Monday morning, January 12th, 298 AC.
The tourney grounds in King's Landing.
The "Prince Joffrey's Twelfth Name Day Tourney" was officially open with great fanfare.
As a characteristic activity of Westerosi knightly culture, tourneys were deeply loved and sought after by the people of the Seven Kingdoms.
Ordinary spectators sought entertainment, knights competed for fame, organizers showcased their strength, and lords and nobles used the opportunity to forge connections, alliances, and marriages.
Today's tourney was even more spectacular and grand. More than a hundred tents had been set up early around the tourney grounds, and many vendors and bards were scattered throughout, bringing beer, corn, honey, and music.
Thousands of King's Landing citizens had claimed their spots early, while twice that number of spectators could only stand in the less desirable corners and edges of the viewing area, with even more latecomers still arriving.
By the side of the tourney grounds, the competing knights lined up at the starting point of the track, each mounted on a tall horse, their armor gleaming, their spirits high.
Before them was the main track, two to three hundred meters long and forty to fifty meters wide, wide enough for four jousts to take place simultaneously.
A raised platform was built around the track.
A host of court officials, dignitaries, princes, and nobles watched the competition here, enjoying the entertainment and feasting. The surrounding crowd could also find shade beneath the platform and watch from nearby.
In front of the platform, dozens of banners were hung in sequence.
These banners were brightly colored, several people high and several people wide, adorned with unique and exquisite crests, each displaying the ancient and prominent families behind the knights.
"Clang~"
A clear gong sounded.
The knights immediately spurred their reins, preparing to ride through the entire tourney grounds to salute the countless spectators.
With each lift and fall of the horses' hooves, the neat line of knights slowly advanced.
Wherever they passed, the audience's reaction was incredibly enthusiastic.
The knights, however, kept their gaze fixed on the banners embroidered with their family crests.
Stag, lion, rose, twin towers, purple grapes, seahorse, hunter, wheat stalk, red apple...
As each knight passed their own banner, they would consciously or unconsciously raise their heads high, puff out their chests, and do their best to display their pride.
Wasn't the reason for participating in the tourney to strive for glory for their family?
After the entrance ceremony, the formal competition quickly began.
"First round, first match of the joust! Ser Dickon Tarly against Ser Hobber Redwyne!"
Cheers immediately echoed through the sky, and the atmosphere in the arena reached its peak.
"Tarly will win! 'First in Battle!' That's the motto of hunters and warriors."
"The wine of The Arbor is unmatched! Long live the Redwynes!"
"Don't forget the Redwyne fleet!"
Everyone's eyes were focused on the arena.
Even the nominal protagonist of this tourney, Prince Joffrey, couldn't steal an ounce of the spotlight from the knights.
But this suited him just fine. When doing things, one should be low-key.
Joffrey looked around.
King Robert was in the center of the high platform, and all the important figures were nearby.
Among the tables laden with lavish feasts, he saw Queen Cersei, Duke Tywin, the Kingslayer, Hand of the King Arryn, Duke Renly, Duke Stannis...
Only Tyrion was absent.
His attendant had said that The Imp had been heavily drunk last night and might be drunk all day.
Good, Joffrey thought to himself. If the plot isn't disturbed too much, it might be slow, but it's stable. Today's plan doesn't need to change either.
He stood up and walked towards the Master of Coin.
"Count Petyr, how is my Dragon Egg? You must handle this with care!"
Joffrey sat down casually across from Littlefinger, and the others at the long table immediately and discreetly disappeared.
"Your esteemed Prince," Petyr maintained a proper smile.
"How could I be negligent?"
"But the Narrow Sea won't disappear into thin air, and the envoy and ship bound for Pentos won't be able to depart until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Please be patient for a few more days."
Joffrey was noncommittal, staring directly at this ambitious court count.
The Master of Coin, Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish.
One of the top schemers in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, at the top of his kill list, tied for first place with Varys the eunuch.
Littlefinger, who craved power, was not absolutely loyal, while Varys, who plotted restoration, was absolutely disloyal.
Both were useful only for exploitation, not for reliance.
A servant brought a steaming plate of steak, the rich aroma of grease mingling with the steam.
Joffrey didn't stand on ceremony and was the first to fork a piece.
"This is my nameday gift! I don't care about anything else, it must be done before the end of the month, or you'll see!"
This request was not easy to fulfill.
Considering the sea conditions across the Narrow Sea, the distance and speed of the voyage from King's Landing to Pentos, the outward journey would take about eight days, and the return journey seven days.
They also had to avoid the storms that occasionally erupted in the Narrow Sea.
Under normal circumstances, the latest they could buy the Dragon Egg and return would be the day after arriving in Pentos, so that the ship could return to King's Landing before the end of the month.
Count Petyr merely bowed.
"Your subordinate will do his best. I will not disappoint Your Highness."
Joffrey nodded with satisfaction.
Another round of boisterous cheers and whistles came.
After six rounds of fierce fighting, and breaking twelve wooden lances, the first joust finally ended.
Ser Dickon Tarly of Horn Hill won!
Seeing this, Joffrey seemed to have a sudden idea and casually asked Petyr.
"What's the relationship between this fellow and Count Tarly?"
"Your Highness, this is Lord Randyll's second son. He is indeed exceptionally brave. Lord Randyll must be very pleased."
Joffrey bit into a crispy piece of bacon, "He's just alright. When I'm old enough to joust, I'll beat all these people down!"
"You are right."
"Hey, what about Count Tarly's eldest son? I don't seem to have ever seen him." Sansa's favorite lemon cake, it tastes good.
Petyr never easily offended anyone.
"I heard that Lord Randyll's eldest son is exceptionally intelligent, well-read, and dislikes fighting. I suppose he stayed at home in Horn Hill."
"Ha, cough cough~" Joffrey laughed out loud, but forgot he was still chewing food.
He quickly gulped down a large mouthful of milk, continuously patting his chest.
Ah~~, I'm alive again.
He acted very realistically. The guests sitting around him all turned their gazes towards him.
Joffrey then loudly mocked, "A son of a hunter's family who likes to read, he's practically not a man, he should become a maester!"
Petyr accompanied him with a perfunctory smile.
He had not yet realized the seriousness of the problem.
From the moment he took over the topic, he was destined to be dragged into it.
"That's right!" Joffrey suddenly slammed the table.
"Become a maester, hmm, good idea. Find Grand Maester Pycelle, that old man, an apprentice from a hunter's family, just thinking about it is fun!"
Petyr immediately felt a sense of foreboding.
If he became a maester, he wouldn't be able to inherit the territory and title, which meant being stripped of his inheritance rights.
"Your Highness, this matter should be discussed at length. The Tarly family might..."
Joffrey was already gone.
Needless to say, the willful Crown Prince must have gone to Count Tarly.
Asking someone's heir to become a maester could be seen as a public insult.
Even if the Tarly family didn't yield, they would never act as if nothing happened. Who would bear their wrath?
Who had incited the Crown Prince?
Without needing to look at the reactions of the surrounding guests, Petyr understood - he was about to earn the Tarly family's dislike.
But he didn't particularly care.
Your Highness the Crown Prince? Littlefinger smiled secretly, the combined accusations of the Hand of the King and the Duke of Dragonstone were enough to warrant attention.
When the King heard his foster father's dying words, knew that the three princes and princesses were the bastards of the Lannister siblings, and then personally watched his foster father die in agony...
Petyr twirled the pointed beard on his chin.
Lysa, for your love for me, become the final link in the plan.
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