Chapter 8: A Knight's Honor

Roland tightened the straps around his armor as the squires saddled his horse and readied his lance. The horns outside his tent blew away for the first bout of jousting. The crowds cheered as two knights charged towards one another, their lances aimed low and their shields raised high. Back inside the Kingsguards small grounds however, there was only silence, soon replaced by the quiet whispers of the two squires who finally finished with his horse's saddles. He couldn't make out what the two were talking about, and frankly he had very little want to listen in.

Putting on the last of his shoulder plates, Roland called to the two. "Breastplate." he ordered, extending his arms, and the squires quickly put the front and back plates on his chest, tightening them on both sides simultaneously. He would have to remember what these boys looked like, they were good at their job, a skill not often found in squires, especially ones this young.

"What are your names?" he asked them simply.

"Uther, Ser." the ashy blonde-haired one was the first to respond. A lanky little fellow, with dark brown eyes, without the sun to light them, they almost looked pitch black.

"Luther, Ser." the other squire, with brighter red hair responded afterwards. Opposite to his ashen friend, he was much bulkier, but also seemed to be a bit older.

"You two don't seem to be brothers. Cousins?" he lowered his hands as the two boys finished putting on the breastplate. Stretching around a bit, he tested the armor a bit for any loose placings. A perfect fit.

"No Ser. Me mum's a Frey." Uther responded. "His an Ornfast." he said, pointing to the red-haired Luther.

"Ornfast? Never heard of you. Where's your House from boy?" Roland continued questioning the boys, who stood besides one another in front of him now.

"Riverlands Ser." Uther cut in once again despite the person Roland had put his attention on being the boy right next to him. Luther himself seemed to have no intention of answering, and Roland quickly caught on to the two's dynamic. "He's from the Twins as well Ser. His family's became Castellans for the Freys after me da, Walder Frey, he once had one Ornfast girl as a mistress so- OW!" Uther's little explanation was quickly cut off by a punch on the shoulder from the older boy. "What was that for?!"

'That explains it I suppose. The little lordling and his servant. One's the large and quiet type, the other's the small and talkative one. Doesn't matter much I'd assume, the little Uther boy must be so long down the succession line they're practically on the same level.'

Another horn blew as the match from the current jousters finished. From the sound of the crowds it seemed a favorite had won the match. It mattered little to Roland, he had no real reason to participate in this whole damnable affair, nothing but a pouting session by the King organized to celebrate his new Hand. From what he knew, the Hand himself wasn't too keen on this tournament. Lannister had told him of how the two had gotten into a scuffle in the King's office due to "The damnable cost of the entire thing". If that was their point of contention, he could not see this Ned Stark staying long in office. Jon Arryn, Seven rest his soul, did his best to temper Robert's revelry and the other Lannister on the council, was a miracleman when it came to cutting costs. It was no place for Roland to comment though. He was Robert's bodyguard, not his Master of Coin.

Finally, he put on his gauntlets, buckled his sword to his belt, and put on his helmet. Fully armored now, his horse Yvana neighed, the girl was no doubt as restless to get this over with as he was. She was a feisty horse, a gift from the King all those years ago when Roland had managed to save his life in Storm's End, tempered with the offer of becoming a white cloak. At the time, it seemed like the obvious choice anyone would choose. It was only later did he realise the mistake he had made. Still, Kingsguards were meant to serve for life, and if that old bastard Selmy could survive for this long, Roland quickly made it his goal to have more than a single page filled out in the White Book after his service has been fulfilled.

Robert himself was not the worst man to protect, he kept himself relatively easy to find. Anywhere where there was ale and women you could most likely find him. It was the family Roland had harder times keeping close. The Queen had her own little pets in Trant and Blount, while the children mainly kept beside their mother, aside from Joffrey, who had Sandor Clegan to be his guard dog. He had always wanted to fight that one, see how well the name of "The Hound" truly fit him. 'You can dress yourself in fancy armor and scowl all you want, a blade can pierce your neck all the same.' he thought.

Taking the leads of his horse in his hand, Roland signalled the two boys to follow him. "Come on, wouldn't want to keep the people waiting." as soon as he said so, another pair of horns sounded off, and the hooves of two horsemen quickly became drowned out by the cheers and expectations of the crowd.

