On the day of his meetings with Robert Baratheon and Varys, the Mountain had arrived in King's Landing as Ser Gregor Clegane. The following day, he departed the city as Lord Gregor Clegane. He also left 20,000 golden dragons richer than when he entered.
When he arrived at the site of House Clegane's camp, his vassals had already disassembled the tents, saddled the horses, and packed the supply carts. They were ready to set out. All they were waiting on was their master. Then again, because of what happened the previous day, it was debatable as to whether Gregor still was their master.
It was there that Ser Gerold Hightower left Gregor's company. The Lord Commander of the Targaryen Kingsguard had dawned a full-body cloak, and his hair was much shorter than it had been when the Mountain last saw him. As part of the knight's disguise, the Tickler had given Ser Gerold a close haircut. It turned out the interrogator had more than one special talent with regards to blades. He was quite crafty with a pair of shears.
Ser Gerold's white armor was in the safekeeping of Lord Eddard Stark. The Reachman instead wore a doublet of boiled leather and a pair of thick woolen breeches which the Northlord had lent him. The two men would return their belongings to each other when they were safely back in Winterfell. This was no concern of Gregor's, though.
With his servants, soldiers, and men-at-arms alongside him, Lord Gregor Clegane began the march back to Clegane's Keep.
On the way there, he prepared himself for his reunion with his family. He would soon face the unappealing task of explaining his business with Robert to his family. He knew he could have sent a raven from King's Landing, but that would have been largely ineffective. After all, this was the type of news that should ideally be delivered and discussed face-to-face.
The loss of his birthright to Clegane's Keep was no longer any major concern to Gregor. He would miss the keep, certainly, but he could see it again in the future. Aside from that, Moat Cailin was vital to his long-term goals. The moat may have been rundown, but he had great plans for it.
What really unsettled him was his family's reaction. He could imagine that he would be greeted with mixed emotions once they learned that he had been all but disowned from Clegane's Keep. They would probably be even more displeased when they learned that he had given up that right by choice.
He tried not to be too pessimistic when thinking about how his parents and siblings would take the news of his relocation to the North. He just concentrated on how best to avoid upsetting them or giving them the wrong impression. After how well he had mollified Robert's infatuation with Lyanna, Gregor was very confident in his ability to get his family to understand his reasons.
On the morning of the sixteenth day after his company set out from King's Landing, Gregor reached Clegane's Keep at last. He was accustomed to the experience of coming back to it upon completion of an assignment that had been given to him by Lord Tywin. All those times, he had taken his returning home for granted. This time, when he passed beneath the raised portcullis, he enjoyed the feeling of riding into the main yard of the Keep. He needed to savor this sensation, knowing it would be a long time before he would do so again.
The courtyard of the keep was small, but it was packed with many of the smallfolk. All of them were occupied with their various daily duties. Many of them paused long enough to salute Gregor or give him a courteous "milord" as he passed.
Soon Gregor and his companions arrived at the stables, where they all swiftly dismounted. While the horses were being taken by the stableboys, Gregor was approached by a middle-aged man with a head of red hair and a thin red beard that covered his cheeks and his chin. He was the keep's steward, Sylas Vikary.
"Welcome home, my lord," the steward said cordially with a genuine smile.
"Good day to you, Sylas," Gregor rejoined. After collecting his armor and weapons, the Mountain looked down at the older man and stated "I must speak with my family. Are you aware of everyone's current whereabouts?"
"I suspect they will gather in the Main Hall soon," Sylas replied, "It is very early, my lord. They have yet to break their fast. Perhaps you'll join them?"
"I would be delighted," Gregor proclaimed happily, "Tell the cooks to serve the meal in my father's solar."
The steward appeared perplexed. "May I ask why, Ser?"
"I have news to share," Gregor revealed, "Currently, this news is too private for discussion in the Main Hall. The solar would be a more discreet place. I would like you and the rest of my father's council to break your fast with us. In a way, the news concerns all of us."
