The next day the final matches began. First the Hound unhorsed Jaime, and then Ser Loras Tyrell rode against Gregor Clegane. Despite Gregor's size, Loras was able to knock him off easily. But Gregor got mad, and he jumped up and killed Loras's horse with his sword. Then he started trying to kill Loras. But the Hound ran into the ring with his own sword and started fighting his brother.
It was the king's voice that put an end to it. "STOP THIS MADNESS!" Robert boomed. "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
The Clegane brothers looked around. King Robert and twenty knights were surrounding them, swords drawn. Reluctantly they lowered their own swords.
Wordlessly, Gregor turned and strode off the field. "Let him go," said Robert, and as quickly as that, it was over.
"Is the Hound the champion now?" Meg asked Peter, up in the stands.
"No," he told her. "There will be one final joust between the Hound an' the Knight of Flowers."
But he was wrong. Loras Tyrell walked up to the Hound. "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser."
"I am no ser," the Hound replied, but he took the victory, and the champion's purse, and for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons.
Next day Peter went to another council meeting, and Varys had another piece of news. "Daenerys Targaryen is now pregnant!"
"Okay, that's it," said Robert. "We have to kill her."
"Come on, Robert," Peter pleaded. "Listen to what you're sayin'. You're talkin' about murderin' a child!"
"The whore is pregnant!" Robert slammed his fist down on the arm of his Iron Throne, accidentally pricking himself on one of the swords, but he didn't even notice the bleeding. "I warned you this would happen, Peter. Back in Chapter 8, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you'll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both. Is that plain enough for you?"
The other counsellors were all doing their best to pretend they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than Peter was. Peter had seldom felt quite so alone. "If you kill her, you'll be no better than Aerys. What did we fight the war for? To put an end to the murder of children, right?"
"To put an end to Targaryens!" the king growled.
"She must be killed," his brother Renly declared.
"We have no choice," murmured Varys. "Sadly, sadly…"
"Ffflsngslsjhlsgjeg!" said Grand Maester Pycelle, apparently agreeing with them.
"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," Quagmire said. "Kiss her and be done with it. A steel kiss. All right!"
"On the island of Bravos there is a secret society called the Faceless Men that charges for assassinations," said Varys.
"Do you have any idea how costly they are?" complained Quagmire. "You could hire an army of common sellswords for half the price, and that's for a merchant. I don't dare think what they might ask for a princess."
"I won't be part of this," Peter said.
Robert pointed an angry finger at him. "You are the king's Hand, Lord Griffin. You will do as command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will."
"I wish him every success." Peter pulled off his badge and threw it on the floor.
Robert's face was purple. "Out," he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!"