Tyrion

Tyrion, for one, was happy to finally be done with all the official Small Council business with the frigid Lady Stark and could finally get lit. He knew Renly's Dragonpit Tourney was a show of force, but why care? Renly seemed likely to win on the morrow anyway, especially if he was conferring with the Young Wolf or the Red Viper.

He took a seat with other high-born lords and told his squire to bring a wineskin. Tyrion promptly started downing gulps of wine and volunteers took to the Dragonpit and began beating each other senseless. On the exact opposite end of the pit, the three Kings and one Queen were sitting watching the melee. From all the way over here, Tyrion could see Renly smirk like a seagull, Stannis grimace like trout, and Robb Stark itch to grab his sword and jump into the pit. Maybe he was just imagining it.

Renly stood up and raised his hands for quiet after the first six fighters had riled the crowd up enough, "I hardly think I need any introduction. But I am King Renly the First. I called this surprise Tourney to showcase my Rainbow Guard for those who doubted their legendary prowess. I present to you Ser Robar the Red, of House Royce!"

Ser Robar wore a suit of armor plated with polished bronze. The polishing job did little to hide the nicks and scratches in the armor, but it made Ser Robar that much more formidable. In his Baratheon helm that hid most of his face, Ser Robar shouted, "Who will challenge me?" Tyrion could make out the bizarre bind rune carved in the face plate.

A man in dark armor with the flaming heart of the Lord of Light on his doublet jumped into the pit and drew his sword. Ser Robar shouted, "And who are you?"

Tyrion was buzzed enough by now that he was tempted to sing the rest of that godawful song his father inspired.

"Ser Dorden," the knight responded.

"The Dour Knight? Would that I had a challenging opponent…"

Ser Dorden charged at Ser Robar. The two danced the knightly way for fifteen minutes before Ser Robar proved his rune-riddled armor did indeed protect him and Ser Dorden yielded to his sword. Ser Robar ran a victory lap around the Dragonpit and was cheered by highborns and smallfolk alike.

King Renly stood and called Ser Robar back. He held up his hands for silence and introduced, "Lord Bryce the Orange, of House Caron!"

Bryce the Orange defeated some Crownland's knight from Crackclaw Point. Ser Emmon the Yellow of House Cuy came after him and beat another of those fire-worshippers to bloody pieces. This one was a little braver, prouder, or stupider than Ser Dorden the Dour. Ser Emmon killed him before Ser Guyard the Green of House Morrigen took the field and challenged a Northlord or a Dornishman. Renly already proved his knights could beat Stannis' knights, now he wanted to be Robb and Myrcella's swords.

Midway between Ser Guyard sheathing his sword in a Riverlord's thigh, Tyrion began to wonder if he should've kept count of how many drinks he'd been taking. Also, the Red Viper walked over and asked, "the Lord of Casterly Rock if I may take a seat next to him?"

Tyrion nodded as best he could, "Come sit, Prince of Dorne."

The Red Viper did and they watched Ser Guyard the Green dance around the Dragonpit for a few minutes before Brienne the Blue of House Tarth was introduced and she spent the next ten minutes demanding a challenger. Finally, a knight wearing white armor jumped into the pit and brandished his sword. Tyrion looked over and saw it was the Kingsguard sworn to Myrcella, Ser Arys Oakheart.

"Isn't that your white knight?" Tyrion asked.

Ser Arys' chivalric impulses began to clash. He knew he had to put his all into the fight as an honorable warrior, he also knew he needed to respect and defend women. Luckily enough, Brienne proved she could defend herself. She brandished a shield with the quartered suns and moons of Tarth. She didn't carry a sword, but a morning star that managed to convince Ser Arys that he either needed to defend himself more vigorously, or accept the dishonor of being beaten by a woman in combat in front of half of the city.

"Indeed, Ser Arys is integral to our plan to enthrone the Queen."

Even drunk, Tyrion could tell the Red Viper was bluffing. But he was here for a reason, "May I offer you some wine?"

As Brienne the Blue struck a blow across Ser Arys' helm, he flew back and struggled to find his feet, "Please."

Tyrion poured the Prince a glass of Arbor gold. Ser Arys had vastly underestimated the Lady of Tarth and had lost far too much ground. She brought him to a level where he could not find his feet until she dug out a dagger and he screamed, "Yield!"

