...

He let out a grunt as he walked through the shit-stained road, the wary Stark guards following behind him as they failed to hide their gawking at the numerous banners around them.

Leave it to Robert Baratheon to have a freakin' tourney in secret prepared for their return. He was just glad he had his royal shit-head of a charge back in the Red Keep and out of trouble.

Stopping on his feet, the Mud Gate in the distance, he turned a sneer towards the bemused soldiers behind him.

"This is where I lost sight of him." He grumbled.

He wasn't sure why the King himself had asked him to accompany the mad fucker, nor was it his place to question orders.

He was just pissed off he'd lost sight of the blasted dick almost five minutes after entering the city. After which he'd just headed towards a nearby tavern for a few drinks before the fuckers around him had come and interrupted him, asking for the fucker he'd lost because the fucking Hand was looking for him.

His eyes briefly narrowed as he heard the sound of the commotion, his gaze turning around towards the source of the noise as he started walking through the multitude of camps before him- Banners of the lords they belonged to flying high, even if none of the high-born pricks stayed in them. Their knights were either too broke or too cheap to bother with paying for a stay in the city's admittedly expensive lodgings- Well, expensive if they didn't want to spend time looking at the desolate fuckers that lived in the poorer parts at any rate.

"If I had to guess- He's over there." He snorted, intent on turning back and letting the fuckers look for him themselves before his eyes narrowed at one particular banner he'd caught sight of.

Judging by the looks on the guard captain's face, he recognized it as well.

"Isn't that..?" He didn't bother hearing the rest as he grit his teeth and sped up towards it, his anger briefly filling him at the thought of what he might find-

When the sound of fighting grew louder with every step, as the banners slowly whittled down in number, a scowl rapidly filled up his face.

He wasn't getting caught dead without evidence- 'Cos that was his fucking house banner rapidly getting closer.

"Hound!" A sword was quickly drawn behind him as he turned a sneer towards the captain himself. Said man was very wary as he stared at him, hard.

"Lord Stark wants him back in one piece..." The man remarked as his fellows hovered their hands over their hilts, while the captain's eyes momentarily went towards the banner directly behind him.

He let out a snort at the words.

"I ain't the Clegane you gotta worry about right now." He responded before turning again as he walked further into the camp itself. His gaze set on the large tent set up ahead.

Oh, he wasn't surprised to see his banner whatsoever- The moment he'd walked in, he'd figured his psychotic brother was already here.

He never could resist a tourney- It was practically the only thing that he showed up to early if only to get a good whiff of whichever poor fuckers he was probably going to kill.

Still, that didn't prepare him for the sight that awaited him- there wasn't any of Gregor's usual company stationed outside the massive tent, though there was a handful of very... Worried? Timid? Scared squires... Still the pool of blood coming out of the tent wasn't a good sign that the person the fucking King had asked him to accompany was still alive.

Warily, he stepped over the dead bodies of his brother's companions as he walked in, and practically felt his jaw drop at what awaited him.

Surrounded by the cleaved bodies of his brother's companions, the tell-tale sign of his brother's handiwork at that, his eyes widened at the sight of his brother on his knees, a pool of blood around his eyes, and... Stumps. Both of his hands, one clasping hold of his two-hander on the ground beside him.

He blinked a few times, his presence finally noticed by the fucker responsible, the man's bloody dagger idly held by the same hand he was using to scratch the back of his head.

His gaze momentarily lowered itself towards the pool of blood surrounding his brother's... Well, where his dick was supposed to be.

He'd never thought he'd see the day where he'd look there with a fucking smile on his face.

Though... Judging by the blood on the clothing itself, he doubted there was anything hidden inside them, anymore.

"Hmm? Sandor!" The fucker grinned as he turned on the spot. "What, you wanna do the honors?" The fucker questioned, his empty hand idly waving Gregor's delirious head around. "Pretty sure he's still kicking!" The fucker deadpanned, idly pointing towards his brother's knees, the only thing holding him up, with his dagger, before his gaze slowly traveled towards the speechless Stark guards around them, as a sheepish expression filled his face.

"He started it!" The man deadpanned. "Like, just ask anyone..." The man's gaze slowly fell towards his brother's dead companion. "Outside?"

He blinked a few times as he took a few careful steps inside, his gaze taking the fucker as he shrugged and promptly let go of Gregor's head, the giant man falling backwards to the ground with a thud, his very rapid breathing the only sign he was still alive, even as he bled out.

"I didn't kill his friends-" He paused frowning- "I might've used them as meat shields- But I didn't kill 'em." The man deadpanned again.

He ignored the man's drivel as he walked up towards his brother's wheezing form. And for perhaps the first time in a long while, he let out a genuine laugh, his mind ignoring the wary Stark guards as they calmly told the fucker the Hand was looking for him.

"Bugger." The man deadpanned as he walked past him, intent on leaving him with his brother's soon-to-be corpse, only to stop as Sandor lashed a hand out towards his shoulder, the other's gaze pinning him with a bemused look.

"Drinks, whores, whatever you're into, it's on me tonight." He remarked out, his tone light, as he turned around on the spot, and left his brother to his death.

It didn't take very long before he breathed his last.

"Cool." The man shrugged as he idly pocketed the bloody dagger. "Think ole' Rob's going to execute me for this?"

He doubted it.

"What for? My brother had an accident." He deadpanned towards him, before gracing the Stark guards with a pinning look. "Ain't that right? He fell right on his own bloody sword." He paused, his good cheer very hard to hide. "Happens all the time in these fucking tourneys."

After a brief tense moment, the wary Stark guards chose to shake their heads as they started on their way back.

"That's for Lord Stark to decide." One of them remarked, warily staring at the two of them, before gracing his brother's and his companion's corpses with a look. "Hard enough to believe one man did it anyway..." He muttered to himself.

He snorted it in response

"That's what I am afraid of." The other let out with a sigh.

...

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