Blood and Shadows (Game of Thrones)

Danaerys

Danaerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had been through much in her relatively short life. She had been born on the island of Dragonstone during one of the fiercest storms to ever grace Westeros during the tail end of the War of the Usurper. The storm had destroyed most of her father's fleet, but there had been perhaps two ships left and one of those ships had been the one to transport herself, her brother Viserys and Ser Willam Darry to Bravos. They had stayed in Bravos until Ser Willam had died, then the servants in the house with the red door had kicked them out, and she and her brother had wandered from city to city, looking for somewhere to stay. Often the nobles of the city would allow them some lodgings for a time, she knew now that they had done that not out of the goodness of their hearts but because she and Viserys had been viewed as some sort of entertainment, the last two heir of a Great Family. That view had provided warmth and shelter for them for a few years, until it waned, and soon they were kicked out of the places where they once were welcome guests, and Viserys was forced to sell many of the possessions they had, including their mother's crown. It was this she thought that had finally driven Viserys mad, he had been so sweet and caring when they had been young, she knew it couldn't have been easy for him having to find a way to provide for them both but also swallow his pride. It had made him bitter and angry, and he had taken it out on her.

 Then they had come to Pentos. Viserys had told her that a powerful man with connections in Westeros would be providing shelter for them from now on. That man had been Magister Illyrio Mopatis, the magister was a big man with an even bigger belly, he had regaled them with stories about how in his youth he had been one of the finest swordsmen in Essos, but the years had turned his muscle to fat, and he had a silvery beard to disguise the many chins he undoubtedly had. Viserys had spent the time they were in Pentos plotting and scheming with the magister, plotting how to win back the Iron Throne, which was his by rights, as the last remaining male heir of their father and brother. Illyrio had whispered in her brother's ear that the people of the Seven Kingdoms hungered for his return from exile, that they drank secret toasts to his health, and prayed for the day that he would return. She saw how that inflated her brother's ego, how he hungered more for the throne each and every day. Then the magister had told Viserys that if he truly wished to win the Iron Throne, he would need an army, not just any army though, a Dothraki army. The price, her maidenhead. And so she had been sold to the Khal with the biggest Khalasar, Khal Drogo.

She had been terrified the day of her wedding. Khal Drogo and the Dothraki had seemed like savages to her, the type she had heard of as a child wandering the free cities. Her brother though paid no heed to her worries, and so she put on a brave front and wed Khal Drogo. She and Drogo had at first been like strangers to one another, the only time she saw him had been at night when he would enter their tent and take her from behind and claim his right. Eventually she had plucked up the courage to ask how to please him from one of her handmaidens, then things had changed. She knew how to please him, and soon she found that the coupling began to please her as well, she started learning Dothraki, to become better acquainted with her people, and as they made their way toward Vaes Dothrak, where she would be presented, herself and Drogo grew closer and closer, and she had become pregnant with their babe. Viserys though had grown increasingly impatient. He wanted an army, and he wanted one immediately. He was mocked by the Dothraki, he was mocked by her husband, and the fear that she had felt of him as a girl gradually began to disappear the more time she spent with her sun and stars.

When they had arrived at Vaes Dothrak, the old crones had decreed that her child- whom she had decided to name Rhaego- would be the Stallion that mounted the world, an ancient hero from Dothraki lore who would be the khal of khals. Viserys had snapped, he had tried to steal her eggs, he had tried to kill her babe, and so Drogo crowned him, not with iron and bronze, but with molten gold. She did not mourn her brother, not as he had been when he had died, the man he had been when he had died was cruel and mad, she mourned the boy he had been, the sweet and caring boy, who had told her stories of Westeros and their family. Once her brother had been buried in the sands of Vaes Dothrak, they moved onward raiding and pillaging in the east, Drogo had as such lost interest in going to Westeros, and for a time so had Dany, she had been happy to get to know her husband even further and to build up more of her confidence. But then her dreams forced her to urge her sun and stars that the path, the only path they should be taking was the one that would lead them to Westeros and to the Iron Throne. Drogo had been stubborn and refused to contemplate such a thing, until an assassin had been sent by the usurper to try and kill her and her unborn babe. Then her sun and stars had sworn revenge on the Usurper and promised to seat Rhaego on the Iron Throne.

