When the royal herald shouted Sandor Clegane's name, the tourney grounds hit a new fever pitch.
If the Mountain was a monster to fear, the Hound was a mad dog to despise.
Joffrey's personal guard. A pitiful plaything.
In the stands, curses and cheers mixed into sick fervor.
Sandor Clegane ignored it all.
He just sat there silently. Behind the snarling helmet, no one could see his expression.
His gaze cut through the noise. Landed on the black figure preparing to exit.
A crow on a plow horse?
Beat that Frey pig through dumb luck?
Just then, a golden figure pushed in front of him.
"Hound!"
Prince Joffrey's voice brooked no argument.
His face flushed. Breathing quick with excitement. Blue eyes blazing with fervor.
"See that?! Lord Lynn won!"
He pointed at Lynn in the arena. Like showing off his favorite toy.
"Next match. You and him."
Joffrey's voice dropped.
But the arrogant command didn't diminish.
"You're not allowed to win."
Sandor's body stiffened.
He lifted his visor. Slowly turned his scarred head toward the boy prince.
"Why?"
"No why!"
Joffrey puffed his chest.
"I want Lord Lynn to win!"
"He saved my life! He's my hero! He'll be my Kingsguard!"
"And you, Sandor. You're just a dog."
"When the master gives an order, the dog obeys."
"If you dare knock him off his horse, I'll cut off your ugly dog head and hang it on the Red Keep walls."
Joffrey's vicious words rang clear at the arena's edge.
Sandor fell silent.
In his eyes—rage and humiliation hot enough to burn the world.
But he said nothing.
Just slowly nodded.
"As you command, my prince."
Watching Joffrey turn away satisfied, Sandor's hands clenched into fists beneath his armor.
Lynn returned to the Stark stands. Removed his helmet.
He deliberately gasped for air. Forehead covered in sweat. Face pale.
"Lynn! You were amazing!"
Arya's eyes shone like stars.
Sansa handed him a damp silk cloth. Her face full of worship and lingering fear.
"Are... are you alright?"
"Fine. Just exhausted."
Lynn took the cloth. Wiped his face.
"That Frey knight. Strong."
His drained appearance convinced Sansa and Arya the victory had been razor-thin.
Only Ned, looking at Lynn's still-calm black eyes, felt his suspicions deepen.
Just then, a tall shadow fell over them.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, had appeared below the stands.
He wasn't wearing his helmet. His fire-scarred face looked even more horrific in sunlight.
"Crow."
He spoke. Voice dripping with undisguised contempt.
"Lucky."
He glanced at the shire mare Storm, quietly eating hay.
"Your plow horse is sturdy."
"But next match? Your luck runs out."
"Oh?"
Lynn looked up. His face showing "just the right amount" of nervousness.
"Nothing."
Sandor grinned. Showed yellowed, wine-stained teeth. The smile uglier than a grimace.
"Just reminding you. When you fall off, protect your neck."
"Otherwise. Your head might not stay attached."
He turned. Left only an oppressive silhouette.
Arya wanted to curse. Ned stopped her with a look.
"He... he really hates you."
Sansa said uneasily.
"Doesn't matter."
"The louder a dog barks, the more afraid it is."
Soon, as expected, Loras Tyrell won his match.
Lynn donned his helmet again. Mounted Storm.
The horn blew.
Lynn and Sandor Clegane faced each other across the track.
"Look! The lucky crow's up again!"
"This time it's the Hound! He's dead!"
"I bet the Hound unseats him in one pass!"
Still no one favored Lynn.
"BEGIN!"
Robert's roar dropped.
Sandor spurred his horse instantly!
His powerful warhorse shot forward like an arrow! Momentum like a landslide!
The killing intent made noble ladies in the front rows scream.
Lynn began his clumsy charge.
His body bounced on the heavy mare. Looked ready to fall any second.
The horses crossed!
CRACK!
A deafening impact!
Lynn's shield shattered!
Splinters flew!
His whole body jerked backward from irresistible force. About to fall.
But when his body reached a near ninety-degree angle with the saddle, his iron-booted feet clamped Storm's flanks like a vice!
The shire mare's massive, stable body played a decisive role!
She stumbled a few steps. Then steadied.
And Lynn, through terrifying core strength, pulled himself back from the edge of falling!
"OHHH!"
The crowd gasped.
Sandor Clegane stopped at the other end. Slowly turned.
Behind his helmet, his brow furrowed.
Wrong.
That pass used seventy percent strength. Even a bull should've been knocked off.
This crow... didn't fall?
And just now. His flexibility and balance. Not like a clumsy novice at all!
"AGAIN!"
Second charge!
Sandor's eyes changed.
If the first was a test.
This time, he brought seriousness.
He'd see what game this crow was playing!
CRACK!
Another impact!
This time, Lynn's lance met Sandor's mid-air!
Both shattered!
Another draw!
Sandor clearly felt the force from the opposing lance. Heavy. But slippery. Like punching cotton.
His brutal power was deflected by some strange technique.
This crow is hiding!
An absurd thought surfaced.
Is this crow... acting?
A wave of humiliated rage surged through Sandor!
Fuck!
He cursed internally.
Threw down the broken lance. Grabbed his last backup.
Fine!
You want to act?
I'll play along!
Let's see how long you can keep it up!
Third charge!
This time, Sandor was faster! More ferocious!
Like a rabid dog!
Lynn charged too.
His movements still clumsy. His posture still pathetic.
Joffrey stood nervously.
His uncontrollable dog made him furious!
The figures crossed under all eyes!
At the moment of impact!
Sandor's lance aimed straight for Lynn's face!
He'd force this crow to show his true skill!
But Lynn's response surprised him again.
Lynn didn't block. Didn't dodge.
His lance, in a seemingly panicked motion, stabbed forward wildly!
Target—Sandor's warhorse!
Madman!
Attacking an opponent's mount in jousting was disgraceful. Despicable!
Sandor instinctively pulled back to protect his horse.
Too late!
CRACK!
Lynn's lance struck the horse's neck armor precisely. Shattered.
But the broken tip—a sharp wooden shard—flew free from the momentum!
THUNK!
The shard pierced the warhorse's eye!
"SCREEEEE—"
The horse shrieked in agony. Reared violently!
Sandor felt the world spin!
His crazed mount threw him hard!
THUD!
Sandor Clegane's massive body slammed into the ground.
Dead silence.
On the high platform, Littlefinger's cup fell. Shattered.
His perpetually smiling face lost all color for the first time.
He lost again?
Lynn still sat on Storm. Gasping heavily. Like he'd used his last ounce of strength.
He looked at the struggling figure on the ground. Behind the cold visor, his lips curled.
Play with me?
You're not ready.
He ignored the dirty curses. Just turned Storm amid the gasps. Prepared to exit.
Just then, the herald's voice rang out again.
"Next match! The Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell!"
"Versus—"
"The Mountain! Ser Gregor Clegane!"
Lynn paused.
His gaze shifted to the knights' preparation area.
Loras Tyrell mounted elegantly.
His pure white steed was magnificent. Only...
It seemed restless. Kept pawing the ground. Whinnied low toward the Mountain's direction.
A beautiful mare.
A mare in heat.
Littlefinger found his horse.
Planning to win back his losses—with interest—in the finals.
Lynn's gaze turned to Storm. The black shire mare lazily swished her tail. Snorted.
How convenient.
Storm's a mare too.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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