Banners of every color flew in the wind, including Jon's newly made white wolf banner.
The arena on the banks of the Blackwater Rush was not hot, yet Jon felt his blood boiling.
Jon Snow Stark was facing none other than the Red Viper of Dorne, one of the most dangerous knights in the realm.
The entire crowd drew in a breath. The Red Viper was as strong as the legends said, and even fiercer than the tales made him seem.
Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, was tall, agile, elegant, and skilled in every respect. Jon could only be considered a lesser version of him.
The Dornish had not come to King's Landing for a long time, not since the Mad King fell out with Prince Rhaegar in his later years, when the Mad King came to loathe children with a Dornish look. Then came the War of the Usurper.
As for the young knight of House Stark, though he was brave, he was still not quite there yet.
"I hope Oberyn holds back a little." Eddard Stark watched the Red Viper anxiously from the viewing platform, wondering how much strength the man would spare. There were countless rumors about the Red Viper.
Rumors about his tournaments, his wars, his duels, his mounts, and even his appetites were everywhere. It was said that he slept with both men and women, and that he had bastard daughters all across Dorne. Those girls were known as the "Sand Snakes."
But every tale agreed on one thing: danger. Everyone acknowledged the Red Viper as one of the most dangerous warriors of the age. He had forged six chain links, studied poisons and dark magic, served as a Sellsword, and even led his own Company.
"Someone ought to tell Lord Stark to watch out, or his gloomy bastard son may be crippled in the fall too," the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, remarked.
"Though from the sour look on Eddard's wife's face, perhaps being crippled would suit him better."
Randyll Tarly, Lord Caron, Ser Donnel, and the others watched the Red Viper warily. Horn Hill, Nightsong, and Stonehelm, all near the Marches, had always been the front line against Dorne.
And the Red Viper was Dorne's most dangerous commander. Brave and skilled in battle, he was far more beloved by the Dornish than the maimed Doran.
"Jon Snow Stark." Oberyn, the Red Viper, looked at Jon Snow Stark. On Jon's white cloak, a deeper-white wolf ran across the cloth, its eyes alone blood-red as fire.
"I know you. But when it comes to Longspear jousting, you may still be a little lacking."
"I would be glad to learn from you," Jon said.
The Red Viper seemed to sweep up a blaze around him. His horse was a coal-black steed, but its mane and tail were fiery red.
Jon Snow Stark, by contrast, seemed almost to merge with white. A white horse, a white cloak, and only the blood-red eyes of the wolf on his sigil shone crimson.
The Red Viper raised his tournament Longspear. Jon did not dare be careless and lifted his own.
"Go, Jon!" Arya Stark shouted.
"Go, Jon!" Sansa Stark could not help cheering as well. The North truly had too few men competing.
The two ash Longspears burst apart in midair at the same time. Jon took another Longspear from his squire, Mycah, the butcher's boy.
The Red Viper changed to a new one from his own squire, still laughing and chatting as he did.
"Oh!"
The spectators cheered. The Longspear contest between the two looked splendid, and the crowd roared its approval.
The two horses began to gallop at full speed, and the makeshift stands shook with them.
The second spear.
The third spear.
The fourth spear.
"Is the Red Viper playing with him?" Gendry thought.
The Red Viper's strength, Talent, and experience were far above Jon's. Right now, it was like a cat toying with a mouse.
The Red Viper squeezed his horse's flanks hard and charged forward, while Jon Snow Stark rode to meet him.
This time, the Red Viper decided to end the game. As he shifted his body, Jon also leaned to one side.
The two Longspears shattered at the same time, but by the time the splinters hit the ground, the white horse had lost its rider and trotted off alone to graze.
Jon Snow Stark rolled in the mud, his white cloak covered in dust, his helmet dented.
"Are you all right, my lord?" Jon's squire, Mycah, hurried onto the field as fast as he could. Fortunately, the dent in the helmet was not too deep, and it could still be removed.
The crowd cheered again and again. Spectators pointed and talked, and even the noble lords and ladies could not help laughing. Amid all the noise, the sound Eddard heard most clearly was Anguy's bursts of laughter. Jon's new friend.
The Red Viper circled the field, enjoying the praise and applause of the crowd.
"Red Viper!"
"Red Viper!"
The Dornish shouted at the top of their lungs, while Great Lord Mace's face turned sour and ugly.
Some people also cheered for Jon. Though he had lost, Jon had, after all, only been defeated by one of the strongest warriors of the age.
The Red Viper rode up to Jon, who was still dizzy from the fall and looked every inch a Stark.
"Who taught you to ride?" the Red Viper asked Jon.
"Hullen said my riding was among the best in Winterfell," Jon said quietly, his face red.
