Sansa Stark was in awe as she watched the knights displaying their incredible jousting talents.
Her heart had almost lept out of her chest while watching Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Ser Barristan Selmy go at each other.
It had been a tense affair, but in the end youth had conquered experience.
The mood had soured considerably when, by some terrible accident, Ser Hugh of the Vale had died, pierced in the neck by Ser Clegane's lance.
That event reminded the nothern girl that while jousting was a game, it was a knight's game. And to be a knight was to live and die by the sword. Or the lance, as it were.
"Look, Sansa! It's him! Jeyne Poole practically shouted, forgetting her manners in her excitement. "It's Lord Dondarrion, the Hawk of Blackhaven!" She said, staring at the knight with ill disguised adoration.
Sansa laughed at her friend excitement. Jeyne hadn't made her infatuation for the Stormlander a secret in the least. Ever since he waved in her general direction earlier this morning, she'd been smitten.
Thruth be told, the redhead could understand her friend's crush. The man was very easy on the eye.
Beric Dondarrion was tall and well built, unlike the other soft-bellied nobles she had seen seated in the audience. He stood taller than most, though he was by no mean a giant, easily dwarfed by the likes of the Hound and his mountain of a brother.
He had blue eyes, as soft and clear as a sunny sky. Coupled with a bright easy smile, it wasn't hard to see why the man had the whole gallery drooling.
But not her, however. Sansa Stark only had eye for her Joffrey. Yes, the Hawk was tall, his shoulders wide and his stature imposing, but he was no Joffrey.
Just because the knight seemed gallant and handsome... and was blessed with beautiful eyes one could get lost in... and had a dashing smile... and gold red hair groomed in a way to accentuate his features...
No. He could not compare to her Joffrey. Surely, he couldn't.
She was drawn out of her reverie by the cheers of the crowd. The Hawk was waving at the crowd before putting his helmet on before climbing on his horse, lance in hand.
His opponent was a hedge knight draped in a checkered cloak, bearing no crest Sansa could discern.
It was a quick list, if one could call it that. Lord Dondarrion made quick work of the hedge knight, taking him clean off his horse after breaking two lances on the poor man's shield.
The hedge knight, angry at his loss, went to take his anger on his poor destrier, only to be stopped by Lord Dondarrion himself.
"Stay you hand, ser! There is no shame in losing, my good man", he had said, his voice clear an deep, "but killing an innocent servant, I only see dishonor in that."
Jeyne had swooned at that. Even Sansa's heart had skipped a bit. A man so kind, so gallant he even cares about his opponent's horse.
Lord Dondarrion went on to face a Myrish knight named Thoros. When juxtaposed with his opponent, Sansa and Jeyne couldn't help but giggle at the fat balding man. The northern girls were quite aware of the rumors how he fought with a sword coated with wildfire, but in a list against Lord Dondarrion, this was less than a non factor.
She had lept to her feet, alongside most of the onlookers when the Essosi knight was summarily unhorsed and sent sprawling roughly to the ground.
In a show a of gallantry, the young knight had helped the older man to his feet. and after a short exchange of word, one could hear the boisterous laughter of Ser Thoros as he was led away by Beric.
"My lady", the brown haired Tyrell asked, as he bowed deeply, "Would you do me the honor of letting me carry your favor to battle?"
Where Beric could be called regal, dashing or handsome, Loras was what most would call a beautiful man. His hair was a mass of brown curls and ringlets, which tumbled over his large golden brown eyes. With high cheek bones and pouty lips, the man was gorgeous, and he knew it.
He even played it up, with his shiny armor adorned with precious stones, and golden roses decorating the crest of his helm. The whole assemble was caped off by a heavy woolen cloak upon wich were sown hundred of forget-me-not
Atop of his tall white stallion, the Knight of Roses seemed like he came out straight from a bard's song, ready to smite evil amd injustice.
Allyria Dayne was shocked speechless for a second by the sheer audacity. She quickly regained control of herself, however.
"Apologies my dear ser," she answered with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, "I'm afraid my heart and favor are already promised to my lord Dondarrion. It would be a severe breach of manners to give my blessing to the man who will shortly fall to my betrothed after all."
Loras Tyrell smiled at the cool yet diplomatic answer, no doubt expecting her answer, but enjoying ruflfing the woman's feathers.
"A broken should make a sound, my lady, for mine would be deafening. How blessed is Ser Beric to have a woman such as you, by his side." He made to turn his horse around, before addressing Allyria one last time, a coy smile on his lips.
" Though I ride not with your favor around my wrist, I will keep the beautiful sight of you etched in my memory."
The women who could hear the exchange where swooning and fanning their blushing faces, while cursing the Dayne lady's luck for having two of the most elligible men in the kingdom vying for her favor. Although it was clear for all to see that she only had eyes for the Hawk of Blackhaven. Thus only half of them wept.
