The second match of the afternoon saw the victory of a stormland knight. Cersei clapped as expected when truly, only one lance had been broken. Jaime would ride tomorrow, he had already won his two first bouts. He had been magnificent with his hair, golden like a crown, just like hers. He was a better knight than anyone riding today. Was he bored as she was? His competition was pitiful except maybe for Barristan Selmy.
But the man was old and soon he would bow to her brother and after his death, Jaime would be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard with a seat in the Small Council. With Pyrcell on her side, she would finally be able to influence the Small Council she thought dreamily. Varys was a coward, he would follow power and Littlefinger would obey her, he was barely more than a hedge knight. If he served her well, she would maybe grant him some lands.
She glanced at Robert. He was deep in his cup, his face flushed red. How could anyone call him a King with his fat belly? He was a drunk and a whoremonger. Thank the Gods, Joffrey was nothing like him, she made sure of that.
A little lower, she saw the Dornish party. She curled her lips, she didn't like them, always looking at her with contempt. The smiles of the Princess were particularly false. Cersei could have given her lessons on how to conceal her true emotions. She organized a delightful surprise for Arianne Martell. The next round would pit her husband against the Mountain. She was sure Doran Martell would thank her: everybody knew she had married the Tyrell boy against his will.
When the herault announced the next opponents, Cersei kept an eye on the Princess. Her eyes widened in surprise and she paled despite her dark skin. Cersei hadn't know it was possible for the Dornish. Satisfied, she asked a glass of wine to Lancel.
Robert, always intent on frustrating her, said, "What in the Seven Hells is that? Who thought it was a good idea?"
"It's a just coincidence. Sometimes, Blackwoods and Brackens face each other in the grounds when they shouldn't," she shrugged.
Robert didn't seem convinced, "If Clegane kills Garlan Tyrell, there will be hell to pay," he muttered darkly.
Cersei didn't care, Mace Tyrell was an oaf and Dorne had no allies. They would not dare to anger the Lannisters. If Garlan got maimed, it would be bad luck like, his brother.
The contestants took their place at each hand of the field. At the sound of the trumpet, the horses began to gallop. The Mountain's lance hit Garlan Tyrell's shield with such force he almost fall but he regained his balance quickly.
In the second round, Garlan Tyrell avoided the lance and aimed at Clegane's saddle to throw him off his horse without success. They broke two more lances, the Mountain using brute force to defeat the Tyrell. Unfortunately, he was strong and a talented horseman.
Arianne Martell sat on the edge of her chair, her hands gripping guard rail. Each time the lance hit her husband, she blanched more.
"He is good, really good. People rarely last long against the Mountain."
"He should concede before Clegane gets angry." What an humiliation for the fine flower of the Reach she thought.
"That's what a sensible man would do but I think he has a plan."
"What do you mean?"
"Gregor Clegane wins because of his strength whereas Garlan Tyrell relies on strength and skills. Their reaches are almost equals but there are others elements to take in consideration during a joust. You see Clegane's horse? It's tired, soon it will start foaming," said Robert, eyes fixed on the field.
"But he just have to change horses," she protested.
"He already have several times. There are not a lot of horses able to carry the Mountain and he is getting angry, he is pushing them harder and harder. If he has no more horses to ride, Garlan Tyrell just had to outlast him."
Robert might an idiot but he knew how to fight. Garlan Tyrell and the Mountain went back to their position for the fifth round. Cersei hoped Clegane would finally win, it was getting boring. Why was the Tyrell so stubborn? He just had to swallow his pride and loose.
The two knights kicked their mounts to a gallop. This time, Garlan Tyrell's lance struck Clegane's helmet, splitterring brutally. Under the schock, Gregor Clegane and his horse toppled to the side. The screams of the crown was deafening. Robert stood up, shouting along and clapping his meaty hands.
The Mountain tried to get on his feets despite his horse trapping one of his legs. He roared but Cersei could make out his words. The field swarmed with squires, most trying to help Gregor Clegane and dealing with his panicked mount, others leading Garlan Tyrell away.
She saw Arianne Martell halfway to the ground, her ladies-in-waiting behind her. Cersei rose with a gracious smile to applaud. She hadn't expected the Tyrell to be victorious. She knew Robert would not pass this opportunity to drink more, he would celebrate Arianne Martell's husband with a river of wine. She would have to deal with the Dornish at every turn.
The clamors of the crowd didn't seem to end. It began to give her an headache. She decided to excuse herself. Robert didn't even notice.
When she left the box, she passed Garlan Tyrell and his wife. His helmet had been removed and he was held up by two Dornish knights. She wished she could ignore them and continue on her way.
"My lord, you were magnificent. Your victory is going to be celebrated by everyone."
Arianne Martell's head jerked, "It's not the time for courtesies. He needs a maester right now! Get him out of his armor and put him to bed," she said to her followers.
Cersei didn't let her irritation show. "I will send Archmaester Pycell to look after him immediately. I hope your husband is not in danger."
One of the knights snorted,"Fighting the Mountain is danger."
"Daemon, stop. Go to the tent and take care of Garlan." Her voice was tense.
"We will, Your Grace," said the other knight. He was older, his face wrinkled like an old prune.
Worry didn't leave the Princess' face, "And be careful."
The older knight nodded and they started to slowly move their charge towards the pavillion of the Martells.
Arianne Martell turned to face Cersei, "Thank you Your Grace. We appreciate you help. Please send the Archmaester as soon as you can."
Cersei kept her false expression of concern, "Of course. I'm sure Lord Garlan will be fine." He didn't seem fine: his face was white, he could not stand straight and he had hissed in pain when Daemon Sand had touche his shoulder. It served him well for not bowing to the Mountain.
"I prefer to have the opinion of a maester. Gregor Clegane is a monster and if my husband is hurt, I will have his head," she spat.
Cersei didn't let her solicitude slip despite her anger at the chit. "Alas, wounds are a risk when you compete in a tourney, every knight know that," she said like if she was talking to a child. The girl needed a reminder of the realities of the world and a Queen was always gracious even with an impudent child.
The Dornish woman didn't reply, she fixed Cersei with hard eyes and turned on her heels.
