The golden war banner of Gendry I flew from the highest point, above every other flag, a symbol of power and strength.
Golden banners flew along the riverside, over the battlements, at the Red Keep, in the military camps across the Blackwater Rush, and above the temporary viewing platform built for the tourney.
The King's golden banner also hung in the center of the viewing platform, while the silk banners of the other houses hung beside it: Targaryen black, Baratheon gold, Stark white, Tully red and blue, Arryn blue, Tyrell green, and Martell red.
On the golden field, the four different images seemed to soar through the sky: the crowned stag with a warhammer, the three-headed red Dragon, the running Wolf Pack, and the slave breaking his shackles.
On the platform, the high ministers and envoys from overseas were arranged in order.
The guests surrounded the royal couple like stars around the moon. Daenerys chatted and laughed with Margaery, Sansa, Arianne, and the others, with two tall female guards beside her: Brienne of Tarth and Dacey of Bear Island.
"Loras will certainly place well this time," Great Lord Mace Tyrell said proudly to those beside him.
Arianne Martell smiled coldly. Great Lord Mace's record, whether in tourneys or on the battlefield, was nothing remarkable, but his youngest son did have some skill.
Unfortunately, Mace happened to see the Dornish woman's smile from some distance away, and displeasure rose in his heart. If not for that wanton Red Viper, his heir would not have become a sickly man.
Still, around the new structure of power, everyone wore a friendly face. There were small grudges within, but none could be allowed to spoil King Gendry's good mood.
The envoys of Braavos, Norvos, Qohor, Pentos, and Lorath also waited eagerly for the fighting to begin. The envoys from Lys and other places were not so lucky, having been thrown together with rough soldiers.
"These Wolf Packs left the North long ago, and no longer belong to the North." Eddard Stark looked at the wolves on the golden banner with complicated eyes. Those mercenaries of the Wolf Pack had sought new lives across the Narrow Sea until they rose with the Storm.
There had been two waves of northerners leaving the North. The first was during the War of Conquest, when those unwilling to follow Torrhen the King Who Knelt in surrendering to Aegon the Conqueror exiled themselves and founded the Rose Company.
The second was during the Dance of the Blood Dragons, when surplus northerners willingly crossed the Narrow Sea to earn gold and founded the Wolf Pack.
"But before winter comes, we must make contact with these people," Eddard thought. They might be the people across the Narrow Sea with the deepest feeling for the North.
In the cold winds of winter, the North would need to borrow gold and grain, and could not do without support from the lands of summer, and from King Gendry.
Daenerys, dressed in a purple gown, looked at the scene before her: shining armor, tall warhorses draped in gold and silver, the loud cries of the crowd, bright banners streaming in the wind, and all those knights showing off like peacocks.
She had heard stories of knights many times, but seeing them with her own eyes was different. Hearing was never the same as seeing.
The knights began entering the field one after another.
"Those two wearing runic armor are Lord Royce's sons, Ser Andar and Ser Robar," Margaery Tyrell, dressed in a green gown, introduced them to Daenerys. She had quickly adjusted to her role.
"The two brothers of House Royce."
The Royce knights, Andar and Robar, wore silver-plated armor engraved with identical bronze protective runes. Though the crowd did not know whether those runes truly worked, the sight opened their eyes.
Sansa Stark, standing nearby, looked at Margaery with a little envy. Margaery was far quicker than her, and seemed able to bend or stand firm as needed. No wonder, given that her house had risen from stewards.
"Barristan the Bold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!" the herald shouted.
"Valiant Ser Balon Swann, archery champion of the last Hand's tourney, of the Kingsguard!"
The crowd first cheered for the white knights, especially Ser Balon, who had shown such brilliance in the last tourney, since Anguy had not been there.
"Knights of House Tyrell of Highgarden, Ser Garlan Tyrell and Ser Loras Tyrell, strong contenders in the tourney!"
The two brothers of Highgarden began their entrance. After many setbacks, the Knight of Flowers was much steadier this time.
"Loras!"
"Loras!"
The Knight of Flowers still wore splendid silver armor, its surface gleaming, inlaid with pairs of black vines and black roses. The black roses were made of black jewels.
Renly was in the North, which was little different from being dead, and a part of Loras had vanished forever.
Eddard and the spectators looked at Loras's jewels. Highgarden's luxury truly was extraordinary. Last year, the Knight of Flowers had used sapphire forget-me-nots.
Loras's cloak, however, now bore only three blooming golden roses on green cloth, no longer set off by a hundred flowers.
The Knight of Flowers received the most praise. Even in the distant North, tales of the Knight of Flowers were known.
Ser Garlan was far more understated. He was steadier and taller, his cloak bearing two golden roses on a green field.
"With three fewer men in the joust this time, the competition will be fiercer," Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, said to his elder brother, Ser Garlan Tyrell.
"I hear the gambling houses have nearly gone mad with profit," Ser Garlan said with a nod. With three first-rate fighters missing, the other knights all felt they had a chance again.
The top four from the last joust had all met miserable fates. Some were dead, some injured, and some had left the field behind.
The champion, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, had become a Dragonkeeper for King Gendry, watching dogs, horses, and Dragons. Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, had lost his head. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had become a traitor and a man without a hand.
Loras Tyrell had boiling oil poured over his neck and back. Fortunately, his head was still intact, though he had survived with large patches of scars.
"I hear the Hound went to guard the kennels?" Garlan said quietly.
Ser Loras nodded. "It is a pity. He had something of a knight's spirit, and he saved my life."
Last year, the Knight of Flowers had used the low trick of a mare to make the Mountain lose the joust. Had the Hound not stepped in, the boy's pretty head would not have been saved.
