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Chapter 31 The Tournament, Killing the Mountain

Faced with Robert's letter, Eddard Stark felt helpless. He couldn't defy the king's order, yet the thought of letting his trusting daughter fraternize with that detestable prince filled him with unease.Time flew by, and the tournament grounds outside the King's Gate were fully erected. King Robert, already impatient, had brought Queen Cersei and the royal children to watch the jousting.Robert sat on the high platform, crown on his head and a horned wine cup in hand. Cersei sat beside him, with Joffrey nearby. Sansa's gaze kept drifting to Joffrey, though he still seemed reluctant to engage with her—his disdain for the North ran deep.Robert scowled at the empty tiltyard, took a long draught of wine, and roared, "I've been sitting here like a fool! Why hasn't it started yet? I'm about to piss myself!"He was already drunk, swaying slightly as he handed his cup to a servant and collapsed back into his chair.Cersei's face twisted in disgust at his crudeness. She stood up and stormed off.Only after Robert's outburst did the tiltyard stir. Two knights rode from the entrance to the platform, bowed to Robert, then retreated to opposite ends of the field.At that moment, Baelish approached from the sidelines and sat down beside Sansa—clearly, he had come from the knights' waiting area just before the joust."Good heavens! Who is that?" Sansa gasped, pointing to a knight clad in black armor, his face hidden by a full helmet, mounted on a massive black stallion."Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain That Rides—Sandor the Hound's brother," Baelish replied, nodding at the black knight."Who's his opponent?" Sansa asked, looking at another knight in shining plate armor on a white horse."Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire once. Let's see how long he lasts," Baelish said, a faint, meaningful smile playing on his lips.As soon as the two knights finished bowing to Robert, the king snapped, "Enough with the posturing! Fight, dammit!"At Robert's shout, Gregor and Hugh spurred their horses to the ends of the field. They took shields and tournament lances from their squires, and at the blast of a horn, they charged toward each other.The Mountain was a notorious knight, but Hugh was no pushover. Their first charge ended in a draw—neither unhorsed the other.They wheeled their horses around and charged again. The thud of hooves grew louder, closer; both lances were aimed straight at their opponent, each determined to unseat the other.But halfway through the charge, Hugh suddenly felt dizzy—his vision blurred, his lance growing impossibly heavy. In that split second, Gregor seized the chance. His lance, driven by the horses' speed, struck Hugh square in the neck.There was a loud crack. The horses raced past each other. On the field, Gregor's lance had snapped, and Hugh lay motionless on the ground— a long splinter of wood protruding from his neck, blood gushing forth. Within moments, he was dead.A gasp rippled through the tiltyard. Everyone mourned the handsome young knight—everyone except Baelish, whose eyes flickered with satisfaction as he looked at Hugh's body.Eddard, who had initially refused to attend the tournament, changed his mind when he heard of the death. Early the next morning, he set aside his duties, took Owen and Vayon Poole, and went to the grounds. Upon arrival, Owen headed straight for the stands to find Arya and Sansa, while Vayon accompanied Eddard to examine Hugh's body.Eddard found Ser Barristan Selmy—who had been guarding the body overnight. Staring at the brand-new chainmail on the corpse and the shining plate armor laid out on the ground, Eddard asked, "This boy... he was only a squire a few months ago. How could he afford a full set of new armor?""Perhaps Lord Arryn left him some money," Barristan said, tapping his helmet thoughtfully."Poor lad. He only wore that armor once—and then he had to face the Mountain," Barristan added, his voice filled with regret."Who arranged the jousting order?" Eddard pressed."All knights drew lots, my lord," Barristan replied."Yes—but who oversaw the drawing?" Eddard said, his tone sharp with implication.Barristan looked at Eddard in surprise. He hadn't expected the Hand to question such a trivial detail.After inspecting the body, Eddard took Vayon to the tiltyard and waved Owen over from the stands."My lord, any discoveries?" Owen asked, joining him."Nothing concrete. The dead knight was Jon Arryn's squire—knighted soon after Arryn died. Baelish mentioned him to me just a few days ago... and now he's gone," Eddard said grimly."Lord Baelish again. He's everywhere, isn't he?" Owen said, his words laced with sarcasm."What do you mean?" Eddard asked, frowning."A moment ago, Arya told me—yesterday, during the joust, Lord Baelish arrived just as it was about to start. And he came from the knights' waiting area," Owen explained.Eddard froze. After a long silence, he said, "It seems Lord Baelish is trying to steer my suspicion toward the Lannisters.""My lord, we must stay vigilant. More players are revealing themselves, and the situation is growing more tangled by the day," Owen warned."I know. You and Vayon go guard Sansa and Arya. I'll find Robert," Eddard said.A short while later, Eddard and Robert emerged from the king's tent, laughing and talking. They climbed onto the high platform together—Robert settling into his chair, Eddard taking a seat at the front of the stands beside his two daughters. Owen and Vayon stood at the back of the stands, keeping watch.That day's joust pitted the Mountain—yesterday's