"Very well, my lord," Sylas Vikary conceded.
The ginger man went to carry out this command. Gregor remained out in the courtyard long enough to assist with unloading the provisions and armaments he had taken to King's Landing. Once everything was sorted out and accounted for, Gregor bade his men to get some food and rest. Some had a mind to get a woman, as well. All that riding could really tire a man. But not enough to dissuade him from that OTHER form of riding.
Gregor was certain that no less than a third of his men would try to get laid within the next hour. As Sylas noted, it was quite early in the morning. Then again, some of Gregor's men would argue that it was never too early for a fuck.
Apart from his armor and weapons, the only things Gregor took from the supply carts were three locked chests. Those chests contained the twenty thousand golden dragons Robert had awarded him. Any other man would have needed some help with carrying the chests. Luckily, Gregor's unnatural strength allowed him to hold all three in one arm.
By the time Gregor arrived in his father's solar, everyone he wished to speak to had gathered there, as well. His mother Daliah, his father Tarrence, his brother Sandor, and his sister Ellyn were all seated at his father's desk. In other parts of the room four more men were seated. Sylas Vikary and Maester Velix were two of them. The other two were the master-at-arms Ser Wallis Peckledon and the castellan Erryk Ruttiger.
The instant Gregor entered the room, he felt a tightness around his waist. It was as though someone had lassoed him with an invisible rope. He looked down and saw Ellyn standing before him. His little sister was embracing him warmly.
Gregor chuckled and set aside the contents of his arms so he could hug his sister back. He knelt so that they were more level with each other. Interestingly, when he knelt, his sister was the one looking down.
Long ago, Gregor had suspected that all Cleganes were genetically big-boned. Ellyn provided some fine proof for his theory. She had only just celebrated her seventh name day, but she was already over four feet tall. At this rate, she and Brienne of Tarth would be of a height when they were both grown.
"Missed you, Greg," Ellyn told her massive brother.
Gregor placed a loving kiss on the girl's forehead and said affectionately "I missed you, too, Ell."
A firm hand was then placed on Gregor's right shoulder. He turned and saw that it belonged to Sandor. When he got his brother's attention, the thirteen-year-old boy then removed his hand from his shoulder and held it out to him. Gregor smirked, clasped Sandor's hand in his own, and squeezed it slightly. Sandor brightly smiled back.
"The training yard, later?" he suggested.
"Absolutely, San," the Mountain affirmed.
After this exchange with his siblings, Gregor went to properly greet his parents. He kissed his mother on the cheek, and he gave his father a firm handshake. He also shook Ser Wallis Peckledon and Erryk Ruttiger's hands, and he gave Maester Velix and Sylas Vikary a courteous nod of acknowledgment.
When he was done distributing his greetings, Ser Tarrence proposed "Shall we eat?"
"Let's," Gregor contended, pulling up a chair near his father's desk, "I'm famished."
The morning meal came in the form of boiled potatoes, fried eggs, blood sausage, bread fresh from the ovens, an assortment of fruit, and iced lemon water. Clegane's Keep may have looked impoverished, but food was never a scarcity for Gregor's family. Maybe that was another reason why they were all so big.
The nine people in the solar spent about five minutes eating in almost complete silence. In the sixth minute, Daliah looked to her firstborn and asked "So, Gregor, how went the siege?"
Gregor's mouth was full of potato at that moment. After taking a few seconds to swallow, he answered her with "Wasn't really a siege, Mother. The Mad King opened the gates of King's Landing to us. So we pretty much just rode right into the city."
"We've heard a rumor that King Aerys was slain by Ser Jaime Lannister," Maester Velix pronounced, biting a sausage in half.
"Not a rumor," Gregor bluntly revealed. That statement produced a number of gasps.
"It was Ser Jaime killed the Mad King?" Erryk Ruttiger presumed.
"That's correct," Gregor confirmed with a grimace, "Bastard deserved it, though."