"Careful how you speak of my betrothed Lord Tyrell", Beric said to the man, as the saluted each other before the list. "Kingdoms have burned over less."
"For a woman such as her? I have no doubt, Lord Dondarrion." Loras retorted, the coy smile never leaving his lips.
"How about a wager, then?" He continued.
"A wager, you say?" Beric asked, a slight edge to his voice.
"Aye. If I best you and subsequently win the tourney , you'll allow me to crown your lady my Queen of Love and Beauty."
Beric looked at the man in front of him, thinking of the most painful ways to end his pathetic joke of a life.
He took a deep breath, before speaking. " This a steep price, my lord." he said pensively, " Very well. However, if I win, I want your armor's weight in gold.
Loras laughed at that, a tittering, almost feminine laugh. "Then it is settled. Let us shake on it."
"And an apology to Lady Dayne, we're fighting for her honor, after all." Beric added before extending his hand.
After a quick handshake, the to knights made to go to their respective end of the field.
"Oh, lord Tyrell," Beric said, "Do forgive any excess I might show in our list. I am a man of burning passion.
However, it would break my heart for your lord father to have not one but two crippled sons."
The way the face of Loras morphed into an angry rictus, at that moment, was worth more than all the gold in the world.
A minute or so later, Loras Tyrell laid on his back, gazing at the beautiful blue sky up above, having beem brutally unhorsed by the man he had attempted to rile up.
" I suppose I did poke the bear" he thought as he gingerly went to get up, mindful not to injure himself more than he already eas at the moment.
"I expect you to be a man of your word, Lord Tyrell." Beric said, as he stood over the man, before offering a hand in help, heaving him to his feet.
"Of course," , Loras, wincing slightly at the knight's roughness. "We had a wager and my word is my bond."
"However you still have to win against Ser Gregor Clegane."
"Worry not about small details. Just concer yourself with the terms of our wager." Beric said, as he climbed back on his mare and urged her forward, saluting the crowd as he went by, cheers and applause answering him.
"What the fuck is that?" Beric asked himself as he watched the veritable mountain of a man he was about to face.
Mere words could not express the sheer absurdity that was Ser Gregor Clegane.
The Mountain that Rides truly lived up to his name. The man, if you could even call it that, stood at a staggering seven feet and eleven inches, with shoulder as wide as good sized boulder.
Looking at the arms as thick as small tree trunks and hands as big as face, Dondarrion decided then and there he didn't want anything to do with those things around his head.
"He weighs what? Twenty-eight, thirty stones? he asked himself, as the man climbed on top of his equally massive horse.
With a reagal wave, Beric greeted the crowd once more, who at this point had become full of ravenous supporters.
Men and women alike, highborn and small folks were cheering for the tall knight, who'd managed to capture their hearts with his skills and gallantry.
Riding their horses, both competitors made their way to the king's stand.
The new Hand, Lord Eddard Stark sat proudly, a hand shaped brooch seating on his white doublet which bore the gray direwolf of the Stark. "Well, I'll be damned" Beric had thought to himself when I'd first seen the man "He does look like Boromir."
Next to him sat the big man himself, Robert Baratheon. Needless to say, the man looked nothing like what Dondarrion imagined a king to be.
The man was fat, like linebackers tended to get when they retired. Though his garb was distinctly well made, and his golden crown sat on his brow, he looked more like a burn out man who'd checked out of duties a long time ago, drowning himself in alcohol and whores.
He looked sloshed already-his thick beard stained with beer, Beric noted with a small smirk on his face. His frame was still powerful, standing at six feet and a half, three inches taller than Beric himself, but his hard-earned muscles had long melted into lazy weight. Regarless, the knight had no issues believing that somewhere below all that fat and years of inactivity, the Demon of the Trident was still lurking, eager to bash skulls.
The woman next to the king would hardly agree with him however. Cersei Lannister looked annoyed at best at her dear husband's behavior.
Though the stunning woman sat with well practiced poise and grace, she couldn't quite hide the disdainful side eyes she would throw at the king's direction whenever he so much laughed to loudly or spilled some of his cup's content.
Now, Beric loved his Allyria Dayne, and believed her to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever been lucky to lay his eyes on. Cersei Lannister however was only two or three spots down that list, the second spot firmly held by Bellegere Otherys, Black Pearl of Braavos.
The Light of the West. The moniker truly did her justice. The way the light reflected off her blond made it look like liquid gold which only complemented her dazzling green eyes. Her perfectly symmetrical face with high cheekbones and pulpy lips only added to the absurd beauty gifted to her by the gods.
While Allyria looked etherial in her beauty, which tended to keep suitors at bay, the queen looked real enough for men to desire amd drool all over her.
"If only her physical beauty was matched with equally beautiful soul", he sighed.
