At the tournament, people found laughter, and knights found honor.
Rhaegar sat in the royal box, watching the battles below. The weather was warm, and the air was filled with the aroma of sweet wine and rich perfume. However, the Dragonpit was a sea of people, and even the sea breeze of King's Landing seemed blocked out.
Rhaegar sat in the stands with the Baratheon siblings; though tall for his age, time spares no one (meaning he was young but growing), so he sat with them.
"They are truly a match made in heaven!" Queen Rhaella said to Lady Cassana.
"Yes, both children are excellent." Lady Cassana was full of pride; her daughter Roberta would surely shine brighter than any beauty in the Seven Kingdoms, bringing new glory to her. Marrying into Storm's End from a humble family wasn't easy (Cassana Estermont was from a minor house), but marrying her daughter to a Prince would be a breeze. If she one day became the Queen Mother, it would be an unimaginable honor.
The flame in the heart of the Princess of Dorne dimmed slightly; due to bloodline and distance, her hopes were further dashed.
The most dazzling name on the list was the Fearless Barristan; the White Knight rode alone, with no enemy able to match him.
Barristan was fierce in war and equally fierce in tournaments—a rarity, as tournaments were not real battles, and horsemanship was paramount.
The cheers for Ser Barristan were deafening, drowning out everything else. The White Knight was ecstatic; he had pursued honor all his life, and honor was the only thing he loved.
The Lord of the Eagles also won glory for the Riverlands; the brave and fearless Jason Mallister, clad in a blue-purple cloak trimmed with silver and wearing an eagle-winged helm, was fearless in the saddle, his edge sharp.
With him were Lord Tywin's brothers, Tygett and Gerion, both dressed in shining gold ornaments and wearing lion helms. Lord Tywin had summoned many Westermen, hoping to see his brothers win high honors.
Rhaegar thought Lord Tywin's thinking was flawed: he himself was a cold, ruthless, and calculating politician, yet he tried to raise his son (Jaime, implied) and brothers to be ordinary warriors.
Rhaegar witnessed a cacophony, especially when a handsome favorite rode out. Every knight had his supporters. The smallfolk shouted loudest for their local heroes: the Bronze Lion Yohn of the Vale, Lyn Corbray, the Golden Lion brothers of the West, Sir Jason of the Riverlands—but the warmest cheers were dedicated to Ser Barristan, a legend in his own right and a White Knight, allowing them a glimpse of King's Landing's splendor.
Today's jousting moved quickly; Rhaegar soon saw the final four: Fearless Ser Barristan, Ser Jason Mallister of the Riverlands, Bronze Yohn of the Vale, and Ser Tygett of the West.
The semi-finals began; Ser Barristan easily defeated Tygett. The White Knight's lance was swift and precise, man and horse moving as one, the charge silky smooth. Ser Tygett was unhorsed in an instant, his golden lion helm shattering upon impact. He threw the gold fragments into the crowd, causing a commotion.
Even Lord Tywin smiled, for Ser Barristan was the greatest knight in the realm, a legend already.
The smallfolk watched in fascination; Westeros had a long-standing love for martial prowess. Rhaegar watched from the side, carefully observing the horses' strides, the riders' rhythm, and the timing of the attacks.
The fiercest battle took place on the edge (the other bracket), between Bronze Yohn of the Vale and Jason Mallister of Seagard. Armor clashed, warhorses reared; the two were evenly matched. Seagard defended against Ironborn raiders; though poor, they were fierce warriors.
The two sides were evenly matched, and the contest remained deadlocked until Jason won by a narrow margin.
After a brief pause, Barristan and Jason would compete for the championship—though everyone had already decided Barristan was superior, more experienced, and more at ease.
And so, the battle began: the two spurred their horses forward, lances breaking twice. On the third tilt, both lances shattered together; splinters flew, Barristan remained unharmed, but Jason fell from his red warhorse, his exquisite helmet dented upon hitting the ground.
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, thanking the White Knight and the Riverlander for their spectacular performance. For Barristan, honor, not gold, was what mattered most.
Rhaegar knew the Iron Bank was pressing for debt repayment, and royal funds were tight; the purse was limited—enough Gold Dragons, but never a wasteful thousand crowns.
"I hate jousting. I'd rather go head-to-head, fight side-by-side, have a melee." Robert grumbled, curling his lip.
Rhaegar glanced at Robert. The boy dismissed the lists, but no one could deny the warrior spirit in him—strong, taller than most boys his age.
"Watch out for boars," Rhaegar almost blurted out; but without anyone lending him gold, Robert would have no money to hunt them.
Rhaegar went down to congratulate Barristan—Barristan, the superman of Westeros. If not for the fire that consumed him (Summerhall tragedy reference?), Rhaegar doubted if he could truly defeat him.
Ser Barristan smiled, a smile as bright as sunshine; jousting was like war to him, and he loved the feeling more than money.
"Your Highness, after my relatives at Harvest Hall take their share, the remaining money can be used to pay the Eagle Guard's salaries and train those lads," Barristan said.
Rhaegar was deeply moved; Barristan upheld knightly virtues, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Dragonknight and Duncan the Tall—unmatched.
However, Rhaegar also sought out Ser Jason; such courage deserved a place in his collection—a collector's impulse.
Ser Jason was deeply moved, for while Seagard was fierce, it was poor, its wealth and status far below that of Harrenhal.
"The Earl is the iron shield of our Riverlands," Rhaegar said (complimenting Jason).
Rhaegar turned at the sound of a voice and saw a noble couple approaching him.
They were dressed gorgeously and behaved elegantly. The pattern of nine black bats on a yellow field revealed their identity: Lord Walder Whent, Earl of Harrenhal, and his lady.
They were the seventh owners of this castle; the curse seemed to linger over the massive ruin.
Lord Whent and his lady bowed warmly. "Harrenhal is vast and beautiful; if Your Highness could tour the Riverlands, we would be honored."
"If I come to Harrenhal, Lord Walder, I will certainly disturb you then," Rhaegar replied, accepting the courtesy.
Despite being cursed, Harrenhal still possessed kingly majesty and fertile lands. Even if haunted, lords still coveted it.
Lord Walder's heart warmed; if the Prince visited, he might hold a grand event rivaling this tourney.
Rhaegar returned to his seat, still weighing Lord Walder's friendliness.
Harrenhal—cursed, yet vast and fertile, a treasure everyone dreamed of. There is only one true sickness in the world: poverty. Once you own Harrenhal, what do you fear of curses? Better to die in glory than live in poverty.
People had witnessed the rise of House Whent—leaping from humble knights to the second greatest power in the Riverlands within a generation—and Lord Walder Whent was in his prime. Even Lord Hoster Tully had married a Whent woman; the alliance between House Tully and House Whent was growing stronger.
Rhaegar intended to curry favor with the Lord of Harrenhal; the castle was strategically located, and he could recruit soldiers there.
The majestic fortress, the Godswood, the legendary Isle of Faces in the God's Eye nearby—perhaps, and the whispering curse.
Rhaegar suspected Harrenhal's curse lay more in its prominence; it was too close to the political vortex and always got sucked in.
The winner of the archery contest was a commoner named Alyn; Rhaegar admired his marksmanship and wanted to recruit him. The lad was tempted but stayed in King's Landing—with gold in his pocket, he planned to taste every tavern and brothel in the city first.
Then came the melee: warriors wielding blunted weapons, hacking left and right, bloody and brutal.
Robert watched in fascination, eager to join the fight.