Standing at the edge of the jousting grounds, Roland and his two squires watched the spectacle unfold in front of them. Some new Vale knight was up next, a bright and haughty faced boy who looked to have just come out of his childhood years, with his shiny bright armor hanged a crescent white moon in a field of blue. It was only once he had managed to get a better look at the boy's face did he recognize him as Jon Arryn's old squire. The little boy licked more boots during his time here than all the dogs in the city. Roland was there when Robert had knighted the boy in Jon's memory after his death, a kind sentiment all things considered, but it was clear to anyone who knew the boy he was not even fit for jousting, let alone an actual battle.

"Up next, Ser Hugh of The Vale!" the announcer spoke.

He turned to see Uther and Luther sharing a scowl, "Not a fan of the up-and-comer? Let me guess, you lost a bet against him at some point."

"Betting on Tourney jousts 's Lord's work Ser." Uther responded, his brow still heavily furrowed and directed at the young Knight of the Vale.

"True enough, doesn't stop the squires from having their own little versions of it, does it?" he responded.

"Whoreson…" Luther said simply, nearly growling at the lad.

"Right, I'll just assume he fucked both your sisters then." the two didn't respond to Roland's words, as most squires do. They're all mainly taught from the moment they become one to take whatever words throw at them in silence, or face the consequences. Yet all the same, something told Roland they might just be too used to it. 'A Frey and a Castellan for the Freys. Anywhere outside the Twins you're practically meant to be a laughing stock.'

"And his opponent!" the announcer cut Roland off from his thoughts. "Ser Gregor Clegane, of Clegane's Keep!"

Tall and imposing, Gregor Clegane rode adorned in his armor that weighed near half as him. Roland could only feel pity for the Stallion he had chosen to be his mount. Quite literally and figuratively, that horse was carrying on a mountain of weight on its back. Yet despite it all, it seemed not ready to collapse yet. Perhaps the person deserving of pity more in this case however was little Ser Hugh. His first joust of the tourney would almost certainly be his last, one could only curse the luck that boy had facing against the Mountain when he himself didn't even properly know how to fasten his helm right.

Both knights rode to their opposite ends in the field and were handed their lances and shields. Hugh beared a simple tourney shield, thick enough to take the brunt of a lance, but light enough to as to not tire out his shoulders carrying it. Clegane on the other hand was of a different mind. Like with all things that came with the Mountain, he bore a shield only someone who weighed near 40 stones and towered over eight feet tall could handle, his thick trunks of arms fastening onto the metallic gauntlets. This match was over before it ever even began, yet still the horns blared, the standards were raised, and the crowd cheered for the two knights who bravely galloped their horses in a quick motion to one another.

Many of the sounds of festivities soon died out however, and were quickly replaced with the screams of shock and terror as Clegane's lance pierced itself through Hugh's gorget, impaling him through the neck. The little knight of the Vale fell quickly off his horse, but he did not stand up as many others did before him when unseated. He merely choked and bled, scrapping at the wood and timber impaled deep into his throat. It was a quick death all things considered, but no doubt a painful one. Roland was among the few who did not look away or scream in shock. The two squires stood beside him, their mouths agape, this young man who they only looked at as nothing more than a 'Whoreson' quickly found himself being stared at in only pity and despair by the boys.

In the seats at the very centre of the jousting grounds, the nobles and lords could only stare in disbelief themselves. He could see the Hand and King both with anger in their eyes, with all others simply sitting in silence. They wanted a good fight, what they got was a bloody death. 'That's nothing new when it comes to the Mountain. I'm surprised they didn't bar him from entering at all, though I'd pray for the poor soul who'd have to tell him that.'

"Go on then, drag the body out of there. Folks don't want a dead boy's corpse to ruin their fun." he tapped Uther on the shoulder and pointed both boys towards the grounds. They were the closest servants there currently, at least, the ones that weren't taking the Mountains lance and horse from him.

They did so without questioning, running over to Hugh's dead body and dragging it boy by both head and feet out of the tourney grounds. It seemed they did not have problems with corpses at least, or rather, just the ones they couldn't recognise. One last brief look at the boy's lifeless body showed Roland a red and bloated face, blood protruding from both mouth and nose, his eyes wet, no doubt from weeping due to the pain.

'You always wanted to be a knight boy, well, you got your wish.'

The joust was put on temporary hold for a brief window and during that time Cregan found himself wandering around all of them many pavilions and open dirt roads that circled around the tourney's territory. The last match had, to put it lightly, put him in a rather terrible mood. A young man's life, just a bit older than him, snuffed out in that very instance. Had it been a quick death, he might have been less disturbed, but it was the look on his face that irked him the most.

Cregan never could handle death very well, it was one of the aspects of life he had yet come to terms with, despite being around it for so long. Life springs and withers away, that is the cycle that all things follow, no matter what. It did not stop him from thinking of how cruel a fate that must have been though, and just when it had stopped, the pain in the back of his head came back at lightning pace, making it unbearable to be in that crowd of horrified onlookers.

