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KoW - Chapter 24
🕑 Added 2024-11-09 15:49:44 +0000 UTCSansa Stark
She was walking in the Godswood of the castle, practicing her new abilities.
Robb wasn’t wrong, she took very easily to subverting other beasts, at first, she tried other pigeons, like Gallant, which worked swiftly. Yet, she faced several limitations, she had to concentrate constantly on her target, she couldn’t control them beyond a certain distance, and only simple commands could be given.
She had kept “dream correspondence” with her brother, who has since taught her methods to constantly meditate, to push any undesired emotions into the nothingness, and most importantly, to share senses with her controlled beasts.
Progress was very slow with the former, yet the latter was fortunately easier. She closes her eyes, and with a single mental leap her perspective shifts.
After pigeons, she had debated on what other animal to breach into, a conversation with her brother showed her the way. He counseled her that she if she wished to spy, then the more unnoticed the better, but to also make sure that they share some physical characteristics with humans. Warging into insects, he said, is unwise, because they do not perceive the world the same way we do, and so it is bound to be an exercise in futility.
She settled on rats and mice, they are creatures that roam the castle frequently, and are capable of hiding beneath someone’s notice quite well, they roam into the crooks and crannies of the red keep, and most importantly, their minds are oh so easy to be toppled.
Colors were the greatest thing, that is something she only realized after watching them through Gallant’s eyes, for pigeons, colors are more vivid, almost alive things. When seeing with his eyes she could see the unrealized beauty, the different shades of the sky, sea, and land that her human eyes can’t perceive.
Rats, are another thing. Their vision is mostly similar to hers, except, they cannot see red or hot colors in general, and their sight is very blurry. They only see in black and white, with some few green and blue shades distinguishing themselves.
But, what rats lack in vision, they make up with hearing.
“…-I am glad, your… new friend was able to accompany you to the capital, friends are such an important part of life.” She hears the voice of Varys echo. “Unfortunate that you father didn’t want her to come, but rest easy, my lord. I am very good at keeping secrets for my good friends.”
One thing that made her favor rats over pigeons is their instincts, with this lesser ability, she can only give limited orders to her animals, one that she made use of constantly is to simply follow. But when she asked a pigeon to follow one Meryn Trant, the bird was too obvious, and ended up nipping several strands of hairs off his head, only to have its neck snapped off.
Mice are sneaky creatures by nature, when she orders one to follow someone –like Tyrion Lannister- they do so while hiding from sight, and making sure they are unheard.
It is why she settled for only accessing hearing at the moment, it allowed her to stroll through the Godswood unfettered without harboring suspicion, vision tends to have a greater burden, and so she usually has to sit and close her eyes for that.
It also meant that she couldn’t see who was present, only hear.
“Your discretion is legendary, when your friends are concerned.” She hears Tyrion speak, his voice was clipped and cautious, lacking the usual cheer and wit he’s known for.
She hears a creak, maybe of a man standing. “How unspeakable of me to go on and on when all you want to do is rest.” Varys says. “I’ll leave you;”
She hears the voice of a chaste kiss, like one would give a woman’s hand out of respect.
“Welcome to Kingslanding, my dear. The city is made brighter by your presence.” Varys continues. “We have a council meeting, my lord.”
It’s clear to her that Varys is speaking to two people, not one. Tyrion, and someone else that she doesn’t know.
A thin slap of hand on wood makes it her rat’s ears. “I don’t like threats.” Tyrion seemingly whispers.“
“Who threatened you?” Varys answers.
“I’m not Ned Stark, I understand the way this game is played.”
“Ned Stark was a man of honor.”
“And I am not.” Tyrion rebukes. “Threaten me again and I’ll have you thrown into the sea.”
“You might be disappointed in the results.” Varys says, his voice as calm as ever, yet carrying a previously unknown edge. “Storms come and go, the big fish eat the little fish, and I… keep on paddling.”
She hears the door open. “Come, my lord.” Varys finishes. “We shouldn’t keep the king waiting.”
A frown paints her features, Sansa has only caught the end of that conversation, it seems. And there is definitely someone else in that room, someone important to the Imp, who’d defy his father’s orders and threaten the Spider over.
But it seems that her time in immersion is over, as Gallant gently lands on her shoulder and pobs his head on hers the moment she orders the rat to change his target to whoever remained in the room.
Since she learned to keep Gallant safe and close, her precious pigeon began developing a deeper bond with her, he would fly in circles above her when free, and would warn her of approaching people when in mid trance, without prompting at all.
