Oberyn Martell was not a "knight."
Compared with Brandon, who had arrived a step ahead of him, he was far less famous.
Even his reputation back home in Dorne was reportedly a complete mess, and people called him the "Viper."
His only advantage was probably his status, along with the fact that he had supposedly received personal instruction in martial skills from Prince Lewyn Martell, one of the Kingsguard, and seemed fairly capable.
Unlike those who knew him only through hearsay, Titus understood how dangerous this man was. Thinking also of his indiscriminate choice of bedmates, he decided to keep a respectful distance.
That afternoon.
Titus was taking advantage of his early arrival to sort through the information his men had gathered on the contestants in his grand house.
An unexpected guest paid an unannounced visit, interrupting his preparations for the tournament.
"Ser Lorance, what brings you to see me?"
Facing his visitor, Titus kept his sword close as always, and even made a point of placing Orphan-Maker neatly right opposite his guest.
Lorance Roxton, the knight of Ringlet, kept his gaze straight ahead throughout, as though the weapon so brazenly displayed before him were not his family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword at all.
Oh, Titus had forgotten. House Peake had replaced the crossguard and scabbard long ago.
Nor had he gone around announcing that he owned a Valyrian steel sword... After several decades, it was only natural that the Roxtons could not recognize it, wasn't it?
"I heard that, during your earlier stay at Highgarden, your guards had a conflict with Arthur White of Whitegrove, Earl Titus?"
That was Lorance's opening line.
"Your information really is rather out of date. That happened almost a month ago... But ser, what of it?"
Titus did not understand what he meant and had no wish to beat around the bush, so he directly asked the purpose of his visit.
The Earl of Starpike had come prepared. So long as the man asked about Orphan-Maker's whereabouts, he had no fewer than three excuses and ten ploys with which to fob him off.
Even though House Peake was far diminished from its former standing, handling a minor knightly house like House Roxton was still child's play.
House Roxton's history could only be traced back to the Andal invasion of the Reach. It was through intermarriage with First Men nobles that they had gained a foothold in the Reach.
Since the death of Jon Roxton the Bold, their house had not produced anyone of note for a long time.
Then Titus learned that Ser Lorance Roxton was precisely that "person of note" House Roxton had produced in the post-Jon era.
The ser, a man in his prime in his thirties, maintained a respectful expression from beginning to end. Speaking to the Earl of Starpike, who was a dozen years younger, he acted as though he were facing his immediate superior, and the words he uttered were wholly unexpected to Titus:
"Lord Titus, treasures belong to the worthy, and may likewise be lost when their owner proves unworthy... I have not come to see you over a sword lost long ago, but because we share the same enemy. I wished to ask whether House Peake might offer House Roxton an opportunity to cooperate against Whitegrove?"
This unexpected overture made the previously inattentive Titus sit up straight.
Whitegrove lay northwest of Starpike, while Ringlet lay due west of Whitegrove.
Both were knightly houses, and their lands bordered each other.
Titus had indeed heard that House White, backed by the Tyrells of Highgarden, had been quietly encroaching on House Roxton's lands.
And so, quite naturally.
Inside the Earl of Starpike's luxurious guest quarters, the voices gradually grew softer...
The next day.
The first day of the opening ceremony.
The venue chosen for this tournament was an open stretch of ground outside Harrenhal, with an enclosed area of nearly an acre.
To Titus, that was equivalent to over half a football pitch.
Red wooden stands and other clusters of buildings lined both sides of the grounds.
Inside lay carefully leveled yellow earth, divided into separate lanes by sturdy oak fences. Banners bearing the sigils of different houses flew from the tops of the fences, snapping in the wind.
Around the edges, white stones formed a boundary half a foot high. Spare lances and shields were piled in the corners, along with long wooden poles used to help fallen knights free themselves from their stirrup straps. These poles gleamed with an oily sheen in the sunlight, the result of craftsmen polishing them with beeswax through the night.
The highest viewing stand stood on the north side of the grounds, its highest point some fifteen to twenty yards above the ground.
The top tier of the viewing stand was covered with a scarlet carpet matching the color of the Targaryen dragon sigil. Oak chairs with lumbar cushions stood upon it: the seats of honor reserved for the king, the great nobles, and the noble ladies.
