New chapter! And after that emotional twist I have another up my sleeve. I really want this to be an emotional escapade and a sort of fight between right and wrong between Tarynn's love for Sandor and the duty that Eddard keeps suffocating her with.
Slightlynerdy.
Wolves and Hounds.
Chapter 21.
Over the last few days, Tarynn had managed to make herself scarce from the toils of the tourney. She had feigned illness, and remained in her chambers, avoiding everyone par Tilana and Bronte. She could not handle seeing Renly, even though he came calling for her. The baskets of flowers were proof of that, each one holding a signed card with the name Renly on. But her heart ached, and all her energy was taken up by curling up in a ball and making sure that her heart didn't fracture into a million shards. She had broken her own heart, and it was killing her inside.
She requested all her meals to come to her rooms; she had not seen any of her sisters since the night that Renly had announced their engagement. Although she heard Sansa's voice through her heavy wooden door asking Tilana if she could see Tarynn just for a second. Tilana had come in, to ask Tarynn's permission, and Tarynn had refused it. If she saw Sansa she would begin to cry, something that she usually reserved for bedtime, crying herself to sleep seemed cliché but her eyelids always seemed to drift to a close after she had allowed the tears to flow.
The tourney had started three days past, and she constantly asked Tilly and Bronte for any news of the jousts, melee and archery contests. Who had made it through to the next rounds and who hadn't. The same names kept on recurring; Loras Tyrell, Gregor Clegane, Ser Jaime, Lothor Brune, even Renly had defeated a couple of people in the jousts so his name was still in the standings, Thoros of Myr was another name that continued cropping up, Toby of Casterly Rock, much to her suprise and Sandor Clegane. When Tilana had told her, her voice had betrayed her disdain, although she had kept her face clear of any expression.
Tarynn had heard her handmaidens whispers about the 'vile dog' who was 'constantly sniffing around dear Lady Tarynn', and it didn't stop until Tarynn ordered any gossip to dissipate, that she would not listen to it. Bronte had pouted, Tilana had nodded, and Tarynn had slunk back into bed. Pulling the coverlets over her head and blocking out the bright light that streamed through the window.
That had been yesterday however, and now, as Tilana pulled back the gossamer curtains which caused Tarynn to wake, the handmaidens had decided that enough was enough, Tarynn needed to attend one of the tourney events and she couldn't stay cooped up inside forever.
"Lady Tarynn, were you thinking of venturing outside for once this century?"
Tilana, moved to the wardrobe, flinging it open and pulling out one of Tarynn's best day dresses. Tarynn yawned, sitting up and stretching before pushing the covers off her bare legs.
"I don't think I could face anyone, perhaps tomorrow."
"You said that yesterday Tarynn, come, tell me. What has gotten you so mournful? You are an engaged woman now, ready to be wed, to have a family. Is that not something to be joyful of? Or perhaps Tilly is being a fool woman, and surmising the wrong things." Tilly sat on the bed beside Tarynn, pulling the younger girl into her embrace. "Tell me."
Tarynn wanted to tell her, Tilana reminded her of Gerta and it was reassuring to have a sort of mother figure in King's Landing. Tilana was reaching her 35th year, and even though she didn't look old, she had explained to Tarynn that it was because of her time spent in Brothels. The women who cost the most would be the ones treated the best, their skin was kept supple and smooth, their hair soft and shiny.
"It's nothing."
Tilana scoffed, holding Tarynn at arms length, the bracelets on her wrists jingling, "It is not nothing, it is something, and I must be as blind as that fool Bronte to not see it. You are scared and hurt… Yes I see it now."
Tarynn looked away, sighing, "I've done an awful thing."
"I see…" Tilana stood, standing in front of Tarynn with her hands on her hips, "You conceal yourself well Lady Tarynn Stark, but beyond your righteous demeanour I know something plagues you, perhaps has even scarred you…" When Tilana didn't get a response she sighed. "I have had a present made for you, it was supposed to be an engagement present from both me and Bronte, it's not much, but I thought you might like it."
Tilana reached inside the wardrobe, pulling out a gown of dornish silk and thin fabric, "It is hot today, wear this instead," It was a light blue, and Tarynn stood, moving towards Tilana and running her fingers over the soft fabric.
"It's beautiful."
"And you need not wear a corset; I know how much you hate them."
Tarynn looked up, "Thank you Tilly, this is wonderful."
The dress hugged her body loosely, the style that Tilly had dressed her in was reminiscent of the dornish. It was perfect and beautiful, she also knew that it would turn more than a few heads, she was supposed to be wearing a traditional Westeros dress, but since what her father had made her do she figured that she couldn't care less. Let people talk, she had done what her father had wanted, she was sure that he could handle her wearing something a little more outrageous.
