28 Chapter 28

The first thing that struck Jory about the capitol was the absurd heat. The farthest he had ever traveled from Winterfell was the Iron Islands for the short-lived Greyjoy rebellion. The heat of battle was tempered by the winds and sea that billowed the Iron Islands and their ships. The sweat there felt earned and blended with the waves as he disembarked from the boats. He wasn't bothered by his damp clothes then.

Here, one could simply sweat standing still. Most of the men abandoned their outer garments. Not Jory though. He couldn't as the assigned commander of this escort. And so he suffered it along with the stink of the city. The summer's heat only made it worse.

Tiresias assured them all though, that the heat would lessen considerably in the evening. Thankfully he was right. Aside from the ever-present smell of shit, the city cooled immensely as the sun went down and it turned into a pleasant evening.

They had spent the first evening inside the Red Keep, enjoying the hospitality of the Crown. Tonight, however, the men suggested they venture out into the city and enjoy the capitol. Jory didn't have the heart to deny them. Many of these men wouldn't venture this far south again.

After assigning two unlucky men to stay behind this evening to guard their belongings (he did so on the suggestion of Tiresias, who seemed to distrust the Red Keep more than anyone), they set out past the front gate, full of gaiety and mirth. It was exciting to explore a strange city at night. There was an energy here that made a man's spine tingle.

Jory felt the excitement same as his men, but he curbed his instincts, keeping his eyes and ears sharp. Lord Stark had given him strict instructions to bring all his men home safely, including their librarian.

An hour later, a few remaining Stark men, including him, Gord and Tiresias, sat around a street table outside a tavern. The rest of the men had made no secret of their preferred destination and so, with Tiresias guiding them, they deposited all who wished it at the Street of Silk. Jory had never seen his men walk so quickly. He hoped they had heard his strict warning to behave themselves.

Jory brought the mead to his lips, trying to forget the line of brothels along that street. He had never seen anything like it. Not even at Ambre's. So many women. So many scantily clad, beautiful women. Calling to him…

He shook his head, laughing at himself before drinking.

They were calling to every man on the street, you dolt.

It certainly tempted him regardless. Thankfully, it was easy to follow Gord and Tiresias, as they merrily waved to the departing soldiers. They had a few hours to spare before the men would be done. So Gord asked for a tavern that served drink that didn't pass as horse piss. Tiresias was quick to point to a spot nearby.

And so here they sat with full mugs, laughing and drinking steadily in the warm evening. Well, also all of them. Tiresias sipped his ale slowly. He supposed that wasn't unusual. The librarian was always a moderate drinker.

What was unusual was his presence in King's Landing. He had been absent from Winterfell longer than usual. Normally his excursions for tomes would last a month at most. Anywhere farther would simply send a rider with the requested materials.

Granted, he had heard from Gord that this excursion would be the longest yet, but where had Tiresias been all this time? According to Vics, he merely departed through the western gate one early morning. He wasn't even riding a horse. The most recent bit of news put him coming from the Dreadfort, pursued by bandits. He went all the way to White Harbor to evade them…which didn't make sense…

Also, where were the tomes that he had collected? Perhaps he abandoned them in his flight, but still…being gone for a few months should have yielded several tomes and yet Tiresias didn't seem to have a single one on him. The five tomes that he brought from the Crown library this afternoon seemed to be the only ones he had collected.

Again, he asked; what had he been doing all this time?

He knew that his uncle didn't fully trust the librarian. Even though he spoke of him in polite terms. When Lord Stark divulged that Tiresias was going to be in King's Landing and instructed him to escort the man safely back to Winterfell, he finally asked his uncle his views on the whole affair.

Uncle Rodrik answered as fairly as he could.

"I don't know why Lord Stark trusts the man, Jory, or why he values him as highly as he does. I place no judgment on the man himself. I actually like him. In a way. But he's a mystery. And Lord Stark is privileged to that mystery. It's his right to keep it. If it were anyone else, I would question it further. However Lord Stark has never given me a reason to. In all my years of service. I trust Lord Stark. So I trust Tiresias. In a matter of speaking.

