All eyes fixed upon the unfolding spectacle.
A hundred Six-Pointed Star cloaks emerged from the Kingsguard ranks, extending their hands to press against Highgarden's ancient walls and time-worn stones.
Most observers remained utterly bewildered by this display.
Margaery harbored suspicions, however. She twisted gracefully within Joffrey's embrace to gaze back at him. "Your Grace, is this to be a demonstration of that magical power?"
"Far more than mere demonstration."
Joffrey leaned close to whisper in her ear.
The maiden carried the faint fragrance of roses mingled with another unique, indescribable sweetness—similar to yet distinct from the scents of Jeyne, Sansa, and Daenerys.
"You shall understand when you witness it."
Though sunlight blazed overhead, the girl before him felt cool to the touch, making him desire to draw even closer.
And so he did precisely that.
With a protective embrace, he gathered the petite maiden more fully into his arms, as if shielding her beneath his protection.
The Queen of Thorns cast a sharp glance from nearby, and Joffrey found himself urging his mount forward several steps to escape that uncomfortable scrutiny.
The warlocks began channeling their energies in unison.
BOOM~
A low, thrumming vibration rose from the earth itself, as if molten rock prepared to erupt from deep caverns, as if thousands of cavalry charged toward them in perfect formation.
The assembled crowd murmured uneasily, sensing forces beyond their understanding.
"Prepare to advance!" Kingsguard Commander Ser Jacelyn Bywater—called "Ironhand"—issued his orders with battlefield authority.
The Kingsguard awaiting outside the city moved with practiced precision in squares of ten, eventually forming a great rectangle—two squares abreast and seven deep.
Another hundred remained near the baggage carts at the formation's edge, not joining the main body.
Observant watchers quickly noted something amiss.
Twenty men across made the formation far wider than Highgarden's gate—how could they possibly pass through?
Ironhand seemed oblivious to this impossibility, offering no change in orders or pace, instead bellowing sternly: "Forward—march!"
Fourteen squares stepped off as one.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
The audience gasped in amazement.
Never had they witnessed such magnificent drill. None could remain unmoved by such precise, unified, and spirited bearing.
Noble ladies ignorant of military arts watched with pure delight, finding the display at least pleasing to behold.
Knights and lords versed in warfare stood far more shocked. They understood that if an army could maintain such rigid discipline and formation in actual battle—whether attacking or defending—it would prove utterly invincible against forces of equal size.
Could such precision translate to combat?
Studying the expressions and bearing of these soldiers, none believed this mere pageantry.
Some lords maintained elite household guards, keeping them close and training them rigorously, yet neither in numbers nor ability did they approach the army before them.
Moreover, this "Kingsguard" represented but a fraction of the total—tens of thousands strong, by all accounts.
Many secretly acknowledged that even if the king's power consisted solely of these forces, it would likely suffice to defend the Iron Throne's majesty and compel the Seven Kingdoms' submission.
Every gaze followed the advancing Kingsguard toward Highgarden's walls.
Closer and closer they marched.
They're going to crash into the stones!
Anxiety seized many faces as they watched the foremost square neither halt nor slow, desperately wanting to cry out warnings.
CRACK~
After one sharp sound of splitting stone, silence fell complete.
Every expression turned slack with disbelief.
Margaery covered her lips and gasped in wonder, her wide eyes blinking rapidly, filled with amazement and curiosity.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
The two leading Kingsguard squares marched steadily through the city wall that yielded before them, entering Highgarden proper.
The Queen of Thorns grew grave, unconsciously pressing wrinkles deep into her ancient face. She leaned heavily upon her walking stick, staring intently at the impossible changes wrought upon her ancestral seat.
The opened gate had inexplicably widened beyond all reason, its heavy oaken doors sliding apart along with the solid walls themselves, making the gap ever broader and higher.
Seeing reactions around her, the Queen of Thorns understood her eyes spoke truth.
This is real!
Lady Olenna looked upward—the gatehouse above had shifted entirely to one side, leaving empty sky where stone had stood.
The wall had become open space entire.
How wide? Broad enough for dozens—nay, hundreds—to pour into Highgarden simultaneously. No boiling oil could reach so far, no catapults strike so close, no arrows possess power to eliminate every foe.
How deep? The breach extended straight from the Kingsroad outside Highgarden to its very heart—a single charge could shatter any defense.
And it continued lengthening...
Margaery shook Joffrey's arm, pouting with theatrical grief. "The gardens are ruined, and those bare steps look dreadful."
The warlocks continued their work inward from the gate's breach, transforming the plant maze into stone steps.
Joffrey smiled gently. "Fear not—once we tour Highgarden properly, I shall have them restore everything precisely as it was. Nothing shall remain changed."
Margaery merely sighed at him, her emotions utterly transparent.
Joffrey affectionately ruffled the maiden's hair, then pointed skyward. "Do not despair—another surprise awaits you. Look to the heavens now."
Margaery leaned against his shoulder and raised her gaze.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A series of explosions thundered from behind as white shapes traced arcing paths into the sky.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
The charges burst into brilliant fireworks of red, gold, black, and emerald above Highgarden, clearly visible even in broad daylight.
Margaery whispered softly: "How beautiful."
Using artillery as foundation and adding prepared light magic, any pattern could be conjured with ease.
Joffrey found himself equally entranced by the pyrotechnic feast.
DONG!
This burst formed a scarlet multi-ring, inscribed with complex and mystical runic spells.
DONG! DONG!
A black stag gently nuzzled a golden rose.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
A golden sword pierced a crimson meteor falling to verdant earth.
DONG...
The sounds reverberated across the countryside while light illuminated the land.
All throughout Highgarden could enjoy this unprecedented spectacle.
Yet hearts held different emotions.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Along the ever-extending steps, the Kingsguard advanced until reaching the ancient tower at Highgarden's very heart before finally halting.
The artillery barrage ceased at last.
Silence and wonder stretched long moments.
Joffrey guided his mount toward the Queen of Thorns. "Your honor guard pleased me greatly. I wonder if you found satisfaction in the surprise I offered, Lady Olenna?"
Olenna Tyrell sighed with profound weariness. "Satisfied? How could I feel otherwise at such a unique and moving display?"
"Your Grace has taken great trouble."
Joffrey drew the girl closer in his arms. "For my beloved queen, any effort proves worthwhile."
"Margaery," he rested his chin upon her shoulder, "bid farewell to your grandmother, then guide me through Highgarden's wonders."
Margaery winked at her grandmother. "Do not worry—we shall both be safe."
Lady Olenna nodded with emotion heavy as lead.
Joffrey spurred his destrier forward, entering Highgarden along the conjured steps, gradually disappearing into the garden's depths...