That remark stunned most of the others a bit. Not that any of them would disagree with it. The frankness of the remark was actually more alarming than the remark itself.
Sandor appeared unfazed. He drily perceived "If you say he deserved to die, he must've."
Gregor flashed a grin at his younger brother. Sandor must have believed very strongly in his concept of right and wrong.
"We expected you back a month ago," Ser Tarrence uttered abruptly. He spoke in a tone one might use when making an accusation.
"I was busy," was all Gregor said at first.
"With what, my lord?" Ser Wallis Peckledon inquired.
Gregor stuffed a large strawberry into his mouth. As he chewed, he commented "Just a few errands, Ser Wallis. Errands the king himself sent me on."
There he succeeded in gaining the full attention of his family members and the men on his father's council.
"Tell us more, Gregor," Ser Tarrence bade his son.
Gregor briefly went over everything he had done since the Westerlords marched for King's Landing.
He first described how the capital city had been seized with barely any bloodshed, thanks in large part to his instructions not to harm any unarmed civilians. In the heat of battle, some soldiers had deliberately violated Gregor's orders. All those soldiers had already been either severely chastised or sent to the Wall. Gregor then recalled how he had saved Princess Elia Martell from Ser Amory Lorch. Naturally, he left out the part about Rhaenys and Aegon surviving, but he kept the part about how he had escorted Elia home to Dorne personally. Ser Wallis and Ser Tarrence were amused when Gregor mentioned how Prince Oberyn Martell wished to show the Mountain his appreciation for bringing back his sister.
He also recounted the events of the Tower of Joy. Of course, his account of those events was much different from what had actually transpired. In accordance with the false story he and Lord Eddard Stark had told Robert, Gregor told his household that Mark Ryswell, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, Oswell Whent, Arthur Dayne, and Gerold Hightower had all perished. He also claimed that Lyanna Stark had died of a fever, and Howland Reed was charged with taking her body and the other Northmen's back home. At the same time, Gregor had gone back to King's Landing with Eddard Stark, Willam Dustin, Martyn Cassel, and all of his men-at-arms. Immediately upon their return, Gregor and Eddard were summoned to King Robert's solar for a private meeting.
"That was a very interesting meeting," Gregor proclaimed cheekily, "As Sylas has told you all, I wish to share some news. The subject of my meeting with the king is the source of that news."
"What did you and King Robert talk about?" Daliah queried, captivated already.
By now, everyone had more or less finished eating. Gregor concluded the meal right then when he drained his mug of lemon water, wiped his mouth, and set the mug aside. He looked around at the solar's other occupants and informed them "The King was impressed with how I helped to capture King's Landing, how I saved Princess Elia, how I secured diplomatic relations with Dorne, how I aided Lord Eddard Stark with recovering his sister, and how I gained the respect of the North because of it. He has even acknowledged the full extent of my abilities, as he claimed that his reign will need men like me to repair and improve the realm. In fact… he has a very special part for me to play."
At that, Gregor reached into the inner pocket of his doublet and pulled out three folded documents. These were copies of the three documents Gregor had signed and Robert had stamped at their meeting. He held onto the first one for the moment, and he handed the other two to his parents.
Gregor wordlessly gestured for the four men on his father's council to approach the desk. They all stood behind his parents and read the documents over Ser Tarrence and Lady Daliah's shoulders. By the time they finished reading, all six adults bore a facial expression that indicated they were astounded, but in a pleasant way.
"You've been given a spot on the Small Council?" Ser Wallis Peckledon muttered in amazement.
"And a fortress to complement it?" Maester Velix added in, astounded.
"Yes, and yes," Gregor said, trying and failing not to sound smug, "I'll be King Robert's Master of Order. That office was founded specifically for me, believe or no. I am tasked with the supervision of the entire realm. I will carry out my duties from Moat Cailin. I have also been named Lord of the moat."
"You're a lord now?" Daliah asked, agog in amazement.
