When the royal herald called out Sandor Clegane's name, the atmosphere in the jousting arena reached a new boiling point.
If "The Mountain" was a terrifying monster, then The Hound was a repulsive mad dog.
Joffrey's personal bodyguard was also a pathetic plaything.
In the stands, curses and cheers mingled, forming a morbid frenzy.
Sandor Clegane paid no attention to this.
He just sat there silently, his expression hidden beneath his grotesque helmet.
His gaze swept over the clamoring crowd and landed on the black figure who was preparing to leave the arena.
A crow riding a Shire horse?
Won against the Frey family's idiot by sheer dumb luck?
Just then, a golden figure pushed his way in front of him.
"The Hound!"
Prince Joffrey's voice was filled with an undeniable command.
His face was flushed, he was slightly panting from excitement, and a fanatic gleam shone in his blue eyes.
"See! Ser Lynn won!"
He pointed at Lynn in the arena, as if showing off his most cherished toy.
"The next match is you against him."
Joffrey lowered his voice slightly.
But the condescending arrogance in it remained undiminished.
"I forbid you to win."
Sandor's body stiffened for a moment.
He lifted his visor, slowly turned his grotesque head, and looked at the young prince before him.
"Why?"
"No why!"
Joffrey puffed out his chest.
"I just want Ser Lynn to win!"
"He saved my life! He is my hero! He will be my future Kingsguard!"
"And you, Sandor, you are just a dog."
"A dog does what its master tells it to do."
"If you dare to let him fall from his horse, I will chop off your ugly dog's head and hang it on the walls of the Red Keep."
Joffrey's vicious words were exceptionally clear amidst the clamor at the edge of the jousting arena.
Sandor fell silent.
In his eyes, a raging inferno of anger and humiliation boiled, enough to burn a person to ashes.
But he ultimately said nothing.
He just slowly nodded.
"As you command, my Prince."
Watching Joffrey turn and leave, satisfied, Sandor's hands, hidden beneath his armor, clenched into tight fists.
Lynn returned to the House Stark viewing stand and took off his helmet.
He deliberately panted heavily, his forehead covered in sweat, and his face a little pale.
"Lynn! You were amazing!"
Arya's eyes shone like stars.
Sansa handed him a water-soaked silk scarf, her small face filled with admiration and lingering fear.
"Are… are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just a bit exhausted."
Lynn took the scarf and wiped his face.
"That Frey knight had quite a lot of strength."
His exhausted appearance further convinced Sansa and Arya how thrillingly that victory had been won.
Only Ned, looking at Lynn's still calm and unruffled black eyes, felt his suspicion grow even stronger.
Just then, a tall shadow fell over them.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, had walked to the foot of the stands at some point.
He wasn't wearing his helmet, and his face, grotesquely scarred by fire, looked even more terrifying in the sunlight.
"Crow."
He spoke, his voice filled with undisguised contempt.
"Lucky."
He glanced at "Storm," the Shire horse beneath Lynn, which was quietly eating hay.
"Your Shire horse is quite sturdy too."
"However, in the next match, your luck will run out."
"What?"
Lynn looked up, a "just right" hint of nervousness on his face.
"Nothing."
Sandor bared his teeth, stained yellow from wine, his smile uglier than a grimace.
"I just wanted to remind you, when you fall from your horse, remember to protect your neck."
"Otherwise, you might not keep your head."
With that, he turned and left, leaving behind only an oppressive silhouette.
Arya was so angry she wanted to curse, but Ned stopped her with a look.
"He… he seems to really dislike you."
Sansa said with some unease.
"It's alright."
"The fiercer a dog barks, the more afraid it is inside."
Soon, as expected, Loras Tyrell secured the victory.
Lynn also put his helmet back on and swung onto his horse.
The horn sounded again.
Lynn and Sandor Clegane faced each other from opposite ends of the track.
"Look! That lucky crow is back in the arena!"
"This time he's facing The Hound! He's dead for sure!"
"I bet The Hound can unhorse him with one lance!"
Still, no one favored Lynn.
"Begin!"
Robert's roar fell.
Sandor spurred his warhorse almost instantly!
His magnificent warhorse charged forward like an arrow released from a bow, with immense force!
The overwhelming murderous aura even made the noblewomen in the front row of the stands shriek in terror.
Lynn also clumsily began his charge.
His body bounced on the heavy horse's back, looking as if he could be thrown off at any moment.
The two horses crossed!
"Bang!"
