Chapter Twenty Eight: The Unexpected

It was a magnificent armament. Nearly six feet long, taller than its owner. Made of solid ironwood, straighter than an arrow. But its primary feature was the blade. It was the sharpest and lightest spearhead anyone had seen in recent years.

Genuine Valyrian steel. I never would have thought to see it in my own lifetime.

Lady Daliah Clegane had never been trained in the ways of war. Growing up in Deep Den, she had been kept safe by her father's men-at-arms. There had never been any great reason for her to learn to fight; most Westerlander women generally stayed at home and indoors.

She could defend herself with her hands and feet, if need be, but she had no formal experience with weapons. She had rarely even held anything deadlier than a steak knife. But she could not resist the opportunity to examine this newly-made masterpiece of a weapon.

Presently, Daliah was on the tourney grounds with her husband, sons, grandson, daughter, and daughters-by-law. They were just outside the forge of one Tobho Mott, a master blacksmith from King's Landing. In her hands, she gripped Master Mott's latest creation: a long, hefty spear fitted with a Valyrian steel tip.

Daliah have arrived early that morning with Tarrence, Ellyn, and a handful of their retainers. Gregor, Sandor, their wives, and Rickard had camped in the tourney grounds overnight, and – as such – had already been present when the lord and lady of Clegane's Keep appeared with their daughter.

As the eight Cleganes broke their fast, Gregor, Dacey, Sandor, and Obara informed Daliah, Tarrence, and Ellyn that they had something special to show them. They never gave any direct hints as to what that "something" might be; they merely claimed it was to be a surprise.

Quite a marvelous surprise it is.

Up until the moment they came to Tobho Mott's workshop, Daliah had been clueless as to what her sons and daughters-by-law had planned. When they arrived at the workshop, she presumed they had hired the blacksmith to forge some new weapons for House Clegane. While that assumption turned out to be correct, she never would have expected an object of this quality.

"Would you care to give it a spin, Mother?" Obara suggested kindly.

Ever since her wedding to Sandor, the former Sand Snake had made a habit of addressing Daliah that way. The Lady of Clegane's Keep found she deeply enjoyed being called that, especially since she was aware that Obara had severed all connections to her own mother.

Daliah Clegane gazed at the spear and thought on that proposal. Then she shook her head, held the spear out to the Dornishwoman, and pronounced "I appreciate your offer, dear, but I would rather not. I may cause unintentional harm to someone."

"I understand, Mother," Obara acknowledged, accepting her spear back.

"I'll try it out," Ellyn abruptly suggested. Daliah and everyone else looked at her in slight astonishment. She bashfully gazed at the ground and added in "If you do not mind, of course."

Obara Martell smiled at the young girl's remarks, and she offered her the spear. As Ellyn tentatively took it into her hands, Obara cautioned her "Be careful with it."

Oh, she knows how to handle it.

Unlike her mother, Ellyn Clegane was not unversed in combat. After she had been born, Gregor had proposed that when she was old enough, she be taught to wield a weapon. Sandor had backed his brother's idea, and Tarrence ultimately agreed to it.

Thus, starting after her eighth nameday, Sandor and Wallis Peckledon had drilled Ellyn on how to properly brandish a dagger. After she mastered that, they moved her up to the longer melee weapons. She fought with wooden swords for a long while before they let her have a real one. She was a slow learner, but she turned out to be a promising fighter.

After Obara moved to the Keep, Ellyn was able to expand the range of her expertise to the spear, as well. Interestingly, she turned out to be more proficient with Obara's weapon of choice than the Mountain's and the Hound's.

I doubt she'd be able to defeat Gregor, Dacey, Sandor, or Obara in a duel, but she could definitely hold her own against the average soldier.

Although Daliah had initially been averse to her daughter learning how to handle weapons, she had come to appreciate and embrace that idea. She was secretly proud of Ellyn for becoming such a superb combatant. That was something Lady Daliah herself never had the chance (or wish) to do.

Ellyn gripped her sister-by-law's new spear firmly in both hands. She backed away from the other members of her family, and she waited until nobody else was within ten feet of her. After that, she began to twirl the spear in both her hands.

Her pace started out slow, but gradually, she quickened it. She spun it directly in front of her for about twenty seconds, and then she waved it along the sides of her body. She moved so quickly that Daliah had difficulty keeping track of where her hands were.

She's so fast. Now that is impressive.

"Faster," Obara instructed her. Ellyn compliantly twirled the spear faster.

"Show me those techniques I taught you," Obara proposed. In response, Ellyn efficiently and expertly demonstrated some of the various maneuvers she had picked up from Obara.

"Good," the Dornishwoman remarked, nodding in approval, "Now, deliver home!"

At that, Ellyn turned to her family, took the spear in a backhand grip, and lunged forward. When she landed on her feet, she stabbed at the ground in front of her. Grass, dirt, and soil went everywhere when she struck.

If someone's throat had been there, she could have taken his head off.

Panting a little, Ellyn hastily withdrew the spear from the ground and gave it back to Obara. The former Sand Snake proceeded to clean its head with a piece of thick cloth. She was careful with how she wiped the blade; she did not wish to chance cutting herself on the edge of the steel.

And if Ellyn is that good… no one in his right mind would strive to cross Obara when she's armed with that.

Once the spearhead was clean, Tarrence enquired "Have you thought on a name for it?"

Obara shrugged and muttered "Names are usually reserved for swords. Normally, no one bothers with giving a name to a spear. But, of course, I have never been one to uphold all customs. So I suppose I shall make an exception."

I expected you to. So did everyone else, apparently. Daliah asked her gooddaughter "Do you have any apt names in mind?"

Obara stood looking over her spear for a couple minutes, and then she declared "Because it's so light, agile, and formidable, I can only think of one name that would do it appropriate justice: Swift Thrust."

"I like it," Sandor told his wife almost right away. He was not being untruthful, Daliah could tell.

"Simple, accurate, and unpretentious," Lady Daliah commented, "It definitely suits your weapon."

Everyone else appeared to approve of Obara's choice of name, too.

She grinned and stated "Then it seems one of Master Mott's four projects has been officially completed."

"Indeed," Tarrence conceded, "When can we expect the others to be ready?"

It was Gregor who answered: "As you can imagine, the longsword, the bastard sword, and the greatsword all require a far larger amount of steel than the spearhead. As such, they will take longer to forge. We have spoken with Master Mott, and according to him, all three of them will need at least a week to fold; no more than two."

"So you'll be unable to use them in the tourney's melee?" Ellyn presumed.

"Correct," Sandor affirmed.

"That's a shame," Daliah remarked, though she was not truly disappointed.

"Not really," Gregor disputed, "Sandor and I already possess superior strength and size to most of the other participants."

"It would be a touch too unfair if we had this advantage over them, as well," Sandor contended.

"Whoever said a tourney had to be fair?" Dacey cheekily uttered. She was currently holding Rickard in her arms. When everyone chuckled at his mother's jape, he joined in with a bit of giggling.

"That aside," Gregor bluntly murmured, dismissing his wife's jest, "It would be unwise to enter a skirmish with the Valyrian steel swords before they have been tested."

"True," Sandor stated, "Furthermore, Valyrian steel is known to be lethal. The purpose of the tourney is to best our foes, not slay them."

"Yes, but you never know," Ellyn debated, "These tourneys are unpredictable. Even in the safest of conditions, accidents can occur."

"No denying that," Gregor coincided, "For all we know, an accident or two could happen at this one."

Daliah felt her eldest son sounded strangely certain of that prospect. That made her worry. She bade her sons "Promise me you'll be safe."

"You needn't worry, Mother," Gregor asserted, "I was not implying that we would be in an accident. Sandor is much too wary to be caught unawares, and I am in control of everything that occurs on the jousting field. And I mean everything. It is the other contenders who should worry about accidents."

