After the death of Ser Hugh of the Vale, Sansa was not so excited to attend another day of the tourney but had done so anyway. Anya had the same ill-feeling that there would be another calamity or casualty as Ser Gregor Clegane was still competing in the lists. Arya had asked her to come meet her dancing master and she was beginning to wish she had gone with the young girl as the first jousts between vassal knights of the lesser houses commenced.
It was boring affair filled with clumsy mistakes that made each round last longer than it should have. Each time a lance broke Anya winced, remembering the sight of Ser Hugh lying on the ground not even ten feet away. A splintered lance driven into his throat, blood pulsed from his neck and mouth, each surge weaker than the last. Sansa had gone pale. No one had rushed to the young knight's aid. It must have been shock that stalled anyone from taking action and as a result, a great deal of people simply watched as he died, including her.
"Jory's competing?" He had been the last person Anya had expected to see ride forth. A direwolf was etched onto the silver breastplate and unlike the other jousters. Jory's armor was minimal, he wore only enough for the protection and support of his upper body. She wished he would wear a full suit in the wake of what had happened to Ser Hugh. Jory Cassel rode forth with a pair of blue roses, the first he gave to Sansa, the second went to Anya. "My ladies."
Jory had unhorsed Horas Redwyne and one of the Freys that was participating. Lothor Brune had been the competitor to truly challenge him, after three tilts the hedge knight had won. And so came the final jousts of the tournament. Sandor had bested Lord Renly and Ser Jaime prior in the day and would face either his brother or Ser Loras in the final tilt.
The royal herald made a grand gesture to one end of the jousting field where a large man in black armor sat astride a black horse. "Ser Gregor Clegane." The Mountain was a behemoth of a man, his destrier appeared nothing but a pony between his legs. Rumors had claimed that he could wield a six-foot two-handed greatsword with a single hand, upon seeing the man she had no doubt it was true.
"The Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell," the herald called and applause broke out among the attendants of noble and low birth. Loras Tyrell wore armor wrought with jeweled flowers and a cape of woven roses. Already he was a renowned knight, celebrated throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Not to mention he was exceptionally handsome, Sansa was already infatuated at first glance. The knight rode up to where Sansa sat and presented a red rose to her. "Thank you, Ser Loras." She chirped like a trained songbird, remembering her courtesies.
Anya's eyes must have been deceiving her, playing her for an utter fool in the afternoon sun. The heat had obviously done something to her mind and every other guest in attendance as well. The Mountain had been unhorsed by Ser Loras Tyrell on the first tilt. Gregor Clegane had been defeated as if he were a clumsy squire boy.
The applause of the crowd broke into shocked gasps and screams when the Mountain called for his sword and took the head off his horse with a single swing. Sansa gripped her father's arm, fearing for her Knight of Flowers as the Mountain approached him. Had Loras lost his jousting shield there would have been blood, he blocked two blows with the small shield while on his back. "Leave him be!"
Anya dug her nails into her knees, her heart beat so loudly there was no doubt in her mind that everyone in King's Landing would have heard it. "Sandor," she breathed his name but Ned and Sansa had heard her. He had drawn his own sword, blocking a third strike to the Knight of Flowers. Loras Tyrell scuttled backward.
The Mountain paused for only a moment to look at his brother before stepping forward and swinging the greatsword with no reservation. Despite the difference in size, the brothers were evenly matched. Gregor's rage had befuddled his mind and made his swings sloppy, that is where Sandor found his advantage. Each time their swords rang against one another's Anya winced and tried willing herself to look away, only she couldn't. The king stood at last.
"STOP THIS MADNESS," he boomed, "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
The Hound went to one knee and Ser Gregor's blow cut air, and at last he came to what little sense he had. He dropped his sword and glared at Robert, surrounded by his Kingsguard and a dozen other knights and guardsmen. Wordlessly, the Mountain turned and strode off, shoving past Barristan Selmy. "Let him go," Robert said, and as quickly as that, it was over.
