As the sunset faded, night spread across the sky, quietly enveloping the landscape in dusky shadows. The towering crimson mountains were reduced to faint silhouettes, while the corner fortress by the lake glowed brightly with countless lights.
Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the banquet hall, and every corner held delicate candelabras, all filled with lit candles. The entire hall shone like daylight, making the gilded splendor even more dazzling.
The banquet had already begun. Amid performances by singers and acrobats, and attended to by busy servants, the dozens of nobles present enjoyed fine wine and exquisite food, clinking glasses and exchanging laughter.
The number of guests wasn't very large, occupying only half of the hall, seemingly a little disproportionate to Tarly's status as a high-ranking lord of Riverrun. But William wasn't surprised.
The people of Riverrun valued martial skill, and the region held a dozen or even dozens of tournaments every year. Unless it was a major event, the organizers rarely sent invitations across the territory. This time, Randyll Tarly invited only a handful of families: the Tyrells as feudal lords, the Florens as Lady Tarly's maternal family, the Leygood and Peak as neighbors who had forged strong bonds during ongoing border conflicts, and Green Apple Fossoway, invited solely for Garlan Tyrell's sake.
Seating followed tradition: esteemed lords and ladies sat on the high platform at one side of the hall—men on the left, women on the right. Their children and vassals sat at the long table opposite the platform, also arranged male left, female right. Hired knights sat farther from the platform, orderly and hierarchical. As for female knights? Westeros' first female knight, Brienne of Tarth, hadn't made her debut yet.
William's status was unusual. As a knight who had come uninvited—though not officially a knight—he would normally be counted among the hired knights. But as the heir of Harrenhal, he qualified to sit closer to the platform. Having just become friends with Sam, he sat beside him at the far right of the long table, the spot farthest from Randyll.
Also at the table were Sam's three younger sisters, aged two, three, and four years younger than him. Along with five-year-old Dickon, William thought Sam's mother was truly a heroic mother.
Garlan's beloved, Miss Leonette, also sat there. Seeing her relegated to a corner with a few young girls, William felt some sympathy. "Is this because she monopolizes Garlan and gets excluded? The world of women is cruel too…"
When Sam introduced William, the young ladies politely returned greetings, and Leonette even complimented his martial skills.
The relationships at this table were simple, allowing for casual eating, drinking, and chatting. With William as a companion, Sam's humor shone fully, amusing his three sisters, and even Leonette smiled quietly.
When the food was nearly finished, William set down his cutlery and sipped his wine slowly, glancing around. Positioned at the far right, all he saw were chatting young nobles and maidens—none of the aristocratic heirs or knights he most wanted to meet, just a few curious or flirtatious glances. As heir of Highgarden, and a tournament prize winner, he perfectly embodied: noble birth, youthful wealth, handsome looks, and great martial skill—a diamond bachelor. Who among the young ladies wouldn't be intrigued?
Secretly pleased, William shifted his gaze to the platform. From his position, he could only clearly see the ladies seated there. Among them, one shy young girl immediately caught his attention: Margaery. Not because she resembled a TV actress, or that he noticed "deer-like gentle eyes, long brown curls lazily draped over her shoulders," but because among these elegant ladies, only one had the freshness of youth so obvious at a glance.
With experience from a previous life, William's resistance to beauty was strong, but he had to admit this rose of Highgarden possessed breathtaking allure, one that drew the eye irresistibly.
"She's only thirteen… once fully grown, she'll be devastating," William thought, admiring her beauty while secretly grumbling.
Sensing something, Margaery, laughing with those around her, suddenly turned her head, and their eyes met.
The moment their gazes locked, William's heart skipped, pupils dilating sharply.
Margaery smiled faintly. She had grown used to men looking at her this way, so she calmly averted her gaze and continued chatting with the ladies beside her.
But within William, a storm of emotions rose—not love, but fear.
He had always considered magical talent his unique advantage. Now he saw a second person with the same trait, perhaps weak, but like zero and one—a fundamental distinction. If there could be a second, there could be a third, or many more. Perhaps somewhere in this world, a mage guild existed.
