Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 7 - You are very beautiful

               The first day of the Hand's Tourney comes to an end, and we all head back to the castle. It's a good opportunity for a walk and to visit a part of King's Landing that doesn't smell like filth. And I appreciate spending this time on Littlefinger's arm.

"Did you enjoy the spectacle?" Baelish asks me.

"There was an atmosphere I had never experienced before. It was... galvanizing. Except for..."

"That incident was most unfortunate—a true disaster for his house."

"Perhaps because its only member was just violently murdered. Do such things happen often in tourneys?"

"Often? No," he replies. "But rarely is already too often."

               As we talk, the Master of Coin escorts me back to my apartments. Before the door, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. I cannot help but find it particularly awkward.

"Goodnight, Lord Baelish..."

"Call me Petyr..."

♐︎

               On this second day of the tourney, our father decided to accompany us to replace Arya, who is at her sword lesson. Today, the man they call "The Knight of Flowers" is set to compete. It was following his victory against Jaime Lannister that Littlefinger lost the famous dagger. He is Loras Tyrell, the male heir of the House of the Rose.

               He is preparing to face the Mountain. After yesterday's events, Sansa is terrified. And to be honest, I am not the most reassured myself. The Crown should not lose another knight.

               Behind us, Baelish is busy wagering with Renly Baratheon on the Mountain's victory; it seems he hasn't learned from his mistakes. I hear them bantering with each other without a single thought for the true outcome of this duel. If one of them wins, the other loses. And if Gregor Clegane does not win, Ser Loras will lose once and for all.

               As the two riders charge, I feel Sansa's hand tighten on my arm. She holds our father on the other side. The young woman has grown quite smitten with the young Tyrell, like most of the other girls at court, and fears for his life.

               Against all expectations, the Mountain's horse falters. Relieved, I turn to see Littlefinger's reaction.

"A pity," Renly tells him. "You could have bought yourself a friend."

               After a sarcastic remark about his opponent's inclinations, Baelish leans toward us to explain that Loras knew the Mountain's mare was in heat and used her to win.

"Ser Loras would never do that," Sansa retorts. "There is no honour in trickery."

"Honour, no. But a great deal of gold."

               Baelish is right. In the North, everything is a matter of honour, virtue, and loyalty. My father is here for the simple reason that he is loyal to his king; he honours his oath. Here, things are very different.

               To a round of applause, Ser Loras bows to the King from atop his horse, drawing our attention away from the Mountain who, apparently, has some difficulty accepting defeat. The man brandishes his sword above his head and brings it down upon his mare, cutting the animal in two.

               By reflex, I stand up. And fortunately, so, for the Mountain lunges toward Loras to exact his revenge, and no one seems to lift a finger. I leap over the railing, Arrow at my heels, and just as Clegane prepares to strike another blow at Loras's soon-to-be-shattered shield, I parry him with my own blade. Crouched before him, I doubt I can hold out for very long.