The Brightest Sun

Chapter 59

The clink-clink of shifting armour followed him. Sam forced himself to continue moving, knowing it would not take long before the prince made himself known.

The sun shone brightly, peeking through the pillars to splay the walls of the keep with a golden hue on its red brick, taunting in its glory while knights clad in red surrounded him.

"Prince Joffrey," Sam greeted, bowing to the Baratheon heir. Older he might be, but Joff had inherited his father's tall stature, standing level with Sam. The prince wore a doublet in the colours of his mother's house today, as if the hair on his head would fade to gold and he would look as much a Lannister as he wished he were - as if, with the sword his grandfather had gifted him for his nameday, he would look as fearsome as his Kingslayer uncle.

"Samwell," the prince said. He looked to be in a pleasant mood, a small smile on his face as he gestured for Sam to rise. He means to play the gracious prince today, Sam thought, straightening. "Walk with me."

"Of course, my prince," Sam said, following a step behind. Three red cloaks led the way, three more following behind with their hands on their sword hilts as they swept past ladies and servants alike.

"Are you going to the sparring yard?" Joff asked in feigned curiosity.

Sam's hand tightened slightly before he forced his fingers to uncurl, shaking his head. "The library."

He had avoided the sparring yard as much as he could since Loras had left. His friend had been the only one willing to take the time to help Sam practice away from the scornful eyes of the court, the nobles gleeful at the thought of Randyll Tarly's soft son.

"The library?" Sam saw the cruel glint in the prince's eyes; it never ceased to amaze him, how malicious this boy of ten could be when others weren't watching. But Joffrey was a royal prince, and those of his like were often the cruellest of beings.

"A mind needs sharpening as a blade needs a whetstone," Sam replied. The Imp of Lannister had told him that, years ago when Sam had found himself in a small nook in the keep's library quietly reading about the feats of the dragons of old, desperate to hide his reading material from them.

Lord Tyrion had laughed before regaling Sam with tales of his own search for dragons and love of reading. Sam was the son of a rebel and Lord Tyrion a Lannister and the queen's brother besides – reading of Targaryens was not like to see his head removed, but three centuries of Targaryen rule could not be ignored, and Sam's lessons involved the stories he had first learned as a young boy.

"A pity," Joffrey said, voice dripping with mockery. "Your father is off to war and his son hides in the library. Lord Tarly must be so disappointed."

"As disappointed as His Grace I'd imagine," Sam said unthinkingly.

He cursed at the sight of glaring green eyes. He would pay for his insolence, he knew; Joff disliked being made to feel a fool – disliked even more the reminder of his father's disregard – and he scrambled to distract him.

"What war are you talking about?" he asked.

The prince was quiet for a long moment, green eyes staring angrily at Sam before a smirk grew on his face. Sam hid his relief at the sight.

"You don't know?" There was a gleeful look in his eyes as he spoke.

My only source of information is your gloating, he wanted to say, but Sam bit his tongue. The ravens from his family were monitored. The ravens Sam sent in return were filled with empty platitudes and the more known occurrences in the city. Once, he had been friendly with the serving girl that placed firewood in his hearth. Marla, her name had been – Marla from Fishmonger's Square. Sam had spoken of her kindness once, the older girl always willing to tell him a story or two and warning a younger Samwell to mind his courtesies around the Lannister queen. He'd not seen her again, and he had learned to keep his secrets to himself.