"So, I'll only say go down to King's Landing, Jory and swiftly. Deliver the coin. Find our librarian. Escort him safely back to Winterfell. If Lord Stark wishes to protect his mysteries, then that's what we'll do."

Tiresias seemed less like a mystery and more of a normal man as he sat drinking though. Jory felt his suspicions toward the librarian morph in mere curiosities. Such was the effect of comradery on a warm evening.

Or it could be the mead.

Jory tipped back his mug, finishing his second round. The others saw him and followed suit. Quickly they banged their empty mugs on the table as each one finished. Gord was the first.

"Fuckin' aye!" he cheered, laughing. He looked to Tiresias, who declined to partake, still sipping his half-full mug. "Oh piss off, mate! You won't get drunk with us? Not even after months of being gone?"

Tiresias grinned, setting his mug down gently. "Someone's got to remained clear-eyed when this evening's done. Who else is going to escort you assholes back to the Red Keep?"

Gord belched for a solid ten seconds before replying. "How hard could it be? You can see the damn castle from anywhere in this city. See, look…"

He put his arm around Tiresias' shoulder and pulled him close, pointing off into the distance.

"You see, right there…you set your course…and then you walk…stumble, we'll stumble our way back."

The tavern girl came to their table with a full pitcher. "Another, lads?" she asked.

The men pushed their empty mugs toward her for an answer. She filled them quickly and departed. Tiresias tapped Gord's arm.

"Mercy, Gord? For old time's sake?" he asked rather politely.

Gord pulled him closer. "The next time that lovely lass fills our mugs, yours will be empty and waiting like the rest of us. Agreed?"

Tiresias nodded. "Agreed."

After a brief consideration, Gord nodded. "All right. You're forgiven." He then kissed Tiresias on the forehead and released him. Jory exploded in laughter along with the rest of the table. Tiresias was no exception though he did give Gord a good punch in the arm.

"Ah come on, mate," said Gord laughing as he rubbed his arm. "That'll be the only loving I'll have until I get back to Winterfell. To Ginn. I'm a faithful husband after all."

"Glad to hear it," said Tiresias as he took a deep draught. He sighed after swallowing.

"What about you?" asked Gord, his eyebrows raising. Tiresias met his eyes evenly.

"What about me?"

"You a faithful man, Tiresias?"

Tiresias didn't deign to answer that, continuing to stare coolly at Gord, who finally shrugged.

"Fine, keep your secrets" said Gord, taking a drink, but losing none of his grin. "You just seemed to lead us rather confidently to that street with all the lovely ladies. Didn't he, Commander? Didn't he seem to know the way rather quickly?"

Jory smiled. "Aye, indeed, he did."

The laughter from the rest of the table grew. Finally Tiresias set his mug down.

"There's more to this city than whores, gentlemen," he replied. "There's history in these streets."

"There's history everywhere, Tiresias" said Jory. He shrugged. "Gods, there's more history in Winterfell than here."

"Maybe," murmured Tiresias, before leaning forward. "Point is; there's much more to see here. I've been here for a month and I've barely scratched the surface. I haven't had the time for the Street of Silk."

Gord clapped his hand on the librarian's back, nearly sending him into the table.

"I believe you, friend," he said rather loudly. The drink was beginning to get to him. "We all do," he said, gesturing to the table before whispering loudly enough for them all to hear.

"Mal will be pleased to hear that."

Tiresias ignored that last comment as he sipped his ale. "Besides," he said. "If I had visited the brothels in this city, I wouldn't have any coin left to gamble in the tourney. The poor bastards we left back there will have quite the comedown when they discover their empty purses. Everything is more expensive down here. Including the ladies of the night."

"So you'll be betting then?" asked Jory. The librarian always seemed to have the best luck with cards, though he didn't play much. No one could bluff the man. He wondered if the same held true with tourney bets.

"That's the plan," said Tiresias blithely. He let the silence sit before Gord elbowed him.

"Come on, you tight-lipped fucker, give us a hint."

Tiresias smiled. "What I do know? I'm just a foreigner. Besides, I've been stuck in the North with you lot all these years."