"Indeed," Gregor avowed.
Ser Tarrence remained staring at the two documents for a few seconds. Then he grinned and remarked proudly "I'm the father of a lord. Who would have thought?"
"I'd be the first to congratulate you, young master Gregor," Maester Velix stated giddily, "But your father or mother should be given that privilege."
"This is cause for rejoicing," Erryk Ruttiger contended.
"Quite so," Ser Wallis Peckledon concurred.
"There's more," Gregor proclaimed. He then went to retrieve the three chests. He placed one of them on his father's desk and gestured for everyone to gather around. Once they were all crowded around the desk, Gregor removed the lock and opened the lid. A collective gasp circulated the room when the inside of the chest was revealed. As the other eight people stared in shock at the glittering pieces of metal, Gregor announced "The King allowed me the use of twenty thousand golden dragons. I'd like you to have seven thousand."
He then pushed the chest farther so that it was directly in front of his father and mother. His parents kept their gaze fixed on the chest. They looked almost mesmerized by its contents.
"Gregor… I don't think we could accept this," Lady Daliah uttered quietly, though her voice suggested they could.
"It's mine to give away," Gregor countered bluntly, "I expect you to get plenty out of this gold. You could refurbish the keep, increase the number of soldiers, build another small town… the possibilities are many in number."
"Then we must thank you, Gregor," Ser Tarrence decided, smiling once more. As he closed the lid to the chest on his desk, he noticed the other two chests in his son's arm. Curious, he inquired "What will you do with the remaining thirteen thousand dragons?"
"They'll be coming with me," Gregor responded. He spoke a little more hastily than he intended, but there was no point in being vague about his future whereabouts. He knew he could not put off the part of this conversation that he had been dreading.
"Are you going back to King's Landing?" Sylas Vikary assumed.
"No…" Gregor said tentatively.
At that, everybody's awe turned to bewilderment. Daliah asked in concern "Gregor, is there something more you wish to tell us?"
Gregor was still clutching the first document from his meeting with Robert in his right hand. He stole a momentary glimpse at it, and then he released a heavy sigh and declared "There's a setback to all this."
He then held the document out to his father. Ser Tarrence took the document swiftly, but he read it slowly. Gregor's mother stood by his side and read the document alongside him. All the while, the solar was immersed in absolute silence.
Gregor stood by, as he anxiously waited for his parents' reaction. Overtime, his father's eyes narrowed, and his mother's mouth slowly dropped open. That was not a promising sign. Even so, it was simply a preview of what was to come.
Finally, Ser Tarrence shifted his gaze upward, looked his firstborn in the eye, and muttered tensely "Gregor… this is a decree removing you as my heir."
"Yes, Father," Gregor affirmed, not bothering to hide his gloom, "My signature is at the bottom."
"You agreed to this?!" Daliah mumbled. She sounded more distraught than angered.
"I had to," Gregor debated, managing to stay calm, "It was the only way I could make everyone content."
"Certainly," Tarrence spat heatedly, throwing down the document, "If 'everyone' does not extend to us!"
His parents were not the only ones unsettled by this development. The other four men were obviously outraged, Ellyn seemed on the verge of sobbing, and Sandor just stood still without any display of emotion.
"Who does Robert Baratheon think he is?" Ser Wallis snapped furiously.
"How could he force you to give up your right to Clegane's Keep?" Sylas Vikary murmured.
"This was not the King's idea," Gregor firmly disclosed, "He was forced just as I was. This deed was the doing of Lord Tywin Lannister."
Once more, everyone in the room was greatly baffled by the Mountain's information.
"Why would Lord Tywin want you to give up your footing in the Westerlands?" Erryk Ruttiger muttered in confusion, "You're one of his most prestigious generals."