When Tilana had disappeared in order to inform Tarynn's father and sisters that she was indeed going to break her fast with them, Bronte made an appearance, carrying a box full of Tarynn's phials.
"Oh, Tarynn, you're up. Maester Pycelle sent this for you, he also hopes that you get better but I can see that his hopes are not needed."
"No they're not, but if you see him again Bronte tell him that I am grateful for the extra vials. Just put them on my desk."
Bronte nodded, dumping the box on Tarynn's desk. After she had done so she waved some envelopes in Tarynn's direction, "These are for you, two from Winterfell, and another from Highgarden."
She handed them over, and Tarynn eagerly opened one of the ones from Winterfell;
Dearest Tarynn,
Your previous letter was not something that we were expecting to hear, you have been in King's Landing for only a short time and already you are betrothed, and to Lord Renly no doubt! I have heard others gossip about him, saying that he's handsome and strong. Perhaps you were right to turn down Theon, this Renly sounds like quite the catch. Maester Luwin on the other hand just grunted when I told him the news, I think he still thinks of you as that little girl who used to hang onto his every word.
Everything else is fine here; Maester Luwin has been tweaking your medicine, even though you don't need him to anymore. I think it just keeps him busy. I miss you Tarynn, we all do. I'm thinking of buying passage to the wedding, if you wanted me to? I know it's not proper for an old handmaid to attend their mistress's wedding but you've been my little sister for as long as I can remember, even if we are not joined by blood.
Little Rickon misses you as well, and there has been no change in Bran as of yet. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news but there is some good news as well, Maester Luwin says that he will wake up out of this comatose, when however is a different question.
Anyway my darling Tarynn, write to me as soon as you are able! Jed always comments on how good a mood I am in after I've read one of your letters.
We miss you.
Gerta, Maester Luwin, Jed, and all the others you left behind at Winterfell.
Tarynn folded the letter and gently laid it down on her desk, hot tears pinpricked at her eyes but she hurriedly wiped away the feeling with the back of her hand. She missed Winterfell awfully. She turned to the next one, the envelope was closed with red seal, a direwolf emblem had been pressed into it and her thoughts drifted to Tome.
I wonder how big he is now, if he has a pack? I do hope he has a pack.
She peeled the seal off of the envelope, sliding the heavy parchment out. She had surmised that it would have been from her mother and brothers, but her heart sank as she realised who it had been penned by.
Tarynn,
Knowing my luck you're read the first line and realised that it wasn't from your family and decided to rip it up, if you haven't then I guess I'm still in your good graces, if marred slightly. I have heard that you are engaged to Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End, and I want to congratulate you, but I am also writing to you in order to find out if perhaps you have changed your mind? I can change, and I know my actions have come across as self confident and demanding but if you would accept me… Then just think about it, the Iron Islands, ours.
Write to me, please.
Ever yours,
Theon Greyjoy, last remaining son and heir to the Iron Islands.
She crumpled the letter up and threw it into the corner of her room, how could he just write to her and expect everything to be forgiven?
That over confident pig headed man of a fool!
The last one had a seal the colour of the deepest leaves, a rose pressed into it. She fingered it gently before prising it open, the letter dropped out, as well as a silver and blue rose pendant.
Dearest Lady Tarynn,
You must forgive me for not writing you sooner but I have had many things on my mind, and many hobbies that I keep occupying my time. Your father contacted my father and my grandmother about the pact of marriage between our two houses. However it seems that I am too late in responding. I wish you the best in your impending marriage and hope that one day we shall meet.
Willas Tyrell.
She left the letter and the rose pendant with Gerta's before smoothing down her new clothing. She smiled at Bronte who was about to begin stripping the bed before leaving the room.
Her father and sisters were sat around the small breakfast table in a room that had a balcony which overlooked the city of King's Landing; Arya had been idly stabbing at an orange whilst Sansa was picking at something on her sleeve. Their father had been looking over missives until he noticed that Tarynn had indeed decided to join them for breakfast.
"Ah, so I see you have decided to re-join the ranks of the living… How do you feel?"
He stood, taking his oldest daughter into his arms she mumbled her answer against the collar of his shirt, "Much better thank you, I just needed a few days rest is all."
"Well I'm glad that you have decided to show your face at least, Renly has been visiting everyday only to be met with the same reception. He deserves to be treated better now that you are both engaged to married."
He allowed her to sit down and she reached for an orange, going for the more orthodox way of peeling it instead of stabbing at it with a table knife. Sansa looked up at her.
"Ser Loras Tyrell is doing wonderfully in the jousts. I don't think he's lost a single one. Maybe he'll win…" Sansa grew wistful. "Oh," She stood disappearing into one of the alcoves before reappearing with a bunch of bright orange and pink flowers, "Renly left this for you, he came by earlier this morning, he wanted to see you as he is jousting today."
Sansa put the flowers down in front of her, "Against?"
