The Second Day of the Hands Tournament
My reluctance to attend today's continuation of the tournament was evident upon my face, however Septon instructed that I attend once again. Especially considering that Ned's presence was still highly questionable at his own tournament. Sansa also insisted that I attend with her so that she should not have to witness an event like yesterday's alone. The sight of the young knight dying in front of her was a little much for the young girl. Understandable, until then she had never known the sight of death nor blood. Ned shielded her too much from the world before bringing her into this accursed place.
I agreed to go so long as I could leave on my own time. Sansa, Arya, and the Septon had set out for the jousting arena a while ago. I decided to wander through the outlying tree line before taking my place beside them.
I can hear the shouts and cries of the crowd even from this distance. Some of the cries are cheerful, but most sound pained, and anguished. No doubt the Mountain has taken down every man that's come charging at him.
Sandor's face jumps into my mind's eye and I wince slightly at the remembrance of Lord Baelish's story. How could someone, a brother, do that? How can you hold a child's face into burning coals and feel nothing? Tears well up in my eyes at the idea.
"Shouldn't you be at the tourney?"
I jump around at the voice and tug out both my sword and my dagger, even though the instant I do there is no point. The question wasn't threatening and neither was the voice, surprising when you find it belongs to a Clegane.
"I could inquire the same of you Clegane," I say, re-sheathing my blades. "Don't you have a royal little brat to guard?"
"Aye that I do," he smirks. "And you have your own as well."
"Sansa is not a brat," I retort.
"Pampered, spoiled, simple minded, foolish in the ways of the world," he taps off on his fingers.
"Alright," I say, cutting his list much shorter than I'm sure it would be. "She isn't suited for this place. You and I both know this, and have very frequently discussed it. Leave it alone now."
"If you know it so bloody well then what the fuck is she still doing here?"
"You know I have no say in whether she stays or goes," I groan. "If I did, not only her, but every Stark would be back in Winterfell right now."
The two of us are slowly walk, weaving our way through the trees, keeping a relatively large distance between each other. Clegane's metal covered hand rattles against the trees he brushes past.
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he asks, cutting the forests beautiful silence.
"I was commanded to attend the tourney again today, however I was given freedom to decide when my arrival shall be. So I am taking my time arriving," I smile cheekily and Clegane rolls his eyes.
"It looked like you were fucking crying when I showed up," he grumbles. "Missing your beloved Snow are you?"
I can't help it, I burst out laughing. I'm laughing so hard my sides begin to ache and I bend forward to try and relieve the pressure on my stomach. Clegane stands stunned to my left, gaping at me; his eyes wide and his mouth slightly hung open.
"What the fuck is so funny?" he finally cries.
I take in a few deep breaths and try to calm down enough to speak. Between wheezes I squeeze out, "The thought," wheeze, "that I could ever," wheeze, "cry over a man," wheeze, "I can't take it." I burst into another fit of laughter and lean against a tree so that I don't fall to the ground.
It takes quite some time, but finally I calm down and open my eyes. Clegane is standing only a foot or two away from me, his face mixed with confusion, rage, and curiosity.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" I say with a bright smile still stuck to my face.
"All that, just because I mentioned the Snow boy?"
"No," I say as another giggle slips from my lips; I swallow down the rest before I begin that painful event all over again. I push off from the trunk and resume our slow walk towards the tournament. "All of 'that' occurred because you actually thought me foolish enough to cry over a man. Do you really think me so weak?"
"You love him."
His bluntness surprises me and I turn to look at him. His face is empty, emotionless, but his eyes scream with a burning curiosity.
"Loved", I correct him before turning my head and resuming our walk. "I loved Jon, yes, but now I have put him behind me. He has joined the Night's Watch, and I may never see him again. I have been through too much in my life for Jon Snow to ruin it by not returning the affections I had for him. He is now my brother, and only my brother."
"Is it so easy for you to throw away people you love?"
I stop abruptly and turn causing Clegane to stop only inches behind me. I have to look up to see his face.
"No," I respond. "It is not easy to throw away anyone, but I have had too many people unwillingly taken from me to be heartbroken by those that are still here. I loved Jon as more than a brother, but he never shared the same affections for me. He made that abundantly clear when he decided to join the Watch, but I haven't lost him. I traded one form of love for another. That is better than losing him all together."
"How many people have you lost?"