And so the raiding and pillaging had continued, they rode further and further east, taking slaves where the cities and villages they past did not pay tribute, and taking gold and more from the places that did pay tribute. During one such raid her sun and stars received a fatal wound, and the wound festered. Ser Jorah- her bear- told her that her position with the Khalasar depended on Drogo, but that was not the only reason why she had begged Mirri Maz Durr to save her sun and stars, she had lost so much already, she did not think she could stand to lose even more. The maegi performed a blood magic ritual which she had ensured Dany would bring her sun and stars back to her, but Dany had gone into labour whilst the ritual was being performed and so her bear had carried her into the tent, and when she had awoken several days later it was to find that her babe had been stillborn, a creature not a babe, and her sun and stars was a pale husk of a man, an empty shell. The Khalasar began to fragment, in an attempt to spare herself and her sun and stars from more pain, Dany had smothered Drogo with a pillow, and then mounted his body on a pyre along with the maegi's and then with the three eggs she had been given as a wedding gift walked onto the burning pyre, and emerged unharmed but for some her hair singed and her eyebrows burnt off, she emerged with three dragons on her shoulders. Drogon a black dragon, Rhaegal a green dragon and Viserion a pale white dragon.

They rode through the red waste for many days and nights, the days and nights turned into weeks, and began to feel like months and years. Eventually some of her scouts had returned from their mission with three emissaries from the city of Qarth, Xaro Xhaon Daxos, Pyat Pyree and Quaithe. They led her to Qarth, where she and her remaining Khalasar stayed in the manse of Xaro Daxos as "honoured guests" Dany spent her time there trying to convince the nobles of Qarth to help fund her journey back to Westeros, promising them handsome rewards once she had reclaimed the Iron Throne, but it had soon become clear that all they truly wanted was her dragons, when Drogon had gone missing from where she had kept him in Xaro's manse. Her enquiries had led her to the House of the Undying the true rulers of Qarth, in the House of the Undying she had seen many visions, some had made her weep with sadness, others had been plain terrifying, but it was obvious to her now that these visions were events from the past, present and future. She saw the wedding of two people- a man and a woman- who looked exactly like her, she saw the birth of her brother Rhaegar, she saw flames consume a great castle, she saw her brother with his wife cradling a babe speaking of prophecy, she saw the same brother slain on the Trident rubies falling from his chest, she saw a room in the desert covered with ice, blue roses falling down and blood everywhere, she saw a black dragon emerge from the sea coated in red, she saw a griffin crying as a boy took his first steps and said his first word, and she saw an egg red as blood with golden flecks and black whorls, and watched as the egg hatched and a fiery dragon emerged with eyes as dark as night, and then she heard the voices of the undying whispering in tantalising voice, saying she would ride three mounts, light three fires, and know three betrayals. Then the Undying had tried to kill her, but with Drogon's help she had killed the Undying and burnt their manse down.

That had driven herself and her fragile Khalasar out of Qarth but not before learning of the Usurper Robert Baratheon's death and the war that was still engulfing the Seven Kingdoms. She took her Khalasar and her dragons to the docks of Qarth looking for a ship to take them wherever they might go, but a sorrowful man had tried to kill her, the man had barely moved when an old man who had been following her killed the man, and presented himself as Arstan Whitebeard and his big giant of a companion as Strong Belwas, Whitebeard said that he had been sent by Illyrio to bring her back to Pentos with three ships and so she had boarded the ships with her Khalasar and her dragons, but following the advice of her bear had decided that instead of heading to Pentos she would go east to Astapor and buy herself an army.

On the voyage to Astapor she took the time to learn more about Arstan Whitebeard and her home. She learnt that Arstan had once fought alongside her brother Rhaegar, and so she had bombarded the man with questions about her eldest brother, who had died before she was born. From what she heard Arstan say of her brother, Dany deduced that he had been a kind and noble man, who had fallen in love with the Stark Girl, and so had helped free her from a burden to which she had not asked to be put under. The usurper in his rage and arrogance, had dared to challenge her brother, for what he saw as rightfully his, and her brother had paid the price for daring to dream. That had simply enflamed her hatred of the usurper and his dogs, and she swore a silent vow to herself that she would make them all pay when she landed in Westeros.

Also on the voyage she had learnt one other important thing. Her bear confessed his love for her, and kissed her. Dany had been so startled by the act that she had not known what to truly do, what her bear had done was inappropriate, she was his queen, he merely an advisor. She had not spoken of the event to him or anyone else, but to sate the increasing loneliness she had felt since Drogo's death she took Irri to her bed as a lover, but even the gentle caresses and kisses they shared could not sate the hunger she felt stirring within herself. She had debated with herself over perhaps taking her bear up on his offer and making him her love, but decided against it would do no good to have her advisor as her lover, no good at all.