While that was likely meant to reassure her, Daliah was still a little concerned. It was as though Gregor was confident some manner of accident would indeed transpire at the tourney. She must have been the only one there who believed so; everyone else appeared to assume the Mountain was merely providing an example of one possible occurrence. So she chose to disregard that suspicion of hers.

"At any rate, once the swords are ready, we'll be back here to receive them," Sandor professed, "Gregor and Dacey will take the greatsword and the longsword back North. The bastard sword, however, will remain at Clegane's Keep. I intend for it to be the ancestral blade for this branch of House Clegane."

He then turned to his father and proposed "If it be your wish, Father, you may take possession of the sword first. I am content to wait until I succeed you to take custody of it."

Daliah looked to her husband, and she discovered that he was not tempted by that offer at all. A few years ago, he would have been. But not today.

Lord Tarrence Clegane solemnly shook his head and stated "No, Sandor. From the moment of its creation, the sword is yours."

Sandor and Gregor were stunned by their father's refusal. The Hound pointed out "You are my sire and my lord. By rights, the sword should belong to you for the duration of your life."

"Only if I had a hand in acquiring it," Tarrence countered, "It was you who triumphed over Euron Greyjoy in single combat; you who won his stash of Valyrian steel. Therefore, ownership of this sword goes straight to you."

There was a very brief pause, and then Tarrence explicated "Additionally… I've no more use for a blade. Such a superb weapon would be wasted on me."

It was at that moment when he lifted up his hands. He had worn leather greaves that day. They were thick and tight enough that his arms were mostly stable. But even with that safeguard, Daliah could spot a quiver in both of her husband's wrists.

In these past few months, his palsy had gotten worse. Before Greyjoy's Rebellion, it had only encompassed his left arm. Now it had spread to his right arm, too. Maester Velix had counseled him not to attend the tourney, but Tarrence would not be denied the first opportunity to appear at a grand event as a lord.

Sandor grudgingly sighed and mumbled empathetically "If that is your wish, Father."

Tarrence lowered his arms and reassured his heir "It is."

Daliah had sided with Velix on the issue of whether or not Tarrence should attend the tourney. Alas, he had paid as little heed to his wife's advice as he had to the maester's. He was very determined not to be absent from the festivities. Daliah was not pleased by Tarrence's obstinacy, but she could not protest.

As long as his twitches do not become any more pronounced, everything should be alright.

Just then, there was the sound of a horn being blown. All heads turned in the direction of the noise. Many people in the area began to make their way to its point of origin.

"The jousting's about to start," Dacey observed.

Ellyn nodded and asked rhetorically "Shall we head over?"

"Better we do," Daliah said candidly.

The Cleganes speedily proceeded towards the grounds set aside for the jousting competition. When they got there, Sandor and Gregor parted from the group. Daliah and the others went to the stands.

Other than the platform designated for the Royal Family, no section had been reserved for people from any one specific region. Even so, the Reachmen and the Dornishmen tended to sit apart from one another, as did the Riverlords and the Westerlords.

Even when celebrating the victory of war, old rivalries are hard to expunge.

Daliah spotted Nymeria Martell and Ellaria, Elia, and Obella Sand in the front of the eastern stands. They were near the center of that section. She suggested sitting there, and the Cleganes seemed to advocate the idea. The Dornishwomen were very accommodating of them. Daliah herself sat next to Ellaria in the front row.

Whoever would have thought I'd make such good friends with a bastard?

She no longer thought of Prince Oberyn's paramour as a baseborn woman who mothered two more baseborn girls. In fact, in the past few years, her opinion of bastards had changed as a whole. She was even willing to have Elia Sand sit on her lap.

Nymeria sat on the other side of Daliah, and Obara positioned herself next to her sister. The four women and the two young girls occupied a whole bench in the front row.

Since Tarrence, Ellyn, and Dacey were the tallest of their group, they chose to sit in the second row. Tarrence took up a spot behind his lady wife, and Ellyn sat on her father's right side, in turn. Dacey seated herself to his left with Rickard on her lap.

The jousting field was empty for the present. Though she did not show it, Daliah was excited for the competition to begin. She was looking forward to seeing her sons contest some of the other renowned fighters in Westeros.

I wonder who they will face-off first?

Daliah was aware that Dacey and Obara had considered entering the lists. They had ultimately decided against it. For one thing, they would have had to argue with many of the knights and lords who intransigently insisted that women had no place in tourneys. The only fighting Dacey and Obara were in the mood for was the type that involved steel, not words. Plus, if either of them actually won, crowning a Queen of Love and Beauty would have been terribly awkward for both of them.

If the crown was made of steel instead of flowers, they might have been able to crown a King. But a King of Love and Beauty would be exceedingly foolish.

Other than her sons, Daliah did not know who all would be involved in the joust. She had heard from her daughters-by-law that Lord Jorah Mormont and Prince Oberyn Martell had enlisted. While she did not know either of those men particularly well, Daliah would not have been surprised if they did.

It had been rumored that King Robert himself would be partaking in the joust. That would certainly be a remarkable sight.

Once the stands were filled, a herald climbed onto the platform and called out "All rise for His Grace, Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of…"

Daliah paid no mind to the rest. In her opinion, the time it took to give the entirety of the king's title was tediously long.

We know he's our King. Can you not leave it at that?

When the herald finished, the crowd stood as one. It was then that Robert Baratheon made his appearance. Daliah had to admit he did look quite regal. He was fully clad in black and gold leather. From his shining boots to his stag-adorned crown, he seemed the very image of what a king should be.

A few seconds later, the Queen appeared on the platform. In contrast to her husband, she instead wore a dress of crimson, the color of the Lannisters. It hung loosely around her thighs and legs, but it was tighter around her arms and chest. The space around and beneath her throat was left uncovered, rendering her bosom partly visible.

As beautiful as she is shameless.

Cersei Lannister took her place next to Robert Baratheon. Soon after, they were joined by the Hand of the King. Lord Jon Arryn took up the spot beside his former ward. His lady wife, Lysa of House Tully, stood beside her own husband.

Jon Arryn was an elderly man, but he was said to still be spry and healthy. His wife actually appeared to be far feebler by comparison. Daliah had heard that after the death of her childhood friend, Petyr Baelish, Lady Lysa had been devastated, almost to the point of mania.

She knew that the Legion without Banners had been assigned to escort Baelish to Harrenhal safely, and Gregor himself had been in command of the convoy. Nevertheless, on the way, their party had been attacked by the mountain clansmen of the Vale, and Littlefinger had perished.

That had been three years ago. Lysa Arryn had not yet gotten over the loss of the Mockingbird. Despite that, she had improved much since then. Her mental state was still in question by some, but at least she did not disgrace or shame her husband or her king in public. She had even managed to give Lord Jon a child a year ago.

Daliah had heard that childbirth had not been easy for her. On that note, Daliah considered the possibility that that could have been the real reason for Lysa's slightly disheveled appearance.

There are some women who simply cannot handle the burden of childbirth.

Daliah could not speak for herself, of course. She had birthed three of the largest children in Westeros' modern generation, and she had recovered excellently after each one. As a result, she had come to believe that there was no excuse for any mother who could not take to childbirth as easily as she had. Some would call that haughty, but she felt her belief was a reasonable and justifiable one.

Looking at Lysa Arryn and her husband, Daliah was reminded of the early days of her own marriage.

As the youngest daughter of Deep Den, Daliah Lydden had grown up believing she would never be part of anything great. She had often been overlooked by many, including her own family. She had been fifteen when her father first approached her with the idea of a match between her and the master of Clegane's Keep. Back then, the keep had been small, foreboding, filthy, and generally unpleasant to look at. Furthermore, House Clegane had only seen its second generation at the time, and Tarrence Clegane was more than a decade her senior. Worst yet, he was the son of an upraised kennelmaster.

