The whole roasted ox slowly turned on its iron spit, the rich scent of dripping fat spreading through the riverside night air.
Long banquet tables had been set up outside the tents.
Piles of roasted bread rose like small hills, steam drifting upward and mixing with the fragrant aroma of spiced red wine.
The smell alone was enough to make everyone hungry.
Joffrey sat not far below Robert's seat, casually chatting with Sansa. But his eyes kept drifting toward her father.
Halfway through the meal, Eddard stood up from his seat and quietly left the table.
He walked straight toward the dining area where the competing knights were gathered.
The movement was so obvious that anyone paying attention could easily guess his purpose.
"Your Highness, who do you think will win tomorrow?" Sansa asked softly. A faint flush colored her cheeks, and the firelight reflected in her bright blue eyes.
"Hard to say," Joffrey replied after taking a sip of wine. "Tomorrow might turn into a bloodbath."
Because Ser Barristan had unexpectedly been eliminated during the quarterfinals, several other strong knights had also been defeated one after another.
Among the four remaining finalists, three were connected to House Lannister.
The Clegane brothers.
And the Kingslayer.
Joffrey scooped up a garlic butter snail and fed it to Sansa. "The Hound hates his brother more than anything in the world."
In one corner by the river, the Mountain sat alone at a table large enough for several men.
He drank mug after mug of ale, while a growing pile of gnawed bones stacked up in front of him.
Sandor had asked Joffrey for leave earlier and returned to the Red Keep. At this moment he was probably training in the yard, preparing seriously for the next day.
"As for my uncle," Joffrey continued, glancing toward another table, "there are plenty of people betting on him as well."
Jaime sat surrounded by Lannister retainers in red cloaks, enthusiastically bragging about his victories earlier that day.
Not far from him sat Tywin.
The candlelight cast sharp shadows across his stern face.
Jaime's reputation was impressive, but he had never actually won a major tournament.
Years ago in Lannisport he had shared the championship with Jorah Mormont.
Aside from the three Lannister-related competitors, the only outsider remaining was the knight who had defeated Barristan Selmy.
The Knight of Flowers.
Loras Tyrell of Highgarden.
Because he stood far down the line of inheritance, he had spent years traveling across the Seven Kingdoms. Despite his youth, his experience in tournaments surpassed many veteran knights.
A cool wind swept across the river, carrying distant echoes of noise and laughter.
At last, Eddard found Ser Hugh.
The young knight still held half a piece of bread in his hand, standing awkwardly as he faced the Hand of the King.
From the look of things, this was probably the first time the two had spoken formally.
Joffrey shook his head slightly.
'So Ned is the type who delays things too.'
Joffrey had already mentioned Hugh's existence back at the Tower of the Hand. Yet Eddard had somehow waited until the night of the tournament to question him.
There was no need to guess what they were discussing.
Jon Arryn's final days.
Whether anything unusual had happened. Who had visited him. Whether Lady Lysa had behaved strangely.
Because of that, Joffrey felt little concern.
Hugh had only been a minor squire. He was never meant to know anything important.
Even if he had heard something, it was probably information unfavorable to Lysa.
Ironically, that ignorance was the only reason he was still alive.
Cersei followed a very simple rule.
Better to kill the wrong person than let a dangerous one go free.
But because the poisoning had been triggered earlier than expected, she had never discovered what Jon Arryn had been investigating.
Her decision to instruct Pycelle not to treat him seriously had simply been a convenient way to remove a potential threat.
Night deepened.
The king had already drunk too much and started shouting nonsense.
"Not only will I fight tomorrow!" Robert roared, slamming his hand against his chest. "I'll fight the day after too!"
Renly stepped forward with an amused smile and refilled his wine.
"Yes, yes, brother. Of course you'll fight."
"And you'll win every championship yourself. Leave nothing for the rest of us."
Robert laughed and bumped him with his shoulder. "When the seven-on-seven battle happens, stay close to me. I'll lead the team myself!"
Cersei simply sat quietly, eating without reacting to Robert's outburst.
Tywin was still present.
The old lion was obsessed with control. An unpredictable plan like assassinating Robert during a chaotic team battle was far too risky.
Tywin would never approve something like that. And Cersei did not dare act without his permission.
So she could only endure it silently.
The next morning arrived before sunrise. Inside the king's tent, chaos had already begun.
Two of Joffrey's cousins were struggling to help Robert put on his armor.
"Your Grace... the armor is too small. It won't fit," one of them said carefully.
The other slipped and dropped a piece of neck armor onto the ground with a loud clang.
"Seven hells," Robert cursed. "You two are complete idiots!"
He turned toward Joffrey.
"Joff, can't your mother send me some smarter Lannisters? Instead of stuffing my tent with a pair of pig-brained fools."
Cold morning light slipped through the tent entrance as Eddard and Ser Barristan stepped inside.
Eddard glanced at the sweating attendants and unexpectedly made a dry joke. "Your Grace, this isn't their fault."
"...You're simply too fat."
Robert's expression darkened instantly.
"Too fat? Yes, too fat," he growled.
"Stark, is that how you speak to your king?"
Then he looked at Joffrey. "Joff, am I really that fat?"
Joffrey nodded calmly.
The two teenage attendants froze in terror.
Then Robert suddenly burst into loud laughter. "To hell with both of you! Can't you say something nice in front of other people?"
He pretended to kick the two attendants.
"Did you hear that? The king is too fat. Go ask the captain of the guard for a pair of pliers to stretch the breastplate."
The boys ran out of the tent in panic, searching for a tool that did not exist.
The remaining men chuckled.
But the laughter had barely faded before Robert suddenly scowled again. "What are you three standing here for? If you've got something to say, say it!"
The three exchanged glances.
Finally Eddard spoke first. "Your Grace, it would be inappropriate for the king to participate in the team battle."
"Ahh, not this again," Robert groaned. "You two came to say the same thing?"
Joffrey and Barristan both nodded.
Robert waved his hand irritably. "I just want to hit someone. Why do you keep stopping me?"
"Because it would make the match unfair," Barristan replied seriously. "Who would dare truly strike at their king?"
Robert took a large gulp of wine.
"I don't care who it is! If they have the skill to touch me, then I'll definitely—"
"Still be standing at the end," Eddard finished calmly, repeating Renly's joke from the previous night.
"And they will deliberately lose so you can win."
Robert's face flushed red.
It was obvious he had never considered that possibility.
"They would let me win?" he shouted. "What right do those cowards have to let me win?"
He began pacing back and forth inside the tent like an angry boar trapped in a cage. "Can't even have a proper fight. Being king is no fun at all!"
He suddenly stopped and pointed toward the tent entrance.
"Out. All of you, get out."
Barristan and Eddard bowed and stepped outside. Joffrey deliberately lingered for a moment.
"Ned, you stay. I need to talk to you."
"And Joff, you leave too."
Robert added the last sentence quickly. Joffrey returned quietly to the riverside and began eating breakfast.
He sighed inwardly.
What a pity.
This was the problem with not having enough providence points.
He couldn't even eavesdrop on an important conversation.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/ShadySmuggler