The master of ceremonies looked at Tywin, his voice trembling slightly. He hurriedly raised his horn and shouted:
"E-everyone, please welcome the Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, a vital pillar of the realm, Lord Tywin Lannister!"
Silence fell over the entire venue for a second or two. Then the spectators mechanically raised their hands and applauded in unison.
Tywin was long accustomed to this. He paid these commoners no heed at all, his face remaining expressionless.
He walked straight up behind Robert and Cersei, bowed slightly to Robert, and spoke in an even tone:
"Your Grace."
Robert did not even turn his head. He was deeply displeased by the imposing manner of Tywin's entrance.
As king, he ought to have been the focus of everyone's attention, yet Tywin had single-handedly drawn every eye. It irritated him immensely.
He waved impatiently.
"Take your seat, Lord Tywin. Do not delay the Hand's Tourney."
Tywin nodded slightly without another word, then gave Renly and Jon Arryn beside him slight nods of acknowledgment.
His bearing was perfectly fitting for a nobleman of an old house.
By then, Cersei had already risen and stepped forward to hold Tywin's chair for him, speaking respectfully:
"Father, please sit."
Cersei had always held her father in great respect, but even more than that, she felt a fear that ran bone-deep.
She had lived under Tywin's stern authority since childhood and had long grown accustomed to instinctively pleasing and obeying him, terrified that the slightest mistake would anger her father.
This also led her to attempt to strike back after gaining power, only to be suppressed by Tywin once again.
Only after Tywin's death did Cersei rebound from her lowest point, becoming increasingly unrestrained.
Tywin frowned slightly, seemingly displeased that Cersei, as queen, had risen to welcome him. He nodded slightly and spoke evenly:
"Please sit, Your Grace. This old servant can manage."
Cersei's heart lurched, and a trace of panic instantly appeared on her face. She hurriedly gave a couple of awkward chuckles and, not daring to say more, hastily returned to her seat.
She did not know what she had done wrong, yet she could clearly sense the displeasure in her father's eyes.
Watching Tywin's every move, Davion silently marveled:
Now there's a proper, bona fide blue blood of the Westerlands!
At last, someone with a nobleman's bearing. By comparison, those so-called nobles I met before were all animals in fine clothes, with nothing beneath the surface.
He lightly nudged Tyrion beside him with his elbow, his tone somewhat teasing:
"Is that imposing old man up on the platform really your father? How come..."
Tyrion's expression had grown very complicated.
Looking at his formidably imposing father on the platform, he envied the authority that allowed him to silence the entire venue without saying a word.
Yet he also loathed Tywin's bearing.
It constantly reminded him just how noble the Lannister bloodline was!
And he, a dwarf, was House Lannister's greatest stain!
He gave a self-mocking smile.
"How come we look nothing alike, is that it? Hahaha!"
Tyrion shrugged.
"I'd like to know too. How did the lion of the Westerlands end up fathering a dwarf like me? Perhaps I'm really not his son."
Seeing the dejection in his eyes, Davion smiled and comforted him:
"A lion's child isn't necessarily a lion!"
"A stag's child isn't necessarily a stag either!"
"A direwolf's child might not be a direwolf!"
"Every family has its troubles!"
Tyrion looked at Davion in surprise, feeling that there was a deeper meaning to his words!
He shook his head and stopped dwelling on it.
After Tywin's arrival, even the highly practiced master of ceremonies had faltered under his intimidating presence.
He stood rooted to the spot, momentarily forgetting to move the proceedings along.
Robert was already impatient. Seeing the master of ceremonies still standing idle, he roared, "Get on with it! What are you waiting for?"
The master of ceremonies shuddered at Robert's roar and hurriedly collected himself, clutching the horn tightly in both hands.
"N-now, the blessings of the Seven are upon us, the glory of the royal house has descended, and the joy of Prince Joffrey's fifteenth Name Day joins with this grand celebration of valor!"
"May every knight show his mettle and spill his blood, turning this glory into the most magnificent tribute to Prince Joffrey's fifteenth Name Day!"
"I declare the Hand's Tourney in celebration of Prince Joffrey's fifteenth Name Day officially begun!"
As soon as he finished, the two rows of trumpeters raised their trumpets once more, and long, resounding notes again split the sky!
"Bwooo-"
The sound echoed along the banks of the Blackwater Rush, setting the entire crowd's enthusiasm ablaze.
At the same time, a crisp, rapid clatter of hooves came from the distant entrance to the lists.
It drew closer, growing clearer and clearer.
Everyone turned to look.
A magnificent procession of riders slowly emerged through the entrance, a vast, unbroken column.
The competing knights wore armor in all manner of brilliant colors, their plates gleaming dazzlingly in the sunlight.
Some suits were set with gems, others engraved with house sigils. Each displayed its knight's status and the heritage of his house.
Their mounts were all tall, splendid horses, stepping into the tourney grounds at a leisurely, steady pace, their composed bearing displaying every bit of aristocratic elegance.
The two men at the head of the procession wore matching silver-white armor, polished to a brilliant shine that reflected the glaring sunlight.
Pure white cloaks hung behind them, fluttering in the wind and making them particularly conspicuous.
Without any introduction from the master of ceremonies, the commoners and nobles below the platform had already recognized them. Some could not help shouting:
"It's the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister! And Ser Barristan Selmy!"
Neither wore a helmet, leaving their faces plainly visible for everyone to see.
Jaime wore his short golden hair neatly trimmed. His face was handsome, with sharply defined features, and a charming, unabashed smile played at the corners of his mouth.
As he rode forward, he waved to the spectators in the stands, drawing waves of shrieks from the noble ladies and young women there.
Over his shoulder, he also carried House Lannister's golden lion banner.
Barristan Selmy rode on Jaime's right.
His hair had long since turned entirely white, and his face bore the marks of time. Yet his features remained resolute and his posture straight, without the slightest sign of decrepitude.
His expression was solemn, his brow slightly furrowed, and he radiated a steady, commanding presence. Over his shoulder he carried House Baratheon's crowned stag banner, standing side by side with Jaime's golden lion banner.
On the viewing platform, Robert's languid expression instantly darkened at the sight. His face grew somewhat strained, and he gripped the arms of his throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Jaime carried the Lannister banner abreast of the royal banner in Barristan's hands. This was undoubtedly House Lannister displaying its power, with the faint suggestion that it stood above the royal house.
Beside him, Jon Arryn looked equally displeased. He frowned slightly, his gaze resting on the two banners.
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