Sandor Clegane followed Joffrey around like his shadow, or better yet, like his dog. The prince wished to take a stroll around the castle grounds and perhaps pay his ladylove a visit, after all, it was expected of him that he woo and win Sansa Stark's affections. He would certainly need to try harder after what had happened on the Kingsroad. Septa Mordane had greeted the two at the Tower of the Hand and quickly went up to fetch Sansa.
Anya Whent came down before Sansa did. The Hound shifted on his feet, the mere sight of her put him at unease. The gods had fashioned her to be a world of paradoxes and he hated that. Today she was dressed to be a proper lady, with stained cheeks and lips to make her simple gown more becoming of her status.
She offered the prince a greeting and smile but ignored the man standing behind him as every other highborn in the city did. The scent of fresh cut roses lingered in the air around her. You're just like the rest of them, two-faced. Though his stony expression gave away nothing but disinterest something within him felt angered and misplaced at her disregard. They had spoken as friends while in Winterfell and even on the Kingsroad until he had cut down the butcher's boy, but she didn't place the blame me. The sweet scent of her perfume had not left, he was suffocating in it, in her.
Sansa came fresh-faced and timid, wearing a simple plum dress with flowing sleeves, the neckline was adorned with knots and roses bordered with gold thread. The girl's gentle smile faded when she saw the Hound standing behind her prince. "You're frightening my lady, Dog." Obediently he backed off a few paces but never let the two out of his sight as Joffrey took the girl around the Keep. Except for the moment, he paused and looked up at the ramparts to see Jaime fucking Lannister escorting Anya somewhere like a proper knight, arm in arm. I bet you like that don't you, little Lady.
He had never been so distracted in his life and it was because of a fucking woman. A wolf bitch, no less. Whatever relationship they had built up in the two months of knowing the other had vanished all in the span of a night. Sandor thought they had come to a point where they may have been friends, he wouldn't have known, though, people that dared to make acquaintance with Lannister's loyal dog were few and far between. The more he thought about it, Sandor realized he had never had a friend. He had masters.
Then there had been something in her voice when she called him a dog that struck him dumb, the feeling still lingered, like the smell of roses. You're a dog, Clegane, that's all your ever be. Anya had been distraught at that boy's death but when he approached her about it, she had placed the blame elsewhere. She blamed Cersei and Joffrey, rightfully so, any of the Lannister men would have killed the boy given the command. She knew that as well, so why was she still acting like he was dirt beneath her feet? Damn, that bloody woman.
Prince Joffrey had said something that made the Stark girl laugh, a ladylike giggle that was on the verge of being high-pitched. She spoke prettily, repeating the sweet words that her Septa had told her a hundred times over. Sansa still wore the innocence of youth, her blue eyes had not lost their twinkle. The poor girl was ignorant to the real world, she lived in her stories of fair maidens and brave knights. She doesn't know any better. For a brief moment, he pitied Sansa Stark.
By midafternoon, Sansa had been returned to her rooms as to prepare for the night's feast. Joffrey was to be escorted back to his own chambers. The little prick looked up at his sworn shield, even he could something was going on in Sandor's head.
"What's the matter with you, Dog? You've been licking your wounds like a kicked pup." The Hound knew better than to answer a question spoken in a tone such as that. He stood outside the prince's chambers, every once and a while he would catch a trace of something sweet, like roses.
The handmaidens that had been provided by the royal family for all the Stark women had only begun unpacking the two trunks and coffer Anya had brought. Still, it was nowhere near the amount of luggage Cersei traveled with, or even Sansa for that matter.
A guard with a pinched face had shown her the way onto the ramparts. Within an hour she had walked around the entire Keep and stood in the same place where she had started. She had never smelt a more horrible stench than the one of King's Landing. Even on the road, she could smell the city from miles away like an overflowing cesspit. Robert had laughed when her stomach nearly gave up her breakfast.
Smoke, sweat, and shit. The summer heat only made the smell worse. Old stories had said that Maegor the Cruel killed the builders before they could build proper drainage and sewers in the city as he wished to protect the numerous secret passages and tunnels that had been constructed while the Red Keep was completed. A breeze from the sea was a welcome gift as it dulled the stench of the city. "This place is an absolute pigsty," she spoke aloud to no one in particular.
