The jousting grounds had been cleared.
The land, trampled flat by countless hooves during the tourney, had now become a court where the Seven would decide life and death.
The stands were packed with people, their whispers blending into a low hum as they watched the fourteen men about to risk their lives in the field.
On one side of the grounds, seven knights of the Vale stood as still as mountains.
The sigils on their breastplates differed, yet each had consciously donned a blue-and-white cloak of the Vale to proclaim their origins and honor.
On the other side, Suleiman's banners were a jumble.
The sigils of the North, the Westerlands, the Vale, and the Riverlands were mixed together like a stew about to boil over.
Suleiman wore a suit of Black Lion Armor, a black cloak draped over his shoulders. The full armor made his breathing somewhat labored.
Jaime Lannister's golden plate had been polished to a brilliant shine, his red cloak like flowing blood.
Bryn and Rosso Brune wore the same Black Lion Armor, standing silently behind Suleiman like two lifeless stone statues.
Yohn Royce wore his ancestral bronze armor, with a brown cloak matching the colors of his house's sigil.
Jon Umber was wrapped in heavy black furs, his northern-style armor rough but practical.
Their side was still missing one man.
The vacancy was not due to a lack of volunteers. Quite the opposite—the competition had grown too fierce.
"Let me fight for you, Lord Suleiman."
A knight of House Mallister stepped forward from the crowd, one hand on his sword hilt, his tone earnest.
"My sword is yours."
A hedge knight without a sigil also shouted loudly.
"For the honor of the Trident!"
"Let me fight for you!"
"Let me!"
The cries grew louder and louder,