AN: Here's my version of what might have happened had King Robert not interfered during the Loras vs Gregor joust...

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Ser Loras's knees buckled as a blow from Gregor Clegane's massive sword struck him down. The demon's strength was frightening. Despite the Knight of Flowers's fighting skills, he knew that he was outmatched simply by the man's sheer size and power. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, making peace with death as he knew his time was short….

But no…

The Mountain's sword halted with a resounding clang, a mere hair's width from Loras's head. He looked up at his unlikely savior, his mouth hanging agape as he realized who stood between him and certain death.

Acting quickly, Loras rolled to the side, out of striking distance, leaving the two brothers facing each other.

The Hound stood resolute, legs apart and sword raised in defiance. "Leave him be!" he growled.

Gregor scowled in rage, his blood thirst indiscriminate and easily re-focused onto his scarred younger sibling. To him, all that mattered was that an obstacle stood between him and his target. Blood would spill, no matter whose…and no matter that the same blood ran in his own veins.

Sandor gazed impassively at his tormentor. The years had not lessened his hatred for his brother, and in fact, it had festered and grown-a malignant tumor that had slowly eaten him from the inside out. Indeed, sometimes it was all that kept him going…all that mattered. He knew without a doubt that the Mountain had an advantage over him. Sandor's moniker may have been "the Hound" but Gregor was truly the mad dog-a rabid beast. Also, in addition to his berserker rage and inhuman strength, he was agile as well as a skilled fighter. And he simply was not afraid. Of anything or anyone.

Sandor sized him up for a split second, his blade swinging an efficient and heavy block to the Mountain's overhanded strike. The swords clashed, sending a brutal reverberation up the Hound's arm that rattled his teeth. However, he refused to flinch and immediately slashed his sword at his brother's belly, but Gregor blocked him effectively, sliding his massive blade down and around, aiming at his head.

The Hound blocked and returned the blow, while ducking a parry followed by a mailed fist that narrowly missed his face.

On and on they fought, as the crowd gasped and watched with fascinated horror.

Sansa whispered to her father, "Why won't the King stop the fight, father?"

Ned shook his head and frowned as he glanced up at his old friend, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. "I know not, daughter."

Sansa tightened her grip on the rose Ser Loras had given her, unwittingly piercing the delicate skin of her hand. She turned back to watch the fight with growing alarm, realizing that the Mountain was starting to wear his brother down with his overwhelming strength. For every blow that the Hound blocked, he paid the price with his body and over time began to respond slower and with ever decreasing power.

Sansa murmured, "The Hound will die. He is losing. Someone must help him." Her quiet warning fell on deaf ears, as the King and the crowd continued to watch with rapt attention, willing to let the scene play out to its brutal end.

The two warriors continued the seemingly endless battle, eventually bringing the spectacle closer to the stands.

Sansa gasped as she saw the Hound driven to his knees by a vicious slash to his thigh, followed by a punishing kick to his midsection. Panting and weary, he made a weakly executed stab up at the Mountain, but it was easily parried to the side.

The Hound, exhausted, hung his head in defeat, knowing that once again his monster of a brother had bested him.

Chuckling grimly, the Mountain backed up and slowly raised his sword, savoring his final victory.

Sansa, thinking quickly, flung the rose at Gregor's face.

Momentarily distracted, he turned his head, grunting in annoyance.

That was all the time the Hound needed.

Staggering to his feet with his last energy, he drove his sword straight and true into a deadly arc, cleaving his brother's head neatly in half.

The Mountain wavered on his feet for a moment but then toppled backwards, pulling the Hound down with him.

Sandor panted, stunned momentarily as he slowly realized that he lay upon his brother's corpse, still gripping his sword that was wedged in the skull and viscera. Dimly, as if from far away, he became aware that he could hear the crowd cheering…were they truly cheering for him?

He looked up as Loras approached, his bright silver mail gleaming in the sun. He offered Sandor a hand, but the Hound refused. Despite his leg wound and aching body, he would stand on his own power or not at all, by the gods!

With great pain, he stood slowly with the aid of his sword, which he unceremoniously yanked from the Mountain's head. He allowed himself a grim smile as he looked at his brother's ruined face. He spat blood at him and cursed softly, "Not so pretty yourself now, are you cunt?"

Loras, ignoring his crude words, thanked him for saving him as Sandor growled that he was no Ser, but he nonetheless suffered the nance to raise his arm in victory.

Embarrassed, the Hound allowed his gaze to roam. His sharp eyes zeroed in on the red rose laying beside his brother's corpse and then straight up to the little bird who was clapping. She was clapping for him, and he noted that no rose was in her hand to hinder her applause.

She had been the one to save him.

Keeping eye contact with the young beauty, he bowed.

He would remember her gesture, that she had helped him.

He would not forget and he would repay his debt.

After all, a man's got to have a code…

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AN: There. I did it. I feel better now…