In the smithy, the smith carefully worked to straighten Jaime's battered, misshapen helmet. The ornate lion helm had only hindered him. Still, Jaime himself was unharmed and needed only a bit of rest.
"Why didn't my dear sister come to the tournament? She usually loves showing herself off at events like this," Tyrion asked.
"You didn't hear about last night? Cersei and the King had a quarrel," Jaime replied.
"What over this time?"
"The King wanted to take part in the melee, but the Queen wouldn't allow it."
"Our good king really does act on a whim," Tyrion said.
"A melee is no child's play," Jaime answered. "It's as brutal as a battlefield."
"What's the situation in King's Landing these days?" Tyrion asked quietly.
"I'm afraid it's not good, little brother," Jaime said. "Joff had a bit of a clash with the Stark children on the Kingsroad in the Riverlands... he slashed the bastard's face with a sword, and the Stark girl frightened him with her little wolf."
Tyrion had not expected the latest tale to be so entertaining. Fortunately, it had been Jon and not the true heir. If it had been the latter, a disfigurement like that would have meant a lasting blood feud.
"Well then, look at the excitement I missed. Slashes someone's face with a sword, then gets scared to tears by a little girl's wolf cub. My dear nephew..." Tyrion nearly choked with laughter. It seemed he really ought to slap Joff a few more times to knock some sense into him. "Robert brought in the Starks to help steady Joff's position, and this fool goes and does that."
"You can't put all the blame on Joff. You know Lord Eddard has never gotten along with us. Still, Joff does lack a sense of chivalry. The Knight of Flowers isn't much older than him, and he's already made quite a name for himself." Jaime shrugged.
"Damn it, I don't know why the Hound had such strength today." Jaime winced as the smith worked to remove his helmet.
"Maybe he had something even crazier in mind. Like facing his own brother in the lists."
With Jaime defeated, Tyrion felt there was little point in watching the rest of the matches. The later bout between the Knight of Flowers and the Mountain would have been worth seeing.
"Fine."
Tyrion thought for a moment and chose not to mention Lady Stark's discourtesy just yet. He would wait. The news would spread soon enough anyway, and perhaps his father, Great Lord Tywin, was already waiting for such an opportunity to act.
After some thought, Tyrion called over his servant, Jack. The boy had traveled with him to Winterfell and knew the Starks.
"Take this to the Stark boy, the son, and tell him it's a gift from me."
Tyrion produced several gold coins, with a note tucked among them.
"Life in King's Landing is expensive. He'll need to be prepared."
"Perhaps this is the last thing I'll do?" The Imp sighed. The situation was growing more and more tense. Between the Lannisters and the Starks, there were too many conflicts.
He did not know whether this move was wise or foolish. Once things truly broke, his father would be the first to march out from the Riverlands under his banner and strike at House Tully.
But no matter what, Tyrion had to find a way to deal with Littlefinger, the man who had set him up.
"As you command, my lord."
After the Kingslayer was led off the field, the next bout belonged to the Mountain and the Knight of Flowers.
Jon watched eagerly. The two men could not have been more different. The massive Mountain, and the graceful Knight of Flowers.
The Mountain stood like a giant, taller than any knight Jon had ever seen. His brutality and reputation were unmatched.
He stood nearly eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and arms as thick as small tree trunks. Beneath his armored weight, his horse looked almost like a toy, and the longspear in his hand resembled little more than a stick.
The Knight of Flowers was the complete opposite. Handsome and refined, he was adored by noble ladies and courtly women alike.
"He's so handsome."
Most of the crowd favored the Knight of Flowers, especially the ladies. His attire was dazzlingly extravagant, every piece worth a fortune in golden dragons. In matters of dress and taste, both he and Great Lord Renly stood well above the rest.
The Knight of Flowers was slender as a reed, clad in magnificent silver armor polished to a blinding shine. It was adorned with pairs of black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The blue flowers were crafted from gemstones, and thousands in the crowd could not help but marvel at his lavish display.
His cloak hung heavy on his shoulders, embroidered with real forget-me-nots, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn directly into the wool.
"What a striking young man," Eddard said, unable to help himself. The youth carried himself with confidence and vigor, and House Tyrell was a powerful family, second only to the Lannisters in wealth.
Sansa clutched Eddard's arm.
"Father, don't let Ser Gregor hurt him."
Jon kept his eyes on the field. He could see the Mountain's ferocity clearly. Even in a joust, that kind of strength was enough to make anyone uneasy.
What followed caught everyone off guard. As the Knight of Flowers rode his beautiful gray mare into the field, the Mountain's great stallion suddenly grew restless.
The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, then lowered his longspear. His victory came like an ambush. The Mountain struggled to control his mount, while the Knight of Flowers drove forward with practiced precision.
