The Mountain of Ice and Fire

The Mountain rode his horse to the Hound's side. The arena fell silent, as the Hound lay motionless on the ground.

The Mountain glared down at the Hound from his horse, saying, "Hound, you were too tense. There's a saying you might not have heard: too much psychological pressure."

With a swift motion, the Mountain hurled his lance, unseating the Hound.

Throwing a lance in jousting was unprecedented in the Seven Kingdoms.

Only the Mountain could use a lance as a projectile.

With that single, forceful throw, the lance flew like a giant serpent dragon, turning the Hound's minor lapse into a decisive defeat.

Ned stared in disbelief!

Unlike the other nobles, he knew this wasn't just luck; it stemmed from the Mountain's focused observation and precise aim!

The Mountain was no longer the brutish, enraged figure of rumor, Ned was certain!

He recalled the Mountain's threat and warning before the tournament: 'Winter is coming, Lord Eddard. Your focus should be on the North. The White Walkers are coming. Continuing to investigate Jon Arryn's death will doom you and everyone around you. Your guards, stewards, maids, septas, stable boys, and butchers will all die because of you, a gruesome death!'

The Hound finally stirred, slowly sitting up and pushing up his visor, a look of confusion in his eyes.

The Mountain had ruthlessly defeated him again, and from a distance.

He hadn't anticipated the Mountain throwing his lance; he had relaxed, believing they were both out of range.

Yet, that small opening was all it took. The Mountain threw the lance and brought him down.

This meticulous, perceptive Mountain, seizing a fleeting opportunity, was both familiar and alien to the Hound.

With the King's loud announcement, the Mountain was declared the champion of the joust, earning forty thousand gold dragons, while the Hound would receive twenty thousand.

The Mountain circled the arena as champion, basking in the crowd's cheers, which now resounded throughout the grounds.

The Mountain approached the King, who personally placed the victor's crown upon his head and presented him with a garland of flowers symbolizing love and beauty. The Mountain, holding the garland, dismounted and offered it to Jaina.

Jaina's beautiful eyes welled up with emotion!

The Mountain lifted Jaina, seating her on his arm. She looped an arm around his neck and steadied the garland on her head. She was only the seventh 'queen' in three hundred years to wear the garland of love and beauty at a tournament. The sixth was Lyanna Stark.

These events would be recorded in the history books by the court scribes.

The Mountain brought his wife to meet the King, and together they accepted the prize of forty thousand gold dragons.

Forty thousand gold dragons—a fortune, more than an ordinary person could spend in several lifetimes.

The Mountain was no longer poor; his mint was churning out coins daily, so this sum didn't particularly excite him.

Jaina, however, who had received noble etiquette training, appeared more thrilled than the Mountain.

It was the highest honor one could receive in this world.

Even those who disliked the Mountain applauded, cheered, and shouted for him and Jaina at this moment!

The Mountain had earned the championship through strength; this honor belonged to the brave.

Regardless of his feelings, the Hound had to stand beside the Mountain and accept the King's award for second place, along with the twenty thousand gold dragons.

While the royal family was known for its extravagant generosity, and the Queen was from the wealthy Lannister family of the Westerlands, Hand of the King Eddard still looked displeased as an award presenter. He knew that most of the money spent on this tournament was high-interest debt borrowed by the Master of Coin, Littlefinger.

Amidst the kingdom's towering debts, Eddard would witness Littlefinger add another stroke to the royal debt to celebrate the new Hand's appointment.

Eddard secretly observed the King, who was laughing heartily. In the King's mind, he probably believed these debts had nothing to do with him.

When the Mountain extended his hand to congratulate the Hound, the Hound glared at the Mountain before finally extending his hand, not to shake the Mountain's, but to take Jaina's hand and kiss the back of it, offering a brother's respect to his sister-in-law.

No matter how much he hated the Mountain, blood ties couldn't be severed.

Jaina quickly returned the gesture. She was elegant, beautiful, knowledgeable, and charming, and many lamented that she had married the Mountain.

"Ser Sandor, Clegane is your home. You are welcome to return anytime," Jaina said, polite, dignified, and generous, seemingly unrelated to the cruel, bloodthirsty Mountain.

Jaina was as beautiful as an angel, while the Mountain was a complete beast.

The Hound said, "Lady Jaina, I am not a knight."

The Hound guarded the Queen, but he was not a knight. Becoming a knight was every martial artist's dream, but the Hound didn't care. Just as he didn't care when people called him the Hound, even though it was derogatory.

The Hound believed that being a dog was at least loyal, while people were not!

*

"Mountain, will you participate in the team melee this afternoon?" the King asked eagerly.

"Yes, Your Grace."

The King glanced toward his tent, where a massive shield and two warhammers lay, the weapons he had prepared for the team competition.

"Damn it, I don't have your luck. The Hand and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard said that if I entered the competition, everyone would deliberately miss, unwilling to truly fight me."

"Yes, Your Grace, the Hand and the Lord Commander are right. If you were to fight, who would dare to fight you? Wouldn't that be courting death?" The Mountain glanced at Hand Eddard, who remained expressionless.

"Alright, I suppose you're right. Then, Mountain, would you be willing to represent me with my shield and warhammers?"

This was a great honor. For a participating knight, it was an honor to boast about for a lifetime, to represent the King himself with his shield and warhammers.

Because of this, the knight's name would be linked to the King and written into history by the court scribes.

"I am sorry, Your Grace, but I have already prepared my weapon, also a warhammer, and a specially made, long-handled warhammer. It is very special," the Mountain said.

The Mountain had refused to represent the King.

The nobles exchanged glances, Hand Eddard was surprised, and the Hound looked at the Mountain, his eyes gleaming.

The Mountain said calmly, "Your Grace, if I use a shield in one hand and a warhammer in the other, I won't enjoy the fight. I don't need a shield, just a warhammer. In a team melee, the Mountain needs no defense!"

These words were full of momentum, overbearing and arrogant, underestimating the heroes of the Seven Kingdoms.

King Robert was stunned, then laughed loudly, "Mountain, you're too arrogant. If a few top knights join forces, they'll eliminate you first."

"I will be the final team champion because my warhammer is terrifying. I believe no one will want to be the first to fight me, so joining forces against me will be useless."

"Oh?" The King was curious. "Mountain, bring out your warhammer and let us see it!"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

Soon, the Mountain's warhammer was brought out, and the people exclaimed in shock. Sansa even came to her father's side and nervously whispered, 'Don't let the Mountain use that warhammer against Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, Duke Renly, and the Knight of Flowers who has returned to the field. The Mountain will kill them all.'

The black handle was long, and the warhammer was about twice the size of a person's head. The Hound tried it. He could lift it with both hands, but to swing it to kill enemies, to hold it casually, to jump forward and backward with ease, and to lift it as if it were light was impossible. Just carrying it a few steps was awkward and difficult, let alone quickly attacking and dodging with this big thing.

The nobles preparing to participate in the team melee changed color.

Everyone feared this warhammer and even more so the spikes covering it. The black spikes were for piercing armor. No matter what kind of high-quality plate armor it was, in front of this weapon, the weight of the hammer plus the sharp dagger-length spikes meant it was like wearing no clothes at all. A graze would injure, a hit would kill.

King Robert stared in disbelief!

He cursed, 'Damn it, Mountain,' and then gulped down several cups of Black Beer from the Riverlands.