Outside the more than a hundred tents erected along the riverbank stood long banquet tables and benches. On the tables, heaps of beets, strawberries, and freshly baked bread were piled high like small hills.
Sansa, Septa Mordane, and Arya had been seated at the temporary high platform reserved for honored guests, just to the left of the King and her father, not far from either of them.
Even Catelyn Stark and Bran had been invited to attend the feast together.
Seeing her mother, Sansa happily began recounting everything that had happened today to Catelyn and Bran.
Because she needed to look after Bran and Rickon, Catelyn had not attended the opening ceremony of the tourney.
But listening to her daughter's narration, she seemed genuinely delighted.
Bran, however, sat on the bench with a slight frown, lost in thought about something that seemed to trouble him.
Arya had no interest in hearing Sansa talk about such things and couldn't sit still. Before long, she quietly slipped away to Jon Snow's table.
Jon, who was enjoying the rare chance to openly drink a cup of red wine, was also very pleased by Arya's arrival. He took a plate from a servant's hand and let her sit down beside him.
Then, it was unclear how much time passed—it felt both like a moment and like a long while.
Suddenly, a tall figure appeared within Sansa's sight.
Her attention instantly shifted away from her mother and brother; she turned her head toward Kal El, who was holding a wine cup, toasting with the King and the Hand, exchanging a few words and laughter.
The bonfires along the riverbank blazed brightly, their light casting a hazy beauty upon the people's figures.
Together with the bright, high-hanging moon in the sky, it seemed as though a thin veil of silver light had been draped over them.
Sansa gazed at Kal El in a daze, feeling that tonight the Lord of Casterly Rock was simply too handsome—so handsome that she feared his figure would appear even in her dreams.
Though, in truth, she had already dreamt of him several times before.
Compared with the day, Kal had changed into a new set of clothes. At this moment, he wore a finely tailored tunic, with a long robe draping loosely below the hem.
It was a dark blue silk garment, with a belt around his waist made of interlinked golden plates.
His ink-black hair was combed back without appearing stiff, seemingly set in place by some kind of oil, faintly gleaming under the light.
His eyes were bluer than the sky and deeper than the sea; his graceful bearing and the pressure exuded through his strength—all of it proclaimed his unparalleled presence.
The attendants poured wine without rest; the cups never ran dry.
But Sansa needed no wine—she was already intoxicated by the magic of the night, her head spinning from all the enchanting sights around her.
Bards sat before the King's pavilion, letting music drift through the twilight.
A juggler tossed burning sticks high into the air.
The simple-minded, flat-faced "Moon Boy," the King's court fool, was dressed in clothes of many colors, dancing atop stilts.
He ceaselessly mocked everyone present, his tongue quick and sharp, his words laced with venom.
Yet hearing his jests, Sansa could not help but doubt how he could possibly be simple-minded.
Even Septa Mordane lost her composure before him; when Moon Boy began singing a merry little tune about finding the High Septon, she laughed so hard that she spilled wine all over herself.
Dishes were served one after another: thick barley and venison soup, chilled beets with crushed nuts, snails simmered in honey and garlic, sweet bread, pigeon pies, roasted apples with the scent of cinnamon, and lemon cakes dusted with sugar.
The table was piled so high it was nearly overflowing.
Sansa did not eat snails—she had never touched that dish—so she simply focused on her favorite sweets.
But she was already too full; after forcing down two more small lemon cakes, she could eat no more.
She then noticed that beside her, Lord Kal El seemed to possess a bottomless stomach—whatever was placed before him, he calmly finished it all.
He even found time to raise his cup and drink again with nobles who came over to toast him.
Sansa also noticed that Kal ate the snails with such ease, lightly prying them out with his fork. She tried it quietly herself, but failed—she couldn't manage it.
At that moment, she saw the bards who had been sitting before the King's pavilion now appear before the King and the Hand, saying something to them.
The King and the Hand looked pleased and granted their request.
Then, the once gentle and pleasant music suddenly changed, rising into a vigorous, rousing melody that seemed to stir people's hearts.
And then, a deep, resonant voice slowly began to sing:
"He was the storm of the bay, yet born in the mountains.
Blowing from the North, he swept away the smoke of the riverlands.
When he returned to the land of his birth,
The proud solitude of the mountains, waiting a thousand years,
Was conquered by his charm and valor.
The northern wind blows south, roaring fiercely.
Kal, Kal—
Kal of the Northern Wind.
The savior of King's Landing, hero of the storm.
The rebellious golden lion, torn to bloody shreds by his gale.
Kal, Kal—
Kal of the Blood Wind.
