When the royal herald called out Sandor Clegane's name, the atmosphere in the lists reached a new boiling point.
If the Mountain was a terrifying monster, then the Hound was a loathsome mad dog.
Joffrey's personal guard, and a pitiful plaything.
In the stands, curses mingled with cheers in a sickening frenzy.
Sandor Clegane turned a deaf ear to it all.
He simply sat there in silence, his expression hidden beneath his fearsome helm.
His gaze passed over the clamoring crowd and settled on the black-clad figure preparing to leave the field.
A Crow riding a plow horse?
He beat that Frey pig through sheer dumb luck?
Just then, a golden figure pushed his way in front of him.
"Hound!"
Prince Joffrey's voice carried an unquestionable command.
His face was flushed, his breath quick with excitement, and a feverish light shone in his blue eyes.
"Did you see that? Ser Lynn won!"
He pointed at Lynn in the lists as though showing off his favorite toy.
"You're facing him next."
Joffrey lowered his voice a little.
But his imperious arrogance remained undiminished.
"I won't allow you to win."
Sandor stiffened.
He raised his visor and slowly turned his scarred head toward the young prince before him.
"Why?"
"Because I said so!"
Joffrey puffed out his chest.
"I want Ser Lynn to win!"
"He saved my life! He's my hero! He'll be one of my Kingsguard someday!"
"And you, Sandor, are nothing but a dog."
"A dog does whatever its master tells it to."
"If you dare knock him off his horse, I'll cut off that ugly dog's head of yours and hang it on the walls of the Red Keep."
Joffrey's venomous words rang out with startling clarity beside the noisy lists.
Sandor fell silent.
Rage and humiliation seethed in