Crash!
The Mountain toppled at once, like a collapsing hill, his horse going down with him.
The arena erupted into noise. Cheers, whistles, boos, and murmurs all mixed together, while the Hound laughed even louder. The Knight of Flowers began to bask in his triumph. This was his moment. He lifted his visor, his smile bright and open, and the crowd's cheers surged like waves.
Jon saw the Mountain rise from the ground, wrench off his helmet, his face dark with rage.
"Bring me a sword!"
The order rang out, and his squire hurried to obey.
With a single brutal stroke, the Mountain cut down his own horse. The blow was so powerful it nearly took the animal's head off. In an instant, the lively tournament turned into something horrific. Sword dripping with blood, the Mountain strode toward the Knight of Flowers.
"Stop him!" Eddard shouted.
"The longspear! Use the longspear!" Jon called out. There was no time to discard weapons. The Knight of Flowers still held his wooden lance.
The Knight of Flowers came back to his senses, but the Mountain's presence was overwhelming. With one swing, he shattered the lance, then followed with another savage strike. The mare, spooked by the smell of blood, faltered, throwing the Knight of Flowers to the ground.
The Hound stepped in and blocked the attack, saving the Knight of Flowers' life. The two brothers clashed, trading blows in a fierce struggle. Neither could break the other. Men rushed in and quickly dragged the Knight of Flowers to safety.
Ned saw Ser Gregor hammer three blows against the Hound's helmet, yet Sandor never once struck at his brother's unprotected head.
"Damn it! Stop this now!" the king roared, rising to his feet. He might not care for House Tyrell, but if Lord Mace's favored youngest son died in King's Landing, it would bring him nothing but trouble. Lord Tywin's dog was far too savage.
The king and Ser Barristan stepped into the field.
"More men. Subdue this mad dog."
A dozen knights rushed forward.
At the king's command, the Hound came back to himself and dropped to one knee. The Mountain's next swing missed, and he too regained control. He let his sword fall and shot Robert a dark look.
The king stood surrounded by the Kingsguard, along with a cluster of knights and guards. The Mountain shoved Ser Barristan aside, said nothing, and strode away.
"Let him go," the king said.
And just like that, it was over.
Thousands watched in stunned silence. A brute so violent and lawless walked away without punishment. It was hard to know what to make of the king's judgment.
Jon lingered, shaken. The dying stallion's screams still rang in his ears. Northerners loved their horses. They would never treat them so cruelly.
A short while later, the championship was awarded to the Hound. The Knight of Flowers thanked the man who had saved his life and willingly yielded the victory.
Eddard, Sansa, and the others made their way toward the archery grounds. The next event was the shooting contest.
"It seems the young lord of House Tyrell planned this," Littlefinger said with a smile. "He knew the Mountain's habits, even the kind of horse he rides."
Ser Barristan Selmy shook his head. "There's no honor in such tricks," the old knight said stubbornly.
"No honor, perhaps, but enough to win twenty thousand golden dragons," Great Lord Renly replied with a smile.
As Jon stood lost in thought, he noticed someone approaching him.
"Life in King's Landing is expensive. Your dwarf friend asked me to bring you a small gift."
The man, dressed like a servant, stepped close.
Jon hesitated, then accepted the gold coins. Beneath them, he spotted a folded note. His "dwarf friend" could only be the Imp.
He carefully unfolded the note and read:
"Never trust Littlefinger. He is a liar and an opportunist. Your loyal dwarf friend."
Jon felt a wave of dizziness. Things were more complicated than he had imagined. Perhaps this was the Imp's warning.
...
Far away in Essos, at Vaes Dothrak, the Horse Gate stood like a monument. Two colossal bronze stallions reared on their hind legs, their forelegs meeting high above the ground, forming a towering arch.
Khal Drogo led his khalasar beneath them, his bloodriders close at his side. The bronze horses cast long shadows across the rolling sea of grass.
"Farewell, sacred city," Drogo thought.
To be honest, he had never been close to Khal Zekko. But anyone who dared offend the dignity of the Dothraki would have to be reminded to fear them again. Those lowly Lamb Men would learn their place.
Drogo looked over his vast khalasar. There was only one thing missing now: a woman worthy of him.
He was tall and swift, greater than any other Dothraki. His skin gleamed like polished bronze, and golden and bronze bells hung from his thick braid.
"Is the Dragon Princess truly there?" someone beside him asked, a man who looked like a merchant from one of the Free Cities.
"It is true, Khal. On that beautiful white shore, in the white city of Myr, there is a silver-haired Dragon Princess, unmatched in all the world."
Drogo recalled the words of the old crones. His son would be the stallion who mounts the world.
But first, he had to claim the boy's mother.
The silver-haired Dragon Princess.