Post by The Smith on Nov 27, 2013 18:43:54 GMT -5
"And that is the Starry Sept," Ser Norys told Sansa. The ancient, famous sept towered above them in the bustling town square, black marble gleaming under the morning sun, the light no doubt filtering beautifully through the stained glass in its arched windows. "My brother became a septon, and serves in the Starry Sept. Would you like to come in with me and meet him? He can show us around and tell us about its history and architecture."
"No thank you, Ser Norys," Sansa said hastily. Her faithful friend was so amusing and fun - not surprising since he was in his early 20s, not much older than her, and a fellow westerland noble to boot - that sometimes she forgot about his bookish side. His Inner Maester, she'd call it teasingly. Sometimes she would tell him, "Norys, nobody would ever know that you were a masterful swordsman with the way you keep your nose stuck in books at all hours. One day a vile bandit will attack me and you won't even notice because you'll be reading some boring history about Maegor the Cruel!"
"And it would be an infinitely better use of my time," he would reply.
But now, she did not want to keep him from the Starry Sept, despite her own reluctance to enter it. Sansa supposed that she followed the Faith of the Seven, but she rarely thought much of the gods, and while she supposed she believed in them, she did not wish to visit some old sept when she was in the most beautiful city in Westeros.
"This city is choked with septs," she complained. "You've already made me look at the Sailor's Sept, and the Lord's Sept, and the Seven Shrines. Why do I have to see the Starry Sept? It's just going to the be Seven again, and some architecture from the time of the Kings of the Reach, and some pre-Conquest statues..."
"Is that all you've learned from today's sept tour?" he laughed. "You disappoint me."
"You should go and spend time with your brother, Ser Norys," she said, eager to be rid of him. "Go on, I do not need an escort. This is Oldtown, not the Dothraki sea! Leave the guarding to the City Watch today."
He was only too pleased to obey, and they parted ways, promising to meet an hour before sunset at the port to Battle Island, upon which the Hightower rose in the center of Oldtown.
"How shall I know when it is an hour before sunset?" Sansa, wearied at the very idea of chasing down water clocks in the city.
Ser Norys laughed. "You tell the time of day by where the shadow of the Hightower falls. The Hightower is the clock of Oldtown. Now enjoy yourself, and don't get into any trouble." He turned and strode off for the Starry Sept, his cloak fluttering behind him.
Sansa relished her freedom. No guards, no pestering grandmother, no bossy Nymeria or mocking Uncle Mychel, no castle people - it was just her, and the great, beautiful city of Oldtown spread out before her. She had to admit, it was the most splendid and graceful city she had ever seen. It put Lannisport to shame, though she would never admit it. Even Grandmother had said that Oldtown was far superior to even King's Landing.
Sansa sauntered off. She quickly found that it was easy to get lost in the labyrinth of crooked streets, and suddenly found herself in a little square, where vendors had parked their creaking carts and were selling their wares. She didn't much care for the poor stuff being sold - cheap baubles, little wooden horses for children to play with, lucky charms, that sort of thing - but she was fascinated by the sight of commoners going about their shopping. She watched as a child vendor haggled with an adult customer, marveled at the way a young wife criticized the quality of a pot she was looking to buy.
None of them are paying the full price! she thought in wonder, as she slowly walked between the carts and eavesdropped on conversations. It had never occurred to Sansa that a vendor's price could be negotiated down. Half the time, Sansa was not quite sure how much she paid for anything. She was not allowed to handle money. When Sansa and her sisters went shopping, her mother sent a handmaiden or steward with them. Sansa merely indicated what she wanted, and the servant handled the payment. Sansa wondered uncomfortably if her splendid elk leather saddle, which she had bought a fortnight ago for her handsome bay mare, cost more than the homes that some of these Oldtown people lived in.
"Would the young master be interested in some seashells?" came a sweet voice behind her. Sansa turned, and saw a very pretty young girl about her age, selling from a cart laden with seashell necklaces and seashell bracelets. She had brown curly hair and bright eyes.
"A pretty seashell necklace," the girl said, offering a necklace of pale pink and grey shells. "For a pretty lass you admire?"
I'd give it to you, then, Sansa thought, and blushed. "I'm a girl, actually," she said, gently placing the necklace back on the cart.
"Oh!" the girl paused in confusion. "I am so sorry - my - my lady?" her eyes swept Sansa up and down. The raiment was fitting for the son of a wealthy city merchant or nobleman's son, but when worn by a girl, it made people hesitate.
"Just Sansa," she replied easily. "And what's your name?"
