Nobody saw that disaster coming.
Loras Tyrell and Ser Preston Greenfield both went down hard, tumbling across the dirt in a mess of armor and dust.
In an instant the crowd forgot all about who won. Mace Tyrell shot out of his seat, roaring for his men to check on his son. Dozens of Tyrell retainers and servants swarmed the field, gently lifting the injured Knight of Flowers onto a stretcher and carrying him out. Mace and the rest of the family quickly excused themselves to the king and hurried after him.
Robert, wanting to show respect to House Tyrell, called a short halt to the tourney and sent his own guards to get an update. A few minutes later word came back: Loras was banged up but not badly hurt. He just wouldn't be able to ride in the next round.
Robert nodded, waved for the games to continue, and announced the next match—Barristan Selmy's bout.
Leo rubbed his nose, thinking fast. Loras and Preston both fell… Preston clearly lost, and now Loras is out. His own next opponent in the quarterfinals had been Loras. With the kid sidelined, that meant Leo had just skipped straight to the finals.
If he was right, his next match tomorrow would be against the winner of Barristan versus Jaime for the championship.
Are you kidding me?
He hadn't expected his very first tourney to land him at least second place. That was one hell of a line to drop in any future conversation.
While Leo was still grinning to himself, Barristan's match kicked off.
The legendary Barristan the Bold rode out to thunderous cheers. His opponent was a knight from the Riverlands who'd bought the old knight's earlier "slowing down with age" act hook, line, and sinker. Two probing passes later, Barristan struck clean on the third and sent the man flying. Easy win.
Jaime Lannister, who had rushed back after his own earlier bout, made short work of his opponent too and advanced.
After a short break, the real show started: the semifinal between Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister.
On one side stood the grizzled, battle-hardened Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—Barristan the Bold. On the other was the golden-haired, outrageously skilled Kingslayer himself.
The crowd was loud for Barristan and loud against Jaime. Boos rained down the second the Kingslayer's name was called. Jaime had long ago stopped caring. He'd heard it all before.
Both men were Kingsguard. They'd fought side by side for years and knew each other's moves cold. The moment the horn blew they went at it full throttle—no holding back, no games.
Barristan had the edge in experience and raw skill, but Jaime was younger, stronger, and just as deadly. They were perfectly matched. Lance after lance shattered in spectacular passes that had the entire stands on their feet screaming. Even Robert was standing on the royal box railing, hollering like a madman.
Leo watched from the dais, eyes glued to every detail. This was the real final of the tourney.
After dozens of thunderous clashes and more than ten broken lances, Barristan finally spotted a tiny opening. His lance slammed home.
Jaime flew from the saddle.
Cersei, who had slipped back into the royal box, let out a sharp cry and rushed to the railing, neck craned, face twisted with panic.
But Jaime was still Jaime. The second he felt himself going he ditched the reins, tucked, and rolled on impact like a pro. He popped back up without a scratch.
The result was clear: Barristan had unhorsed the Kingslayer.
Robert roared with laughter and personally declared Barristan the winner. He didn't even glance at Jaime. Cersei shot the king a venomous look that vanished the instant Jaime reached the dais. She hurried down the steps, fussing over her brother, asking if he was hurt. When he told her he was fine she finally relaxed.
Robert, still laughing, grabbed Barristan's arm and shoved a fresh cup of wine into his hand. Barristan accepted it with a grateful nod.
"Ha! Perfect!" Robert bellowed, beaming. "Now the champion and runner-up of this whole damn tourney will be decided between the two of you! Much better than letting some other prick walk off with my gold!"
He waved Leo over, had Lancel pour him more wine, and kept chuckling like a kid who'd just won a bet. The idea that Jaime wouldn't be taking the prize money clearly made his whole year.
Of course, Jaime had technically taken third and would still pocket five thousand gold dragons, which made Robert scowl for half a second like he'd lost a fortune.
"You two get some rest," Robert told them, still grinning ear to ear. "Tomorrow we find out—does the teacher still have it, or does the student finally take the crown? Ha!"
He looked from Barristan to Leo and drained another cup, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.
Leo knew he had zero chance of beating his teacher in a straight fight. But damn if this wasn't a golden opportunity.
He met Barristan's eyes with pure fighting spirit. "Don't go easy on me tomorrow, teacher."
Barristan gave a serious nod. "You can count on it. I'll be coming at you with everything I have. Stay sharp, lad."