The walk had done him as much good as it could, letting him process the whole debacle that had just happened. It didn't help much mind you, but it was something. The horns soon began to blare once again, and the standards were raised to begin the tourney anew. On his way back however, he ran into some familiar faces.

"Ah, would you look at that Tor, the prodigal prince-to-be has graced us with his presence." Willy spoke in a sarcastic tone.

"I can't seem to escape you two it seems." he greeted Willy and Tor, who were both busy sitting beside a large barrel seemingly peeling potatoes.

"Come now m'lord, you've always been fond of us. Who else can make you get out of your room every morning not looking like an average coal boy?" Willy retorted, he looked to be enjoying the newfound company. Tor never was much one for conversation, even with Willy.

"Yes, and pray tell Willard why in Seven Hells you and Tor here are peeling potatoes whilst there is a tournament currently happening?"

The two looked at one another before sighing. "Jory caught us drinking whilst on duty." Willy explained.

"And?"

"And… well, in his words, 'Gambling away what little we were worth'."

"Figures then, you two are lucky you weren't flogged. And knowing you this wasn't Tor's idea. Well, I'll not interrupt your important work then, those potatoes need to be peeled. I have to return to the stands before my father gets worried."

"Don't let us interrupt you, Your Grace. Be sure to stop your sister from fawning too much over all the knights in bright and shiny armor. The princeling just might get jealous." Willy waved away Cregan, his small carving knife still in hand.

"Goodbye m'lord." Tor waved as well.

'I don't think there will be much fawning by anyone, least of all after what had just happened.' Cregan thought to himself, what little reprieve his chat with the two gave quickly became mellowed out with the pain in his head returning, or rather, him becoming aware of it again.

"Where were you?" his father was quick to ask as he went down the steps towards his seat.

"I needed to take a walk, especially after that…" Cregan responded simply.

"I don't blame you son, but next time tell me. There was enough panic as it was, I didn't need to think you ran off somewhere as well."

"Yes father…"

Taking his seat beside Sansa, the horns began blaring once more. He noticed all the blood and loose scraps of wood had either been washed away or removed. He could see it in his sister's eyes, that image will stay with her for a good while. Thinking back on it all, this event quickly turned sour after starting off so well, at least for the many people watching. Cheers and singing, bravado and music, it filled the air of the capitol. Sansa absolutely adored it all, she watched each bout with intensity, picking a new knight to fawn over each time. In her eyes it must have been a scene straight out of a fairy tale. For some time, even Cregan could find enjoyment, if only from looking at his twins constant reactions. But reality soon hit everyone on the tourney grounds, and the mood was noticeably less lively. Still, the crowds moved on, and soon the announcement from the King came to bring about the new set of participants.

"Up next, Ser Loras Tyrell, of Highgarden!"

As if in a blink of an eye, the crowds breathed new life onto the tourney, exploding in a roar of screams and cheering in welcoming the famous Knight of Flowers. Adorned in his signature silver armor decorated with twining black vines and sapphires. On his left arm was the Tyrell's large green shield, painted on it were three golden roses, Loras' own coat of arms signifying his status as the third Tyrell son. A bit too showy for Cregan's own tastes, yet when it came to showmanship, there was a reason as to why Loras became Westeros' most popular knight.

Striding up towards his position, women from across all the tourney grounds grew nearly feral from their proselytizing of the Knight of Flowers, while the more younger boys in the crowd shared in that excitement, though obviously for very different reasons.

"And his opponent," the announcer could barely be heard, yet he persisted ever more, "Ser Meryn Trant, of the Kingsguard!"

There was nowhere near enough celebration for Loras' opponent, as expected.

'Ser Meryn,' Myrcella's voice popped into his head for a moment, 'He's alright I suppose. Mother seems to trust him, and uncle Jaime once told me he's a good fighter. But he also told me I shouldn't really be near him a lot…'

As the two knights charged and lowered their lances at one another, there was little doubt at how it would end. A moment of anticipation, and a sudden crash. Both lances clashed violently into one another's shields. As if in unison, he could almost feel both his and Sansa's hearts skip a beat, but for very different reasons. Ser Meryn laid unseated in an instant, with Loras riding on triumphantly. The sounds of victory filled the air, and whatever memory of Ser Hugh's death quickly became forgotten in the minds of near everyone, save for a few.