"Wendy," the girl said with a smile. "I'd ask you to buy a necklace for yourself, but it doesn't seem like it'd suit, begging your pardon."
Sansa giggled. "I haven't worn jewelry since I was a babe of six," she said. "My mother quickly figured out that I didn't like it, and my grandmother has to abide by her wishes."
"I'll take a necklace!" came a shout from behind them. Sansa turned to see a boy swagger up. He looked to be about sixteen or so, tall and well-built. "If only that I can have something to strangle the Lannister bitch with."
Sansa was so taken aback that for a moment all she could do was stare. He turned to smile at her lazily. "Don't tell me this is the first time someone has called you that."
"How do you know who I am?" Sansa asked, eyes narrowed. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. She noticed that the seashell seller had fallen silent, no doubt awed by the presence of nobility at her cart and wary of the sense of imminent violence.
He spat onto the cobblestones and leered at her. "Because you gelded my man three days ago, you little beast. Coming here and lording about as if this is your land. That was my man!"
"I was teaching him respect," she said. "If you are in the habit of hiring men like him, maybe I have a lesson for you as well. Who are you?"
"I'm the son of Ser Wyatt of Crownskeep," he said grandly. "And Lower Crinkley is our village. When you mutilated my servant Will, he came to me weeping for restitution. And I'll give it to him," he took a step forward, though she did not move.
She remembered passing Crownskeep on the road to Oldtown. It was a towerhouse upriver, with only three villages under its rule.
"Now this is interesting," Sansa murmured. "What could some lowborn, daughter-fucking poacher mean so much to you for, that you're willing to come into Oldtown and pick a fight with a Lannister over him?"
"Nothing of the sort," he said quickly - too quickly. "This is justice."
"Not about poaching?" she said sweetly. His expression, much as he tried to hide the truth, gave it away.
"That is pathetic," Sansa said in disgust. "It's one thing for a peasant to steal from Lord Hightower - quite a different matter when a knightly family does so."
"We've done nothing of the sort," he said, and once again she caught his lies.
"You were a big fool to come here and challenge me over it," she said. "Better that you had killed that monster when he came to you for help. Now I will go to Lord Gwayne, and you can explain the matter to him yourself."
That incited the young man to fury. In a kind of desperate, panicked anger, he drew his sword and lunged at her. But Sansa had been prepared. She had watched his glittering eyes and tense body language, and the way his hand hovered near his sword belt, throughout their conversation. So when he went for his sword, she drew hers almost immediately.
"You won't find me as easy a foe as a peasant," he said, as steel rang against steel.
"We will see," she said emotionlessly.
There were cries of alarm as the combatants danced in the little square, the crowd scattering out of their way and frantically pulling their children aside. Somebody yelled for a city watchman to be called, a moment which would have amused anyone from King's Landing - evidently the citizens of Oldtown placed greater faith in their watchmen than anyone in King's Landing placed in the gold cloaks.
His blows came fast and furious, but she was nimble and quick and had surprising strength for someone so slender. Her eyes missed nothing as she dodged or blocked his blows, searching for an opening, waiting for him to misstep, to overreach himself. She did not even have to think as her feet moved in unison with her sword, as she forced him to follow in the direction she was slowly, crookedly retreating in.
She was moving towards the edge of the square, which was protected by a railing and rose a level above the Honeywine that flowed below.
When she had him where she wanted, her demeanor changed. Suddenly aggressive, she fought back with a controlled fury, raining down blows in all the weak spots that she had taken the time to patiently look out for. She knocked him back once, then twice, and after a ferocious struggle, a third time, steering him slowly but surely towards the railing.
"Yield!" she yelled, as she drew blood from his shoulder. "Yield!"
But he would not. Sansa could hear whistles behind her, but it was not the whistle of an approving crowd. It sounded like...like a watchman...
Seeing that she was momentarily distracted, the young man lunged again. She only just barely snapped back to attention in time, but in the ensuing, furious clash of swords, she disarmed him, only to be disarmed almost immediately after.
"Break it up!" the watchman was yelling, advancing towards them slowly with a truncheon.
Sansa punched the young man. He doubled over, cursing, and tackled her just as she aimed a kick at his groin. They both tumbled onto the cobblestones, swearing and grunting as they tussled with each other. She was momentarily dazed as his fist connected with her face, but became immediately determined to break him into pieces with her bare hands and throw him into the Honeywine as fish food. She kicked him off of her, spitting blood into his face, and aimed a flurry of quick, snapping punches at him. Knocking him out with one blow was proving hard, and this way she could protect herself better. He reached around and grabbed her by a handful of her short golden hair, yanking her back painfully.