"You've also been here for a month," said Jory. One day, he'd asked just what the hell he was doing all that time. For now, he merely shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard things."

The librarian fell silent, his eyes losing all play. Jory recognized that look, though this was his first time seeing it up close. Tiresias always wore it when he spoke with Lord Stark. He could never place what the man was thinking. It just seemed…intuitive that he shouldn't be interrupted.

The rest of the table seemed to pick that up. Even Gord fell silent. For a minute, they waited until Tiresias looked up again.

"Lord Tywin Lannister has brought quite an entourage to this city," he said quietly. "He is very sure that his pride, Ser Jaime Lannister, will win the joust. He wants the glory of the Westerlands watching him as he does."

"So you're betting on Ser Jaime then?" asked Jory. He had seen the Kingslayer fight before on the Iron Islands. He never thought bloodshed could look so elegant.

Tiresias shook his head. "Ser Jaime may be the favorite. However, he's not my pick. Ser Loras Tyrell is riding in the joust as well."

Ser Loras…that name rung a bell in Jory's mind…a young man who squired for Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End. The mention of his name with Lord Renly inspired laughter in the house guard…

Gord laughed now, though for a different reason. "You believe the Knight of Flowers will unseat the youngest Kingsguard in history?"

Tiresias didn't return the laughter. "He's my pick. I'll get good odds from those who can't see past his pretty looks. Those who cannot see his skill."

There was such a sincerity behind his words that Jory sensed the whole table changing their minds on their gambling strategies. Their disbelief turning into a quiet reconsideration. Gord was certainly one of them. Drunk as he was becoming, he sobered briefly as he absorbed Tiresias' words.

After the man did have a talent for....well, he didn't exactly know what. But Tiresias had a way about it. And so it seemed that the men from Winterfell would place their coins tomorrow on the young knight from the Reach. Most of them at least.

"How much are you betting, Tiresias?" asked Gord.

"All of it," said Tiresias shortly.

The disbelief came back to the table as Jory lowered his mug. "All of what?" he asked.

"Everything that I've made in the past month in this city. Every coin I've collected that hasn't gone to the inn or my stomach."

"And how much is that?"

"Seventeen dragons and eight moons."

More than one of the men whistled. Gord leaned toward Tiresias. "Bit reckless, mate. Why the deep bet?"

"I need more coin. Need to buy something."

"More tomes? I'm sure if you asked the Lord Hand…"

"It's not tomes," muttered Tiresias, his eyes on his drink.

Jory felt his eyebrows furrow. "Well, what then?"

Tiresias shook his head. "I'll tell you when we leave."

Silence followed his words as the men exchanged looks. Jory kept his eyes on the librarian. Tiresias wasn't one for steep purchases. Whatever he had found in King's Landing, Jory only hoped it would fit in either of the wagons they had brought.

Tiresias looked about and grinned at the silent men. Jory knew that look too. He hoped it meant the bet was secure. The librarian raised his mug.

"To Ser Loras. May he make us coin we'll quickly lose."

The men raised them mugs and answered the toast. Jory drained his fast, lowering it to see that Tiresias had done the same. For the first time that evening, he answered their empty cups with his own.

The downside of Lord Stark remaining in Winterfell was that there was no access to the high stands for him and his men. Those seats were reserved for the highest of the highborn; the royal family, the Small Council, the Lords Paramount and the rest, whom Gord described as "the most delicate ass-lickers in the Seven Kingdoms."

However, after situating themselves, Jory saw the value in the area, to which he and his men were directed. They still had ale, they could leave to piss whenever they wanted. Plus, there were still members of the court surrounding them, with enough coin to gamble away to the barbaric Northerners. All his men made their bets and were watching the jousting field with a determined eye.

It seemed that half the court had their coin set on Ser Jaime Lannister to win. It certainly was the most expected outcome from what he heard. The Lord of the Westerlands seemed to believe so as well. The Northmen's area stood opposite the royal boxes and it afforded them a view of the court and all of its nonsense. Tiresias spoke truly. Lord Tywin Lannister had brought quite a retinue with him to be present for his son's victory.

