The weather was crisp, and a gentle sea breeze drifted in.
Gendry the Breaker I caught the scent of fresh grass, along with the perfume of the woman beside him.
This autumn was worth treasuring, for the winter to come would be especially cruel.
"Thump, thump, thump."
A rapid drumbeat sounded, and the knights came thundering onto the field.
Although King Gendry's coronation tournament lacked most of the knights from the Westerlands, there were still plenty of competitors. In fact, there were more than at the Hand of the King's tournament last time.
The previous year's tournament, held for Hand of the King Eddard Stark, had been short on Vale knights, who were usually eager to compete. Lysa Tully had forbidden them from taking part, and only Royce's men had been stubborn enough to come anyway.
After Gendry displayed his Sevenstar arrow formation before the crowd, this tournament was sure to earn a place in the annals of tournament history.
"Could the two of you do it that cleanly? Left hand, right hand." The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, watched Gendry lower his twin-arc black longbows and quietly asked her guards, a pair of twin brothers.
Left and Right, Elric and Alaric, stood seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, with bodies packed with muscle. They had strong jaws, deep blue eyes, and thick red beards. Gilded half-helms sat on their heads, green cloaks trimmed with gold brocade hung from their shoulders, and the golden rose of House Tyrell was sewn across their chests.
"No." Elric shook his head and answered in a low voice. "A single arrow might be possible, but we couldn't shoot that fast and that far without resetting our strength, not with such astonishing accuracy and range."
"Well, it seems there won't be much suspense in this tournament." Lady Olenna rubbed her fingers together.
"This boy is even fiercer than Robert was in his youth," Lady Olenna thought.
The Sunset Continent had a strong martial character. Lords and knights formed the heart of Westeros's system.
Even in places like The North and Dorne, where Andalan culture was less prevalent, the martial training of lords was in no way inferior.
To become an excellent ruler, one had to win the favor of warriors. In that respect, Gendry was handsome, bold, and extraordinarily skilled at arms, giving him the bearing of a true king.
"Poor Willas. Some people may simply be born to be knights." Lady Olenna could not help thinking of her eldest grandson, Willas, back in Highgarden. Back then, Mace had also hoped to raise his eldest son into a "Longspear" like Leo, but fate had played its tricks.
Willas's first tournament opponent had been the Red Viper. Unfortunately, his foot caught in the stirrup when he fell, and his own mount landed on him, shattering one of his knees and leaving him crippled.
The joust began first, warhorses' hooves rumbling across the field.
The first match was the Knight of a Hundred Flowers against Ser Patrek, heir to Seagard. Although Patrek's father, Jason, was a famous knight, Patrek himself seemed rather mediocre, the sort who barely reached second-rate.
The Knight of a Hundred Flowers and his horse seemed to move as one. His Longspear dipped and flashed, easily knocking Ser Patrek from the saddle and drawing a burst of cheers.
Lord Caron of the Marches met Ser Balon Swain. The two fought fiercely, but Balon proved worthy of his reputation as one of the finest knights of the Stormlands and won with ease.
...
Gendry also rode forward. His first opponent was a rather weak one: Ser Horas, the ugly heir of House Redwyne.
The man had plain features, orange hair, and a square face covered in freckles. Ser Horas's shield bore a cluster of wine-red grapes on a blue field.
Gendry's horse began to run. In the saddle, Gendry held his tournament Longspear as steady as a rock.
Strength was strength. Gendry had not chosen the finest Goldenheart wood, as that would have been unfair. He used an ordinary ash lance instead.
The two riders passed each other at the tilt. Horas was still flustered, searching for the right angle with his Longspear, when Gendry's tip struck. One swift, steady thrust, and Horas was sent tumbling from his horse.
The horse started grazing, while Ser Horas went looking for his helmet.
"Long live the Storm!" the crowd roared, their cheers for Gendry louder than for anyone else.
Randyll looked at the foolish Horas and felt a certain satisfaction at being avenged, though none of it showed on his face.
"There are still a few strong contenders this time," Lord Randyll Tarly said to his son, Dickon Tarly. "Do you know who they are?"
"First are the two Kingsguards. Ser Barristan and Ser Swann are both very formidable. Ser Anguy of the Stormlands is a master archer, and Guyard Morrigen and Ronard Storm shouldn't be underestimated either.
"Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard in the Riverlands is old now, but still dangerous. At The Trident, he once slew three of Rhaegar's lords by himself.
"The knights from House Royce of the Vale, the ones in bronze armor, are no weaklings either. Of course, the most dangerous swordsman in the Vale is Ser Lyn Corbray. His squire, Ser Mychel, is also said to be very talented, and he is the King's brother-in-law.
"As for The Reach, I would say the Knight of the Flowers and Ser Garlan." Dickon Tarly recited the names with practiced ease.
Although he was only twelve, he was a sturdy, combative boy who knew the stories of the famous knights of the Seven Kingdoms inside and out.
"That's right." Randyll nodded. In truth, The Reach still had other formidable figures.
The two guards beside that old Queen of Thorns, built like Small Giants, were also very strong. They simply kept a low profile.
"When learning Swordsmanship, lancing, and archery, you must learn from those stronger than you. If you keep following mediocre men, you will never make great progress in your life," Randyll told his son, missing no chance to educate him.
In truth, Randyll placed great importance on his heir's upbringing. He brought his son along when he held court and handled affairs, and when he went to Highgarden to pay respects to the Great Lord of Tyrell, he brought his son with him as well.
His purpose was to keep his heir at his side so he could observe people's expressions, judge the mood, and learn from it. Raising children the way Tywin did was truly beyond reason.
"I want to serve the King at court. There is no knight stronger than the Storm," Dickon said hopefully.
Looking at his second son, Randyll could not help thinking of his eldest, Samwell Tarly, who had been sent to the Wall. Samwell had disappointed him too deeply. He simply did not seem like a child born to a knightly house.
It was said that Sam had begun to distinguish himself at the Wall in The North, but Lord Randyll still refused to believe it.
"It's not impossible," Randyll said to his son, lowering his voice with a hint of mystery.
"Really?" Dickon cried, full of youthful energy.
Randyll gave a slight nod. That would require some maneuvering and a petition to the King.
Randyll was using every means at his disposal to pave the way for his son, just as he had once arranged things for Sam.
When Samwell was ten, Randyll sent him to Arbor to serve as a Cupbearer for House Redwyne. If everything went smoothly, Samwell and Horas Redwyne would switch places, each serving as Cupbearer in the other's house. If Samwell satisfied Lord Paxter, he would be betrothed to the lord's daughter.
In the end, Samwell's fatness and cowardice caused him to suffer constant bullying from the Redwyne twins on Arbor, and Lord Paxter was deeply disappointed. Randyll had even been forced to smooth things over for his son, and the matter had simply come to nothing.
Power was power. There were countless truths in the world, and the truth of the sword was surely among the most prominent.
"Everything I have done has been for the honor of the house. Only the strong are worthy of wielding Heartsbane, and only the strong can inherit House Tarly." Randyll erased the last trace of feeling he had for his eldest son and turned his full attention back to the tournament.
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