Summary:
Marc is leaving Darry Castle. As he is departing with his escort, Arya and Lady, he is saying goodbye to Lord Stark. It is however not the only goodbye party he is encountering, the second being less pleasant and more tense...
Chapter Text
As the afternoon was at its zenith, I brought up my few belongings and bore the hammer on me before moving towards the courtyard. As I joined the place, Eddard Stark, Jory Cassel, septa Mordane and Sansa were there while Arya was fidgeting, probably a bit impatient but also apprehensive. I wasn't surprised because while she was glad of returning to Winterfell, she was also leaving her father. Observing my surroundings, I noticed the presence of Lady nearby. The direwolf was observing all of us and seemed a bit confused but truthful. I wondered when Sansa said her goodbye to her companion and how well the young animal reacted to the incoming separation. And I saw a dozen Stark guards preparing horses for the journey. Some people of Darry Castle and of the royal cortege were observing, but the place was mainly occupied by lord Stark's people.
I first turned to Jory Cassel and septa Mordane, offering them both a respectful salute. They responded, though the septa's demeanour seemed a bit tenser and more uncertain, perhaps reflecting the general unease that lingered in the air but most probably still gauging me as a stranger and a commoner of unknown place whose presence affected the family she was serving. I then approached the three Starks.
"My lord," I greeted him, acknowledging his presence. Turning to Sansa, I offered a polite nod. "My lady," I said, aware of the complicated emotions she harbored towards me.
Arya glanced up as she noticed my arrival, a mixture of relief and excitement crossing her face. She quickly finished her task and walked over to me, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Marc, you're here," she said, her voice filled with genuine joy.
I smiled warmly at Arya, grateful for her unbridled enthusiasm. Her presence provided comfort in this uncertain moment. I was happy to see that she seemed well in spite of the fact she will be separated from her father and likely worrying for him.
Eddard approached Arya and whispered to her, instructing her to say goodbye to Sansa. She nodded, understanding the importance of this farewell. She made her way towards her sister, and both of them exchanged tense and awkward words. I looked at them with a pang of sadness, but also knowing that should anything happened badly, Sansa could think of the fact her sister would be safe, even if my cautious and rational sides reminded me of the hazards of the likely Ironborn invasion of the North and the dangers that Winterfell would face in the future.
Eddard observed the farewell, his heart heavy with the strained dynamics within his family. As Arya returned to my side, he approached me and gestured towards a stocky man standing nearby. "Marc, this is Harwin. He will be leading the escort to Winterfell," Eddard informed me.
I nodded, acknowledging Harwin's presence, and extended my gratitude towards Lord Stark. "Thank you, my lord."
Eddard's gaze held a mixture of concern and determination. "Make good use of your skills, Marc. Robb will need all the help he can get," he advised, his voice filled with a father's concern for his son's well-being.
I nodded in understanding, my expression serious. "I will, my lord. I'll do my best to be of assistance," I assured him, fully aware of the challenges that lay ahead. Then, I leaned in slightly and added, "Remember, act in King's Landing as the commander who helped his friend to defeat the Dragons and the Squids, not as the lord warden in the North. But listen to your closest allies and advisors to prepare for the worst."
Eddard's gaze shifted to his chest, where the message containing the key advice I had given him was hidden. He nodded to my words. "I will keep your advice in mind," he responded quietly, a hint of gratitude in his voice.
Turning to Sansa, I observed the intricate tapestry of emotions playing across her face. It was clear that the events of the past day had stirred within her a multitude of feelings towards me. As I stood before her, I couldn't help but grasp the layers of her sentiments, both positive and negative, swirling beneath the surface. While she was standing with grace, her eyes were very expressive and put me ill at ease.
I could sense the weight of her resentment, stemming from the public humiliation her betrothed had endured due to my intervention in defending her sister and of interfering in family matters. It was a burden that I carried with a tinge of guilt, knowing that my actions had contributed to her distress. However, even in the midst of this guilt, my rational-self reminded me that at least Lady was alive, reducing the risk of Sansa falling prey to the machinations of Cersei and Joffrey. And if I had to suffer her anger and scorn, that would be worth the survival of her companion, not matter how complicated and hurtful it was for me to handle it. A part of me scorned to the fact I was kind of petty because of the reactions of a young girl for who I had empathy and concern. Sansa might not be a favorite character of mine, but her initial innocence and the trials she suffered in the stories were enough for me to regard her with respect.
