Chapter 6: The Nest
He was breathless, shaking, and his knuckles ached when Gerion Lannister pulled him away from Willem Banefort, one of the oldest squires in Casterly Rock, almost a knight. Tywin's squire. Still panting, he gave a look at his opponent lying on the grass; he should have known it was a mistake to throw himself on Banefort who was all muscle and whose family was powerful while he was nothing. But he challenged me, he provoked me. And I had the upper hand on him. He decided to ignore the fact that he had made another enemy in a castle where he had so few friends, dusted his jerkin and met Gerion's eyes.
"What's wrong with you?" Gerion shouted, clearly disappointed by his behavior.
Tywin's youngest brother had found Sandor giving Banefort a beating in the orchard, at the foot of a pear tree, surrounded by other squires and pages excited by the fight. The boys bellowed and yelped with every blow but none encouraged Sandor; they were just thrilled by his violence and perhaps glad to see someone hitting Banefort. Banefort was said untouchable, because he was Tywin's squire and because he used to terrify the youngest boys; the pages and squires loved the sight of Banefort beaten by someone else but a fight like this one wouldn't make Sandor one of them. He glanced at the fallen nest, lying on the grass; from where he was standing, it looked like a dark sphere made of twigs and moss. He didn't answer Gerion's question.
Banefort pushed himself from the ground, wincing because of his split lip and carefully feeling the lower part of his face as if he was afraid to lose his jaw, while the other boys stepped back for fear of his reaction. He pointed at Sandor.
"He's mad, Ser. A mad dog, that's what he is! He threw himself on me, like a damn beast, when I was climbing the pear tree-"
"What were you doing in the pear tree? Stealing green pears?"
Behind them, a boy laughed and Banefort went silent. The shame he read on the squire's face made Gerion think Banefort climbed the tree for a reason he didn't want to explain.
"Tybolt, come here," Gerion ordered.
No, not Tybolt! He never knows anything, nor sees anything. Tybolt won't say the truth. Kevan's page was looking at his feet and bit his lower lip like a little girl.
"I didn't see anything, Ser. I arrived when they were already fighting," Tybolt explained, after glancing at Banefort.
"Serrett!" Gerion called. "What happened?"
Serrett seemed as sheepish as Banefort and Gerion immediately noticed his crimson cheeks, if his way of stroking his blond beard was any indication.
"Speak, boy. What was your friend Banefort doing in the pear tree? Speak or I'll send you to the dungeon. Clegane already spent a few days in the dungeon, he can tell you how comfortable it is. Right, Clegane?"
Serrett shifted from foot to foot, ill-at-ease.
"There was a nest in the pear tree, on the highest branch," he finally replied. "Banefort wanted to take the nest, and I said he couldn't because it was too high. He climbed the tree... and that's when Clegane showed up and yelled and climbed the tree as well. He threw himself on him, he made Banefort fall."
"Are you hurt, Banefort? Any broken leg? No, or else you wouldn't stand up," Gerion mocked.
"He threw himself on me," Banefort repeated. "I don't even know why!"
"How old are you, Banefort? When do you expect to become a knight?"
"Seven-and-ten, Ser. I hope I'll be dubbed soon, maybe next year."
"Was it some kind of quest, boy? Climbing the tree and seizing the nest, like a trophy, to give it to your lady? Seven Hells, you need to grow up! Now, go away: I could punish you for the nest, but everyone in this castle will soon know you've been beaten by Clegane and that's enough."
He turned to Sandor after sending away everyone, and sighed heavily.
"What am I going to do, with you?"
Sandor shrugged, while Gerion folded his arms in the now silent orchard. A jay chirped in the nearest hazel tree and he suddenly remembered the white speckled eggs once resting in the nest; he didn't need to look to be sure they had crashed on the ground.
"Why did you throw yourself on someone older?"
"Because he took the nest."
"That would be the most ridiculous reason I ever heard to split open someone's lip."
Sandor shrugged again; even if Gerion was not Kevan who had a stiff expression whenever he looked at him, even if he seemed to take Sandor's side, most of the time, he couldn't tell him why he had beaten Banefort. Sandor couldn't even understand his own reaction.