Daliah had adamantly refused the betrothal at first. She had argued that she was a highborn lady; if she was to marry into any family, it should be to one of the other noble houses. Her father Lord Lewys had explained to her that her sisters were to marry into noble houses. She, however, was supposed to be content with a landed knight.

Her father had not been unsympathetic to her qualms. Neither had her mother nor her siblings. Even so, they had all encouraged her to consent to the contract. Their primary argument was that House Clegane was closer to Casterly Rock than any other family – highborn or otherwise. As such, her presence at their keep could somehow help strengthen House Lydden's relations with House Lannister.

Eventually, Daliah had agreed… albeit resentfully and with much reluctance. Her wedding had been arranged very expediently afterward. The ceremony had been a ridiculously simple affair. It seemed to be just a step or two above a wedding conducted by the smallfolk. She did not even have the luxury of meeting Tarrence beforehand.

She had wed the master of Clegane's Keep sometime after her sixteenth nameday. The ensuing feast (if one could call it that) had been as simple as the wedding. Only two courses with no form of entertainment or merriment. At that time, that had not bothered Daliah as much as what she knew would follow.

The bedding ceremony had been the most unsettling part of the evening by far. At the very least, Tarrence had been gentle with her. Even so, he had refused to consider the idea of putting the bedding off. He claimed he would be a laughingstock if it became known that he had not lain with the woman who became his wife on the same day he had married her.

The next two years were probable the most miserable of Daliah's life. Tarrence and his retainers went to great length to try to make her comfortable. She never once complained about or criticized anything, but her lord husband could tell she was not pleased. In an attempt to persuade him otherwise, she had started calling him "my love." That ploy had failed.

Daliah had not yet reached her twentieth nameday when Gregor was born. That was easily the most traumatic event of her life. She had been in labor for hours, and on several occasions, she was convinced she would not survive the ordeal.

Of course, in the end, she did. Once her firstborn finally came into the world, she could relax.

Tarrence had held their boy first. Daliah had her turn soon after. That very moment, when she took Gregor in her arms… that was the happiest she had been since she left Deep Den. At the time, she had not even loved her husband. But the child they had created together… she felt overwhelming adoration for him immediately.

Daliah needed a good couple weeks to recover after Gregor was born. She was bedridden for nearly a fortnight. Maester Velix was the one primarily responsible for her health, but Tarrence played the most significant role. He had constantly checked up on her throughout her recovery. All his other functions and responsibilities around the keep were secondary to her well-being. It was as though he had been personally obligated to see to her every need.

During that period of time, Daliah finally realized just how much her husband cared for her. Not only that; he actually did love her. In that moment, she began to love him in return.

By the time Sandor was born, she had come to call Tarrence "my love" not out of duty, but out of genuine affection.

By the time Ellyn was born, Daliah truly felt at home at Clegane's Keep. Despite its drear appearance and decaying structure, she found happiness in the arms of its master and their children. In fact, she no longer cared for wealth, power, or influence. She had discovered that family was the one greatest, irreplaceable joy in life; the one that mattered the most. As such, she had become far more comforted with living at the keep than she had ever been at her father's ancestral home.

Daliah would even have been happy to have raised her children and grown old with Tarrence in that decrepit building. Regardless of its state, she would feel at home in Clegane's Keep, being the wife of a landed knight. She was prepared to remain that and nothing more.

But the Gods decided to reward my family for my humility.

Thirteen years later, House Clegane's status in Westeros had greatly improved. There were now two branches of it; both holding lordly status. Clegane's Keep had been cleaned, refurbished, and expanded. It was a proper ancestral home by the nobility's standards. Her sons had married outside the Westerlands, and there was a chance her daughter would wed the son of her liege lord.

When Daliah was first sent to Clegane's Keep, she had inwardly cursed her father. Now she blessed him for it.

As it happened, Lord Lewys Lydden had attended Sandor's wedding. During the feast, Daliah was able to reunite with her father for the first time in twenty years. He had embraced her tenderly, and he had whispered to her "I'm so proud of you, Dali."

That was the best part of all. She had done what she had always endeavored to do: she had won her father's praise.

Of course, all good things must end at some point.

She had faced the truth of that at the beginning of the year, when her husband and Maester Velix had shared some grim news about the former's health.

Palsy was said to be fatal. Daliah did not know how long her husband would last, but she prayed to the Gods for his relief (if they would not grant his recovery) every day. The very same gods she had once beseeched not to send her to Clegane's Keep.

Love comes about in the most unexpected and mysterious ways.

Daliah wondered if Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister were in the same dilemma she and Tarrence had been in. No one could say with total certainty that the King and Queen truly loved each other. Be that as it may, Daliah could sense no enmity between them, either. The marriages between the Targaryen kings and their sisters had been notoriously unhappy. This one, however… it had promise.

After the Hand and his wife arrived on the platform, Robert turned to Cersei and held his hand out to her. She interlocked her fingers with his, smiling all the while. He smiled back, and the two stepped forward, raising their connected hands together.

"Let the joust begin!" the King declared boisterously.

The audience voiced their approval of that announcement with a wave of enthusiastic cheers. They all remained standing, as it was traditional not to sit until the King did.

Six seats had been set out on the platform beforehand. Three were thrones, meant for the Royal Family. The other three were elaborate chairs, meant for the Hand's family. Two of each trio were normal-sized. Between the two thrones and the two grand chairs were each a smaller throne and grand chair of similar design.

King Robert, Queen Cersei, Lord Jon, and Lady Lysa gradually took their place in the four large chairs. As the people in the audience went silent and sat down in turn, a young boy and a young girl were brought out onto the platform.

The girl was Lord Arryn's daughter. She was placed on the small grand chair in-between her parents. As soon as she was in her seat, Lysa Tully leaned over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead.

The boy was the Crown Prince. He was old enough to walk to the throne and climb onto it himself. Once he was settled, the Queen smiled down at her son and delicately brushed her hand through his natural black locks. The King grinned again. And so did Daliah.

Even if they do not love each other now, there is one thing they both love already. That's a hopeful sign.

Now that the King had given his blessing for the jousting competition to commence, the first of the contenders came out.

A knight of the Kingsguard, the sullen Meryn Trant, was on the one side. A pair of young boys – who Daliah could have sworn were actually girls – were assisting him with his arms and horse.

On the other side was Gregor. He had already donned his armor. Only his head was uncovered, but that changed when his helm was given to him by his new squire, Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden.

Gregor put on his helm, and he climbed onto his massive destrier. Once he locked his feet in the stirrups, Willas handed him his lance. By then, Ser Meryn Trant was astride his own horse with his own lance in hand.

The Kingsguard and the Mountain brought their horses to the front of the platform. They dipped their heads to their King, and he gave a wave of his hand and proclaimed "Start your round, gentlemen."

At that, Ser Meryn and Gregor rode to the opposite ends of the jousting field. Once in position, they faced each other off. Both men lowered their lances in the direction of each other, and they waited for the signal. Once it came, they broke into a charge.

Daliah watched intently as the distance between her son and his opponent became progressively smaller. She knew the Kingsguard was no match for the Mountain That Rides, but in spite of that, she found herself holding her breath.

Soon the two men were upon each other. Daliah willed herself not to look away.

Meryn Trant's lance merely bounced off of Gregor's shield. But Gregor's lance struck true. He roughly jabbed the other rider in the center of his chest. The impact that blow was so powerful that Ser Meryn practically flew off his saddle.

The audience burst into cheers again as Meryn Trant hit the ground and rolled around in the dirt. After letting out a sigh of relief, Daliah joined her voice to theirs.

Needless to say, she was very proud of her son's performance. But she did not rejoice just yet.

This is only the first round, after all.

