Tywin!

By a careful reckoning, Cersei was only around thirty-one that year, an age when a woman's looks and figure were both at their peak.

Her skin was firm, her bearing graceful, and her blend of mature allure and proud sharpness was truly unmatched.

Though the commoners below the platform usually loathed House Lannister's arrogance and greed, faced with Cersei's breathtaking beauty, they wisely put aside their resentment. Not one of them jeered; instead, admiration showed in quite a few pairs of eyes.

Cersei took it all in, and in the end, she could not stop a smug smile from curling her lips.

The smile was full of undisguised vanity and pride.

Watching her, Davion privately guessed that she was probably thinking:

You lowborn scum know your place, at least! Hmph!

Robert and Cersei took their places on the thrones in turn. The moment Robert sat down, he slumped against the backrest, the fat all over his body bunching together.

Cersei sat straight and poised, still maintaining her dignity as queen.

Seeing this, the master of ceremonies hurriedly cleared his throat and continued his introductions in a booming voice:

"Next is the royal family's future and hope, the eldest son of the king and queen, the lawful heir to the Iron Throne, and the central figure of today's grand occasion-Prince Joffrey Baratheon!"

At the master of ceremonies' words, a youth dressed in splendid golden finery slowly walked onto the ceremonial platform.

Joffrey had perfectly inherited Cersei's beauty and Jaime's martial bearing. With finely shaped features, an upright figure, and a handsome face, he could be counted among the rare beauties of his age in the Seven Kingdoms.

He wore a carefully rehearsed, proper smile as he waved stiffly at the commoners below.

His movements were awkward and perfunctory. Anyone could see how unwilling he was, only making the gesture because royal dignity demanded it.

Looking at Joffrey's handsome face, which bore no resemblance whatsoever to Robert, Davion grumbled inwardly once more:

Robert, oh, Robert, you really are blind! Never mind failing to see Cersei's beauty-where does Joffrey look even remotely like you? Don't you suspect a thing?

He scanned the ceremonial platform but saw no sign of Jaime Lannister, so he turned to Tyrion beside him.

"Where's Jaime, that brother of yours whose swordsmanship is the best in the Seven Kingdoms? Isn't he in the Kingsguard? He ought to be at the king's side every moment. Why isn't he here?"

Tyrion gave Davion a look as though he were some country bumpkin, his tone mocking.

"Your family's maester is rather incompetent, isn't he? Didn't he tell you even these basic rules?"

"In a moment, the competing knights will parade around the grounds to display their knightly glory."

"Jaime and Ser Barristan Selmy have both entered this time. As the most skilled knights in the Kingsguard, they'll march in the first rank of the procession and lead all the competing knights into the grounds."

A look of surprise crossed Davion's face, and he spoke without thinking:

"What? We have to parade around the grounds too? Why didn't anyone tell me? I haven't even finished putting on my armor. Won't I make a fool of myself if I miss it?"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

At that, Tyrion could not help laughing heartily, slapping his thigh as he said:

"Of course nobody told you!"

"Just look at yourself. All you've brought is one attendant you hired on the spot. What about you looks like a noble knight?"

Then he patted Davion's arm in consolation.

"Still, future tourney champion, there's no need to lose heart."

"You may love to boast, lad, but I do have some faith in you. Perhaps you really can keep your House Whent going, rather than letting it fade into obscurity in some corner of the Riverlands."

Davion smiled dismissively, his tone casual.

"What makes you think I've lost heart?"

"Actually, this suits me just fine. By the time the master of ceremonies finishes introducing all these court dignitaries one by one, the sun will be high overhead. Wouldn't parading around in heavy armor then roast me to death?"

"It's much more comfortable sitting here, with a canopy keeping off the sun. How pleasant."

Tyrion thought Davion was merely trying to save face, but did not call him out. He simply shook his head with a smile and turned back to the ceremonial platform.

Next, the master of ceremonies introduced the other members of the royal family in turn.

The king's second son, Prince Tommen Baratheon, was still young, with a childish face and timid eyes, and gave a gentle wave to those below.

His young daughter, Princess Myrcella Baratheon, had inherited Cersei's beauty, with soft features and an innocent smile.

The next to appear was the king's third brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Master of Laws on the Small Council.

He was tall and straight, handsome-faced and gentle in his smile, with a refined bearing in his sapphire-blue formal attire.

Loud cheers rose from the crowd below when he appeared. Though they were not as thunderous as those for Robert, they were enough to show his popularity among the people.

Next came the king's foster father, Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King.

His hair was graying and his face aged, but he remained hale and alert.

Dressed in gray formal attire, he had a steady bearing. As he appeared, the nobles below rose to pay their respects, demonstrating his prestige.

Davion thought the master of ceremonies had finished introducing all the powerful nobles and was about to look away.

Suddenly, he saw a tall, thin figure dressed in fitted black clothes with a dark red cloak over them, slowly climbing the steps to the viewing platform.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

The heavy footsteps carried clearly across the grounds, each one seeming to land on everyone's throat. The noisy tourney grounds fell utterly silent in an instant!

Full of bewilderment, Davion wondered privately, Who is this man? How can he command such awe that his footsteps alone silence the entire crowd?

After stepping onto the viewing platform, the man slowly turned, revealing the golden lion emblem of House Lannister embroidered on his chest.

A pair of eyes as sharp as a lion's slowly swept across the grounds. His gaze was calm and untroubled, yet carried a bone-chilling indifference and pressure.

Wherever his gaze passed, whether over commoners, sellswords, hedge knights, or nobles.

They were all too frightened to breathe freely, lowering their heads and not daring to meet his eyes.

His entrance stood in stark contrast to Robert's.

When Robert appeared, everyone had cheered and rejoiced, full of reverence.

But when this man appeared, the entire crowd was forced into deathly silence. That oppressive presence was far more frightening than the king's majesty.

At the sight of the golden lion emblem, Davion understood at once.

In all the Seven Kingdoms, there was one man, and only one, who could command such awe.

He was the current Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister!

Tywin was bald, his scalp smooth and gleaming, but he wore a golden beard that ran from his sideburns on both sides down to his chin.

Thick and neatly trimmed, the beard resembled a lion's mane, adding still more to his imposing air.

His pale green eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, betraying not the slightest emotion.