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The main training yard at the Red Keep was bustling with gold cloaks, and even a few white ones. The noise was not due to dozens of soldiers paired up and training hard, no, it was due to their excited hollers and gambling bets being tossed about. They were all gathered in a writhing circle around the outer edge of the training yard. The perimeter barrier was bogged down with fresh faced knights and soldiers shaking their fists and calling out as they perched upon the wooden fence. In the middle of the rowdy crowd was Ser Jaime and the Hound, locked together in a close duel, real steel being used, rather than practice swords, for the two combat veterans. The Hound may have been the younger man, and the larger man, but their skill seemed to be fairly even... despite Ser Jamie being regarded as the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms.
It was no secret that the Hound had bested Ser Jaime in a joust, however, they had never had a public sword fight before. Sansa was unsure if the duel was in good fun, or if one man had somehow offended the other and initiated the fight. It was hard to tell, neither man laughed or taunted, they wore hard faces and gritted teeth... even the cocky and playful Ser Jaime kept a stony face. The two were so concentrated on the other's movement that neither had the time to bother with such silly and distracting things as taunts and over eager guffaws.
Lady Sansa Stark and her latest handmaiden had been passing by the main training yard on a walk way a story above when they'd heard the loud shouts and clang of steel. Sansa had been drawn by curiosity to the edge of the walkway to look down upon the yard. Her handmaiden had urged her to walk away, to not look at the barbarous men and their violent actions, but Sansa couldn't peel her gaze away. Her locked eyes were a mixture of being drawn in by the men's furrowed brows and deep concentration, and how their lack of armor made it so one could see how their sweat caused their tunics to cling to their skin. It was hard to look away as Sansa drank in how their muscles played under their tunics with each thrust and defense. Sansa thought her gaze would be trained on the handsome Ser Jaime, the golden knight, but she found it straying to the larger man. Sandor Clegane was indeed much larger than Ser Jaime, and his muscles were, thus, more fun to watch.
A small smile teased at the Stark girl's lips at how engrossed the other men were at watching the two Lannister men fight. Many had faces that were red from yelling, their words were encouragement, advice, taunts, even a few crude jokes despite the ladies walking about the Keep. The smile disappeared, however, when Ser Jaime briefly got the upper hand and darted behind Clegane. In his motion, he brought his sword up and managed a slice across Clegane's back. The larger man had reacted quickly and avoided greater injury, only being left with a torn shirt, the reflex was evidence of his skill.
Rather than deal with the torn fabric for the rest of the match, Clegane grabbed a fistful of the front of his tunic and ripped the fabric off. Sandra's handmaiden gasped behind her, "Lady Sansa! We really must go!" Sansa ignored the woman and continued to watch on, now being significantly more engrossed in the duel. Clegane's muscular chest was covered in thick, dark hair that trailed down his stomach and tapered off into his trousers. The line of hair was accentuated by a defined "V" shape of Clegane's hips. Along the "V" of his hips he had small circular bruises that also disappeared under his trousers, Sansa couldn't wrap her head around what those were. None the less, a warm feeling pressed low in Sansa's gut at the sight of the man who was the Warrior incarnate. Loud laughter arose from the crowd of soldiers upon the tunic being discarded. Sansa was confused for a moment as soldiers whistled and shimmied their chests, along with throwing Lord Baelish's name about as well. Sansa's brow furrowed, but then shot up when Clegane turned to threaten the crowd and she saw his back.
It was covered in angry red scratches, dozens of them. They started at his shoulders and then moved diagonally down his back, crossing here and there. The scratches looked erratic, wild, painful, but Clegane sported them proudly and with a wicked smile playing on his lips. Ser Jaime was delighting in the moment, whatever it was, with his head titled back in laughter. Clegane looked serious, threatening, but with a few more lewd and gaudy jokes thrown his way, Clegane cracked a smile and laughed with Ser Jaime and the other man. His expression turned in an instant though, and he rushed across the yard to Ser Jaime, taking advantage of the distraction. The golden knight reacted as quickly as he could, raising his sword above his head to try and block the incoming assault. However, the Hound's swing was sure, and undoubtably more powerful than anything the smaller man could generate. Clegane's sword came down over top Ser Jaime and ended up sending the golden knight's weapon sailing across the yard. The crowd parted for the gleaming steel, dozens of bodies scrambled out of its deadly path.
Sansa almost screamed as the scene unfolded, it all happened so fast, yet so clearly. Ser Jaime was kicked to the ground, stunned by his disarming. The Hound's powerful boot made contact with his chest, the crowd had gone deadly silent and the air forcibly leaving the Lannister's lungs could be heard with a loud "Oof!" The Kingslayer fell to the ground, his body making contact with an audible thud. The Hound pressed his massive boot down onto the Kingslayer and then held the tip of his sword to his throat. Ser Jaime was quiet, as was the rest of the yard, but then he broke into a grin and raised two fingers in surrender. An enormous cheer erupted from the spectators, Sansa giving a silent one herself. The celebration was mixed with anger as bets were exchanged, many losing money.
The Hound turned his back once more and Sansa was again able to glimpse his muscles that were marred by the scratches. She wished to look at them more, but a delicate hand gripped her upper arm and jerked her around. "I cannot believe a lady like yourself would wish to watch such a thing! Oh! And how terrible it was, seeing men cut, stripped, and beaten! The Queen would have my head if she knew I'd let you see this! Come along, child!" Sansa's handmaiden dragged her away from the boisterous men, she was all red faced and flustered... much like Sansa, but most likely from something very different.
As she was dragged from the raucous laughter and chatter, Sansa looked back, hoping to glimpse one final look of the golden knight and the dark Hound... but the railing obscured her view and she instead settled on conjuring the images once more. On the way back to Sansa's chambers, one particular image kept popping up, above the fighting and bulging muscles. Those scratches, they were incessant.
They were at Sansa's door when, without much thought, Sansa piped up, "Those scratches... what do you think could have caused those?"
Sansa had never seen someone turn so red, especially at something she had said. The woman's mouth opened and closed a few times, like a dying fish, but no sound came out, and then, "You silly, silly girl! Oh!" With hardly a second passed, the handmaiden had pushed Sansa into her room and quickly slammed the door, hopefully barring her from such indecent sights forever.