"I was," Gregor Clegane disputed, "I can fathom his reasons. I believe Lord Tywin harbors some feelings of resentment towards me for the episode with Ser Amory Lorch. It was not the fact that I personally killed Ser Amory that displeased him. It was more the fact that I interfered with Ser Amory's assignment. By doing that, I almost directly challenged Lord Tywin's authority. That's one thing he'll never forgive or forget."
"I must agree, my lord," Sylas Vikary coincided, "For as long as he's lived, Tywin Lannister has never tolerated any act of defiance."
"True, just recall the fates of the Reynes and the Tarbecks," Erryk Ruttiger observed.
"By comparison, I'd say this outcome is far more fortunate and desirable," Gregor debated. He picked up the first document, held it up, and looked around at the other eight people. He solemnly declared "I know you all must be furious about this. I certainly am. Please understand; I did not do this without hesitancy. Nor did I do it simply to serve my own purpose. I had your interests at heart, as well."
Everyone had eased down a bit by this point, but Ser Tarrence and Lady Daliah were still somewhat cross. Daliah asked in a patient yet upset voice "How is this in our best interests, Gregor?"
The Mountain illuminated "This was the only way I could protect the rest of you from Lord Tywin's wrath. He has no conflict with you; only me. By cutting myself off, I have ensured that he will let you be."
"Ser Gregor makes a very valid point," Maester Velix proclaimed. With his gaze locked on the first document, he added in "This is perhaps the most prudent course of action available to him now. It keeps him in favor with the crown, and it guarantees the survival of this family."
"I would have to agree with the maester," Erryk Ruttiger contended, "Lord Tywin is a ruthless man, but so long as Ser Tarrence remains loyal to him, there should be peace between Clegane's Keep and Casterly Rock."
"Exactly," Gregor professed, "Anyway, although I'm being evicted, I have not disowned my family. I will not be severing my ties to you or any other part of the Westerlands. My travels will take me all over Westeros. If I have an opportunity, I could come to visit you, or you could visit me."
"My lord, Moat Cailin is all the way up in the Neck," Ser Wallis Peckledon pointed out, "You'd actually have to enter the North to reach it."
"Think of how much distance that is," Sylas Vikary proposed.
"I've been farther than that," Gregor claimed casually, "Besides, the moat was established there because of the location. Its location makes it a key stronghold that separates the North from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. It also offers quick access to the other regions of Westeros. Those are just a couple of the advantages I'd have as the Lord of Moat Cailin."
Those points were enough to convince Ser Wallis and Sylas that Gregor had the situation in hand. Now the only people who needed some assurances were Ser Tarrence, Lady Daliah, Sandor, and Ellyn.
Gregor needed an additional fifteen minutes to sway his parents and siblings. Logical reasoning was not as effective here, given how his relationships with them were based on much more emotion. So he had to appeal to their sense of obligation and familial bonds. What ultimately swayed them were the points he made about how his deeds would gain greater respect and appreciation for the Cleganes, and that he would be able to better secure their position in the Westerlands. He also emphasized strongly that he was not turning his back on his family. He argued that he would not really be leaving home; he would just be away on business for prolonged periods of time.
By mid-morning, all eight of those people had submitted to Gregor's decision. They were still not pleased with his long-term relocation to Moat Cailin, but they were not vehemently against it, either. Whatever he did next, they decided to support him in it.
"How much longer can you stay?" Daliah queried.
Gregor had already worked that out in advance. He announced "I plan to be at the moat within a moon's turn. It generally takes a fortnight to get there by horse. But since I'll be traversing unfamiliar terrain with, it could take longer. Perhaps a week and a-half longer. So I'll be riding in three days."
"So soon?" Ellyn noted sadly.
"Yeah," Gregor stated, gazing down at his sister, "But if we make the most of these next few days, my departure won't be as hard."
Ellyn seemed to brighten up at that prospect. She stepped up to her brother and embraced him again. He wrapped one of his arms around her tenderly.