They landed in Astapor to purchase Unsullied to help build her army, and Dany had been shocked by the level of hardship that some of the people in the city faced. Poverty, famine and death seemed to be the constant companions of the simple folk and the slaves, and the wealthy of the city dined on wine and the finest delicacies the east had to offer behind their high walls and their gold. The man who sold her the unsullied was rude and an insolent pig Dany thought. He once more took a liking to her dragons, and she agreed rather reluctantly to give him Drogon in exchange for the unsullied, but of course the man thought she knew not the language he spoke, but her time wandering the free cities with her brother had taught some high valyrian, and so she had understood the words and the insults that the man had spoken to Missandei who was now her helper, and so when the unsullied became hers, she commanded them to betray their once masters and she had Drogon burn those men who did not die by unsullied weapons. She freed the unsullied from their slavery, and then she sacked Astapor, freeing the slaves and declaring them freed men and women and children, the slaves then revolted against their previous owners, and killed them.

Yunkai was the next city in her path; the city was old and prosperous and had paid for the services of two sellsword companies, the Second Sons and the Stormcrows. Dany marched her unsullied to the gates and treated with the captains of both sellsword companies. The Stormcrows she won over when Daario Naharis one of the captains killed his fellow commanders and gave her the allegiance of his company, the Second Sons she got drunk one wine from Qarth, and attacked them in the night whilst they were drunk or asleep. The butchery that followed made her stomach uneasy, but she knew she had no choice if she wished to regain the Iron Throne she would not be able to do it through parleying all the time. The city of Yunkai yielded though once it became clear that they would be crushed should the fighting continued, and so they gave into her demands. The slaves of Yunkai were freed and joined her ever growing army, though the wise masters remained in control of the city.

Then as they approached Meeren, the first or was it the second- she was not sure- of her betrayals came true. The Titan's Bastard tried to kill her and Arstan Whitebeard killed the man, and then revealed to her that he was none other than Ser Barristan the bold, the man who had served her father in his Kingsguard and had fought alongside her brother Rhaegar on the Trident, but had also served the Usurper on his Kingsguard. Dany had been furious when she had learnt that, and had demanded of Ser Barristan what had brought him here to Essos, to her service, why now after so many years was he serving her? The old man had gotten down on one knee and had begged for her forgiveness and said that he regretted ever serving the usurper, but that the need for secrecy so far had merely been a precaution on his part as he waited to see whether she had been as mad as her father. She had bristled at that and had nearly been about to call for his head when he pointed out that her bear had also been spying on her, had reported her every move since he had joined her to the Spider, the man who served on the usurper's court, it was his whisperings that had allowed the assassin to find her.

She had been wroth then and demanded that they leave her side. She had sent them deep into the sewers of Meeren, to take the city unawares, whilst secretly hoping both men would die during the attack. They were successful though, and managed to free the slaves kept in the fighting pits as well as opening the gates. That had allowed her unsullied to ride in and take the city, the slaves she had freed from Astapor and Yunkai marched into the city and began looting and killing whomever they came across, the slaves in Meeren fought back initially but then began helping their fellow slaves. Meeren had fallen and with it had the last echoes of slavery in Slaver's Bay. Dany had taken the Great Pyramid as her seat, and so it was that the morning following the taking of Meeren she found herself sitting on a long back chair- a makeshift throne- and waited for Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah to be brought before her.

Though she was still angry with both of them, they had done well and Ser Jorah had served her faithfully, he claimed he loved her, if he was willing to beg forgiveness and admit to his wrongdoing she would forgive him. Whether or not the same could be said for Ser Barristan she knew not. "Bring them in." She said to Aggo.

She heard jostling and some cursing and soon she saw Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah kneeling before her. She looked upon them coldly. "I thank you for doing what you did yesterday in helping me take this city," Ser Jorah looked up at her, hope shining in his eyes, she felt her heart beginning to tighten. "But I have not forgotten your lies, your treason."

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah began, but he stopped when Dany raised her hand silencing him.

