Hers Is The Fury

Kingsroad Trouble

[Kingsroad]

Sansa Stark was walking around with her loyal direwolf, Lady, when she bumped into a strange man.

"Pardon me, Ser."

The man said nothing, only looking at her with a scowl etched on his face.

"Do I frighten you so much, girl? Or is it him there making you shake? He frightens me too. Look at that face." Sandor Clegane, better known as The Hound, the Prince's sworn protector, appeared behind her.

The man had a permanent grimace etched on his face.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Ser." Again, the man said nothing, causing Sansa to turn to The Hound. "Why won't he speak to me?"

"He hasn't been very talkative these last twenty years. Since the Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers."

"He speaks damn well with his sword though." Prince Joffrey said, deciding to make his presence known. "Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's justice. The royal executioner. What is it, sweet lady? Does the hound frighten you? Away with you, dog. You're scaring my lady." The Hound walked away without another word, Ser Payne already having left, shortly after the Prince's arrival. "I don't like to see you upset. The sun is finally shining. Come, walk with me."

"Stay, Lady." The obediant direwolf sat where she was left, watching after her owner. Joffrey lead Sansa down to the Trident, offering her a sip of wine. "I probably shouldn't have any more. Father only lets us have one cup at feasts."

"My princess can drink as much as she wants. Don't worry... You're safe with me."

They heard a ruckus ahead. Soon Sansa's younger sister and an unknown boy with red hair came into view. Further away was Joffrey's sister, Morgana.

Princess Morgana Baratheon, her long raven hair tied back in a neat braid, observed two young fighters engaged in a lively sparring session. The first was Arya Stark, her dark locks bound up in a messy bun, her movements swift as she wielded her sword with ease. Her opponent, Mycah, son of the blacksmith, was no match for the skilled young woman, but he held his own against her nevrtheless.

Morgana offered words of encouragement to both combatants, her voice ringing out above the grunts of the two children. "Good form, Arya! Keep your elbows tucked in, Mycah. Your stance is too wide. You need to keep your feet closer together if you want to maintain balance.You have the makings of a fine warrior, the both of you." She watched intently as the pair exchanged blows, their sweat-drenched faces set in determined grimaces.

"I'll get you!" The boy shouted, playfully lunging at his opponent.

Just as the sparring session seemed to be reaching its climax, a figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. It was Joffrey Baratheon, his golden locks perfectly coiffed, his clothes immaculate despite the heat of the day. He was followed by his betrothed, Sansa, who looked pale and nervous.

"Arya!" Sansa shouted, distracting her sister, causing her opponent to whack her on the arm.

"What are you doing here? Go away." Arya yelled, frustrated her sister had come to ruin a good time.

"Your sister?" Joffrey asked Sansa, who nodded. "And who are you, boy?"

"Mycah, my Lord." The boy answered, not meeting the Prince's eye. It would seem he too had heard the rumours of the cruelty of Robert Baratheon's eldest son.

"He the butcher's boy." Sansa interjected.

"He's my friend." Arya corrected.

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a Knight, eh? Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are." Joffrey taunted.