Suleiman's guards swarmed forward, hoisting Jorah Mormont up with rough, unapologetic movements.
The crowd parted to make way, and the nobles' gazes were complicated, mingling shock, schadenfreude, and a trace of barely perceptible fear.
Jaime Lannister remained where he stood, one golden eyebrow lifting slightly.
He watched Suleiman sheath his sword, the motion smooth and effortless, as though he had merely pruned an obstructive vine in a garden.
Suleiman's voice was utterly flat. "Take him back to camp."
"Notify Warden Eddard Stark."
His orders were concise and emotionless, yet they seemed to make the air around them several degrees colder.
Inside Lymond Lychester's tent, the brazier burned fiercely, casting a red glow over Lymond Lychester's face, twisted with rage.
The old man's voice was hoarse with agitation. "We must strike back! This is a provocation from the northerners!"
He stared at Jorah Mormont, whom the guards had thrown onto the ground, his massive body like a heavy sack of grain.
"He drew his sword! At Suleiman! Right under the king's nose! This is an assassination attempt! Murder!"
Lymond Lychester's spittle sprayed through the firelight.
"We should hand him over to the king at once! Let the king's laws judge this foolish bear from the North!"
Suleiman poured Lymond Lychester a cup of wine, which the old man drained in one gulp.
He looked neither at Jorah Mormont on the ground nor at his enraged adoptive father. "We have a better way of dealing with this."
Jorah Mormont was gradually regaining consciousness. As his memories returned, his face turned deathly pale.
He saw Lymond Lychester's furious face, Suleiman's indifferent one, and felt the ropes binding his hands.
Despair engulfed him.
He knew exactly what he had done.
For a woman, he had drawn his sword and charged at a newly knighted