The whole ox turned slowly on the iron spit, fat dripping and filling the night air along the riverbank with rich, mouthwatering smoke.
Long tables stood outside the tents, piled high with steaming bread. The scent of spiced red wine mixed with the hot loaves, making everyone's mouth water.
Joffrey sat a few seats down from Robert, trading easy words with Sansa while his eyes kept drifting toward her father.
Halfway through the meal, Lord Eddard stood up and walked straight over to the knights' tables. He didn't even try to hide it. Anyone paying attention could see exactly what he was after.
"Your Grace, who do you think will win tomorrow?" Sansa asked softly, her blue eyes bright from the wine and firelight.
"Hard to say," Joffrey answered, taking a sip. "Tomorrow's going to get bloody."
Barristan the Bold had been knocked out in the quarterfinals, and most of the other strong contenders had already fallen. Of the four men left for the finals, three were tied to the Lannisters: the Clegane brothers and the Kingslayer.
Joffrey scooped up a garlic-butter snail and fed it to Sansa. "The Hound hates his brother with a passion."
In a corner by the river, the Mountain took up an entire table by himself, pounding tankard after tankard of ale while a mountain of stripped bones grew in front of him.
Sandor had asked Joffrey for leave earlier and gone straight back to the Red Keep. He was probably still drilling in the training yard right now.
"As for my uncle…" Joffrey glanced the other way. "A lot of people are betting on him too."
Jaime stood surrounded by red-cloaked Lannister men, laughing as he bragged about today's bouts. Farther off, Lord Tywin sat in the shadows, the candlelight carving hard lines across his face.
Jaime's name was famous, but he still didn't have a single outright tourney win. Years ago in Lannisport he had only tied with Jorah Mormont.
The one outsider in the final four was the man who had beaten Barristan: the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell of Highgarden. Young, but already more experienced than most veterans because of all the time he spent traveling the realm.
A late breeze rolled off the Blackwater, carrying faint shouts from the distant camp.
Eddard had finally found Ser Hugh. The young knight stood there clutching half a loaf of bread, looking awkward as hell. It was clearly their first real conversation.
"Looks like even Eddard gets procrastination," Joffrey thought, shaking his head.
He had warned the Hand about Ser Hugh back at the Tower of the Hand. Yet Eddard had waited until the night of the tourney to actually talk to the man.
No guessing needed on what they were discussing: whether Lord Jon had acted strange before he died, who he had met with, whether Lady Lysa's behavior had been off.
Joffrey wasn't worried. Ser Hugh was just a lowly squire. He had never been in the inner circle. Anything he did know would probably hurt Lysa more than anyone else. That very ignorance was the only reason he was still standing here alive.
Cersei played by the rule "better to kill the wrong man than let the right one live."
Because Joffrey had pushed the poisoning forward, she still had no idea what Jon Arryn had actually been investigating. Ordering Pycelle to withhold treatment had simply been her way of quietly removing a possible threat.
Night deepened. The king, now very drunk, started rambling.
"I'm fighting tomorrow, and the day after that too!" Robert thumped his chest. "Hell, I'll fight every damn day!"
Renly stepped up with a grin and refilled his brother's cup.
"Yes, yes, big brother. You'll fight every day… and you'll take every crown so the rest of us get nothing."
Robert laughed and bumped him hard. "You just stay right behind me in the trial of seven. I'm leading the team myself!"
Cersei sat quietly through the whole thing, eating in silence. She didn't poke at Robert once.
Lord Tywin was still there. The old lion had a sick need to control everything. A high-risk, low-certainty move like "accidentally kill Robert during the melee" was not something he would approve lightly. Even Cersei didn't dare go behind her father's back. She simply kept her mouth shut and waited.
…
The next morning, long before first light, Robert's tent was already chaos.
Joffrey's two young cousins were fumbling to strap the king into his armor.
"Your Grace, the breastplate is too small," one of them said, trying to sound polite.
The other boy's hand slipped. A gorget clanged loudly to the ground.
"Seven hells!" Robert roared. "You two are useless!"
He turned to Joffrey. "Little Joff, can your mother send me some actual Lannister brains? Stop filling my tent with these pig-headed idiots."
Pale dawn light slipped through the tent flap as Eddard and Ser Barristan stepped inside.
Eddard looked at the sweating squires and delivered a rare dry joke. "It's not their fault, Your Grace. You're simply too fat to fit."
Robert's face went dark. "Too fat? Yeah… too fat."
He ground his teeth. "Is that how you speak to your king, Stark?"
Then he turned back to Joffrey. "Little Joff, am I fat?"
Joffrey nodded without hesitation.
The two teenage squires froze in terror.
Suddenly Robert exploded with laughter, loud enough to shake the tent poles. "Fuck you both! Can't you say something nice when other people are around?"
He gave each squire a fake kick. "You heard the man—the king is too fat. Go find the captain of the guard and get me a chest-expander clamp."
The boys scrambled out of the tent to hunt for a tool that didn't exist.
The three men chuckled.
The laughter died the instant Robert's face turned serious again. He glared at all three of them. "What the hell are you still standing here for? Spit it out!"
They looked at one another. Eddard spoke first. "Your Grace, it is not fitting for the king to compete in the melee himself."
"Gods damn it, not this again," Robert growled. "You two here to tell me the same shit?"
Joffrey and Barristan both nodded.
Robert waved an irritated hand. "I just want to hit some people! Why do you bastards keep stopping me?"
"Because it would make the contest unfair," Ser Barristan said gravely. "Who on the field would dare strike you in earnest?"
Robert took a long pull of wine. "I don't care who it is! If they can actually touch me, then I'll—"
"Stand until the very end," Eddard finished calmly, repeating Renly's jab from the night before. "And they will deliberately miss so you win."
Robert's face flushed crimson. He clearly hadn't thought of that. "They'll let me win? Those cowards don't get to let me do anything!" He paced like a caged boar. "I can't even have a proper fight? What kind of king is that?"
He stopped suddenly and stabbed a thick finger at the tent flap. "Out. All of you. Get out."
Barristan and Eddard bowed and left. Joffrey lingered on purpose.
"Ned, you stay. I need a word with you." Robert added, "Little Joff, you get out too."
Joffrey walked back down to the riverbank in silence and started on breakfast.
Damn. This was the price of not having full Heaven's Will Points yet.
He couldn't even eavesdrop on the important conversation.