He then turned to Sandor and opened his other arm to him. Gregor's brother stared at him in contemplative silence. Then he began to walk towards him. Sandor gradually approached him, one step at a time. Right before he could enter the embrace, Sandor scowled and bolted towards the entrance of the solar. In just a few seconds, he yanked open the door and sprinted out.
"Sandor!" Daliah called out. Her younger son did not respond. The sounds of his hurried footsteps soon faded down the corridor.
"Poor lad must be taking this hard," Erryk Ruttiger supposed.
"You can hardly fault him," Sylas Vikary proclaimed.
Gregor released his grip on Ellyn and declared "I'll talk to him."
The Mountain proceeded to gather up his armor, weapons, and the other two chests of golden dragons. He made a slight detour and stopped by his bedchamber first. There he deposited most of those materials. He kept his longsword, as well as the belt that accompanied it. After strapping the five-foot piece of steel around his waist, Gregor went off to find his brother.
He did not have to look for long. He already knew where to go. Ever since he was old enough to swing a sword, there was one place Sandor always retreated to whenever he got upset or frustrated.
Sure enough, Gregor found Sandor in the training yard. He was by himself, and he was armed with his favorite sword. At the moment, he practicing his offensive tactics on a wooden dummy near the far wall. Based on how he was hacking viciously and grunting loudly, he was quite agitated.
Thinking of Benjen Stark's introduction in the first episode, Gregor climbed down to the yard, smirked, and shouted jokingly "Is he dead yet?"
Sandor promptly whipped around and came face-to-face with his brother. Unlike Jon Snow, he did not adorn a welcoming grin for his relative or spread his arms to embrace him. Sandor was undeniably aggravated by something. Gregor did not know what, but he knew he had to be responsible for it.
"Leave me alone," Sandor mumbled angrily.
"I will not," Gregor refuted sternly. As he continuously neared his brother, he pronounced "Taking your fury out on a dummy is pitiful. Not to mention ineffectual."
He then drew his longsword in one swift motion. He balanced it effortlessly in his right hand and suggested stoically "Try using a live opponent instead."
At that, Sandor's demeanor shifted from irate to maliciously gleeful. He grinned wickedly and murmured in a somewhat menacing tone "Why not? You agreed to 'later.' May as well be now."
Gregor moved to a spot in the center of the yard. Sandor moved to a place ten feet in front of his massive brother. He lifted his sword and pointed it towards Gregor in an offensive stand. Gregor held his sword up vertically to assume a defensive stand. After he and his brother spent a minute staring each other down, he told Sandor "You first."
Immediately, Sandor raised his sword and charged forward. Even before the blow was delivered, Gregor could see where it would land. He almost listlessly moved to deflect the blow.
Sandor quickly rebounded and slashed at Gregor's legs. The Mountain's blade intercepted his brother's sword when it was still over a foot away.
Sandor hastily prepared to strike a third time. He thought he spotted an opening on Gregor's shoulder, and he focused on that. But before his blade was halfway up, Gregor's blade came at him from out of nowhere. Gregor timed the thrust very carefully. The point of his sword was pressed against Sandor's Adam's apple. Another centimeter and Gregor would have drawn blood.
Luckily, Gregor did not bleed his brother. He just commented drily "You're dead."
Sandor groaned in frustration and lowered his blade. He and Gregor then returned to their original positions.
Now it was Gregor's turn to make the first move. He examined Sandor's defense position for any exploitable weaknesses, and he spotted one within seconds. He lunged forward with his sword in midair.
The Mountain issued a volley of blows in rapid succession. Sandor managed to parry the first four, but the fifth one got through. Gregor struck Sandor in the chest with the flat of his blade. As the younger boy stumbled and groaned, Gregor cockily declared "Dead again."
The two Clegane brothers went four more rounds. Each one had a very similar outcome to the first two.
The third round ended when Gregor delivered a blow that caught Sandor in his right side. "Dead."
The fourth round ended when one of Gregor's blows made contact with Sandor's left side. "Dead."
