Donnel Sarsfield's attire today was exceptionally luxurious, a noble robe embroidered in gold with a striking golden necklace hanging around his neck. The jousting tournament wasn't just about fighting; it was mostly about socializing. Donnel had temporarily gained the inheritance rights to the Westerlands, and with his rising status, his marriage was now being closely watched by many. Cersei had specially prepared him for the occasion, as there was a banquet being held in King's Landing today for unmarried noblemen and women.
"Where's the Hound?" Donnel asked, riding on horseback. After a heavy rainstorm last night, the ground in the tent area had turned into a muddy mess, and he didn't want his shoes to get dirty.
"My lord, Ser Sandor went to the blacksmith's shop, I'll go find him right away," a knight replied before running off.
Today's banquet would be attended by many young people, and inevitable quarrels or fights might break out over girls. Donnel felt a bit uneasy since Sandor, the Hound, wasn't there. Thinking about how Sandor was also single, Donnel decided to find him in the camp and go to the banquet together.
Donnel glanced at the two figures huddled together in the mud: "How did you survive?"
Ramsey closed his eyes and said nothing, while Littlefinger didn't dare speak either. The surrounding knights, knowing they were the ones who had given them medicine, were too intimidated to respond, leaving the scene in awkward silence.
When no one answered, Donnel rode his horse over to Littlefinger and Ramsey. His white warhorse kept moving back and forth, and Donnel seemed intent on using it to trample the two.
Each of them had one foot chained to a stone lock and could only roll around in the mud, trying to avoid being trampled. They didn't dare resist Donnel, and soon they were both covered in mud.
"Hahaha! Interesting," Donnel laughed, watching the two in their miserable state under the horse's hooves.
"Lord Donnel, what brings you to find me?" Sandor Clegane walked over, feeling uneasy at Donnel's behavior.
"Hound! Take off that armor and put on some decent clothes. Come to the banquet with me today," Donnel called out loudly, turning his horse.
Sandor, of course, knew about the banquet and that he was qualified to attend, but his scarred and ugly face, burned since childhood, made him feel inferior, so he had never attended such events. "I'm fine with killing people, but singing and dancing with those delicate noble boys? Not interested."
Donnel grew impatient. "I said go, so go! No more talking! You don't want to go? I'll have the knights strip you and carry you there!"
"Hahaha, I'd like to see the girls, but my kid is already one year old."
"You still wouldn't go?!" the others nearby teased Sandor.
"Hope I don't scare them!" Sandor reluctantly agreed, and after returning to the camp to change, he left with Donnel.
"That damned bastard!" Littlefinger muttered softly after Donnel had left.
The past few days, he had been locked in place, unable to move. Every day, he thought of ways to escape. Based on the events he had witnessed, he concluded that Joffrey and Queen Cersei's other two children were likely bastards! As he grew older, Tywin Lannister had discovered this in advance, and to avoid angering King Robert, Tywin had arranged for the queen and her three children to fake their deaths!
Ramsey, still weak from his injuries, had barely escaped the horse's hooves and was exhausted. Speaking was difficult for him now: "Don't speak. The fact that we're still locked up means we're still of some use to him, at least for his entertainment."
Littlefinger picked up a wooden bowl and fed Ramsey some water. "Your background isn't simple. A hunter's son with this much insight!"
Ramsey, his face gaunt from hunger, looked up at Littlefinger. Despite his emaciated appearance, his sharp eyes were still striking. "You're not simple either. You must be a recently fallen noble."
Neither of them answered the other's question, but the two shared a mutual understanding as they looked at each other.
At the banquet, three bachelors were particularly popular: Lord Denys Arryn, the eldest son of the Warden of the North, Robb Stark, and the heir to the Westerlands, Donnel Sarsfield. Many were more handsome than these three, but none had the same status.
Lord Denys Arryn, being older, conversed skillfully with young people from all over.
Donnel Sarsfield was also surrounded by many girls. His noble demeanor and mannerisms won him the favor of several young ladies.
Robb Stark had appeared briefly at the beginning of the banquet, rejecting a suggestion by Jeyne Westerling to let her brother serve as his squire. He said he planned to follow his master, Ser Witt, and travel alone for a while.
Jeyne Westerling had once visited her grandmother for a fortune-telling, and the prophecy she received was that she would marry a king. Her great-grandmother was known as the Toad sorceress in Lannisport, and many local girls had sought her fortune-telling for marriage, claiming it was very accurate.
