Amidst the cheers of men and the cries of women, two warhorses thundered past each other.
Crash! Crash!
Almost at the same instant, lances struck shields. Wood splintered, shafts shattered, fragments spraying through the air. Before the splinters had even settled, the knights had already reached the end of the lists, wheeling their mounts for another charge.
William Whent accepted a fresh lance from a squire, peering through the slit of his helm at the tall knight opposite him. His heart clenched. So Garlan the Gallant's reputation is no empty boast. I'm supposed to be the one with cheats on my side, yet he's meeting me blow for blow. Don't tell me he's got cheats too? Muttering inwardly, he whispered an incantation under his breath. His spirit surged, flowing through his body as warmth, banishing all fatigue.
A joust was far more exhausting than it looked. Without magic to give him an edge, William doubted he would have lasted this long.
The brief respite was gone in a heartbeat. A horn sounded deep and low, announcing another pass, and the crowd roared back to life. William fixed his gaze on the unyielding figure across the list. Noise faded, sweat beneath his visor seemed to vanish; in the world, there was only the two of them.
Instinct carried him forward—spur, gallop, lower the lance, charge!
As their steeds thundered closer, William faltered. Maybe I should try a different maneuver—no, too late!
CRASH!
The lance blow struck him full in the chest. His own lance had missed its mark. An irresistible force flung him skyward, his chestplate ringing as his protective ward flared, absorbed too much damage, and shattered like glass. He slammed into the earth, rolled through clouds of dust, and came to rest in a deep furrow carved into the ground.
Thoughts froze. Only three questions remained in his stunned mind: Who am I? Where is this? What's for supper?
A thousand sharp intakes of breath became a single, droning hum in his ears. Flat on his back, William squinted against the blinding sun. Blood filled his mouth—metallic, neither pleasant nor foul. So this is what it feels like to be unhorsed. At last, I've tasted it.
But even as the thought flickered, pain surged outward from his chest like a rising tide, drowning every part of him. The agony nearly stole his consciousness, and instinctively he cast a healing charm upon himself.
The spell did not falter. At once a coolness swept through his body, and the pain receded as quickly as it had come. Breathing hard, shaken, William thought grimly, So this is what it really feels like to be unhorsed. Gods, it's unbearable.
Trumpets blared, shrill and triumphant, declaring the contest decided. The crowd erupted into thunderous celebration for the victor, while only a few squires, driven by a maester's sharp orders, scrambled toward the fallen loser.
From the high dais, Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill applauded with excitement. "That was the eleventh pass, was it not? Gods, it's been years since I've seen such a splendid joust!"
"Indeed, rare as it is, this tourney will be remembered for this final," chimed in Jon Fossoway of New Barrel, offering flattery. The other lords and knights added their voices, proud to have witnessed such a clash.
On one side of the dais sat the noble ladies. Wherever she went, Lady Margaery Tyrell, only daughter of the Lord of Highgarden and famed beauty of the realm, drew every eye. She smiled teasingly at her cousin beside her. "Come now, dear Leonette. You must have faith in my brother. He is Garlan the Gallant."
Leonette Fossoway dared open her eyes at last. She saw Garlan Tyrell raise his visor and bow from horseback to the cheering crowd. Relief flooded her, and a smile spread across her face at the sight of his handsome features and charming smile.
After saluting the stands, Garlan noticed squires and a maester struggling to pry the battered breastplate off William's chest. He guided his horse closer, leaned down, and asked, "How fares he, Maester?"
Maester Dedalus, a trim man for his age, had run nearly as fast as the squires. Shaking his head, he said, "Not well, ser. That blow of yours nearly knocked him flying."
"It did knock me flying, Maester—soaring like a bird," William countered, his voice dry but steady. "And I don't feel too bad, all told."
Seeing him stir, Dedalus flapped his hands in alarm. "Don't move, ser! If a bone is broken, even the slightest shift might do irreparable harm."
"Very well, Maester. I don't mind resting a while. After all, if one falls, one should at least lie there a bit, shouldn't one?" William turned his head toward Garlan. "Thank you for your concern, Ser Garlan."
Here lay the fiercest foe Garlan had ever faced, and he would not wish such a promising knight to perish from a single tilt. Hearing William jest eased his worry. "Your humor is reassuring, ser. I'll see you again later." With that, he nodded to Dedalus, then turned his horse and rode off toward the dais amidst cries of "Garlan! Garlan!" from the stands.
The lords and knights showered Garlan with praise, their admiration doubled by his station as the son of the Warden of the South. Garlan, gracious and gallant, returned each word in turn. At last, Lady Melessa Tarly placed in his hands the garland of flowers, crown of "the Queen of Love and Beauty." Silence fell as the crowd watched, holding its breath.
