A Frey knight?
Ned's frown deepened.
Walder Frey's spawn all inherited their father's greed and cunning. Hosteen was notorious even among them—reckless and belligerent.
Lynn stood from the stands.
"Lynn! You can do it!"
Arya pumped her small fists. Shouted.
Sansa clutched her skirt nervously. Her blue eyes full of worry.
That bloody scene had filled her with dread.
Lynn just nodded at them. Turned. Descended the stands.
He donned his pitch-black helmet. Mounted Storm.
Man and horse. Entered the arena slowly.
"Ha! He's actually riding a plow horse!"
"Ser Frey will skewer him in three passes!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Clear in every corner.
Hosteen Frey clearly heard it too.
He looked at the Black Knight on the shire mare. Undisguised contempt on his face.
A crow from the Wall dared compete with noble House Frey?
"Crow! Go back to your Wall! This isn't your place!"
Hosteen raised his lance. Pointed at Lynn from afar. Shouted insults.
Lynn didn't respond.
He just adjusted his posture clumsily.
The black plate armor seemed especially heavy on him. Even his grip on the lance looked stiff.
On the high platform, Littlefinger raised his cup. A cold smile on his lips.
As expected. A Northern hick who's never seen the world.
Can't even hold a lance steady. Thinks he can win?
Pathetic.
"BEGIN!"
Robert's roar rang out again.
Both knights spurred their horses. Took positions at opposite ends. Then charged simultaneously.
Hosteen's charge was textbook. Powerful. Confident.
Lynn looked panicked.
He clumsily squeezed Storm's flanks. His body bounced with the mare's heavy stride. Like a novice who'd just learned to ride.
The distance closed rapidly!
CRACK!
A dull impact!
Hosteen's lance struck Lynn's shield dead-on!
The force jerked Lynn backward. His body swayed violently in the saddle. Nearly thrown off.
His lance slid weakly past Hosteen's shield edge. Didn't leave a mark.
"OHHH—"
The crowd erupted in laughter and jeers.
"Get off! Crow!"
"Stop embarrassing yourself!"
Littlefinger's smile widened.
Ned clenched his fists. Palms slick with cold sweat.
Lynn swayed in the saddle several times before barely steadying himself.
He gasped heavily. As if that single pass had drained all his strength.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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