Jeyne had always believed she would marry King Robert's son, the future King Joffrey, but he, the Queen, and his siblings all died. When King Robert sought a new bride, he was still not of age. So, what king was there left? The King Beyond the Wall, the "Gambling King"?—both were kings too! Jeyne wanted no part in marrying either of them.
When she tried to find the "Toad" witch to ask again, she could not locate her. When she asked her mother, the news she received was that her great-grandmother had already died before she was born and could never have given her any prophecies. Jeyne must have simply dreamed it when she was young and taken it for reality.
From then on, Jeyne Westerling stopped overthinking and began following her father's arrangements to meet unmarried gentlemen. She finally set her eyes on the handsome and noble Robb, but he, too, showed no interest.
At the next feast, Robb was nowhere to be seen. He was now in the Godswood of Riverrun, sitting beneath a Weriwood tree, speaking quietly with Seran Farman, separated by a candle.
The raven carrying a letter to his father, Eddard, had already been sent. Jaime's words had put a sense of urgency in Robb's mind. Marriage was not just about love—it involved power and interests. Without hearing back from his father, Robb consulted his uncle Edmure, but he felt that his uncle's suggestions were not very reliable.
---
In Cersei's guest room, Jaime Lannister shared his thoughts on Robb. Their father, Tywin, had other plans, and he needed Cersei's support.
"Out of all of them, Robb is the only one who seems worthy! You have to support my proposal!"
"Absolutely not!" Cersei refused firmly.
Jaime poured her a drink and gently rubbed her back. "I asked around about Robb's past. His life is simple: raised in Winterfell, attended the King's Landing Magic School, then came south to fight in the Stepstones. Aside from his sisters, I've heard nothing of him being involved with any other girls."
Cersei took the cup and leaned into Jaime's arms. "Winterfell, that poor place—I don't want my daughter to live such a hard life there!"
Jaime responded, "What are you talking about? The North sells furs, and Winterfell even trades spices. Though they don't have the wealth of the Lannisters, there are few houses in the Seven Kingdoms wealthier than the Starks."
Cersei snapped, "But what about Denys Arryn from the Vale?"
Jaime looked down on the Vale people with disdain. "The people of the Vale have spent thousands of years, and they still haven't cleared out the wildlings from their Mountains. They only know how to sit behind their gates! They've been stagnant all these years."
Cersei's voice quickened. "Denys Arryn is the Lord of the Vale!"
Jaime countered, "Robb Stark is younger than Denys, and he will one day be the Lord of the North!"
Cersei pulled away from Jaime's arms, growling in fury. "Robb is that bastard's disciple! Just seeing his black hair disgusts me! I wish I could skin him alive!"
Jaime stood up with her. "Wright is Wright, and Robb is Robb. Do you really want your daughter to marry that old half-man from the Vale?"
"No!" Cersei snapped, her face showing signs of strain.
Jaime tried to calm her. "Think it over carefully. I'm off to the tournament."
"You leave!" Cersei threw the glass in her hand. She didn't hit Jaime's head, but it shattered against his back. The wine splashed everywhere, soaking his back and spilling on her shoes.
Patting the spilled wine off his back, Jaime looked at her. "You shouldn't waste such good wine. You need to think about the future of your daughter!"
Cersei was left alone in the room, glaring at the mess and her feet, thinking about Jaime's departure, growing more and more upset.
"Lancel! Where's Lancel gone?"
Cersei's cousin, Lancel Lannister, rushed into the room after hearing the call.
He was 16 years old, recently come of age. After fighting in the Stepstone, Jaime had knighted him, and Tywin had sent him to protect Cersei. With sandy-brown hair, pale green eyes, and a handsome face, he bore a striking resemblance to a younger Jaime Lannister.
Lancel saw the mess and began cleaning up the broken glass and spilled wine.
"Lock the door!" Cersei sat down in a chair.
Lancel hesitated at her command but did as he was told.
Cersei eyed his young, strong figure and, taking off her shoes, extended her foot towards him. "Come here and clean it up!"
Lancel was stunned by her command, frozen in place. He had long admired his beautiful cousin but knew she was married and a queen, so he had never dared to think beyond his place.
"I told you to come over. Don't you understand?" Cersei's tone was firm.
Looking at her wavy golden hair, green eyes, and beautiful yet furious face, and her commanding posture as she sat in the chair, Lancel's heart raced. Unable to resist the temptation, he slowly approached and knelt before her, gently lifting her wine-soaked foot with both hands.
