The tourney continued into the evening, and by now, only a handful of knights remained on the field—each an impressive contender.
Next to enter the lists was the "Knight of Flowers," Ser Loras Tyrell.
As the third son of the Highgarden lord, he was dressed with elaborate flair. His silver armor was adorned with green vines and blue forget-me-nots, and his white steed wore a red blanket scattered with freshly picked roses.
As he rode by the stands, Ser Loras tossed roses from his horse's blanket into the crowd, drawing delighted gasps from the ladies. He finally stopped before the section for the Northern nobility, presenting his last white rose to Lady Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of the Hand of the King.
"Lovely Lady Sansa," Ser Loras said, "no victory could compare to the radiance you bring."
Sansa blushed deeply, momentarily lost for words.
Only when she remembered her betrothed did she snap back to herself—just as the "Knight of Flowers" rode away.
Then Sansa noticed who Loras's opponent was for this round: the terrifying giant, "the Mountain," Ser Gregor Clegane.
Standing over eight feet tall, Gregor's arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his warhorse seemed almost comically small beneath him. Earlier that day, he'd caused a particularly bloody scene, but for the Mountain, such violence was routine.
During Robert's Rebellion, this was the man who had brutally violated and murdered Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and wife of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, as well as killing her two children. The Martells still bore a fierce grudge for that.
So, as soon as Gregor appeared, curses erupted from the section where the Dornish nobles sat.
Princess Arianne's gaze was full of fury as she watched the massive knight in the lists. She couldn't help but turn to her uncle, Prince Oberyn, and say, "Uncle, why didn't you enter the joust?"
Oberyn's eyes were cold, fixed like a viper's on the Mountain. "I've no interest in this game with wooden lances. If it were a true duel, I could kill every knight here."
"What about tomorrow's melee, then? They'll be using real swords and spears."
"I checked the roster," Oberyn said, taking a drink with a disappointed look. "The Mountain hasn't signed up for the melee. Otherwise, I'd join. Besides, I'm still under suspicion for Jon Arryn's murder. Best not to attract more attention."
Arianne nodded approvingly, pleased that her uncle had finally learned some restraint after recent setbacks.
Looking back to the field, she noticed something odd about Gregor's horse, which was pawing the ground and tossing its head, neighing anxiously.
"Uncle, is there something wrong with the Mountain's horse?"
"No, it's Loras's horse," Oberyn said with a smirk. "That's a mare in heat."
As they spoke, the two knights began their charge.
Gregor urged his horse into a gallop, but it swerved erratically. As the Mountain struggled to control it, Loras was already bearing down on him like a silver flash.
Crack!
Loras's lance struck with perfect timing, unseating Gregor Clegane. The Mountain's massive size even pulled his horse down with him as he fell.
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Watching the scene, Samwell couldn't help but smile, recognizing the clever trick Loras had played by choosing a mare in heat.
Gregor Clegane was known for his preference for large, spirited, and unruly stallions, which he could typically subdue through sheer strength. But against a mare in heat, the stallion's aggression became a fatal flaw.
While Loras was lifting his visor to accept the crowd's applause, Gregor roared, "Bring me my sword!"
When his squire brought him a massive greatsword the size of a door, Gregor Clegane, in a fit of rage, swung it down and severed his horse's head clean off. Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching him until he looked like a demon straight from hell.
The bloody spectacle sent the cheers in the stands into a frenzy of screams.
Gregor, brandishing his bloodstained sword, charged toward Loras.
Realizing the danger, Margaery jumped to her feet, trying to warn her brother, but her voice was drowned in the uproar of terrified cries.
Loras, finally understanding the threat, shouted for his own sword, but the Mountain was already upon him.
Clang!
Pain shot through Loras's chest as he was knocked off his horse, landing hard on the ground.
He struggled to rise, but his body refused to obey. Helpless, he watched in horror as the Mountain's massive sword arced down toward his neck.
Clang!
The sword was blocked just in time.
Loras let out a shaky breath, realizing Samwell had arrived to defend him.
"The match is over!" Samwell yelled, using his oaken shield to deflect Gregor's blow.
Even so, Samwell's arm was left numb from the sheer force of the strike, which he realized with some alarm was stronger than his own.
Gregor bellowed in rage, raising his sword again, but just then, his younger brother, the Hound, Sandor Clegane, joined the fray, intercepting Gregor's blow with his own sword.
The Clegane brothers turned on each other, exchanging fierce blows.
