When the royal herald announced the start of the semifinals, an eerie mood settled over the entire tourney grounds.
Jaime Lannister.
The name alone represented the pinnacle of knightly skill in Westeros.
His opponent, however, was merely a Nameless Black Knight who had barely scraped his way this far through dirty tricks and sheer dumb luck.
This was no contest at all.
The outcome had already been decided.
Jaime Lannister swung calmly into the saddle.
His golden armor reflected the afternoon sunlight in a dazzling blaze, making him look like a god descended from the heavens.
He had not even put on his helmet, merely tying his brilliant golden hair loosely behind his head.
A faint, bored smile rested on his handsome face.
He looked at the figure encased in black iron at the other end of the lists as though he were looking at prey already dead.
Up on the dais, Littlefinger's expression had returned to normal.
Wine cup in hand, he surveyed the absurdly high odds he was offering, perfectly at ease.
Loras's greatest rival, the Mountain, had now been eliminated. Some people had bet on Jaime, but the outcome was already decided.
Jaime was slightly inferior to Loras in mounted combat, so Loras stood a very good chance of winning the final.
As for Lynn, his odds were outrageously high.
Littlefinger had never taken Lynn seriously. His earlier performances had been downright painful to watch, and Littlefinger refused to believe his luck would hold against Jaime.
It was time for the game to end.
He could not even be bothered to look at Lynn, turning his gaze toward House Stark's stand instead.
He wanted to savor the expression on Ned Stark's face when the Golden Lion ran their hero through with a single thrust.
Lynn sat quietly