As I bowed to her, a mixture of reverence and unease coursed through me. I initiated the conversation with a steady voice, masking the internal turmoil I experienced.
"My lady," I began, attempting to convey sincerity, "I am aware that you have every reason to resent me, and I apologize for any discomfort I have caused you. Please understand that my actions were not meant to spite you."
Sansa's gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a blend of uncertainty and curiosity. The conflict within her was palpable, as she grappled with the decision of either rebuffing my apology or accepting it as a lady would. Her glances shifted momentarily to septa Mordane and then to her father, as if seeking their unspoken permission. While septa Mordane was neutral and cold towards me, Eddard's subtle nod seemed to grant her that permission. With a composed demeanour, she turned her attention back to me and nodded in acknowledgment.
Though I felt a slight sense of relief at her acceptance, I continued, my tone gentle yet resolute. "I would also like to offer you a piece of advice if you permit me."
Sansa regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, her expression guarded. She hesitated before answering.
"What advice do you have for me?" she inquired, her voice cautious and slightly cold.
While I understood her demeanour, I was a bit relieved she didn't outright reject my request.
"Be cautious of the allure of pretty things, my lady. They may conceal rare gems, such as yourself, but they may also harbour dangerous snakes ready to strike. Be vigilant and careful in your encounters, and may the radiant light that shines in your eyes endure even in the face of darkness.", I answered her with a calm and watchful tone.
Sansa's reaction was a mixture of surprise and contemplation at my words. The metaphor had captured her attention and ignited her imagination. It deviated from the conventional advice she had received, and its poetic nature intrigued and resonated with her. She experienced a whirlwind of emotions—a tug-of-war between her longing to believe in the inherent beauty of the world and the caution my words urged her to exercise. A small part of her found solace and flattery in being compared to a gem or possessing a radiant light, but conflicting sentiments stirred within her, causing internal turmoil.
I could discern septa Mordane's disapproving gaze, while Eddard Stark's expression revealed a hint of concern and intrigue at my words. Arya, who had observed the scene from a distance, wore a pensive expression, her thoughts churning. The weight of Sansa's emotions was evident in her gaze as it remained fixed on me—a mixture of surprise, introspection, and a desire to decipher the true intention behind my words.
As the silence lingered, I took a deep breath and concluded, "You possess a luminous light within you, my lady, a treasure to be preserved. Yet, strive to perceive the world in all its shades. Endeavor to become the lady you aspire to be—one who commands respect through her strengths and skills."
Sansa's gaze remained locked with mine, her countenance now a tableau of astonishment and introspection. My words seemed to have struck a chord on a profound level, resonating deep within her being while I suspecting she was facing contradicting emotions, which was in a way understandable for a young girl, even a well-raised one like Sansa.
Septa Mordane's disapproval remained apparent, etched upon her face, while Eddard Stark's gaze held a mixture of acknowledgement and curiosity. Arya's reaction, however, proved more enigmatic, her features shifting from contemplation to a flicker of understanding, leaving her thoughts concealed from my grasp.
Feeling a sense of closure, I decided to embark on a simple yet audacious gesture. With a subtle boldness, I leaned in, allowing my lips to graze delicately against the back of Sansa's hand in a fleeting hand kiss. It was a gesture infused with respect and a hint of chivalry, carefully measured to avoid overstepping any boundaries. More than that, I intended it to be served as not only a way to make a farewell gesture, but also to show my respect and apology to her. A part of me wondered if I didn't overdo it, but I let it go as it didn't matter. As I straightened, I bowed to her, my voice infused with reverence, "My lady."
Sansa's reaction was a whirlwind of surprise and uncertainty as she saw me kiss her hand, her visage caught between the societal constraints ingrained in her upbringing and the stirrings of her own personal emotions. For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, torn between the preconceived notions she held of me and the unexpected empathy I had displayed. Yet, with cautious delight, she accepted the gesture, allowing a small smile to grace her countenance. I was certain she was still conflicted on how to regard me, but at least I would leave with a slightly better impression.
