As the evening glow faded and night fell, the deepening dusk quietly wrapped around the land. The towering red mountains loomed in shadow, only their vague outlines remaining. By the lakeside and nestled against the mountains, the lights of Horn Hill blazed brightly.
Massive chandeliers hung from the banquet hall's ceiling, and ornate candelabras stood in every corner, each filled with lit candles. The entire hall shone like day, resplendent in golden splendor.
The banquet was already underway. Amidst the performances of singers and acrobats, and the bustling service of the attendants, dozens of nobles were enjoying fine wine and rich delicacies. Goblets clinked, laughter echoed—merriment filled the hall.
Though the guest list was relatively small, occupying only half the hall, it wasn't surprising to William. Given Randyll Tarly's stature as a high lord in the Reach, the turnout might've seemed underwhelming, but William understood.
The people of the Reach had a martial spirit. Every year, the various territories hosted dozens of tournaments, large and small. Unless it was a major occasion, few lords would bother sending invitations across the entire region. This time, Randyll Tarly had only invited a handful of families: the Tyrells, as his liege; the Florents, Lady Tarly's kin; the Leytons and Peakes, neighbors and longtime allies in defending the borderlands; and the Green-Apple Fossoways, who had clearly been invited solely for Garlan Tyrell.
The seating followed custom: the highborn lords and ladies sat on a raised platform, men to the left, women to the right. Their children and vassals sat at long tables opposite the dais, also split by gender. Hedge knights sat farther back in the hall—orderly, hierarchical, clear. As for female knights? Brienne of Tarth hadn't made her debut yet.
William's status was a bit unusual. By all rights, as an uninvited guest—and not even a true knight—he should've been seated among the hedge knights. But as the heir to Harrenhal, he had the right to sit closer to the dais. And since he'd recently become friendly with Samwell Tarly, he was seated beside him—at the far right end of the long tables, the spot furthest from Randyll.
At the same table were Sam's three younger sisters—two, three, and four years younger than him. Add in Dickon, five years his junior, and William couldn't help but think, Lady Tarly is a real hero of a mother.
Also at their table was Miss Leonie, Garlan's lover. Seeing her seated off in a corner with a few young maidservants, William felt a twinge of sympathy. So this is what it means to be ostracized for monopolizing Garlan? The world of women can be brutal too…
When Sam introduced William, the young ladies all offered polite greetings. Leonie even complimented William's performance in the tournament.
The vibe at the table was easygoing. They ate, drank, and chatted freely. With William around, Sam's sense of humor came out in full force, making his sisters giggle endlessly. Even Leonie couldn't help but smile.
Once he'd eaten his fill, William set down his knife and fork, sipped from his goblet, and let his gaze wander. From their position on the far right, all he could see were clusters of young noblewomen. None of the young knights or lords he hoped to befriend were in sight. Still, he earned plenty of curious and flirtatious glances.
He was, after all, the heir to Harrenhal, the darling of the tourney—wealthy, handsome, young, and skilled. The perfect eligible bachelor. Which maiden wouldn't be tempted?
Grinning inwardly, William looked up toward the dais. From his angle, he could only clearly see the ladies seated there—and among them, he immediately spotted Margaery. It wasn't because she looked like the actress from the TV show, or because he noticed her "gentle, deer-like eyes and long, lazy curls." No, she simply stood out—among a group of elegant noblewomen, she alone had the aura of a young girl. One look, and you knew.
His previous life had given William a strong resistance to beauty, but even he had to admit: the Rose of Highgarden was stunning. She had a kind of beauty that was impossible to ignore.
She's only thirteen? If she grows into that face, she's bound to bring kingdoms to ruin, William thought, enjoying the view even as he complained to himself.
As if sensing his gaze, Margaery suddenly turned her head—and their eyes met.
In that instant, William's heart skipped a beat, his pupils dilated.