Anya's heart was racing, ten spots of blood soaked through the fabric of her dress where her nails had broken the skin of her knees. A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back onto the field said to Sandor Clegane, "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser."
"I am no ser," the Hound replied, but he took the victory, and the champion's purse, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons. They cheered him as he left the lists to return to his pavilion.
Anya stood to leave but Ned stopped her, his raised brow alone asked where she was going. "I've seen enough," the tightness of her throat made it hard to speak. She passed House Swann and House Royace's tents, the wheelhouses of some knights, and the modest tents of hedge knights. House Tyrell's tent was green and gold with a rose flag flying from the tallest support beam. Squire boys were helping the Knight of Flowers from his armor.
He looked up at her sudden entrance, recognizing her immediately. Anya picked up the goblet of wine that had been poured and passed it him, "Are you hurt Ser Loras?" She asked.
Loras shook his head, "Shaken is all, my Lady. I owe the Hound my life." They shared only a handful more words before she excused herself.
She left the tent but had stepped on some man's poor foot. Anya saw that it was Robert's brother, no doubt he would wish to check on the Knight of Flowers as he had been a page and squire. "Lord Renly, I apologize for my gaucherie," she told him as it was the proper thing to do.
He took her hand, "No harm done, Lady Anya." Lord Renly placed and kiss to her knuckles and entered the Tyrell tent.
Anya made her way through the pavilions that belonged to champions and knights. Stopping occasionally to speak with those who were outside of their tents. She had found that Horas Redwyne was a queer boy with a sense of humor so lewd it would have made the most experienced of whore flush. Lothor Brune was another competitor she had spoken with on her way back to the grand pavilion, he had been the one to defeat Jory only after a judgment by Robert, the man was older than Ned by a couple of years and though stoic was kind with a common and honest face.
The feast would start soon and on this night her stomach rumbled with hunger. She contemplated catching up with Sandor, Jaime, and Joffrey who were steps ahead of her. Her appetite had been lost after seeing two brothers fight each other with such hatred earlier in the day but had come back with a vengeance.
Ser Gregor Clegane was trailing behind her, the bitterness of defeat had left a foul taste in his mouth that only a woman and wine could take away. The Whent girl was the first one he had seen after exiting House Clegane's tent and now the poor girl was the one he intended on having. "Girl!" She froze when the gruff voice of the Mountain called out but when Sandor heard his brother's voice he turned back, leaving Joffrey with the protection of Jaime Lannister and Preston Greenfield.
Anya took a handful of quick steps and gripped the Hound's arm. Even if her expression seemed calm her eyes told the truth of her fear. He knocked her feet from underneath her, tossed her over his shoulder and gave her arse a light smack. Gregor had not seen her noble and fair face, if she played the Hound's lowly whore for only a few minutes it could very well save her life. "Play along, little Lady," the Hound rasped. She hardly had time to notice his armor had been replaced by a red woolen tunic with a leather dog's head sewn on the breast.
He veered away from the tents, away from his brother and into the forest tree line. The festivities, however, were still visible and the roars of laughter and chatter from the banquet pavilion could easily be heard. Sandor pinned her weight against a tree, she was lighter than a damned feather in his arms. One ungentle touch and she would bruise, break even. Anya had never been able to look him directly in the eyes as she was doing now, under the moonlight his eyes were a warm brown. When she slid a fraction of an inch her legs wrapped around the Hound's waist on instinct and his hands slipped to her hips to keep her from falling.
She told herself it was for the charade when she slipped an arm around his neck so that her hand was splayed across his shoulder. Her breathing was erratic and as her chest heaved, Sandor could feel her breasts brushing against his chest with each rise and fall. The sight and smell of her were enough to drive him mad with need and want. He cursed her for making him feel such things. He cursed Anya Stark almost every day since he had first laid eyes on her.
Her lips parted and moved but he did hear the words she spoke. "I thank you for saving me from him," her heart was racing beneath the constricting layers of her gown. The Hound let out odd noise that truly made him sound like a dog, though he did manage a gruff 'hmph'.