The Blooded One, the Death King, the Stranger's mortal herald.
The crimson storm extinguishes rebellion and treachery,
Yet its mercy brings hope to mankind.
Kal, Kal—the Gentle Wind Kal, Lord of Rock Castle,
Guardian of the Golden Lands.
Master of peace and war alike,
With wisdom and valor hidden in his heart."
When the bards finished singing the ballad about Kal El, the hall fell silent.
Hand Eddard Stark furrowed his brow, his face grave, his thoughts unreadable.
He turned his head and glanced at Kal El, but Kal merely spread his hands with an innocent look.
The strange scene made Sansa, who had been about to applaud in praise, freeze with her hands in mid-air before awkwardly lowering them.
She could not quite understand why such a fine ballad and such a legendary story drew no admiration—why instead everyone remained silent, even the lively chatter vanishing completely.
Jeyne Poole nervously grasped Sansa's hand.
Arya wanted to say something, but Jon, who had roughly sensed that something was amiss, stopped her with a look.
Then everyone's gaze turned toward King Robert Baratheon.
The King seemed not to notice the silence around him. After the tune of the ballad ended, he even savored it for a moment, then threw back his head and burst into loud laughter.
"Good! Well sung!"
Robert pounded the table and praised loudly, showing approval for the bards' composition.
Seeing the King's recognition, the singers also laughed along.
The atmosphere in the hall instantly turned once more into a sea of merriment, with cheerful music resuming softly.
Kal tossed another piece of freshly served meat into his mouth, his face showing no other expression, looking perfectly at ease.
Sansa secretly looked at him, bit her lip, and could only return to struggling with the lemon cake in front of her.
Of the King's two brothers, Renly Baratheon merely watched from the side with a playful grin.
As for Stannis Baratheon, he remained as stern-faced as ever.
He glanced once at Robert, who after hearing the ballad had given a single word of praise before continuing his loud laughter.
Then he turned his head to look at Renly Baratheon, who was occasionally saying something to the Knight of Flowers.
Finally, his gaze shifted to Kal and, after looking deeply at him for a moment, he turned his eyes toward Hand Eddard Stark.
Perhaps noticing his look—or perhaps because Eddard Stark too wished to see what Stannis's reaction would be—the two men's eyes met simultaneously.
One wore a grave expression, the other always kept his face stiff; neither could read anything from the other's countenance.
Stannis then nodded toward Eddard, rose silently, and left the table.
He seemed to dislike such an atmosphere.
Renly, of course, noticed Stannis's constant glancing about; he had been quietly observing him all along.
At this moment, seeing Stannis turn away without a word, his gaze unconsciously met that of Loras Tyrell.
The ballad just sung about Kal's heroic deeds seemed as though it had never happened, and Robert quickly forgot about it as well.
Holding his cup and drinking, he was already half lost in his cups, muttering drunken nonsense.
After deliberately waiting for a while, Renly leaned toward his royal elder brother.
"Brother, didn't I say during the day that I would give you a gift?"
The King looked quite pleased today. He was already drunk, his eyes hazy.
Hearing Renly speak to him, he turned his head and stared for a long while before failing to recall when that had been said.
So he turned toward Renly standing before him and said, "Then take it out. I'd like to see what trick you're playing."
Hearing this, Renly offered no explanation. He merely took from his breast a golden pendant carved in the shape of a lifelike golden rose and handed it to Robert.
"What is this?"
Robert reached out and took it, examining it curiously, but he could not tell what it was.
It looked like nothing more than a finely crafted golden pendant.
"It's a pendant—you can open it," Renly explained, then reached out and pressed a hidden latch on the necklace.
With a soft click, the exquisitely made golden rose bloomed open.
At the very center of the flower's core was a small, delicate oil painting—a portrait of a beautiful woman.
Seeing this, Robert froze for a moment.
But before the King could question what Renly meant by giving him such a thing, Renly, seeing the moment was right, slowly spoke. "Brother, don't you think she looks like Lyanna Stark?"
Already drunk, Robert, upon hearing that name, paused with the wine cup still raised halfway in the air.
"Lyanna?" Robert muttered instinctively.
Right after, fragments of the past surfaced in his mind, yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall what the woman he had once so deeply loved truly looked like.
He could only vaguely remember some things that had happened more than ten years ago, but he was never able to fit a concrete image onto that woman's face.
Perhaps she did look similar—she should have been just as beautiful.
At Renly's question, Robert could not help but think so in his heart.
His blurred, drunken eyes gazed at the image on the pendant, his memories hazily returning to that time long ago.
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