The final contest of the morning began under the scrutiny of thousands.
The duelists were Jaime Lannister, only fifteen years old yet already famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and his opponent, Eon Ambrose.
The match held no suspense. In the third round, Jaime unhorsed his opponent with a precise and fierce thrust, clean and decisive. His extraordinary skill and dazzling style drew gasps of admiration from the stands.
But just as the crowd was cheering for this victory, King Aerys II abruptly stood up from the Iron Throne.
Ignoring all proper tournament procedure, he shouted in a high, manic voice, summoning Jaime Lannister directly to him.
When the golden-haired young knight arrived at the royal box and bowed elegantly, Aerys announced in a voice that carried across the entire arena:
"The Kingsguard has a vacancy! Ser Harlan Grandison committed the grave sin of smuggling wildfire to the Arbor and has died in those green flames!"
His burning, crazed gaze locked onto Jaime, as if threatening to devour him whole.
"Ser Jaime Lannister! You are young, brave, and your skill is unmatched! In my eyes, no one in the Seven Kingdoms shines as brightly as you do right now! I intend to name you a knight of the Kingsguard, to inherit the White Cloak! Are you willing?!"
The words struck like a thunderclap. The arena fell into a deathly silence, followed instantly by a tsunami of gasps and whispers.
The Kingsguard—the highest honor a knight could aspire to. Seven elite knights who swore sacred vows: to serve for life, until death takes them; even if age withers their bodies or injury cripples them, they must fulfill their duty. They hold no lands, take no wives, father no children. They owe absolute loyalty to the King alone.
For any young man with dreams of chivalry, this was the ultimate prize.
Jaime Lannister was only fifteen. If this happened, he would be the youngest Kingsguard in history.
But after the initial shock, massive doubt and panic spread rapidly through the noble seating. Jaime Lannister was Tywin Lannister's eldest son, his undisputed heir, the future Lord of Casterly Rock!
If he donned the white cloak, what would happen to Casterly Rock?
Would Lord Tywin's carefully built legacy collapse in an instant?
Would the dwarf son he openly despised—Tyrion Lannister—become the future Warden of the West?
Furthermore, Jaime was already betrothed to Lysa Tully of the Riverlands. This marriage was the lynchpin of an alliance between two Great Houses. Kingsguard knights could not marry. What would become of Lysa Tully? Where would House Tully's honor lie?
The King's sudden decree was no simple knighting; it was a stone thrown into a pond that would cause a thousand ripples, a decision calculated to tear apart the political fabric of the Seven Kingdoms.
Lord Tywin Lannister could barely conceal the fury in his eyes. His voice was as cold as iron from the Westerlands.
"Your Grace is generous, and House Lannister is honored. But Jaime is my son, my heir. He will not, and cannot, become a Kingsguard. Furthermore, at his age, he is far too young for such a heavy responsibility."
Aerys's voice pitched up, full of provocation. "What? Is the supreme glory of the Kingsguard not enough compared to being your heir? Don't you have another fine son? Do you intend to publicly refuse your King's gift!?"
Tywin did not back down. His words hit the floor like stones. "Yes, I refuse! The King has no right to interfere with the succession of his vassals. That is the law and tradition of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Aerys's face twisted with rage. "Tywin! You have some nerve!"
Their cold gazes clashed in the air. Around them, guards rested hands on sword hilts. Others, like Robert Baratheon, watched with amusement, gripping warhammers, eyes fixed on Aerys—the tension was so thick it seemed blood would spill at any moment.
Just as the situation reached a breaking point, the soft, insidious voice of the "Spider," Varys, interjected, cleverly breaking the deadlock.
"My Lords, why not listen to the man himself—Ser Jaime Lannister?"
Every eye instantly focused on Jaime.
A flicker of struggle passed over Jaime Lannister's handsome face. He looked at his father, whose face was the color of iron, then at the mad King on the throne. Finally, his gaze drifted to his sister in the stands—Cersei Lannister.