---
Days later, after the tournament in Riverrun concluded, Jaime Lannister emerged victorious, winning both the jousting and team events.
Some bookmakers had initially wanted Jaime to lose on purpose, but Stannis firmly stopped them—he didn't want to be entangled further with the Westermen.
Thus, there were few major surprises in the tournament, and overall profits were steady. Stannis, in the room of Edmure Tully, took out the ledgers and calculated the event's earnings.
The ledger had two sections, one for the general accounts and one for the gambling records.
"You really are professional! Truly deserving of the title 'Gambling King!'" Edmure remarked, looking over the dense, numerical gambling records. He recognized some of the names, but it was hard to make sense of the figures written in the ledger.
Stannis, stoic as ever, didn't seem to react to Edmure's compliment.
"Just look at the general accounts. You won't understand the gambling part. If there's no problem, just sign, I need to return to King's Landing," Stannis stated plainly.
Edmure smiled. "Don't you want to stay and play for a while longer? I know some great places!"
Stannis remained expressionless. "My brother Renly has been poisoned."
Edmure stood up. "What? Someone dared to poison Lord Renly, a powerful mage?"
Stannis didn't look up, continuing to fiddle with the ledgers. "Renly brewed the poison himself. He poisoned himself by accident."
Self-poisoning? Edmure didn't know what to say. "Well, I don't understand mage matters. How about I send you some fine horses? The pastures around Riverrun are rich, and the horses raised here are good."
---
The nobles began packing up to head home. Watching knights pack up and leave on horseback, the temporary camp gradually thinned. Littlefinger and Ramsey had a bad feeling, though they silently hoped that Donnel had forgotten about them in the past few days.
Sandor Clegane, fully armored in black, led his horse toward them.
"Lord, please don't kill us!"
"We're just two poor fools, trying to make some money. Please spare us!"
Littlefinger and Ramsey begged the Hound for mercy.
A knight approached with a tray, setting it down before them. On the tray was a small pouch of water, two loaves of bread, and a piece of cooked meat.
Sandor Clegane spoke as if to no one in particular. "Donnel ordered the knights to kill you both as soon as we leave."
Fear set in as they realized their fate, and Ramsey trembled while Littlefinger wet his pants.
Clegane continued, "We are all knights, sworn to a code, and most of us have a conscience. We don't want to break our vows, so we've decided to let you go."
"Thank you, Lord!"
"Thank you, Ser!"
Having gone two days without food or water, the two men eagerly devoured the food. Although not fresh, it was the best thing they'd tasted in days.
Once they finished, Sandor Clegane pulled a knife from his waist and reached for Ramsey's head.
"Lord, please spare my miserable life."
Clegane's steel gauntlet gripped Ramsey's head, immovable as Ramsey struggled. Littlefinger, terrified, could only sit on the ground, unable even to stand. They'd been promised mercy, yet Clegane still had his knife out.
Two more knights came forward with a brazier, and Clegane turned to Littlefinger. "We have to make sure you two don't talk about anything that could harm Donnel."
"Are you going to cut out our tongues?" Littlefinger trembled.
"I remember you said you could write. Cutting out your tongues wouldn't help. To spare your lives, we need you to keep the secret, so we'll brand you with a mark of slavery. That way, anything you say won't be considered testimony."
After speaking, Clegane cut off Ramsey's hair, then Littlefinger's. With both their heads pressed onto a stone, the knights heated an iron rod in the brazier.
Ignoring their screams, a knight branded a demon mark the size of a fist on their foreheads.
Clegane spoke, "This is the mark of Slaver's Bay, representing that you two are unruly and vicious slaves. Most Maester in Westeros will recognize it."
Another knight unlocked their shackles. "Letting you go means we're not breaking our knightly vows. What happens to you after that is no longer our concern."
They stood up, Ramsey still weak. Littlefinger helped him and nodded toward Clegane and the others. They covered their brands with their clothes and silently walked away from Riverrun.
Before they could get far, the knight who had fed them earlier called out, "The meat you ate earlier was from the biece sandor cut off you."
Ramsey felt as though he could cry but stopped himself, blood seeping from his wound again, causing him to grimace in pain.
Littlefinger, holding back the urge to vomit, kept walking and comforted Ramsey, "It's not so bad, not so bad. At least you ate half. I ate the other half. From now on, I'm your good brother."