fight like gods. asoiaf

TWENTY FOUR/ TWENTY FIVE

XXIV
SANSA
"the song of the dance of dragons"
⚜️

Sansa woke bright and early in anticipation of the final rounds of the jousts. The septa was too ill to attend in account of the jugs of wine she'd drank the evening previous and so it was her father that accompanied her to the stands, leaving the King's side just as the horns began to blow.

The Hound wore a green cloak, the colour of olives, as he rode out onto the field. It was the same colour as the dress Lucella had worn to the feast, she noticed. Sansa watched as Ser Jaime entered the lists upon his blood bay destrier, an elegant beast that made him glean in his glittering armour. Everything about him flashed a Lannister gold, from his Summer Isles wooden lance to the lion of his helmet.

"A hundred golden dragons on the Kingslayer," Littlefinger called out as the men took their positions.

"Done!" It was Lord Renly who took him on, calling from his position closer to the King. "The Hound has a hungry look about him this morning."

And indeed he did. Sandor had a face of thunder as he dropped down his visor, completing the snarling mouth of the Hound on his helm. Yet all Sansa could think of as she watched the men prepare, was the night previous. The man had been drunk, but he had spoken of truths- cruel truths- known to no one else. Her eyes absentmindedly wandered to the sides of the stands, searching for Lucella, for those same scars she'd learned the histories of the night before. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

With a great rumble that seemed to shake the very ground, the horses broke off into a sprint. Lances were brought forward, pointed steadily, but at the last moment, Ser Jaime shifted in his seat. Sandor's lance brushed against the golden shield while his own was smacked squarely. As the wood shattered, Sansa let out a gasp and leaned forward in her seat when the Hound finally managed to remain in his seat.

"I wonder how I ought to spend your money," Littlefinger said.

Sansa wanted to disagree. She would have, had it been Arya arguing with bets. Instead, she remained quiet by her father's side, watching as the men prepared for their second pass. The horses spurred forward again into their gallop as Ser Jaime shifted in his seat, the Hound followed him in a mirrored movement. When his lance smashed against the golden lion painted against the man's shield, Jaime was sent spiralling backwards off his horse, left to roll in the dirt as his blood bay scurried off.

"I knew the Hound would win," Sansa said, clapping her hands with the rest of the common folk. Even some of the nobles began to clap, laughing as Ser Jaime struggled to remove his dented helmet.

"If you know who's going to win the second match, speak up now before Lord Renly plucks me clean," Littlefinger said, leaning toward her. Sansa only smiled and watched the field.

"It's a shame the Imp is not with us. I would have won twice as much," Renly said.

The Mountain rode out upon the field next, so large that the horse looked like a pony beneath him. Sansa almost trembled in his seat. He looked like a giant from Old Nan's tales, so fierce and cold, and the words Sandor had hissed at her in the dark of the castle's corridors had only made him look more severe. Unlike his siblings, there were no scars or blemishes on his face, but he was ugly with meanness, making Sansa divert her eyes.

The Knight of Flowers helped to divert her attention. Ser Loras wore a brilliant set of armour, all in a glistening shade of silver, embedded with real, glimmering sapphires. Across his back, he wore a heavy cloak, brilliantly woven with real flowers of a gorgeous purple.

"Oh, he's so beautiful," Sansa whispered, leaning forward in her seat.

Where Ser Gregor looked harsh and large like a mountain, Ser Loras was as attractive and as glorious as a flower.