"Fuck you!" she snarled, kicking him hard enough to weaken his grip and lunging forward to choke him. There was a ripping sound as he tore some of her hair, but Sansa did not even notice. She was straddling him and choking him. She had his throat in a vice-like grip and was squeezing harder and harder and harder...
She yelped with indignation as she was pulled off of the man by two city watchmen. When he staggered to his feet, clutching his throat and wheezing, the second watchman stepped in front of Sansa and caught the young man as he feebly tried to charge her. At that, Sansa strained against her captor, yelling out challenges to her opponent.
"Sansa!" came a thunderous voice. It was Ser Norys, and his expression was stern and furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Watchman, let go of her. She is Lord Lannister's daughter."
"Might be," the watchman said, unmoved. "But this is Oldtown. And that there is Ser Wyatt's son from Crownskeep. This is a matter for the Lord of the Hightower."
No, Sansa groaned internally, kicking herself for letting things come this far.
"Good watchman," said another man. "Do you know me?" Sansa's head whipped around at the sound of that gentle voice. She beheld a man who looked very much like Ser Norys, except that he wore a septon's robes.
"Septon Gyles," the watchman said, his tone becoming respectful. "Of the Starry Sept."
"Let the girl be," Septon Gyles said gently. "She is only a girl, and it was very wrong for young Ryam to attack her with force. It is not the way of a Far Reachman, and I am sure his father will be very ashamed of his conduct. As for the girl, let her kin deal with her. I can assure you, Ser Norys will see to that."
The watchmen exchanged looks, and the one holding Ryam of Crownskeep shrugged. The septons of Oldtown had even more sway over people than the maesters of the Citadel, for the smallfolk placed more faith in the Seven than they generally did in the high-brow studies of the maesters. If a septon of the Starry Sept was willing to speak for Sansa, then that meant more to them than all the gold in Casterly Rock.
"Don't let me see you in a fight again," the watchman told Sansa gruffly, pushing her towards Ser Norys.
"Tell that to your fellow Far Reachman," she retorted, stomping over to her fallen sword and picking it up.
The crowd parted for Ser Norys and Sansa as they walked out of the square. To her disappointment, Sansa could not see the seashell girl anywhere, but she was not surprised. I will have to learn how to control my temper, she thought ruefully.
- Sansa gains Apprentice in Hand-to-Hand
- Sansa moves towards Expert in Deception
- Sansa moves towards Expert in Sword
"No thank you, Ser Norys," Sansa said hastily. Her faithful friend was so amusing and fun - not surprising since he was in his early 20s, not much older than her, and a fellow westerland noble to boot - that sometimes she forgot about his bookish side. His Inner Maester, she'd call it teasingly. Sometimes she would tell him, "Norys, nobody would ever know that you were a masterful swordsman with the way you keep your nose stuck in books at all hours. One day a vile bandit will attack me and you won't even notice because you'll be reading some boring history about Maegor the Cruel!"
"And it would be an infinitely better use of my time," he would reply.
But now, she did not want to keep him from the Starry Sept, despite her own reluctance to enter it. Sansa supposed that she followed the Faith of the Seven, but she rarely thought much of the gods, and while she supposed she believed in them, she did not wish to visit some old sept when she was in the most beautiful city in Westeros.
"This city is choked with septs," she complained. "You've already made me look at the Sailor's Sept, and the Lord's Sept, and the Seven Shrines. Why do I have to see the Starry Sept? It's just going to the be Seven again, and some architecture from the time of the Kings of the Reach, and some pre-Conquest statues..."
"Is that all you've learned from today's sept tour?" he laughed. "You disappoint me."
"You should go and spend time with your brother, Ser Norys," she said, eager to be rid of him. "Go on, I do not need an escort. This is Oldtown, not the Dothraki sea! Leave the guarding to the City Watch today."
He was only too pleased to obey, and they parted ways, promising to meet an hour before sunset at the port to Battle Island, upon which the Hightower rose in the center of Oldtown.
"How shall I know when it is an hour before sunset?" Sansa, wearied at the very idea of chasing down water clocks in the city.
Ser Norys laughed. "You tell the time of day by where the shadow of the Hightower falls. The Hightower is the clock of Oldtown. Now enjoy yourself, and don't get into any trouble." He turned and strode off for the Starry Sept, his cloak fluttering behind him.