The next tilt was between Jorah Mormont and Jason Mallister. The Lord of Bear Island managed to unhorse the Lord of Seagard on the first pass.

Nymeria had cheered louder than anyone else in Daliah's company when that happened. Amidst the applause, Daliah heard her whisper to Obara "One day, he's helping him defend his holdfast. The next, he's beating him with a lance."

Daliah scoffed at that observation, partly because it was true. Both Jorah and Nymeria had been present at the defense of Seagard.

The next four rounds were between men Daliah had either never heard of or did not especially favor. She was relatively indifferent to the outcome of each of those bouts.

After that, Sandor was up against Ser Ryam Florent, younger brother to Lord Alester Florent of Brightwater Keep and Lady Selyse Baratheon's father.

Sandor had chosen to forgo wearing a helm, as usual. Of course, that was the reason half of his face made most people cringe. Even so, he believed leaving his scar visible would drive fear into the hearts of his opponents.

His theory may have had some merit to it. When he and his adversary faced off, Ryam Florent appeared to become startled by the Hound's countenance for a split-second. That momentary distraction was enough for Sandor to catch him off-guard and knock him off his mount.

After three more duels between six unfamiliar parties, Oberyn Martell made his first appearance. He sparred with and easily defeated Ser Jon Fossoway of New Barrel.

Within a few hours, over thirty matches had been staged, and just as many men had been removed from the competition.

To the astonishment and delight of many, Robert Baratheon participated in the last round of the first wave. There were some who tried to dissuade him, but he insisted that he had the situation in control.

He did indeed. The King had gained a little weight since his Rebellion, but he still fit into his armor perfectly. He held his lance and balanced his shield with the same stable hands as before.

Ironically, his opponent was Rhaegar Frey, one of Lord Walder's many grandsons. Unsurprisingly, the Frey was far from the King's equal. Robert managed to defeat him far more effortlessly than he had defeated his namesake.

Among the group of victors in the first wave of tilts were Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister, Polliver, and Rafford. Three more of Gregor's personal men-at-arms had entered the lists, but they had not lasted beyond the first wave.

The first three rounds of the second wave were between Sandor and Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte, Jorah and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, and Gregor and Ser Ryman Frey of the Twins.

Sandor eliminated his opponent on the third pass; Jorah on the second. Both rounds ended with the head of House Glover and the Kingsguard knight lying in the dirt.

Gregor's round ended a little differently.

To Daliah (and others), it was a wonder that Ryman Frey had survived the first wave. He had been conspicuously half-drunk at the time, and his posture had been lacking of grace and discipline. Then again, his adversary had been Shitmouth, and while the most foul-mouthed of Gregor's men-at-arms was excellent with a sword, he was hopeless with a lance. In fact, he had kept mumbling "Bugger me with a lance" after he had been knocked off his mount.

It's fortunate he did not say something worse.

At any rate, Daliah had no doubt as to who the victor of this round would be.

Not only was Gregor the superior fighter, but Ryman Frey was even more disheveled than before. He was closer to full-drunk than half-drunk, he did not even bother to secure his feet in his stirrups, and he could not hold his lance straight. He looked more a mummer playing a rider than an actual rider.

"This should be unexciting," Ellyn muttered blankly. Daliah had to agree with her daughter.

Ellyn's prediction turned out to be untrue.

Ryman Frey and Gregor Clegane soon began their charge. Somehow, Ser Ryman managed to keep his horse galloping alongside the rail that separated him and Gregor. That was about the only thing he did right. He could hardly even lift his lance.

Gregor kept his horse running in a straight line. He held his lance in a steady hand. He had it pointed directly at Ser Ryman's chest. The Frey knight's shield was hanging uselessly from his left arm, leaving his upper body exposed. One firm nudge would have been enough to throw him off.

Gregor gave him more than that.

In the split-second before they were upon each other, Gregor raised his lance slightly higher. Instead of striking Ser Ryman in the chest, the lance was driven through his throat. Upon impact, Ryman Frey lurched violently. By the time Gregor passed him, the tip of Gregor's lance broke off, and he had fallen off his horse, flat onto his back.

Many of the women in the audience screamed in response. Daliah fought hard to suppress a scream of her own. She, Dacey, Obara, and Nymeria managed to stay silent, but Ellaria and Ellyn did not hold back.

Ryman Frey was erratically convulsing on the ground. His eyes were wide-open, blood was spilling out of his throat, and the only sound that came from his throat was a sickening gurgle.

Gregor hastily brought his horse to a halt and climbed off it. He rushed to Ryman's side. He had his back to his family, but Daliah could hear him say "Ser Ryman? Hold in there. Try not to move. You're going to be alright."

He sounded authentically frantic and anxious. If Daliah did not know better, she would have thought he really was convinced that Ryman Frey would live. But it happened she knew her son very well.

He's killed enough men to know that a stab to the throat is deadly.

Apart from that, Gregor was not one to feed people false hope. If a person was doomed to die, Gregor would not mislead him into believing otherwise. Daliah had never seen a man die before, but she could tell Ryman was going to.

By the time a maester arrived on the scene, Ryman Frey had breathed his last. His body was carried off the field, and servants moved in to clean up the mess.

Once that was done, the King announced that due to the circumstances, the remainder of the second wave of the joust would be moved to the following day. No one there gave a word of protest.

As the crowd dispersed, Gregor came to his family. He seemed quite guilty over what had just happened. His wife, father, and the Dornishwomen attempted to comfort him.

Daliah just remained in her seat. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see Ellyn. She whispered softly "Mother… did you see it?"

Ever the observant one. Daliah knew what "it" was. She lightly nodded her head.

Clearly, Ellyn too had noticed how Gregor had lifted his lance at the very last moment before he had reached Ser Ryman. There had been no need for him to do so; he could have kept his lance level with Ryman Frey's chest and he would have won.

He must have spotted the opening above the Frey knight's chainmail vest. Gregor did not miss details such as that. Furthermore, Daliah could not forget what Gregor had mentioned earlier. He had proclaimed rather certainly that an accident might take place during the joust. Either he had correctly forecasted this fiasco, or…

That was no accident.

Daliah realized this when she recalled something else Gregor had said. He claimed to be in control of everything in the joust. He made certain to emphasize "everything."

Although he had seemed concerned for Ryman's well-being, anyone could feign concern. Additionally, Daliah knew her son could kill a man with any weapon, including a lance. He never killed anyone by mistake.

What bothered her most was that he had made a victim of Walder Frey's grandson. Daliah was less than fond of Freys herself. But even so…

What possible reason would Gregor have for killing a member of House Frey in a joust?

…

In spite of what happened, the death of Ryman Frey did not generate any lasting hostility between his kin and Gregor Clegane. Straight after the jousting field was vacated, the Mountain had gone straight to the other members of House Frey who had attended the tourney. Then he offered them a hundred golden dragons to atone for his misdeed.

Any other family would most likely have been outraged to be given money as reparation for the loss of one of their own. The Freys, however, were not known for being mournful of anyone. They had eagerly accepted the Mountain's recompense.

You would think they much prefer the dragons to Ser Ryman.

If that was so, Nymeria Martell would not have been astounded. She could still vividly recall how rudely Ser Ryman had treated her during both of her visits to the Twins. The first time, when she had first gone north, many of his brethren had been rude to her simply because of her baseborn status. Ryman in particular had been downright harsh. His opinion meant little and less to her, but she would not forget a slight.

On the second occasion, most of the Freys treated her with a considerably larger amount of respect. Even so, Ryman's manners were still lacking. Actually, they were closer to nonexistent.

He had been as drunk as he had during the joust, and he had tried to pressure her into agreeing to a marriage contract between her and his son Edwyn. Even after she had clearly voiced her disdain, he had continued to force the issue.

At least Papa put him in his place before I had to.

