The silence over the Tournament Grounds lasted only a fleeting moment.
When Loras Tyrell's magnificent silver armor crashed into the mud, thick with blood and horse dung, the whole world seemed to fall mute.
Then came an eruption of frenzy!
"Black Knight!"
"Black Knight!!"
No one knew who had first shouted the name.
Then a thunderous roar surged from every corner of the Tournament Grounds, loud enough to tear the sky apart!
This was no longer mere cheering, but something close to frenzied worship!
A nameless Crow from the Wall, a country bumpkin riding a plow horse, had fought his way through scorn and ridicule.
He had beaten the fat fool from House Frey with the dirtiest tricks.
He had unseated the prince's Hound with the most shameless tactics.
Then, just when everyone thought his luck had run out, he had crushed the Golden Lion, Jaime Lannister, head-on with sheer, unreasonable force!
Finally, with lance work that bordered on art, he had utterly crushed the golden rose adored by countless maidens!
Every opponent had been a renowned knight.
Every opponent had been a veteran of countless battles!
Yet he, a nobody, had emerged victorious.
That alone was a miracle!
This was a legend worthy of being sung by bards for a hundred years!
Lynn sat quietly astride Storm. He removed his helm and let the deafening roar wash over him.
His gaze swept across the Tyrell stands, where Garlan the Gallant was staring at him as though he had seen a ghost.
Then he looked toward the raised dais.
With a sharp crash, the crystal wineglass slipped from Petyr Baelish's hand and shattered on the ground.
He slumped in his chair as though his spine had been torn out, his face white as paper.
Wine soaked his sumptuous robes, but