"You both lied to me. You did not tell me your true name nor purpose here Ser Barristan. That makes it hard for me to truly believe that you are contrite and sincere in your reasoning. And You Ser Jorah, you who have been with me since Pentos. You whom I would have taken with me as a victor back to Westeros, you betrayed me for coin? What do you have to say for yourselves?"

She heard Ser Barristan swallow before he opened his mouth to speak. "Your Grace, I admit that what I did was wrong. I regret bending the knee to Robert Baratheon now. The man was a fine warrior but a terrible king. I should have gone and sought your brother and yourself much earlier than I did, you should have not been left to fend for yourselves for as long as you did. I failed in my duty to your family, and I beg your forgiveness. However, I understand if you do not wish to keep me by your side, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit for me." He bowed his head once he had finished speaking.

Ser Jorah snorted then and said boldly. "Khaleesi, I have known you since Pentos when you were no more than a frightened little girl. I have seen you grow into a powerful and attractive woman; you are capable of so much greatness. I admit that I did report your movements for a time to the Spider, for gold yes, but for a chance to go home. I know it was wrong, and I stopped long before Drogo died. I swear to you, I have not written to the Usurper or his family since we marched for Vaes Dothrak."

Dany looked at both men, and saw in their eyes that they meant what they said. She felt something stirring within her, she felt differing emotions warring inside her, these two men swore that they would protect her through thick and thin, but they had both betrayed her at some point she needed to set an example otherwise she would never know who to trust and who not to. She sighed, and looked at both men. "Stand," she said. "I have heard your explanations. You have both betrayed me, but you have slightly redeemed yourselves in my eyes with your acts last night. Know this though, the dragon does not forget, nor will I forgive so easily the next time. You may both stay, but should I catch a whiff of betrayal from either of you again, I will feed you to my dragons."

Both men bowed and said their thanks. Dany sighed internally; it was going to be a long day now.

Sansa

There were two memories Sansa had of her time in King's Landing since her father's death. The first was of the tourney for Joffrey's name day:

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The cometwas red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn't the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

"Thank you, ser." Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that.

Ser Arys had light brown hair and a face that was not unpleasant to look upon. Today he made quite the dashing figure, with his white silk cloak fastened at the shoulder by a golden leaf, and a spreading oak tree worked upon the breast of his tunic in shining gold thread. "Who do you think will win the day's honors?" Sansa asked as they descended the steps arm in arm.

"I will," Ser Arys answered, smiling. "Yet I fear the triumph will have no savor. This will be a small field, and poor. No more than two score will enter the lists, including squires and freeriders. There is small honor in unhorsing green boys."

The last tourney had been different, Sansa reflected. King Robert had staged it in her father's honor. High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out to watch. She remembered the splendor of it: the field of pavilions along the river with a knight's shield hung before each door, the long rows of silken pennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gilded spurs. The days had rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the nights had been full of feasts and song. Those had been the most magical days of her life, but they seemed a memory from another age now. Robert Baratheon was dead, and her father as well, beheaded for a traitor on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Now there were three kings in the land, and war raged beyond the Trident while the city filled with desperate men. Small wonder that they had to hold Joff's tournament behind the thick stone walls of the Red Keep.

"Will the queen attend, do you think?" Sansa always felt safer when Cersei was there to restrain her son.

"I fear not, my lady. The council is meeting, some urgent business." Ser Arys dropped his voice. "Lord Tywin has gone to ground at Harrenhal instead of bringing his army to the city as the queen commanded. Her Grace is furious." He fell silent as a column of Lannister guardsmen marched past, in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms. Ser Arys was fond of gossip, but only when he was certain that no one was listening.

The carpenters had erected a gallery and lists in the outer bailey. It was a poor thing indeed, and the meager throng that had gathered to watch filled but half the seats. Most of the spectators were guardsmen in the gold cloaks of the City Watch or the crimson of House Lannister; of lords and ladies there were but a paltry few, the handful that remained at court. Grey-faced Lord Gyles Rosby was coughing into a square of pink silk. Lady Tanda was bracketed by her daughters, placid dull Lollys and acid-tongued Falyse. Ebon-skinned Jalabhar Xho was an exile who had no other refuge, Lady Ermesande a babe seated on her wet nurse's lap. The talk was she would soon be wed to one of the queen's cousins, so the Lannisters might claim her lands.

The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrown negligently over the carved wooden arm of his chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jeweled brooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brown roughspun tunic and studded leather jerkin. "Lady Sansa," the Hound announced curtly when he saw her. His voice was as rough as the sound of a saw on wood. The burn scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke.

