56 Of Hounds and Bears
Mid 283 Spring
To no one's surprise, when Tywin saw his gambit fail he sold out his underlings, and disavowed their actions. This wasn't yet the man who recovered his dignity and violently rejected any stain upon it. The Golden Lion's face needed to be made of boiled leather to survive the beating it took during his time as Hand of the King. Today Young Jaime added yet another slap to that face. One of many in his short life.
My young companion bore witness to many atrocities both before and after he donned his white cloak, but even he visibly fidgeted and grit his teeth at the brutality enacted this morning. In a rather poetic display of justice, King Robert Baratheon sentenced the Red Cloaks who joined Sers Clegane and Lorch on their mission to be flogged until we whipped the cowardice out of them, and then flogged again.
Due to the uncertainty of the matter, they referred to the practices of the Royal Fleet, in which flogging is a punishment used in lieu of the more typical slice and dice Westerosi legal system. As such they determined that the maximum sentence a ships captain can levee against his sailors of 48 lashes the appropriate number to whip the cowardice out of these men. Then an additional 48. Dealt with a leather whip and the typical sadism of this world, none of the men sentenced would survive the ordeal.
As for the chief sinners, they stalled prosecution by demanding their right to trial by combat as anointed knights. Though many men clamored for the chance to represent the crown in the fight against Amory Lorch, when it came down to it only Greatjon and myself volunteered to fight Gregor Clegane. The stubborn ass argued until Robert had us draw straws for it, and drawing straws against a Greenseer is a fool's bet.
Though Jon then demanded the fight against Lorch - the fight I gave no shits about - Ser Jaime Lannister stepped up and invoked his right to avenge the princess he failed to protect. A great lover of drama despite anything he might say otherwise, Robert immediately accepted the offer, and made the match a double duel for both expediency but also excitement. Two v two allowed far more chaos than two one v ones.
Due to the very lopsided quality in our offensive equipment, both sides took their arms from the stock of House Arryn. Gregor and I took a greatsword and heater shield each along with our rondel daggers, while Lorch and Jaime paired longswords and heaters along with their rondels. And by that I mean Westerosi longswords, which are arming swords. I don't know why GRRM made that choice, but if it's to aggravate sword nerds he certainly succeeded. The greatsword in Westeros covers everything from the standard longsword to the largest of Zweihänders, and Gregor and I both took the largest examples the Vale had on offer, and both of us easily carried the weapons in a single hand.
One thing to note about the Mountain that Rides, he is not some lumbering ill-formed creature, but instead simply built like a strong man scaled up, and has an uncanny athleticism almost reminiscent of Wilt Chamberlain, but even larger. He capitalized on this much like I capitalize on my own beyond human strength by wearing thick steel plate armor backed by boiled leather over a full suit of chainmail head to toe. Though most found the greathelm overly encumbering and too limiting of the field of view, Ser Gregor cared not for either, though I cared for how stupid the rock fist ornament looks punching up from the top of it.
Lorch at least decorated his steel with scrollwork, but Ser Jaime represented team drip in his immaculate white plate armor. The standard issue of the Kingsguard cuts an impressive sight. I'd foregone my usual ostentatiousness during this war, and this duel continued the trend for the most part. My green plate sported a lacquer black bear over the back, reminiscent of my golden bear tournament armor, and it costs a wheelbarrow of gold less to maintain.
"Get on with it!" Robert shouted from his balcony seat above the fighting space with a horn of wine in each hand.
While not the most dignified start to a duel, it served its purpose.
Gregor and I closed distance while Lorch stayed behind the bigger man and Jaime circled around to his prey. While Jaime hasn't reached the fullness of his grown man strength and is the least physically dominant man on the field, his skill is far beyond what any of us could have ever achieved had I not cheated though Greensight and followed the training and battles of all the greatest members of the Kingsguard such as Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Aemon Targaryen. It didn't completely close the gap between me and Jaime, I had a lot more duties and ventures to keep me busy than he did.
Clegane warded Jaime with his shield while he swung an over the shoulder strike at me fit to split a man shoulder to hip. I stepped under and through the attack while pushing it away with the hind guard, building up pressure behind my sword as I passed the bigger man for the whipping slash by my head and down to his leg.
Whipping a claymore is not something one might consider possible. Verily, a skilled man can get some swift swings in by circling the momentum of the large blade, but a lightning quick whipping strike? Improbable, yet the thunderous whap of my steel slapping his poleyn rang out along with the big man's cry of pain. I may not have the steel shearing sharpness of my Valyrian Steel, but I still have the bone crunching force of physics behind me, and physics is a mean mistress. The Mountain didn't buckle under the attack, but the man certainly felt less steady on that back leg.
While I began piecing up Ser Gregor, Jaime began pressuring Lorch with precision thrusts to the armor gaps that the older knight tried desperately to stave off, and the little burst links and trickle of blood around the man's armpit signaled his looming defeat.
