[ Sandor hadn't fought in the tourney for fame, glory, honor, or the promise of a prize, he never had and never would. No, the appeal of the tourney was the tourney itself, the fight and the victory, and when he was pitted against his own brother...well that was only a bonus. No different than any other, because he knew Gregor wouldn't have any mercy for him anyway.

Of course, his victory was an utter surprise, even to him, but he rose from the corpse of the bastard, blood-streaked and high from the fight, and pulled his sword free with a sucking sound that was far more satisfying than it had any right to be, and when the victory itself wasn't enough for Joffrey, when the prize was decided for him, he growled in annoyance, glowering up at him.

And it was the fucking little bird that suggested it. But there weren't any better options, that was evident enough, and there would be time to berate her for dragging him into things later. So he grit his teeth and forced a civil enough reply through them, glad his helm would obscure most of his fury about the position they'd been put in. ]

A generous gift, my lord, thank you.