Ours is the Fury | Game of Thrones OC

27

I spent the nexts days alone, except the nights where Myrcella insisted I slept in her room and I didn't resist. But in the day, I simply trailed the halls and curled into the corner of the library with stacks of books, awaiting a sad letter from Robb Stark.

The letter didn't come and I began to think my mother had something to do with it, hiding it away to save my feelings but instead she prolonged the inevitable sadness.

Sadly I was forced out of my daze by my brothers nameday tournament, I tried so very hard to avoid it but my mother cornered me with two seamstresses a few days prior.

"Oh Lya, we were hoping to find you" She had lied, obviously keeping a closer eye on me than I previously thought, "Why don't we get a fitting and choose a respectable gown for you"

Then she had me poked and prodded all afternoon just so I could sit alongside my siblings and watch as knights flaunted their swords and killed each other.

I made my disdain clear, I sat alongside Sansa but not as proper, I ensured I slouched back and looked bored. If I'm honest, most of the time I didn't even watch the tournament, I kept my glare on my brother though he ignored me for the most part.

He was watching intently as the Hound fought bravely against an opponent whose name I hadn't bothered to hear. When he was tossed from the edge, I glanced over to look and took a long drink from my wine, trying to be as unceremonious as possible.

Joffrey bounded over to the edge, "Well struck" he mumbled then louder, "Well struck, dog"

I half smiled as the Hound removed his helm, he was a terribly useful asset I must admit, no loyalties, even to the King. An asset I had to keep in mind for the future. My thoughts were clouded when Joffrey turned on Sansa and I was suddenly extremely attentive.

"Did you like that?" He sneered, almost baring his teeth at the poor girl as she thought of something to respond with.

"It was well struck, your grace" She repeated and I tried to mask my wince, eyeing my brother carefully.

"I already said it was well struck" Joffrey grumbled and I watched her pretty face fall slightly, disheartened, clearly she hoped he would leave her alone if she agreed with him.

"Yes, your grace" She mumbled, wishing to be anywhere else.

He ground his jaw in her direction before turning back to the tournament, obviously it was no fun tormenting someone who had already lost everything.

I followed his gaze to where they pulled away the dead man and someone stepped in to clean up the blood. If the past few months have taught me anything, it was that I hate violence.

"Who's next?" Joffrey demanded.

Instead of watching the new competitors be brought out, I tried to get Sansa's attention, when I finally did, she looked so sad I could only draw my brows together and nod a sort of alliance with her. She just looked down at her hands innocently, I could tell she didn't trust a soul anymore.

Suddenly, a commotion regained my attention as a plump man appeared next to us, I frowned in confusion, clearly I should've been paying attention.

"I'm here" He repeated over and over again, dropped his helmet and stumbling around. "Sorry, your grace, my deepest apologies"

"Are you drunk?" Joffrey jabbed and I felt a lump form in my throat out of nervousness.

"No, your grace, no" The man assured him, "I had two cups of wine"

"Two cups?" Joffrey quizzed him, "It's not much at all, please have another cup", he gestured to the table beside Sansa and I felt my blood run cold, both my siblings were staring at me in confusion but I kept my breathing steady and waited for it.