Arya answered, sullen and moody, "The Hound, that lowlife scum of a…"
Their father's voice cut through the air, silencing Arya, "Arya that is enough." The girl slumped back in her chair, laying the knife on the table. Ned Stark turned to address his two oldest daughters; "Tarynn and Sansa you are to stick together today, Arya, you are to remain with me." They all stood, and Sansa gripped Tarynn's arm, pulling her towards the door. "Tarynn? What are you wearing?" She turned back to face her father.
"Traditional dornish dress."
"Is it… wise to be wearing that here in King's Landing."
She shrugged her shoulders, "I will soon be a married woman, surely you would allow me to make the most out of my last little bit of freedom."
Her father frowned but nodded, ushering her on and out the door. "Sit in front of the royal box, and mind yourselves."
Once out of the small dining room Sansa began to chatter excitedly, "Renly clearly likes you, he sent so many flowers up to your room, did you see them all?" Tarynn nodded, it was hard not to notice the overflowing amounts of flora that now occupied her room. The pollen often made her sneeze as well. "I wish Joffrey sent me flowers, but all he ever seems to do is hold my hand whenever we're with other people." Sansa pouted and Tarynn gently took her hand in her own.
"Men are strange creatures, not that I'm saying that Joffrey is a man but still, sometimes they don't act in the way you want them to act." She glanced down at Sansa's auburn hair, her voice growing wistful, "Sometimes they can be harsh and ignorant, or unemotional and impenetrable. It doesn't mean that they love you any less."
"Is that how Renly treats you sometimes Ta?"
Tarynn squeezed Sansa's hand before letting it go, "No. No, Renly doesn't treat me like that, but someone else does." She had said too much, she realised that as soon as the flash of confusion crossed Sansa's face, she quickly changed the subject. "Anyway San, you look beautiful today, the dark blue really brings out the colour of your eyes."
The younger girl grinned before beginning to gabble on about her dress.
Crisis averted.
The tourney was overflowing with people, those from the lower classes mingled with the upper, vendors walked amongst the tents and seating areas calling out their wares. Horses neighed, men shouted in anger at their squires whenever something got messed up. As they passed many women and men bowed their heads to Sansa and herself. Obviously being two of the four guests of honour had something to do with that, but they were also the most powerful family in the North, and that couldn't be forgotten.
A couple of jousters were practicing in the jousting arena when she spotted a flash of dark grey steel disappear around the corner of a tent, she had seen Renly as well, chatting to Loras Tyrell and a couple of women she didn't know but that wasn't what captured her attention.
"I will be back shortly San, find our seats." She kissed her sister on the cheek before weaving through the crowd of people towards where she saw that glint of dark grey metal.
"Sorry, excuse me, I'm sorry," She gently tapped a man on the shoulder; he bowed as he moved out of the way, "Thank you."
People swarmed the grounds of the Red Keep, she had never seen so many souls in one place, and it was overwhelming and exciting. When she reached the tent area the amount of people began to thin, and she could move freely without the fear of walking into someone or something. She rounded a corner, and spotted a dull yellow tent with a flag with three hounds flying above it, her heart leaped to her mouth and she hazards a peek inside.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you, my brother is a very private person and he doesn't take kindly to foreigners poking their big noses into his…" She turned round, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. "Tarynn."
Sandor took a step back, he was wearing full armour and nestled under his arm was his trademark helm, and his scar was hidden by his matted black hair. He looked like he had been dragged through hell, his face was haggard, his breath stank of wine, and he smelt like something had died. Her stance softened and she reached out, touching him lightly on the face.
"What have you been doing to yourself?"
His laugh was deep, raspy and unfriendly, "What have I been doing after the woman I love decided to rip my heart out? Drinking myself into fucking oblivion. But you…" He pointed a finger at her, "But you I hear have been sleeping like a baby, without a fucking care in the world. Hiding up there in your fucking tower, concealing yourself from the world like the fucking craven you are."
She slapped him, hard and fast across the face; her eyes were blinded by tears her voice choked with anger. "How dare you. Do you think you're the only one who isn't hurting Sandor? Typical you isn't it? To think that everyone owes you something. That chip on your shoulder is so large it could pass for another head you fucking drunkard. I don't know what I saw in you."
She turned to leave, it had been a mistake to come and see him but he grabbed hold of her wrist in his steely grip, clamping his fingers down. "I'm going to kill him you know. I'm going to run a stake through his throat. Mark my words. You were mine, and now I've lost you to a fucking dandy. I hope black suits you, though with your complexion and eyes I think you could wear anything and still look beautiful."
His eyes soften, and Tarynn felt herself falling back into his gaze. She shook her head to clear the fog that was clouding her mind and judgement. "Don't. If you kill him I'll never look at you again. I won't talk to you, I won't put you out if you got caught on fire." He openly flinched, "Kill him, and I'll make sure you'll never see the light of day again… Hound."
