Chapter 22
"How much longer can you stay?" Daliah queried.
Gregor had already worked that out in advance. He announced "I plan to be at the moat within a moon's turn. It generally takes a fortnight to get there by horse. But since I'll be traversing unfamiliar terrain with, it could take longer. Perhaps a week and a-half longer. So I'll be riding in three days."
"So soon?" Ellyn noted sadly.
"Yeah," Gregor stated, gazing down at his sister, "But if we make the most of these next few days, my departure won't be as hard."
Ellyn seemed to brighten up at that prospect. She stepped up to her brother and embraced him again. He wrapped one of his arms around her tenderly.
He then turned to Sandor and opened his other arm to him. Gregor's brother stared at him in contemplative silence.
Then he began to walk towards him. Sandor gradually approached him, one step at a time. Right before he could enter the embrace, Sandor scowled and bolted towards the entrance of the solar.
In just a few seconds, he yanked open the door and sprinted out.
"Sandor!" Daliah called out. Her younger son did not respond. The sounds of his hurried footsteps soon faded down the corridor.
"Poor lad must be taking this hard," Erryk Ruttiger supposed.
"You can hardly fault him," Sylas Vikary proclaimed.
Gregor released his grip on Ellyn and declared "I'll talk to him."
The Mountain proceeded to gather up his armor, weapons, and the other two chests of golden dragons. He made a slight detour and stopped by his bedchamber first.
There he deposited most of those materials. He kept his longsword, as well as the belt that accompanied it.
After strapping the five-foot piece of steel around his waist, Gregor went off to find his brother.
He did not have to look for long. He already knew where to go. Ever since he was old enough to swing a sword, there was one place Sandor always retreated to whenever he got upset or frustrated.
Sure enough, Gregor found Sandor in the training yard. He was by himself, and he was armed with his favorite sword.
At the moment, he practicing his offensive tactics on a wooden dummy near the far wall.
Based on how he was hacking viciously and grunting loudly, he was quite agitated.
Thinking of Benjen Stark's introduction in the first episode, Gregor climbed down to the yard, smirked, and shouted jokingly "Is he dead yet?"
Sandor promptly whipped around and came face-to-face with his brother.
Unlike Jon Snow, he did not adorn a welcoming grin for his relative or spread his arms to embrace him.
Sandor was undeniably aggravated by something.
Gregor did not know what, but he knew he had to be responsible for it.
"Leave me alone," Sandor mumbled angrily.
"I will not," Gregor refuted sternly. As he continuously neared his brother, he pronounced "Taking your fury out on a dummy is pitiful. Not to mention ineffectual."
He then drew his longsword in one swift motion. He balanced it effortlessly in his right hand and suggested stoically "Try using a live opponent instead."
At that, Sandor's demeanor shifted from irate to maliciously gleeful. He grinned wickedly and murmured in a somewhat menacing tone "Why not? You agreed to 'later.' May as well be now."
Gregor moved to a spot in the center of the yard. Sandor moved to a place ten feet in front of his massive brother.
He lifted his sword and pointed it towards Gregor in an offensive stand. Gregor held his sword up vertically to assume a defensive stand.
After he and his brother spent a minute staring each other down, he told Sandor "You first."
Immediately, Sandor raised his sword and charged forward. Even before the blow was delivered, Gregor could see where it would land. He almost listlessly moved to deflect the blow.
Sandor quickly rebounded and slashed at Gregor's legs. The Mountain's blade intercepted his brother's sword when it was still over a foot away.
Sandor hastily prepared to strike a third time. He thought he spotted an opening on Gregor's shoulder, and he focused on that.
But before his blade was halfway up, Gregor's blade came at him from out of nowhere. Gregor timed the thrust very carefully.
The point of his sword was pressed against Sandor's Adam's apple. Another centimeter and Gregor would have drawn blood.
Luckily, Gregor did not bleed his brother. He just commented drily "You're dead."
Sandor groaned in frustration and lowered his blade. He and Gregor then returned to their original positions.
Now it was Gregor's turn to make the first move. He examined Sandor's defense position for any exploitable weaknesses, and he spotted one within seconds. He lunged forward with his sword in midair.
The Mountain issued a volley of blows in rapid succession. Sandor managed to parry the first four, but the fifth one got through.
Gregor struck Sandor in the chest with the flat of his blade. As the younger boy stumbled and groaned, Gregor cockily declared "Dead again."
The two Clegane brothers went four more rounds. Each one had a very similar outcome to the first two.
The third round ended when Gregor delivered a blow that caught Sandor in his right side. "Dead."
The fourth round ended when one of Gregor's blows made contact with Sandor's left side. "Dead."
The fifth round ended when Gregor seized Sandor by his left arm, pulled him close, turned him around, and brought his blade up to his throat. "So fucking dead."
Those last three rounds involved a cumulative total of less than twenty blows.
Sandor was generally much better at sword fighting than this. His current form suggested a substantial lack of discipline, Gregor noted.
That was almost definitely attributed to the anger he felt. Anger was the bane of discipline, and discipline was the most important aspect of swordsmanship.
Alas, the dueling was doing nothing to lessen Sandor's anger. All the same, Gregor had no intention of going easy on him.
Ever since his brother had been old enough to spar with him, Gregor had never gone easy on Sandor.
Gregor had always looked out for Sandor. He had guided him, protected him, supported him, and encouraged him in nearly everything.
However, he knew that if his brother was to become the Hound, he would have to toughen Sandor up.
So he figured, what better way to do that than with steel in hand?
Outside the training yard, Gregor had never laid a hand on his brother. In the training yard… anything went.
Gregor became an entirely different person when he and his brother dueled. That was probably the closest he would ever get to the original Gregor Clegane.
He was brutal, merciless, and even a little cruel when he and his brother faced off.
Gregor never let Sandor gain the upper hand, never let him see his weaknesses, never let him win if he could help it. On a couple occasions, he had even gone so far as to humiliate Sandor.
He derived no joy or pleasure from those experiences. He did all that simply so Sandor would take their lessons seriously and remember that a true opponent would be just as ferocious, if not more so.
Oftentimes, Sandor became furious or resentful of his brother for treating him so harshly, but he always reminded himself afterward that his brother just wanted to sculpt him into an ideal warrior.
Up until now, Gregor was fairly confident that he had managed to do just that. Now he was having some doubts, as Sandor was demonstrating a near-total disregard for his teachings.
The sixth and final round began. This one lasted longer than any of the previous five, but it had the most unpleasant ending. For Sandor, that is.
First, Gregor struck his brother behind the knees with the flat of his sword. Then he kicked his legs out from under him and shoved him onto the ground.
Once Sandor was on the ground, Gregor grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stay there. Then he slowly brought his sword into the air and plunged it downwards.
He stopped when the tip of the blade was less than an inch away from Sandor's eye. Anyone else would have shrieked, squirmed, or fainted out of fear.
Sandor did nothing more than blink. In fact, he looked as though he could not care less about losing. That was very uncharacteristic of him; he was usually very competitive about winning.
Gregor sneered, withdrew his sword, and rose to his feet. Then he held his hand out to his brother. After a moment's hesitation, Sandor grudgingly accepted it.
Gregor sneered, withdrew his sword, and rose to his feet. Then he held his hand out to his brother. After a moment's hesitation, Sandor grudgingly accepted it.
Once he was back on his feet, the Mountain muttered bleakly "Sandor, in the past three minutes, I killed you six times. Had this been a real battle, you would not have lasted the first thirty seconds."
"So this was not one of my better days," Sandor said in a very sarcastic voice, picking up his own blade.
****
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