Septa Mordane's disapproving gaze was evident and a part of me was nearly expecting her to suddenly swing a stick to chase me away. I couldn't blame her as while I wasn't fond of her traditional way of educating Arya and Sansa, she was in some manner their guardian after their parents. And I had yet done much to prove my worthiness and trust.
Eddard Stark's reaction was one of thoughtful observation. While caught off guard and a bit wary of my metaphorical and poetic approach to advise her, he also thought on it and inwardly agreed with it, thinking upon the role he needed to have with his eldest daughter once they were in the capital.
Arya's expression was the most intriguing, her brow furrowed as she observed the scene. She was intrigued by my advice, but wondered if Sansa would hear them as she seemed too trustful of Joffrey and of the queen in spite of what happened in the hall yesterday. I also suspected conflicting impressions due to the way I had interacted with Sansa, especially after the incident at the breakfast. Hopefully, I would have time to explain to her my way of interactin with people during the journey.
As I moved away from Sansa, I saluted septa Mordane before making my way towards the group of guards who were preparing to mount their horses. One of the guards offered me a horse, and I accepted it with a nod of gratitude.
As I was about to take hold of the reins, Lady approached with a curious tilt of her head. The animal was wary, sensing my presence and possibly mirroring the hesitation of her mistress. My gaze shifted to the young direwolf, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of caution and reverence. I tensed slightly, not out of fear of the young animal but out of caution, aware that Lady's behavior would likely reflect Sansa's feelings towards me. I silently wondered if I might be granted permission to interact with her. Her curious, calm and wary demeanor was enough to prevent any instinctual reaction of apprehension from me as I sensed no aggressiveness from her. Experiencing how Sansa raised the direwolf was peculiar and extraordinary. A part of me couldn't help but wonder how my encounter with the other direwolfs, except Ghost, would be once I would be in Winterfell.
I sent a subtle glance towards Sansa, seeking her approval.
"May I?", I said with uncertainty.
Sansa's reaction was a mixture of hesitation and consideration, her gaze flickering between me and her direwolf. Eddard's understanding seemed to grant me an unspoken permission. Finally, with a measured nod, his red-haired daughter granted her permission, signaling her willingness to let me interact with her direwolf. The gesture was subtle and a part of me wondered if she allowed it by duty or because of the fact Lady would accompany Arya and me back to Winterfell.
With a silent expression of gratitude, I cautiously extended my hand towards Lady, palm facing upwards. Lady's golden eyes regarded me with curiosity, and after a moment's pause, she took a tentative step forward, her cold nose brushing against my open hand.
A sense of wonder and humility washed over me as I realized the significance of this moment. I gave Lady a gentle, almost imperceptible scratch behind her ears, careful not to overstep any boundaries. Lady's reaction was a subtle tilt of her head and a soft exhale, as if acknowledging the connection between us.
Sansa watched the interaction, her uncertainty slowly giving way to a flicker of appreciation as she observed the gentleness with which I interacted with Lady.
Eddard, witnessing the scene, felt a swell of gratitude towards me and some relief.
I finally moved away from Lady and mounted the horse. It was a bit hard, even though I was relying on my memory of the time I had made horse-ridding to know how to climb. The guard that presented me the horse helped a bit and I finally settled on it.
As the escort prepared to depart, he bid them farewell, his gaze filled with concern and a father's love.
"Harwin, protect my daughter, Marc and Lady," Eddard instructed, his voice filled with a mix of authority and trust.
Harwin nodded in acknowledgment. "You have my word, my lord. I will ensure their safety," he replied, his tone conveying his determination to fulfill his duty.
With final farewells exchanged, the escort began to move, slowly making their way out of the courtyard of Darry Castle, all of us riding a horse, even though I was handling cautiously mine, trying to remember the few tips I had learnt in the past. The Stark guards led the way, followed closely by Arya, Lady, and myself.