It all began the day Tywin organized a game hunting for Gregor; Banefort, as Tywin's squire, was sure he would come with them. He thought it was his right and Sandor admitted his point of view so far. The night before, as Tybolt later told Sandor, Banefort boasted himself and told everyone he would hunt in the woods near Casterly Rock and find a way to talk with Gregor – Gregor's dubbing by Prince Rhaegar had done a lot for his reputation. However, Tywin's decision of not taking Banefort with him and, above all, the fact that Sandor took part in the hunt, staying with Tywin, provoked the squire's jealousy and since that day, he considered Sandor like an intruder.
At first, Banefort's japes about Sandor's high-pitched voice were not different from the usual scoffing he heard. Then, insults replaced the daily jokes and it became more personal. Banefort repeated 'You don't belong here' every time he met Sandor. The boy clenched his jaw, knowing it was dangerous to take on someone who was more than his match. He knew he didn't really belong to the small world of squires; he talked more to the silly girls working in the kitchens than to his companions. The stupid bet Banefort and Serrett did about the nest infuriated Sandor; he couldn't tell Gerion why without revealing parts of his childhood he tried to forget.
Gregor climbing trees was one of Sandor's first memories about his brother's ill-deeds, probably because when he was a boy of five, watching Gregor playing in the biggest oak near the keep was simply marvelous. He recalled his own smile, his pride, when Gregor had reached the top of the tree then had looked triumphantly at him. Right after that, Gregor began his descent and took the nest snugly set between the trunk and a branch; he carefully held the nest – a round nest made off dark twigs, very similar to the one Banefort coveted – in his hands when he came back to Sandor to show him what he had found, and to the little boy's surprise, the mass of twigs sang. Four little birds, with their greyish feathers still wet and wings so small they seemed useless, chirped together.
Sandor was fascinated; he asked if he could keep the nestlings and feed them or if they should put the nest where Gregor had found it. His brother shook his head and smiled, then grabbed one of the birds – a tiny greyish bird chirping louder in his hand – and he threw it on the grass. Sandor gasped at the sight of the harmless little bird lying there, sensing Gregor was about to do something wrong and screamed when his brother's heel crushed the bird and put an end to the chirping. As far as he knew, the birds had been the first living beings his brother had killed, and until that day, he couldn't stand to see boys destroying nests to have fun. Gregor's recent visit and Banefort's scoffing had done the rest.
As he couldn't confide in Gerion, he stared at the ground and shrugged again, wondering how many days he would spend in the dungeon this time. If things went on like this, people would probably name the dungeon after him, for the weeks he spent behind the bars.
"Come with me," Gerion ordered, frowning.
Eyes downcast, he followed Gerion out of the orchard; they reached the postern, crossed the yard where some squires stared at them, entered the keep and took the spiral staircase leading to the solar. He's going to tell Tywin what I did. Tywin decided to foster me three days ago and I spoiled everything. Gerion didn't utter a word, keeping an impenetrable look until he knocked at the solar's door. He came in, Sandor on his heels, and cleared his throat. Tywin was sat behind a long table, reading a scroll with a seal almost as big as the message; Kevan watched his elder brother, arms folded, an bored expression on his face.
"What?" Tywin said in his soft, yet impatient tone.
"I found Clegane fighting with another squire," Gerion explained, hardly concealing his anger. "He won't tell me why."
Tywin put away the scroll and observed him while Kevan rolled his eyes.
"I already told you, brother," Kevan sighed. "Too many squires-"
"Shut up: the squires will be useful soon." Then he turned to Gerion. "You said the boy didn't want to tell you why he attacked a squire? Look at me, Clegane, and tell me why you beat him."
Sandor remembered the nest, the little birds killed by his brother years ago and thought his explanations weren't worthy of his liege lord.
"I can't tell you, my lord," he answered sheepishly.
"See!" Kevan exclaimed. "Undisciplined, violent and always acting before thinking of the consequences. This boy is out of control! And you decided he would be my squire? Next time you want to make a squire of some boy, please forget about me!"
"If you don't want to take care of him, I'll do your job. Don't complain if the responsibilities I give you don't suit your talent, though."
Tywin's cutting remark irritated Kevan who left without a word. The lord of Casterly Rock sighed deeply, as if his brother was just another unruly child he fostered because he wanted to do a favor to his family.
"So, Gerion, what did you see? Who was this boy Clegane attacked and who was winning the fight when you intervened?"