Sansa relished her freedom. No guards, no pestering grandmother, no bossy Nymeria or mocking Uncle Mychel, no castle people - it was just her, and the great, beautiful city of Oldtown spread out before her. She had to admit, it was the most splendid and graceful city she had ever seen. It put Lannisport to shame, though she would never admit it. Even Grandmother had said that Oldtown was far superior to even King's Landing.
Sansa sauntered off. She quickly found that it was easy to get lost in the labyrinth of crooked streets, and suddenly found herself in a little square, where vendors had parked their creaking carts and were selling their wares. She didn't much care for the poor stuff being sold - cheap baubles, little wooden horses for children to play with, lucky charms, that sort of thing - but she was fascinated by the sight of commoners going about their shopping. She watched as a child vendor haggled with an adult customer, marveled at the way a young wife criticized the quality of a pot she was looking to buy.
None of them are paying the full price! she thought in wonder, as she slowly walked between the carts and eavesdropped on conversations. It had never occurred to Sansa that a vendor's price could be negotiated down. Half the time, Sansa was not quite sure how much she paid for anything. She was not allowed to handle money. When Sansa and her sisters went shopping, her mother sent a handmaiden or steward with them. Sansa merely indicated what she wanted, and the servant handled the payment. Sansa wondered uncomfortably if her splendid elk leather saddle, which she had bought a fortnight ago for her handsome bay mare, cost more than the homes that some of these Oldtown people lived in.
"Would the young master be interested in some seashells?" came a sweet voice behind her. Sansa turned, and saw a very pretty young girl about her age, selling from a cart laden with seashell necklaces and seashell bracelets. She had brown curly hair and bright eyes.
"A pretty seashell necklace," the girl said, offering a necklace of pale pink and grey shells. "For a pretty lass you admire?"
I'd give it to you, then, Sansa thought, and blushed. "I'm a girl, actually," she said, gently placing the necklace back on the cart.
"Oh!" the girl paused in confusion. "I am so sorry - my - my lady?" her eyes swept Sansa up and down. The raiment was fitting for the son of a wealthy city merchant or nobleman's son, but when worn by a girl, it made people hesitate.
"Just Sansa," she replied easily. "And what's your name?"
"Wendy," the girl said with a smile. "I'd ask you to buy a necklace for yourself, but it doesn't seem like it'd suit, begging your pardon."
Sansa giggled. "I haven't worn jewelry since I was a babe of six," she said. "My mother quickly figured out that I didn't like it, and my grandmother has to abide by her wishes."
"I'll take a necklace!" came a shout from behind them. Sansa turned to see a boy swagger up. He looked to be about sixteen or so, tall and well-built. "If only that I can have something to strangle the Lannister bitch with."
Sansa was so taken aback that for a moment all she could do was stare. He turned to smile at her lazily. "Don't tell me this is the first time someone has called you that."
"How do you know who I am?" Sansa asked, eyes narrowed. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. She noticed that the seashell seller had fallen silent, no doubt awed by the presence of nobility at her cart and wary of the sense of imminent violence.
He spat onto the cobblestones and leered at her. "Because you gelded my man three days ago, you little beast. Coming here and lording about as if this is your land. That was my man!"
"I was teaching him respect," she said. "If you are in the habit of hiring men like him, maybe I have a lesson for you as well. Who are you?"
"I'm the son of Ser Wyatt of Crownskeep," he said grandly. "And Lower Crinkley is our village. When you mutilated my servant Will, he came to me weeping for restitution. And I'll give it to him," he took a step forward, though she did not move.
She remembered passing Crownskeep on the road to Oldtown. It was a towerhouse upriver, with only three villages under its rule.
"Now this is interesting," Sansa murmured. "What could some lowborn, daughter-fucking poacher mean so much to you for, that you're willing to come into Oldtown and pick a fight with a Lannister over him?"
"Nothing of the sort," he said quickly - too quickly. "This is justice."
"Not about poaching?" she said sweetly. His expression, much as he tried to hide the truth, gave it away.
"That is pathetic," Sansa said in disgust. "It's one thing for a peasant to steal from Lord Hightower - quite a different matter when a knightly family does so."
"We've done nothing of the sort," he said, and once again she caught his lies.
"You were a big fool to come here and challenge me over it," she said. "Better that you had killed that monster when he came to you for help. Now I will go to Lord Gwayne, and you can explain the matter to him yourself."
That incited the young man to fury. In a kind of desperate, panicked anger, he drew his sword and lunged at her. But Sansa had been prepared. She had watched his glittering eyes and tense body language, and the way his hand hovered near his sword belt, throughout their conversation. So when he went for his sword, she drew hers almost immediately.
"You won't find me as easy a foe as a peasant," he said, as steel rang against steel.
