Heat waves rolled across the tourney grounds of Harrenhal.
The ladies' shrieks merged into a piercing torrent, while the nobles' coarse cheers beat like war drums.
Suleiman and his foster father, Lymond Lychester, sat beside King Robert Baratheon, in seats Robert Baratheon had personally designated for those who had distinguished themselves in the war—the most honored seats in the entire venue.
Beneath the sun, two fine steeds kicked up clouds of dust as they charged fiercely toward one another.
One rider wore gilded lion armor, while the other was clad in plain black steel, with only a rearing black bear emblazoned upon his breastplate.
The lances collided with an ear-splitting crack.
Splinters scattered.
Both knights remained firmly seated in their saddles, though their bodies swayed slightly.
Robert Baratheon slammed a hand against his thigh, spilling wine from his cup. "Damn it!"
He paid it no mind, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the field below.
"Who's that Northerner? He can actually hold his own against the Kingslayer!"
The king's booming voice drowned out the surrounding clamor.
Eddard Stark sat on the king's other side, as stern as ever, though a trace of pride showed in his gray eyes.
"The Lord of Bear Island, Jorah Mormont."
Robert Baratheon burst into laughter, his voice full of admiration.
"Mormont! Well done! I like tough bastards who come out of nowhere!"
As they spoke, the joust had already reached its fifth pass.
Jaime Lannister had won fame at a young age, and his skill at arms was renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
But Jorah Mormont was a name utterly unknown to the southern lords.
Even Jaime Lannister himself had clearly never expected this duel to prove so difficult.
Beneath his golden helm, a hint of impatience gradually crept into his movements. Each charge