Nymeria had never been more grateful to her father than when he had led Ryman Frey away and knocked him out cold. She personally would have done worse. Luckily, worse had ultimately happened to him anyway.

When Gregor thrust his lance through Ryman Frey's throat, Nymeria had been as shocked as everyone else in the stands. But right after, she felt a queer sense of satisfaction from watching him bleed out on the ground. She had received suitable retribution from when Ryman Frey had humiliated her.

Nymeria had suspected that Ser Ryman's death might not have been accidental. Truthfully, she did not really care if it was. All the same, after the jousting field and the stands were cleared, she had gone to Gregor Clegane with the intention of talking to him on the topic. Fortunately, even before the Mountain killed the Frey knight, Nymeria had already been planning to speak to him on a different matter.

"I will be honest with you, Nym," Gregor admitted to her when they were alone, "I did not misjudge the distance between Ser Ryman's neck and chest. My hand did not slip. My horse did not buckle. My lance struck precisely where I intended it to."

He must be honest right now. No one else would confess so readily.

"I would much sooner praise than condemn what you did, my lord," the former Sand Snake pronounced, "But I'm curious to know; why did you do it?"

"For three reasons," the Mountain enlightened her, "Firstly, he was the heir to the heir of the Twins. While Stevron Frey could help his house regain its honor, Ryman would destroy his work upon succeeding him. By removing Ryman and installing his son Edwyn as Ser Stevron's heir, we have avoided that problem. Secondly, I did it for you. Your father told me of how crass Ryman had been to you. Any man who treats women – especially a highborn lady – like that is an insect, and should be dealt with as one."

Isn't that chivalrous of him? Nymeria folded her arms and queried "And the third reason?"

"I killed him for Dacey," Gregor disclosed candidly.

Nymeria raised an eyebrow and murmured in confusion "For Dacey? Why? Did Ser Ryman insult her, too?"

"He did not," Gregor informed her, "But given the chance, he would have something far done worse to her."

"How can you be certain?" Nymeria said inquisitively.

"That, I cannot explain," Gregor claimed, "Not yet, at least. But believe me; as inept and simple as Ryman Frey was, he was also capable of terrible things. I did not cherish the act of killing him, but even so, I did it out of necessity. In my mind, he was nothing more than a waste of space."

"Mine, as well," Nymeria conceded "But are you not worried about fallout with House Frey?"

"I am not," Gregor told her drily, "I have already compensated House Frey with a stash of golden dragons. Given how quick they were to accept my remuneration, Ryman will not be missed. It is quite probable that even Ryman's father and children will not shed any tears for him."

Oddly enough, Nymeria felt a touch of pity for Ryman Frey then. As much as she despised him, it would be a terrible thing for anyone to die and have no one grieve for them.

A moment later, she remembered her personal encounters with Ryman Frey, and she decided he was undeserving of her sympathies.

"Your mother and sister may suspect foul play, my lord," Nymeria informed the tall man. Back at the jousting field, she had noticed how Lady Daliah Clegane and Ellyn Clegane had seemed a little dubious about the whole affair with Ryman Frey. As such, the young Dornishwoman thought it best to let Gregor know of that."

"They may talk to me on this later," Gregor muttered, "If so, I'll tell them something to set their minds at ease."

"Will you tell them the whole truth?" Nymeria inquired.

"If I must," Gregor told her, "I derive no thrill from lying to my family, but at times, I must do so to protect them and myself."

"I understand, my lord," Nymeria asserted.

"Does anyone else suspect?" Gregor queried.

"Not that I know of," Nymeria replied.

"Excellent," Gregor said approvingly.

But if anyone else does suspect, I know he'll find a feasible solution to ease their minds. That's his way.

There was some silence, and then Gregor remarked "While you're here, perhaps we can discuss that other subject of precedence."

"That's what I was hoping to do, my lord," Nymeria revealed.

This other matter had to do with Lord Leyton Hightower's youngest child.

A few days ago, the tourney's knighting ceremony had been held. Nymeria had attended it under the premise of wishing to see her sister's husband get knighted. In actuality, there was another reason for her presence there.

In addition to witnessing Sandor Clegane's knighting, she had gone to see Jorah Mormont gain his knighthood, as well.

Nymeria's experiences with Lord Jorah had not been limited to their time on board the Lord Steffon. Even after they returned to the Westerlands, the two of them had continuing to bond. Since then, she had grown to greatly appreciate the bear lord's company.

He was one of the few men outside the Legion without Banners who treated her like a fellow comrade. She was aware that the women of House Mormont were seen as equals to the men, and that they fought alongside the other Northmen in battle.

Still, Nymeria was pleased to discover that Lord Jorah's tolerance for warrior women extended beyond his own family. He had developed a profound fascination with the totally unbiased military principles of Dorne. She had been all too happy to educate him on them.

The subject of how the two of them were of opposite genders had never entered into the conversation. As a Dornishwoman, Nymeria was accustomed to talking to males and females in the same fashion. Even when the topic of sexual intercourse entered the discussion, she spoke indifferently.

Nevertheless, she had to admit Jorah Mormont was a fine specimen of a man. Strong, brave, relatively handsome, understanding… those were desirable qualities in any male.

Even so, Nymeria did not have any suggestive thoughts about the lord of Bear Island. Lord Jorah was around twice her age. He was past his thirtieth nameday; Nymeria had only seen her sixteenth. For that reason, she did not believe he truly regarded her as a woman. He probably saw her the same way her father did: as a girl.

Nymeria would have been content with that. She had seen friendships between men and women fall apart when the issue of sex came up. She did not wish to jeopardize her relationship with Jorah Mormont on that basis. Not unless there was a distinct chance it might lead to something greater.

Alas, there may never be such a chance.

So Nymeria elected to keep her friendship with Jorah Mormont strictly platonic. For the last several weeks, she had done an admirable job of maintaining that mindset. They had interacted, they had talked, they had exchanged interesting stories, and in all that time, they had never once brought up their difference in gender.

At the knighting ceremony, Nymeria had only appeared to provide support for the bear lord and cheer for him.

However, her resolve was put to the test straight after the ceremony. That was when she first encountered that harlot from Oldtown.

It was common knowledge that the Reach and Dorne had never peacefully coexisted with each other. The only two notable exceptions were the Night's Watch and the Legion without Banners, the latter of which had proven to be more successful. But the number of Legionnaires from the Reach and Dorne accounted for a mere fraction of the total populations of both countries.

Be that as it may, Nymeria's reason for detesting Lynesse Hightower was not her homeland.

Nymeria had actually been relatively indifferent to Lynesse and her family when they arrived. She did not know very much about House Hightower. She knew that their seat was Oldtown, which was where the Citadel was located. Secretly, her half-sister Sarella plotted to apply to the Conclave and become the world's first female maester one day.

In addition to that, her father and Aunt Elia had been there at least once.

They had been very young at the time; the reason for their visit was to seek out potential betrothals for the both of them. Nymeria's grandmother had considered wedding her daughter and second son to Lord Leyton's two eldest children, Baelor and Malora.

For a while, the prospect of those matches actually seemed quite plausible. Oberyn had discovered that Malora had indeed earned her moniker Mad Malora, but he could put up with a bit of madness.

Just when the contracts were practically on the verge of being drawn up, Baelor Hightower had the misfortune of farting in Aunt Elia's presence. After that, she had been unable to even be in the same room as him without laughing. She had gone so far as to call him Baelor Breakwind.

The prospect of marriage between House Hightower and House Martell had quickly died after that.

Despite that, Nymeria's family and Lord Leyton's were able to treat each other fairly when they met up after the knighting ceremony. Although the Hightowers all held their heads high, most of them at least possessed the chivalry the Reach was lauded for.

Nymeria Martell did not officially decide she disliked Lynesse Hightower until the latter threw herself at Lord Jorah. The primary reason she was so angered was because Lynesse had waited until Jorah mentioned that he was unmarried to approach him.

