39 The Dragon vs The Mountain

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Tall and imposing, Gregor Clegane rode adorned in armor that weighed nearly half as him. Jon could only feel pity for the Stallion he had chosen as 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 bore 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 all things that came with the Mountain, he bore a shield only someone who weighed nearly 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. Jon 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 center 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, but what they got was a bloody death. 'That's nothing new when it comes to the Mountain. I will make sure he suffers.'

"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 toward 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 question, 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 recognize. One last brief look at the boy's lifeless body showed Jon a red and bloated face, blood protruding from both mouth and nose, his eyes wet, no doubt from weeping due to the pain.

Later

Cheers and singing, bravado, and music filled the air of Highgarden. Margaery absolutely adored it all. She watched each bout with intensity. In her eyes, it must have been a scene straight out of a fairy tale. For some time, even Garlan could find enjoyment. 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 Lord Tyrell 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. He was adorned in his signature silver armor decorated with twining black vines and sapphires. On his left arm was 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 Jon's own tastes, yet when it came to showmanship, there was a reason 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 evermore, "Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard!"

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

As the two knights charged and lowered their lances at one another, there was little doubt about how it would end. A moment of anticipation and a sudden crash. Both lances clashed violently with one another's shields. 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 nearly 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.

"For the Princess. May its beauty be second only to your own." a red rose appeared in Loras' gauntlet as he reached out and handed it to Myrcella. Her cheeks flushed a deep red. It was only common courtesy for her to accept it, yet seeing it in her eyes, she seemed to adore it.

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

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

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

Margaery secretly hoped Jon would be next. She wanted to see him again.

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..."

"... Jon Sand!"

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 bastard. "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 bets 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 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.

Jon rode into their position. Winter neighed, and the girl was getting impatient. She was a war horse first and foremost, but Jon 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 Jon could ever ask of the animal, in all honesty.

Arianne was looking a little anxious about the upcoming fight until Nymeria tapped her shoulder. "Don't worry, Ari. The flower stands no chance against Jon." Nym spoke, reassuring Ari that everything would go smoothly.

The moment the horns sounded off, they both kicked their spurs into motion, and the horses began galloping away, with Tyrell's horse gaining the upper hand in speed and momentum, it would seem. A simple trick that almost all knights knew but rarely used in effect. Frankly, it was seen as unsportsmanlike, but Jon 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, Jon ducked under, sliding himself to the sides and avoiding Tyrell's lance. With as much strength as he could muster in his arms, he lunged 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, Jon could see that the Tyrell boy was one such knight.

With a thunderous crack, his lance started to splinter and broke away, yet through it, all the crowd's 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 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.

Oberyn and the entire Martell party cheered loudly, with the Tyrells looking like they had just swallowed something sour, except Margaery, who was happy to see her brother was fine and Jon had won.

Up on the stands, Jon saw through his visors slits the King, laughing his ass off, face red at the fact that Jon had managed to do something even the Kingslayer himself failed at. Even the Queen looked a bit impressed at the performance, giving a polite clap. It must have been hard for young Loras Tyrell, standing in the middle of the grounds, his fine silver armor 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, Jon 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, Tyrell quickly shook it with his own un-armored hand. "Well fought, Ser..." he commemorated nobly, his furrowed brow replaced with a sad yet content smile. "The day is yours, Jon Sand. 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 arrogance in his words. He'd grown used to hearing it ever since he had come to Highgarden.

He had expected more of a negative response from the crowd. It was not every day that the famous and loved Knight of Flowers was taken down by some lowly bastard of Dorne 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 back to his two squires, they both looked at him with begrudging respect yet firm disappointment. "Sorry, lads, I've got 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 Jon. In his next few matches, he unseated both Ser Arys, through multiple tilts, and Ser Boros in a single one. How Blount managed even to 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 for a clean and fair fight, however, made him a good target for Jon's strategy of actually moving away from his opponent's lance and attacking while 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, 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 Jon's own strategy on him, yet it was clear he only did it in an attempt to copy Jon rather than train for it. After three 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 were not one but two Clegane brothers participating, Jon would fight the one he wished to kill more than anyone else.

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

Jon felt his heart beating faster. He knew this day would come sooner or later. The Mountain would fall today.

"Brother, let me burn him," Rhaenix spoke with a hint of concern; flying above the clouds, she knew it was a risk to do this in the middle of the day, but she would risk everything to save her brother.

"No, Dear sister. I will kill him myself. I will take revenge for what he did to our muna, Jon said mentally. He could see the worried looks of his father, Arianne, and everyone else.

