this win. There is no shame in losing against an adversary as worthy as you. Good luck for the remaining of the competition," he said loudly enough for all to hear.
The Hound nodded curtly and grunted his thanks, eying him warily.
Then, Loras bowed respectfully to Sansa and the Elders and headed away to rejoin Renly a little further at the back of the press.
Sansa watched him go, her heart sinking. Oh gods, the Elders are right. The Hound is going to win this competition, she mused in distress after Loras had disappeared from her sight. There was no denying it anymore: there would be no miracle. Sansa wanted to cry, could feel tears threatening to well in her eyes. She fought against it, remembering her mother's words. Make us proud, daughter, she had said. And thus instead of sobbing as every fibre of her being commanded her, Sansa applauded and smiled as radiantly as she could. She was the Summer Maid, after all, not a weeping little girl…