Their eyes met for a moment, and the knight respectfully bowed his head, earning from the queen a smile that seemed genuine, albeit he could feel some coyness in her action.
"My King, my queen, my lord Hand", the Dondarrion greeted, bowing low, before looking at those he was adressing from where they sat. The Mountain followed suite, in a voice that sounded like stone breaking.
"Congratulations, ser Clegane, ser Dandarrion," Robert said in his booming voice adressing the audience than he was the knights, "You have fought with great skill and ferocity, bringing honor to your name and your Houses." he stopped, letting the crowd cheer.
"However, it is time to see who is the best jouster in the realm. Will it be The Mountain that rides, or the Hawk of Blackhaven?
Go now, knights of the Seven Kingdoms! Fight for your name! Fight for your honor, fight for your King!!"
This earned a rousing cheer from the spectators, most of them rising to their feet, moved by their king's word.
"Say what you want about him, the man knows how to work a crowd", Beric said, smiling to himself.
Beric nodded Clegane, "good luck, Ser Clegane."
The Mountain looked down at the little man talking to him.
He didn't answer, opting to spit on the ground, before leading his horse away.
"Well, fuck you too." Beric said, dejectedly, looking at the man leave. "That quite was rude." he concluded, idly wondering what sound mountains made when they went tumbling down
The world around him was dark, the light only shining through the thin slit oh his great helm.
He didn't need much anyway. He saw all he needed to see. His opponent, his horse, his shield and his lance.
His heart was pounding in his ears, beating the drums of war. his breath was calm, yet heavy, the adrenaline making him slightly nervous.
The flags are waved.
His horse started with a fast walk, then started trotting,until it was at a full galop, urged by its rider.
The knight observed his enemy, how he held the bulky lance tight his side, and how he leaned slightly forward, putting all his strength in the coming strike. The lance was aiming straight for his shin, the weapon umwavering despite the horse stacatto, showing the rider's polished skill.
He exhaled slowly, as they approached each oth er, dipping his ever so slightly, causing the weapon to glance off of his helmet. He extended his arm. His lance struck true, splintering into millions pieces.
Without skipping a bit, he raced down the list, grabbing a fresh lance, readying himself for a new clash.
They met again in the middle of the field. His opponent lance struck air just his own struck into the other man's breastplate, shattering and sending the other man flying.
Beric watched to corner of his eyes as Clegane hit the ground like four-hundred and twenty-six pound armored ragdoll.
The audience went wild, as the black sheep of the tourney went on and defeated his last opponent, who was fuming.
Beric was trobtting down his side of the list, and waving at the crowd, he was reveling in his victory, as flowers of all kinds were thrown at his direction.
The sound of a heavy sword chopping flesh was what brought back to reality.
"You!" a booming voice yelled behind him. Beric turned around only for his eyes to meet the gory mess that was once.
The man had somehow managed to decapitate his horse in one swing, and was now making his way towards Beric, no doubt aiming to do the same to his poor neck.
Beric quickly raced down the side of the list towards his squire Edric Dayne, who was carrying his weapons.
"Flanged maces", he said casually, though with a subtle hint of agency in his voice
"Of course, my lord, be careful." The boy answered, his blue eyes filled with worry.
Beric deftly got off his horse, before answering, ruffling the boy's platinum blond hair, something he know Edric hated.
"Don't worry, child. Just watch and learn" the knight, retorted a smile on his face, as he twirled the twin flanged maces as if they weighed nothing.
He didn't even dare think to fight the man using his sword. The mere idea of touching this man anywhere with his precious steel baby filled him nausea.
The maces will do just fine against armor anyway.
Like all of his weapons, they were specifically tailored to him, made with the best materials he could procure: valyrian steel, golden heart wood, dragonbone
Along his sword, bow, armor and a few other pieces, his weapons would be as expensive as a castle of a respectable size and quality.
He turned back to look at the still fuming Clegane, walking towards him with practiced ease, like a panther stalking her prey.
"If you want a duel, throw the gauntlet, Clegane. I'd be happy to humor you." Beric said, lazily resting one of the maces on his shoulder.
He spoke loudly, making sure the audience was privy of the events. Not responding, would be an attempt to the large man honour
With no hesitation, the larger man threw his riding glove at the offending pest, offcially requesting a duel.
The Mountain swung his sword, intent on finishing the fight in one blow.
Beric deftly got out the way, the sword missing him a by a mile. And thus the dance began in earnest. The Mountain for all his power, relied more on his inhuman strength than technique.
Next to the quick and precise Beric, he looked like a crippled bull, haphazardly kicking the air, hoping to hit something.
He decided to close the distance, dodging again under a wild swing. Using his momentum, he rolled between the giant legs before delivering a blow to the side of his left knee.