The certainty in Ser Jaime's triumph allowed his men to place their coin on Ser Loras with excellent odds, on the word of Tiresias. Not all of his men, but at least half. Gord put all his coin down and Jory waged more than he usually would. If his uncle knew, he would certainly have words for him. However, Tiresias had a strange look in his eye when he spoke of Ser Loras. It was a look that made any other outcome seem ridiculous.

Early that morning, he went to the front gate of the Red Keep to escort the librarian to the tourney grounds. He couldn't help but be a little annoyed with Tiresias. It was foolish of him to remain in the Purple Rose in the city when he could stay in the castle. It was simply more convenient. When he asked him why, the librarian looked to the Red Keep and shrugged.

"It's too suffocating in this place," he replied.

Jory honestly had no idea how to respond to that and so they proceeded through the crowded Red Keep to their area in the stands. Tiresias wasted no time in placing his bet. He witnessed the librarian wage his entire purse on Ser Loras' victory. It was a bet that was taken quickly by some Lord Drax of Hornvale. With exceptional odds as expected.

The odds did indeed seem great at first. Many of his men exchanged worried looks when they saw Ser Loras for the first time. In his shining armor with roses and vines coursing along the metal. It looked more ready for posturing than jousting. Would he really wear such a thing to a battle? Jory sure couldn't see him leaping out of the boats in the Greyjoy Rebellion.

He turned to Tiresias and he wasn't the only one. "That's our man there? The winner of this joust?"

Tiresias nodded immediately. "Aye," he said calmly.

Gord shook his head. "You sure about that, Tiresias?"

"Aye." He didn't take his eye off the Knight of Flowers. "I know how he looks. He is pompous and he does enjoy his pretty things. But beneath all that, he's a skilled jouster."

With no other choice but to believe their bookish friend, they turned back to the action.

Ser Loras was parading around the jousting field with the other contestants. He waved to the stands, particularly to the other Tyrells, seated beneath their banner. Lord Mace waved enthusiastically back, pointing out his son to the other lords. An old woman in a wimple sat next to the Lord. Jory could see her eyes roll from across the field. And next to the unimpressed crone, sat a young and pretty lady around Lord Robb's age.

"Lady Margaery," muttered Tiresias to his side. He turned to see the librarian focused on the Tyrells as well. "Ser Loras' sister. That's their grandmother, Lady Olenna, beside her."

"A month in King's Landing and you know all the Southern highborns, eh?" teased Gord.

Tiresias smiled grimly, not taking his eyes off the stands. "Only a few. The ones that bothered to be known."

A hush fell across their section. Jory turned to see Ser Gregor Clegane riding in front of them, on the biggest horse he'd ever seen. Most of the jousters in the parade waved to the crowd, their favors blowing in the wind. The Mountain made no such gesture. He faced forward, cold to all, indifferent to the silence as he passed. Perhaps he reveled in it. Jory looked at his eyes and shuddered. There was no mercy in his eyes.

After the Mountain passed, Jory muttered to Tiresias.

"You got Ser Loras beating that?"

"It's not a brawl, Jory." The man's head turned, following the giant as he rode away. "There are rules here. Even that abomination needs to follow them to win."

Jory stared at Tiresias. There was an edge in the man's voice he hadn't heard before. And it went to his eyes too. He had the same look when the Clegane retinue passed them in the city. It gave Jory pause. It was common knowledge that Ser Gregor was a beast, but this was something more…

Why, Tiresias? Why do you stare at the Mountain so?

But before he could think of a response to that, the parade ended to a final rapturous applause from the audience. The first joust was lining up. It would be Ser Loras and Hosteen Frey to open the tourney.

The two stood in front of the King. Jory stared at the man. In the few years since the Rebellion, he seemed to have gained an absurd amount of weight. Although as he saw the King turn his cup topside, he supposed he couldn't be surprised.

Jory focused. Was that his first cup? Certainly didn't seem so. Not by the way he behaved. Finally King Robert looked to Ser Loras and Hosteen Frey, mounted before him, lanced and awaiting his signal. He raised his hand.

"Start the damn joust!" he shouted, his voice carrying to their section.

