Hosteen Frey wheeled his horse triumphantly. Grabbed a fresh lance.
He looked at the pathetic Black Knight. Contempt turned to naked mockery.
"Again!"
The horn blew.
Second charge!
This time, Lynn seemed to learn. He lowered his body. Tried to look more professional.
But his tense posture screamed desperation to everyone watching.
Hosteen didn't even bother adjusting. Just casually raised his lance. Charged.
In his mind, this pass would end the farce.
The figures crossed again!
CRACK!
Another impact! Splinters flew!
This time, both lances shattered on shields simultaneously!
A draw!
The laughter in the stands quieted. Replaced by surprised murmurs.
"The crow's got luck."
"Actually matched Ser Frey?"
On the high platform, Littlefinger's brow twitched imperceptibly.
Luck?
Perhaps.
Lynn still gasped heavily. Like his arms were numb.
He even struggled to calm the restless Storm.
Of course, it was all an act.
He didn't want his performance to make people bet on him next round. That would raise the odds. He'd lose a fortune in gold dragons!
"AGAIN!"
Hosteen's smile was gone. Replaced by irritation.
He couldn't tolerate being pushed to a third pass by a nobody.
Humiliating.
Third charge!
This time, Hosteen used full force!
Like an enraged boar. Eyes filled with nothing but the urge to crush his opponent!
Lynn charged too.
His movements still clumsy. His posture still laughable.
To everyone watching, he'd reached his limit.
This pass, he'd lose for sure.
The distance closed rapidly!
Fifty paces!
Thirty!
Ten!
Just as the horses were about to cross—
Lynn's seemingly stiff body made an impossibly subtle adjustment.
He didn't block Hosteen's shield.
His lance tilted up slightly!
The target was no longer the wide shield!
But the narrow gap where Hosteen's right shoulder met his breastplate!
CRACK—
A sharp, piercing snap!
Hosteen's lance still struck Lynn's shield. The force jerked Lynn backward again.
But this time, he held!
And Lynn's seemingly casual lance hit its mark!
The tip pierced the gap. Then wrenched upward!
Hosteen Frey didn't even understand what happened.
He just felt an irresistible force from his right shoulder. Like being rammed by a mammoth!
His bulky body was torn from the saddle like a rag doll!
"AH!"
A short cry.
Hosteen Frey arced through the air. Then THUD—like a sack of garbage, he slammed into the mud and horse dung.
Dead silence.
Everyone stared. Couldn't believe what they'd just seen.
That arrogant Frey knight. Just...
Unhorsed by a crow on a plow horse. In the most absurd way possible?
After a brief silence, scattered cheers erupted.
"He won!"
Arya jumped from her seat!
Sansa covered her mouth. Her beautiful blue eyes shining.
On the high platform, Prince Joffrey was red-faced with excitement.
He pumped his fists. Roared.
"I knew it! I knew it! Lord Lynn is the strongest!"
Ned exhaled heavily. His clenched fists finally relaxed.
He understood now. Lynn was hiding his strength.
On the other side, Petyr Baelish's smile froze completely.
His hand holding the cup stopped mid-air. His eyes dark and terrible.
He'd lost.
Only the first match. But he'd lost.
That Northern fool had beaten Hosteen Frey through dumb luck!
But it didn't matter.
Littlefinger quickly adjusted his mindset.
Luck runs out eventually.
I don't believe this crow can keep winning.
Lynn ignored the cheers.
He just sat calmly on Storm. Chest heaving violently. Like he was exhausted.
He raised his broken lance toward the king's platform. A clumsy salute.
Then he turned Storm. Slowly exited.
His retreating figure looked weary and lucky to everyone watching.
He left the arena. Returned to the stands.
The royal herald's voice rang out again. Announcing the next matches.
"...Next! The Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell, versus Ser Rolph Spicer of Lannisport!"
"...And!"
The herald paused. Glanced at the updated roster. His voice mixed with shock and excitement.
"The victorious Black Knight will face in the next round—"
"The Hound! Sandor Clegane!"
The words dropped.
The tourney grounds exploded!
Every eye turned to the man in the snarling helmet. Silent as stone.
And to the black figure who'd just won through "luck." Now slowly exiting.
Lynn stopped. Turned back.
This tournament's a bit unfair, isn't it? I just fought. Now I have to go again?
Lynn looked toward Robert on the high platform.
Ah. Robert wants to test me. See if I'm capable of taking down the Targaryen remnants across the Narrow Sea.
Didn't matter.
Same strategy. Show weakness.
Earning gold dragons is what matters.
This is my capital for buying the Unsullied army.
Lynn looked across the distance. Toward the Hound beside Joffrey.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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