Whatever idea's she getting, it cannot be a good one.

Gregor Clegane seemed to greatly object to Lynesse Hightower's behavior, as well. However, unlike Nymeria, he appeared to dislike the Reachwoman from the moment he first saw her. Perhaps even before that.

During the bear lord's first encounter with the Hightower woman, the Mountain had come to the former Sand Snake and whispered into her ear.

"We must be mindful of Lady Lynesse," he had remarked to her, "I have seen her like before: manipulative, greedy, and selfish. She does not truly care for Lord Jorah. She is merely out to exploit him."

Nymeria was appalled by the mere concept of that. She did not even have to say a word for Gregor to realize just how disgusted she was.

"I know what you must be thinking: we cannot allow that to happen," Gregor had continued, "And we will not. I have a task for you, Nymeria. If you think yourself up to it."

Nymeria had given a lone nod in compliance, and the Mountain had told her "For the time-being, I need you to keep a close eye on Lady Lynesse whenever she's around Lord Jorah. He is a strong man, but still a man all the same. Even he can fall victim to the intimate charms of a woman. You must guarantee that he does not give in to hers."

Lord Gregor must have noticed how much time Nymeria had been spending with Jorah, as well as how close the two of them had become. However, his knowledge of their relationship was not what perturbed her at that moment.

What really perturbed her was that Gregor was right. Lynesse Hightower had the means and the will to seduce Lord Jorah, if she so wished.

Nymeria had never once considered the likelihood that she would be jealous of another woman, even if said woman was after the affection of the Lord of Bear Island. Lynesse's intimate interaction with Lord Jorah was a kind of sudden awakening to her.

For the first time in her life, she actually felt envious of another woman.

As a result, she had earnestly responded to Lord Gregor's request with "You can count on me to do that, my lord."

Indeed, he could.

Over the next few days, Nymeria continued to spend time with Jorah Mormont, just as she had been doing since the battle of Seagard. However, whenever he was not with her or his retainers, he could usually be found in the company of Lynesse Hightower.

Whenever they were together, Nymeria watched both of them from a safe distance. She monitored everything they did. For the most part, they just talked. But she could see Lynesse giggled at times, and at other times, Jorah smiled back at her.

Part of her felt a little guilty for spying on the bear lord. But another part recalled that in the long run, she was doing so for his benefit. That lessened the guilt considerably.

In the end, nothing especially notable had happened these past few days. At least nothing which suggested that Lynesse Hightower was striving to have Lord Jorah wrapped around her finger. Even so, she recounted every detail of all their encounters to Gregor Clegane. When she was finished, he did not seem displeased by her report. But his reservations about Lynesse Hightower had not waned.

"Either she is merely flirting with him, or she has already done more than that, and he has ignored her advances," Nymeria conjectured.

"It could be either case," Gregor perceived, "She may make more of an effort to entice him as the tourney goes on."

"After he's won a few more tilts, I'm certain she will," Nymeria supposed.

Gregor nodded at that. Then he patted the young Dornishwoman on the shoulder and stated in approval "Good work so far, Nymeria. If you wish, I can take over from here. You do not have to continue observing Lord Jorah and Lady Lynesse."

"I would not mind continuing to do so, my lord," Nymeria sternly proclaimed, "I have the situation well in control. Other than browsing through a few shops and visiting with family and friends, I had nothing special planned for the tourney. I have more than enough time to do all that and ensure that Lynesse Hightower behaves herself. That will also allow you to devote your focus to the remainder of the joust."

Gregor was visibly proud and impressed by the logic of her answer. He smiled down at Nymeria and said to her "Very well. Keep up the good work."

"I shall, my lord," she swore. With that, she and the Mountain exited their shelter and went their own ways.

The joust lasted for four more days. Sandor, Gregor, Papa, and Jorah continued to be amongst the contenders most likely to win. Nymeria cheered for all four of them with her family and theirs.

Inwardly, the former Sand Snake would have been satisfied if any of them won the competition. She wondered who would be the Queen of Love and Beauty in each case. She felt she could predict who would receive that honor if the Mountain, the Hound, or the Red Viper emerged victorious.

If Gregor won, Dacey would be crowned. If Sandor won, Obara would be crowned. Alternately, they could have crowned their mother Lady Daliah, if their wives did not want it. If Papa won… he had five choices between his paramour and his four present daughters.

Secretly, Nymeria would have preferred for her father to crown Ellaria over her and her sisters. It would have been worth it just to see the expressions on those stuffy highborn cunts' faces when a baseborn woman was made Queen of Love and Beauty.

Jorah's choice was a mystery. Nymeria honestly had no idea who he would pick. He might have selected Dacey, given she was his closest living relative.

Regardless of who he chose, she was praying he would not give the crown to Lynesse Hightower.

For the next three days, Nymeria monitored the interactions between Jorah and Lady Lynesse. To her delight, he still made time to mingle with the young Dornishwoman. But with each passing day, he spent a little less with her and a little more with the Reachwoman. She tried not to assume the worse, but she could not ignore what that may have entailed.

At the same time, the joust went on. No more deaths (staged or otherwise) took place, but more and more names were removed from the list of participants.

Baelor Hightower. Danwell Frey. Smalljon Umber. Mathis Rowan. Kevan Lannister. Tytos Blackwood. Polliver. Rafford. Wylis Manderly. Bonifer Hasty. Balman Byrch. Randyll Tarly. Hoster Tully. Merrett Frey. Addam Marbrand. Helman Tallhart. Gunthor Hightower. Gerion Lannister. Petyr Frey. Thoros of Myr. Malcolm Branfield. All of them performed superbly, yet all of them had fallen.

Even Robert Baratheon was no longer among the remaining contenders. In the fifth wave, he had faced Gregor. The King had put up a very formidable bout. He actually appeared to have had the upper hand over the Mountain for most of their round. But the Lord of Moat Cailin managed to wear him down and unhorse him on the eighth pass.

In the sixth wave, Oberyn and Sandor were removed from the lists. They had been dispatched by the Kingsguard knights Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister respectively.

Jorah Mormont was still at the top of his game. He had defeated Yohn Royce, Hosteen Frey, Walter Whent, and Lyle Crakehall in rapid succession. Every time he won a tilt, Nymeria cheered loudly. Across the field, she could hear Lynesse Hightower cheer just as loudly. But Nymeria felt that at least with regards to cheering, she was the Reachwoman's superior. Lynesse's cheer lacked passion, whereas hers was laden with it.

By the end of the seventh wave, only four contenders were left: Gregor, Jorah, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jaime. The victor of the joust would be determined on the morrow.

After the field was cleared, Nymeria met up with Jorah and offered "Would you care to go for a walk, my lord?"

"Perhaps later, Nymeria," he replied, "I beseech your pardon, but I have a previous engagement elsewhere."

"As you say," she said in response. She sounded understanding, but inwardly, she was apprehensive.

Nymeria watched Jorah as he headed away from the area. When he had gone thirty feet, she went after him. She kept that much space between them, as always.

Five minutes later, they arrived in the section of the tourney grounds set aside for vendors. Nymeria spotted Lynesse Hightower standing at a jewelry kiosk. She appeared to be haggling with the jeweler over the price of a necklace.

When Jorah showed up next to her, she turned away from the kiosk and grinned at him. He smiled back at her. Then they began to talk with the jeweler.

Nymeria could not hear what any of them were saying, but she could surmise much from their gestures.

Evidently, Lynesse wished to purchase the necklace, but she was unwilling to pay the established amount for it. She had had no luck convincing the jeweler to lower his price. Jorah attempted to negotiate with the jeweler. The jeweler seemed to appreciate Jorah's patience and reasonable nature, but he still refused to lower the price. Subsequently, Jorah…

Oh, no. Please, no.

