The atmosphere in the lists ignited the moment the knights entered.
Deafening cheers mingled with the charred aroma of roast meat, the sour stink of sweat, and the cheap perfume the women wore.
These smells rose in the blazing sun, creating a feverish atmosphere unique to King's Landing.
The rules still followed the traditional elimination format.
Lynn sat quietly in House Stark's section of the stands.
His jet-black plate armor set him apart from the nobles in silk around him.
Arya sat beside him, her little face flushed with excitement as she waved her fists incessantly.
Sansa, on the other hand, seemed rather ill at ease.
She kept straightening her long blue dress, stealing glances toward one side of the stands.
On the raised dais, Robert Baratheon impatiently urged a servant to refill his wine, his obese body sunk into a spacious chair.
"How bloody long have I been sitting here?"
"Get on with it! Start already!"
"I can't wait to see these tin cans smash into each other!"
His roars carried clearly across the dais, drawing a ripple of good-natured laughter.
Ned Stark sat beside him without a trace of a smile.
His gray eyes were filled with distaste for this extravagant revelry.
Lynn rose, walked behind Ned, and bent to whisper in his ear.
"Lord Ned, I need a favor."
Ned turned, a question in his eyes.
"Find the biggest betting operation in the city."
Lynn kept his voice extremely low.
"Put every bit of money you can spare on me."
Ned's pupils abruptly contracted.
All of it?
He knew Lynn had plans of his own, but this sort of reckless gambling hardly suited House Stark's way of doing things.
"At previous tourneys, the odds kept changing until betting closed at the final. Shouldn't we wait and see?"