A knight of House Frey?
Ned's brow furrowed even deeper.
Every one of Walder Frey's children had inherited their father's greed and cunning, and Hosteen was notorious among them for being reckless and belligerent.
Lynn rose from his seat in the stands.
"Lynn! You can do it!"
Arya waved her little fists and shouted.
Sansa nervously clutched the hem of her dress, her blue eyes filled with worry.
The bloody scene just moments earlier had left her terrified of the tournament.
Lynn merely nodded to them, then turned and walked down from the stands.
He donned his jet-black helm and swung onto Storm's back.
Horse and rider slowly entered the lists.
"Ha! He's actually riding a plow horse!"
"Ser Frey will run him clean through within three passes!"
Mocking laughter rose from every part of the stands, carrying clearly to every corner.
Hosteen Frey had plainly heard it too.
He looked at the black knight on the Shire horse opposite him with undisguised contempt.
A crow from the Wall thought he deserved to compete alongside the noble House Frey?
"Crow, crawl back to your Wall! You don't belong here!"
Hosteen raised his lance and pointed it at Lynn from across the lists, loudly hurling his insult.
Lynn did not respond.
He merely adjusted his posture awkwardly.
The black plate armor seemed especially heavy on him, and even his lance hand looked stiff.
Up on the royal dais, Littlefinger raised his wine cup, a cold smile playing at his lips.
Just a bumpkin from the North who had never seen the world, as expected.
He couldn't even hold a lance steady, yet he thought he could win the tournament?
What a joke.
"Begin!"
Robert's roar rang out again.
The two knights urged their horses to opposite ends of the lists, then