winner—against Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. Loras was the youngest son of Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, and brother to Willas Tyrell, Mace's heir.Compared to Hugh, who had died at the Mountain's hands, Loras was far more handsome. He turned every head the moment he appeared—especially the women's. His 精致 plate armor was carved with intricate patterns, gleaming in the sun.To the delight of the female spectators, the Knight of Flowers plucked a red rose from his saddle, rode to Sansa, bowed gallantly, and handed it to her. Sansa, already starstruck, blushed deeply.But when no one was looking, Loras's eyes met Renly's—who sat further back in the stands. There was an unmistakable warmth in their gaze.Owen, tall enough to see over the crowd even from the back, noticed the look. The sight of one man gazing at another with such affection made his skin crawl. He felt as if he'd just seen something he shouldn't have.The Mountain and the Knight of Flowers bowed to Robert. As soon as Loras's horse drew near the Mountain's black stallion, the latter grew restless—snorting and rearing, nearly throwing Gregor off. Gregor reacted quickly, yanking the reins tight.Some in the stands realized what was happening: Loras rode a mare, and the Mountain's horse was a stallion. It was mating season. But no one spoke up—they'd come for excitement, not fairness.A horn blew. The Knight of Flowers and the Mountain spurred their horses to opposite ends of the field, then charged.Loras tucked his lance under his arm immediately, aiming straight for Gregor. The Mountain, however, was still waiting for his horse to build speed before lowering his own lance.But his stallion, distracted by the mare, had already burst into a full gallop. Gregor couldn't react in time.The horses closed in fast. By the time Gregor finally tried to lower his lance, it was too late. Loras's lance struck Gregor's left shield with a thunderous impact. The force of the hit sent Gregor crashing to the ground—his massive frame and his horse tumbling into the wooden barrier around the field, which splintered under their weight.The tiltyard erupted in cheers. Everyone roared for the Knight of Flowers. Sansa jumped to her feet, clapping wildly.On the ground, the Mountain was furious. He tore off his helmet and hurled it aside, screaming at his squire, "Bring me my sword!"The squire scrambled to fetch a huge longsword. Gregor snatched it, then ordered the squire to hold his horse's reins. With a roar, he swung the sword—and slit the stallion's throat.The horse collapsed, its neck severed cleanly. Blood gushed across the ground.The crowd fell silent. Women screamed in terror. Sansa, still cheering moments earlier, stumbled back into her seat, her face ashen.Killing the horse only fueled Gregor's rage. Spurred on by the blood, he charged toward Loras, swinging his sword.Loras reacted quickly, raising his shield to block—but Gregor's blow was so powerful that even with the shield, he was knocked off his horse.Gregor showed no mercy. He raised his sword again, preparing to strike the prone Loras.Loras, now on the ground, could only lift his shield to fend off the blows. It was clear the small shield wouldn't hold for long. Just as Gregor was about to smash through it, Sandor the Hound leaped from the king's platform, his own sword drawn, and parried the fatal strike.The two swords clashed with a deafening clang, sparks flying.Seeing his brother block him, Gregor's anger flared even hotter. He roared and swung his sword at Sandor, determined to split him in two.Sandor was a skilled knight, but against the Mountain—over seven feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds—he was outmatched. He could only dodge and block, stepping back steadily, his body swaying under the force of Gregor's blows."Stop this at once!" Robert shouted, watching Sandor struggle.But Gregor ignored him, swinging his sword again and again.Eddard stood up, yelling toward the back of the stands, "Owen!"Owen, who had been watching calmly until then, heard Eddard's call. He leaped over the front rows, flipped over the edge of the stands, drew his sword, and with one hand, caught Gregor's descending blade—holding it steady.Sandor took the chance to dart aside, gasping for breath.Gregor didn't care who stood before him. He was consumed by bloodlust, eager to kill. With another roar, he swung his sword at Owen.Owen had initially wanted to test the Mountain—to see what the so-called "peak of human strength" could do. But their first clash had left him disappointed. Gregor had brute force, yes—but his swordsmanship was abysmal. Any interest Owen had in a fair fight vanished.He parried Gregor's blow, then stepped forward, twisting his wrist to redirect the Mountain's sword. His blade sliced across Gregor's wrist—severing the hand. The longsword clattered to the ground.Before Gregor could scream, Owen changed his stance, darting forward and swinging his sword in a flash. They crossed paths for a split second. Owen stepped behind Gregor and sheathed his sword smoothly.The crowd held its breath. Everyone stared at the two figures in the tiltyard.With a thud, Gregor fell to his knees. His head rolled off his shoulders, bouncing across the ground.A collective gasp erupted. No one could believe it—the Mountain, the infamous Lannister enforcer who had seemed unstoppable moments earlier, was dead. Cut down in three quick moves, his head severed from his body.All eyes turned to Owen. He bowed to Robert and Eddard, then walked back to the stands—as if he had just done something as trivial as picking up a stone.