It turned out that participating in a tourney and organizing one were two completely different beasts.
When he went to the tourney at Sunspear, Arthur could focus entirely on sparring with Daemon Sand under the blazing sun, breaking soft lances all day long without a care in the world.
He could stroll through the streets of the Shadow City with Edric, savoring the unique Dornish fire-pepper roasted snake and washing it down with cool summerwine, letting the spicy and refreshing flavors dance on his tongue.
But now, holding the tourney at Starfall, he truly understood the weight and pressure of being the host.
Although Arthur had planned the venue, accommodations, food supply, and security well in advance, as the date approached, problems still surged like the tide.
Drawn by the fame of the Sword of the Morning and the generous prize purse, countless people flocked to Starfall from all directions.
Merchants shouted their wares; mummers set up colorful tents to perform; knights strode proudly through the streets; squires bustled about polishing armor.
Lords, sellswords, bards—people of all stripes crowded into Starfall's territory, turning the usually tranquil lower Torrentine into a hub of noise and congestion.
However, the crowds brought not just excitement, but chaos.
Theft, robbery, brawls, and even worse crimes like rape and murder began to occur, leaving Ser Ilic, the captain of the guard, utterly frazzled.
Starfall, Main Keep, Small Hall.
"My lord, I must increase our manpower." Ser Ilic strode into the small hall, sweat glistening on his forehead in the candlelight.
He took off his helm and wiped his face, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I've deployed every available guard, but there are simply too many people, and the crowd is too mixed. We can't manage them all."
He rapidly listed recent atrocities: a headless body found hanging in the orchard; a woman's severed head floating in the public cistern; a Dornishman "accidentally" burying a dagger in a Reachman's gut...
Worse still, several Starfall guards had been injured trying to break up conflicts between the retinues of feuding nobles. The situation was spiraling out of control.
"I have recalled Ser Bard from Violet Canyon," Arthur said. "The Regular Mountain Corps will take over security around the tourney grounds."
"Additionally, I authorize you to recruit thirty more guards. As for the cost..."
Arthur looked to the steward. "Karen, write him a slip."
Karen, the Fat Steward, who was buried in a pile of documents, looked up. Wiping sweat from his brow, he deftly pulled out a sheet of parchment, dipped his quill, and quickly drafted a requisition order.
"My lord, please sign and seal."
Arthur stamped it with practiced ease.
Ser Ilic pocketed the slip. "My lord, there is another issue. We can handle disputes among the smallfolk, but when it involves conflicts and bloodshed between nobles—especially between the Dornish and the Reachmen—we are really..."
"Arrest them all and throw them in the dungeon," Arthur said flatly.
"If they resist, tell them they will face fair judgment from a tribunal composed of myself, Lord Mathis Rowan, Lord Franklyn Fowler, and Lord Selwyn Tarth."
"If they still resist, break their arms and legs. Just try not to kill them."
Ser Ilic let out a long breath and bowed deeply. "As you command."
"Don't forget to inform Ser Bard of this policy."
Ser Ilic bowed again and turned to leave, his steps noticeably lighter than when he arrived.
As the host, Arthur had been dealing with a spike in crime every day.
Disputes between commoners were easy enough to adjudicate by law. But conflicts involving nobles from the Reach and Dorne were a political minefield. One wrong step could offend a powerful house or ignite a larger feud.
Arthur risked pleasing no one and offending everyone.
It was Maester Oswell who suggested the solution: invite respected lords from the Reach, Dorne, and the Stormlands to serve as judges alongside Arthur. This tribunal would jointly adjudicate disputes between nobles during the tourney.
"The old ginger is the spiciest," Arthur mused to himself, admiring the maester's wisdom.
Just then, the master of ceremonies hurried into the hall and handed over a list.
"My lord, this is the current list of entrants for the tourney."
It was a long scroll. Under the jousting category alone, there were over a hundred names.
Over a hundred knights. And there was still nearly a week until the tourney began.
Arthur was surprised by the sheer drawing power of the title "Sword of the Morning." But then again, it was a legendary title passed down since the Age of Heroes. Its influence across the Seven Kingdoms was akin to the Arbor's brand power in wine.
The master of ceremonies rubbed his hands together excitedly. "My lord, this will be a grand event, far surpassing the scale of the tourney at Sunspear."
For this tourney, the jousting rules would follow the standard single-elimination format.
Losers were out; winners advanced to the next round. The victor of the final tilt would be declared the champion.
Arthur smiled, scanning the list. After finding a particular name, he handed the list back with satisfaction. "I hope the spectacle surpasses it as well."
Beside him, Karen the Fat Steward, who was scribbling furiously, looked up. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and gave a bitter smile. "I just hope I can survive until the tourney ends..."
Thinking about how he had to practice jousting later and then go to the Dawn Market to judge criminals with three other high lords, Arthur felt a wave of empathy.
"It will all be worth it," Arthur encouraged the steward.
Arthur wasn't just feeding Karen empty promises.
Based on the feedback from Pate regarding the orchard's wine sales and Karl regarding the weapons orders from the Artisan District, leveraging the fame of the Sword of the Morning to host this tourney was absolutely worth the exhaustion.
And that was just the gold.
After tasting the Amber Peach Wine, a stream of lords—mostly from the Reach and the Stormlands—had requested to visit the orchards.
They were almost unanimous in their curiosity.
These lords, educated and shrewd, were doing the math. If hot, arid Dorne could produce a peach wine rivaling Arbor Gold, could they replicate it on their own lands?
Meanwhile, the knights and warriors preparing for the tourney were full of praise for the weapons and armor from the Artisan District—excellent quality at relatively low prices.
In terms of cost reduction, Starfall had prisoners mining in Violet Canyon, centralized raw material supply from Ironrock Castle, and water-powered trip hammers in the Artisan District to cut labor costs.
In terms of quality, the Artisan District controlled the entire supply chain, used high-grade ore, employed centralized and standardized forging processes, and enforced strict quality control.
Both in cost and quality, Starfall's products crushed those of castle smithies and small city workshops.