The tourney camp

The day before the Hand's Tourney began.

Davion had long since finished packing and checked his armor and weapons one by one.

After saying goodbye to Shataya, Alayaya, and the other girls in turn, he set off with Gendry toward the tourney grounds outside the King's Gate.

Gendry walked ahead, leading the horse by its reins. He looked considerably more composed than before, though his face still retained a trace of youthful innocence.

Davion sat steadily in the saddle, dressed in fitted clothes, his posture straight.

Bored along the way, Davion began teasing him again, his tone playful:

"Young man, tell me, how did you like the taste of a woman?"

Gendry stiffened. Without turning around, he muttered:

"It was... it was all right."

"Just all right?"

"All right how? Tell me in detail. Don't hold anything back."

He had always been something of a gossip, especially when he thought of how Gendry had holed up in his room for an entire day and night without coming out.

Seeing him looking so radiant when they met today only made him more curious.

Gendry's cheeks reddened slightly, and he pursed his lips.

"My lord, why would you be curious about that sort of thing?"

"I heard from Janna that you need six whores to keep you company in a single night. You're far better at it than I am!"

Janna was the whore who had spent that entire day and night with Gendry. She was gentle and quite talkative.

Davion raised an eyebrow and asked:

"Oh? What else did your little Janna tell you? I'm rather curious about what those girls say about me."

Gendry slowed his steps.

"What else would they say? They all envy those six whores! They say that getting to keep you company every day means you not only treat them tenderly, but they can also take their silver stags and exchange them for the gold dragons you give out."

"Hahahahaha!"

At that, Davion could not help bursting into laughter.

Gendry looked back at Davion in astonishment.

"My lord, how can you still laugh?"

"I heard from Janna that a friend of hers works in another brothel. Your reputation has spread to the other brothels! All the customers are making fun of you!"

"Oh? What are they saying?"

Gendry pursed his lips and answered honestly, "They all say you have no restraint, that you're a wastrel, trading perfectly good gold dragons for silver stags. They say you've lost your mind."

Davion gave a dismissive snort, utterly unconcerned, his tone carefree.

"What the hell do they know? A pack of shortsighted fools. What do they know about enjoying themselves?"

"You go to a brothel to have fun and enjoy yourself in the first place. Everyone has their own way of playing and entertaining themselves!"

"If I want to exchange gold dragons for silver stags and make the girls happy, what business is it of theirs?"

Though others might consider Davion's way of having fun wasteful, to the whores, it was the most welcome and enviable of all.

After all, no girl would turn down a young nobleman who was generous, gentle, and willing to spend money on her.

And Davion had indeed received excellent responses. Over the past few days, he had not only grown more relaxed, but his condition had also kept improving.

Davion and Gendry chatted and joked along the way, passing through the King's Gate before they knew it and stepping onto the path leading to the banks of the Blackwater Rush.

From a distance, they could see that the tourney grounds had already been enclosed by a sturdy wooden fence, with colorful flags hanging from it and fluttering in the wind.

They could just make out the level tournament field and the stands rising within.

On a broad stretch of open ground along the Blackwater Rush, countless tents stood in orderly clusters, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The noble knights' tents were mostly spacious and grand. Outside them hung either shields bearing their family arms or fluttering battle banners, their varied emblems displaying their respective identities and power.

The tents of ordinary sellswords and hedge knights were much more rudimentary, mostly made of coarse cloth and crowded haphazardly together.

Those staying here were all contestants who would soon take part in the Hand's Tourney.

Whether they were noble knights of illustrious birth or wandering sellswords and hedge knights, they all had to camp here during the tourney.

Only nobles who owned property in King's Landing were spared the hardship of living exposed to the elements and could return to their comfortable residences to rest each night.

Interestingly, viewed from afar, these tents had spontaneously divided into four clearly demarcated areas, faintly reflecting the divisions of power in the Seven Kingdoms.

At a flat spot near the banks of the Blackwater Rush with an excellent view.

An enormous, luxurious tent stood out, its brocade fabric adorned with gold and silver, tassels hanging from its corners.

Even from far away, the golden stag on a black field could be seen flying from the flagpole beside the tent.

The area spreading outward from this luxurious tent formed the first camp.

Judging by the shields and battle banners hanging outside the smaller tents, most of those staying here were noble knights from the Reach and the Stormlands.

Leading the horse, Gendry gazed at the densely packed tents before him, his eyes full of envy.

He had been confined to a smithy since childhood and had never been this close to so many knights and nobles.

His eyes shone especially brightly when he saw the enormous, luxurious tent.

"My lord, look! That biggest, prettiest tent-is it His Grace's?"

Gendry could not help stopping and pointing at the black tent with its golden designs as he asked curiously.

Davion shook his head, his gaze settling on the stag banner as he explained evenly:

"Probably not. The king wouldn't come here this early!"

"That tent probably belongs to the king's younger brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Master of Laws."

Gendry looked utterly amazed.

"To think the king's brother would be willing to move somewhere like this, too. Leaving a comfortable residence in the Red Keep just to come here and suffer."

At that, a strange smile appeared on Davion's face.

He had already guessed a few of the reasons Renly had moved out of the Red Keep to camp here.

The main one was that he could use the Hand's Tourney as a pretext to spend a few carefree days here with his lover, Loras Tyrell.

Though both were men, their relationship was far more intimate than an ordinary friendship.

It was the sort of bond where they could entrust their rear to each other without reservation!

Davion could not even help commenting inwardly:

Who knew? Right now, Renly and Loras Tyrell might be having some sort of deep exchange inside that luxurious tent!

West of Renly's camp, the tents were uniform in style, and judging by their arms, they all belonged to nobles from the Westerlands.

It took no thought to know that this was House Lannister's sphere of influence. They would certainly send quite a few knights to compete in this Hand's Tourney.

East of Renly's camp were the noble knights of the Riverlands and the Vale, along with a scattering of tents belonging to nobles from the North.

The final area was the territory of sellswords and hedge knights.

Of course, there were also down-and-out nobles like Davion.

This was the most chaotic area, with tents of uneven quality and all different sizes. Most of the people coming and going wore ragged clothes, their eyes wary, exuding a savage air of fearlessness in the face of death.