When Joffrey first obtained the ability Stargazing, he had been very satisfied with it.
But the more he used it, the more critical he became.
Why could it only show the present moment? Why couldn't it fast-forward or replay events?
And why couldn't he hear any sound?
Now he stared at Pycelle and asked yet another question.
"What exactly did the letter say?" Joffrey's voice was quiet, but it carried a firmness that could not be brushed aside. "Why are you unwilling to tell me, Grand Maester?"
Pycelle's thin fingers twisted through his white beard again. His eyes rolled beneath heavy eyelids.
"Your Highness... how would I know the contents of someone else's letter..."
Joffrey did not accept that answer.
After the letter had been sent, Cersei's mood had noticeably improved. That meant the contents must benefit the Lannisters.
"Was it about politics? Military matters? Or Lord Eddard's family affairs?" Joffrey pressed.
Sweat appeared on Pycelle's forehead. Seeing there was no escaping the question, he finally relented.
"Your Highness, it was just a family letter," he said in a lowered voice.
"The man said that recently he saw a friend's hunting hawk. It reminded him of the one he used to keep.
He had raised it for many years and thought it was loyal. But when he released it, it pecked his finger and flew away."
"So now he says he'll never trust feathered beasts again."
Joffrey's gaze sharpened like needles.
"That's really what the letter said?"
Pycelle nodded rapidly, then hurriedly shook his head. "No, no. That was something he mentioned while chatting with me."
"As for the letter itself, it was already written and sealed when it reached me. I simply sent it out. How would I know what was inside?"
Which meant he did know.
The wind coming off the river carried a faint smell of blood and steel. More than a hundred blunt weapons gleamed under the sunlight.
Robert's voice exploded across the stands.
"The lances are blunt, the hammers can't have spikes, and axes and armor-piercing swords are forbidden!"
"Seven gods, what kind of tournament is this?"
After all, the participants were only competing for reputation. None of them wanted to lose their lives over it.
So the blacksmiths of King's Landing had rushed to produce a large number of safer weapons.
The rules were simple.
Anyone who stayed down for ten seconds after falling would be eliminated.
As Robert continued complaining, Eddard reminded him calmly from the side.
"Your Grace, you personally signed the rules."
"Ned, you've started learning bad habits from these people!" Robert pointed straight at him. "You knew I wouldn't read it, and when you handed it over you didn't say a word."
"I'm only finding out now that these are the rules!"
Joffrey ignored their argument and turned his attention toward the eastern side of the field.
The Kingsguard were making their final preparations.
Barristan stood among the squires while they helped him into layer after layer of armor.
A polished coat of composite scale armor covered his upper body, secured tightly with leather straps.
The breastplate had been forged from a single sheet of steel. Through the gaps, smaller overlapping steel scales could be seen beneath.
Curved arm guards protected his arms, metal discs shielded the joints, and finely hinged elbow and knee plates were fastened into place.
The old knight took a deep breath.
He fitted the neck guard, lowered his helmet, and his white cloak hung motionless behind him.
The other five Kingsguard were dressed the same way.
Except for Jaime.
He still wore his golden armor and the lion-shaped helmet. No one knew whether the previous one had been repaired or replaced entirely.
On the western side, the opposing knights looked far less uniform.
Thoros of Myr had been forced by the judges to wear full armor, but he secretly removed the leg plates, leaving only the armored skirt around his waist and thighs.
The Hound still wore his familiar plate armor, though he had added a heavier breastplate over his chest.
At the moment he was staring closely at the red priest, making sure Thoros did not secretly smear anything on his sword again.
The midday sun stood high overhead as the participants took their positions.
The horn sounded three times.
At the first blast, fourteen riders received their lances from the squires.
At the second, the warhorses pawed the ground restlessly, white breath rising into the air.
At the third—
The thunder of hooves erupted across the riverbank.
Fourteen warhorses charged forward together, dirt flying from their hooves and trailing behind them like yellow banners.
The stands fell silent.
Every spectator leaned forward, mouths open, yet not a single sound escaped.
The distance between the two lines closed rapidly.
On the left flank, Mandon Moore's white horse moved like a silver arrow, his lance steady as if fixed in place.
On the right flank, Balon Swann's brown horse seemed almost airborne, his black-and-white cloak snapping behind him.
Thirty yards. Boros Blount breathed heavily behind his visor.
Twenty yards. Patrek Mallister raised his shield to his chin.
Ten yards.
The crash came all at once.
Fourteen lance tips shattered simultaneously, wood fragments exploding like yellow flowers.
Beric Dondarrion's lance struck directly in the center of Arys Oakheart's shield.
The round shield bent inward under the impact, leaving a dent the size of a bowl.
The Kingsguard knight cried out and fell backward, his foot still caught in the stirrup. His horse dragged him across the ground, carving a crooked trail in the dirt.
At almost the same moment, Jaime's lance slammed into Jalabhar Xho's shoulder armor.
With a dull thud, the exiled prince was thrown from his saddle.
The charge ended in an instant.
Of the three fallen riders, two were dragged away.
Only Bronze Yohn Royce struggled back to his feet and remained near the edge of the field, waiting for the next stage of the fight.
After the second charge, the seven-on-seven battle had become five against four.
The riders dismounted and drew their weapons.
The Kingsguard tightened their formation smoothly.
Barristan and Jaime stood at the front while the other three white cloaks guarded their flanks.
The opposing knights looked far less organized. Despite having fewer men, they spread out and surrounded the Kingsguard.
The battle erupted.
The Hound swung his greatsword in a wide arc.
Steel rang loudly.
Boros's shield bent inward under the blow.
Meryn thrust his sword toward the Hound's ribs, but the strike slammed harmlessly against the plate armor.
The Hound grunted as the leather beneath the armor tore.
But he used the momentum to spin.
His greatsword swept upward from below.
Meryn flew backward like a puppet with cut strings and lay motionless on the ground.
Seeing this, Boros hesitated for half a second.
That moment was enough.
The Hound lunged forward, thrusting his blade toward Boros's chest. He followed with a downward strike that forced Boros to block.
Then he slammed the weighted pommel into the knight's helmet.
Finally he stepped forward and smashed the iron pommel straight into Boros's face.
Boros collapsed instantly.
Meanwhile, amid dust and mud, the battle elsewhere was reaching its conclusion.
Thoros's flaming sword was eventually broken apart by Barristan's relentless strikes. The red priest crouched down and surrendered.
Beric had just defeated Mandon when Jaime rushed in and knocked him to the ground.
The Hound soon found himself overwhelmed in the next round of attacks.
The clash of steel gradually faded.
"The battle is decided!"
Robert's shout cut through the noise of the field.
Three members of the Kingsguard remained standing at the end.
Robert leaned back in his chair and breathed wine fumes into Joffrey's ear.
"See that? My judgment is still good."
"No matter how fierce a bunch of random fighters are, they can't beat the men I chose myself."
Joffrey nodded in agreement.
Even though two of those three had originally been appointed by the Mad King.
And the third had barely fought at all, coasting quietly from beginning to end.
Joffrey still did not even remember the man's full name. He only knew the surname sounded something like Greenfield.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the battlefield.
The marks of combat looked like scars carved into the earth.
Those who could still stand helped one another leave the field. Those who could not were hurried away by their squires.
Renly laughed again nearby.
"Good thing I didn't join. Otherwise I'd probably be one of the ones lying down."
Robert stood and clapped his hands loudly. "I declare the tournament officially finished!"
Joffrey wiped the sweat from his palms. Another meeting was about to begin.
It was time to invite Lord Eddard for a drink...
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