A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

you?”
    â€œAm I your prisoner?”
    â€œMy guest.” He was wearing his chain of office, a necklace of linked golden
hands. “I thought we might talk.”
    â€œAs my lord commands.” Sansa found it hard not to stare; his face was so ugly
it held a queer fascination for her.
    â€œThe food and garments are to your satisfaction?” he asked. “If there is
anything else you need, you have only to ask.”
    â€œYou are most kind. And this morning . . . it was very good of

you to help me.”
    â€œYou have a right to know why Joffrey was so wroth. Six nights gone, your
brother fell upon my uncle Stafford, encamped with his host at a village called
Oxcross not three days ride from Casterly Rock. Your northerners won a crushing
victory. We received word only this morning.”
    Robb will kill you all,
she thought, exulting.
“It’s . . . terrible, my lord. My brother is a vile
traitor.”
    The dwarf smiled wanly. “Well, he’s no fawn, he’s made that clear
enough.”
    â€œSer Lancel said Robb led an army of wargs . . .”
    The Imp gave a disdainful bark of laughter. “Ser Lancel’s a wineskin warrior
who wouldn’t know a warg from a wart. Your brother had his direwolf with him,
but I suspect that’s as far as it went. The northmen crept into my uncle’s camp
and cut his horse lines, and Lord Stark sent his wolf among them. Even
war-trained destriers went mad. Knights were trampled to death in their
pavilions, and the rabble woke in terror and fled, casting aside their weapons
to run the faster. Ser Stafford was slain as he chased after a horse. Lord
Rickard Karstark drove a lance through his chest. Ser Rubert Brax is also dead,
along with Ser Lymond Vikary, Lord Crakehall, and Lord Jast. Half a hundred
more have been taken captive, including Jast’s sons and my nephew Martyn
Lannister. Those who survived are spreading wild tales and swearing that the
old gods of the north march with your brother.”
    â€œThen . . . there was no sorcery?”
    Lannister snorted. “Sorcery is the sauce fools spoon over failure to
hide the flavor of their own incompetence. My mutton-headed uncle had not even
troubled to post sentries, it would seem. His host was
raw—apprentice
boys, miners, fieldhands, fisherfolk, the sweepings of
Lannisport. The only
mystery is how your brother reached him. Our forces still hold the stronghold
at the Golden Tooth, and they swear he did not pass.” The dwarf gave an
irritated shrug. “Well, Robb Stark is my father’s bane. Joffrey is mine. Tell
me, what do you feel for my kingly nephew?”
    â€œI love him with all my heart,” Sansa said at once.
    â€œTruly?” He did not sound convinced. “Even now?”
    â€œMy love for His Grace is greater than it has ever been.”
    The Imp laughed aloud. “Well, someone has taught you to lie well. You may be
grateful for that one day, child. You
are
a child still, are you not?
Or have you flowered?”
    Sansa blushed. It was a rude question, but the shame of being stripped before
half the castle made it seem like nothing. “No, my lord.”
    â€œThat’s all to the good. If it gives you any solace, I do not intend that you
ever wed Joffrey. No marriage will reconcile Stark and Lannister after all that
has happened, I fear. More’s the pity. The match was one of King Robert’s
better notions, if Joffrey hadn’t mucked
it up.”
    She knew she ought to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
    â€œYou grow very quiet,” Tyrion Lannister observed. “Is this what you
want? An end to your betrothal?”
    â€œI . . .” Sansa did not know what to say.
Is it a trick?
Will he punish me if I tell the truth?
She stared at the dwarf’s brutal
bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth
and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”
    â€œLoyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame
you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They
tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for,
Sansa?”
    I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and
for home. For Winterfell.
“I pray for an end to the fighting.”
    â€œWe’ll have that