"Quite right," Jaime Lannister echoed, his white cloak was soiled at the bottom from the mud and puddles that had been in the streets. It was fitting that an oathbreaker should wear a tainted cloak. She sighed, exasperated, "Ser Jaime, I must say I envy your early arrival." Had Ned been more accommodating of her wish to ride ahead of the royal envoy she would have already been well acquainted with the Kingslayer as a traveling companion.
His smile was crooked, "You have my sincerest condolences, Lady Anya," there was not an ounce of sincerity in his voice. Anya turned back to look over the city once again, nothing about it was particularly enticing. In truth, it was rather small compared to some of the great cities of Essos she had read about, even if the population said otherwise.
One more whiff of the city's stench and she turned on heel to face Jaime, "Could you show me to the library?"
The Kingslayer offered up the crook of his arm for her to take. "I suppose there is a minute to be spared." Joffrey and Sansa passed by them on their way, the Hound trailed behind with his hand resting on his swordbelt. Anya glanced at the man from the corner of her eye, never had she seen a person look so grim. Her thoughts had been carried away at the sight of him but she righted herself and sought a conversation with the Kingslayer.
"Shouldn't you be with Robert?" She dared to ask. Jaime laughed but it was humorless and bitter. "He's drunk and fucking a whore, I believe he is in good hands with Ser Barristan outside his door." Anya supposed his resentment for Robert was warranted in some ways. The queen was his sister and each time the king fucked a whore he was dishonoring Cersei Lannister and forcing her own brother to witness the act.
The Whent girl bit down on her bottom lip trying to prevent the question on the tip of her tongue from sliding out but it didn't work, she asked him anyways. "Do you not like your pretty white cloak anymore?" Had it been from someone Jaime had known longer he would have taken it in an almost teasing way, but Anya was far too observant of minor details. If the great game did not kill her then her loose tongue would. "That is a dangerous question to ask," the Kingslayer rebutted. They had entered Maegor's Holdfast, the main building of the keep. Only servants were in the halls, some were scrubbing the stone floors and walls, a handful polished and dusted the suits of black armor that had been left from the Targaryen dynasty, others carried armfuls of linens to the royal apartments.
"Then it is one that needs answering," she mused aloud, smiling in a manner that near unsettled the hailed knight. "I don't think you are enchanted with it as you once were. King Aerys, mad as he was, never liked the power your father held. What better way to spite Tywin Lannister than stealing away his golden son to join the Kingsguard? Leaving him with only a daughter and a dwarf to inherit the great Casterly Rock." Only when she had finished did she spare a glance in his direction.
She had ruffled the lion's mane, that was certain but he remained stoic, "A fine observation, my lady, and to a degree true." He stopped at a massive set of oak doors wrapped in black iron. "Here you are, Anya," Jaime pushed open one of the doors, "the library." Books lined shelves all the way to the top of the tower, a staircase hewn from stone spiraled up the walls with a rolling ladder. There were more books in a single space than there had been at Winterfell and Harrenhal combined, granted many of Harrenhal's tomes had been burnt.
"Thank you, Jaime." It had been a long time since he had seen such candid bliss overcome a person at his doing. Something about the glint in her eyes reminded him of his own brother.
"Perhaps we may continue this conversation over the boar that is to be served at the feast tonight," he suggested. Anya smiled, this time, it was genuine. "Boar has never been to my taste, I prefer chicken." He would have laughed at that statement had it not been for everything else, nonetheless, Jaime gave a curt nod and left her as he had his own duties to attend to.
The first book Anya picked up was a large tome bound in black leather with scales pressed into the soft fabric. Dust scattered into the air as she wiped off the cover to reveal the title written in gilded ink that had long been fading. A History of Valyria. She had only heard the tales of the great city, the rise, and fall, and of the treasures some claimed to still be within the ruins. Deciding that this book was an excellent starting point, Anya discovered a disused chaise tucked away behind a shelf. After several minutes she had positioned it in a place where sunlight would stream through the windows to illuminate the scribed words on each page.
At its apex Valyria was the greatest city in the known world, the center of civilization. Within its shining walls, twoscore rival houses vied for power and glory in court and council, rising and falling in an endless, subtle, oft-savage struggle for dominance. In her mind, she pictured a large city, five times the size of King's Landing, and this one had functional sewers. The Fourteen Fires would have surrounded the island city, looming overhead with unspoken threats of impending doom, and there were dragons. Hundreds of dragons, large and small would fly over the Freehold, their breath would both build and destroy.