In the midst of celebrations and jubilation, Loras rode up to their stands, pulling off his ornate helmet to reveal those same golden brown eyes and mass of curls that decorated his head. He remembered a time when Margaery had once tried to replicate Loras' hair on Cregan, it didn't work very well, as they both soon found out.

"For the lady. May its beauty be second only to your own." a red rose appeared in Loras' gauntlet as he reached out and handed it to Sansa. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, it was only common courtesy for her to accept it, yet seeing it in her eyes, this could have been the start of yet another one of her infatuations.

"Still can't pass up the opportunity to be a charmer for the ladies I see." Cregan could not hold himself back from commenting. Loras only smiled at the Stark boys words.

"A knight should be as gallant with the people around him as he is on the battlefield. I thought I taught you that." he replied as elegantly as any noble son would, with as much of the bravado as such a response would entail.

"Garlan always was the better tutor." Cregan replied simply, causing a chuckle from the Knight of Flowers as he rode off, satisfied with his victory yet immediately preparing for the next bout.

Sansa's face told it all, yet Cregan never was one for subtlety, especially when it came to her. Frankly, neither was she. "Jealousy is often an ugly emotion, dear sister. Especially when it comes to a woman's thoughts of a man."

"What?! No, I didn't… I didn't-... I didn't!"

"It's fine Sansa. Not like you're the first woman to fall for him, and trust me when I say you're definitely not going to be the last. When this whole affair is over we can go and talk to him in his tent."

"Wait, really?! Can I come too?!" Bran popped up from behind Cregan in almost an instant. He's no doubt heard countless tales about Loras as well.

"I see no reason why not, I had actually intended to do so before the jousts began, but simply didn't have the time."

"You don't… You don't have to do that brother, really. I know you two are close but I'm sure Ser Loras values his privacy a bit more-" he could practically hear Sansa's regret as she continued to speak, her sense of lady-like posturing overbearing any sense of want she had, well not really, but it was a fine attempt at it.

"You hounded me for weeks when I came back to Winterfell about the man, well now you have the chance to actually meet him, and not only that, but talk to him. Just… remember that you are still betrothed, dear sister."

"Oh shut up."

With another blaring of the horns, the standards were raised again and the announcer came forth to call the next match. "Facing off against the previous victor, Ser Loras Tyrell, of Highgarden…"

"... Ser Roland Storm, of the Kingsguard!"

With his armor fitted, his saddle strapped, and both his shield and lance handed over. Both of his newly found acquaintances gave their good luck to the Knight. "Tell me then lads, how much of a chance do you think I have against that dandy prick?"

"On a scale… well, we've both bet against you Ser." Uther responded.

"Good as odds as any I say. Do me one thing though boys." the two squires perked up for a moment. "If I die, make sure to strangle the son of a bitch that does me in so I can pummel him in whatever Hell I end up in."

"Will do Ser." Luther spoke with as much confidence as a young squire could muster. If there was anyone that could do it honestly, it was probably the bigger lad of the two.

The knights rode into their position. Yvona neighed, the girl was getting impatient. She was a war horse first and foremost, but Roland had long since taught her to be more patient when it came to these things. Though much more suited to actual battle, she eventually had gotten herself used to these kinds of events, acting in near perfect unison with her rider. It was all Roland could ever ask of the animal in all honesty.

The moment the horns sounded off they both kicked their spurs into motion and the horses began galloping away, with the Tyrell's horse gaining the upper hand in speed and momentum it would seem. Still, if there was anything he had learned from all these years of being Robert's bodyguard, it was how to be good at Tourney's. A simple trick that most all knights knew, but rarely used in effect. Frankly, it was seen as unsportsmanlike, but Roland could not care less about the opinions of some pompous blue-bloods and their little definitions.

Their lances came closer and closer to each other's shields. Wait for the right moment, till the opening is there. Upon the halfway point where their lances met, Roland ducked under, sliding himself to the sides and avoiding the Tyrell's lance. With as much strength as he could muster in his arms he lunged it forward, hitting the Knight of Flowers' shield dead on. Usually, just the sheer speed of the impact was enough to take out most jousters, must some had gotten so used to their tourney fighting that they knew of ways to brace themselves for the impact in such a way that it looked as if it did not even affect them. Just from looking at his riding style Roland could see that the Tyrell boy was one such knight.

With a thunderous crack his lance started to splinter and break away, yet through it all the crowds cheers soon came to a silent halt, replaced with the realization that Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, had been defeated in his first tilt. With a loud thud, the knight's body hit the ground as he flew off his horse. There seemed to be no other danger than that however, as the Tyrell quickly got back on his feet, if a bit dazed. When the victory was announced, it was clear that the crowd had no way of knowing how to react.

