Game of Thrones: The Storm

S1E5 - The Wolf and the Lion

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That night in the Red Keep was probably the coldest one since you arrived back to the capitol. It reminded you of the few cool days that you spent in Winterfell.

You were out walking again, but when you looked down the corridor that Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella's rooms were, you didn't see anyone standing guard.

Slowly walking down the hallway, you listened for movement inside every one of their doors, just in case something was wrong, completely disregarding that someone could have been standing beside a pillar, shrouded in darkness, watching.

"You should be resting," a voice broke through the darkness as your head snapped to the direction of whoever was there. You recognized the voice though, even in your delirious and sleepless state, you could tell it was just Sandor.

"I wish I could," you crossed your arms as you walked closer to where he stood. It was a smart spot, nobody would see him if they were coming from either side of the hall, especially with how dark it was.

"Did you enjoy the preview of what's to come?" He asked with a small smirk.

"Ser Hugh gave up the joust as soon as he seen who he was going up against, I seen it in his eyes," you avoided the question as you examined some of Sandor's armor.

"I still can't believe they made him a knight," Sandor huffed under his breath as your eyes trailed up to his.

"Who made that call," you scoffed.

"Your father."

You looked back up to his eyes as your eyebrows furrowed. You had assumed it was someone else entirely, seeing as your father really didn't enjoy knighting people who were actually capable at times. 

"He could barely hold the damn lance, my father wouldn't-."

"But he did. Believe what you want, your father unintentionally killed that fool, just like he will unintentionally kill you by creating a fighting pit."

Silence hung in the air. Other than the sound of the wind lightly howling outside, you could hear a pin drop.

"With all due respect... you haven't seen me actually fight," you said, eyes narrowing as you spoke. "Have you ever seen the pits? Of course you've never been to Slaver's Bay, so how could you."

Pausing, you noticed him shift his weight, as if he wasn't ready for whatever reality you were about to throw in his face. 

"It's a strange thing," you paused before swallowing to prepare yourself. "More than half of the men who went into the pits had never wielded a weapon in their life. The ones who did know... the champions, were either set free or disposed of after winning over and over... people started getting bored, fights lacked the luster they once did." 

He studied the expression you held. Your sightly agape eyes, the way you shook your head when you spoke. Your body stood still though, as if you were a statue. He couldn't tell if this revelation was hard for you to talk about, or if you actually enjoyed it.  

"Then came the daughter of the mighty King Robert Baratheon," you said in spite. "You shoulda seen it... the entire stadium was packed as full as it could be every time I fought, just so a few Masters could watch me cut down their slaves that they didn't want anymore. Even brought in a few leopards for a bit more of a contest." Your head tipped back a bit as your eyes started getting glossy. Your eyes darted around his armor again before landing on his eyes one final time. The small, forced smile you spoke with was now completely gone. 

"Sounds like you enjoyed the attention," he sighed. 

"I hated it," your voice wavered as your eye twitched.