Joffrey once again found himself standing at a fork in the road.
On one side stood his uncle, bound to him by blood. On the other stood a loyal friend who had followed him faithfully.
Supporting either one felt wrong.
Jaime was the first to enter the field.
Every part of his equipment seemed designed to show off the wealth of Casterly Rock.
His lance was carved from goldenheart wood from the Summer Isles. Even the chain armor covering his warhorse had been gilded.
In comparison, the Hound looked far simpler.
Aside from his ash-gray plate armor, he wore only an olive-green cloak and his unmistakable hound-shaped helmet.
"Dog," Jaime said casually, flicking his golden hair back. "Looks like you'll be disappointed again today."
"Your plan to kill your brother will have to wait for another time."
The Hound said nothing.
He simply lowered his visor with a sharp clang in response.
The two riders took their positions on opposite sides of the field, and the tension in the arena tightened instantly.
"One hundred gold dragons on the Kingslayer," Littlefinger announced casually. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly through the stands.
"I'll match that," Renly said immediately. "The Hound looks especially hungry this morning."
"A dog can be hungry," Littlefinger replied with a thin smile, "but it should still know not to bite the hand that feeds it."
Whether the Hound would bite or not, Joffrey was not certain.
But he knew Robert would enjoy nothing more than seeing a Lannister humiliated.
The king burst out laughing.
"I'll match the bet as well! Let's see whether gold is harder... or the dog's teeth."
The horn sounded.
Warhorses screamed.
Through clouds of dust, the two riders charged toward each other like arrows released from a bow.
The crash of breaking wood echoed across the field.
At the moment of impact, Jaime twisted his shield skillfully, deflecting the Hound's heavy strike.
At the same time, his goldenheart lance struck solidly against his opponent's chest.
The Hound's body lurched violently in the saddle, nearly thrown from his horse. But his legs clamped down hard against the horse's sides, barely holding him in place.
The crowd exploded with cheers.
They cared little about danger. All they wanted was blood.
Littlefinger smiled as he turned back toward the stands. "Your Grace, my lords. It seems I should begin thinking about how to spend this money."
There was no pause.
No rest.
The riders reached the ends of the field and immediately received fresh lances from their squires.
The second charge began almost instantly.
This time Jaime intended to repeat his earlier maneuver and evade the attack again.
But the Hound had anticipated it.
He shifted his position at the same moment, thrusting his lance past Jaime's shield.
The impact was even louder than before.
The force sent Jaime flying from his saddle like a sack of grain.
He crashed heavily into the mud.
The spectators gasped.
Only when the golden figure began to move in the mud did the boos and scattered laughter begin to spread.
"Good dog!" Renly shouted with excitement.
Then he clicked his tongue in regret. "Too bad the little demon isn't here. He always bets on his brother."
Robert laughed so hard he nearly fell from his seat.
"Littlefinger, keep your money!"
A nostalgic look flashed in his eyes.
"Do you have any more of those Valyrian steel daggers like the one you lost to me last time? I seem to have misplaced mine somewhere."
For the briefest moment, the smile on Littlefinger's face stiffened.
Then he shrugged casually.
"Your Grace has an excellent memory."
"After losing that dagger to you, I did manage to find another one from a merchant in Lys."
"Unfortunately, before I could even enjoy owning it, the little demon won it from me."
"Seven hells," Robert muttered loudly. "The little demon doesn't need money. I can't even buy it from him."
"Then consider it a debt," Robert continued. "If you ever find another one, bring it to me."
The king quickly forgot the minor annoyance and turned his attention back to the field.
But Eddard, who had been sitting beside Sansa and forcing a polite smile, now looked completely grim.
His gaze locked firmly onto the seemingly relaxed Master of Coin.
Joffrey noticed everything.
He leaned back in his chair without reacting.
The next match brought the crowd to a completely different mood.
The Mountain rode into the field on a massive black stallion.
His entire body was wrapped in thick black plate armor, and the lance in his hand was as thick as a man's forearm.
Just seeing him made people worry for his opponent's life.
Yet Ser Loras truly lived up to the title of the Knight of Flowers.
His build was slender and elegant.
He wore magnificent silver armor decorated with countless blue sapphires cut into the shape of forget-me-not flowers.
Everyone expected a clash between brute strength and graceful skill.
But the match ended faster than anyone imagined.
Perhaps the Mountain's weight was too great. Or perhaps the handsome knight had used some clever trick.
Within a single breath, the Mountain and his horse collapsed to the ground.
A wave of shocked murmurs spread through the arena.
The Hound let out a short, harsh laugh.
The Knight of Flowers pulled his horse to a graceful halt and lifted his visor. His handsome young face appeared, proud and confident.
The crowd froze for only a moment.
Then they erupted into wild cheers.
"Bring me a sword!"
The Mountain rose to his feet, roaring with rage.
His massive blade swung in a terrifying arc.
With a single strike, the head of his struggling warhorse was severed cleanly from its body.
The cheers instantly turned into screams.
Loras's face turned pale.
He quickly jumped from his horse and grabbed a sword from a stunned squire.
But fighting on foot was not his strength. The difference in size was impossible to overcome.
The Mountain attacked like a raging giant, swinging his blade with brutal force.
Caught off guard, Loras lasted only a few exchanges before the sword was knocked from his hands.
A heavy punch smashed against the side of his helmet. The young knight collapsed to the ground like a broken flower stem.
But the Mountain was not finished.
He raised his sword, ready to end Loras's life.
"Don't touch him!"
A gray figure crashed into the scene like a thunderbolt. The Hound blocked the killing blow with his two-handed sword.
"Get out of my way!"
The Mountain roared, his voice filled with murderous rage.
The Hound answered only with steel.
Ten exchanges.
Thirty exchanges.
The battle between the Clegane brothers left the entire crowd stunned.
Just as the spectacle of brothers killing each other seemed about to unfold, the king's voice thundered across the arena.
"Stop this at once!"
Twenty guards rushed onto the field with leveled spears, forcing the two men apart.
The Hound reacted first.
He stepped back quickly into the circle of spears, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head toward the king.
The Mountain's chest heaved like a blacksmith's bellows. His eyes moved past the king...
To someone standing behind him.
Then he threw down his sword, shoved past the guards, and stormed away.
"Damn it. Let him go," Robert ordered angrily after exchanging a glance with Tywin behind him.
A few minutes later, Loras returned to the field.
His face was still pale, and a strip of linen wrapped around his head. Supported by his squires, he approached the Hound and bowed deeply.
"Ser Sandor, I owe you my life."
Loras stepped forward and grasped the Hound's mud-covered gauntlet, raising it high toward the stands.
"The championship is yours."
The crowd hesitated for a moment.
Then thunderous cheers and applause exploded across the arena.
For perhaps the first time in his life, the Hound received the admiration of so many people.
Even his scarred face showed a rare look of confusion.
"Don't call me ser," he muttered stiffly.
But he did not refuse the victory.
Or the prize money.
In the stands, Joffrey slowly released the breath he had been holding. His clenched fists finally relaxed.
Yet even his tension could not compare to the storm now raging inside Littlefinger's mind.
Joffrey clicked his tongue silently.
Go on.
Run.
Why stay in King's Landing trying to explain yourself?
He had already prepared plenty of evidence. And he was only waiting for Littlefinger to flee to the Vale before throwing it all out at once.
__________
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