Artys Arryn POV
My gaze fixed on the area below. Two knights doing business the way it was supposed to be handled.
Man to man, sword to sword. Like real fucking men.
Jaime Lannister struck first, and he didn't bother making it look pretty.
He closed the distance in two strides and swung, a heavy overhand cut aimed to cave Loras's guard in before the boy had even finished settling his footing. Loras got his blade up in time, barely, and the force of it still drove him back a full step, his boots skidding in the dirt.
"That's a hell of an opener," I said, watching Loras shake the sting out of his sword arm.
Olenna said nothing, still fanning her old face lazily, as though the answer to whether her grandson would live through the next minute didn't much interest her.
"He's just finding his footing," Margaery said, a little too quickly.
"Is he?" I said. "Looked to me like he was finding the dirt."
Loras answered with a quick slash aimed at Jaime's exposed side, fast enough that half the crowd gasped, thinking it had landed.
It hadn't. Jaime simply wasn't there anymore.
He'd already stepped inside the swing, caught the blade on the flat of his own, and used the boy's own momentum to spin him half around. Before Loras could reset, Jaime's elbow caught him square across the jaw, hitting Loras Tyrell right in the face and throwing him staggering backward.
"Oh," Margaery said, one hand flying to her mouth.
"Ahh, the classic oathbreaker special," I said, chuckling. "Though I doubt anyone down there is complaining about knightly conduct right now."
Loras staggered, blood already welling at the corner of his mouth, and came back swinging out of pure stubbornness rather than any real plan.
Jaime let him close the distance, took the strike on his crossguard, and simply shoved him backward hard enough that Loras nearly lost his footing entirely.
"Your grandson fights well," I said, mostly for something to say. "Pity he's facing the Kingslayer and not some green knight from the Reach."
"He does. It will serve as a good lesson for the boy. Finally get him to his senses," Olenna said, though there was less conviction in it now than there had been a minute ago, her knuckles gone white around her fan.
"Loras has beaten better men than this," Margaery said, chin lifting.
"Has he beaten anyone who's actually killed a king with his own sword, though?" I asked. "That tends to change a man's fighting rather a lot, I'm told. Besides, Jaime is the equal of the likes of Ser Arthur Dayne."
"That name still carries more weight than many skilled knights here, even after the death of the man," I added. I mean, Ser Arthur Dayne is someone even I admire.
Neither of them answered that one.
Jaime pressed forward without giving the boy room to breathe. Two strikes, three, each one forcing Loras a step further back, until his shoulders were nearly against the low wooden barrier separating the lists from the stands. The crowd's noise had shifted from excitement to something closer to a held breath.
"He needs to create space," Margaery muttered, more to herself than to either of us, her composure finally starting to crack at the edges.
"There isn't any left to create," I pointed out. "He's got a fence at his back and a lion in front of him. Not exactly a lot of directions to run."
"He'll find a way," Margaery said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me. "He always does."
"Let's hope he does," I said, admiring her values.
But it seemed Jaime was in no mood for giving chances today. He feinted high, and when Loras's blade rose to meet it, Jaime dropped low instead and drove his shoulder into the boy's chest, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
"There it is," I said quietly.
Olenna's fan had stopped moving entirely now.
Loras scrambled back up fast, sword still in hand, blood and dust smeared across half his face, but the fight had already left his legs. He swung once more, wild and desperate, and Jaime simply stepped past it, caught the blade on his crossguard, twisted, and tore the sword clean out of the boy's grip.
It landed in the dirt a good six feet away.
"Well," I said, "that settles that, doesn't it?"
Loras stood there swaying, empty-handed, chest heaving, blood dripping steadily off his chin.
Jaime didn't press it further. He stepped back and let his own sword point drop toward the ground.
"Yield," he said, loud enough to carry across the whole arena.
Loras looked at his empty hands, then at the sword lying in the dirt well out of reach, and finally gave a small, exhausted nod.
"I yield."
The western stands erupted. The Reach and Dorne offered little beyond a smattering of polite, deflated applause.
Beside me, Margaery let out a slow breath, her face schooled back into something composed, though her eyes stayed fixed on her brother a moment longer than necessary as he was helped up.
"Well," I said, "that was rather more thorough than I expected."
"He held his own for a time. At least my grandson can fight and is ready to show his skills," Olenna said, snapping her fan back open with more force than the heat called for.
"He did," I agreed, ignoring the insult, watching Loras get walked off the field by two squires, one hand pressed to his jaw. "Held on right up until he didn't."
Below, Jaime was already being swarmed by well-wishers, soaking in the noise the way he always did, golden and untouched, not a scratch on him that I could see from up here.
I turned my gaze toward the royal box. Joffrey had gone very quiet.
"Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard wins the match against Ser Loras Tyrell, and wins the tourney as well, as Ser Gregor Clegane has opted out of the final."
The herald's announcement drew a mixed groan from a crowd that had clearly been hoping for the Mountain and the Kingslayer to finish the day properly.
"How convenient," I said, glancing toward the old man standing in the royal box.
Tywin Lannister. Lord of Casterly Rock.
He noticed me watching, as he always seemed to, and we traded a slow, polite nod across the whole width of the arena.
It was around then that a servant in green and gold slipped up beside Olenna's chair and murmured something into her ear, quiet enough that I only caught fragments of it over the noise of the crowd settling.
Lord Renly.
His compliments.
Tonight, if it pleases the lady.
Olenna's expression didn't change even slightly, which told me everything I needed to know. A woman who hid a reaction that well only bothered hiding it when there was something worth hiding.
Well.
There it is, then.
I felt something in my chest go quietly, efficiently cold.
At least now I won't need to act like a lovestruck fool who fell for Margaery's beauty, and all the bullshit flirting I'd have been doing isn't required anymore, I suppose.
Renly. Of course it was Renly. Young, handsome, harmless-looking, and easy enough for a clever old woman to bend around her own fingers while everyone assumed she was simply doting on her granddaughter's happiness.
Renly included, though for him they had to use Loras, not that he isn't enjoying late-night sword fights with Renly in bed.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I might go see my brother," Margaery said, already rising, clearly eager to put some distance between herself and whatever look must have crossed my face just then.
"Oh, of course. Your brother would need his sister's love, after all the ass-wiping Lannister gave him," I said, not bothering to hide the edge in it anymore. "Give him my greetings. Tell him he fought well, for a Tyrell."
"What?" Margaery's expression flickered, confused, and she glanced sideways at her grandmother for some explanation I clearly hadn't given her.
"I only mean he's the son of the mighty Mace Tyrell, after all," I said, letting the smile curdle at the edges. "Going toe to toe with Jaime Lannister in a melee should have been a huge point of pride for him. All those thousands of years of House Tyrell's history behind him."
The insult sat there plainly enough that even Margaery couldn't pretend not to hear it this time.
House Tyrell doesn't have any history unlike the others. They are not thousands of years old. They rose only a few centuries ago, when Aegon made them Lords of Highgarden simply to avoid having the Hightowers govern the Reach.
Whatever alliance I'd hoped to build here had been dead for weeks, probably since the moment Renly first started whispering pretty promises into Olenna's ear about crowns and futures.
A mad little plan, dressed up as ambition, cooked up by a woman clever enough to know better and still convinced that every man alive would do anything to get between a pretty girl's legs.
Renly included, though for him they had to use Loras, not that he isn't enjoying late-night sword fights with Renly in bed.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I must go speak with my father," I said, and left the two of them standing there without waiting for a reply.
Father and Stannis are close to figuring out the truth about the whore and her brother, and once that happens, the game begins. I need to form alliances and buy up favors before that happens.
POV ends.