"Your Swordsmanship and Longspear instructor isn't bad either."
"Ser Rodrik Cassel," Jon answered carefully. "Later, I followed the Storm."
"Ser Rodrik seems to be getting old, boy. You need to learn from strong men. If you shut yourself away, you'll never reach the peak. With your build, though, first-rate is probably as far as you can go," the Red Viper said.
Jon's height counted against him. In a fight, it gave him no advantage. A man of average stature could not reach the very highest level. As far as the Red Viper knew, the true masters were all big men.
Jon felt somewhat indignant. "Rodrik is a good master-at-arms."
"Don't be discouraged, boy. After all, I've eaten a few decades more meals than you. Hahaha." The Red Viper left with a flourish, leaving Jon somewhat dazed.
"Next match: His Grace Gendry I, King favored by the old and new gods, against Ser Lyn of House Corbray, bearer of the famed sword Lady Forlorn," the herald cried, and the brass horn sounded.
"That sword, Lady Forlorn." Seated at the guest platform, Lord Lyonel Corbray's face immediately darkened. Before the old lord died, he had passed Lady Forlorn to Lyn, while Lyonel inherited the family's lands and title.
But Lyonel had always resented it. He believed the family sword should also have been his by right, especially the famous Lady Forlorn.
The Dornish looked unhappy as well, because at the Battle of The Trident, it had been Lyn who slew Prince Lewyn Martell, though it was said Prince Lewyn had already been gravely wounded before they fought.
Lyn Corbray was as thin as a sword, and as dangerous as one. He had shoulder-length brown hair, and on his white surcoat were three flying crows, each clutching a blood-red heart in its talons.
Gendry took up his Longspear, and Ser Lyn gripped his own.
Gendry and Lyn squeezed their horses' flanks and charged like two balls of flame, colliding violently.
The Longspears struck together and splinters flew, but fortunately neither man fell. Gendry had still held back. Otherwise, one thrust would have been enough.
"The second one, you fool. This is a joust with the King, a rare chance," Lyn said to his squire.
Lyn's plump squire, dull and slow, offered up a Longspear and was scolded for it. Unlike naturally gifted squires like Mychel, he came from a wealthy merchant family and had paid his own way to become a squire.
Gendry humored Ser Lyn with one more pass. The black horse galloped at full speed, and the makeshift stands shook with it.
Gendry rode in the saddle, leaning forward, and thrust his Longspear out hard. Ser Lyn tried to shift his body before the impact, but the path of the Longspear seemed impossible to block, and Lyn was struck squarely.
Wood splinters flew in all directions. Lyn swayed on horseback and nearly fell, but he managed to steady himself and stay mounted.
"Third pass!"
The crowd burst into cheers.
"Long live the King!"
Lyn suddenly reined in his horse and turned back to the edge of the field to prepare for the third round. Gendry threw down his broken spear, seized a fresh one, wheeled back, and thrust fiercely.
Gendry's spear broke through the shield bearing three crows clutching red hearts, and Ser Lyn flew straight into the air before landing in the mud.
The stands erupted with thunderous cheers. The King's third thrust had been even more ferocious.
Daenerys looked proudly at Gendry. Everyone believed the Storm to be brave and fearless.
"Storm!"
"Storm!"
"The triumphant Storm!"
The cheers given to the King surpassed everyone else's, louder than any other applause.
"I accept my defeat completely," Ser Lyn said with a bitter smile as his plump squire helped him up. This was not a small gap. It was far too wide.
When the difference was that great, Ser Lyn felt there was no possibility of catching up.
In the end, four men remained in the field: King "Storm" Gendry the Breaker I, "Red Viper" Oberyn Martell, "Barristan the Bold," Ser Barristan, and finally the "Knight of Flowers" Loras Tyrell. Only the Knight of Flowers had lasted this far again, which made people feel even more that times had changed.
But the knights did not cause the greatest stir. The greater uproar came from the dragons.
The dragons flew out from the King's great tent, while the Dragonkeepers strode after them in escort.
The largest black dragon, Balerion, was now the size of a medium foal, while the green dragon circled above the stand where Daenerys sat.
The black dragon and the white dragon flew to the King's side, bringing with them the scent of fire and sulfur.
The tallest Dragonkeeper wore black fine-steel armor, with dragon scales upon his helmet.
It had been stored away before, but now it had been put to use again.
"Ser Sandor?" the Knight of Flowers asked in surprise.
"Ser Loras, I'm no knight. I'm only a Dragonkeeper now," the Hound replied.
Horses galloped across the field, and the crowd cheered for honor. It was precisely this knightly way that annoyed him most.