"Your white knight doesn't seem so formidable. Gods forbid an army warmongering whores should try to kidnap Queen Myrcella." Tyrion laughed while pouring himself another glass.

"Ser Arys is a fine knight. Thankfully you and your friend Lady Catelyn have replaced wars with elections so Ser Arys' sword is much less useful in that regard." Oberyn Martell was pacing himself. No doubt he wanted more wits about than Tyrion cared to have at the moment.

"And if that army of whores should attack the Queen and Ser Arys should fail against women once more, what then?"

"Your niece has become quite taken with Dornish fables and foods. Perhaps she may want a few more Dornish guards. Ser Arys, for all his finery, is still a Reachlord."

King Renly stood and called out Ser Parmen the Purple of House Crane. Ser Parmen's purple armor was almost black which was a nice contrast when another of Stannis' fire-worshipers took the field with the battlecry, "For the night is dark and full of terrors!"

"But will Renly's Knight be darker and more terrible?" Oberyn laughed and Tyrion followed. Sure enough, Ser Parmen was terrible and the fire-worshiper yielded just before the Reach Knight took his head off.

"I'm afraid Myrcella will not last long in the running if the situation continues like this. If the Valelords arrive and switch to Renly, and as the Riverlords become more pious, Renly will win. How long do you think it will take before the West can declare?"

"I believe my uncle will arrive soon with the oaths from the Westerlords."

"And will the Lord of Casterly Rock cast his support for his niece?"

"Of course."

King Renly stood and announced the crown jewel in his Rainbow Guard, "Lord Commander Ser Loras Tyrell!"

The Knight of Flowers looked as colorful as ever, with a doublet ringed in a mandala of flowers. His shield was a triplet of gold roses on the green field of Tyrell. His armor, probably second in expense only to Jaime's, was intricate and all enclosing. Only the most magic of weapons could find kinks and spaces between the joints. Tyrion began to question how the Knight of Pansies could move at all.

He raised his sword and shield and shouted, "Who will face me?"

Without hesitation, an unmistakable voice rose from the crowd and declared, "I will!" and like a beast out of one of the First Men mythos, the Greatjon Umber stood with a flagon of ale and a hammer in the other. It took Tyrion a minute to make out the inscription on the side of the hammerhead, "Ours is the Fury." Well if anyone was going to carry Robert Baratheon's warhammer, it should be the Greatjon.

The Lord of Last Hearth jumped into the pit and Tyrion could swear he felt the ground shake beneath his feet. The giant raised the flagon first and downed what was left of the ale, threw the container down, and then raised the hammer high over his shoulder, "Come at me, lad."

Ser Loras leapt forward, sword brandished, and struck at the Greatjon's right. The giant of Last Hearth was far more graceful than Tyrion ever considered he might be. He dodged one blow after another. Even when Ser Loras did land a successful strike, he simply cut through wool to the mail. When Ser Loras finally did strike hard enough to break the mail, there was boiled leather.

The Greatjon swung the hammer and took off the top corner of Ser Loras' shield. The Knight whirled, his rainbow cape flying, followed by the sharp long sword. The blade met the hammer. The Greatjon brought Ser Loras' sword to the ground and he charged forward, knocking the Knight of Flowers off his feet. As the Greatjon brought the hammer high to end the duel, the Lord Commander rolled out of the way, picked up his sword and struck at the Greatjon's thighs. Tyrion could see a trickle of blood, but he doubted the drunken Lord of Last Hearth felt it.

Tyrion hoped Ser Loras felt good about that strike. Because the Greatjon brought the hammer around and recreated the Battle of the Trident. He didn't quite swing it as hard as Robert did when thinking of Lyanna, but he caught Ser Loras at just the right moment to send him flying half way across the Dragonpit. The Greatjon the hammer above his head and shouted with all the strength of Last Hearth, Robert Baratheon, and a flagon (or four) of ale, "King in the North! King in the North!"

"So that's what we'll do. Cast our strength for Myrcella, ally with Robb Stark, and when we can edge Renly out, switch over to the King in the North."

Oh shit, did I say that out loud?

Instead, the Red Viper poured himself another glass of Arbor gold, "That sounds like a plan."