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa's name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. "Sansa, did you hear? I'm to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could." Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. "I fear for the life of your foeman," she told Tommen solemnly.

"His foeman will be stuffed with straw," Joff said as he rose. The king was clad in a gilded breastplate with a roaring lion engraved upon its chest, as if he expected the war to engulf them at any moment. He was thirteen today, and tall for his age, with the green eyes and golden hair of the Lannisters.

"Your Grace," she said, dipping in a curtsy.

Ser Arys bowed. "Pray pardon me, Your Grace. I must equip myself for the lists."

Joffrey waved a curt dismissal while he studied Sansa from head to heels. "I'm pleased you wore my stones."

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved. "I thank you for them . . . and for your tender words. I pray you a lucky name day, Your Grace."

"Sit," Joff commanded, gesturing her to the empty seat beside his own. "Have you heard? The Beggar King is dead."

"Who?" For a moment Sansa was afraid he meant Robb.

"Viserys. The last son of Mad King Aerys. He's been going about the Free Cities since before I was born, calling himself a king. Well, Mother says the Dothraki finally crowned him. With molten gold." He laughed. "That's funny, don't you think? The dragon was their sigil. It's almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I'll feed him to wolves after I've caught him. Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him. "Will you enter the lists today?" she asked quickly.

The king frowned. "My lady mother said it was not fitting, since the tourney is in my honor. Otherwise I would have been champion. Isn't that so, dog?"

The Hound's mouth twitched. "Against this lot? Why not?"

He had been the champion in her father's tourney, Sansa remembered. "Will you joust today, my lord?" she asked him.

Clegane's voice was thick with contempt. "Wouldn't be worth the bother of arming myself. This is a tournament of gnats."

The king laughed. "My dog has a fierce bark. Perhaps I should command him to fight the day's champion. To the death." Joffrey was fond of making men fight to the death.

"You'd be one knight the poorer." The Hound had never taken a knight's vows. His brother was a knight, and he hated his brother.

A blare of trumpets sounded. The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. Once that would have set her heart to pounding, but that was before he had answered her plea for mercy by presenting her with her father's head. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

"Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard," a herald called.

Ser Meryn entered from the west side of the yard, clad in gleaming white plate chased with gold and mounted on a milk-white charger with a flowing grey mane. His cloak streamed behind him like a field of snow. He carried a twelve-foot lance.

"Ser Hobber of House Redwyne, of the Arbor," the herald sang. Ser Hobber trotted in from the east, riding a black stallion caparisoned in burgundy and blue. His lance was striped in the same colors, and his shield bore the grape cluster sigil of his House. The Redwyne twins were the queen's unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey's tourney. Not their own, she thought.

At a signal from the master of revels, the combatants couched their lances and put their spurs to their mounts. There were shouts from the watching guardsmen and the lords and ladies in the gallery. The knights came together in the center of the yard with a great shock of wood and steel. The white lance and the striped one exploded in splinters within a second of each other. Hobber Redwyne reeled at the impact, yet somehow managed to keep his seat. Wheeling their horses about at the far end of the lists, the knights tossed down their broken lances and accepted replacements from the squires. Ser Horas Redwyne, Ser Hobber's twin, shouted encouragement to his brother.

But on their second pass Ser Meryn swung the point of his lance to strike Ser Hobber in the chest, driving him from the saddle to crash resoundingly to the earth. Ser Horas cursed and ran out to help his battered brother from the field.

"Poorly ridden," declared King Joffrey.

"Ser Balon Swann, of Stonehelm in the Red Watch," came the herald's cry. Wide white wings ornamented Ser Balon's greathelm, and black and white swans fought on his shield. "Morros of House Slynt, heir to Lord Janos of Harrenhal."

"Look at that upjumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear. Morros, a mere squire and a new-made squire at that, was having difficulty managing lance and shield. The lance was a knight's weapon, Sansa knew, the Slynts lowborn. Lord Janos had been no more than commander of the City Watch before Joffrey had raised him to Harrenhal and the council.

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Morros wore a checkered black-and-gold cloak over black armor inlaid with golden scrollwork. On his shield was the bloody spear his father had chosen as the sigil of their new-made house. But he did not seem to know what to do with the shield as he urged his horse forward, and Ser Balon's point struck the blazon square. Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. But when they disentangled Morros Slynt from his horse, they found him bloodied but alive. "Tommen, we picked the wrong foe for you," the king told his brother. "The straw knight jousts better than that one."

