Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web.

Sorry, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's been getting worse these past two days. I can't write much. Please bear with me. I'll make up for it as soon as possible in the next few days. Thank you.

"Didn't I tell you?" the Hound said. "It's just gnats fighting."

The King was growing bored. Sansa tensed and lowered her eyes, resolving to remain silent no matter what happened. When Joffrey Baratheon was in a foul mood, any careless word could enrage him.

"Rosso Brunn, a free rider in the service of Lord Baelish!" the herald shouted. "Ser Dontos Hollard, the Red Knight of House Hollard!"

The free rider appeared immediately on the west side of the lists, a small man in battered armor, devoid of any ornamentation, but his opponent was nowhere to be seen. After a while, a chestnut courser finally trotted out, a length of scarlet silk fluttering in the wind, but Ser Dontos was not upon it. After another moment, Ser Dontos himself stumbled into the yard, cursing as he chased after his horse, naked save for his breastplate and plumed helm. His legs were white and scrawny, his manhood swinging obscenely. Boos rose at once from the stands. Ser Dontos grabbed the horse's reins and tried to mount, but the horse would not stand still, and the knight was so drunk that his bare feet could not find the stirrups.

By now, the audience was roaring with laughter… all save the king. Joffrey wore the same look he had worn the day he had pronounced sentence on Lord Eddard Stark before the Great Sept of Baelor. Below, the Red Knight, Ser Dontos, finally gave up, and sat down hard in the mud, pulling off his plumed helm. "I yield!" he shouted. "Give me some wine!"

The King rose suddenly. "Fetch a butt from the cellars! I want to see him drown in it."

Sansa gasped. "No! You mustn't!"

Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"

Sansa could scarcely believe what she had just said. Was she mad? To say 'no' to him in front of the entire court? She had not meant to speak, but… though Ser Dontos was drunk and stupid and useless, he meant no harm.

"You said 'mustn't'? Is that what you said?"

"I…" Sansa said, "I just think… if you kill a man on your name day… it will bring bad luck, Your Grace."

"You lie," Joffrey said. "Since you care for him so much, I'll have you both drowned together!"

"It's not him I care about, Your Grace," the words burst from her desperately. "You can drown him or behead him, but… if you must kill, please, kill him tomorrow… not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear to see you bring bad luck on yourself… even a king would have bad luck for that… the singers say…"

Joffrey frowned. She could see that he knew she was lying, and knew that she would suffer for it.

"The girl speaks truly," the Hound said gruffly. "It is said that what is sown on the name day is reaped all through the year." His tone was indifferent, as if he did not care whether the king believed it or not. Was it true? Sansa had never heard it; she had only said the first thing that had come into her head, to ward off punishment.

Joffrey shifted uncomfortably on his chair, and waved a hand at Ser Dontos. "Take him away! I'll kill him tomorrow, the fool."

"He is a fool, truly," Sansa said. "You are so wise and clever, Your Grace, to see it. Such a fool should be made a fool, not a knight, shouldn't he? You should dress him in motley and make him jape for you. He does not deserve a clean death."

The King studied her for a long moment. "Perhaps you are not so stupid as my mother says." He raised his voice. "Dontos, did you hear the lady? From this day forth, you are my new fool. You may trade your armor for motley, and sleep with Moon Boy."

Ser Dontos, who had just escaped death, was suddenly sober. He scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady, thank you."

Two Lannister guardsmen escorted him away, and the master of ceremonies came into the royal box. "Your Grace," he asked, "shall I summon a new opponent for Ser Bronn, or shall we proceed to the next set of contestants?"

"None of them. These are gnats, not knights. If it were not my name day, I would have them all put to death. The tourney is ended. Have them all removed from my sight!"

The master of ceremonies bowed and withdrew, but Tommen was not so easily appeased. "I was going to tilt against the straw man!"

"Another day."

"But I want to!"

"I don't care what you want."

"Mother said I could!"

"She did," Princess Myrcella agreed.

"'Mother said,'" the King mimicked. "Don't be a baby!"

"We are babies," Myrcella declared stoutly. "We're supposed to be babyish."

The Hound laughed. "You'll not win that argument."

Joffrey conceded. "Very well. At least my brother cannot be worse than those others. Bring out the quintain. Tommen is impatient to be a gnat."

Tommen gave a cry of delight and waddled off to get into his armor. "Good fortune to you!" Sansa called after him.

So they set up a quintain at the other end of the yard, and saddled the prince's pony. Tommen's opponent was a leather warrior, child-high, stuffed with straw, that stood on a swivel, with a shield in one hand and a padded mace in the other. Someone had even tied a pair of antlers to the dummy's head. Sansa remembered that Joffrey's father, the late King Robert, had worn antlers on his helm… as had Joffrey's uncle Renly, Robert's younger brother, now a traitor who styled himself a king.

Two squires helped the prince into his ornate little suit of silver-and-red armor, with its great spray of red feathers atop the helm, and a shield where the roaring lion of Lannister and the crowned stag of Baratheon frolicked face to face. They boosted him onto his pony, and Ser Aron Santagar, the master-at-arms of the Red Keep, came forward to present Tommen with a blunted silvered longsword, leaf-shaped, the grip made especially for the hand of an eight-year-old boy.

Tommen raised the sword high. "Long live Casterly Rock!" he shouted in a piping voice, and kicked his heels into the pony's side, and went trotting across the hard-packed earth toward the quintain. Lady Tanda Stokeworth and Lord Gyles Rosby gave a desultory cheer, which Sansa joined. The King remained sullen.

Tommen urged the pony faster, and bravely swung his longsword as he passed the dummy, striking the quintain's shield a solid blow. The quintain spun around, and the padded mace swung back to smack the prince hard on the back of the head. Tommen flew off the pony and landed heavily, his new armor clattering like a sack of old pots. He dropped his sword, and the pony bolted, running off across the yard. Laughter rose all around, loudest and longest from King Joffrey.

Warm reminder: The website is about to be revised, which may cause the loss of reading progress. Please save "Bookshelf" and "Reading Records" in time (it is recommended to save screenshots). We apologize for the inconvenience!