Though they were blood relatives, they fought as if they were mortal enemies. When they were children, Gregor had shoved Sandor's face into a brazier for playing with one of his toys, leaving Sandor permanently scarred.
Seizing the opportunity, Samwell helped Loras to his feet and guided him to safety.
"Thank you, Ser Samwell! You saved my life!"
"It was the right thing to do," Samwell replied with a smile.
Of course, he knew the Hound would have intervened even if he hadn't. But since he had a chance to earn the goodwill of House Tyrell, Samwell saw no reason to pass it up.
By now, the Hound was being driven back by his brother, each blow nearly overwhelming him.
Finally, the king's booming voice cut through the chaos: "In the name of your king, I command you to stop!"
At his command, the Hound immediately knelt, leaving Gregor's next swing to cut through empty air. Only then did the Mountain seem to regain control, tossing down his sword with a growl and stalking off without a word.
The violent incident finally came to an end.
By now, the jousting had reached its final stage, with only four knights remaining—
The "Knight of Flowers" Ser Loras Tyrell, the Hound Sandor Clegane, the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, and Samwell Caesar.
Samwell mounted his horse again, taking his lance and waiting in his position.
Through the visor of his helmet, he sized up his next opponent.
The knight opposite him was a striking figure: handsome and noble, with a powerful lineage. He was Queen Cersei's brother, the eldest son of Lord Tywin Lannister, and a sworn member of the Kingsguard. Yet he bore the shameful title of "Kingslayer."
No matter his reasons for killing the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, he had broken his vows, and that stain would follow him for the rest of his life.
As the horns sounded, Samwell cast aside his musings and urged his horse into a gallop.
Crash!
The two knights collided with a resounding impact, yet both managed to stay in their saddles.
Samwell discarded his shattered lance, lifting his visor to glance back at Jaime.
A formidable opponent, indeed.
They readied new lances and charged again.
Three rounds later, the match was still a deadlock.
Accepting a fresh lance from his squire, Samwell guided his horse back into position for a fourth attempt.
But suddenly, a booming voice from the royal pavilion interrupted, "Enough! The victor is Samwell Caesar!"
Samwell spun around in surprise, realizing that it was King Robert who had declared the match over.
"Why?" Queen Cersei's sharp voice rang out in protest. "Jaime didn't fall from his horse!"
Robert held up his horned cup, shouting, "Woman, I know more about jousting than you do! Samwell's hits were cleaner, and he sat his horse better!"
"You're biased!" Cersei snapped. "You just don't want to see Jaime win!"
"Silence, woman! I am the king, and I say who wins! If you want to play judge for your brother, grow a pair first! Hahaha!"
Cersei's face turned deathly pale with rage, and she trembled with fury.
Jaime, however, remained calm. Tossing aside his lance, he removed his helmet and said coolly, "As you command, Your Grace."
Samwell hadn't expected to benefit from the king and queen's quarrel, and he smiled gratefully, bowing toward the royal box.
As for whether his strikes had actually been more accurate, or his seat more secure—well, the king had spoken, and that was that.
No sooner had Samwell removed his helmet to catch his breath than the Kingslayer Jaime rode over to him.
The handsome, golden-haired knight wore a mocking smile. "Not bad, boy. But in a real fight, I'd finish you in three moves."
With that, he turned his horse and left, not waiting for Samwell's response.
"What an arrogant man," Samwell muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.
In a real duel, Samwell was confident he could best the Kingslayer if he wielded Dawn, the legendary greatsword of House Dayne. With that sword, he'd take Jaime down with one blow.
But without such an advantage, he admitted that he might indeed lose to Jaime. During their joust, he'd realized that Jaime's strength nearly matched his own, and his skill in the saddle was clearly superior. Combined with Samwell's lack of agility, the odds would likely be in Jaime's favor in a fair fight.
Still, Samwell was certain he had plenty of room to grow.
One day, he thought with a grin, he'd be able to take down the Kingslayer with just one hand—while using the other to take a drink.
Now the final round approached: the "Knight of Flowers" Ser Loras Tyrell was set to face off against the Hound, Sandor Clegane.
When Loras rode onto the field, however, he surprised everyone by appearing in nothing more than a simple linen shirt. Turning to the Hound, he said, "Honorable Ser Sandor, you saved my life just now. I concede the match to you."
"I'm no knight," Sandor grumbled.
True enough, though the Hound had earned the title many times over, he had always refused to be formally knighted.
Still, he accepted Loras's concession without protest.
That left only two knights in the competition:
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, and Samwell Caesar.
They would now compete for the championship title.
(End of Chapter)