He became smarter as time went on, and would follow her orders before she even says them.
“That is a strange pigeon.”
“Ser Dontos?”
The chubby man smiles tenderly, looking at her with eyes filled with gratitude.
His previous armor was replaced with the motley clothing of a jester, yet unlike Moon Boy, the other court fool who made it seem ungainly and queer, Ser Dontos sported it with an air of pity, as if the comical outfit was a prisoner’s garb.
“That is my name.” Once sober, Sansa realizes, he had a more tranquil air to him. “How about a stroll?”
Sansa nods, if only to indulge him.
--*
“Why do they call you the Red?” Sansa asks.
Dontos smiles. “It is due to my family sigil, a Barry red and pink, three golden crowns on a blue chief, when I was a squire, I removed the blue chief from my personal coat of arms, so they called me the Red, as in the Hollard with the red sigil.” He says. “It is nothing so flamboyant, my lady. I hadn’t any deeds to my name.”
Sansa ignores the pitying remarks. “You were a knight? Under whom did you squire?” She asks, trying to push the conversation toward something less depressing.
This time, the newly christened fool loses his smile entirely.
“Oh, did I overstep?” Sansa pre-emptively remarks. “I am sorry, there is no need if you do not wish to answer.”
“No-… I-, no, someone would have told you, had you asked.” He says. “It is not a secret, after all.”
Sansa simply stays silent, so Dontos simply continues.
“The Hollards, my house, is a knightly one that comes from an ancient bloodline of chivalrous warriors and stalwart bodyguards. During the Age of Heroes, we were the bannermen and closest allies of House Darklyn, in these ancient times we had three daughters wedded to Darklyn kings.” He begins his tale. “We stayed so for thousands of years, surviving both the Andal invasions and the Conquest, and hundreds of wars and battles beside, supporting House Darklyn and aiding them during countless tribulations. Yet, all of that would change at the Defiance of Duskendale.”
“That was when Lord Darklyn invited the Mad King into his city, and held him captive, is it not?”
Dontos nods. “Aye, Lord Denys Darklyn desired to win a city charter for Duskendale, which would give him more autonomy from the crown, and so he made his proposal to the crown. Lord Tywin refused his proposal, but Denys would not give up so easily.” He explains. “He then had the bright idea to withhold and instead invited the king to Duskendale to hear his petition for a new charter. They say Aerys had intended to decline the invitation, yet changed his mind when Lord Tywin advised him to refuse in the strongest possible terms.”
“Aerys then decided to demonstrate his ability to handle the situation without his Hand’s involvement, and promptly accepted the invitation, he traveled with a small force led by Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard, assured of his safety from his vassals.” His voice turns whimsical at the mention of the knight. “When he arrived, Lord Denys ordered the capture of the king and the death of his retinue, Ser Gwayne was slain in single combat at the hand of my uncle Ser Symon Hollard.”
“He was my idol, I squired under him, he served as men-at-arms for Duskendale, and he hoped to make me so after he retired.” Tears begin to pool on his eyes, yet they do not flow downward. “When-… When Barristan Selmy rescued Aerys in his daring attempt, the Mad King ordered the death of every single Darklyn, and in consequence, every single Hollard in return. It was only by the Bold’s request and the once king’s gratitude to the knight that I was left alive. I was but a boy then, a boy that watched his whole family getting butchered for being true to their oaths. A boy that grew to be a prisoner in the Red Keep, much like you, I suppose.”
“I see…” Sansa comments. “That must have been traumatizing.”
“Bad memories are a dime a dozen here, my Lady.” He responds. “Men like me with poor lives are not uncommon in the capital, it is simply the fact that some are more important than others.”
He gently holds her hand, she could notice clearly that his attempt wasn’t one of seduction, which frankly made her inwardly sigh in relief, but one that attempted –and failed- to seem familiar, like a parent’s or an uncle’s. More comforting than romantic.
“I tell you this, my Lady.” He softy says. “To let you know that there are kindred spirits, people who feel the same as you do, even if at a lesser extent.” He finishes. “In fact… In fact…” He hesitates, as if debating inwardly to come to a decision, before he mentioned for her to lean in. “There is a plan, in the works.” He whispers softly in her ears. “A friend of mine will hire a ship, in the close future, that same ship will take us, take you back to Winterfell.”
She lets the words flow into her, and before she even reacts, she found that she’d already retreated into her meditative exercises, making sure to hide her astonishment, and most importantly, hope from her features.