Pinewood had already been lit in the bronze braziers beside the chairs, and the faintly fragrant smoke drifted on the wind toward the spectators below.
The middle tier belonged to ordinary lords, knights, and a small number of wealthy men and rich merchants. Many were already standing at the railing, pointing at the grounds and conversing in low voices.
Robert sat on the highest tier, while the Earl of Starpike did not yet enjoy the privilege of a seat in the royal box and was currently seated near the upper part of the middle tier.
As for the lowest stone steps and the grass, they were packed with ordinary people who had no seats and could only stand to watch. They were also the largest group at the venue.
Some commoners had brought straw mats and sat on the ground.
Titus looked down, and their coarse clothes resembled monotonous blocks of color in the sunlight.
At the entrance to the grounds.
Two rough wooden arches hastily built by House Whent had been erected. Their tall lintels were carved with crossed lances, knights' swords, and shields, as well as, of course, several bats in flight.
Eight armored guards stood on either side of the arches, their bright silver armor flashing so brilliantly in the sunlight that passing commoners could barely keep their eyes open.
Beyond the arches stretched a long, level passage, its sides hung with colorful draperies, decorations used by the houses from different regions to display their identities. The reds resembled fire, the blues the sea, and patterns embroidered in threads of every color dazzled the eye.
The opening ceremony had yet to begin, but the grounds and their surroundings had already become a seething ocean.
Young serving women bustled through the middle and upper tiers of the viewing stand, weaving nimbly and briskly about as they offered the lords fruit wine and snacks. The clear clinking of silver cups mingled with the rustle of silk skirts.
On the open ground outside, vendors pushed carts back and forth, hawking their wares. Fat from roasting sausages dripped onto charcoal braziers with a hiss, while the scent of sweet wine mingled with the smells of leather and sweat in the air.
Turning his gaze in that direction, Titus suddenly noticed a commotion in the crowd.
The next moment.
Sure enough, someone shouted, "The king is coming! The king's procession is coming!"
The dense crowd parted like the tide, immediately clearing a broad passage. The already lively atmosphere around the venue rose another notch, and the lords on the viewing stand all turned to look.
Three long horn blasts sounded from the direction of Harrenhal, cleaving through the clamor outside like thunder.
The commoners, who had been the loudest before, fell silent, and everyone gazed expectantly toward Castle Black.
At the far end of the dusty road, royal dragon guards in black armor rode ahead to clear the way, the black-and-red royal sigils on their shields polished particularly bright. Close behind came a gigantic carriage that required dozens of strong horses to pull it.
It was the king's wheelhouse, built of gleaming oak and gold-trimmed metal, its body carved with a three-headed dragon.
The vehicle was so enormous and so wide that, had Harrenhal not seemed built for giants from the very beginning, this massive carriage might truly have been unable to enter and leave the castle freely.
"His Grace Aerys II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, has arrived!"
The royal herald's cry had barely ended before a flurry of hurried footsteps rang out through the middle and upper tiers of the viewing stand and the spectator stands.
Lords and noble ladies rose one after another, straightening their robes. The lesser nobles who had been leaning against the railings stepped back to stand before their seats. Knights either stood at respectful attention or mounted their horses to salute. Even the commoners on the lowest level gathered by the fences and stood on tiptoe, vying for a glimpse of the royal splendor of the monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.
The enormous wheelhouse slowly came to a stop beside the viewing stand, and court attendants from the Red Keep hurried to lower a flat, thick wooden ramp.
Six white knights stood alert, having already taken their places on either side of the carriage door.
The first to leap from the carriage was a handsome man with a tall, straight figure, silver hair, and blue eyes. The cheers revealed him to be none other than Crown Prince Rhaegar.
On the breast of his splendid armor was a three-headed dragon formed from numerous rubies, setting off Prince Rhaegar's fair, handsome face and radiant bearing. He shone like jade in the sunlight, drawing soft exclamations of admiration from the noble ladies present.
This was Titus's first time seeing the renowned prince in person.
He really was handsome.
Hmm...
No less handsome than me.
The tournament:
Before you continue