Next came Ser Horas Redwyne's turn. He fared better than his twin, vanquishing an elderly knight whose mount was bedecked with silver griffins against a striped blue-and-white field. Splendid as he looked, the old man made a poor contest of it. Joffrey curled his lip. "This is a feeble show."

"I warned you," said the Hound. "Gnats."

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon's mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

"Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish," cried the herald. "Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard. "

The freerider, a small man in dented plate without device, duly appeared at the west end of the yard, but of his opponent there was no sign. Finally a chestnut stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and staggering, clad in breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. His legs were pale and skinny, and his manhood flopped about obscenely as he chased after his horse. The watchers roared and shouted insults. Catching his horse by the bridle, Ser Dontos tried to mount, but the animal would not stand still and the knight was so drunk that his bare foot kept missing the stirrup.

By then the crowd was howling with laughter . . . all but the king. Joffrey had a look in his eyes that Sansa remembered well, the same look he'd had at the Great Sept of Baelor the day he pronounced death on Lord Eddard Stark. Finally Ser Dontos the Red gave it up for a bad job, sat down in the dirt, and removed his plumed helm. "I lose," he shouted. "Fetch me some wine."

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it."

Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't."

Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

"Did you say I can't? Did you?"

"Please," Sansa said, "I only meant . . . it would be ill luck, Your Grace . . . to, to kill a man on your name day."

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . . "

Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this.

"The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment.

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

Ser Dontos, sobered by his near brush with death, crawled to his knees. "Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady. Thank you."

As a brace of Lannister guardsmen led him off, the master of revels approached the box. "Your Grace," he said, "shall I summon a new challenger for Brune, or proceed with the next tilt?"

"Neither. These are gnats, not knights. I'd have them all put to death, only it's my name day. The tourney is done. Get them all out of my sight."

The master of revels bowed, but Prince Tommen was not so obedient. "I'm supposed to ride against the straw man."

"Not today."

"But I want to ride!"

"I don't care what you want."

"Mother said I could ride."

"She said," Princess Myrcella agreed.

"Mother said," mocked the king. "Don't be childish."

"We're children," Myrcella declared haughtily. "We're supposed to be childish."

The Hound laughed. "She has you there."

Joffrey was beaten. "Very well. Even my brother couldn't tilt any worse than these others. Master, bring out the quintain, Tommen wants to be a gnat."

Tommen gave a shout of joy and ran off to be readied, his chubby little legs pumping hard. "Luck," Sansa called to him.

They set up the quintain at the far end of the lists while the prince's pony was being saddled. Tommen's opponent was a child-sized leather warrior stuffed with straw and mounted on a pivot, with a shield in one hand and a padded mace in the other. Someone had fastened a pair of antlers to the knight's head. Joffrey's father King Robert had worn antlers on his helm, Sansa remembered . . . but so did his uncle Lord Renly, Robert's brother, who had turned traitor and crowned himself king.

A pair of squires buckled the prince into his ornate silver-and-crimson armor. A tall plume of red feathers sprouted from the crest of his helm, and the lion of Lannister and crowned stag of Baratheon frolicked together on his shield. The squires helped him mount, and Ser Aron Santagar, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, stepped forward and handed Tommen a blunted silver longsword with a leaf-shaped blade, crafted to fit an eight-year-old hand.

Tommen raised the blade high. "Casterly Rock!" he shouted in a high boyish voice as he put his heels into his pony and started across the hard-packed dirt at the quintain. Lady Tanda and Lord Gyles started a ragged cheer, and Sansa added her voice to theirs. The king brooded in silence.

Tommen got his pony up to a brisk trot, waved his sword vigorously, and struck the knight's shield a solid blow as he went by. The quintain spun, the padded mace flying around to give the prince a mighty whack in the back of his head. Tommen spilled from the saddle, his new armor rattling like a bag of old pots as he hit the ground. His sword went flying, his pony cantered away across the bailey, and a great gale of derision went up. King Joffrey laughed longest and loudest of all.

"Oh," Princess Myrcella cried. She scrambled out of the box and ran to her little brother.

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. "You should go with her," she told the king. "Your brother might be hurt."

Joffrey shrugged. "What if he is?"

"You should help him up and tell him how well he rode." Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

"He got knocked off his horse and fell in the dirt," the king pointed out. "That's not riding well."