She settles into an expression of skepticism, however.
“What do you get out of this?” She asks. “I have spent enough time here to know about how things work.”
“You saved my life, my Lady. That is enough reason for me.” He pleads. “But I understand, if you cannot trust in my sense of honor, then you can certainly believe in my greed. In Kingslanding, I am but a fool, every day, the King torments me, tortures me emotionally and physically, and every day since I can feel my demise come closer, it is only a matter of time before his grace is bored of me, and when he is bored…”
The implications of his words were left unsaid, but seeing her expression unchanging, he sighs and takes a step back.
“Please, simply wait for me, as Jonquil did Florian the Fool.” He says. “I bid you farewell, until then, my Lady.”
Sansa simply curtsies and walks away from the man, sighing inwardly at his antics.
Somehow, he seemed to believe she was the same bright eyed girl that first walked into this keep, but her brother warned that he may make an appearance.
‘A friend that will hire a ship, he says.’ She thinks. ‘Ships are expensive, not many lords would be able to do so, and even less would have an incentive to do so for her. Robb is right, Baelish must have approached the man, the question is why…”
On her way back to her quarters, she meets more trouble, however.
Sitting under one of the many Godswood’s trees, Sandor Clegane chugs deeply out of a leatherskin jug.
Once she sights him, she buries her annoyance deep and curtsies once again.
“Ser.” She greets.
Sandor snorts. “I’m no Ser, little bird.” His voice is slanted from drinking.
He slowly stands up, swaying unto himself as he stepped up to her. She fearfully sights his intimidating height and hideous face, but hard practice allows her to swiftly hide any disgust from her expression.
Sandor scared her, at first, the Hound had a rough reputation and when he murdered the butcher boy, she felt like he was a monster, pushing all the resentment she should have felt toward Joffrey onto him, even if he was but following orders.
However, learning about the story behind his scars, and the fact that he was the only person who protected her from Joffrey’s cruelty before her brother scared him straight, changed her mind.
He might be brutal and blunt, but he treated her better than all the other people here. Unlike that fool Dontos, she actually had proof of his kindness.
“Ser is an expression of respect.” Sansa says. “In the North, most men are not knights, and have sworn no oaths, yet we call them Ser nonetheless.” She explains. “I meant no offense.”
The Hound’s intact face morphs in surprise.
“Color me impressed.” He says. “The stupid little bird that believed in the stories of true knights and fair maids, singing the songs that they taught her mindlessly, is no more. This shithole might have finally taught you something.”
He scoffs. “But too late.” He says. “The fact that you’ve grown only makes the cage seem smaller, so you still have some singing to do.”
“I’d gladly sing for you… Ser.” She responds, not helping but putting some heat in her voice.
His eyes widen, before letting out a loud guffaw that swept a smell of wine to her nose. “Hah! That wolfen spine shows itself at last! You Starks are a queer people indeed.” He roughly grabs her shoulder, she shudders, dark memories of similar scenes playing on her mind’s eye. But with a shuddering breath she sends those emotions to the nothingness, letting them flow away from her form.
Sandor notices her flinch, so his hold turns noticeably lighter, proving to her once again, that at his core, the Hound was a good man.
“I’d better escort you, we don’t want one of the boy’s sycophant trying anything stupid.”
Sansa lets out a shaky nod.
She agrees, she had enough action for a day.
The walk back to her quarters is a tense affair, not due to any resentment by her part, but she simply has nothing to say to a man like the Hound, and the man similarly has none to speak of to a lady of her age.
Once she reaches the door, she turns around toward the scarred man. “Thank you for accompanying me… Ser.” She decides to use the word as her nickname for the man, hoping that he won’t resent her some measure of fun.
The man snorts once again. “Right.” He smiles slightly. “Good day then, little bird.”
She curtsies and turns around.
Once she opens the door, she finds an unfamiliar woman in her chambers.
“Greetings, my Lady.” The sensual looking woman bows. “My name is Shae, your new handmaiden.”
On the corner of her eye she sights a familiar mice, a scar by its brow denotes it as the rat she sent earlier on the day to follow and spy Tyrion Lannister.
Her last order to it was to follow whoever stayed at that room, and so the last thing she thought was for her to end up at her doors.
‘I cannot have a moment to myself, can I?’ She inwardly complains.
“Good to meet you, Shae, was it?” But she steels herself and puts on an increasingly familiar mask.
‘I can’t wait to leave this hellhole.'
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