Jory sighed. If anything, His Majesty could still bellow. He heard it as they landed on Pyke. When he was still a warrior…

The two jousters bowed, as best they could in their saddles, and cantered off to their respective starting positions.

"All right, Tiresias," muttered Gord, leaning on the railing. He could hear the nerves in the man's voice. "Let's see your boy go."

Tiresias didn't respond. When Jory looked to him, the librarian was still focused on the royal stands. He nudged him.

"Tiresias, it's about to start."

The man took a beat before looking to Ser Loras. And just in time. The horns sounded and the two riders begin to canter toward each other. The crowd seemed to still as they neared, their horses gathering speed as the two lowered their lances.

Jory saw it though he wasn't sure if the others did. Ser Loras seemed to change before his eyes. The young man held his lance with surety, charging faster and faster without losing his grace. He switched his gaze to the Frey and instantly saw that this joust was over.

The two riders met a small way over the middle point with a solid hit. Only one. Frey's lance flew upward as Hosteen went flying off his steed, hitting the dirt as the crowd stood. Upon seeing the Frey stand and exit the field with a slight limp, the crowd burst into applause. Lord Mace was heard clearly, the proudest father in the stands at the moment.

The Knight of Flowers took a canter around the field, waving to the crowd, gathering cheers and more than a few cries from the ladies. He lifted his helm, so Jory and his men could see the bright smile from the young jouster.

"Charming fucker, isn't he?" murmured Gord as he applauded.

Tiresias nodded, clapping himself. "He is." He turned to the big man. "A good jouster, too, aye?"

"Aye," Gord admitted. "Assuming he rides well against a real opponent. That Frey was no horseman."

The librarian shrugged, his eyes back still on Ser Loras, who had paused before the royal box to bow again for the King.

"He'll knock them down as well." He turned to Gord and smiled. "Imagine Ginn's face when you bring home enough gold for the year."

"Aye, imagine her face if your pretty rose loses my gold for the year."

However, the tone was light, teasing. The first joust relieved quite a bit of pressure off his men. However, the tension remained and continued to mount throughout the day as contestant after contestant fell to the superior rider. Ser Loras rode again and again. With each victory, the excitement from his men only grew. Even those who didn't bet on the Knight of Flowers. The possibility for a big payoff was growing.

It wasn't only Ser Loras that made notable triumphs. Ser Gregor Clegane fell before midday to Ser Barristan Selmy. Jory swore that a collective sigh of relief ran throughout the field. The giant of a man stalked off the field, the crowd parting instantly for him. Ser Jaime Lannister rode so well that Jory began to regret putting his coin down for Ser Loras.

However that worry abated whenever he saw the young man ride. And based on the crowd, they began to sense it as well. The rest of the joust seemed superfluous as it was increasingly obvious to everyone who the final pairing will be to decide the champion.

Nevertheless, the tourney continued all day. They took turns fetching food and drink, never leaving their spot. Not that it was difficult. Most of these men would never see a tourney again. At least not one of this size. Jory was of the North. He understood Lord Stark's aversion to tourneys. He had it himself. However, he couldn't deny that he was…having fun. For the first time in a month and a half, there was no gold to transport, no librarian to find. His men were all in one place and the sight of grown men falling from their horses didn't get old as the day continued.

As the day passed though, he couldn't help but notice that Tiresias wasn't sharing in the comradery. Sure he wasn't a soldier, but he could still celebrate with his men. He did so when they drank in the city nights ago. Today…the librarian barely paid attention to the horses racing toward each, the riders falling to the dirt. His eyes were focused on the stands opposite them.

Not just the King either. He caught Tiresias staring at the Lannisters, the royal children, the Kingsguard, the Tyrells, the Baratheons, to faces he had no names for. He stared at these people consistently. When Jory asked him why, he simply shrugged, saying…

"It's the best show I've ever seen."

Jory looked to Gord, who heard it as well, standing on Tiresias' other side. The big man simply shrugged and turned back to the actual show, the joust. Jory shrugged it off as well. Tiresias was an amiable fellow with a few strange sayings. He was a foreigner after all.