"Look," the Hound interrupted. "The boy has courage. He's going to try again."

They were helping Prince Tommen mount his pony. If only Tommen were the elder instead of Joffrey, Sansa thought. I wouldn't mind marrying Tommen.

The sounds from the gatehouse took them by surprise. Chains rattled as the portcullis was drawn upward, and the great gates opened to the creak of iron hinges. "Who told them to open the gate?" Joff demanded. With the troubles in the city, the gates of the Red Keep had been closed for days.

A column of riders emerged from beneath the portcullis with a clink of steel and a clatter of hooves. Clegane stepped close to the king, one hand on the hilt of his longsword. The visitors were dinted and haggard and dusty, yet the standard they carried was the lion of Lannister, golden on its crimson field. A few wore the red cloaks and mail of Lannister men-at-arms, but more were freeriders and sellswords, armored in oddments and bristling with sharp steel . . . and there were others, monstrous savages out of one of Old Nan's tales, the scary ones Bran used to love. They were clad in shabby skins and boiled leather, with long hair and fierce beards. Some wore bloodstained bandages over their brows or wrapped around their hands, and others were missing eyes, ears, and fingers.

In their midst, riding on a tall red horse in a strange high saddle that cradled him back and front, was the queen's dwarf brother Tyrion Lannister, the one they called the Imp. He had let his beard grow to cover his pushed-in face, until it was a bristly tangle of yellow and black hair, coarse as wire. Down his back flowed a shadowskin cloak, black fur striped with white. He held the reins in his left hand and carried his right arm in a white silk sling, but otherwise looked as grotesque as Sansa remembered from when he had visited Winterfell. With his bulging brow and mismatched eyes, he was still the ugliest man she had ever chanced to look upon.

Yet Tommen put his spurs into his pony and galloped headlong across the yard, shouting with glee. One of the savages, a huge shambling man so hairy that his face was all but lost beneath his whiskers, scooped the boy out of his saddle, armor and all, and deposited him on the ground beside his uncle. Tommen's breathless laughter echoed off the walls as Tyrion clapped him on the backplate, and Sansa was startled to see that the two were of a height. Myrcella came running after her brother, and the dwarf picked her up by the waist and spun her in a circle, squealing.

When he lowered her back to the ground, the little man kissed her lightly on the brow and came waddling across the yard toward Joffrey. Two of his men followed close behind him; a black-haired black-eyed sellsword who moved like a stalking cat, and a gaunt youth with an empty socket where one eye should have been. Tommen and Myrcella trailed after them.

The dwarf went to one knee before the king. "Your Grace."

"You," Joffrey said.

"Me," the Imp agreed, "although a more courteous greeting might be in order, for an uncle and an elder."

"They said you were dead," the Hound said.

The little man gave the big one a look. One of his eyes was green, one was black, and both were cool. "I was speaking to the king, not to his cur."

"I'm glad you're not dead," said Princess Myrcella.

"We share that view, sweet child." Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey.

"I am sorry for your loss as well, Joffrey," the dwarf said.

"What loss?"

"Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black beard; you'll recall him if you try. He was king before you."

"Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him."

"Is that what 'they' say, Your Grace?"

Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armour is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier . . . yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?"

"She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles." He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were her fault. "He's been taken by the Starks and we've lost Riverrun and now her stupid brother is calling himself a king."

The dwarf smiled crookedly. "All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days."

Joff did not know what to make of that, though he looked suspicious and out of sorts. "Yes. Well. I am pleased you're not dead, Uncle. Did you bring me a gift for my name day?"

"I did. My wits."

"I'd sooner have Robb Stark's head," Joff said with a sly glance at Sansa. "Tommen, Myrcella, come."

Sandor Clegane lingered behind a moment. "I'd guard that tongue of yours, little man," he warned, before he strode off after his liege.

Sansa was left with the dwarf and his monsters. She tried to think of what else she might say. "You hurt your arm," she managed at last.

"One of your northmen hit me with a morningstar during the battle on the Green Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse." His grin turned into something softer as he studied her face. "Is it grief for your lord father that makes you so sad?"

"My father was a traitor," Sansa said at once. "And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well." That reflex she had learned quickly. "I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

"No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves."

"Lions," she whispered, without thinking. She glanced about nervously, but there was no one close enough to hear.

Lannister reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you." Bowing, he said "But now you must excuse me. I have urgent business with queen and council."

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