Not to be outdone, I burst into action deliver an unexpected superman punch with my shield rim to Clegane's helmet and slapping a quick low cut to his lead leg as I peeled off at an angle again to set up the over the shoulder chop which Clegane caught on his shield and the giant man followed it up with a big thrust. I batted it aside and swung down my sword, getting the blade caught between his greave and his poleyn. What a mistake of fate, one might think, but no. I yanked that blade back and Clegane's leg with it, landing the man onto his ass and back.
With my strength and dexterity my weighty blade moved like a scalpel over the gorget and bevor under the helmet, such a small gap to find with such a large sword, but I found it. With a twist of my wrist and a pull from my shoulder a scream cried out as I retrieved my red sporting steel.
"Did they forget to mention I'm a surgeon?" I asked the scrambling giant, "I've just taken your eye, and it's just the first to go. This isn't a battlefield, it's an operating table. I'm going to carve you down piece by piece till I've made up for the brutality of the execution you thought you evaded."
Lorch squealed as Ser Jaime got his sword point sunk in behind the man's knee. He sported many little pokes bleeding freely, this last one the heaviest. Perhaps the most talented knight in Westeros really will avenge the little princess the piggy knight butchered.
I dropped my shield and took my blade in hand, not to half sword, but so that the next time Clegane swung his sword to fend me off he felt the strike of a warhammer above his knee when I golf swung my heavy steel cross guard right into the chainmail protecting the back of his leg. He felt his leg go numb, unresponsive, and collapsed under him.
"You're not going to get that leg back for hours." I informed the man as I alternated golf swings to his head and ribs.
Gregor kept trying to seize my legs or sword, but I remained ahead of his fumblings. Keeping up the tempo. Despite my immense strength, I've always been an endurance athlete, and while these attacks did little damage, they cost me little effort, and the damage stacked up faster.
"You're not doing too well." I chided the man as I systematically built up a nice ringing concussion and fractures on his ribs.
Clegane flipped over to try and fight from his knees but I dropped my sword and seized him about the waist, hoisting him up under my armpit in a show of supernatural strength and swung him around to slam over five hundred pounds of man and muscle onto his chest. Those ribs just barely held up, but the maneuver drove the wind from the big boy's lungs.
I mounted the man, straddling his waist as I ripped off the clasps of his helmet and exposed the big man to some fresh air for those empty lungs. I also reached down and yanked his ears off, but he didn't yet have the wind back to scream with. Scrambling rather than maintaining the top position, I pulled his left arm under my armpit and straightened the long limb out, giving it a twist to rob it of power and to keep the man firmly on his belly. With one hand I controlled his wrist and arm, with the other I seized his armored pinky finger.
He had the wind back to scream when I started snapping his digits.
"The badinage will be a bit harder to discern with your ear meat yanked off, but I know you can still hear me." I told the man, as I twisted his wrist painfully, "You woke up this morning thinking you were the strongest man in Westeros. What a rude awakening this must be, but on the other hand…" I grinned as I scrambled over the weeping man and snatched his other arm, getting my bearpaw on another pinky finger, "You have more fingers!"
Snap.
Gregor Clegane probably looks a lot less scary to people with one eye, no ears, snot running down his face, and all his fingers bent the wrong way.
"Do you feel how personal this is now? That woman you raped and murdered was quite dear to me in the past. I have a son with her. It'll take a lot for me to be able to look him in the eyes again, but don't worry. I'm not done yet." I informed him as he groveled before me and unsheathed my rondel.
Seizing his jaw while he weakly flailed against me with blows that would break the bones of a lesser man, I snatched his head and slid the blade down his remaining eye before stuffing my armored fingers in his screaming mouth and snatching his tongue to saw my dagger under until it came free.
"Today, the Lord of the Seven Hells will take you into his deepest circle, and there parade you around, blind, deaf, and dumb and all the demons and the dead will know, this is Gregor, the fool who should have throw himself off that tower rather than throw himself into the arena with Jorah Mormont." I relished the sight of the man's destroyed face.
Gregor babbled as I dragged him over to the whipping post and tied up his hands. He knelt in the blood where other men stood as I yanked off the straps of his armor and took up my sword once more.
Ser Jaime stood nearby over the corpse of Lorch, transfixed as I began whipping the huge man with the flat of my sword. I delivered the full 48 lashes to punish him for his cowardly act, then 48 more. When I finished barely any back meat still clung to his shattered ribs, then I slid the blade under his chin and began jerking the blade back and forth to saw through the giant's neck despite the dullness of my abused weapon.
I stepped back to examine my work, and saw it to be good.
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This chapter flowed forth smooth and sweat like a soda stream. Just one sitting to get it done. Glorious. I try to keep this character more impersonal with his violence, but today we found ourselves in my wheel house, the brutal destruction of a hated foe. A perfect entry for that 100,000 word milestone.
Once again big thanks to 4REEESEARCH for his continued support of me and my family.
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