On the day of Joffrey's twelfth nameday, the tourney King Robert had promised began right on schedule.
The number of participants in this grand tournament was no less than the one held in the original story for Ned Stark's appointment as Hand of the King.
After all, at this point in time, Stannis was still in King's Landing, meaning his entourage from Dragonstone was present. Not to mention that Jon Arryn was still alive, so a large contingent of knights from the Vale had turned out. Tywin Lannister had also traveled personally from the Westerlands, bringing with him numerous bannermen and knights.
Outside the city walls of King's Landing, the tournament grounds had been prepared well in advance. Surrounding the field were stands for royalty and nobility, while further back lay the seating for the common folk.
The knights who had signed up were already suited up and mounted, waiting in formation. One by one, they paraded past the stands to receive their cheers.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, received the most applause and cheers from the noble ladies. Following them was Lord Renly Baratheon. As the Lord of Storm's End, he took to the field personally. With a face that mirrored a young Robert Baratheon, Renly also garnered significant acclaim.
In the royal box, Joffrey scanned the line of knights below but couldn't seem to find Lancelot.
"Myrcella, do you know where Lancelot went?" Joffrey asked his sister.
Myrcella shook her head, indicating she didn't know.
"Lancelot, don't tell me you ran away. I refuse to believe you're a coward," Joffrey thought to himself.
"Joff, this is your nameday. You should announce the start of the games!" Robert, wearing his antlered crown, sat upon his throne, flanked by four white-cloaked Kingsguard.
Joffrey stood up. Just as he was about to mimic Robert's booming voice to shout the commencement, he spotted something in the distance.
A golden-haired boy riding a massive red stallion was charging toward them.
It was Lancelot Lannister.
"My apologies, I'm late! Everyone, please forgive my tardiness! The main character always arrives last, after all."
Sweat dripped down Lancelot's face; he had ridden hard from a distant village to get here.
However, just as Lancelot was about to join the line of knights, he was stopped by a guard.
"You didn't register, and you aren't a knight. You are not qualified to participate."
"Oh, you're right. Without a mask, I am Lancelot Lannister, a novice knight, and unqualified. But with a mask..."
Lancelot pulled a cat-faced mask from his tunic and strapped it on.
"...I am a Mystery Knight, and fully qualified."
"Can the Mystery Knight enter now?" Lancelot asked.
The guard, having no choice, let Lancelot pass. Lancelot rode his horse up next to Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.
Seeing Lancelot arrive, Joffrey let out a sigh of relief and then loudly announced the start of the tournament.
Loras Tyrell was fifteen this year. He had only just been knighted, tying Jaime's record for age. However, since Jaime had been knighted and inducted into the Kingsguard on the same day, Jaime still held the edge in prestige.
"Lancelot, wait a moment!"
Lancelot was just about to head to the waiting area to prepare for his bout when Loras called out to him.
"What is it, Ser Loras?"
"May I ask where your mount came from? Dorne? The Vale? Or the Dothraki Sea? Why have I never seen such a magnificent horse?"
Although Loras himself was taller than Lancelot, Lancelot's horse was taller than Loras's mount, so the two riders sat at eye level.
"Why? You aren't thinking of breeding my stallion with your little mare, are you?" Lancelot looked at him in surprise.
Loras smiled awkwardly. His brother Willas loved breeding horses, and Loras wanted to help him raise a legendary steed. He had found an excellent mare but lacked a stallion of equal quality—until he saw the red warhorse beneath Lancelot.
"Yes, actually. I was wondering if it might be possible?"
"Let's talk after the match. If you can defeat me, I'll agree to let my horse breed with yours once," Lancelot said.
The tournament proceeded quickly. Many knights were "one-rounders," knocked out in a single charge, making way for the next pair.
Jaime, Loras, Barristan Selmy, the Hound, and the Mountain all defeated their opponents with ease, advancing to the next round.
Finally, it was Lancelot's turn. Before taking the field, he downed the "Liquid Luck" potion.
Lancelot's first opponent was Ser Hobber Redwyne of the Arbor. His shield bore a cluster of grapes.
As a second son, he had a twin brother. Ser Hobber had an unfortunate nickname: "Ser Slobber."
Because he drooled often, he usually had to spit or swallow the excess saliva.
But now, wearing a helm that covered his mouth, Hobber couldn't spit. He had to swallow.
Lancelot seized the moment Hobber swallowed to launch his attack. With a single charge, he knocked Ser Hobber off his horse.
The crowd went silent for six breaths, followed by an eruption of cheers.
They chanted, "Little Lion!" "Lancelot!" "The Lion Cub!"
In the stands, Tyrion spoke to Tywin.
"As your grandson, he performed quite well, didn't he? Knocked Lord Redwyne's son right out of the saddle."
Tywin Lannister remained unsmiling. His hair had long since receded, and for convenience, he kept his head shaved bald.
"If he does not win the championship, it is meaningless. I came to watch my son Jaime take the crown," Tywin said.
"Lord Tywin is so certain Ser Jaime will win? Why don't we make a wager? I bet 100 Gold Dragons that Jaime Lannister will not be the champion!"
It was the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, who spoke. He was short and slender, but the gleam in his eyes revealed he was no simple man.
"Lord Baelish, Jaime is but one man, while his opponents are many. Betting simply that 'not Jaime' will win seems a bit roguish, doesn't it?" Tyrion countered.
"Then what do you propose?" Baelish asked with a smile.
"I have here a Valyrian steel dagger. I bet that Lancelot will win!"
As Tyrion said this, he was holding the Prosperity Cat, Kate, in his arms.
"Meow! Meow!" Kate cried out, seemingly bestowing financial luck upon Tyrion.
"A Valyrian steel dagger! Worth a fortune! What stake would be appropriate?" Baelish asked.
"Your largest brothel in King's Landing!"
Tyrion said with a wicked grin.
Baelish's brothels were gold mines, and investing in whores was a business that never failed.
In the short term, a Valyrian steel dagger was valuable, but in the long run, a brothel was worth far more.
Baelish hesitated, but ultimately decided to take the bet. He was a gambler at heart; if he didn't bet, he wouldn't be Petyr Baelish.
---
After defeating his first opponent, Lancelot joined the line of winners for the next round. The aura of the knights here was significantly stronger than in the previous round.
"Lancelot, although you defeated Ser Hobber, it seemed to be due to luck rather than your riding or lance skills. I advise you to withdraw now. The matches ahead will be dangerous."
Ser Barristan Selmy rode up to Lancelot on a white charger. He was clad in white armor and a white cloak, and even the hair beneath his helm was entirely white.
"Ser Barristan, you are aging but unbroken, and I am a young hero. Shall we meet in the finals?" Lancelot asked.
"Hahaha, 'aging but unbroken'? You certainly have a way with words! Very well, I look forward to seeing you in the final joust," Barristan laughed.