As our escort left the courtyard and found outside of Darry Castle, we stopped shortly after as we were facing a group of red cloaks led by ser Jaime nearby the camp of the royal cortege. The tension in the air was palpable as both groups halted, exchanging wary glances. It became evident that the red cloaks and Ser Jaime Lannister were intentionally displaying their power, attempting to intimidate us. I could sense the animosity directed towards me from some of the red cloaks, their eyes filled with contempt and hostility. A part of me suspected their presence to b tied to mine as I doubt that Cersei would be so foolish to attempt so shortly after the events of the previous night to intimidate Arya. The realization of this possibility sent a shiver down my spine, but I maintained a composed façade, knowing well that I needed to play my cards wisely. I silently hoped they wouldn't act rashly with Lord Stark's men, considering what transpired yesterday. The weight of their disdain was amusingly magnified by Ser Jaime's smirk as he was riding before them. In any case, I knew there would a confrontation. I hoped it would go as peaceful as it could be but with the Westerlanders tendency to use brutal tactics to remind anyone their supposed power, it was but a wistful wish.
Arya's gaze met mine, and I could see her concern mirrored in her eyes. I knew she was aware of the tension and the potential danger we faced. I offered her a reassuring smile, trying to convey that I was aware of the situation and prepared to handle it. With a subtle nod, I communicated to Arya that we should remain composed and cautious. It was essential not to provoke any unnecessary conflict, especially given the recent events involving Lord Stark's men. We couldn't afford to escalate the situation further. She nodded while her expression hardened, probably guessing the gravity of the situation. I also suspected her to be wary due to what happened to her in the recent days. I shivered as I thought on the fact Jaime was closed to have become a true childslayer if Jory hadn't found the young Stark first.
Lady reacted to the overwhelming tension in the air, her instincts detecting the threat emanating from the red cloaks and their leader. However, her gentle and well-behaved nature kept her from acting aggressively. She maintained a watchful stance, ready to protect her mistress's sister if the need arose.
Ser Jaime, his eyes locking onto me, approached with an air of arrogance, his intention clear in his every step. The members of our escort tensed, their eyes narrowing in wariness as the infamous Kingslayer drew near. Harwin, vigilant, stepped forward and addressed him directly. "What are you doing here, Kingslayer?" he inquired, his tone laced with caution, yet subtly asserting his position.
Ignoring Harwin's presence, Ser Jaime focused his attention solely on me, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. There was a complex mix of arrogance, superiority, and a hint of personal vendetta in his eyes. He spoke, his tone dripping with his characteristic arrogance.
"So, you really have joined the Starks. My sister was furious when she had learnt that. She wishes you have met the same fate as the butcher boy," he remarked, his words laced with thinly veiled disdain and a desire to provoke a reaction.
Upon hearing this, Arya's expression darkened with anger and concern. Feeling her distress, I held out the temptation to reach out her hand as I knew it would misinterpreted and it wasn't the moment for such misunderstandings, confusions and unfortunate interpretations. I locked my eyes on Jaime, aware that in this situation, we needed to face the taunts of the Lannister with dignity and determination. I disliked the words of Jaime Lannister as it confirmed me that Mycah was dead and I wondered how long Arya would take before guessing the same as sharp as she was. I then turned my glance towards Jaime. I knew he was expecting me to be intimidated by his reputation or the fact his sister was obviously threatening me and threatening in an indirect manner Arya.
However, I stood firm and resolute on my horse, refusing to show any signs of fear despite my inward anxiety. I knew Ser Jaime was not only a formidable swordsman but also skilled with words, though not to the extent of his brother or Petyr Baelish. What he didn't know was my true identity, and he likely considered me a strange commoner with shared interests with the Starks. I reminded myself my indifferent opinion on him in spite of his part in Bran's fall and of his other dubious deeds.
"Well, Ser Jaime, we can't please anyone. Otherwise, your sister would be married to her Silver Prince. You would a revered knight respected for his skill and honor. And I would be back at home. But we can't have everything. We do with what we have and with the time that has been given to us", I replied, my voice steady and unwavering, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
Ser Jaime's lips curled into a faint sneer, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity dancing in his gaze. It was a bit obvious that he was used to people reacting to his provocations. He regarded me with a complex look, a mix of his customary arrogance and a hint of a conflicted mindset taken aback by my boldness. He was also taken aback by my respectful tone to him, expecting me to call him the Kingslayer, especially with how I interacted with his sister and Joffrey yesterday. There was a momentary pause as he processed my words, his arrogant facade momentarily faltering. He finally broke the silence, his voice laced with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect.
"You certainly have a way with words, don't you?" he replied, his tone tinged with grudging admiration. "But words can only get you so far. Remember that."