Jorah BOUGHT the necklace for Lynesse. He even fastened the clasp around her neck. The Reachwoman was elated by his gift to her. She kissed the Northman on both of his bearded cheeks. He appeared alarmed at first, but he did not resist. He even smiled afterward.

Nymeria just stood by and watched, overcome with both bewilderment and fury.

Jorah departed from the vicinity soon after. He was heading towards the camps. Lynesse did not go with him. She instead walked in the opposite direction, almost towards Nymeria.

Normally, Nymeria would have avoided making any form of contact with the Reachwoman. But at that moment, she was so angry that she could not restrain herself.

When the woman from Oldtown was nearly upon her, the former Sand Snake emerged from her cover and muttered through gritted teeth "Lady Lynesse."

Lynesse Hightower promptly stopped and turned her head when she heard her name. When she saw who had addressed her, she gave a slight nod and uttered nonchalantly "Oh, Princess Nymeria."

Nymeria did not even bother informing the Reachwoman that she deplored that title. Instead, she mumbled crossly "I have some information for you."

Other than a slight raise of her eyebrow, Lynesse did not seem interested. Nevertheless, she stated "Fine. Be quick about it, though."

Nymeria stepped closer and said menacingly "If you value your well-being, you will stay away from Lord Jorah,"

Lynesse's eyes widened for a second, and then her brow furrowed and she murmured indignantly "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Nymeria pronounced irately, "I've seen the way you gawk at him. You may claim to be fond of him, but I know that all you care about is what luxuries he could provide. It's disgraceful, appalling, and outrageous, and I will not allow it to go on."

Lynesse did nothing to deny that accusation. That was enough to convince Nymeria that it was in fact true. Even so, the Reachwoman merely smirked and presumed "And you plan to stop me?"

"Yes, I do," the Dornishwoman firmly answered. At this time, she still had her whip attached to her belt. It was coiled up tightly, but the handle was accessible. After that last statement, she touched the palm of her right hand against the whip's handle.

The threatening gesture did not go unnoticed by Lynesse Hightower, but she did not appear intimidated.

"Do not think I can be frightened so easily, little girl," Lynesse spat, putting a mocking emphasis on the last two words.

"You call me 'little girl?'" Nymeria snapped heatedly, "You cannot be more than two years my elder."

"You would be amazed what difference two years could make," Lynesse wryly retorted, "Especially to the eyes of a man."

Nymeria enclosed her fingers around the handle of her whip, took another step forward, and proclaimed "I am warning you, bitch. If you do anything to shatter Lord Jorah's happiness, I will make you suffer."

Lynesse scowled and uttered angrily "Why do you care?"

"I care because he is my friend," Nymeria professed.

"And you believe that gives you the right to decide who Lord Jorah pursues?" Lynesse countered hostilely, "I may be interacting with him out of my own interests, but at least I am not forcing him to do so. He's doing so by his own choice. But you… you're standing directly in his way."

"Because I know he'd be better off without you," Nymeria declared.

"Even so, whoever he wishes to be is his decision alone," Lynesse sharply debated, "Yet you're trying to make his decision for him. You are dictating his actions. You claim to care about him, but you do not even allow him to make his own choices."

Nymeria was speechless. She never would have thought Lynesse Hightower would be so clever. Nor had she considered the point the Reachwoman had just made. Now that it had occurred to her… she was at a loss for words.

Everything she just said is true.

Lynesse Hightower smirked, thinking she had won the argument. She continued walking away from the vicinity. As she left, she gazed back and called out scathingly "Think on that, Princess."

By her tone of voice, one would have thought she meant to call the younger woman "cunt" or "bastard" instead.

Nymeria remained where she was for a good few minutes, hardly moving a muscle or saying a word. After that, she went to find her family, and she spent the rest of the day with them. She had totally forgotten about the walk she had planned on having with Jorah Mormont.

The next morning, right before the final rounds of the joust, Nymeria rendezvoused with Lord Gregor Clegane again. She told him about her encounter with Lynesse Hightower. She expected him to be frustrated or disappointed with her for confronting Lynesse as he had. Instead, he was sympathetic to her. Lynesse had made her question what she was doing, but Gregor had reassured her that it was the right thing.

The Mountain had some disquieting news to share with Nymeria, as well.

"Last night, Dacey and I visited Jorah at his tent," Gregor apprised her, "He was not there when we arrived. A few minutes later, he showed up. He was carrying a clock over his shoulder. His house cloak."

Nymeria was stunned to learn that. "Are you certain of that, my lord?"

I am," Gregor affirmed, "I recognized it as the very same cloak Dacey wore when she and I wed."

"Why did he have it?" Nymeria queried.

"He claimed the cloak had gotten damaged on the journey south," Gregor disclosed, "A couple days back, he had hired one of the seamstresses on the tourney grounds to repair it. Last night, when we met with him, he was just coming back from picking it up from her."

"I see," Nymeria avowed. She folded her arms and inquired "Why did he bring it to the Westerlands on the first place?"

"He explained that, too," the Mountain replied, "Since his wife Blinda died without giving him an heir, he is expected to take a new bride. Even before he left Bear Island, he thought to find one after the war with the Ironborn ended. According to him, the tourney has made his search all the easier."

"What do you mean?" Nymeria asked, though part of her did not truly wish to know more.

"He mentioned that he has his eyes on a certain woman," Gregor revealed, a note of tension detectable in his own voice, "When I asked who, he was very vague. All he said was that I knew who she was, I have met her before, she appears to have a personal interest in him, and he has called upon her frequently during the tourney."

Sounds too much like someone from Oldtown.

"I see," Nymeria muttered frankly.

Gregor smiled gently at her and remarked optimistically "Actually, Lynesse Hightower is not the only woman here who meets those criteria. There is another."

Nymeria was genuinely perplexed. "Who?"

At first, Gregor looked at her as though she was jesting. When it dawned on him that she was not, he frowned and stated incredulously "Nymeria, if you yourself do not know by now, I will not even be bothered to tell you."

"Suit yourself, my lord," Nymeria conceded. She did not truly care who this other woman was. As long as she was better than Lynesse Hightower, she was content. "So, how will he approach this woman he wishes to marry?"

"He told me he has a plan," the Lord of Moat Cailin elucidated, "If he wins the jousting competition today, he will crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty."

"And if he loses?" Nymeria proposed.

"Then he will simply propose in the tradition way," Gregor professed, "He argued that she should be content with having one of the tourney's finalists, if not the winner."

If I were him, I would not be too certain of that, my lord.

"Now that does not sound like Lynesse Hightower," Nymeria commented slyly, "I imagine that with her, it's either the best or nothing at all."

"I agree," Gregor concurred, "With that in mind, the only surefire way to keep Lynesse Hightower away from Jorah… is if he is defeated in the final tilts."

"True…" Nymeria admitted, "Not pleasant to think on, but true just the same."

This conversation came to an abrupt end. Mostly because neither the Mountain nor the former Sand Snake wish to say anything more on the topic.

As Nymeria made her way to the stands, she wondered how the joust would turn out.

For the duration of the competition, she had been cheering for Lord Jorah. However, he was one of only four men she would have liked to see win the joust. The others were Lord Gregor, Sandor, and her father. Only Lord Jorah and Lord Gregor had made it to the finals.

Before this moment, she would have loved to see either of them emerge victorious. Now… she had mixed feelings about the bear lord. If he lost, his troubles with Lynesse Hightower would be over. But despite that, Nymeria could not bring herself to actually wish defeat upon Lord Jorah. She still wanted him to win. Just as much as she wanted to see Gregor win.

Of course, if Jorah did win…

I do not know who this other woman Lord Gregor mentioned is, but I just hope she's the one Lord Jorah truly favors. Then again… oh, Gods; what if she's even worse than Lynesse Hightower?

