Tournament of the Hand

The Tournament of the Hand was conceived by King Robert Baratheon as a lavish celebration of his old friend Eddard Stark's reluctant acceptance of the office of Hand of the King. Despite Ned's protests that the realm could not afford such an extravagance—the Crown was already six million gold pieces in debt—Robert insisted, and the event was staged outside the walls of King's Landing, drawing knights, lords, and commoners from across the Seven Kingdoms. For Sansa Stark, who watched from the high seats among the ladies of the court, the tournament was a dream come true, a song brought to life. She saw the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth: the seven knights of the Kingsguard in their milk-white scaled armor, Ser Jaime Lannister shining gold from head to foot, the immense Ser Gregor Clegane thundering past like an avalanche, and the young Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell, whose plate was enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers. The jousting went all day and into the dusk, the hooves of great warhorses pounding the lists into a ragged wasteland of torn earth. Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole cried out in unison as riders crashed together, lances exploding into splinters while the commons screamed for their favorites. The Kingslayer rode brilliantly, overthrowing Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord Bryce Caron as easily as if he were riding at rings, and then took a hard-fought match from the white-haired Barristan Selmy. Sandor Clegane and his monstrous brother, Ser Gregor the Mountain, seemed unstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated, his life's blood flowing out in slow pulses. Jeyne Poole wept hysterically, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination, realizing that the world would forget his name. In the end, the tournament came down to four: the Hound, his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell. Ser Loras, at sixteen the youngest rider on the field, had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. His last match of the day was against the younger Royce, whom he split from his saddle. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, plucking a single white rose from his horse's blanket and tossing it to some fair maiden. When the white horse stopped in front of Sansa, he plucked a red rose for her. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. The final matches were deferred to the next morning, before the melee. The court moved to the riverside to begin the feast, where six monstrous aurochs had been roasting for hours. Sansa was given a place of high honor, and Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, showering her with compliments and feeding her the first sweet morsel of snail himself. The feast was a night of magic and glamour, with singers, a juggler, and the king's own fool, Moon Boy, dancing about on stilts. But the dream ended when King Robert, drunk, began to shout, declaring he would fight in the melee despite the queen's protests. The next morning, the jousting resumed. Sandor Clegane defeated Jaime Lannister, unhorsing him in a spectacular fall that left the Kingslayer rolling in the dirt, his ornate lion helmet twisted and dented. Then came the match between Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Gregor Clegane. The Knight of Flowers, riding a mare in heat, caused Gregor's huge stallion to become unruly, and in the chaos, Loras placed his lance perfectly, unhorsing the Mountain. Enraged, Gregor killed his own horse with a single blow, then strode toward Loras, drawing his sword. The Hound intervened, and the two brothers began a ferocious duel, hammering at each other until the king's voice put an end to it. Ser Loras, having lost his horse and his chance to continue, yielded to the Hound, declaring him the champion. The Hound took the victory and the champion's purse, and for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons. The melee that afternoon was won by the red priest Thoros of Myr, who fought with a flaming sword. The tournament, meant to honor the new Hand, instead became a stage for the realm's deep fractures: the Lannisters' arrogance, the simmering violence of the Mountain, the Hound's bitter honor, and the political maneuvering that would soon lead to war.