The fifth round ended when Gregor seized Sandor by his left arm, pulled him close, turned him around, and brought his blade up to his throat. "So fucking dead."
Those last three rounds involved a cumulative total of less than twenty blows.
Sandor was generally much better at sword fighting than this. His current form suggested a substantial lack of discipline, Gregor noted. That was almost definitely attributed to the anger he felt. Anger was the bane of discipline, and discipline was the most important aspect of swordsmanship.
Alas, the dueling was doing nothing to lessen Sandor's anger. All the same, Gregor had no intention of going easy on him. Ever since his brother had been old enough to spar with him, Gregor had never gone easy on Sandor.
Gregor had always looked out for Sandor. He had guided him, protected him, supported him, and encouraged him in nearly everything. However, he knew that if his brother was to become the Hound, he would have to toughen Sandor up. So he figured, what better way to do that than with steel in hand?
Outside the training yard, Gregor had never laid a hand on his brother. In the training yard… anything went.
Gregor became an entirely different person when he and his brother dueled. That was probably the closest he would ever get to the original Gregor Clegane. He was brutal, merciless, and even a little cruel when he and his brother faced off.
Gregor never let Sandor gain the upper hand, never let him see his weaknesses, never let him win if he could help it. On a couple occasions, he had even gone so far as to humiliate Sandor.
He derived no joy or pleasure from those experiences. He did all that simply so Sandor would take their lessons seriously and remember that a true opponent would be just as ferocious, if not more so.
Oftentimes, Sandor became furious or resentful of his brother for treating him so harshly, but he always reminded himself afterward that his brother just wanted to sculpt him into an ideal warrior.
Up until now, Gregor was fairly confident that he had managed to do just that. Now he was having some doubts, as Sandor was demonstrating a near-total disregard for his teachings.
The sixth and final round began. This one lasted longer than any of the previous five, but it had the most unpleasant ending. For Sandor, that is.
First, Gregor struck his brother behind the knees with the flat of his sword. Then he kicked his legs out from under him and shoved him onto the ground. Once Sandor was on the ground, Gregor grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stay there. Then he slowly brought his sword into the air and plunged it downwards.
He stopped when the tip of the blade was less than an inch away from Sandor's eye. Anyone else would have shrieked, squirmed, or fainted out of fear. Sandor did nothing more than blink. In fact, he looked as though he could not care less about losing. That was very uncharacteristic of him; he was usually very competitive about winning.
Gregor sneered, withdrew his sword, and rose to his feet. Then he held his hand out to his brother. After a moment's hesitation, Sandor grudgingly accepted it. Once he was back on his feet, the Mountain muttered bleakly "Sandor, in the past three minutes, I killed you six times. Had this been a real battle, you would not have lasted the first thirty seconds."
"So this was not one of my better days," Sandor said in a very sarcastic voice, picking up his own blade.
As the two brothers sheathed their swords, Gregor glared down at Sandor and stated critically "Did you forget everything I taught you while I was gone?"
"No," Sandor mumbled in annoyance, "But would it have mattered if I did? 'Cause I wouldn't have been the only one who forgot something important."
Now Gregor was confused. "What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?"
"Don't you remember?" Sandor responded crossly, "Nearly eight years ago, you opened my eyes up to the harshness of the world. You startled me at first. But then you comforted me and shared with me words of kindness. Words that have stayed with me ever since."
"Any specific words?" Gregor inquired.
"Yes, five in particular," Sandor informed him, "'I'll be there for you.' Those were your own words, and I'll never forget them. It seems you have, though."
"I have not," Gregor asserted, "I meant them then and I still do. Don't think I'm going back on them simply because I'm going away for a while. You can be there for someone without being there physically."
Sandor scoffed and spat angrily "Oh, don't give me that 'being there in spirit' shit."
"I won't," Gregor contended, "I'll still be there for you, Sandor. For you and everyone we loved. I'll be building a legacy for House Clegane. A legacy that you can be a part of."