Cersei wore an imperceptible smile. Looking at him, she gave a tiny, yet definite, nod.
That small gesture settled Jaime's resolve completely. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and his clear, firm voice rang out across the grounds.
"I accept! Your Grace, I wish to become a Kingsguard!"
Lord Tywin could barely believe his ears. He barked sharply, "Jaime Lannister! Do you know what you are saying!?"
Jaime did not look at his father. He held his head high and repeated, his voice even louder. "To become a Kingsguard is my life's ambition! I accept this honor!"
Aerys II burst into triumphant laughter. "Good! Very good! Swear the oath immediately!"
Jaime Lannister straightened his back, placed a hand over his heart, and his solemn voice echoed through the silent arena:
"In the name of the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger, I swear:
I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.
I shall guard the King and his blood with my life.
I shall keep his secrets, obey his commands.
I shall serve faithfully, living and dying at my post, until my last breath."
The vows of the Kingsguard had long been etched into his soul; he recited them without hesitation or prompting.
Aerys's face was flush with a twisted, victorious grin. He announced loudly, "Good! Ser Gerold Hightower, give him the white cloak! From this moment, Jaime Lannister is the seventh brother of the Kingsguard!"
Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard stepped forward, a complicated expression on his face as he helped his new brother rise.
The Lord Commander, the "White Bull" Gerold Hightower, let out an almost inaudible sigh. He knew well that this was no honor, but a poisoned scheme to tear father from son and shake the foundations of the realm.
But the King's command was absolute.
Solemnly, Gerold took the snow-white cloak and draped it over Jaime Lannister's shoulders—shoulders still young, but squared with pride. Following tradition, he patted Jaime gently on the shoulder, signifying acceptance and duty.
Thunderous applause erupted from the stands. The smallfolk cheered sincerely for this historic moment, though many among them did not see the dark currents swirling beneath.
Immediately, Aerys issued his first command, his voice laced with deliberate mockery.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, I now give you your first task as a Kingsguard: Depart immediately. Return to the Red Keep in King's Landing to guard Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys."
Lord Commander Gerold Hightower stepped forward at once, trying to salvage something of the situation. "Your Grace, Ser Jaime is young, and the tourney is not yet over. I beg you allow me to go to King's Landing in his stead."
However, Aerys rejected it without hesitation. "No. Let him go. It is his duty."
Jaime, adhering strictly to his new vows, did not hesitate. He bowed to accept the order, turned, and prepared to leave for the Red Keep immediately.
This rapid obedience stemmed partly from his fresh oath, but perhaps also because he did not know how to face the furious father in the stands. He wanted to use distance and time to escape the family storm he had just personally intensified.
On the other side, Lord Tywin Lannister had already stormed out. His tall back was rigid as a mountain, every step stomping with cold fury. He could not bear to look at the Mad King's gloating face for another second, nor could he stand to see his eldest son, the hope of his House, wearing the white cloak that symbolized dispossession and servitude.
Tyrion Lannister stood frozen in place.
He watched his father leave in a thunderous rage, then watched his brother Jaime turn away in his white cloak. The vast stand suddenly felt empty, leaving him standing alone and bewildered, as if a sudden storm had swept through, leaving behind only a vacuum and a mess.
His small, stunted figure looked jarringly out of place among the empty seats. His head buzzed as he tried to process the cataclysmic shift that had occurred in the blink of an eye.
Me? A dwarf... I am now the only legal heir to Tywin Lannister?
The future... Warden of the West?
The thought was so absurd he almost laughed out loud, yet a cold shiver crawled up his spine.
Fate seemed to have played a cruel and sudden joke, thrusting him—a being his father had never looked upon with anything but contempt, a being the world secretly mocked—right into the eye of the storm of power.
The world was changing too fast!
Fast enough to catch him off guard. Fast enough to make him dizzy.
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