Margaery smiled faintly. She was already used to this kind of look from men, so she simply turned back to her conversation, unfazed.
But William's heart churned—not from love, but from fear.
He'd always assumed that magic was his unique advantage—his "golden finger." But now, he'd seen someone else with the same trait. Perhaps Margaery's ability was weak, but the gap between zero and one was a fundamental shift. If there was a second magic user, there could be a third… even a whole hidden guild somewhere out there.
Seeing William staring at Margaery in a daze, Sam leaned in with shining eyes and a goofy grin. "Look, that's Lady Margaery. Isn't she beautiful?"
William murmured, "Yeah… one of a kind."
Just as William was drowning in chaotic thoughts, someone patted his shoulder. He looked up—surprised to see Garlan. He should've been seated on the dais. Why had he come over?
Garlan smiled. "What's with the long face?"
Sam waggled his brows and said, "Isn't it obvious? Lady Margaery has another admirer."
"Oh?" Garlan looked at William, then chuckled. "Honestly, that makes me kind of proud." He pulled out a chair and sat beside William. Across from him, Leonie smiled knowingly.
After letting them exchange their loving glances, William raised his cup and forced a smile. "I'm glad you came, Garlan. Otherwise, no one here would drink with me. Come on, a toast—to friendship!"
He downed the wine in one go, and Garlan laughed and clinked glasses with him.
What followed was a drinking spree. William pulled out an endless stream of clever toasts and playful drinking games. His witty remarks were fresh and hilarious, making everyone laugh and drink heartily.
But just as William was starting to feel tipsy and reaching for another drink, Garlan stopped him.
He looked into William's eyes and said quietly, "You're scared. That's not the William I know."
William gave him a blank stare. "You don't know me. We only met this afternoon."
"But we crossed blades for eleven rounds. That felt like a long time to me. Long enough to know you."
William recalled the match—it had been intense. Even in defeat, he'd learned a lot. But what did that have to do with understanding someone?
"So what kind of person am I, then?" he asked.
"You're fearless," Garlan said seriously. "I watched yesterday's matches. You always made decisions instantly—whether attacking or defending, facing one opponent or two. Sometimes you chose wrong and got into trouble, but your resolve always turned things around. Your courage made others hesitate."
Fearless? Maybe that's just the illusion of confidence brought by magic, William thought bitterly.
Garlan leaned in and lowered his voice. "That's why I told myself: the only way to beat you is to be even more decisive. In the final round, you hesitated, didn't you?"
William remembered the moment he'd been knocked off his horse—yes, he had hesitated. He nodded solemnly.
"But what impressed me most," Garlan continued, "was what happened after. You lay there in your dented breastplate, looking like hell. The maester was there, so I wasn't too worried for your life—but I feared you might never recover mentally. But when I went over, you were the same as ever. Joking, calm, as if the loss hadn't affected you at all."
He leaned in again. "You're not afraid of me. You're already thinking about how to beat me next time, aren't you?"
William looked at him in surprise. He had thought that. With magic and the right strategy, he was sure he could win next time.
Garlan sat up and smiled meaningfully. "So what are you afraid of?"
Yeah… what am I afraid of? Sure, there might be other magic users in this world—but so what? He knew countless secrets that could shake the world. He saw through plots and schemes as if they were child's play. He understood people better than they understood themselves. He even knew the future.
Who else knows that Daenerys will hatch three dragons in a few years? If I invest early, support her return to Westeros… the Harroways won't just be restored—they'll rise to unprecedented heights.
Even without magic, I'm still a cheat-code in this world.
William looked Garlan in the eyes—and after a moment, they both burst into laughter and raised their glasses.
No need for flowery thanks. Garlan might've misunderstood, but William still appreciated it. He silently etched this moment into his heart.
After another sip, William paused, then asked, "Just hypothetically—if one day I eloped with Margaery, what would you do?"
Garlan's gentle smile vanished. His face turned to ice.
"I'd cut off your head myself."