“I’m taking a damn piss you fuck.” Tytos roared as some small squire informed him that his name had been called for the melee over, and over.

After the Clegane had relieved himself on the hot and yellow day, Tytos sighed. He hadn’t done well in the Lannister wedding tourney, and his failures continued to ring in his head. Roger Reyne. Rowald Reyne. Rytos Reyne. Lefford. Lorent, Damon, Tybolt. He needed to do what he could to find them on the melee field. No matter what, he needed them beaten, bloody, and more than bruised. Hate fueled Tytos, and he never was humble.

His hulking figure continued to a tent, as he fit into plate armor. He stood at six foot six. A large man for most of westeros. He wondered just how tall his ancestors were, were they always so tall?

“You. Boy. Go fetch Vaemond Celtigar. Tell him to grab a seat in the stands so he may see Lions blood.” He cracked an ugly grin, filled with venom. Friends needed to see him take on the Reynes today, it was important. After the boy was scurrying off, Tytos drew a blunted sword and grabbed a dull wooden shield. Extravagant weapons were nothing to brute strength.

He continued to the liste and into the arena, scores of small folk and nobles alike were in the stands cheering from over and over again for their favorites. He didn’t hear many cheering from him, as his ears pounded in blood.

“May the bones of my enemies create a ladder to hell.” He prayed as the gates were closed and almost ever knight in the realm got ready.

It started off slow for Tytos, the heat pounding into his armor, but he wasn’t being double teamed anymore. His first victim in the melee was the heat. He was sweating profusely as the sun battered into his armor, and Tytos wearing full helm felt the drop of water sliding down his face. He couldn’t wipe them, and he was cooking inside of the armor.

Erwin Clegane started strong, pointing out Ser Renly Baratheon and finishing him off with a quick series of swings. The boy still had the skill to take down grown men. A solid showing from the sixteen year old.

Tytos continued to heave and hulk around in his armor, his head shifting left and right as he couldn’t see quite well. Hard breaths could be heard from the Clegane as he continued to march forward, ignoring small petty hits to his breastplate and back. He needed a true opponent. He wanted Roger Reyne who had been leaving a trail of bodies in his wake all unfortunately unconscious. Could no man take down the little red lion? Tytos wanted to find Rowald Reyne, he wanted to bash the little fuckers head in badly.

Instead he came upon an alright victim. A riverlander charged at the Clegane, bashing into Tytos’s armor. Tytos dropped his sword from the heat as he gasped. Fuck it was hot. And it smelled like shit.

He merely decided to swing his fists at the Piper, and the tactic worked like a charm as a gauntlet connected into the pipers jaw, leaving him strewn on the floor.

Tytos Clegane dropped to the floor from the heat as it continued to bash into him, right next to his sword.

As he came to, the grunts of fighting couldn’t have been more loud. Tytos managed to get onto his knees, unlatching his helm and tossing it to the side. He would fight with his head unarmored. He stood, and surveyed what was happening. Rytos Reyne had fallen, Rowald Reyne had fallen.

He took his sword and used his strength to walk once more, barreling in the direction of Roger, before a surprising face got in his way. A waynwood it looked like. Tytos smashed the man with his shield. The Waynwood took more hits than the Piper however. Tytos had to actually use his sword this round, striking hard and heavy. Precision was not a concern for Tytos. Brute strength had helped him all this way, and finally a blow had caught Ser Axel Waynwood, leaving the man stone cold.

Unfortunately however, Roger Reyne had been eliminated in the melee, knocked out as well. Tytos spat the ground in anger as he faced five more opponents.

“He was mine!” He roared in anger, taking it out on the poor souls. His first target was fellow westerner, Andros Crakehall. He wasn’t even involved in Roger Reynes falling, but Tytos wouldn’t know until afterwards. The Crakehall was strong and tall as well, but the boars tusk had no advantage over the dogs snarl and bite. Andros fell quickly as he turned to the other four. What happened next was neigh unbelievable. All four jumped on Tytos unconcerned with their well being. They did manage to bring Tytos Clegane down to the ground as they battered him with swords.

Over and over and over, Tytos took hit after hit. It still wasnt enough as he groaned and grunted, grabbing a random blunted blade and hammering it into Togarion Bar Emmon’s kidney, the man who had eliminated him from the Lannister melee. Tytos was not a man to forgive and forget, but they were even, for now.

The next victim was a man who fought next to Roger Reyne in the melee, Ser Tristan Crabb. Tytos had managed to stand, and swing his sword into the mans face, dropping the Crabb while two remained now.

Borros Brune was next, a victim to Tytos’ size as the man swung hard into Tytos’s stomach making the Clegane hiccup and think he was about to barf. The Brune was met to a similar fate of the others, catching a strike in the ribcage as he doubled over in pain.

The last man standing…Oswell Dayne. Tytos remembered Lady Dyanna Dayne. She was quite beautiful if he could recall. He couldn’t say the same for this Oswell fella.

“You fought well. You all did.” Tytos spoke, his voice deep and low as he exclaimed at the crowd. “Watch what happens, when a dog gets loose.” He grinned from ear to ear showcasing his showmanship.

In the middle of his little action, Ser Oswell had taken advantage of Tytos’s speech and speedily slashed and struck at Tytos in the front. A mistake to get so close to the Clegane. Tytos slammed his shoulder into Oswell to get him loose, before connecting true into the Dayne’s stomach, and then his head.

Tytos Clegane, enemy of house Reyne and house Lefford, loyal servant of House Lannister, and with only man he could call a friend reigned supreme.

He watched the crowd as he took a deep breath in, looking at the shock of the nobles and the king himself before raising a fist in the air.

“Clegane!” The crowds cheered with him as the small lowly houses name echoed through the streets of Kings Landing before making a gesture for the people to stand quiet.

“Long Live his Grace, King Aerys Targaryen . Second of his goddamn name!”