Sabotage at tourneys wasn't exactly rare.
In the story Leo remembered, when Ned became Hand and Robert threw a tourney to celebrate, Loras Tyrell pulled a dirty trick against the Mountain. He rode a mare in heat so Gregor's stallion lost its mind. The Mountain couldn't control his mount and got unhorsed. Loras knew he couldn't win fair, so he cheated—and the rules still gave him the victory.
But whoever came after Leo this time had gone way further. They'd poisoned his horse and his breakfast. That crossed a line.
Leo had sent Varyn to snatch the servant who delivered the tray, hoping for answers. Deep down he already knew it probably wouldn't matter. The real player behind this wasn't sloppy enough to leave a loose end.
Who did it?
Hard to say.
On the surface the goal was simple: make Leo lose the final.
Follow the money—who benefits? The prime suspects were Barristan's backers and anyone who'd bet heavy on the old knight winning.
Barristan himself was off the list. The man's honor was iron, and he was Leo's teacher. No chance.
That left the nobles who'd wagered big on Barristan.
But anyone with the reach to tamper with Leo's horse and breakfast had to be high up the food chain. No random lordling or hedge knight could pull this off without getting caught. Whoever it was moved in the inner circles of King's Landing.
Besides, the public buzz said Leo might actually beat Barristan, but that was mostly bookie hype to sucker in the marks. Leo figured Littlefinger and the other big syndicates had spread the rumor themselves.
The serious money—the old blood who really knew Barristan's skill—would've bet on the Bold with total confidence.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday Leo had gone full demon in the group melee, stealing the show and making Robert look like a genius for backing him. Some of those rich bettors must have panicked that their gold was about to vanish and decided to play dirty.
But Leo wasn't convinced.
A highborn player with real power in King's Landing risking poison on Robert's new favorite… over gambling money? Poison? That felt too stupid. Too risky.
This had to be deeper than a bet.
Maybe he'd pissed off the wrong person.
First name that came to mind: Gyles Rosby, the coughing lord who'd bitched about "honor" after Leo's first joust win.
But the old man struck Leo as a stubborn traditionalist, not the type to stoop to poison over a bruised ego.
Next: Balman Byrch. The knight Leo had dropped in a single tilt after the guy had strutted around demanding Leo yield. Public humiliation like that could breed hate.
Or the men Leo had smashed in the melee yesterday—some of them might never swing a sword again. Their houses could want payback.
He even ran the Hound's name through his head, then tossed it. Sandor's style was straight-up violence, not this sneaky shit.
Littlefinger crossed his mind too. As the biggest bookie on the field, he had every reason to protect his payouts. Leo had quietly dropped twenty thousand gold on Barristan through split bets. A man like Littlefinger would've spotted that move and wondered if Leo was hedging—win the glory and eat the loss, or lose the match and walk away rich. Smart people overthink things. Littlefinger definitely qualified.
Leo kept going down the list: Renly (had he been too cold when the young lord tried to be friendly?), Varys (smiling spider who claimed to be a friend), even Cersei (though he couldn't remember stepping on her toes at all).
The more he thought, the worse his headache got.
Everyone looked suspicious.
King's Landing was a far deeper and nastier pool than he'd imagined.
Just when his brain felt ready to explode without a clear answer, Varyn burst back into the tent, face grim.
"My lord… forgive my failure."
Varyn had taken men to grab the breakfast servant. They'd torn the camp kitchens apart and found nothing. Then shouts went up near the Blackwater. By the time they reached the river, servants were dragging a fresh corpse from the water.
It was the same servant.
Multiple witnesses swore they saw him slip while fetching water. He'd drowned before anyone could reach him.
When Varyn pressed them, every witness admitted they'd only seen the man's back, never his face.
That tiny detail screamed setup.
Varyn suspected the real servant had been murdered right after delivering the tray, dumped in the river, and someone dressed like him had staged the "accident" to mislead everyone.
Leo let out a slow breath. "Just as I thought."
The mastermind wasn't stupid. Quick, ruthless, and clean. One loose end tied off with a corpse.
The trail had gone stone cold.