A Little Unorthodox, I'll Admit.

The Hand's Tourney.

The Hound was in a mood today, and not a pleasant one.

He'd woken up hungover and on the wrong side of the bed, just in time to armor up for the damned tournament held for Eddard Stark, King Robert's newly appointed Hand. Lord Eddard, a man commended for his honorable moral code, was the Warden of the Northern territories of Westeros, his family's line one of the oldest in the land. He very recently migrated his guard and himself here to King's Landing where he may serve his oldest friend in matters of the kingdom, and unite their noble Northern and Southern families through marriage. Eddard had also brought with him his youngest daughter, though The Hound had no idea why, and did not concern himself with such matters irrelevant to his position as Prince Joffrey's guard. 

One godforsaken obligation of his, though, was to part take in the ridiculous extravagance of events such as this fucking tournament. Truth be told, The Hound hated jousting. It was all too organized, formal and anticlimactic for him. He'd much rather fight all these pathetic excuses for knights on foot, and in actual combat. 

It was when his brother Gregor jousted against Ser Loras Tyrell that The Hound more willingly got involved in this whole affair. Due to his size, strength and renowned ruthlessness, Gregor was the practical choice to bet on against the much smaller, lean, conventionally handsome Ser Loras. The Knight Of Flowers, they called him, supposedly a nod to his family's rose sigil. Though it was rumored to be telling of his sexuality as well, Loras being more feminine mannered and infamously enjoying the company of other men. Still, the ladies of the court adored him, and collectively gasped in concern at the prospect of him facing Ser Gregor, the Mountain. The joust took an unexpected turn, though, as Loras's mare was obviously in heat and distracting Gregor's male horse, ultimately causing him to lose the joust. In a fit of rage, Gregor responded by beheading his own horse in front of the entire court, then proceeded to stalk towards Ser Loras, initiating a battle that the smaller knight was bound to lose in a gory way. 

Before he could process his motivation for doing so, The Hound found himself standing between them, defending Ser Loras from his brother by engaging in the combat he was truly itching for that day. He was managing to hold his own against Gregor, swords clashing so hard that the sound drowned out the screams from the crowd, until King Robert's booming voice commanded they cease.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King!" Robert commanded.

At this, the Hound immediately took a knee and drew his sword into the ground out of respect. Gregor did not follow suit, instead storming off in an angry fit. Ser Loras was then at the Hound's side.

"I owe you my life, Ser." the little flower knight gushed appreciatively. 

The Hound frowned, "I'm no Ser", flinching away as Loras grabbed his large hand, raising it high above their heads with his own in triumph. The Hound frowned all the more at the clapping and cheers of their audience. Instinctively, he bowed his head to the right to conceal the burnt half of his face from all the spectating eyes.

"People of the court, I give you our Champion!" King Robert proclaimed. 

The Hound made to slip back to his place beside the Prince unnoticed, assuming that the champion was Ser Loras, who won the joust. To his dismay, it was not. Ser Loras had already swiftly left his side and The Hound stood alone before the court.

"Sandor Clegane," The King began, stopping The Hound in his tracks. "You have won the honor of a great and noble quest." 

"With all due respect, my King, the greatest honor is with protecting Prince Joffrey." he lied as an objection. 

"Oh, I think Ser Meryn and his band of ninnies can manage to protect my son in your absence." Robert bellowed drunkenly, already halfway through his decanter of wine. 

Prince Joffrey stood then. "There is no greater honor than that which had been bestowed upon you, dog. My intended sits waiting in the rubble of Harrenhal, guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. I would make the venture myself, if only my Mother would allow it." 

Sandor guffawed, "You really expect me to believe there's a dragon living in Westeros?!" He struggled to contain his laughter.

"You must." Lord Eddard stated in all seriousness. "A very large one has taken up residence of the castle as of a fortnight ago, keeping my daughter trapped within. She sent her only raven, who managed to make it out of the Keep alive and with her message. I fear I've grown too old to manage such a quest, and my sons are not yet skilled enough to take it on either." he explained, clearly distressed.

Had it been his place, Sandor would have asked why the fuck Lord Stark had his eldest daughter living in a shit hole like Harrenhal to begin with. As it was not, he merely bowed to the King once more.

"I will do as I'm bid." he said, then rose to his feet once more.

"Clegane," Lord Eddard stopped him in his tracks. "Best you rescue her in the day light." he added.

Whatever the fuck that means, he thought. Alas, he nodded to the Hand of The King and made his leave to the armory, so that he might prepare for this fool's errand.