Read Online A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online Page B

answered. “Your brother Jaime keeps losing
battles.” He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were
her
fault.
“He’s been taken by the Starks and we’ve lost Riverrun and now her stupid
brother is calling himself a king.”
    The dwarf smiled crookedly. “All sorts of people are calling themselves kings
these days.”
    Joff did not know what to make of that, though he looked suspicious and out of
sorts. “Yes. Well. I am pleased you’re not dead, Uncle. Did you bring me a
gift for my name day?”
    “I did. My wits.”
    “I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with a sly glance at Sansa.
“Tommen, Myrcella, come.”
    Sandor Clegane lingered behind a moment. “I’d guard that tongue of yours,
little man,” he warned, before he strode off after his liege.
    Sansa was left with the dwarf and his monsters. She tried to think of what else
she might say. “You hurt your arm,” she managed at last.
    “One of your northmen hit me with a morningstar during the battle on the Green
Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse.” His grin turned into something
softer as he studied her face. “Is it grief for your lord father that makes
you so sad?”
    “My father was a traitor,” Sansa said at once. “And my brother and
lady mother are traitors as well.” That reflex she had learned quickly. “I am
loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”
    “No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves.”
    “Lions,” she whispered, without thinking. She glanced about nervously, but
there was no one close enough to hear.
    Lannister reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “I am only a
little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you.” Bowing, he said, “But
now you must excuse me. I have urgent business with queen and
council.”
    Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side with
every step, like something from a grotesquerie.
He speaks more gently than
Joffrey,
she thought,
but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s
still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend.
Once she
had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his
mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head.
Sansa would never make that mistake again.

TYRION
    I n the chilly white raiment of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon Moore looked like
a corpse in a shroud. “Her Grace left orders, the council in session is not to
be disturbed.”
    “I would be only a small disturbance, ser.” Tyrion slid the parchment from
his sleeve. “I bear a letter from my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of
the King. There is his seal.”
    “Her Grace does not wish to be disturbed,” Ser Mandon repeated slowly,
as if Tyrion were a dullard who had not heard him the first time.
    Jaime had once told him that Moore was the most dangerous of the
Kingsguard—excepting himself, always—because his face gave no
hint as what he might do next. Tyrion would have welcomed a hint. Bronn and
Timett could likely kill the knight if it came to swords, but it would scarcely
bode well if he began by slaying one of Joffrey’s protectors. Yet if he let the
man turn him away, where was his authority? He made himself smile. “Ser
Mandon, you have not met my companions. This is Timett son of Timett, a red
hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn. Perchance you recall Ser Vardis
Egen, who was captain of Lord Arryn’s household guard?”
    “I know the man.” Ser Mandon’s eyes were pale grey, oddly flat and
lifeless.
    “Knew,” Bronn corrected with a thin smile.
    Ser Mandon did not deign to show that he had heard that.
    “Be that as it may,” Tyrion said lightly, “I truly must see my sister and
present my letter, ser. If you would be so kind as to open the door for
us?”
    The white knight did not respond. Tyrion was almost at the point of trying to
force his way past when Ser Mandon abruptly stood aside. “You may enter. They