Chapter Text
The Lannister entourage was so splendid! Everything seemed to be adorned with gold or made of it, from the flags to the armor. They all hardly fit into the small castle, not only because there were so many of them, but because the castle's poverty was striking against all this gold.
Ynnete peeked a bit more out of her hiding place, concealed behind a gigantic stone column. No one would allow her to meet their guests, of course. She was only eight years old, hardly worth anything. Greg said so. She wasn't worth to meet the true nobles. Besides, they were going to a battle, not enjoying themselves. Her place was in her room, with the dolls Mother left her when she died.
But it was so hard to resist the temptation! Entranced, Ynnete couldn't turn her eyes away. She spotted a handsome young knight with shining golden hair and emerald eyes. He had a roaring lion on his blood-red shield... Why, this must be Ser Jaime Lannister himself!
"A pretty sight, sister, isn't it? Not like the ones you're used to." a voice spoke in her ear. The girl turned around and breathed out, relaxed:
"Hush! You don't want Greg to find out I'm here?"
"Back to your room, now," her other brother said in a hurried whisper. "The deer is overcooked, and Gregor's in his mood. You'd better hurry up and lock yourself in and pretend to sleep."
"You're not hiding," she said reproachfully. Certainly, Gregor's fury would be unmatched, yet... mayhaps he would be quieted by all these gallant knights here? She wanted to look at the welcoming feast just for a little more, and then she'd be a good girl for the rest of her life...
Meanwhile, Sandor let out a short laugh. Not a real one, not like before – she still remembered it, when his face was good, his eyes sparkled, and his smile brightened the dark halls of their Keep. Now, her brother's laugh was bitter and evil.
"Gregor can't do anything worse to me than he's already done, aside from killing," he snarled. "But I'll kill him first."
"Please, don't speak like this – you're scaring me," she pleaded. He immediately stopped and looked at her gently:
"Don't worry, Ynnete. Go to your room. I'm going to squire for Kevan Lannister, and I'll ask him to take you out of this bloody place."
He pushed her towards the stairs. Ynnete tiptoed up without further words. Sandor didn't like it when she tried to thank him.
She did so quietly, in the safety of her room, looking at him from the window. Sandor was her only hope after Father was killed hunting and Gregor took his place. Sandor had long ago promised to squire for some fine lord, and beg him to take Ynnete as a ward.
The girl half-closed her eyes, revelling in the dream that kept her alive. Ser Kevan will take her and Sandor far away from here, maybe even to Casterly Rock itself. Gregor will never touch them again, no one touches a Lannisters' ward. She will grow up as a true refined lady, and marry some handsome rich prince. Or knight. Ser Jaime, perhaps? He looked so positively breathtaking and courageous... Or Prince Rhaegar? They told her he was very handsome too and played the harp so well. Oh, no, he was already married... Ser Jaime, then. Ynnete smiled happily. And Sandor will be very happy as well, like he used to be before Greg burned his face. He will marry a beautiful lady, Ynnete will make sure of it. A pity there were no princesses, but a lady will do just as fine. Sandor said with that horrible laugh of his that no lady would marry anyone as ugly as him, but his sister knew better. She'll tell the prettiest lady available about Sandor's kindness, and the lady will surely marry him.
The Lannisters stayed in Clegane's Keep for another night, and in the morning it was time for them to leave.
Ynnete, unbeknownst to either of her brothers, crept into the yard to look at them for the last time. They were going to a real war, and not some war but a war called Rebellion. When Ynnete asked Sandor what it meant, he shrugged:
"It means one fool being thrown off a throne and another one taking it."
She didn't understand much, but she was sure that whatever it was, the Lannisters would win. Such a wonderful army! She was proud to be their bannerman's sister.
She had another cause to be glad. Gregor was leaving with the army, which meant absolute freedom for her at last. Of course, he would unfailingly come back, but by then Sandor would already convince Ser Kevan to rescue them.
Ser Jaime was being helped into his armor. Ynnete stared at her knight, half-wishing he'd at least see her. She was only a child yet, but she would soon grow up and wait for him. Oh, what if it would be him and not Ser Kevan to rescue her from this dreadful Keep? Her fantasy was carried away again. She imagined Ser Jaime coming on his beautiful horse to Clegane's Keep after the Rebellion, and crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty.
"Oh, good Ser, I am unworthy of such an honor. I am nothing but a sister of your bannerman," she would say with a bow. And he'd look at her with his amazing green eyes and say something like:
"Dearest Lady Clegane, you are more worthy than anyone."
He would kneel on one knee and asked her to be his lady and wife, and she would consent, and what darling golden-haired children they would have! And Greg will be roaring madly in a distance and yelling for her to come home and behave, but she would just laugh. No one could hurt the wife of Ser Jaime Lannister.
Suddenly, she shook off her dream as she suddenly realized he was looking at her. In truth.
Remembering her courtesies, she walked out into the yard, bitterly noticing the dirt on her dress, and curtsied:
"My lord. I am sorry."
"You must be the mysterious little Lady Ynnete I've heard about but never seen," he smiled. "Are you always sneaking around in secret?"
"No, my lord. Forgive me, my lord," Ynnete felt her cheeks burn with shame and wondered if she'd have a terrible burn like Sandor.
"It's nothing. You know, you're just like my little brother Tyrion," he said in an amused tone and gave her hair a brief ruffle. "He knew every secret passage at the Rock when he was your age. Now he knows every corner in Lannisport, it seems. Oh, I envy you. Being little has lots of benefits."
He thinks me little! she thought, feeling tears forming in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, my lord, may I be excused?" she curtsied again and ran away, hoping to get to her room and cry everything out. Ser Jaime, the wonderful Ser Jaime, thought her little and compared her to his hideous dwarf brother!
She ran into something and froze as she saw Gregor towering over her, enraged as never before.
"What were you doing?" he hissed as he gripped her collar.
"W-walking, brother," she whimpered. All force and hope left her, as usual, at the sight of Gregor.
"Walking! I saw you, bitch! A whore at eight already?!"
She shook her head vigorously. She didn't know what a whore was, but, since Greg called women so, it was something very, very bad.
"Your dress is torn!" he roared, shaking her. Ynnete felt her back colliding with the stone wall. She knew it was only torn now, when he gripped her, but she also knew better than to speak it out.
"You think Ser Jaime's going to give you any gold, don't you? Well, he won't. It's your duty to please your lord."
"I didn't..." she tried to protest. She realized it was useless as soon as the words spilled out. Gregor never listened to apologies or explanations.
"Let me tell you what everyone now thinks of you," his voice was reduced to a dangerous hiss again. "You are a damned," he slammed her body with all his strength against the wall, "bloody," again, "humiliation," again, "to our house," again and again.
By the third time, Ynnete stopped feeling the pain. Gregor threw her back on the stairs and rushed down to join the forces.
Barely noticing the blood around, she tried to get up. To the room – to the room. Wrap herself in the blankets and never get out. Greg will think her dead and will leave her alone.
The world was behaving strangely. It shook up and down like a see-saw. Never mind, she told herself. To the room, quick, before Greg returns. The stairs jumped up and she was sent flying high in the air.
It was the best sensation she had ever felt in her short life. Everything spinning around her, the fluttering feeling of flying swiftly downwards, freedom – and darkness, deep, thick darkness enveloping her. It was the best hiding place ever. Gregor will never find her in a darkness like this.