He let go of her hand, stumbling backwards a few steps, a look of bewilderment on his face. He reached out to her as she started to walk away and she glanced back over her shoulder, his eyes looked remorseful. "Tarynn please, don't leave me."
She stopped, her shoulders hunched, she raised her hands putting them over her heart. It hurt to breath, every time her chest heaved with every intake of air a sharp pain stabbed through her, running her through. "I wish this wasn't so. I want to be with you, I do."
"Then why don't you? No woman has ever had the guts to talk to me like that. No one. If anyone tried to I would have not hesitated in running a sword through them. But you… You change me; you give me something to live for."
She turned, the tears streaming down her face. "I can't, you know that. We were doomed from the very start."
She disappeared between the tents, running back towards the stands, brushing away the tears furiously.
She was still driving the knife deeper into her already scarred heart.
*Sandor*
He was filled with a blind rage; he wanted to kill someone with his bare hands. He wanted to twist their head off and present it to her like the barbarians of old used to do in order to impress a potential mate. He wanted to watch as the light flooded out of a man's eyes. He wanted to listen to that last heart beat before it guttered to a stop.
He picked up one of his practice lances, holding it firmly before snapping it in two. He threw the sharp end like a spear with a loud roar; it stuck in the ground several yards away. He was angry, and that anger fuelled his strength. He was going to win this tournament, he was going to impress Tarynn and her father, he was going to become the victor of the tourney of the Hand.
He had mounted Stranger and his temporary squire handed him his lance this one was several feet of dark grey metal; it glinted menacingly in the sunlight.
"Hand me my wine skin boy."
The child did so, almost tripping over his feet in the process, his hand shook as he held it up. Sandor snatched it from him and gulped down almost half of it before throwing it to the ground.
"I want more whenever I get back here, got it?"
The boy nodded and Sandor dug his heels into Stranger, the horse neighed before following his master's command. When he trotted into view, no one cheered for him. There was a couple of boos, and smattering of hisses, but he was used to it. The only one who looked genuinely pleased to see him was the little shit Joffrey. Two seats away from him was Tarynn.
My Tarynn.
She sat still and stoic beside her sister the little bird. She reminded him in that moment of Catelyn Stark, the matriarch of House Stark. Her eyes swept over him, but they were cold and filled with hurt and fear.
I don't want her to hate me. But how can she not? When every action I do or perform is to cause pain or harm to someone.
He thought he saw a tear slip down her cheek but perhaps it had been a trick of the light. He snapped his visor down and readied his lance. When Renly came trotting out he crowd roared like a fearsome dragon. He raised his hand and trotted over to where Tarynn sat in the stands, he leant down and she stood up, kissing him on the cheek. The crowd went crazy, they howled and stamped their feet and Sandor turned to stone.
I'll fucking smash his face in so much that they'll have a hard time identifying him.
He watched with narrowed eyes as Renly manourvered his horse and lined up, he gave a small nod, and Sandor returned it before they both readied their weapons and waited for the tilt to start.
In that half a second, everything around him became clear. He was able to pick out every motion, every action that might betray his opponents thoughts and strategy.
There was the sound of a horn and Sandor dug his heels into Stranger's side, sending his steed into a full blown gallop, half way he lowered his lance and that was when he realised that Renly had made a fatal mistake.
*Tarynn.*
She watched the joust on the edge of her seat, her fingers clutching the wooden fence in front of her as both men sent their steeds into a fast and furious gallop. It happened so quick that she could hardly process it. Renly hadn't been quick enough when raising his shield and Sandor's aim was right on target.
Renly went flying, and she bolted up right. Deep down inside her she was glad, glad that Renly had been taken down a peg, she wanted to run to Sandor and congratulate him, to tell the crowd that it was he who she loved, and not Renly. But she was compelled by Sansa's screams, and King Robert's roar of anger to run to Renly.
When she neared him she fell to her knees into the mud. Renly was spluttering and struggling to breath, she shouted at someone, anyone to help her get his armour off as it was concaved and pressing down on his chest and lungs. Once off Tarynn ran her fingers down his ribs, Renly winced in pain.
"Two ribs are broken, and there is substantial bruising but his lungs haven't been pierced. Had the aim been anymore to the right then it would have killed him." Renly coughed, and she lowered her voice. "Sssh, be still."
He gripped her hand and wheezed, "Don'… Leave… Stay by… My… Side."
Her heart melted slightly as she looked over a man who had almost been killed by his own cockiness. When men came to lift him onto a moving bed much like the one she had used to move Bran after his fall, she walked with him, her hand still gripped in his.
She turned back once to look at Sandor. He stood with his legs apart, the wind messing up his hair, his face void of any sorrow or pity.