𝓡𝓞𝓢𝓔, 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈 ¹

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃"

SITTING IN THE CROWD, watching the Hand of the King's tournament, Nyla sits between her sister, Sansa, and a man who she knows as Petyr Baelish, or who some call Littlefinger, Arya sitting on the other side of Sansa, Septa Mordane at the end. Nyla looks over to Sansa, and she watches as Sansa attempts to look at Joffrey and wave, but the only thing he does is turn away and hide his face from her.

"Lover's quarrel?" Petyr leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees to look at Sansa over Nyla, who leans back slightly to not block their conversation.

"I'm sorry. Do I..?" Sansa trails off, and it's clear to Nyla that she's ashamed she doesn't seem to know who the man speaking to her is.

"Sansa, this is Petyr Baelish." Nyla decides to help her sister by introducing the man. "He's a friend of the family." She nods politely to Petyr. Nyla didn't know much about him, but she had heard his name a few times involved in conversations between her mother and father, and it seemed to be mostly positive, or at least neutral.

"I've known your mother a very long time." Petyr smiles kindly at Sansa and Nyla, nodding to confirm Nyla's statements.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya suddenly intrudes in the conversation with a question that Nyla assumes is something Petyr isn't necessarily grateful to hear.

"Arya!" Nyla hisses at her sister, glaring over at her.

"Don't be rude!" Septa Mordane glowers down at Arya from where she sits beside the young Stark girl.

"No, it's quite all right." Petyr chuckles and shakes his head at Nyla, telling her it's fine with his words and a short look before his gaze moves on to Arya. "When I was a child I was very small and I come from a spit of land called The Fingers." He explains to Arya. "So you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname." Nyla can't help but snicker quietly at Petyr's sarcasm, covering her mouth with one of her hands at the glare of the Septa across from her, though Petyr seems nothing short of amused and even a bit joyous that his joke made the young woman beside him laugh.

"I've been sitting here for days!" King Robert's voice booms before any more can be said. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"

"Gods, who is that?" Sansa can't hold back her obvious fear and slight disgust towards the larger of the men, who looks to be at least twice the size of the other man.

"Ser Gregor Clegane." Petyr informs. "They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother." Arya shifts uncomfortably at the mere mention of the Hound.

"And who's his opponent?" Nyla leans forward on her elbows, resting her head in her hands, looking almost interested in this tournament now despite her having been against the idea of watching any unnecessary violence not much long ago.

"Ser Hugh of the Vale," Petyr answers quickly for Nyla as if he's memorized all of the men's names just for this moment. "He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come." He comments praisingly.

"Yes, yes! Enough of the bloody pomp." Robert drunkenly bellows as he drinks more wine. Nyla sees how much he's had as an almost concerning amount, but she doesn't dare tell the King what to do. "Have at it!" He demands.

At his demand, the joust begins. The men charge at each other on their horses, though the first pass there is no contact made between the two. They recharge for a second time, Nyla subconsciously leaning forward in her seat to get a closer look at the tournament before her. 

At the second pass, the Mountain's joust strikes Ser Hugh in the neck. He strikes him so hard, in fact, the joust causes a splinter where the Mountain struck Ser Hugh, and as the knight falls to the ground from his horse, blood gushes out of the wound.

Nyla leans back.

"Not what you were expecting?" Petyr chuckles, looking at the horrified expression on Sansa's face and watching as Nyla leans away from the tournament. "Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" He inquires, and when he gets no answer he decides to take this as a sign to continue. "Lovely little tale of brotherly love," Petyr begins sarcastically. "The Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe. Gregor a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire. Gregor's toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word, he just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted. There aren't very many people who know that story."

Nyla looks away from Petyr and the bloodied man being dragged away and toward where the Hound stands. Her gaze moves specifically to the prominent burn scar that takes up a large portion of the man's face, which she now has a true explanation behind and not some war story from gossipers. It's something that somehow makes Nyla see the Hound in a slightly different light, one that shows him as more of a person and less of some animal his nickname suggests.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise." Sansa assures Petyr, and snaps Nyla's mind and gaze away from the Hound and back towards the people around her.

"No, please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you." Before anyone can say anything back to Petyr, the tournament has resumed with its action, and Nyla's eyes have shifted back to the Hound.