It was the day of the big tournament. Peter and Meg sat in the stands with the king and his family.

"Wow!" Meg said. "It's even better than the songs. Look, there's Lord Beric Dondarrion. And there's Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers!"

Glen Quagmire came over and sat down beside Peter and Meg. "I see you brought your daughter," he said.

Peter sighed. "Yep, she's here to make the next five minutes feel like an hour."

"I'm Meg Griffin," Meg said. "I have not had the honor, my lord."

"This is Lord Glen Quagmire," said Peter. "He's on the king's council with me."

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," Quagmire said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock.

"Whoa, slow down there, muchacho," said Prince Joffrey. "She's betrothed to me, not you!"

Quite abruptly Quagmire turned and walked away.

"Well, that was creepy," said Meg. But she tried to put it out of her mind and concentrate on enjoying the tournament.

Jaime Lannister rode brilliantly. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and Lord Bryce Caron as easily as if he were riding at rings, and then took a hard-fought match from white haired Barristan Selmy, the commander of the Kingsguard. Sandor Clegane and his brother Gregor who was a big ass motherfucker seemed unstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style.

In the end it came down to four; the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the youth they called the Knight of Flowers. But by then the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning.

The court went down to the riverside for a feast. Peter and Meg were given places of high honor, to the left of the raised dais where the king sat beside his queen. There was a thick soup of barley and venison, salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, snails in honey and garlic, and trout fresh from the river. And wine. Lots of wine.

"Thish ish great," Peter slurred drunkenly, waving his glass around in the air. "If Loish wash here, she'd be tryin' to shtop me right now. 'Pee-tah, I think you've had enough to drink.' That'sh how she talksh."

"My wife alwaysh letsh me drink ash much ash I want," Robert said proudly. "Ishn't that right, Cershei?"

"Yep, that's right," said Cersei, who had only had one small glass herself. The real reason she let her husband get drunk all the time was because she secretly hated him and was hoping he'd drink himself to death.

Joffrey was sitting next to Meg. He laid his hand at on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

Meg was about to say no, thinking she would walk back with her father, but just then Peter passed out on the table and began snoring. "Yes, thank you, that would be most kind," she said instead. "I am tired, and the way is so dark. I should be glad for some protection."

Joffrey called out, "Dog!"

Sandor Clegane seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. He had exchanged his armor for a red woolen tunic with a leather dog's head sewn on the front. The light of the torches made his face shine a dull red. "Yes, your grace?" he said.

"Take my betrothed back to the castle, and see that no harm befalls her," the prince told him brusquely. And without even a word of farewell, Joffrey strode off, leaving Meg there.

Meg could feel the Hound watching her. "Did you think Joff was goin' to take you 'imself?" he laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. "Small chance of that. Come, you're not the only one needs sleep. I've drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow." He laughed again.

The Hound made and Meg followed him. She could not bear the sight of him, he frightened her so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. A true lady would not notice his face, she told herself. "You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor," she made herself say.

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. "Spare me your empty little compliments, girl… and your sers. I ain't no knight. I'm just a hound. My brother was a knight, and he did this to me!" He indicated his burned face. "Pretty sight, ain't it? Well, at least you don't have to look at yourself!"

"How did it happen?" Meg asked.

"I'll tell you what it was, girl," he said, a voice from the night, a shadow so close that she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. "When we were kids, I took one of his toys without his permission. So, he picked me up and shoved my face in a fire and held me there while I screamed and screamed. That's why I'm gonna kill him someday. And if you ever tell anyone what I just said, I'll kill you!"

Meg was confused. "What do you not want me to tell them? That your brother shoved your face in a fire, or that you plan to kill him?"

"Any of it. The things I told you tonight, if you tell Joffrey, your father, any of those guys, I'll break you dead!"

Meg was silent the rest of the way back to the castle.