Game Of Thrones : Starting as Tommen Baratheon

The Mountain flinching back soon enough for the spearpoint to miss the gap in his helm by a hair and come falling down on his breastplate. "You raped her, your murdered her, you killed her children."

"SHUT UP!"

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The Mountain, in his irritation, bull-rushed Oberyn, who swung around and made his move. Dancing around the Mountain's charge, he found himself suddenly behind him, and seized the opportunity. His spear moved forwards in a quick thrust, much in the same manner in which a Viper goes for the kill, and slipped through the small gap in the Mountain's armour, delivering a quick yet deep cut at the back of his knee.

The Mountain reeled in pain, turning with an almighty bellow and bringing his sword crashing down towards where Oberyn was standing. Oberyn met the blow with his shield, which visibly cracked under the strain, and retreated, his arm aching something fierce from the force of the strike. He retreated again as the Mountain wound up another strike, and then another, till his back was to the stable. The Mountain charged again, albeit now with a noticeable limp, and Oberyn dodged out of the way, the crowd beginning to hurriedly try to move out of the way, seemingly losing all interest in the trial.

Some were not so lucky, and a poor stable boy found himself being hacked to bits by Gregor in the midst of a blood-rage. His arm came off at the elbow, and when he screamed, the Mountain cleaved the boy in two with a single swing of his sword. He turned to face Oberyn, still chanting, and he stood up, now even more daunting a foe, covered from head to toe in blood and gristle.

"You talk too much," he grunted, "it makes my head hurt."

At this point, the Mountain was less lumbering than stumbling. The Manticore venom was making its way through his system, and every beat of his heart intensified the pain. Oberyn, recognising the symptoms and the fact that Mountain was not long for this world, was once again possessed by his lust for vengeance, "Elia. Say it! Elia of Dorne!" The Mountain raised his shield at Oberyn's next strike, and Oberyn used the moment to divert his swing into another gap in the Mountain's armour, landing a deep cut just under his elbow. He screamed, "Say it! ELIA! ELIA OF DORNE!"

He brought his spear down in a savage arc, losing all semblance of strategy in the process, the shaft striking the edge of the Mountain's shield and toppling him like a log, and breaking Oberyn's spear in two in the process. Oberyn, acting like a man possessed, charged his foe who now lay flat on his back with a scream, "ELLLIIIAAAAAA!"

He brought the broken end of the shaft down with all his weight, driving it into the Mountain's gut with all his strength and firmly pinning him to the ground. Once this was done, he came back around to the Mountain, till his face was almost touching Gregor's helm, "I swear to you, if you die before you say her name, I will hunt you through all seven hells." He grabbed his helm and rattled it, "ELIA OF DORNE! SAY HER NAME!"

The Mountain spasmed, lifting his arm and landing a heavy blow to Oberyn's gut , winding him in the process. He pulled Oberyn close, and whispered into his ear, "Elia of Dorne." He punched Oberyn again, and Oberyn could feel several of his ribs shatter under the weight of the blow, "I killed her screaming whelp." He smiled a bloody smile as he pushed his hand up to Oberyn's face, gripping his skull in an effort to crush it, "And then I raped her. And then I smashed her fucking head in. Like this."

He pulled back his other hand, ready to deliver a killing blow to Oberyn's skull. In the very moment, Oberyn remembered the Valyrian steel blade the King had given him, alongside his advice, and he withdrew the dagger from his sheath, desperately slashing at the wrist of the hand that clutched his skull in a vice-like grip. Thankfully, the steel cut through the flesh as though it was butter, the stump spraying blood onto Oberyn's face as he withdrew, and the Mountain's closed fist sailed through the air where Oberyn's head would have been just moments later, his other arm suddenly bereft of a hand.

Taking the opportunity, Oberyn backed away, prying the Mountain's now severed hand from his skull, and collapsed down, his chest heaving. He still felt the rage in his heart, but the pain of his ribs, and the hand-shaped bruising around his face compelled patience. He watched the Mountain's death throes from a distance, watching him struggle to stand, till eventually his heaving chest stilled. Wise advice, coming from a green boy.

When his breath had been still for more than a minute, Oberyn approached the Mountain's presumed corpse cautiously, watching for any signs of life, and made once more for his head. The Mountain leapt back to life, his one remaining hand reaching for Oberyn's neck, tightening around it. Oberyn, meanwhile, brought his dagger to the Mountain's throat, and hacked his head clean off, the Mountain's hand becoming limp around his throat, allowing him to breathe once more.

Oberyn rubbed the bruising around his throat, and then lifted the Mountain's heavy head for all to see. He looked first to Tyrion, who looked ill, his breakfast coming bubbling back up at the sight of the Mountain's maimed corpse.

The Old Lion looked unimpressed, though Oberyn could tell that he was not pleased by the clenching of his teeth. You're next. Cersei seemed similarly perturbed, but made little attempt to hide her fury, her face twisted into a silent snarl. The King, on the other hand, raised his glass in a silent toast, nodded, and then offered Oberyn a small smile.

Oberyn grinned back, his bloodstained teeth glistening in the sun.

For Elia.

...

Tywin Lannister on the prowl was an impressive sight.

Every step full of purpose, every movement formidable and intimidating, and he was headed right for me. He made it past the servants, scattering them with a single look such that we were alone, and then levelled his icy gaze in my direction but gave no further indication of his emotional state save for a slight furrowing of his brow, "I thought you smarter than this, Tommen. That trial was a farce."

I frowned, still putting up an innocent act, "If you take issue with the result of a trial by combat, than you ought to speak to the High Septon. The Gods-"

Tywin shook his head and cut me off, "Do I look like a fool to you? I had Pycelle examine the Mountain's corpse. He concluded from the contents of the Mountain's bowels that there were significant traces of Widow's Blood in his system." I gave no response, save for a small smile, and Tywin pressed on, "I know you visited the Red Viper in the brothel."

I kept my tone light, "As does everyone else. I don't think I tried to hide that."

Tywin quietly seethed, "You don't think you should have trusted me with your plans? When I am your Hand?"

"Do you know why I did what I did? Why I made sure that Gregor would die and Tyrion would go free?"

Tywin spoke through clenched teeth, "Enlighten me."

"There were a variety of reasons. The trial presented the perfect opportunity to engage in some politicking. I used my mother's threat to make use of the Mountain to entice Oberyn, dangling the prospect of exacting his revenge at the cost of hurrying along Myrcella's wedding.

I then used the threat of a newly allied Dorne to bleed the Tyrells, making them pay for the privilege of having their little rose marry the King. Which consequently, had the effect of weakening their house and strengthening yours."

Tywin looked impassive, though I could tell that he was most definitely not happy, "I see, and for that you would let an accused Kingslayer, a man who killed your own brother, walk free?"

"A bit hypocritical, coming from you. Or have you forgotten Jaime and Aerys?"

Tywin looked about ready to throttle me, "You are blinded by your love for that hateful little creature."

I ignored his glare, "Believe it or not, that was not the only reason that I made sure to ensure Tyrion's freedom. He's innocent, plain and simple."

"I had Joffrey's throat cut open to check if he really choked," Tywin said. "He didn't. He was poisoned."

I smiled and nodded sagely, "Yes, he was poisoned, but Tyrion wasn't the one doing the poisoning."

"Then who did?"

"Littlefinger, of course."

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