"I don't care about any godsdamn legacy," Sandor claimed. His anger began to fade at this point. He let out a faint sigh and mumbled "Why did you have to kill Amory Lorch?"
"Because he would have killed Princess Elia," Gregor answered bluntly, "In that one act, he would have made us an enemy of Dorne. Instead, I've made them our ally."
"Was it worth making a potential enemy of Tywin Lannister?" Sandor snappily retorted.
"Yes," Gregor replied without any pause, "Lord Tywin may be the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and the Warden of the West, but he is not infallible. He may see what I did as disobedience. I see it as the prevention of a huge mistake. He's just too pompous to admit it."
Sandor then looked around the area, and he cautioned his brother "Gregor, you should be careful about saying things like that out in the open. Lord Tywin's spies could be listening."
"What do I care?" Gregor said nonchalantly, "He's no longer my liege lord."
Sandor chuckled at that. By now, his anger appeared to have subsided. He gazed up at the Mountain and suggested hopefully "Can't I go with you?"
"Believe me; I'd love to take you with me," Gregor proclaimed, "If I could, I would. But it would be irresponsible of both of us. With me dispossessed, you're now Father's heir. You represent the future of this house. Aside from that, you're practically a man now. You must choose your own road in life."
Sandor spent a minute pondering on those statements. There was both wisdom and advice to be found in them. Both of which could be very useful if he heeded them. After a minute, he lightly shrugged and admitted "I suppose you're right."
"Of course I am," Gregor conceded, grinning. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and told him "I'm counting on you to manage the keep well in my absence. I expect it to be in a far better state when I come back."
"What if you never come back?" Sandor supposed.
"I will," Gregor proclaimed sternly.
"You don't know that," Sandor theorized, "For all we know, this could be goodbye."
"Yes, it could," Gregor acknowledged, "But goodbye doesn't mean forever."
As David Gates would say.
Although he had quoted a popular song from the late 1970s, that sentence seemed to have a soothing effect on Sandor. He finally yielded to his brother's logic, and he stated "You're right, Greg. I guess I spoke too soon. I'm probably just being negative."
"No, you're considering the worst," Gregor pointed out, "There's nothing wrong with having low expectations, but you'd do better to have high hopes while I'm away."
"I'll try," Sandor assured him, "Anything else I should keep in mind?"
"Yes," Gregor disclosed, "I want you to find a good marriage match for yourself. More importantly, find a good marriage match for Ellyn, too."
Sandor scoffed and bluntly remarked "Our sister is seven, Gregor."
"Our mother was seven once, too," Gregor reminded him.
Sandor scoffed again and rolled his eyes, saying "Somehow, I doubt Grandfather Lewys was already planning on marrying her off at that age."
"You know what I mean," Gregor sardonically stated, "Just find a decent husband for Ell when she's of age. You get a decent wife for yourself, too. Now that you're the future of this household, you'll need heirs of your own."
"I suppose I will," Sandor admitted. After a brief lapse of silence, he murmured "Alright, I will. So long as you do, too."
"Hmmm?" Gregor uttered, uncertain what his brother was implying.
"If you're starting another house up in the North, you'll need heirs, too," Sandor apprised him, "You shouldn't have any trouble finding someone to give you some. I hear women in the North fight alongside the men. You might end up wedding and bedding one of them."
"It's possible," Gregor alleged, "But let's not rush ahead of ourselves. I'll be all over Westeros these next several years. I'll meet many houses and their members. I'll become acquainted with plenty of highborn ladies. Whoever my bride turns out to be, she could come from anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms."
"No, I'd bet you your other thirteen thousand dragons that she'll be a Northwoman," Sandor hypothesized.
Sandor did not have the gold to match Gregor's, so that wager was meaningless. Besides, he was mostly just making a jape when he said that.
Still, unbeknownst to Gregor, Sandor's jape would turn out to be somewhat prophetic; the Mountain's future wife would indeed be from the North.