"Enough," is the only answer I can come up with.
This entire conversation has thrown me for a loop. I have never thought I'd hear these kinds of questions come from Clegane's own mouth. These questions are personal, real, and contain some of my deepest secrets. I feel an anger beginning to burn within the pit of my stomach.
"What do you want Clegane?" I growl, the anger rising inside of me.
Clegane takes a step away from me, making the distance between us a foot larger.
"I don't want anything you little bitch."
"Then stop asking me so many questions," I glare at him, knowing I'm going to regret what I'm about to say: "Or I may start asking a few of my own." As I say this I lock my vision solely onto the burned side of his face.
Sandor's face quickly contorts with rage and he knocks his hair to cover the side of his distorted face.
"Watch yourself girl," he snarls.
"Watch yourself," I bark back.
I can't bring myself to call him Hound, it just feels so degrading. Even with the rage I have brewing inside of me, I won't do that.
"I have a tourney to attend," I say with a slight bow before turning on my heels and marching in the crowds roaring direction. Behind me I hear the click of metal banging against trees.
When I arrive at the arena I am surprised to find Ned seated beside his eldest daughter. Upon seeing me he waves me down and indicates to the empty spot on his left side. I scurry through the rows and plop down beside him. I glance over my shoulder discreetly to see Clegane take his stance beside the crown prince. I'm about to turn my head back around when my eye's lock with the blondes. He stares at me with sharp eyes, and then a grin curls onto his lips. The expression makes me queasy and I turn back around.
When I do the Mountain is straddled across his horse, nodding towards the royal family.
I can't bring myself to look at him so instead I turn to face Ned, Sansa, Septon, and…
"Where's Arya?" I ask, leaning to try and see past Septon in case the small girl is hiding behind her.
"At her dancing lessons," Sansa says flatly.
I sigh and lean back into my seat when Sansa's head turns my way and I see a brightness appear in her eyes. A smile stretches across her face as the sound of horses hooves grow closer.
"The knight of the flowers," she says and approaching us is a young man, most likely only a year or so older than myself. He is trotting towards us on a bright white steed, in shimmering thorn-embroidered armor, his long curly brown hair brushing his shoulders in the breeze, and in his hand is a single red rose. He rides forward until he is right before us. Leaning forward he hands Sansa the rose; his favor for the tourney. Sansa takes it gladly and thanks him. No doubt she is envisioning him as the knight in every song and story she has ever heard.
The boy rides up beside the Mountain and bows elegantly before the two opponents ride off in their separate directions to begin the joust. I can't help but notice as they do that The Mountains horse is acting strangely. She's jolting and twisting beneath his ridged body hardly obeying the reins. Something seems off.
"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa's plea pulls my attention away from the black stallion and onto Sansa who has interlocked her arm with Ned's. Fear is plastered across her face as she gazes at the flowery knight on our left.
Ned attempts to comfort her, slightly confused at her behavior. No doubt he doesn't sense her admiration for the 'handsome' knight of the flowers, being a male and all.
"I can't watch," she whimpers, tugging her father closer till she's practically hidden behind his shoulder.
Behind me I hear Lord Baelish betting with, who I believe to be the brother of Robert Baratheon. I ignore their childish play to be welcome by Sansa's whimpering.
"He's going to die," she cries into her father's shoulder.
"Ser Loras rides well," Ned replies, and I pray it's true because I don't think Sansa can stand watching the living version of all her fantasies die right in front of her. It would destroy what little is left of her childhood.
A horn sounds and the two opponents charge.
I watch closely and the closer the two get, the more wildly Ser Gregors stallion moves. When they are just nearly about to strike I see her dark hooves give way beneath her before Ser Loras's lance even strikes Ser Gregors shield, forcing him to the ground.
The crowd cheers loudly and I hear a few individuals behind me rise to their feet and applaud.
The Mountain had landed on top of the gate and it was crushed beneath him as he fell. He rolls around on the ground, his armor holding him down as he fights to rise to his feet.
All eyes are on Ser Loras as he dismounts and cheerfully bows to the audience and the royal seating area, but my eyes are fixed on The Mountain.
When he finally manages to get back on his feet he chucks his helmet onto the ground and demands his squire to bring his sword. The small man runs up with a blade nearly his height. Gregor hands the boy the reigns of his stallion before unsheathing the blade and I know what is coming before anyone else even registers what is occurring behind the shimmering tourney winner.