Noticing William's trance, Sam leaned over, eyes shining, grinning foolishly. "Look, that's Miss Margaery. Isn't she beautiful?"
William murmured, "Yes, uniquely beautiful."
Just then, someone patted his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Garlan—who should have been seated on the platform. Smiling, Garlan said, "Why the troubled look?"
Sam winked and teased, "Of course, it's because of the beautiful Miss Margaery. Looks like she's gained another admirer."
"Oh?" Garlan glanced at William, then smiled unconcernedly. "Honestly, I'm a bit proud of that." He pulled out a chair beside William, sitting down, and exchanged a knowing smile with Leonette across the table, saying everything without words.
Patiently waiting until the two of them exchanged glances, William raised his wine glass and forced a smile at Garlan. "I'm so glad you came, Garlan. Otherwise, no one would be here to drink with me. Come on, to our friendship!" He downed the glass in one go, and Garlan laughed, clinking his glass with him.
William then continued to urge everyone to drink, reciting one set of unheard-of toasts after another. Everyone found it fresh and amusing, laughing heartily and frequently raising their glasses. But just as William, slightly tipsy, reached for another drink, Garlan placed a hand on his wrist, holding the glass, looked him in the eyes, and said solemnly, "Are you afraid? That's not the William I know."
William stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know me. We only met this afternoon during the tournament."
"But we fought eleven rounds. To me, that was a long time. So, William, I've known you… for a very long time."
William recalled the tournament—it was indeed an unforgettable experience. Even in defeat, he felt he had gained much… but what did that have to do with judging a person? So he asked, "Then what kind of person am I in your eyes?"
"You are fearless," Garlan said seriously. "I watched yesterday's matches. You were always decisive—whether attacking or defending, facing one opponent or two. Once you made a decision, you never hesitated. Several times, your choices weren't correct, putting you in trouble, yet your resolve and your opponents' hesitation always turned the tide."
'Fearless? That's probably just a mysterious confidence built from magic,' William thought with a bitter smile.
Garlan leaned closer, lowering his voice. "That's why during the afternoon, I told myself—the only way to defeat you was to be even more resolute than you. In the final round, your mind faltered, didn't it?"
William remembered the moment he had been struck down. Indeed, he had hesitated, and he nodded heavily.
"But what I admire most," Garlan continued, sitting upright, "is how you were after being thrown off your horse. You lay there, chest armor severely damaged, looking utterly pitiful. With the Maesters around, I wasn't too worried about your life, but I feared you'd suffer a psychological shadow and blend into the crowd. But when I approached, I found you hadn't changed at all—you were still so humorous, so calm. That defeat seemed to have no effect on you."
Garlan leaned closer again, voice low. "You aren't afraid of me at all. You want to defeat me next time, don't you?"
William looked at Garlan in surprise. He had indeed thought so—he believed with magic in hand and the right strategy, he could beat Garlan.
Garlan sat up straight, speaking meaningfully: "Then what are you afraid of?"
Right. What was he afraid of? In this world, there may be many who wield magic, but so what? Countless astonishing secrets were already well known to him; countless flawless schemes he had already seen through. He understood many people, even better than they understood themselves. He foresaw the course of the future and could make the best decisions. At this moment, who could have guessed that in a few years, the Dragon Queen would hatch three dragons? Invest early, support her return to Westeros once the dragons grew, and House Whent would not just be revived—they could reach new heights.
'So even without the advantage of magic, I am still like a walking cheat code!'
William looked seriously at Garlan. After a moment, they both suddenly laughed and, in unspoken agreement, downed their glasses.
Words of gratitude were unnecessary. Although Garlan might have misunderstood, William accepted the gesture and quietly treasured it in his heart.
Setting down his glass, William hesitated, then asked, "If—I mean, if one day I ran off with Margaery, what would you do, Garlan?"
Garlan's normally gentle face instantly turned cold as ice.
"I would personally chop off your head!"