And ultimately, his strange words didn't slow the day down. Before Jory knew it, the sky was red and orange as the sun prepared to go down. And just in time too, as it was time for the final joust.

To no one's surprise, Ser Loras and Ser Jaime rode out to greet the King, who managed a lazy wave to the two remaining competitors. They made their way to their starting positions. Ser Loras' armor didn't gleam so much as it did in the morning, as did Ser Jaime's Kingsguard uniform. Both of these men faced each other with fresh lances and shields, a luxury many of the riders couldn't afford.

Despite being the final joust, no one took a moment to remark on it. As soon as the riders were lanced and shielded, the horns blew and they began to charge, their trotting turning into a gallop.

"Time to see if we'll be rich men walking out of here," said Gord to his side as the horses neared.

Out of his periphery, he saw Tiresias shake his head. "Not this pass. They're too tired."

That was a good observation. Both Ser Loras and Ser Jaime struck, but neither had enough strength to force the rider from his saddle. The crowd applauded loudly as they rode back to their starting points.

"It will be the one who can hold onto their remaining strength the longest," said Tiresias quietly, under the cheering of the crowd. "I'd say it won't go any longer than the sixth pass."

"We're fucked then," said Gord. "When it comes to strength, Ser Jaime's got the lion's share."

Tiresias shook his head. "He used most of that strength to unseat Ser Barristan earlier."

Perhaps the librarian was right. The matchup between the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan was by far the longest joust of the day. It was nine passes between the two before Ser Barristan was finally downed and that was Ser Jaime's previous match. He hadn't enough time to rest. Ser Loras had the advantage of foes he could defeat more swiftly.

Quite a few of Jory's men and perhaps himself, were disappointed that the jousting contest was all in one day, with no time for the finalists to recover. It could make for a potentially boring last pairing. However, this jousting contest wasn't just to determine a rider's skill, but his endurance as well. A true champion would make no excuses as he charged his opponent.

That seemed to be the situation here. As the horns blared, both Ser Loras and Ser Jaime charged each other with all they had left. It wasn't their strength as it was at midday, but looking at the two riding now, there was no doubt in Jory's mind that the two best jousters had fought their way to the final.

Ser Loras' lance hit Ser Jaime's shield, but the Kingslayer's lance nicked Ser Loras' shoulder and threw the knight back in his saddle. The crowd stood and gasped, but Ser Loras' remained mounted. The two riders trotted back to their starts and made to charge again.

Jory turned to Tiresias. "Two passes down, four to go?"

Tiresias nodded. "At least." The librarian's eyes flicked again to the royal box, before returning to the field.

They remained at a stalemate for the next two passes. Both lances hit their shields and broke; Ser Jaime's on the third pass, Ser Loras' on the fourth. The crowd didn't seem to tire. Quite the opposite, their cheers grew with each pass. Eager to see a victor.

On the fifth pass, Ser Jaime thrust his lance forward a shade too early and Ser Loras took advantage. Deflecting the lance with his shield, he thrust his own lance quickly and sharply in Ser Jaime's left shoulder. The Kingslayer shot backwards, dropping his shield. It was a bloody miracle that he was able to stay in his saddle.

Jory heard gasps from the crowd and turned to the royal box to see the Queen tensing in her chair, staring after her twin brother.

He turned to his right to see Tiresias staring at the Queen as well. At this point, he wasn't surprised.

"Think we'll have a disappointed Queen soon?" he asked.

Tiresias shook his head slightly. "It's not over yet. I'll breathe easier once Ser Jaime hits the dirt."

Jory's eyes traveled to the other high boxes. The one right next to the king's had red and gold banners draped over it. The Queen's expression was shared by all those in this box. Including a tall and imposing man who stood at the front. And a dwarf who stood at the rails…

"Bet Lord Tywin regrets dragging the best of the Westerlands to watch his heir fall," he muttered to Tiresias. The librarian followed his eyes to find the Old Lion himself.

"Maybe," said Tiresias. "Though I'm sure Lord Tywin will find a way to make this trip bear fruit."