Clegane was truly seeing red, at this point. No matter how hard he tried, the bastard couldn't be touched. In the contrary, he was the one recieving all the punishment.
His left knee was screaming in agony, probably broken by his opponent's weapon. Yet he had no intention until the son of a bitch was nothing more than a smear under his boot.
Beric was privy of the giant's thoughts however, and using his anger, started landing with increasing efficacy, always targeting any joint unlucky enough to be in his vicinity.
The other knee went kaput, then it was the the left elbow. At one point, Beric dodged again, causing the heavy fighter to overextend. With well practiced moves, he locked the sword arm between the maces, redirecting all that energy into making Clegane fall.
As the large man hit the ground, Beric raised his left mace, before swinging it again into the man's left elbow.
If the sickening crunch didn't give it away, the way the elbow bent unnaturaly clearly indicated that it was broken.
The man let out a wail of agony, which was the sweet symphony Beric fought for.
"Do you yield, Clegane?" He asked, not really wanting to kill the man. Killing Clegane would be attracting the ire of one Tywin Lannister, which was the last thing he wanted.
But he didn't mind crippling him inthe short term.
With a cry of anger, the Mountain tried to spring to his feet, only for his face to meet a toe steel boot in the face, sending him back down to the ground.
"Yield, Clegane." Beric said, taunting. "I do no enjoy making animals suffer."
Another burst of energy cost Clegane his right wrist, this time, Beric unyielding weapon crashing down on it, shattering all the bones, from wrist to fingers.
Beric stepped behind the stumbling giant, putting him in a chokehold.
" Yield!" he yelled, more for the peanut gallery.
"I... do not.. lose fights!" the giant grunted, his mouth bloodied, as he attempted to free himself from the snare around his neck.
"Oh you poor idiot child", Beric laughed sadistically, as he started applying pressure, whispering in his opponent's ear. "If you think this was a fight, you haven't been paying attention.
It wasn't anger or rage that caused Gregor Clegane to struggle against oblivion.
It was fear. Crippling, cold, unyeilding, primal.
At that moment, he could finally relate to a common rat, what it felt when ensared by a snake. The terror you feel when you're at the mercy of your natural predator, with no hope of escaping.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't fight back with his broken arms. All he could was scream and flop about, his instinct of preservation long having overriden any bravado or honor the man had.
After twenty seconds or so, the giant fell into slumber, falling like a puppet with no strings, voiding his bowels.
The noise was loud and the smell was worse, causing Beric to quickly step away, lest he shared the same fate as his opponent.
The crowd let out a breath they did not know they were holding. The cheers started slow, as if nobody could believe what had just taken place.
The Mountain that rides had been bested, and Dondarrion had made it looked like a stroll in the garden.
Soon, the hurray and shouts of laudation became deafening. The man, was waving at the crowd, as he walked to his sleeping opponent. He picked his large discarded helmet and after making his way to the king's balcony, kneeled, and offered it to the fat king, as the healers quickly went about taking the giant to his tent.
The cheers only got louder at that, the cries of "Dondarrion" and "Hawkeye", drowning whatever the king had been saying.
"Boy!! This has to be the best damn fight I have seen in decades!" the sloshed king had scream in booming voice, laughing boisterously from his high chair.
"This is high praise coming from a warrior of renown such as yourself, my King." Beric responded, bowing .
"hahahaha! Do you hear that, Ned? I'm a warrior of renown. I was indeed, was I not ?"
"You are, your Grace. You are the Demon of the Trident after all." Stark responded, a small smirk on his face, humoring the his friend.
The queen rolled her eyes disdainfully.
"Now, what will you do, now that you are a rich man?" Robert asked, looking at the young knight.
Beric smirked. "I'm going to win the archery competition, and then I'm going to win the melee, Your Grace."
Robert laugh in that loud laugh of his, clapping the His hand of the back, causing him to spill his wine. "The boy has balls bigger than knights twice his age."
"Better than you have tried, Lord Beric Dondarrion. It has simply never been done." The soft voice of the Queen caught everyone by surprise. Cersei Lannister was not known for even caring to acknowledge those she deemed below her interest .
Beric smiled, amused by her subtle challenge. "With all due respect, your Grace, you have never met a man like me.".
"My lady", Beric said, bowing from his horse,"would you do me the honor of being my Queen of Love and Beauty?
Despite the deep blush creeping up her cheeks, Allyria somehow managed to maintain her composure.
"Always, my lord", she answered, bowing her head, Beric resting a beautiful crown of purple roses on her brow.
The watchers applauded amidst a undercurrent of "awwws", some feeling slightly uncomfortable at the over display of affectiom, especially between two unmarried young people, betrothed or not.
But bards were already writing songs about how the young knight who fought and won against all odds to prove his love to his childhood crush. They, of course, lived happily ever after.