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How we think the fight will go
Ser Gregor Clegane walked into the hall, a large blaze in the fireplace the only light. The massive warrior noticed the windows were bricked up.
Odd, he thought.
Even odder, though, was the summons to this strange castle in the middle of nowhere. A land called Transylvania—it seemed as desolate as the realm beyond the Wall.
No matter. Darkness didn’t scare him.
The damn mist was a bit of a nuisance, though.
It seemed to pervade everything, and when you’re wearing plate armor, the slightlest chill is quite amplified—let alone the hours his squire was going to have to spend polishing the rust out of his equipment.
“Come forth, you bastard!” he bellowed. “I was told to be here, and let it be known House Clegane fulfills its oaths. Perhaps not always in the most honorable fashion… he thought.
That brought a smile to his ugly face.
The mist began to swirl tighter and tighter, a seeming cyclone forming before him. Tensing, he was surprised when a rather dandified man suddenly appeared—and that the mist was just as suddenly gone.
“What manner of man are you,” the Mountain growled? “I was told to come here for a fight. Surely it’s not you I’m here to face.”
The man took a tall hat off his head and removed a pair of strange lenses covering his eyes. He tossed the hat aside and placed the glasses in his jacket pocket. With a flourish, he threw back a long black cape, revealing a walking stick tucked under his arm.
“I am he, good Ser. I am Count Dracula.”
“A noble. I should have guessed. Only a fool such as yourself would think to come armed with only a stick.”
The count smiled and, grabbing the knob at the end of the stick, pulled out a slim blade.
Startled, the Mountain could only stare. Then he started to laugh, a rumbling, ugly sound.
“That? That’s you’re weapon?”
“It is all I need for the likes of you.”
“Is that so?” Gregor’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re going to make even one parry with that little needle against this?” he said, pulling his two-handed greatsword from its sheath: six feet of shining, steely death.
“En garde,” Dracula said lightly.
Without any pretense Gregor swung a huge overhand blow, figuring to finish this ridiculous nobleman and be away from this hellish place…
…only to find his sword slamming into the stone floor, causing sparks to fly and his hand to ring enough for him to almost lose grip.
Spinning around, he saw Dracula standing calmly.
How’d he move so fast?
The Mountain lunged, his sword aimed straight towards Dracula’s chest, and this time he hit flesh, sliding two yards of blade through the Count.
Smiling grimly, he placed a foot on Dracula’s stomach and pushed the vampire away, the sword coming free.
Coming free of blood, too.
“You really must be the pride of your House, Ser,” Dracula mocked. “I must say—it is always quite startling to have a blade through one’s body. Yet, as novel as the experience might be, I’m definitely tiring of you.”
Gregor swung the sword at the vampire again, but this time Dracula put his thin cane-sword up to block the blow. Normally this was when the Mountain’s opponents found out what a broken wrist felt like, but not only did Dracula not wince, his blade held as firm as the stone floor Gregor had cut a gouge in just moments ago.
“Curse you, demon!”
“Ahh…now you’re getting it,” Dracula said, intently holding the knight’s gaze. “That’s it…just keep looking into my eyes…”
Slowly Dracula moved forward, mouth opened to reveal his two iconic fangs. Smiling in anticipation, he moved in for the kill. It was with a certain amount of satisfaction, then, that Gregor was able to place a gauntleted fist directly into the vampire’s mouth.
“Gah!” Dracula cried out as he staggered back, hand over his mouth. Looking up at the knight, he scowled as he spit one of his blood-sucking canines onto the floor.
“You’ll pay for that,” he hissed.
“Didn’t find me to be the docile, weak-willed simpleton you thought, did you?” Gregor smirked.
“No—but you’re still too slow!” and before the Mountain could react, the vampire’s rapier pierced his right eye, causing the knight to scream in pain. Stumbling about, the vampire pressed his advantage, leaping at the flailing fighter.
But if there was one thing a knight of the Seven Kingdoms could handle, it was pain. And so, despite the agony—and limited sight—Gregor swung his sword one more time, a clean arc with all his strength and the weight of his weapon behind it.
Too late did the vampire’s red eyes catch the movement, so confident was he that Ser Clegane was too disabled to offer resistance. Still, although he knew the pain would be annoying, it wasn’t as if…
…the sword-edge sliced through the vampire’s neck, a cleaving strike so fast that for a moment, it seemed as if only a thin line had been drawn around Dracula’s throat.
Even as the Count crashed into the Mountain’s armor, though, the head was separating from the vampire’s body. Before the two parts could hit the ground, they burst into flame, the brightness in the dark room searing Gregor’s remaining retina, whose pupil had widened to compensate for the dim light and loss of his other eye.
He staggered back, amazed as the body before him was consumed in magical flame, a pile of ash formed before him as quickly as Dracula had formed from the mist in the first place.
Crying blood from his wounded eye, the Mountain left the hall, knowing that he would ride again…and that none of his tears were for Dracula.
Predicted Winner: The Mountain That Rides
NOTE: THIS MATCH ENDS ON THURSDAY, OCTOBER 28, AT 3 PM, ET
Dracula is a character from Dracula by Bram Stoker; Ser Gregor Clegane (The Mountain That Rides) is a character from the A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R.R. Martin
Dracula image courtesy of Columbia Pictures. Mountain That Rides image courtesy of Michael Komarck