Few cheered, but those who did had done so more out of surprise than anything, and soon more joined in. Up on the stands Roland saw through his visors slits the King, laughing his ass off, face red at the fact that Roland had managed to do something even the Kingslayer himself failed at. Even the Queen looked to be a bit impressed at the performance, giving a polite clap at it all. It must have been hard for young Loras Tyrell, standing in the middle of the grounds, his fine silver armour now stained by dirt, crowds cheering for someone that wasn't him. He didn't quite cut the knightly figure he once did now that he was off his horse with dirt between his plates.

Still, Roland wasn't cruel. He rode up to the Tyrell boy and unclasped one of his gauntlets, taking it off to shake the boy's hand. As he reached his hand towards him, the Tyrell quickly shook it with his own un-armored hand. "Well fought Ser…" he commemorated nobly, it seemed at least the boy was not a sore loser, his furrowed brow replaced with a sad yet content smile. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Roland." he answered simply. 'You would think he would have heard it with the announcement. Too caught up in his own heroic tales up in that pretty little head?'

"You do me a great honor then Ser Roland, come the finals I fully expect you to win this tourney, and I shall be among those cheering for your victory." Loras spoke rather gallantly and with a flowery language few knights actually used. Yet there was still some cocksure nature and arrogance in his words, he'd grown used to hearing it ever since he had come to King's Landing, hell he'd been around it near all his life. Being a bastard is an assurance of that. It made sense however, he was from the Reach, and over there chivalry is as important as food to them. So it was no wonder he had been somewhat of a good sport about this.

He had expected more of a negative response from the crowd. It was not everyday that the famous and loved Knight of Flowers was taken down by some lowly Kingsguard knight no-one had ever even heard of. Still, his little show of sportsmanship, apart from the trick he pulled during the joust, earned him the favor of the crowd, and, it seemed, the respect of the Knight of Flowers.

Riding up back to his two squires, they both looked at him with begrudging respect yet firm disappointment. "Sorry lads, I've a penchant for disappointing those that bet against me."

The next few bouts proceeded as many in the crowd expected. With Loras now gone, they found their new champion in Roland. It had been one of the few times where people were actually beginning to cheer for him, rather than against. In his next few matches, he faced off against his other brothers in the Kingsguard, unseating both Ser Arys, through multiple tilts, and Ser Boros in a single one. How Blount managed to even get this far was beyond him.

After them came Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. Dondarrion was a fine knight, and a good fighter in many respects. His tendency of a clean and fair fight however made him a good target for Roland's strategy of actually moving away from his opponents lance and attacking whilst they were closer, ending that bout quickly. Thoros was a much tougher opponent to deal with, he was a rather large pain in the ass when it came to melee's, using his flaming sword to scare away the horses, fortunately for him however the bastard did not know how to set his lance ablaze so there was no trickery happening there. Still that did not mean it was easy. Thoros actually attempted Roland's own strategy on him, yet it was clear he only did it in an attempt to copy Roland, rather than train for it. After 3 tilts both men ended the match in a draw, and would go on to the semi-finals.

The semi-finals of the tourney, however, would prove to be a rather difficult affair. As there was not one, but two Clegane brothers participating, and Roland just had to square up against the one he had no wish to fight.

"In the semi-finals, Ser Gregor Clegane, of Clegane's Keep, shall face off against the runner-up, Ser Roland Storm, of the Kingsguard!"

He debated simply throwing the match right then and there. He had no stakes in this tourney all things considered, and only a few would sneer at him refusing to take on the Mountain of all people. The most mocking would have likely come from Robert, and no doubt Trant and Blount would happily exclaim how they would have never surrendered. 'To hell with it all, just to shut those two up I'd go against the Stranger himself.'

They both rode in to their respective sides of the jousting grounds. Him, adorned in the white cloak and silver plate of the Kingsguard, and Clegane, with his towering set of jet black armor decorated with a tabard of his House. There would be no tilts or second chances in this round, he knew very well that any slip-up would be of use to the Mountain, and would aid in Roland's quick and painful demise.