Maintaining composure, I responded with a firm voice and a hint of a smile, hiding the underlying tension within me.
"I am aware of that as I also know that swords can only get you so far, my good ser. A poisoned drink and you're dead, unable to fight back. Your sword hand is cut and you would lose all pride and dignity, perhaps even thinking that death would be a mercy for you as being a crippled would be a dishonor for you."
My bold retort hung in the air, the words cutting through the tension like a well-aimed blade. Jaime Lannister's eyes narrowing as he absorbed the weight of my words. A flicker of anger passed across his face, momentarily revealing the vulnerability beneath his arrogant façade. I suspected that mentioning losing his sword hand hit a nerve in the Lannister kingsguard as he was very proud of his skills. And my words on death being a mercy for a cripple a subtle reminder of his actions on Bran, even though he would dismiss it as a coincidence of wording. If it had been his twin, she would have immediately believed that I knew something about what happened in the Broken Tower.
"You dare speak of dishonor and weakness?" Jaime spat, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and wounded pride. "You, a commoner, who knows nothing of the true nature of power and strength."
I didn't waver to his anger.
"You know nothing, ser Jaime. Brute strength as solely mean of power is a tool for weak men unable to handle their soul scars and wounded pride. Being able to use the sword in your hand and the sword between your legs doesn't make you a strong leader. It just gives you means to ensure a ground for power. Otherwise, Gregor Clegane would be the king of the Seven Kingdoms, not king Robert and not even your father."
My words hung heavy in the air, challenging Jaime Lannister's perception of power and strength. He stood there, his face a mask of fury and disbelief, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. I knew I had just insinuated that his family and his father were weak men in relying on their brute force and that he would take it badly. I also suspected that refering to the Mountain was kind of an insult as the man was more a henchman to his father than anything else.
Harwin and his men watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation. They were impressed by my courage in the face of such a formidable adversary, but they were also wary as they knew the Kingslayer was a dangerous and proud man. They were hesitant to intervene, partly intrigued on how it would go, but were ready to intervene if the situation escalated.
Arya couldn't help but smirk at the exchange, impressed by my ability to hold my own against the Kingslayer, her anger and distress being partly replaced by keen interest. However, she remained vigilant, sensing the potential danger in the situation and prepared to support me if needed.
The red cloaks in Ser Jaime's company displayed a range of reactions. Some mirrored their leader's anger and arrogance, sneering at my words and itching for a confrontation. Others, however, seemed taken aback by my audacity and the unexpected depth of the verbal joust. They exchanged uneasy glances amongst themselves, uncertain of how to react to this challenge to their authority. They likely expected a more submissive response from me, considering their reputation and association with the Lannisters. The fact that I hadn't cowered before Jaime's presence and had actually engaged him in conversation appeared to have thrown them off balance.
Jaime's voice trembled with suppressed anger as he retorted, "You think you know so much about power and leadership, yet you stand here, a mere peasant, lecturing me on what it means to be strong."
I met his gaze with unflinching resolve, my voice steady and unwavering.
"Strength is not defined by noble birth or the titles one is holding, Ser Jaime," I replied. "It is defined by the choices we make, the principles we uphold, and the ability to inspire others to follow us. True leadership is not about wielding a sword, but about guiding people with wisdom and compassion and handling challenges with intelligence and integrity."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Jaime's face, his anger momentarily giving way to contemplation. His eyes narrowed on me. Just as the tension hung heavy in the air, a gruff voice, rough and filled with cynicism, suddenly cut through the atmosphere.
"Quite the fancy words ya got there, green boy. Tryin' to impress someone, are ya?"
I stood still on my horse, wary and tense as I knew exactly who this voice belonged to. Turning my gaze slightly, I saw a large figure approaching, clad in armour and emanating an aura of intimidation. As his face was uncovered, I knew it was Sandor Clegane and suspected he had been sent by Joffrey himself. I wondered where he came from and if Eddard saw him because otherwise, the situation might go murkier. I wondered how I missed his tall presence, though focused as I was on Jaime Lannister, he might have come unnoticed by me. I regarded Sandor in the same manner for Jaime, in a neutral stance, because of the knowledge I have on his past and on the man he was. A part of me empathized with him and understood that he was a scarred survivor, but I also knew he was a prisoner of his past, of his traumas and of the way people treated him, making him a complicated and dangerous person.
