26 The Tourney

Griffith rode to the Hand's tourney with the Kingslayer and his squire Trevas Prester. Down towards the gate of the gods they moved, passing hundreds of peasants all going the same way as them. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendour of it all made Griffith smile, the shining armour, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind.

When they reached it, the Kingslayer's tent had already been pitched, the lion of House Lannister flying high above it. They dismounted and entered, Griffith wrinkled his nose, even the inside of the tent smelled like the city. "Bit flashy for a Stark." he heard the Kingslayer say, and turning saw the knight staring at the armour he had commissioned from Tobho Mott.

"I'm no Stark, Ser Jaime," he said as Trevas helped him slip the chainmail shirt over his hauberk. Letting out a bark of laughter, the Kingslayer began handing Travas the silvery armour, "Well you're right about that."

Griffith was almost done donning his armour when a loud sonorous horn sounded over the tourney grounds. He took a deep breath, and grabbing his helmet, strode out of the tent. "Trevas, could you please help me?" the other squire nodded and bending down next to Griffith's black stallion, hoisted him up onto it. He was about to ride off towards the lists when the Kingslayer strode out of the tent and pushed something into his hand, "A gift from the Queen." Griffith smiled as he strapped the new rapier to his side. "I guess I'll have to win the tourney now." he said riding off.

The other squires had already gathered when Griffith rode out to cheers and cries. Halting before the Usurper and his wife, Griffith bowed, "I thank you, my Queen, for the blade you have bestowed upon me." A low murmur filled the stands and Cersei smiled, "I'm always happy to help." He then turned to Robert and smiled, but the Usurper only took a gulp of wine and waved his hands, "Get on with it!"

After they had all retired to the sides of the lists a man garbed in gold and black strode to the centre, "Gerion Frey squire to Ser Danwell Frey and Robert Rambton squire to Ser Amon Prester." Immediately two young men wearing their houses' sigils, two twin towers and a ram's head, rode out, lances in their hands. It was over in the first tilt, with Robert smashing his lance on the young Freys chest. The boy flew off his horse yowling in pain, he had most likely broken one or two ribs.

It took a few more jousts till Griffith's name was called, "Carrsen Massey squire to Ser Barret Cargyll and Griffith Snow squire to Ser Jaime Lannister." Hushed whispers filled the stands as the man finished speaking and the two riders approached the lists. One in a greyish set of simple armour and the other a shining symbol of what an aspiring knight should be.

A moment later they were off, riding toward each other down the lists. The wind battered against his face as he approached the boy, everything around him moved, and the cries of the ground and the heat of the many layers he was wearing were overwhelming, but his mind stayed focused on his opponent. It happened instantaneously, his lance smashed against the Massey's shield, while the boy's lance missed him by a few inches. As his opponent fell, Griffith quickly dropped his lance, and grabbed hold of the other horse's reins. "And the winner is Griffith Snow."