The horns blew, the standards unfurled, and both men spurred their horses to charge. The closer he got to his overwhelming opponent, the more time seemed to slow down in front of him. He had used this tactic twice now, once against Tyrell, and another time against Dondarrion. In the time it took him to charge towards Clegane, he wondered if he had enough luck that it would work a third time. No, Clegane was a brute, a monster, but he was not devoid of intelligence, he could already see it in the giants shoulders that the Mountain intended to take on the full brunt of Roland's charge, and if there was anyone who could withstand it, it was him. He had to think smarter, and just in the moment when their lances interlocked. He spotted his chance. Leaving his gorget purposefully exposed, Clegane clearly took the bait. Swinging his head to the sides, the lance just narrowly missed the Kingsguards head, yet the same could not be said for Clegane.

A powerful crack was once more heard from Roland's lance, this time not on his opponents shield, but straight towards the man's helmet. The impact seemed to be so much that Clegane's grip over both his lance and shield immediately loosened as he tried to grab for the reins of his horse. It proved fruitless however as Clegane's horse continued charging, dragging the Mountain along by the virtue of one of his feet having gotten stuck on the saddle. It was a clear elimination.

The crowd burst into open applause. Singing, whistles, even full on screeching could be heard as men, women and children threw their praise towards the Knight, figuratively and quite literally, as flowers began raining from the crowds.

'If only it could be like this all the time, I might just start liking being a knight.'

"HAHA!" the loud bellowing of the King could be heard amidst the crowd, when he looked over to the stands, Robert was practically red in the face, but clearly amused. The Queen however was much less so, to no shock. The Clegane's were her fathers dogs, and she didn't like it when someone else hurt her fathers belongings.

"SWORD!" The cheers were quickly cut off by the Mountain's cry, seems he finally untied himself from his little predicament, but looked none too happy about it. His squire handed him the massive two-handed broadsword he was known for and Roland for a moment thought he was going to challenge him to a duel. If only it were so simple.

With a murderous cry and butcher-like precision, Clegane carved his horse's head in two, to the terror of the audience. His bloodlust did not seem to end with his horse however, as the Mountain's eyes soon pinpointed themselves to Roland and Clegane began fast approaching. Like a snarling beast ready to pounce he could hear the Mountain's heavy breathing.

Any Knight worth their salt would immediately have drawn their own blade and charged at the Mountain while still mounted, but he knew what that would have entailed, and he was not about to lead Yvona to her own death. Dismounting, he slapped the horse on her behind to flee. "Get!" Yvona ran away with haste, leaving both men without the advantage of a horse.

Unsheathing his blade, Roland thanked his past self for having the foresight to bring his weapon with him just in case something like this would have happened, but he never expected to be brought into a deathmatch against the Mountain no less. 'Anything to shut those two up I said… Gods curse me and my bravado.' he was not about to tuck tail and run now. Placing his heels to the dirt, he steadied himself for what would be a fight to the death.

Situations like this were not uncommon. A knight would lose a joust, yet would claim his opponent cheated. In response, the two would duel one another to prove with strength of arms who would be determined the victor, or would place the decision to the host of the tourney, the former of which being considered the more polite and honorable option. Usually this would be a cause for celebration amongst the spectators of the tourney, as they would see two knights battle it out one-on-one in something that wasn't a melee. This was not a case of it however. People screamed at both the Mountain and the King himself to stop this, Robert himself roared through the crowds pleads to end it now, yet none of it came through to Clegane, and frankly, neither did it to Roland. All eyes were on the Mountain.

With a lumbering overhead strike, Clegane blade nearly threw itself toward the ground where Roland stood. Taking a step to the right, he dodged the blade as it lodged itself deep into the sand. Had he been hit by it, there was no doubt it would have split him in two. Taking a hit with his plate armor usually kept him safe in battles for the most part, but all rules were thrown out the window when fighting such a monster. One hit from the sword will ruin him. 'Best not to let him even strike then.' he thought, before going on the offensive.

A flurry of strikes descended upon the mountain as he struggled to dislodge the blade from the ground, none affected him in the slightest. His armor, twice as thick and ten times the weight of any regular plate, was made with the express intent to shield even someone like Gregor Clegane from all harm. Yet like all armor, there were cracks, holes Roland could use and exploit to his advantage. There was no time to double-down on said advantages however as Clegane dislodged the massive broadsword from the ground and began swinging once more.

Massive cleaving strikes were Clegane's main strategy, and in battle he could only imagine how devastating they truly were. Yet one-on-one, Roland still stood a chance. Dancing around the massive broadsword, he dodged and side-stepped his way behind Clegane. He noticed something however, a dagger on his belt, larger than any knife he had seen, though in those trunks for arms, this was most likely as small as it could get.

His little barrage seemed to tire Gregor out, so seizing the opportunity, Roland grabbed the knife from his belt and thrust it towards the back of the bastard's knee. The wet crunching sound of metal hitting flesh was clear for him to hear, and if not, it was Clegane's cry of pain that showed the audience he had been hurt.