Before he could go there, his father approached him with a concerned look. "You should drop this." He demanded with a somehow pleading look.

"What!! No. I will... kill him for what he did to Mother Elia and my brother. I won't back down." Jon spoke, barely keeping his voice down. Father, instead of saying something, put his hands on his shoulders, looking at him directly in the eyes.

"Please. Don't die to me. I don't want to go through that again." Oberyn begged before hugging his son closely.

"I won't, father. I promise." Jon said, returning the hug. The rest of his family wished him luck, too; Arianne kissed his lips before whispering in his ear.

"Return to me, Jae." Jon smiled, kissing her cheek. Soon they backed away, as Jon decided to do this.

They both rode into their respective sides of the jousting grounds. Jon was wearing Martell armor, 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 helpful to the Mountain and would aid in Jon'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.

When 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 giant's shoulders that the Mountain intended to take on the full brunt of Jon'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 Jon's head, yet the same could not be said for Clegane.

A powerful crack was once more heard from Jon's lance, this time not on his opponent's 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 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, and even full-on screeching could be heard as men, women and children threw their praise towards the Bastard, figuratively and quite literally, as flowers began raining from the crowds.

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

"SWORD!" The Mountain's cry quickly cut off the cheers; it seemed 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 Jon, 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 audience's terror. His bloodlust did not end with his horse, however, as the Mountain's eyes soon pinpointed themselves to Jon, and Clegane began fast approaching. Like a snarling beast ready to pounce, he could hear the Mountain's heavy breathing.

Any warrior 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 Winter to her own death. Dismounting, he slapped the horse on her behind to flee. "Get Away!" Winter ran away with haste, leaving both men without the advantage of a horse.

Placing his heels on 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 the 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 one-on-one in something that wasn't a melee. This was not the case of it, however.

People screamed at both the Mountain and the King himself to stop this. Robert himself roared through the crowds, pleading to end it now, yet none of it came through to Clegane, and frankly, neither did it to Jon. All eyes were on the Mountain.

Now that he was close, knowing no one else would hear them because of the crowd's shouts.

"Elia Martell, you raped her, you murdered her, you killed her son," Jon whispered with fury. The Mountain's eyes narrowed and looked even crazier after hearing that.

With a lumbering overhead strike, Clegane's blade nearly threw itself toward the ground where Jon 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.

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 Jon 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, Jon 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, Jon grabbed the knife from his belt and thrust it toward 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.

"Elia Martell, you raped her, you murdered her, you killed her son."

Barely even flinching. However, the Mountain soon retaliated with its own attack. His massive arm was sent hurling backward to strike Jon. 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, Jon 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 and 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 Jon again, the Mountain now held his broadsword with both arms. It seemed he was determined to end it.

Clegane was focused. He didn't attack with rage anymore, taking a moment actually to anticipate his opponent's 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?" he taunted his opponent.

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 Jon; it was only after his first step with the leg Jon 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, Jon 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 crowd's fear-fueled pleas soon turning into enjoyment as they saw a man so hated getting beaten down by their new champion.

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

Disoriented but not fully dazed, Jon quickly reacted 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 his death.

That did not stop Gregor; however, the moment the dagger had hit the ground, he let go of it and jumped towards Jon, who was on his knees trying to get up at that point.

The Mountain threw himself at Jon, but the prince jumped away just at the last second; seeing the Mountain on the ground, Jon quickly grabbed his sword with all the strength he had left, just as the mountain was standing up, turning to him, with the loudest cry, Jon shoved his sword to the middle of his neck, coming out the other side. Blood flew everywhere.

Everything had stopped. The crowd had gone silent, and so had Robert Baratheon. Cersei's face turned red as Jaime smiled like never before, and so did Jon's family; Oberyn almost gasped in shock. Bleeding from his neck, The Mountain could barely feel anything but pain.

"For my family," Jon whispered at the unmoving mountain. With the loudest war cry, he moved his sword forward, slicing through the rest of his neck. Blood flew everywhere as the crowd cheered. Their cheers reached the skies. The Mountain fell on the dirt, his blood flying out like waterfall, creating a small lake of blood around him.

"You did it, dear Brother. You Won!"

Seeing the man dead on the ground, Jon felt his heart almost burst from his chest. It took a minute for Jon to realize that he was crying. Looking up at the sky, he felt everything going dark. "Mother Elia and Aegon. You can rest Now."

No longer having the strength even to stand, Jon fell unconscious. The last thing he felt was the warm arms of someone around him and his father's voice.