Garlan guided his steed before the stands where his sister and Leonette Fossoway sat. First he shared a smile with Margaery, then turned his eyes toward Leonette, his gaze brimming with love.
Leonette found it almost unbelievable.
Neither she nor Garlan were heirs to their houses, which meant they could choose their lovers with some freedom. A year ago, the two had fallen in love at first sight at a feast, and since then their bond had steadily grown, though neither had pierced the last veil of unspoken words. By custom, the champion of the joust named his wife or betrothed the Queen of Love and Beauty. If he were unwed, the honor would be given to the tourney host's daughter. Exceptions were rare—even the lure of a great purse wasn't reason enough to break tradition.
Lord Randyll's daughters sat beside Margaery as well, yet from the look in Garlan's eyes, Leonette sensed what might come. The thought was so sweet that the possibility of disappointment filled her with terror. Her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.
He did not keep her waiting long. Garlan proclaimed loudly:
"Lady Leonette Fossoway, your beauty outshines the stars, your smile leaves me undone. Without doubt, you are my Queen of Love and Beauty!"
The words had barely fallen when Margaery rose with a bright smile and began to applaud. Following her lead, the ladies around her—whether pleased or not—joined in. Applause rippled outward like waves, until the whole crowd was clapping and cheering. Leonette felt as though happiness might make her faint. A thousand thoughts swirled within her, but under the weight of so many gazes she could not utter a single word. Pressing a hand to her racing heart, she stood and shyly lowered her head toward Garlan.
When he set the garland on her brow, the crowd roared again. A moment ago they had cheered for valor, now they cheered for love.
In a forgotten corner, servants finally managed to saw open the battered breastplate, revealing that William Whent had only suffered a few scrapes. Maester Dedalus clicked his tongue in wonder.
Once William was sure he was sound, he prepared to slip away. As champion, Garlan had the right to demand ransom for his defeated foe's arms and steed. William's armor was beyond saving, but his horse was worth more than four gold dragons—he could not afford to lose it. Naming the Queen of Love and Beauty marked the end of the tourney, and Leonette's garland meant all was done. Yet just as William took his reins, Garlan rode toward him. Escape was hopeless. With a resigned smile, William removed his helm.
Garlan dismounted before reaching him, leading his horse, and bowed with a smile.
"Ser Whent, allow me a proper introduction. I am Garlan Tyrell, second son of the Lord of Highgarden."
"An honor, Ser Garlan. I've heard of you for a long time," William replied, returning the courtesy—though he thought privately, since before I even came to Westeros. "I am William of House Whent. I've not yet been anointed, so I am no knight. You may call me by my name."
"Very well, William. Yet I believe you already are a true knight in all but name. And please, call me Garlan—there's no need for ceremony."
"Yes, ser. Of course, ser," William answered with another knightly bow.
Garlan laughed again. He had been watching this youth for some time.
The tourney at Horn Hill was not great in scale, but all the contests were there: the archery, the mêlée, and the joust. Many knights skipped the mêlée to avoid injury before the tilt, but William, with his uncanny powers of healing, entered every contest that promised coin.
Garlan, ever cautious and intent on winning the final crown for Leonette, had only watched the mêlée. From the start, he noticed William's quick reflexes and darting style. The boy survived the chaos of dozens clashing without a scratch, then turned bold at the end, defeating two wavering foes at once to seize victory. Later he learned that this so-called "magic knight" had been sweeping the lists around Oldtown since last year, winning both joust and mêlée at Highfield, Three Towers, Blackcrown, and Honeyholt. Such renown made today's encounter all the more anticipated.
The result left Garlan satisfied. This victory held real weight, worthy of being offered in Leonette's name.
While the two smiled at one another, a plump, dark-haired boy approached them. His round face looked harmless, his gray eyes pure and timid.
"Ser… Ser Garlan, Ser William," he stammered. "I am Samwell Tarly, son of Lord Randyll Tarly. Forgive me for intruding."
"Ah, Sam, I know of you," William said cheerfully, thinking to himself, I knew of you even before I came to Westeros.
But Sam only looked more flustered under the strange smile, unsure how to answer.
Garlan sighed inwardly. It was a pity that such a stern lord as Randyll Tarly had a son so unlike himself. Yet he spoke kindly:
'I imagine it concerns those two Qarth Warlocks—word is that William aided them.'
"What is it, Sam?"
"My father bids me formally invite Ser William to tonight's feast, and to attend you both beforehand. If there is anything you require, command me."
Unlike Garlan, who had been specially invited, William had come unbidden. Without a proper summons, he might have been left to dine outside the hall among squires and freeriders—a slight both to him and to his house. However diminished, House Whent was still noble, not to be slighted. Thus, Lord Randyll had sent his heir at once.
William gladly accepted.
Though I lost the crown and ten thousand silver stags, winning Garlan Tyrell's friendship may prove worth just as much.