A deafening crash!
Lynn's shield shattered instantly!
Wood splinters flew!
His entire body was thrown backward on the horse's back by an irresistible force, looking as if he was about to fall off.
However, just as his body formed a bizarre, nearly ninety-degree angle with the horse's back, his feet, clad in iron boots, gripped the horse's belly like iron clamps!
The massive and steady body of the Shire horse "Storm" played a decisive role at this moment!
It only staggered a few steps before regaining its balance.
And Lynn, incredibly, managed to pull himself back from the brink of falling purely by terrifying core strength!
"Oh oh oh!"
A gasp erupted from the entire arena.
Sandor Clegane stopped at the other end of the track and slowly turned his head.
Beneath his helmet, his brows were tightly furrowed.
Something was wrong.
He had used seventy percent of his strength in that lance strike; even a bull should have been knocked over.
This crow… he didn't fall off?
Moreover, his body's flexibility and balance just now didn't seem like a clumsy novice at all!
"Again!"
The second charge!
Sandor's gaze changed.
If the first was a test.
This time, he carried a hint of seriousness.
He wanted to see what tricks this crow was playing!
"Bang!"
Another loud crash!
This time, Lynn's lance and Sandor's lance collided precisely in mid-air!
Both broke!
Another draw!
Sandor clearly felt the force transmitted from the opponent's lance: heavy, but elusive, like a punch landing on cotton.
Much of his brute force had been dissipated by a strange technique.
This crow was hiding his true abilities!
An absurd thought surfaced in Sandor's mind.
Could it be… could this crow be acting?
A sense of humiliation at being played instantly surged to Sandor's head!
"Motherfucker!"
Sandor cursed inwardly.
He abruptly threw away his broken lance and grabbed his last spare jousting lance.
Fine!
You want to act, do you?
I'll play along!
Let's see if you can keep acting!
The third charge!
This time, Sandor's speed was even faster! His momentum even fiercer!
He was like a mad wild dog!
Lynn also rode to meet him.
His movements were still clumsy, his posture still awkward.
Joffrey stood up nervously.
He was very angry with this uncontrollable dog of his!
The two figures crossed under everyone's gaze!
At the moment of crossing!
Sandor's lance tip thrust directly at Lynn's face!
He wanted to force this crow to show his true skill!
However, Lynn's response again exceeded his expectations.
Lynn did not block, nor did he dodge.
The jousting lance in his hand, with a seemingly panicked movement, clumsily thrust forward!
The target, surprisingly, was Sandor's warhorse!
Madman!
Attacking an opponent's horse in a jousting match was an extremely dishonorable, even despicable, act!
Sandor instinctively tried to withdraw his lance to protect his mount.
But it was too late!
"Crack!"
Lynn's lance accurately pierced Sandor's warhorse's neck armor, breaking with a snap.
However, the front end of the broken lance shaft, a sharp wooden splinter, detached due to the immense inertia!
"Puff!"
The wooden splinter accurately plunged into Sandor's warhorse's eye!
"Hee-haw— "
The warhorse let out an extremely painful whinny, suddenly rearing up!
Sandor felt the world spin!
He was violently thrown off by his maddened mount!
"Bang!"
Sandor Clegane's tall body crashed heavily to the ground.
The entire arena fell silent.
On the high platform, Littlefinger's wine glass clattered to the ground, shattering into pieces.
His face, which always wore a smile, for the first time lost its color.
He lost again?
Lynn still sat on his horse, panting heavily, as if he had expended his last ounce of strength.
He looked at the struggling figure on the ground, and behind his cold visor, the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward.
Playing games with me?
You're still too green.
He ignored the foul curses in the arena, merely turned his horse amidst the gasps and boos, preparing to leave.
Just then, the herald's high-pitched voice sounded again.
"Next up! Will be the Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell."
"Against—"
"The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane!"
Lynn's steps paused.
His gaze turned towards the knights' preparation area.
The Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, was gracefully swinging onto his horse.
The pure white steed beneath him was magnificent, but… it seemed a bit restless, pawing the ground incessantly with its hooves and letting out low whinnies towards The Mountain's direction.
That was a beautiful mare.
A mare in heat.
Littlefinger, it seemed, had found a suitable horse.
He was preparing to win back all the money he lost, with interest, in the finals.
Lynn's gaze then shifted to the other side, where the black Shire horse "Storm" was idly flicking her tail and snorting.
What a coincidence, his Storm was also a mare.
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