Drabble_weekly Challenge 407 - Worth it
Jul. 27th, 2024 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m_findlowTitle: Worth it
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (language)
Length: 300 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 407 - Revenge at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
drabble_zone
drabble_zoneSummary: Sandor Clegane has good reason to enjoy the tourney. A triple drabble.
Sandor Clegane stepped from his tent to a roaring of the crowd. He hated it, all that ridiculous cheering. No one up there in the pavilion gave a flying fuck about him. He was no hero to be cheered on. Most of them would have squealed and run for their lives if they came upon him in the street. Yet here they were, pretending he was revered.
Sodding tournaments, he thought. He didn't care for glory or the thrill of it. All he cared about was the prize money. A thousand gold dragons would do very nicely.
The cheers died down and then erupted once more as Clegane grabbed for the war horse's bridle. Which pompous hedge knight was it this time? He didn't bother to ask the order of his opponents in the lists. All he knew was that every one of them would face his joust and fall.
Then he heard the crowd's cries. "Mountain! Hound! Mountain! Hound!"
Clegane sighed. Of course his brother would be here. As the lists narrowed, he would eventually have to come face to face with the Mountain. The scars on his face prickled as the huge hulking beast plodded towards him, armour clanking loudly with each step.
'It will be good to beat you, brother,' came the thunderous words. Impressive that Gregor could string that many together.
His gauntleted fists clenched. 'Fuck you,' was all Sandor replied, keeping his words simple enough for his dimwit sibling to understand.
He wanted Gregor dead for all the long years of pain and servitude. He relished the opportunity to joust his elder brother. It would be easier for him to die in a tourney than for Sandor to simply kill him outright. It turned out that some things were more valuable than gold after all.
Sandor Clegane stepped from his tent to a roaring of the crowd. He hated it, all that ridiculous cheering. No one up there in the pavilion gave a flying fuck about him. He was no hero to be cheered on. Most of them would have squealed and run for their lives if they came upon him in the street. Yet here they were, pretending he was revered.
Sodding tournaments, he thought. He didn't care for glory or the thrill of it. All he cared about was the prize money. A thousand gold dragons would do very nicely.
The cheers died down and then erupted once more as Clegane grabbed for the war horse's bridle. Which pompous hedge knight was it this time? He didn't bother to ask the order of his opponents in the lists. All he knew was that every one of them would face his joust and fall.
Then he heard the crowd's cries. "Mountain! Hound! Mountain! Hound!"
Clegane sighed. Of course his brother would be here. As the lists narrowed, he would eventually have to come face to face with the Mountain. The scars on his face prickled as the huge hulking beast plodded towards him, armour clanking loudly with each step.
'It will be good to beat you, brother,' came the thunderous words. Impressive that Gregor could string that many together.
His gauntleted fists clenched. 'Fuck you,' was all Sandor replied, keeping his words simple enough for his dimwit sibling to understand.
He wanted Gregor dead for all the long years of pain and servitude. He relished the opportunity to joust his elder brother. It would be easier for him to die in a tourney than for Sandor to simply kill him outright. It turned out that some things were more valuable than gold after all.
