On the day of Joffrey's twelfth nameday, the tourney that King Robert had promised to hold for him began right on schedule.
The number of participants in this tournament was no fewer than those who attended the tourney held for Eddard Stark when he became Hand of the King in the original story.
This was because Stannis was still in King's Landing, and people from Dragonstone would attend. Furthermore, since Jon Arryn was still alive, more knights from the Vale participated, and Tywin himself brought many vassals and knights from the Westerlands.
Outside King's Landing, the tournament grounds had been set up in advance, with viewing stands for the royalty and nobles surrounding the arena. Further away were the stands for the common folk.
The knights who had signed up were all fully armed and mounted. They rode past the stands one by one, receiving their respective cheers.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, received the most applause and cheers from the noble ladies. Next was Prince Renly, who, as the Lord of Storm's End in the Stormlands, also participated personally. Thanks to a face that resembled Robert in his youth, Renly garnered many cheers as well.
From the royal viewing stand, Joffrey looked at the column of knights below, but Mufasa did not seem to be among them.
"Myrcella, where is Mufasa? Do you know?" Joffrey asked his sister.
Myrcella shook her head, indicating she did not know.
"Mufasa, you haven't run away, have you? I don't believe you're a coward," Joffrey thought to himself.
"Little Joff, it's your nameday. You announce the start of the tournament!" Robert, wearing the crowned stag sigil, sat upon the throne, flanked by four white-cloaked Kingsguard knights.
Joffrey stood up, about to imitate Robert's loud voice and bellow out the start of the competition.
However, he saw a blonde youth charging in from a distance, riding a tall, red warhorse.
It was Mufasa Lannister.
"My apologies for being late! Please forgive my tardiness, everyone! After all, the protagonist always makes the last entrance."
Sweat dripped down Mufasa's face; he had ridden a long distance from a faraway village to get here.
Just as Mufasa was about to enter the line of knights, he was stopped by a guard.
"You are not registered, nor are you a knight. You are ineligible to compete."
"Oh, you're absolutely right. Without a mask, I am Mufasa Lannister, a squire, and ineligible. But once I put on a mask, I become the Mystery Knight, and thus eligible."
Mufasa pulled a cat-face mask from his pocket and put it on.
"May the Mystery Knight enter now?" Mufasa asked.
The guard, having no choice, allowed Mufasa to pass. Mufasa rode his horse next to Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers.
Seeing Mufasa arrive, Joffrey breathed a sigh of relief and then loudly announced the start of the tournament.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, was fifteen this year and had only recently been knighted, matching Jaime's record from years ago. However, since Jaime was knighted and joined the Kingsguard on the same day, Jaime was still considered the greater feat.
"Mufasa, wait a moment!"
Mufasa was just about to withdraw to the waiting area for his turn when Ser Loras called out to him.
"What is it, Ser Loras?"
"If you don't mind my asking, where did the horse you're riding come from? Dorne? The Vale? Or perhaps Dothraki? Why have I never seen such a magnificent horse?"
Although Loras himself was taller than Mufasa, Mufasa's mount was taller than his own, so the two of them were about the same height while riding.
"What, you don't mean to tell me you want my stallion to breed with your mare, do you?" Mufasa looked at him in surprise.
Loras gave an awkward smile. His brother Willas enjoyed breeding horses, and Loras wanted to help him raise a swift steed. Although he had found an excellent mare, he lacked a suitable stallion—until he saw the red warhorse Mufasa was riding.
"Yes, I do. Would that be possible?"
"We'll talk after the tournament. If you can defeat me in the competition, I'll agree to let your horse breed with mine once," Mufasa replied.
The tournament progressed quickly. Many participants were eliminated in the first round, unseated by a single charge, and then the next pair would take their turn.
Jaime, Loras, Barristan, the Hound, the Mountain, and others easily defeated their opponents and advanced to the next round.
Finally, it was Mufasa's turn. Before entering the lists, he drank a "Lucky Potion."
Mufasa's first opponent was Ser Hobber of House Redwyne from the Arbor, whose shield bore a cluster of grapes.
As the second son of his house, he had a twin brother. Ser Hobber had the nickname "Ser Drool."
Because he often drooled, normally, when too much saliva accumulated in his mouth, he would need to spit it out or swallow it.
But now Hobber was wearing his helmet, which completely sealed his mouth. Unable to spit, he had no choice but to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth.
Mufasa took advantage of the moment Hobber was swallowing, charged, and unseated Ser Hobber with a single lance strike.
The entire arena fell silent for six breaths, followed immediately by thunderous cheers.
They shouted titles like "Little Lion!" "Mufasa!" and "Lion Cub King!"
In the stands, Tyrion spoke to Tywin.
"As your grandson, he performed quite well, didn't he? He unseated the son of Lord Redwyne."
Tywin Lannister was stern and humorless. His hair had long since receded, and for convenience, he had ordered his head shaved bald.
"If he doesn't win the championship, it means nothing. I came here to see my son Jaime win," Tywin stated.
"Lord Tywin, are you so certain that Ser Jaime will be the champion? Why don't we make a wager? I bet Jaime Lannister will not win the championship—one hundred gold dragons!"
Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, spoke up. He was short and slender, but the shrewd glint in his eyes indicated he was no simple man.
"Lord Baelish, Jaime is only one man, and he has many opponents. To simply bet against Jaime winning is hardly fair play!" Tyrion countered.
"So, what do you propose?" Baelish asked with a smile.
"I have a Valyrian steel dagger here. I bet that Mufasa will be the winner!"
As Tyrion said this, he held a fortune-waving cat named Kait in his arms.
"Meow! Meow!" Kait cried a few times, seemingly bringing Tyrion good fortune.
"A Valyrian steel dagger! Worth a thousand pieces of gold! How much should I offer to match it?" Baelish asked.
"Your largest brothel in King's Landing!"
Tyrion said with a wicked grin.
Baelish's brothels brought in huge sums daily, and investing in whores was a venture that never lost money.
In the short term, a Valyrian steel dagger was valuable, but in the long run, a brothel was worth far more.
After much hesitation, Baelish decided to take the bet. After all, he was a gambler, and not betting would mean he wasn't Petyr Baelish.
After Mufasa defeated his first opponent, he joined the lineup for the next round, where the contestants were significantly more formidable than those in the previous round.
"Mufasa, although you defeated Ser Hobber, it seems to have been due to luck, not your skill in riding or lancing. I advise you to withdraw now; the upcoming matches will be dangerous!"
Ser Barristan Selmy, riding a large white horse, approached Mufasa. He was clad in white armor and a white cloak, and even the hair beneath his helmet was completely white.
"Ser, you are still sharp as a blade, and I am a young hero. Why don't we meet in the finals?" Mufasa asked.
"Hahaha, you say I'm still sharp as a blade—you certainly know how to talk! Very well, I look forward to seeing you in the final clash," Barristan laughed.