The Mountain of Ice and Fire

The King bellowed, "Hound, you've had too much wine, get out!"

Barristan and the other Kingsguard were close to the King and Queen. Seeing the King speak, they approached and forcibly escorted the red-faced, wine-reeking Hound away.

"Old man, you wait, I'll kill you tomorrow!" The Hound's slurred curses echoed.

The Mountain noticed that the drunken Hound wasn't yelling 'Mountain' or 'Gregor,' but 'Old man.' This was a detail that showed the Hound had figured out a lot lately, even if he didn't realize it himself. He would eventually realize it; his subconscious was already calling him 'Old man,' something he'd never done before. The drunken Hound's mind was unguarded, revealing his blood ties.

Presumably, the Hound understood the profound meaning behind his threat to Maester Luwin—to protect him from the maester's schemes. The Hound was shrewd in that regard and wouldn't fail to understand. It was just that his reason told him he couldn't accept the Mountain, but deep down, he was already changing, even if he didn't realize it...

With the Hound gone, the Mountain's appetite surged. He waved for the servants to clear away the empty plates and bring him all the meats again.

Everyone else was full and had stopped eating. They accepted the towels and washbasins from the maids to wash their hands and faces. The King, with a goblet in each hand, continued to drink.

"Eddard, who do you think will win the joust tomorrow?" the King asked.

"Ser Gregor, I suppose. No one can stand against him!" Eddard said truthfully.

"I can stand against the Mountain tomorrow," the Knight of Flowers said with an elegant smile. "Lord Hand, I'm here to take the championship! The championship is mine."

The Kingslayer shrugged. "Alright, Ser Loras, you'll face the Mountain tomorrow, and I'll face the Hound." The Kingslayer looked at the still-guzzling Mountain. "If it were an eating contest, we'd both lose to the Mountain. He's a bottomless pit."

The Kingslayer's words drew laughter from everyone.

The Mountain looked up at the Knight of Flowers. The kid was indeed beautiful, captivating all the noblewomen and ladies of King's Landing, and becoming the dream lover of the common beauties.

"I promise not to kill you tomorrow, Ser Loras," the Mountain mumbled through a mouthful of meat.

In Lord Tywin's grand plan, the Reach was an ally of the Westerlands. Killing this flower-like boy would be detrimental. If this kid could travel to the Mountain's world, he'd be a beauty pageant champion from the start, breaking the hearts of countless girls.

"Mountain, stop eating and go pray at the sept. Dawn is coming soon, and you don't have much time to pray to the Seven. This championship is destined to be mine, for the Reach, for House Tyrell."

"Don't provoke me, boy. I'm still eating. If I splatter your brains later, it'll ruin my appetite," the Mountain glared, his anger flaring.

The Queen said, "Ser Loras, you should return to your inn. If you don't rest well tonight, you won't have the strength to compete tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace." Loras stood up very politely, bowed to the King, Queen, Hand, Prince, and Sansa, and left with a smile.

"I'm going to participate in the melee tomorrow," the King announced loudly. He had won many championships in melees before. Robert of the Hammer was a martial king, living up to his name. "My warhammer hasn't seen battle in a long time. It must be impatient for this day."

"You absolutely cannot participate in the melee. You are the King, and the melee is too dangerous," Queen Cersei said firmly. "I forbid it!"

A melee was a chaotic battle with dozens of people, and deaths were common. Swords and axes were merciless; it was no joke!

The King's warhammer was indeed invincible. Eddard could barely lift the King's warhammer, but that was in the past. The King himself couldn't lift his warhammer anymore. His belly was too fat, and he couldn't even wear his old armor.

"You shrew, don't try to tell me what to do," the King roared at the Queen, sloshing the golden wine in his two goblets. "I am the King here, understand? I am the one in charge here. If I say I'm fighting tomorrow, I'm fighting!"

Everyone was dumbfounded, except for the Mountain, who continued to enjoy his meal.

Ser Barristan, the Kingsguard, Hand Eddard, the King's brother Renly at the next table, Littlefinger, and others were shocked by the King's sudden outburst, scolding the Queen in public. However, no one intervened.

The Queen's face was bloodless, like a mask carved from white snow. She stood up from the table, gathered her skirts, and turned to leave without a word, her servants hurrying after her.

The King laughed triumphantly, beating his chest with the two golden goblets, splashing wine all over his satin robe. "As long as I have my warhammer, no one can stop me! Damn it, tomorrow in the melee, I'll be the champion."

*

After the night's feast, inside Hand Eddard's tent.

"Lord Eddard, don't let the King participate in the melee tomorrow. Both the jousting championship and the melee championship are mine," the Mountain said.

Eddard stared at the Mountain. "If the King competes, would you attack him?"

The Mountain smiled slightly. "Lord Hand, aren't you worried about Lannister conspiracies? If your worries are true, tomorrow's tournament will be very dangerous. Perhaps many are waiting for the King to participate in person."

Eddard was stunned!

The Mountain gave Hand Eddard a meaningful look and turned to leave.

Outside, his band of brothers awaited.

Without his permission, his brothers had already traveled from the Westerlands' Golden Road to King's Landing: Big Chiswyck Clegane, Captain of the Cavalry Sweetmouth Ralph Clegane, and Deputy Captain Dunsen Clegane. They brought a group of fierce brothers with them to King's Landing. During the day, they watched the jousting tournament among the thousands of spectators, each with many thoughts in their hearts. And during the day, they passed the registration review and were approved to participate in tomorrow's melee competition.

The Mountain led his band of fierce warriors back to his tent.

"Tomorrow morning is the jousting tournament, to determine the champion. The prize is forty thousand gold dragons, and I am determined to win. In the afternoon is the melee, with about dozens of participants. The last one standing in the arena is the winner, and the prize is twenty thousand gold dragons. We need to plan our tactics for tomorrow's melee."

"Lord, we brought something for you," Sweetmouth Ralph laughed.

"What is it?"

Big Chiswyck and his brothers dragged out a large sack, filled with something heavy.

The bag was opened, revealing a black handle.

The Mountain reached out and grabbed the handle. The handle was warm and smooth, as if carrying a temperature, giving it a life-like texture. The Mountain lifted it gently, and the handle was about one and a half meters long, the length of the longest two-handed greatsword. At the end of the handle was a hideous round iron hammer, covered with spikes.

The Mountain lifted it and swung it gently, feeling it was slightly light. "How much does it weigh?"

Big Chiswyck laughed, "Lord Gregor, this is a warhammer carefully crafted for you by Master Tobho Mott, weighing one hundred and twenty pounds. It's a great weapon for melee battles. In a chaotic battle with dozens of people, the warhammer sweeps across, shattering shields and sending people flying."

"The long spikes are specifically for breaking through iron shields and armor. It's very evil! But the actual effect is not great. The master said it's mainly to scare people first, so many will run away, saving trouble," Dunsen laughed.

"Are you trying to make me kill a lot of people in the melee?" the Mountain said. The Mountain of the past would have been overjoyed, but the Mountain of the present didn't want to make enemies for no reason, because that was suicidal behavior. Every additional enemy brought him closer to death. What was truly invincible was not courage, but hatred.

"Lord, we also have this!" Sweetmouth Ralph laughed.

With a wave of his hand, several brothers came forward, each holding a round shield. Touching them, they were all iron shields, with edges as sharp as knives. Weighing them in their hands, they were lighter than wooden shields.

"Forged from steel, impenetrable to swords and axes!" Dunsen said, looking pleased.