Barely even flinching however, the Mountain soon retaliated with his own attack. His massive arm was sent hurling backwards to strike Roland. One hit and it would most likely have decapitated him, but thankfully he was not the one who was hit in the head by a lance, and thus could move out of the way just in time. Now wounded and obviously exhausted, Roland took a few steps back away from his opponent and would-be killer.

"Come on you fat, putrid son of a whore… You want me, I'M RIGHT HERE!" he taunted the giant, unclasping the pins on his shoulders holding the white cloak behind his back. As it fell to the ground, so too did the Mountain rise to his feet. Dragging the wounded leg a full half-turn before facing Roland again, the Mountain now held his broadsword with both arms. It seemed he was determined to end it.

There was a barrier both were stuck in now, a mental one. The noises and effects of the outside world meant practically nothing, sounds turned muffled, background blurry, everyone else nothing but part of the scenery. Clegane was focused, he didn't attack with rage any more, taking a moment to actually anticipate his opponents moves. They circled around one another, and for once, he was actually surprised at how patient his opponent was being. That wouldn't do.

"What's wrong Clegane, the moment you fight something that can hit back you piss yourself? Or has one of those those girls you like raping finally up and cut your cock and balls off?" he taunted his opponent. To be rather honest, Roland was fairly disappointed in himself to stoop to such basic insults, this was a proper duel, not a bar fight. Yet in such times of quick thinking, he didn't have the luxury of thinking up anything more sophisticated. More complicated and he even feared the Mountain would become confused at the taunts.

They did their job well enough however, and once more the Mountain began charging at him. With a primal roar he lifted the broadsword overhead and brought it down upon Roland, it was only after his first step with the leg Roland had wounded did his little attack fail. The knife still lodged in the back of the knee, Clegane found his leg failing him, thus causing the giant to begin stumbling to his knees.

Taking the opportunity once more, Roland grabbed the blade of his sword with both hands and began pummeling his opponent's helmet with the butt end of the hilt. First two strikes with the pommel directly to the back of his head, then another with the guard that managed to land to his sides. Though not fully paying attention to them, he could still hear the crowds fear-fueled pleads soon turning into enjoyment as they saw a man so hated getting beaten down by their new champion.

Yet, Roland was bound to eventually make a mistake. No matter how careful he was, the Kingsguard still took too many chances when striking down his opponents helm. Fighting through the pain, Clegane moved his head out of the way of Roland's fourth strike, causing the helm to fall off. In that split second, he managed to grab at Roland's legs, pushing them towards him and causing him to fall to the ground.

Disoriented but not fully dazed, Roland was quick to react when Clegane pulled the dagger out of his leg and thrusted it towards him. Rolling out of the way of the attack, he did his best to gain distance from his opponent. Thanking every God that ever existed that he unclasped his cloak before this, otherwise it would have been the death of him.

That did not stop Gregor however, the moment the dagger had hit the ground he let go of it and jumped towards Roland, who was on his knees trying to get up at that point. Thick, iron hands clasped themselves around Rolands neck before he could even react. The Mountain's face was right there in front of him, foaming blood at the mouth like a wild dog. He could feel his neck being crushed, the air refusing to enter into his lungs. He had less than a moment to react to this and break free, lest he would die in an instant.

Clegane was not the only one who carried a dagger on his belt. Reaching behind his back, he pulled a much smaller knife than the one Clegan had and stabbed at him in the shoulders. The proper response would have been to go for the head immediately, but Roland never intended on killing him, however un-mutual that feeling was as Clegane lifted him off the ground and up in the air, only worsening the iron grip he had on his neck. The knife to his left shoulder caused Clegane to loosen his grip by only a fraction, yet it was all Roland needed for one last ditch effort. His armored hand crunched into a fist and cocked it back for all to see. With blind fury, he beat into Clegane's face, the metal slowly beginning to dent itself into Roland's hand. He could feel the bones in his knuckles breaking with each time his fist connected, yet that did not stop him. A man such as Gregor had no need to worry about flesh hitting flesh against him, but when it came to an armored gauntlet, that was a far different story. His teeth were sent flying, his nose quickly broken, skin turning blue from the hits, his left eye became bloodshot. Slowly, he felt the grip loosening further, but in the end, it was Roland's own strength that failed him. Every subsequent hit that followed grew weaker, and he could feel his consciousness leaving him the more time passed without any air coming into his lungs.