The Mountain raises his swords up into the air and it comes crashing down on his stallions neck. She lets out a bone shattering whine as the blade slices halfway through her neck. The sound finally draws the crowds attention onto the snarling man who charges towards Ser Loras with his bloodied blade raised in the air.
Ser Loras is quick and pulls his shield up before the sword slices through his own neck, but he is no match for the Mountains strength. The blow forces him from his horse and to the ground. His helmet flies off his head and all he has for protection is his small two foot shield. The Mountain quickly moves above the defenseless young man and starts slamming his sword down onto the tiny shield like a hammer on a nail.
I rise to my feet on instincts, ready to jump the steps and into the arena to fight him off when someone shoves me aside and steals my idea. But it's not just anybody, it's Sandor.
"Leave him be!" Sandor cries out rising his sword into the air.
The two Clegane's swords meet with a clang and the entire crowd gasps.
Sandor grunts from the weight and pushes his brother back with all his strength causing him to stumble backwards himself. Sandor positions himself between his brother and Loras before raising his sword up again.
They charge and the only sound I can hear is my heart and ringing metal.
Each blow from Gregor has twice the strength of Sandor's blows and he grunts under the weight and power.
My fingers tighten around my hilt and my feet are itching to jump the fence and help him.
I keep picturing the young man with a chunk of wood sticking out from his throat.
I'm lunging forward, just about to jump in as I see Sandor's knees shaking beneath him when I hear a shout from behind me.
"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
Instantly the fighting stops. Sandor falls to one knee, the Mountain swings his sword to a stop at his side, and my hand slips from my hilt.
Ser Gregor flings his sword into the dirt and quickly storms off. The King shouts for the guards to let him pass, most likely trying to prevent any more bloodshed. The crowd parts for him like the Grass Sea parts for a Khalasar.
The crowd relaxes and those around me resume their seated positions, however I am still frozen in place. All eyes are on Sandor as he rises back to his feet.
"I owe you my life Ser," Ser Loras says coming up beside him.
"I'm no Ser," Sandor growls.
Without a seconds thought Ser Loras takes Sandors hand in his and hoists it into the air. The crowd roars and applauds, but I'm still frozen, staring at the scarred man, my heart still thundering in my chest.
Everyone around me rises up from their seats and cheers. My hands remain at my sides.
It's only when Sandor's eyes lock with mine that the ice around me melts. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding, and feel my body tremble.
I spin around and push my way through the crowd. I run, and keep running until I'm once more standing within the shadow of trees I had been before the tournament. I lean up against a tree and wrap my arms around my torso trying to stop their trembling.
I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder and I spin around with my dagger in hand; even if it is a trembling hand. Its tip is tapping against Sandor's chest plate with a tiny rhythm conducted by my shacking. I stare up at him and he looks down on me bewildered.
"What the fucks the matter with you?" he finally asks.
I let out a shaking breath and release my grip on the dagger, causing it to plop on the ground.
"Me?" I bellow. "What the fuck is the matter with you?" I shove him with all my might but he doesn't move an inch. "What the fuck were you doing jumping into that fight? After everything he's done to you? Do you really want him to hurt you again?"
I freeze in place when I realize what I've done. This is worse than what I said earlier, much, much, worse. Earlier I may have inquired to my knowledge, but now I just flat out told him that I know what happened to his face.
I stare down at my feet. It's not that I'm afraid to look up at him, but that I respect him too much to do so.
"How the fuck did you find out?"
"I overheard."
An awkward silence accompanies my reply.
"Look at me."
I keep my head down.
"Look at me!"
My head slowly rises up until our eyes meet.
"I don't give a fuck if you know about me and my bloody past. Most people already do. What I do give a fuck about is if you let it change your opinion of me. I'm a killer. Just like any other man and if you piss me off I will break your pretty little fingers," he grasps my chin and leans down so that I can smell the tint of wine on his breath. "Don't you fucking forget that little girl."
I smirk and chuckle, surprising him.
"Don't forget that I'm not a little girl."
There's a tiny clink as my carving knife taps against his hip, right above a break in the armor. So tiny that only a blade as small as this can get through.
"There's that northern bitch I met back at Winterfell."
And for the first time, I see Sandor genuinely smile.