When Anya was let down to stand on her own she almost laughed at her disheveled appearance. Pieces of tree bark clung to her hair, leaves crowned her head, the fine samite gown was wrinkled with the bodice and skirts twisted. If anyone were to see her in such a state the rumors would ruin her reputation, Ned would care more about the gossip than she would. "Would you take me back to my chambers?" Her voice shook and Sandor obliged, this time offering her the crook of his arm.
He saw her safely to her chambers and stopped one of her maids in the hall, the poor girl was struck with fear at the sight of him. "Lady Anya will be wanting her supper delivered here tonight, girl, and see that you get her a few extra cherry tarts." Anya could hear him speaking to Rana and she thought about opening her door to thank him once more but as soon as he mentioned the cherry tarts her heart stopped. She hadn't remembered explicitly telling the Hound that cherry tarts were her favorite sweet yet somehow from a previous feast or distant conversation he had remembered. The seeds of fondness were planted within her heart at that moment.
Arya sat on the edge of Anya's bed, her wide Stark grey eyes followed the chambermaids around the room. Today her aunt was wearing a dress of deep blue cambresine, Arya had always thought any shade of blue was befitting for Anya. It made her hair look like spun gold and brought out the fairness of her skin. She would be a proper lady today, as opposed to the day prior when she wore breeches and a tunic to practice in one of the courtyards with bow and sword. "Would you like to come and meet my dancing master?" The Stark girl swung her legs impatiently as a girl about Sansa's age began braiding Anya's hair.
The Whent girl sighed, "Another day, little wolf, I promised to take your sister into the market today for a new pair of shoes." In the mirror, Anya could see Arya's crestfallen expression become overtaken by irritation, "But Sansa already has three pairs of shoes that she never wears!"
"Indeed she does, it was my folly that caused this outing. Joffrey was about to request her presence for the day and I beat him to it." With a wave, Anya excused her maid and finished the braid herself, tying it off with a piece of blue silk that matched the sleeves of her dress.
Arya's arms were crossed, her nose scrunched up, "And will the Hound be with you?" She hated to be anywhere near the burnt man since what had occurred on the Kingsroad, she rarely wanted to be near her sister as of late either. The rift between the two sisters was growing larger no matter how she and Ned tried to remedy it.
"What does it matter if he is?" She inquired of the young Stark.
Arya's stubbornness was shining through. Needle was grasped in her hands, still sheathed. Anya imagined that her niece would love nothing more than to stick the blade through his eye and out the back of his skull. "He killed Mycah. He's a horrible person and I wish he were dead," she declared.
"Arya! Do not speak like that! He may not be lord or a knight, but he is loyal and honest. The queen had commanded him to go after your friend, what right had he to refuse her orders?" Her words were wind, though. Anya knew Arya to be stubborn and this would be no different, she had her own opinion of the Hound and nothing was likely to change it. "You'll find that whenever he doesn't have someone pulling his strings like a puppet that he is not an awful person, rough around the edges surely, but not awful."
Anya shuffled through the things piled into her vanity tray and picked out a black hair comb made from the shell of a tortoise, "And yes, he will be accompanying us. Joffrey has ordered him to keep his ladylove safe." The piece slipped easily into her hair but didn't suit the rest of her attire, she placed the hair comb aside and sat next to Arya. "How about this evening you show me what your dancing master has taught you?" That seemed to remedy what little anger Arya had directed at her aunt. With a kiss on the forehead, she nudged her niece toward the door, knowing that her lesson would begin shortly. "Run along."
Sansa opened her chamber doors wearing a pale pink samite gown with a golden belt, her auburn hair done in a style that mimicked one of Cersei's elaborate styles. She was turning into as southern lady. "You look lovely, Sansa." Her smile was oddly bashful. Together they had broken their fast on sun-ripened raspberries, a sweet bread glazed with honey, and fresh pressed apple juice. Ned had joined them at the last minute, he would be needed at the small council meeting shortly.