The horns blared and their eyes snapped back to the riders. Ser Jaime was holding another shield, but far too loosely, his lance not quite as steady…

Ser Loras, on the other hand, was charging forth, energizing by the last bout, his horse's hooves pounding against the earth. The crowd was silent now, waiting for the impact.

It ended quickly. Ser Loras slipped his lance under the shield, catching Ser Jaime in his center. Before the Kingsguard fell to the ground, the crowd erupted into applause, with the Tyrell box cheering for their young knight. The Queen had stood from her seat, but King Robert was laughing at the sight of his brother-in-law hitting the dirt.

Ser Loras had the decency to ride back past Ser Jaime and check him. However, Ser Jaime quickly got up and waved to the crowd, saluting the Knight of Flowers. Evidently there was no serious injury. Lord Tywin managed a polite applause before turning to exit the stands. However, no one else in the crowd noticed (well, except Tiresias probably). Ser Loras was now cantering around the jousting field, waving to all the spectators. Most were transfixed by the handsome knight.

Not his men though. Once Ser Jaime fell and they realized how much wealthier they were for it, they started cheering amongst themselves. Gord took Tiresias in his arms, spinning the man around. Quickly though they collected themselves and applauded the Tyrell champion as he trotted past. Ser Loras had received the Champion's Favor, an elegant crown of flowers, which he held high as he directed his horse toward his family's banners.

He came close enough so Lord Mace was able to reach over and pat his son on the shoulder. Ser Loras smiled appreciatively before continuing onto the young Lady Tyrell. He halted before her and handed over the Champion's Favor. When Margaery donned the flower crown, she offered her hand. Ser Loras took it as the herald exclaimed.

"Ser Loras of House Tyrell has crowned his sister, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, as this tourney's Queen of Love and Beauty!"

Applause followed as the two siblings turned and waved to their audience. Jory and the Northern men gave more than the polite amount of applause. After all, the polished young knight had made them all rich.

Not many expected it, from what he could see in the crowd. For every spectator cheering for the Knight of Flowers, there was another applauding with a frown on their face. A lost wager would do that. Not many foresaw the Tyrell boy triumphing.

Tiresias did though. Gods know how, but he did.

He turned to the librarian and his clapping hands slowed. With all focused on Loras and Margaery Tyrell, Tiresias stood still, his eyes again on the stands opposite. He followed his gaze to the royal box.

Lord Tyrell had been granted the honor of entering the royal box. He could see the man's chest puff up from here as he bowed and shook the King's hand. He then turned to the Queen, who offered him a hand to kiss. Her face was quite stiff.

"Doesn't look too happy, does she?" he remarked to Tiresias.

A grunt was his only response and he looked back up to see the King receiving another guest. An Essosi, if he had to guess, donned in bright cloth, his moustache waxed for the occasion. He bowed to the King as he presented a sheathed dagger…

A slap to the shoulder interrupted his gazing and he turned to see Gord behind him, his huge arms wrapped around him and Tiresias.

"Come on, men! Tonight, we celebrate. Tonight, we…"

"Tonight," said Jory, breaking away, trying to hide his own amusement. "Tonight, we prepare for the ride home."

Groans emanated from the men.

"All right, that's enough," he called. "Are you boys or men? We had our fun and we've made our coin. Now, we prepare to leave in the morning. Everything made ready. Then, and only then, will we drink. And lightly. I want us able to ride tomorrow."

The men acquiesced to this and began to exit the stands. Jory walked forward before realizing they were missing someone. He turned to see Tiresias still at the railing, still staring at the royal box.

He came up to the librarian. "Tiresias, you're all right?"

Tiresias nodded stiffly, his eyes still up. "Aye…aye, I'm fine."

He looked up to see the King exiting the box, white cloaks trailing him. Turning back to his friend, he clapped his shoulder.

"Come on, let's get our winnings. What say you?"

Tiresias turned and smiled. Jory paused. That smile seemed…rather set.

"Sounds good. Let's go."

Pivoting on his heel, Tiresias exited the stands and Jory followed, shaking the set smile out of his head. It was probably just shock. He had won a huge bet after all. Enough to give any man pause.