Sansa remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winterfell two years before. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's-head helm and a golden sword. The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as freshfallen snow. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. 'It is better than the songs,' she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them.

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