Nymeria tried not to dwell on that concept. She managed to push if from her mind once she reached the stands. After she took up her usual spot in the stands with the other Martells and the Cleganes, she talked to no one, preferring to sit in relative silence.

The first round of the day was between Jorah Mormont and Jaime Lannister. That proved an extremely tense bout, even by the standards of this tourney.

Lord Jorah and Ser Jaime managed to strike each other on the first tilt, and both of their lances practically splintered apart.

After the two men were given new lances, they charged each other once more. On the first pass, their lances only hit each other's shields. On the second pass, Jorah's lance broke against Jaime's gold armor.

The third tilt yielded similar results. Only this time, it was Jaime's lance that shattered against Jorah's shield.

This pattern went on for the next five tilts. Each time, one or both riders' lances ended up in pieces. Clearly, neither man would go down easily.

Finally, in the ninth tilt, Jorah's lance struck Jaime's armor in his far left torso. The off-center blow was enough to disorient the Kingslayer. A moment later, Jaime Lannister lost his balance and fell off the right side of his horse.

Nymeria could have sworn she saw the Queen herself join the audience in the subsequent cheers.

Her twin brother, her bodyguard, the sworn protector of her husband… yet she applauds when he faces defeat. Or maybe it is for him she cheers.

The following round between Gregor Clegane and Barristan Selmy was not as long, but it was just as intense.

Half a-dozen passes were made before Ser Barristan jammed his lance against Lord Gregor's shoulder. The Mountain groaned in pain loudly, but he remained ahorse. Alas, he was unable to lift his shield so that it protected the whole of his chest, which Barristan was quick to note.

Thrice more, the Lord Commander of Robert's Kingsguard delivered a fierce jab to the upper left of Gregor's chest. Each time, the Mountain's concentration and endurance seemed to weaken more and more.

Just when it appeared Barristan Selmy had won… Gregor Clegane made an astonishing comeback. On the next pass, he kept his shield lowered until Ser Barristan was nearly upon him. Then, with the agility of a Braavosi water dancer, Gregor threw up his shield to divert Barristan's lance and simultaneously drove his own lance towards his opponent's midsection. He caught the legendary knight right in the abdomen. Ser Barristan had the wind knocked out of him. Unable to catch his breath soon enough, he leaned to the side and collapsed onto the ground.

Dacey Mormont's cheer was so loud that it could be heard above everyone else's, all around the jousting field. Nymeria snickered at that.

I wonder how she'll cheer after the last round. No matter who wins, she'll be pleased.

Nymeria did not know if she herself would be, though.

After a five-minute hiatus, the final two contenders – Lord Jorah Mormont and Lord Gregor Clegane – began the last round. If the two previous rounds were not exciting enough, this one most definitely was. That was partly because the two participants were cousins-by-law.

Only in a joust could a domestic quarrel be a source of entertainment.

Both men had been rendered somewhat fatigued by their brutal stints against the Kingsguard knights. All the same, they were determined to come out on top.

Nymeria constantly shifted her gaze between the Mountain and the bear lord. She had no idea which of them would be named victor. Nor could she decide who she favored more.

After a while, the more likely candidate became obvious.

Gregor's left shoulder still pained him greatly. Because it had not been tended properly, he was unable to lift his shield higher than his pectorals. That left a very small part of his upper body vulnerable. But it was not too small that Jorah did not notice it.

After eleven rounds of Jorah's lance merely grazing the top of Gregor's shield, he managed to break through the Mountain's defense.

He thrust his lance high up and to the right. He struck Gregor directly on his already-wounded shoulder.

The Mountain let out a horrific shout of anguish as he toppled backwards. Had he been a regular-sized man, he would have landed on his head. It was only due to his great height that he landed on his upper back.

"Gregor!" Dacey yelled in shock.

Nymeria sat up and covered her mouth with both hands. A collective gasp ran through the stands. Even Ryman Frey's death had not been so terrifying to behold.

Lord Jorah Mormont led his horse around the rail and stopped a few feet away from his fallen opponent. He gazed down at the Mountain in deep concern.

"Lord Gregor?" he stated nervously.

For a moment, Gregor Clegane lay totally still. The next moment, he stirred and forced himself to sit up. Then he raised his right arm, used it to pull off his helm, and looked up at the bear lord.

He just smiled and declared wittily "I'd be the first to congratulate you, my lord"

Jorah Mormont chuckled at that. Nymeria, Dacey, and everyone else in their company joined in. So did the whole of the audience in the stands.

Jorah dropped his lance, brought his horse a couple paces closer, and leaned down, holding his now-free right hand out to Gregor. The Mountain took ahold of the offered hand and allowed the Lord of Bear Island to pull him to his feet.

That'd be hard enough to do on the ground. Jorah must be even stronger than I thought.

After helping Gregor back to his feet, Jorah rode over to the platform at the far end of the field. The King and Queen were on their feet.

Nymeria noted that while Gregor could stand unaided, he had his right hand pressed against his left shoulder. Obara must have noticed, as well.

"Are you alright, my lord?" she asked compassionately.

"I will be fine," Gregor asserted, "It's just a sprain."

That's a relief. But hopefully not the only relief to come out of this.

The whole audience shifted their attention to the platform. Jorah was directly before the King and Queen. Robert Baratheon gazed around the area and boisterously announced "The champion of the joust: Jorah of House Mormont, Lord of Bear Island!"

That was when the cheers came. They came louder than those of any prior tilt. Nymeria joined them with hesitation.

Cersei Lannister was holding a wreath of flowers in her hands. She stepped forward and held it out to Lord Jorah, who accepted it graciously.

Here it comes… the moment I've been anticipating and fearing…

Nymeria watched Jorah as he trotted along the perimeter of the jousting field. Out of the corner of the eye, she spotted Lynesse Hightower with her father and siblings. She could have sworn the Reachwoman was smirking at her. Nymeria tried hard to ignore her and kept her focus on Jorah Mormont.

As Lord Jorah drew nearer and nearer to the youngest of Lord Leyton's children, Nymeria let out a deep sigh. She wanted to look away, but found she could not.

Soon, Jorah reached Lynesse Hightower… but he did not stop. His horse trotted right past Lynesse, and her smirk changed to a sneer.

Now it was Nymeria's turn to smirk. At that very moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction in knowing that Jorah had never intended to marry Lynesse Hightower after all.

Her own smirk faded when Jorah finally brought his ride to a halt. He had stopped only three feet from her seat. In other words, he was directly in front… of her.

A wave of silence came over the crowd. But Nymeria took no notice. She could barely even register Lord Jorah as he smiled at her and placed the wreath of flowers in her lap.

He then looked around the field and proclaimed severely "I give you my Queen of Love and Beauty, Princess Nymeria Martell!"

The cheers returned after that. For the second time in as many days, Nymeria did not rebuke a person who called her by that dreaded title. Her mind was too busy trying to piece together what had just taken place.

She managed to see Lord Gregor standing behind. He had his arms folded (despite his sprained shoulder), and he was grinning and nodding.

Suddenly, she recalled the description Lord Jorah had given Lord Gregor of the woman he intended to marry. Every one of those aspects applied to her as they had to Lynesse Hightower.

Nymeria never felt more foolish than at that moment.

How did I not see this coming?

She would have been alright remaining friends with Lord Jorah, but never once had she thought he would be the one who wanted more.

Be that as it may… Nymeria was not opposed to the idea. As a matter of fact, she reveled in it. Her astonishment was hastily replaced with enthusiasm.

After coming to her senses, Nymeria picked up the wreath of flowers and placed in on her head delicately. Then she rose to her feet, eliciting even stronger cheers from those around her.

With a single gesture of her hand, she beckoned Lord Jorah forward. When he was within reaching distance, she leaned over the handrail and kissed his lips passionately.