A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and

you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did
your father’s.”
    She nodded. “I understand.”
    â€œYou will need to be brave and strong . . . and patient,
patient above all.”
    â€œI will be,” she promised,
“but . . . please . . . make it as soon as you
can. I’m afraid . . .”
    â€œSo am I,” Ser Dontos said, smiling wanly. “And now you must go, before you
are missed.”
    â€œYou will not come with me?”
    â€œBetter if we are never seen together.”
    Nodding, Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and
softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. “My Florian,” she
whispered. “The gods heard my prayer.”
    She flew along the river walk, past the small kitchen, and through the pig
yard, her hurried footsteps lost beneath the squealing of the hogs in their
pens.
Home,
she thought,
home, he is going to take me home,
he’ll keep me safe, my Florian.
The songs about Florian and Jonquil were
her very favorites.
Florian was homely too, though not so
old.
    She was racing headlong down the serpentine steps when a man lurched out of a
hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers
caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her.
“It’s a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?”
His laughter was rough as a saw on stone. “Maybe you do.”
    The Hound.
“No, my lord, pardons, I’d never.” Sansa averted
her eyes but it was too late, he’d seen her face. “Please, you’re hurting
me.” She tried to wriggle free.
    â€œAnd what’s Joff’s little bird doing flying down the serpentine in the black
of night?” When she did not answer, he shook her.
“Where were
you?”
    â€œThe g-g-godswood, my lord,” she said, not daring to lie.
“Praying . . . praying for my father,
and . . . for the king, praying that he’d not be
hurt.”
    â€œThink I’m so drunk that I’d believe
that
?” He let go his grip on
her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling
across his terrible burnt face. “You look almost a
woman . . . face, teats, and you’re taller too,
almost . . . ah, you’re still a stupid little bird, aren’t you?
Singing all the songs they taught you . . . sing me a song, why
don’t you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like
knights, don’t you?”
    He was scaring her. “T-true knights, my lord.”
    â€œ
True
knights,” he mocked. “And I’m no lord, no more than I’m a
knight. Do I need to beat that into you?” Clegane reeled and almost fell.
“Gods,”
he swore, “too much wine. Do you like wine, little bird?
True
wine? A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a
woman.” He laughed, shook his head. “Drunk as a dog, damn me. You come now.
Back to your cage, little bird. I’ll take you there. Keep you safe for the
king.” The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the

steps. By the time they reached the bottom, he had lapsed back into a brooding
silence, as if he had forgotten she was there.
    When they reached Maegor’s Holdfast, she was alarmed to see that it was Ser
Boros Blount who now held the bridge. His high white helm turned stiffly at the
sound of their footsteps. Sansa flinched away from his gaze. Ser Boros was the
worst of the Kingsguard, an ugly man with a foul temper, all scowls and
jowls.
    â€œThat one is nothing to fear, girl.” The Hound laid a heavy hand on her
shoulder. “Paint stripes on a toad, he does not become a tiger.”
    Ser Boros lifted his visor. “Ser, where—”
    â€œFuck your
ser,
Boros. You’re the knight, not me. I’m the king’s
dog, remember?”
    â€œThe king was looking for his dog earlier.”
    â€œThe dog was drinking. It was your night to shield him,
ser.
You and
my other
brothers.
”
    Ser Boros turned to Sansa. “How is it you are not in your chambers at this
hour, lady?”
    â€œI went to the godswood to pray for the safety of the king.” The lie sounded
better this time, almost