"Your squire, Banefort. Clegane had already split his lower lip when I stop the fight."
"It seems this lad has a taste for beating older boys," Tywin commented. "You see, mayhap the motives are not that important. It's like this rebellion in the Stormlands; why did all this began? Because of a pretty girl disappearing in the North? I don't know if Lyanna Stark is the reason why half the realm fights against King Aerys and frankly, I don't care. Instead of trying to understand why something happen, we should always consider the facts. Who wins? Or the consequences. What will happen if the rebels are defeated? What if they overthrew the king?"
He pushed himself from his armchair and walked around the table to face them.
"Maybe the fact that Clegane attacked an older boy and had the upper hand on him tells us more about him than the reason why he threw himself on Banefort," he added. "Leave us, Gerion. I'll take care of him."
Gerion didn't react, at first, and slowly retreated from the solar, leaving them alone in the long room from where Tywin Lannister ruled the Westerlands. Sandor felt so ashamed he once more looked at his feet while Tywin walked back to his armchair and lowered his gaze on the mysterious scroll. He read it again, and Sandor wondered why a message so short – it was smaller than Tywin's hand – captivated his overlord. From time to time, he would put the scroll on the table and glanced through the mullion windows, but kept silent. Sandor almost believed he had forgotten about him when Tywin set his green eyes on him.
"My brother Kevan is convinced you're stupid and useless. He says you always smell of onions and manure because you spend your time either in the kitchens or in the stables," he began. "I suppose his conversation with Ser Gregor the other day backs up his analysis. On the other hand, Gerion praises your skills. I wonder if you will be a good swordsman or if you are more than that. What would you say?"
His question took Sandor unawares and he felt an uncomfortable warmth on his cheeks.
"I don't know, my lord."
"Do you know what the message I was reading is about? Of course, you don't, but let's play a game. I could send you immediately to the dungeon or tell Symon to flog you until you bleed. Or... I could let you go after lecturing you. It depends on the advice you'll give me. If your advice is good, it means you're able to understand and dungeon is probably not necessary."
Tywin brandished the scroll and the red ribbon hanging from the huge seal brushed his forearm.
"I won't tell you a secret because within a few hours everyone in this castle will know what this message is about; still, I do you a favor asking your opinion about it. It comes from King's Landing; King Aerys faces difficulties with the rebels fighting in the Stormlands and now in the Riverlands. He asks for my help. What should I do? Remember if your answer doesn't suit me, you'll sleep in the dungeon tonight."
Sandor swallowed hard and asked himself if Tywin's boredom was the reason why he needed to play such games.
"Well, my lord... You should probably do what's best for the realm. What's best for the Westerlands," he added, remembering Tywin only cared about the lands he ruled.
"What if the interest of the realm is different from the interest of the Westerlands?" Tywin retorted.
Sandor felt dizzy: the Seven Kingdoms, the Westerlands, the rebellion stirring the country... He remained silent for a while, hesitating until his eyes found the Lannister sigil adorned with a roaring lion, painted on a shield.
"I suppose... you should do what is best for House Lannister," he replied abruptly.
Tywin stared at him for a few heartbeats, then nodded. In his face few people were able to read, Sandor saw a hint of amusement but not a single trace of irony.
"This is wiser than what I expected from you, Clegane."
Though he seemed satisfied with this answer, he kept his promise and lectured Sandor about fits of anger, before letting him go.
"One last thing, boy. I'll speak to the master-at-arms; expect him to be uncompromising with you. We'll fight sooner or later and you'd better be ready."
He'll help the king, Sandor mused. He'll help Aerys and try to gain something worthy for House Lannister. As he stopped on a balcony to give a look at the yard where squires were still training, he imagined himself rescuing the royal family.
Later on, that same day, when someone told him Tywin had refused to help the crown defeat the rebels, he didn't understand. He recalled every detail of their conversation but couldn't give any sense to Tywin's decision; he nevertheless kept his thoughts for himself and decided to focus on what Tywin had said: training.
Thanks again to my beta reader, Underthenorthernlights, for her advices and her patience!
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your opinion and your kind words always help me.
To Tanakacchi: Thanks a lot! I always wanted to know more about Sandor's past, about how he became the man GRRM describes in the books, so this is one answer among others - I remember one or two other fics I read about his childhood, written by talented people... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!