The joust would last the whole day, all the way until dusk.
Hooves clattered, warriors shouted, the crowd cheered, and tournament Longspears thrust forward.
Though jousting could not fully represent how a knight would perform on the battlefield, it at least reflected his skill at arms and horsemanship.
Generally speaking, anyone strong in the joust would not be weak on the battlefield either. Team tournaments were even more obvious, being the bloodiest contest and the best reflection of real combat ability.
The final four from the last joust said enough.
On the battlefield, aside from the "Knight of Flowers" Loras Tyrell, who was somewhat inferior to the other three, "the Kingslayer" Jaime Lannister, "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane, and "The Hound" Sandor Clegane had all already been top-tier fighters.
The Knight of Flowers was too slender. When it came to a real fight, he still lacked something.
The tournament unfolded much as the knights had predicted. The strongest competitors were still the familiar names, only with a few fresh faces added in.
The Red Viper, Lyn and Mychel of the Vale, and Jon Snow Stark of The North were all considered powerful new contenders.
"Go, Ser Mychel!" Edric Baratheon shouted.
Daenerys and Mya also watched the Longspear competition with great interest.
"Clang."
Ser Mychel Redfort of Redfort faced the other of the House Redwyne twins, but the little fool was knocked from his horse by Mychel in the very first round.
Mychel's Redfort cloak barely stirred, while the Redwyne twin had already gone tumbling from the saddle.
"Long live Redfort!"
The crowd cheered for the young swordsman from Redfort. They liked handsome young knights like him, and besides, he was the King's brother-in-law.
Though this was Ser Mychel of Redfort's first appearance, he was gentle, courteous, and highly skilled. He was also much more handsome than Lord Redwyne's sons.
"Oh." Lord Paxter Redwyne covered his face in embarrassment. His two sons had performed far too poorly.
There were also some especially foolish competitors. A hedge knight in a blue cloak stabbed his opponent's horse to death and was disqualified. Some wandering knights rode such wretched horses that the beasts would not obey them at all.
The knights of House Tyrell, however, continued their charge. Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, had chosen the joust, while Garlan Tyrell had chosen the melee on foot.
The Knight of Flowers met Ser Andar Royce of Runestone. The heat of battle surrounded them as their Longspears flashed back and forth.
They changed Longspears three times, and in the third round, both Longspears shattered at once, drawing a cry from the crowd.
Ser Andar fell from his horse, and the Knight of Flowers won again.
The defeated knight withdrew, while the victorious knight circled the field amid cheers. Sunlight fell across Loras's green cloak, making the golden rose shine brilliantly.
"The Knight of Flowers!"
"The Knight of Flowers!"
"Loras!"
"Loras!"
The thrilling match stirred the crowd's passion, and they cheered wildly.
Someone joked that the Knight of Flowers ought to change his name to the Bronze Slayer, since he had also defeated Robar, the second son of House Royce, at the Hand of the King's tournament the year before.
Margaery cheered happily as well, watching with great enjoyment.
Sansa could only hope her bastard brother Jon would perform a little better. Jon could be considered a representative of the Northmen.
"The champion is hard to say, but Loras should have no trouble reaching the final four." Great Lord Mace Tyrell stroked his beard smugly. The Knight of Flowers rarely disappointed him in tournaments.
Mace was deeply frustrated by the two fools from his brother-in-law Redwyne's family and their miserable performance.
"The Red Viper of Dorne!"
The Dornish were also cheering for the Red Viper as he entered the field, and the sound instantly dragged Mace's good mood to the bottom.
The Red Viper's daughter, Paramour, niece, and squire were all shouting loudly.
"They say he enjoys men as well as women," people whispered, with rumors about the Red Viper flying everywhere.
"Keep your voice down. Aren't the Dornish all like that?"
Lord Beric Dondarrion, with red-gold hair and a black shield painted with a lightning bolt, came forward to face the Red Viper. The Red Viper's shield bore House Martell's Longspear piercing the sun.
"Prince Oberyn."
"Lord Beric, you may not be much in the tournament lists, but you did quite well fighting guerrilla warfare in the Riverlands. I admire that." Oberyn laughed heartily. His tongue was sharp as ever.
"Hmph." Lord Beric was both embarrassed and angry. It sounded less like praise than a jab at his weak spot.
Once they met, Lord Beric gave it everything he had.
The lords of the Marches and House Martell had often hated and opposed one another, a legacy of a thousand years of war.
House Dondarrion had risen during the wars between the Storm Kings and Dorne. Legend said that long ago, on a stormy night, a messenger of the Storm King was ambushed by two Dornishmen. An arrow killed the messenger's horse, and his sword broke in the fall. Just as he was cornered with no way out, a bright bolt of purple lightning struck down and killed the two Dornishmen.
The messenger was able to deliver the vital message on time, and the Storm King raised him to lordship. That was the origin of House Dondarrion.
Although Lord Beric would marry a Maiden of House Dayne, he still hoped to take the Dornish down a notch in the tournament field.
"Go, Lord Beric! Go, Prince Oberyn!" young Edric Dayne shouted.
Edric had platinum-blond hair and large deep-blue eyes, almost purple. He was shy and kind to others.
When Edric was seven, his aunt Allyria became engaged to Lord Beric. Edric followed the lord to Blackhaven to serve as his Cupbearer, and was now his squire.
"Why are you cheering for both of them?" Arya Stark asked curiously.
"Lord Beric is my future uncle, and House Martell is our liege lord," Edric whispered.
Unfortunately, the gap in strength was rather wide. The Red Viper was tall and agile, and far more experienced than Beric.
The Red Viper's Longspear shifted and struck Beric hard. The young Lord Beric fell from his horse at once.
Lord Beric lay groaning on the ground. At least his legs and ribs had not been crushed.
"Oh." Edric Dayne covered his eyes, then went down to check on him.
Lothor Bren was locked in battle with the old but still formidable Lord of Seagard.
Their lances traded blows back and forth. Though Lothor was strong, Lord Jason had more experience in the joust.
Lothor was hit hard and nearly slid straight off his horse. Fortunately, he was unharmed.
But Jason's luck ended there, for he soon met Gendry.
Dressed in a blue-purple cloak trimmed with silver and wearing a helm crowned with eagle wings, Lord Jason Mallister still looked heroic and dashing.
"Looks like I'm going to lose," Lord Jason said with a bitter smile. "I just don't know in which round."
"You are too modest."
The brass horn sounded again, and the two men guided their horses forward, colliding with opposing force.
Gendry gripped his Longspear firmly. The key was angle and timing. His cloak, bearing the golden Quartered Arms sigil, streamed in the wind like a bright golden halo.
"Even if I lose, I must preserve the honor of Seagard," Lord Jason thought, then tried to read the path of Gendry's movement.
Lord Jason was a veteran with many tournaments behind him. He was certain his strength fell short of Gendry's, but he still had to show his courage.
"This is the strike," Jason told himself. The lance and his hand were one.
The sound of hooves rang like shattered bells, but Lord Jason's lance never struck.
Gendry's thrust broke through his shield, splitting it cleanly in two, then slammed hard into the eagle-armored chest before him.
Lord Jason flew from the saddle and crashed to the ground.
"Whoa!"
The entire crowd shouted, feeling the ferocity of that blow.
"This..." Jason lay stunned on the ground, still replaying that strike in his mind.
Gendry removed his helmet and circled on horseback, revealing his strong, handsome face.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the King!"
The crowd cheered for him in wave after wave, louder and more fully than for anyone else.
With skill like this, Great Lord Renly had looked like a useless pastry at the previous tournament.
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