Blood of Dragons

Outside Riverrun’s stout red walls, where the swift Tumblestone quarrels with the placid Red Fork before their union, a village of tents and pavilions had sprung up. No camp for war, this—rather a place of splendor and celebration, for Lord Kermit Tully had called a tourney to mark his five-and-sixtieth nameday. He might jest that he was a lad no longer, yet his vigor belied the years, and his grip upon the Riverlands was firm as ever. After near half a century as his liege, his bannermen came gladly to honor him—and to bask in the rare glow of royal attention.

For word had spread that His Grace himself would attend. Nearly three moons gone from court upon his progress, the king was roused from the Stone Hedge to Riverrun, arriving with great ceremony and splendour. The Tullys spared no expense in hosting him, their long halls and rich feasts recalling the hospitality denied them five years past.

But tongues wagged more over who sat beside the king than what lay upon the table. At his right hand throughout the festivities was none other than Lady Bethany Bracken, his newest paramour. The king, in one of his characteristic whims, had gone so far as to name Ser Torrence Toyne of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield for the duration of the progress, while Ser Peron Stone, his other white knight, remained ever at his own side. Just as public was his dismissal of the previous royal favorite, young Missy Blackwood, whom he had recalled from the royal city before setting forth. The slight had not gone unnoticed—House Blackwood sent only a token delegation to Riverrun and abstained entirely from the tilts, their absence remarked upon by all.

Still, the tourney itself shone. Six-score knights took the field beneath overcast skies, their banners snapping in the wind—reds, blues, and silvers gleaming alike beneath the gaze of king and lord. There were shattered lances, upsets to thrill the crowd, and more than one proud rider cast into the churned mud. When at last the dust settled, two remained: Ser Kyle Piper, the famed and laughing son of Pinkmaiden, and Ser Jorin Darry, Lord Kermit’s own grandson.

All wagers favored Redsmile, seasoned and sure—but fortune turned. On the fourth and final pass, Jorin’s lance struck true, and Piper tumbled from his saddle to a roar of applause. Victory went to Darry, and Riverrun’s stands shook with pride. Yet even triumph was prelude, for Lord Kermit had saved his greatest surprise for that moment. With the king’s wordless assent, he rose and declared the betrothal of his granddaughter, Lady Lysa Tully, to Ser Jon Hightower, eldest grandson of Oldtown’s mighty lord. A match of blood and power that would one day bind Riverlands and Reach alike.

The days that followed were filled with revelry: feasts that lasted deep into the night, dancing in torchlit halls, and even a pleasure cruise upon the confluence of the rivers. When at last the king, his mistress, and their glittering retinue took to the road once more—laden with gifts, praise, and the bounty of Riverrun’s larders—they departed well-sated, bound on the slow, stately road that would return them at length to the royal city.