Arya's grip on her reins tightened as she watched the Hound closely. The arrival of the Hound had added another layer of tension to an already charged situation. Harwin and his men shifted their stances, ready to intervene if things took a dangerous turn.
Sandor's gaze fell upon me, his burned and scarred face revealing no emotions, but I could feel his eyes assessing me with a cold intensity. This was the first time he was seeing me, and I knew that his reputation for brutality and his loyalty to the Lannisters made him a potentially dangerous presence.
The others present couldn't help but react to the Hound's arrival. Some exchanged uneasy glances, while others adjusted their grips on their weapons. Jaime's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes shifting between me and Sandor, as if assessing the unfolding situation and probably wondering how I would handle his nephew-son's sworn shield. I could notice a small smirk as if he was expecting a change of tide in the confrontation.
Sandor's gaze finally shifted away from me and locked onto her. He spoke, his voice rough and laced with a hint of irritation, "Little wolf, yer friend here seems to have quite the mouth on him. He better watches his tongue 'fore it gets him into more trouble than he can handle."
Arya's eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, not one to back down easily. "At least, he stood up for me when you lot were trying to blame me for nothing!"
Sandor's gaze flickered between Arya and me once more before he let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Blame you for nothin'? Your little friend, the butcher boy, would be beggin' to differ, waitin' for ya in the cold embrace of death."
The mention of Mycah hit a nerve, and I felt a mix of anger and sorrow well up within me. Not only because of the crime itself, but because it was something I wished Arya would discover later, in the aftermath of an emotional wrecking experience. I held my ground, refusing to let the Hound's words break my composure.
Arya's fists clenched at her sides, and I could see the emotions swirling in her eyes, a mix of guilt, anger, and grief. I knew that she was now completely aware of what happened to her friend.
"Mycah didn't deserve to die. Joffrey lied about everything!", she cried out in anger and distress.
Arya's words and distress broke me and the feeling of injustice and anger entered me. Whatever composure I had was through. If I had learned to keep calm when it struck me even if it could be hard, I was always touched by the distress of someone. And this someone happened here to be not only a person I was fond of due to her character in the books and show, but also because of the starting bond I sensed between us. I looked at Arya with empathy and sadness, but also with a dark gleam in my eyes.
Arya's eyes briefly met mine, and I could see the distress, the anger and a plea for support in her gaze. My heart ached for her, and my determination to stand my ground only grew stronger.
Harwin and his men were digusted and ill at ease and yet hesistant to intervene, probably afraid of facing Sandor. Not that I could blame them as a man like him with his size and reputation, not to mention his brother's reputation, would be like a bogeyman. They however approached closer to Arya and I, ready to shield us.
Jaime and the red cloaks continued to observe the unfolding scene with keen interest, waiting to see how the Hound and I would interact.
In response to Sandor's cynical remark, I turned my gaze towards him, a cold and rigid expression on my face. A storm was raging inside me, a mix of disgust, anger and fear. And yet, I was restraining them, funnelling them to be used in a way that would be a surgical strike. Without breaking eye contact, I urged my horse forward a step, subtly positioning myself in front of Arya. It was a small movement, but one that was meant to protect her and deter any sudden moves on her part as I was aware she wouldn't hesitate to strike at Sandor.
"My congratulations, ser Gregor," I spoke, my voice carrying a cold and calculated tone.
A palpable shift occurred in the air as the words left my lips. Harwin, the Stark guards, Jaime, and the red cloaks all reacted with a mix of surprise and confusion. Sandor's scarred face contorted with a mixture of shock and anger, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. His face twisted into a scowl, and he took a menacing step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. The members of our escort tensed even further, fully aware of Sandor Clegane's reputation for violence. Harwin's grip on his own weapon tightened as he prepared for the worst.
"Ya dare to mock me, ya little shit?" Sandor growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His gaze bore into mine with a smoldering intensity, as if he were on the brink of unleashing his pent-up wrath. I looked straight at him, struggling inwardly to crush the fear within me.
"I dare", I said in a steady and unwavering voice, "A tall man in armour that kills little children because his masters tasked him to like a hound would hunt a prey, this is something Gregor Clegane would do."