"We will see," she said emotionlessly.
There were cries of alarm as the combatants danced in the little square, the crowd scattering out of their way and frantically pulling their children aside. Somebody yelled for a city watchman to be called, a moment which would have amused anyone from King's Landing - evidently the citizens of Oldtown placed greater faith in their watchmen than anyone in King's Landing placed in the gold cloaks.
His blows came fast and furious, but she was nimble and quick and had surprising strength for someone so slender. Her eyes missed nothing as she dodged or blocked his blows, searching for an opening, waiting for him to misstep, to overreach himself. She did not even have to think as her feet moved in unison with her sword, as she forced him to follow in the direction she was slowly, crookedly retreating in.
She was moving towards the edge of the square, which was protected by a railing and rose a level above the Honeywine that flowed below.
When she had him where she wanted, her demeanor changed. Suddenly aggressive, she fought back with a controlled fury, raining down blows in all the weak spots that she had taken the time to patiently look out for. She knocked him back once, then twice, and after a ferocious struggle, a third time, steering him slowly but surely towards the railing.
"Yield!" she yelled, as she drew blood from his shoulder. "Yield!"
But he would not. Sansa could hear whistles behind her, but it was not the whistle of an approving crowd. It sounded like...like a watchman...
Seeing that she was momentarily distracted, the young man lunged again. She only just barely snapped back to attention in time, but in the ensuing, furious clash of swords, she disarmed him, only to be disarmed almost immediately after.
"Break it up!" the watchman was yelling, advancing towards them slowly with a truncheon.
Sansa punched the young man. He doubled over, cursing, and tackled her just as she aimed a kick at his groin. They both tumbled onto the cobblestones, swearing and grunting as they tussled with each other. She was momentarily dazed as his fist connected with her face, but became immediately determined to break him into pieces with her bare hands and throw him into the Honeywine as fish food. She kicked him off of her, spitting blood into his face, and aimed a flurry of quick, snapping punches at him. Knocking him out with one blow was proving hard, and this way she could protect herself better. He reached around and grabbed her by a handful of her short golden hair, yanking her back painfully.
"Fuck you!" she snarled, kicking him hard enough to weaken his grip and lunging forward to choke him. There was a ripping sound as he tore some of her hair, but Sansa did not even notice. She was straddling him and choking him. She had his throat in a vice-like grip and was squeezing harder and harder and harder...
She yelped with indignation as she was pulled off of the man by two city watchmen. When he staggered to his feet, clutching his throat and wheezing, the second watchman stepped in front of Sansa and caught the young man as he feebly tried to charge her. At that, Sansa strained against her captor, yelling out challenges to her opponent.
"Sansa!" came a thunderous voice. It was Ser Norys, and his expression was stern and furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Watchman, let go of her. She is Lord Lannister's daughter."
"Might be," the watchman said, unmoved. "But this is Oldtown. And that there is Ser Wyatt's son from Crownskeep. This is a matter for the Lord of the Hightower."
No, Sansa groaned internally, kicking herself for letting things come this far.
"Good watchman," said another man. "Do you know me?" Sansa's head whipped around at the sound of that gentle voice. She beheld a man who looked very much like Ser Norys, except that he wore a septon's robes.
"Septon Gyles," the watchman said, his tone becoming respectful. "Of the Starry Sept."
"Let the girl be," Septon Gyles said gently. "She is only a girl, and it was very wrong for young Ryam to attack her with force. It is not the way of a Far Reachman, and I am sure his father will be very ashamed of his conduct. As for the girl, let her kin deal with her. I can assure you, Ser Norys will see to that."
The watchmen exchanged looks, and the one holding Ryam of Crownskeep shrugged. The septons of Oldtown had even more sway over people than the maesters of the Citadel, for the smallfolk placed more faith in the Seven than they generally did in the high-brow studies of the maesters. If a septon of the Starry Sept was willing to speak for Sansa, then that meant more to them than all the gold in Casterly Rock.
"Don't let me see you in a fight again," the watchman told Sansa gruffly, pushing her towards Ser Norys.
"Tell that to your fellow Far Reachman," she retorted, stomping over to her fallen sword and picking it up.
The crowd parted for Ser Norys and Sansa as they walked out of the square. To her disappointment, Sansa could not see the seashell girl anywhere, but she was not surprised. I will have to learn how to control my temper, she thought ruefully.
- Sansa gains Apprentice in Hand-to-Hand
- Sansa moves towards Expert in Deception
- Sansa moves towards Expert in Sword
Hope you all are well and happy.