"I had hoped to test myself against them with sword and shield, but it seems that will not be possible," Ser Garlan said with some regret.
Garlan also saw soldiers in the distance setting up oak shields as targets. He was puzzled, but did not ask.
Seeing that the nobles, knights, ladies, famous figures, and foreign envoys had all taken their seats, Gendry touched the Firekeeper ring on his hand, then clapped.
On the platform, Ser Boggs and Ser Guyard Morrigen blew their brass horns together, followed by the heralds sounding their horns as one.
Booo. Booo. Booo. Booo.
The ringing horns carried far and clear, and the atmosphere instantly turned solemn. The horn blasts seemed to wake a sleeping hunger for battle, and everyone knew the fighting was about to begin.
"For the glory of the tourney," one man announced loudly, "hear the words of King Gendry I."
Clatter, clatter, clatter.
Hooves sounded as all the knights reined in and rode forward. Black steeds, red steeds, the knights, attendants, and warriors who had come to join the tourney all gathered together.
The warriors flowed like a river, a river of gold, silver, and steel. Their cloaks, shields, and breastplates bore the sigils of their houses. The knights formed a half circle beneath the platform and watched as the King in black armor and a golden cloak stepped out before the crowd.
Gendry's black scale armor was dark as endless night, and the breastplate was set with the emblems of Dragon and Stag.
The golden cloak over his shoulders burned like golden flame, clasped on one side by a stag and on the other by a Dragon.
"Warriors of the kingdoms," Gendry said in a clear voice. His words were like steel, reaching every knight's heart with the force of a blacksmith's hammer.
"I am glad to see you brave and fearless on the tourney field, but more than that, I hope you remember the conduct of knights. A warrior without honor is no different from a killer. He is a beast like the Mountain, like Amory."
"In the name of the Warrior, I ask you to be brave."
"In the name of the Father, I ask you to be just."
...
"In the name of the Maiden, I ask you to protect all women..."
As Gendry's final oath ended, Anguy, wearing a golden cloak, strode forward and handed him a tall double-curved dragonbone longbow. Anguy also set down his own quiver, filled with arrows he had prepared.
Gendry had one dragonbone longbow, and Anguy had also obtained one from Drogo's bloodrider.
"The strength of the Storm."
Gendry drew the bow and nocked an arrow. The dragonbone longbow was aimed at the targets made from giant oak shields. His arrows were specially made as well, fletched with black-dyed goose feathers.
Dragonbone was like Valyrian steel, light and fine. Rich in iron, it was lighter and more flexible, worth a fortune.
"He is going to shoot those targets?" Ser Garlan suddenly understood.
Whoosh!
Everyone heard the arrow split the wind. It shot out like lightning. People lifted their heads and saw the arrow leave the bow, fast and fierce, then followed its path.
"The Warrior is with us."
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Gendry loosed seven arrows in swift succession without the slightest pause, each following the one before it, the so-called power of consecutive shots.
The arrows were like fists that shattered everything, carrying vast force.
Seven was a lucky number in Westeros, representing an utmost point, so Gendry stopped there.
After seven arrows, he lowered the double-curved dragonbone greatbow and stood tall upon the platform.
Mace watched the traces left by the arrows, his mouth gaping wide like a fish blowing bubbles. He seemed to understand. On this platform, Gendry had first shown his hand to everyone.
"King Gendry, the Warrior has come in person!"
"The Warrior has come in person!"
Moments later, several knights in golden cloaks rode over, cheering as they raised the shields in their hands. Each shield had been pierced through the center of its target by an arrow.
Garlan's face twitched. He understood that in this life, he could never stand against the Storm.
Everyone suddenly realized what had happened. The seven arrows Gendry had shot had cut through the air with force and precision, piercing the seven shields placed at the far end of the riverside, each arrow punching straight through the bullseye.
Thousands of eyes, thousands of hands, and thousands of mouths began to shout.
"King Gendry, the Warrior has come in person!"
"King Gendry, the Warrior has come in person!"
"King Gendry, the Warrior has come in person!"
Waves of cheers rose one after another, yet Gendry, standing at the center of those waves, only smiled slightly. He was the rider of the tide, and tens of thousands of cries rose for him.
"May the Warrior be with us." Gendry drew Orphan-Maker, its blade dark as smoke. With the cheers thundering like this, it would have been unsuitable not to make use of the moment.
Daenerys's eyes were full of stars. This was her moon and stars.
Margaery looked again and again, thoughts turning endlessly in her heart.
"The Warrior is with us. King Gendry's skill is truly the light of knighthood," Great Lord Mace Tyrell shouted first. From the platform to the targets there, he felt the distance was around four hundred yards.
Even the legendary goldenheart bow could shoot four hundred yards, but that was its limit.
The dragonbone bow was even better than goldenheart, but such accuracy and force were still terrifying. Legends were legends, but today, Gendry had fired seven arrows in succession, every one bursting through the target.
"The Warrior is with us." Even the exacting Lord Randyll Tarly looked at Gendry with a complicated expression.
There were such divine archers in legend. Back during the Battle of the Redgrass Field, Bloodraven had slain his kin with archery. But that had relied on terrain, shooting from above, not such effortless grace.
The Raven's Teeth climbed Weeping Ridge, and Bloodraven saw his half brother's royal banner three hundred yards away, with Daemon and his two sons standing beneath it. Then arrows fell like rain, and white arrows killed those three Blackfyres.
The Sand Snakes and Arianne exchanged a glance. Conquering such a knight would be difficult, but that only made him more extraordinary.
The Black Pearl's smile froze on her face. She had thought the Westerosi were all noise and ceremony, but after what she saw today, that archery's strength seemed almost divine. He truly was a heroic knight out of a story.