The impact of my words was clear, causing a ripple of reactions around us. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes widening in surprise and concern at my audacity. The Stark guards and Harwin exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.
Sandor Clegane's anger flared, his face contorting with rage as I mentioned his brother's name once again. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, seemingly ready to draw it to strike me down in a fit of rage.
I heard my heart pounding in my chest, but I didn't relent and face Sandor on my horse, refusing to allowing instinctual fear to dictate how to react. Anger and scorn were stronger in this instant. My eyes remained locked onto his face, unflinching and unwavering. No matter how much I knew of the man, I wasn't in the mood of being compassionate for his insults and crimes. He was as much an abuser as a victim, a flayed soul who flesh was always hurting in spite of the armour he had built for himself and the screwed view of the world he had.
"Go ahead, kill me," I spoke, my voice carrying an edge of defiance and as much firmness as I could harness. "Prove to me that you are a mindless beast, a soulless soldier, a scarred puppy beaten by his masters to be a mere tool of fear. Prove to me that your prince and his mother's family can piss on every tradition and rule of the Seven Kingdoms."
My words hung heavy in the air, and a shocked silence settled over the gathering. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes wide with surprise at my audacity. She was torn between her instinct to protect and her desire to see this confrontation play out while fear also gripped her. The tension in the air was suffocating as my challenge hung between us, the weight of the words echoing in the silence that followed.
In the moments that seemed to stretch endlessly, I sensed a change in the atmosphere around us. Everyone were tensed, their expressions ranged from worry and intrigue to surprise and anticipation. The power dynamics were palpable, the unspoken challenge I had thrown Sandor's way hanging heavy in the air.
Sandor Clegane's face contorted with a mix of bewilderment, anger, and something akin to grudging respect as my words pierced through the armor he had carefully constructed around himself. His eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, battling against the torrent of emotions churning within him. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard, as if the harsh truths I had spoken had struck a nerve buried deep beneath his scars.
This hesitation seemed to give opportunity to Harwin as I heard his voice cutting through the tensed atmosphere in a commanding tone.
"That's enough!"
As everyone turned their eyes on him, the Stark guard stepped forward, positioning himself between Sandor and me, his presence a clear indication that he wouldn't allow the situation to escalate further.
"He is now part of lord Stark's household, Hound. Harm him and you will have to answer to my lord."
Sandor's scarred face twitched with a mixture of frustration and suppressed anger. He finally let out a deep, rumbling sigh. His grip on his sword hilt relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as if he had let go of a heavy burden. The anger that had burned in his eyes began to dim, replaced by a weary resignation.
"You're either brave or a fuckin' fool," Sandor grumbled, his voice gravelly with a tinge of bitterness. "I ain't spillin' your guts today, but mark my words, if our paths cross once more, I'll be the one plungin' my blade into your sorry hide."
He withdrew his hand from his sword and took a step back, distancing himself from me.
I simply looked at him in a more neutral manner while inwardly sighing in relief, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Trying to appease my disarrayed mind, I looked around me to observe the situation.
"Valar Morghulis", I muttered for myself as a way to temper the words of threat of Sandor and a reminder of the inevitability of death, even though I dearly wanted to delay the date of appointment with her and to avoid the inevitable unbreakable wedding to her.
Arya watched Harwin and me with a mixture of relief, concern and perhaps reverence in her grey eyes. She seemed to be struggling with a swirl of emotions—gratitude for my defence of her, fear for my safety, concern for the brewing conflict, and a connection she felt with me. Her fingers twitched, and I could sense the tension in her posture, as if she were on the edge of action. She cast a glance on Sandor, her eyes somber of anger and concern.
Turning his attention to Jaime, Harwin spoke with an authority that brooked no argument. "Kingslayer, I suggest you let my escort pass. We have no intention of causing further trouble."
Jaime's expression shifted as he assessed the situation. He exchanged a glance with the Red Cloaks, the unspoken conversation cleared between them. The prospect of creating a public incident, especially after the controversy surrounding Arya's trial and my intervention, seemed to weigh on his mind.
