Game of Thrones Iron Stark

The jousting began first. Knights thundered down the lists on armored horses, lances leveled, shields braced. It was spectacle more than skill—too much depended on the horse, the angle, pure luck. The real fights, the ones that proved who was best, would come later on the ground.

Archery and the team melee were still ahead.

The first real clash that mattered was Gregor Clegane against Victor.

The Mountain looked even bigger than usual. His warhorse seemed like a pony beneath him. His shield bore the three black dogs of House Clegane. Across from him, Victor sat steady in black plate, tiger helm under one arm, a black shield with a snarling tiger painted across it.

They charged.

The impact shook the stands. Lances shattered. They wheeled, took fresh lances, charged again. And again. Wood exploded in showers of splinters. Neither man gave an inch. Pure brute strength. No technique, just power.

Sansa grabbed Arya's arm. "That's Victor! Tony's Victor! The tiger shield—I knew I recognized it!"

Littlefinger leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Tony Stark's man? Interesting."

"If Victor's here, Tony's here," Sansa said, already scanning the crowd for him. She didn't find him. She sat back down, disappointed.

Renly smiled. "If he weren't already sworn to Tony, I'd make that one my own knight in a heartbeat."

Robert recognized Victor too. So did Ned. Robert had knighted the big man himself on the road north.

When the lances ran out and the horses were blowing hard, Robert stood.

"By royal decree—Victor wins!" he roared. Then he pointed at Gregor. "And you—get a horse that can actually carry you next time, you big bastard!"

Gregor Clegane said nothing. He turned his failing mount and rode off without a word.

Robert waved Victor closer. "Where the hell is Tony?"

"Jaime Lannister will ride soon, Your Grace. Lord Tyrion is at Lord Baelish's establishment. Lord Tony went to speak with Lord Stannis."

Littlefinger's smile didn't reach his eyes. Tyrion at one of his brothels? That tracked. But Tony seeking out Stannis? That was new.

Cersei turned to Catelyn with false sweetness. "Why would your clever nephew go running to my good-brother, Lady Stark?"

Catelyn kept her voice even. "I couldn't say, Your Grace. Shall I fetch Lord Tyrion? He might know."

"No need," Cersei said. "I'll wait for Jaime."

---

While the other knights took their turns—Barristan the Bold, Sandor Clegane, Loras Tyrell, Jaime Lannister—Tony sat in a plain courtyard across the city, facing Stannis Baratheon.

"I've read the Lord Commander's letter," Stannis said. His voice was flat, his face like carved stone. "If these White Walkers are real, dragonglass alone won't be enough. We'll need men. Robert won't believe any of it."

"It's real," Tony said. "I swear it on the Seven."

Stannis's mouth twitched. "Your family follows the old gods."

"I adapt," Tony answered. "When in Andal lands, I can kneel to the Seven. Or the Lord of Light, if that's what moves a man."

Stannis went very still at the mention of R'hllor.

Tony leaned back. "I don't worship any of them. I believe in results. I believe in Tony Stark."

"Pride is dangerous in Westeros," Stannis said. "Especially for a Stark."

"I have proof," Tony said simply. "Your daughter, Shireen. She has greyscale. I can cure it. Not just stop it—reverse it. Give her back her face. Let her walk in the light without shame. Find her a good match when she's older."

Stannis stared at him like he had grown a second head.

"Even the Lord of Light could not do that."

"I studied it at the Citadel," Tony said. "Deeply. It's more curse than disease, but curses can be broken. Or turned into weapons. Your choice."

For the first time, Stannis looked shaken.

---

The tourney reached the final four: Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Barristan Selmy, and Loras Tyrell.

Barristan faced the Hound first. Sandor was huge, fast, brutal. But Barristan was older, smarter. At the last second he shifted his shield and lance, caught Sandor perfectly, and dumped the bigger man in the dirt. The crowd roared for the old knight.

Jaime faced Loras. The Knight of Flowers looked off his game—tired, distracted. Jaime took him cleanly. A few people in the stands laughed and glanced at Renly.

"Why are they laughing?" Arya asked.

Littlefinger smirked. "The Knight of Flowers has been riding dry land instead of sailing the river lately."

Sansa's face went bright red. She understood exactly what that meant.

The final came down to Jaime Lannister against Barristan Selmy.

Two Kingsguard. One the legendary old hero, one the infamous Kingslayer.

They thundered toward each other.

At the last moment Jaime stood in his stirrups, pushed off his horse, and launched himself through the air. His lance took Barristan square in the chest. Both men went down—but Jaime twisted mid-fall, landed on his own horse as it thundered past, and stayed in the saddle.

The stands exploded.

"Jaime! Jaime!" Cersei screamed, on her feet.

Myrcella and Tommen shouted with her. Even Joffrey was yelling.

"Seven Kingdoms' greatest knight—Jaime Lannister!"

Robert looked like he had swallowed something sour. Ned's face was stone.

But the king still raised his hand.

"Champion of the tourney," Robert announced, voice flat. "Jaime Lannister."

Jaime pulled off his helm, golden hair bright with sweat, and raised his sword to the crowd.

In the lower stands, Sansa was still searching for any sign of Tony.

She didn't see him.

But she knew he was close.