A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow. George R.r. Martin
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can’t.” What if she tells him, what if she tells? He’ll kill me for certain then, or give me to Ser Ilyn. “I never meant … my father was a traitor, my brother as well, I have the traitor’s blood, please, don’t make me say more.”
“Calm yourself, child,” the Queen of Thorns commanded.
“She’s terrified, Grandmother, just look at her.”
The old woman called to Butterbumps. “Fool! Give us a song. A long one, I should think. ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ will do nicely.”
“It will!” the huge jester replied. “It will do nicely indeed! Shall I sing it standing on my head, my lady?”
“Will that make it sound better?”
“No.”
“Stand on your feet, then. We wouldn’t want your hat to fall off. As I recall, you never wash your hair.”
“As my lady commands.” Butterbumps bowed low, let loose of an enormous belch, then straightened, threw out his belly, and bellowed. “A bear there was, a bear, a BEAR! All black and brown, and covered with hair …”
Lady Olenna squirmed forward. “Even when I was a girl younger than you, it was well known that in the Red Keep the very walls have ears. Well, they will be the better for a song, and meanwhile we girls shall speak freely.”
“But,” Sansa said, “Varys … he knows, he always …”
“Sing louder!” the Queen of Thorns shouted at Butterbumps. “These old ears are almost deaf, you know. Are you whispering at me, you fat fool? I don’t pay you for whispers. Sing!”
“… THE BEAR!” thundered Butterbumps, his great deep voice echoing off the rafters. “OH, COME, THEY SAID, OH COME TO THE FAIR! THE FAIR? SAID HE, BUT I’M A BEAR! ALL BLACK AND BROWN, AND COVERED WITH HAIR!”
The wrinkled old lady smiled. “At Highgarden, we have many spiders amongst the flowers. So long as they keep to themselves we let them spin their little webs, but if they get underfoot we step on them.” She patted Sansa on the back of the hand. “Now, child, the truth. What sort of man is this Joffrey, who calls himself Baratheon but looks so very Lannister?”
“AND DOWN THE ROAD FROM HERE TO THERE. FROM HERE! TO THERE! THREE BOYS, A GOAT, AND A DANCING BEAR!”
Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat. The Queen of Thorns was so close she could smell the old woman’s sour breath. Her gaunt thin fingers were pinching her wrist. To her other side, Margaery was listening as well. A shiver went through her. “A monster,” she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. “Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher’s boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He’s evil and cruel, my lady, it’s so. And the queen as well.”
Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. “Ah,” said the old woman, “that’s a pity.”
Oh, gods, thought Sansa, horrified. If Margaery won’t marry him, Joff will know that I’m to blame. “Please,” she blurted, “don’t stop the wedding …”
“Have no fear, Lord Puff Fish is determined that Margaery shall be queen. And the word of a Tyrell is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock. At least it was in my day. Even so, we thank you for the truth, child.”
“… DANCED AND SPUN, ALL THE WAY TO THE FAIR! THE FAIR! THE FAIR!” Butterbumps hopped and roared and stomped his feet.
“Sansa, would you like to visit Highgarden?” When Margaery Tyrell smiled, she looked very like her brother Loras. “All the autumn flowers are in bloom just now, and there are groves and fountains, shady courtyards, marble colonnades. My lord father always keeps singers at court, sweeter ones than Butters here, and pipers and fiddlers and harpers as well. We have the best horses, and pleasure boats to sail along the Mander. Do you hawk, Sansa?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“OH, SWEET SHE WAS, AND PURE, AND FAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!”
“You will love Highgarden as I do, I know it.” Margaery brushed back a loose strand of Sansa’s hair. “Once you see it, you’ll never want to leave. And perhaps you won’t have to.”
“HER HAIR! HER HAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!”
“Shush, child,” the Queen of Thorns said sharply. “Sansa hasn’t even told us that she would like to come for a visit.”
“Oh, but I would,” Sansa said. Highgarden sounded like the place she had always dreamed of, like the beautiful magical court she had once hoped to find at King’s Landing.
“… SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR. THE BEAR! THE BEAR! ALL BLACK AND BROWN AND COVERED WITH HAIR.”
“But the queen,” Sansa went on, “she won’t let me go …”
“She will. Without Highgarden, the Lannisters have no hope of keeping Joffrey on his throne. If my son the lord oaf asks, she will have no choice but to grant his request.”
“Will he?” asked Sansa. “Will he ask?”
Lady Olenna frowned. “I see no need to give him a choice. Of course, he has no hint of our true purpose.”
“HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR!”
Sansa wrinkled her brow. “Our true purpose, my lady?”
“HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE! HONEY ON THE SUMMER AIR!”
“To see you safely wed, child,” the old woman said, as Butterbumps bellowed out the old, old song, “to my grandson.”
Wed to Ser Loras, oh … Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.
“OH, I’M A MAID, AND I’M PURE AND FAIR! I’LL NEVER DANCE WITH A HAIRY BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! I’LL NEVER DANCE WITH A HAIRY BEAR!”
“Would you like that, Sansa?” asked Margaery. “I’ve never had a sister, only brothers. Oh, please say yes, please say that you will consent to marry my brother.”
The words came tumbling out of her. “Yes. I will. I would like that more than anything. To wed Ser Loras, to love him …”
“Loras?” Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. “Don’t be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed. Didn’t they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides.”
Sansa felt dizzy; one instant her head was full of dreams of Loras, and the next they had all been snatched away. Willas? Willas? “I,” she said stupidly. Courtesy is a lady’s armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. “I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he … is he as great a knight as his brothers?”
“… LIFTED HER HIGH INTO THE AIR! THE BEAR! THE BEAR!”
“No,” Margaery said. “He has never taken vows.”
Her grandmother frowned. “Tell the girl the truth. The poor lad is crippled, and that’s the way of it.”
“He was hurt as a squire, riding in his first tourney,” Margaery confided. “His horse fell and crushed his leg.”