The world around him grew dark, his potential final sight in life being the monster that was choking him out. In the distance, he could hear a man roaring, muffled yet somewhat distinguishable. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, even as he was dying.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" Robert Baratheon bellowed, and in his head, he was somewhat glad that this could have been the last thing he heard.

'Sorry Robert, looks like you'll have to find a new fool to be your bodyguard.'

Just as he felt the grip tighten for one last time, a shock towards the ground and quick burst of air flung him back to life. Coughing and reaching out to the nothingness the soon inhabited the space around him. Looking up at what happened, he saw no other than the Hound, his mailed fist descending like a blessing from the Seven upon the Mountain's face, causing the giant to go flying.

It wasn't long before the Mountain got back up on his feet, practically snarling and ready to keep fighting until someone put him down like the mad dog he is. The intervention of Sandor Clegane came as a shock to Roland, yet it was the man who came with him that proved an even greater surprise. Loras Tyrell stood in-between the exasperated Roland and feral Mountain. Though not in his armor anymore, he could have easily recognized him by the mop of brown hair on his head and the finely woven green tunic laced with golden vines on it. With both hands, the Knight of Flowers held up Clegane's shield against him, forming a figurative wall between him and Roland. When Sandor stood beside the Knight, the Mountain had to take a pause and truly think if this fight was worth continuing.

"ENOUGH!" the King bellowed once more, and all sound dropped, leaving silence in its wake. The Stag King still commanded some authority within the Capital.

The Mountain, miraculously, seemed to calm down, at least somewhat. Seeing the futility in continued disobedience, even Gregor Clegane was not mad enough to go against the King any further. Huffing and spitting away a mouthful of blood and broken teeth, he threw his broadsword to the ground and walked away. He'll leave the capital alive no doubt, but one could shudder the fate of those he would meet on the way back home.

Extending his hand to help Roland back on his feet, Loras dropped the Mountain's massive shield and assisted the Kingsguard, being careful not to grab the clearly broken right hand.

"Well well Tyrell, it seems you have more fight in you than I originally thought." Roland said through bated breaths before turning to the Hound, who was still staring at his older brother walking away. "And you, Sandor. I never thought I'd say this Clegane… but thank you. Seems you two have saved my life."

"We are knights, are we not? It is our duty to help those in danger." Loras spoke with that same flowery language he did before, yet this time with much less arrogance in his tone, which made Roland only appreciate it more now.

"I'm no knight, boy." Sandor responded with a scowl.

"Oh will you fucking shut it Clegane, you're ruining the moment." Roland said.

The crowd was still silent, unaware of how to process the events that had just transpired. Even Robert looked as though he didn't have a clue of what was coming next. 'Welp, time to come to the rescue yet again.' Roland thought, sighing and walking in between his two saviors.

"Your Grace, I believe we have a clear winner here!" he exclaimed to the King in the stands, and more importantly to the crowd of onlookers as well. "In fact, I believe it would be more quaint to say we have winners!" With his broken hand, Roland made sure to be careful when pushing the Tyrell boy's own arm up, yet he caught on fairly quickly. "The Knight of Flowers!" he announced to the crowd, before raising the arm of the man to his left, "And the Hound!"

The whole tourney grounds erupted into cheers as the horns sounded off once more. The people always did like a good hero's story. It just so happened that this time it would not be him that turned out to be at the center of it, but rather the crowd favorite once more achieved the attention he was known for. Loras was used to this kind of fanfare, but Roland could see from his face that this time it hit rather differently. And for once in his life, it seemed Sandor Clegane had earned the love of the people, no matter how much he pretended to hate it.

Author's Note:

Heya Gamers, just a quick little AN from me. First of all I would once again like to thank you all for the support of this story's comeback. With less than 10 chapters its gained 180 follows and 130 favorites. I had long since abandoned the concept of this story 2 years ago, but always intended to go back to it when I deemed myself "ready" enough to rewrite it. Alongside that I appreciate all the kind words, praise, and criticisms as well. This story is obviously taking a much longer approach than the previous one did when it comes to going through the contents of the books and show however you can see that as more time goes on, there shall be much bigger divergences. Eventually, I assure you that we will be changing course incredibly from the canon series' path, in a way I think is fairly original.

Other than thanks I also wanted to announce that I have a discord server for Writers, named the Writer's Den... for obvious reasons! (I'm not very creative shut up). That you can go to through this link, if FF allows me to use it; /qp9bW4JpuM

Alternatively, you can find the link of it on my FF profile. Join us if you want to have story ideas of your own, if you like reading stories in general, or if you want updates on any of my stories or other works.