If only I could see a dragon, a real live dragon, then perhaps I could die happy. Anya turned the page and submerged herself into the rivalries of the dragonlords of old.
Ned had sent Jory in search of Anya, she was expected to attend the feast and as she had not returned to her rooms to freshen up or change there was no telling where she would have wandered off to. Jory Cassel had a pretty good idea of where she would have gone. It took him a little while to find the library but as soon as he pushed open the doors she was there, nose deep in a tome as thick as her own head. Marking the page with a sliver of parchment she looked up to see who the intrusion had been caused by. "Come, my lady, the feast is about to start."
As much as she loathed the thought of attending another feast, Anya knew it was required of her. She placed the book aside and stood, smoothing down her skirt. "What have I told you about calling me that?" She chided, "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Anya like you did when we were children?"
Jory offered her his arm, "Once more, my lady, as always." The Whent girl could only smile at his stubborn chivalry. It must have been the first time he did not don a shirt of mail beneath his leather doublet since leaving Winterfell. He wore a quilted tunic the color of a winter's sky instead, the color made his brown eyes look darker. Anya would have said he looked handsome if she felt it would not overstep an invisible boundary between duty and intimacy.
The first course of butternut squash soup had already been served when the pair entered. Only a handful looked up at as they entered, the queen being one of them. Cersei could hardly believe the state of Lord Eddard's sister, dust and ink had been smudged on her cheek and rubbed to the point that it appeared she had not bathed in a week. The boxy grey dress only given shape by a tearing leather belt was another monstrosity. The queen thought it best to overlook the careless appearance of both Anya and Arya for the remainder of the evening no matter how challenging that feat would be.
Anya's seat was across from Sansa and between Ned and Jory. It was strange to sit next to Ned, the seat to his left had always been for Catelyn since their marriage and the seat to his right would be where Robb set when they were not hosting Northern lords. A wild boar that had been basted with butter, garlic, rosemary, and honey was brought forth on a wooden stretcher. The beast was so large four men had to share the weight. Robert boasted and claimed he had killed a boar twice the size when he was younger, she along with most of the other's in the hall, realized the king was already drunk.
Roast parsnips and potatoes that were doused in butter came with a hunk of the meat. Sansa, Arya, and even Anya poked around at the fatty chunk of boar with distaste, settling for the side dishes and bread instead. Shortly after the main course was cleared from the table five monstrous strawberry pies were presented with dishes of lemon sherbet. It was the only course the Whent girl thoroughly enjoyed. She looked around the hall, scanning over each of the faces until her eyes fell upon Sandor Clegane. The Hound was seated at a far off table with three of the Kingsguard, Anya lowered her gaze to the crumbs of pie crust in her plate as soon as the burnt man raised his head.
There was even a singer in attendance for the feast and as everyone nibbled at the last course, he sang. The Day They Hanged Black Robin was the second song he performed, right after Fifty-Four Tuns. Half way through the solemn piece, Robert threw his wine towards the man and demanded a new song, so the lone singer played A Cask of Ale to appease the King.
Anya nursed her cup of Arbor gold and relished in the fact that she had not been brought into any of the gossiping conversations that the ladies of the court shared in. "I heard you found the library," her brother remarked.
She nodded, "Yes, Ser Jaime was kind enough to show me the way to it," Ned bristled at the mention of Jaime Lannister. It was no secret to her that the two rarely saw eye-to-eye, he would likely tell her to refrain from interacting with the Kingslayer though she had already planned to keep her distance from the queen's twin brother. Anya did not enjoy entertaining the thoughts of what it would feel like when Cersei grew jealous and decided to sink her manicured claws into the Whent girl. At the thought, she drank the rest of her wine and poured another glass.
Sansa and Arya had been taken to their chambers for the night by Septa Mordane, the queen's children were the next to disappear from the feast. Soon after Anya had tired of the festivities and decided it best to retire for the night, in the coming months she would have a lot of reading to do and it would be a shame if she slept during the day. Eddard bid her a good rest and sent Jory with her. He was no fool; they had come to a dangerous place and he had to protect his family.