Joffrey was waiting with the Hound at his side to see his betrothed off for the morning. Anya turned her gaze elsewhere as the prince gave Sansa a short kiss upon the lips and bid her a safe return to the keep for dinner.
"Sandor," he looked down at Anya when she spoke his name expecting to hear an order or something of those lines but she had said his name in greeting.
The Hound was a looming presence behind Sansa and her aunt, the man followed them with the diligence of a shadow. They had only just left the Keep's gates when Sansa looked back, offering a sweet smile and gentle words to her prince's sworn sword. "You were very brave to save Ser Loras from your brother at the tourney," Sansa spoke unsurely, her voice quavering.
Anya wondered what frightened her niece the most about Sandor Clegane. Was it his face? Or his cold demeanor? Maybe it was due to the fact that she had only ever been near him when Joffrey was present and then he was not a man, but a dog.
"Spare me your false courtesies, girl." Anya frowned at his brashness and Sansa turned red with discomfiture.
The people of the city had begun to line the streets, children smiled and waved at Sansa, but she only looked ahead blankly. Women with their suckling babes stepped forward in hopes that Sansa would bless their children as a queen would have done, she walked past them as well. Anya frowned and took her niece's arm, Sandor trailed hardly even a foot behind them, and one of his hands always hovered over a dagger. "It will be good to speak with these people. Earning their love will help ensure you and Joffrey have a long reign. These people are not your enemies."
Sansa scrunched up her nose, "But they smell." It was true enough, most did smell, but it was the stench of the city itself that made the people smell so horrid. Smoke, sweat, and shit. Especially shit. The true pity was in the fact that a city the size of King's Landing had never known what it was like to have proper drainage and functioning sewers outside of the Keep. Sansa looked petrified of the idea that she would need to interact with the lowborn of King's Landing.
"Your aunt is right," the Hound added in his gruff tone, though even his input did not seem to convince the girl. "Perhaps another day," Anya suggested. The trio continued on their way through the crowded streets.
It was on Sowbelly Row that they found a cordwainer's store next to a tanner's shop. The owner had a selection of shoes already made, most were leather boots for men though among them was a few shoes meant for young ladies. All five pairs available had been made in the same size and style, only the colors differed.
Sansa chose the pair of grey slippers with silver embroidery, a subtle touch that would remind her of her own house even whilst surrounded by lions. She had been delighted when the shoes had fit perfectly onto her feet. The shopkeeper had insisted that the future queen take them, free of charge and while the young girl clutched the simple shoes to her chest in thanks, Anya placed a handful, perhaps fifteen or so, cooper stars on the counter before leaving.
They had stopped to look in three dress shops and even a jeweler's story as a silver brooch in the form of a weirwood tree with rubies as leaves had caught both Anya and Sansa's attention. Now, however, they were coming on the market. Stalls lined the streets and alleyways. Silks, fruits, steel, and wine were amongst some of the items being bought and exchanged.
A Volantene vendor had set up his stall with woven baskets of oranges, lemons, and limes displayed next to jars of spices and sheets of samite. "Oranges!" The Whent girl exclaimed eyes wide with awe, "I haven't had oranges since I was a little girl at H-," Anya paused mid-sentence upon realizing what she was about to say, Harrenhal.
Oranges had been a rare treat when she was a child and once in the North there was hardly ever any fruits asides from apples and berry bushes that could withstand the cold. It seemed absurd that the sight of an orange could spark such elation in her.
The Hound and the little bird followed Anya through the maze of people and street carts but soon lost her to the crowd. By the time Sandor had spotted her again she was carrying two canvas sacks filled with the fruit.
"You shouldn't run off like that," Sandor lambasted her, a flush of color came to her cheeks that made Sansa giggle. The girl had never seen her aunt blush in such a manner. He took the sacks from her and continued to follow both Sansa and Anya through the crowded market square.