Tourney

January 12th, 298 AC, Monday morning.

King's Landing Tourney Grounds.

Prince Joffrey's twelfth Name Day Tourney opened amid great fanfare.

As a distinctive tradition of Westerosi Knightly Culture, tourneys were beloved and eagerly followed by the people of the Seven Kingdoms.

Common spectators sought entertainment, knights competed for fame, hosts flaunted their strength, while nobles and lords used the occasion to make connections, forge alliances, and arrange marriages.

Today's tourney was especially grand and bustling. More than a hundred tents had been erected around the grounds early on, while merchants and bards scattered throughout sold beer, corn, honey, and music.

Thousands of King's Landing residents had claimed their spots early. Twice as many spectators could only stand in poorly positioned corners at the edges, while even more latecomers were still arriving.

By the tournament grounds, the competing knights stood in a line at the start of the track. Each sat atop a tall steed, clad in gleaming armor and brimming with fighting spirit.

Before them stretched the main track, two to three hundred meters long and forty to fifty meters wide, broad enough for four mounted jousts to take place at once.

A ring of High Platforms had been built around the track.

Court officials, royalty, and nobles watched the contests there while feasting and drinking. The surrounding crowds could also enjoy the shade beneath the platforms and watch from nearby.

Dozens of banners hung in succession before the platforms.

Their colors were vivid, each several men tall and wide, embroidered with distinctive and exquisite sigils that displayed the ancient, illustrious houses behind the knights.

Clang—

A crisp gong rang out.

The knights immediately tugged their reins, preparing to ride through the entire grounds and salute the countless spectators.

Hooves rose and fell as the orderly line of knights slowly advanced.

Everywhere they passed, the crowd erupted with enthusiasm.

Yet the knights kept their eyes fixed on the banners embroidered with house sigils.

Stag, Lion, Rose, Twin Towers, Purple Grapes, seahorse, Hunter, Wheat Stalk, Red Apple...

Whenever a knight passed his own house's banner, he would consciously or unconsciously raise his head and straighten his chest, doing his utmost to display his pride.

Wasn't the reason for entering a tourney to win glory for one's house?

After the entrance ceremony, the official matches swiftly began.

"First match of the first round of the Jousting Tournament: Ser Dickon Tarly versus Ser Hobber Redwyne!"

Cheers immediately thundered into the sky, and the atmosphere within the grounds boiled to its peak.

"Tarly will win! 'First in battle!' That is the creed of the Hunter and the Warrior."

"No wine can compare to that of The Arbor! Long live Redwyne!"

"Don't forget the Redwyne fleet!"

Everyone's attention focused on the field.

Even Prince Joffrey, the nominal star of this tourney, could not steal the slightest bit of attention from the knights.

But that suited him perfectly. One had to keep a low profile.

Joffrey looked around.

King Robert occupied the center of the High Platform, with all the important figures gathered nearby.

Among table after table of lavish feasts, he spotted Queen Cersei, Lord Tywin, the Kingslayer, Hand of the King Arryn, Lord Renly, Lord Stannis...

Only Tyrion was absent.

According to the servants, The Imp had drunk himself senseless last night and might remain drunk the entire day.

All the better. Joffrey thought to himself, If the disruption to the plot isn't too great, the results may be slow, but they'll be safer. There is no need to alter today's plan either.

He rose and walked toward the Master of Coin.

"Lord Petyr, how are my Dragon Eggs coming along? You'd better put your heart into this!"

Joffrey sprawled across from Littlefinger without ceremony. The others around the long table immediately and knowingly disappeared.

"Your Highness," Petyr maintained a courteous smile.

"How could I dare neglect the matter?"

"But the Narrow Sea will not vanish into thin air. The Envoy and ship bound for Pentos cannot set out until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Please be patient for a few more days."

Joffrey neither confirmed nor denied it, merely staring directly at this Court Lord whose ambitions ran deep.

Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin known as Littlefinger.

One of the foremost Schemers in the Seven Kingdoms, he stood at the top of Joffrey's kill list, tied for first place with Varys the Eunuch.

Littlefinger, who craved power, was not absolutely loyal. Varys, who plotted restoration, was absolutely disloyal.

Both were the sort who could only be used, never relied upon.

A servant brought over a plate of steaming steak. The rich scent of fat spread through the air with the steam.

Joffrey showed no courtesy and speared a piece first.

"This is my Name Day gift! I don't care about all that. It must be done before the end of the month, or you'll answer to me!"

That would not be easy.

Given the sea conditions for crossing the Narrow Sea, along with the distance and speed from King's Landing to Pentos, the outward journey would take around eight days, while the return journey would take seven.

And that was without considering the storms that occasionally broke out on the Narrow Sea.

Under normal circumstances, they would have to buy the Dragon Eggs and begin their return trip no later than the day after arriving in Pentos for the ship to reach King's Landing before month's end.

Lord Petyr merely bowed.

"I will do my utmost. I will not disappoint Your Highness."

Joffrey nodded in satisfaction.

Another wave of boisterous cheers and whistles rose from the field.

After six fierce passes and twelve shattered wooden lances, the first match finally ended.

Ser Dickon Tarly of Horn Hill was victorious!

At the sight, Joffrey seemed to ask Petyr a casual question on a whim.

"What is this fellow's relationship with Lord Tarly?"

"Your Highness, he is Lord Randyll's second son. He is indeed exceptionally valiant. Lord Randyll must be very pleased."

Joffrey took a bite of crispy bacon. "He's nothing special. When I'm old enough to compete, I'll knock every last one of them flat!"

"Just as you say."

"Hey, where is Lord Tarly's eldest son? I don't think I've seen him at all." Sansa's favorite lemon cake tasted quite good.

Petyr never offended people lightly.

"I heard Lord Randyll's eldest son is exceedingly intelligent and widely read. He dislikes conflict, so he is likely still at home in Horn Hill."

"Ha, cough, cough—" Joffrey burst out laughing, forgetting that he still had food in his mouth.

He hurriedly gulped down a large mouthful of milk and repeatedly patted his chest.

Ahhh... I'm alive again.

His performance was convincing. Guests seated nearby all turned to look at him.

Joffrey immediately mocked him in a loud voice. "A son of House Hunter who likes reading? He is hardly a man at all. He should become a maester!"

Petyr gave a perfunctory laugh.

He had yet to realize the severity of the problem.

The moment he took up the topic, he was doomed to be dragged into it.

"That's right!" Joffrey slammed the table.

"Become a maester... Hmm, good idea. Finding that old Grand Maester Pycelle an apprentice from House Hunter would be amusing just to think about!"

Petyr immediately sensed trouble.

Once he became a maester, he could no longer inherit lands or titles. In other words, he would be stripped of his inheritance rights.

"Your Highness, this matter should be considered carefully. House Tarly may..."

Joffrey had already vanished.

There was no need to ask. The willful Crown Prince had surely gone to Lord Tarly.

Telling another man's heir to become a maester was practically an open humiliation.

Even if House Tarly submitted, they would never treat it as if nothing had happened. Who would bear their wrath?

Who had egged on the Crown Prince?

Without even looking at the reactions of the guests around him, Petyr understood—he was about to earn House Tarly's hatred.

But he did not care much.

His Highness the Crown Prince? Littlefinger smiled secretly. The joint accusation from the Hand of the King and the Duke of Dragonstone would be enough to draw attention.

Once the king heard his foster father's dying words, learned that the three princes and princess were the bastard children of the Lannister twins, and watched his foster father die in agony with his own eyes...

Petyr stroked the pointed beard on his chin.

Lysa, for the love you bear me, become the final link in the plan.