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This comet is sent to announce the promotion Joffrey to the throne, I have no doubt. This means that it will triumph over his enemies." Is it true? He asked. The gods be so cruel? His mother was one of the Joffrey enemies now, his brother Robb another. His father was killed by the king. Must Robb and his mother dies next? The comet was red, but was as much as Baratheon Joffrey Lannister, and its seal was a black deer in a field of gold. I should not have sent a comet Joff gods of gold? Sansa closed the blinds and turned abruptly out of the window. "You look very pretty today, my lady," said Ser Arys. "Thanks be." Knowing that Joffrey required to attend the tournament in his honor, Sansa has taken great care with his face and clothes. She wore a pale purple silk dress and a hair net moonstone which had been a gift from Joffrey. The dress had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were the Joffrey gifts too. When told that Robb had been proclaimed king in the north, their anger was a terrible thing, and had sent Ser Boros to beat her. "Shall we go?" Arys Being offered his arm and she was carried away from your camera. If she must have one of the Royal Guard dogging his steps, Sansa prefer him to be. Ser Boros was in a bad mood, Ser Meryn cold, strange, dead eyes felt uncomfortable being bossy, while Preston Being treated her like a child lackwit. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and spoke from the heart. Once he even opposed the Joffrey commanded him to beat her. He hit him in the end, but not as hard as Ser Boros Meryn be or may have, and at least had argued. The others obeyed without question ... Except for the dog but the dog never Joff asked to punish her. He used the other five for that. Be Arys had light brown hair and a face that was not unpleasant to see. Today was quite the figure running with a white silk cloak fastened to the shoulder by a gold leaf and an oak tree spread worked on the breast of his tunic of brilliant gold thread. "Who do you think will win the honors of the day," Sansa said as they descended the steps arm in arm. "I will," said Ser Arys, smiling. "However, I fear that the victory will have no odor. This will be a small field, and the poor. No score more than two enter into the list, including squires and freeriders. It is no small honor in children unhorsing green" . The last tournament had been different, Sansa is reflected. Robert King had organized in honor of his father. High and Lords of the legends had come from all parts of the kingdom to compete, and all the city had seen. He recalled the splendor of it: the field of flags along the river with a knight's shield hanging in front of each door, the long rows of silk flags waving in the wind, the brightness of the sunlight on steel bright and golden spurs. The day was named to the sounds of horns and hooves strong and the nights had been full of celebrations and songs. Those were the magical days of his life, but it seemed a reminder of another era now. Robert Baratheon was dead and his father, who was beheaded by a traitor in the footsteps of the Great September Baelor. Now there were three kings on earth, and the war lasted beyond the Trident, as the city filled with desperate men. No wonder they had to hold Joff tournament behind the stone walls of the Red Fort. "The Queen to attend, do you think?" Sansa always felt safer when Cersei was there to hold her son. "I'm afraid not, my lady. The Council meets on an urgent matter." Arys be lowered her voice. "Lord Tywin has gone down in Harrenhal instead of taking his army to the city as the queen commanded. His grace is furious." He was silent as a column of Lannister guards marched in crimson coats and helmets lion crest. Be Arys was fond of gossip, but only when he was sure nobody was listening. The carpenters had built a gallery and lists in the outer wall. It was a bad thing indeed, and the poor crowd that had gathered to view full but half of the seats. Most of the spectators were guards at the golden layers of the Guard of the City or the crimson of the House Lannister, lords and ladies were just a few miserable, the few who remained in court. Grey-faced Lord Gyles coughed Rosby in a square of pink silk. Lady Tanda was preceded and followed by her daughters, placid lollys Falyse boring and scathing. Xho Jalabhar ebony skin was an exile who had no other refuge, Lady Ermesande a child sitting in the lap of her nurse. The talk was soon married a cousin of the queen, so the Lannister could reclaim their land. The king was in the shade beneath a crimson canopy, a leg thrown carelessly over the arm carved wooden chair. Tommen Myrcella Princess and Prince sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood guard, his hands resting on his baldric. The whiteness of the Royal Guard is covering his broad shoulders and fastened with a brooch of precious stones, cloth of snow in search of some unnaturally against his raw coffee and spun tunic studded leather vest. "Lady Sansa," said the dog suddenly when he saw her. His voice was as hard as the sound of a wooden saw. The scars from burns on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch as he spoke. Myrcella Princess nodded a greeting shy at the name of the Sansa, but plump up Tommen prince impatiently. "Sansa, you know? I will be traveling in the tournament today. Mother said I could." Tommen was eight. He remembered his own brother Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back in Winterfell, a cripple, but safe. Sansa would have given anything to be with him. "I fear for the life of your FoEME" Tommen said solemnly.