After a tense moment of consideration, Jaime's shoulders sagged slightly, and he nodded in reluctant agreement. The Lions might not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, but the risk of sparking a new controversy so soon after the events in the castle hall was too great. With a resigned gesture, he signaled for the Red Cloaks to step aside, granting passage for Harwin's escort to proceed with Arya, me, and Lady.
As we began to move away from the confrontation, riding toward the Kingsroad, the tension in the air began to ease. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes wide with a turmoil of emotions. The Stark guards and Harwin's men exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern for the brewing conflict. Sandor's gaze, meanwhile, remained locked onto mine, his raw emotions still visible in the depths of his scarred face. His clenched fists at his sides spoke of his suppressed anger. Lady moved on, calm and yet cautious, observing the red cloaks with her golden eyes as if she was assessing their potential threat.
The red cloaks, simmering with resentment, watched as our group departed. Their eyes bore into me with a mixture of disdain and a desire for retribution, fueling their determination to protect the interests of House Lannister. They were also flummoxed by the fact I saluted them with respect while making their presence a good thing and not a display of power. They didn't know how to consider my words and stance, if it was defiance or respect.
As I passed by Jaime, a sudden impulse struck me. I leaned in and spoke to him in a low voice, just loud enough for him to hear over the rustling leaves and the sound of horses' hooves. "Ser Jaime, tell your sister that the Valonqar sends his regards."
Jaime's eyes widened at my whispered words, and a mix of shock and realization flickered across his face as he tried to understand the meaning of my words. He looked at me uncertain and somber but I didn't give him time to answer as I rode away.
As we rode away from Darry Castle, Harwin turned to me with a stern expression. "I admire your courage, lad," he said, "but you need to be more careful. You could have been killed with your stunt. Your intervention already stirred up the Lannisters, and what you just did won't make things any easier. I don't want to fail my duty to Lord Stark by letting you get hurt."
I bowed my head, understanding well his words. While bristling to his comment, I understood why he was deeply concerned. He had been tasked by his lord to watch over Arya and me and we had just left Darry Castle that I nearly contributed to make his duty failed. That thought churned inside me and made me angrier with myself as I lowered myself to petty insults and harming people where it hurt the most. My cautious self was like a storm clashing inside me, berating me for my bold and foolish move while my compassionate self was tempering it in pointing out it was done out of concern for Arya. I turned my glance on Arya and noticed her dampened, concerned and somber demeanour. She however sent me a relieved and reverent smile. I answered back with a small smile, a bit glad the situation distracted her from what she had learnt. I however promised myself to look after her as I knew she would think of her friend and let her sense of justice, anger and guilt flow her mind.
As Darry Castle slowly faded into the distance behind me, I reflected upon what just had happened. A part of me regretted to having let my emotions out, but I knew I couldn't let those bullies think they had the higher ground. If they believed their swords could be the answer to everything, let words and truth be the dagger that would stab their heart. Let it be the pestilence that would taint their souls, their minds, their sleeps, their dreams. The Lannisters claimed to always pay their debt but they were so wrong. So many blood debts they had overlooked to pay and that threatened them for the incoming future. No need for prophecy or foresight due to knowledge from stories to know it wouldn't dwell well for them if they let their pride and shortsightedness blinding them and hardening their hearts. They were the Pharaohs of Westeros, awaiting to face their own plagues. I wouldn't be the Moses of Westeros, but I knew that should the opportunity was given, giving a piece of my mind to wreck their pride and image would be worth, no matter how much I understood the context or what brought them to act the way they did.
A.N.:
1. And here we are! The last chapter of the Darry Castle arc. A departure chapter I hope present two sides of the same coin.
2. It is one of those chapters in which I was the most entertained to imagine because of the challenges it offered. I tried to find some balance in how presenting the confrontation (and a litte pay off from a previous chapter), making this chapter of those where the rewrite and addition were among the most numerous (including some tips from two other AI, Poe and Bard). The confrontation with Jaime Lannister is in some manner a "hommage" to a famous scene of the first book/first season.
3. It also allows me to show other features (qualities and flaws) of the SI in this context and how his knowledge and mind brings him to handle in a certain way interactions with other characters. I tried to display shades of complexity in the different interactions.
4. Teasing: the next chapter is the start of the journey with a promise for safety and first discussions...
5. Have a good reading (and hopefully take good delight in this chapter) !