As William passed by the servants still tidying up the last of the luggage, he arrived near the wheelhouse where Margaery was waiting, flanked by two of her companions. Judging from the scene, everything had already been packed—only the young ladies needed to board the carriage before setting off.
"Good morning, Ser William." Margaery and her companions curtsied with practiced grace, the morning light casting a soft halo around them, making the three girls look even more dazzling than usual.
Stunning! That aura of hers... is it some kind of magical ripple? William marveled inwardly, then smiled. "Good morning, lovely ladies."
Margaery's gaze swept up and down, giving William a once-over.
He was clad in a sleek black leather cuirass, modern in design and meticulously crafted. Having had a hand in designing it himself, the whole outfit carried a touch of contemporary flair—an unusual sight in Westeros. If there was one drawback, it was the price tag. But after the generous winnings from the tourney, William had decided that research investments were essential—still, there was no reason he couldn't treat himself a little, right?
Margaery's lips curled faintly in amusement, seemingly finding William rather charming. "The song you sang earlier... I've never heard it before. Is it a ballad from your homeland?"
"It is—and it isn't."
Margaery blinked, curiosity lighting her wide eyes.
"If we go by the composer, then it's from the Riverlands. But if we go by where it was written, well… that'd be the Reach. More specifically, it was composed right here at Riverrun."
Margaery chuckled lightly, her eyes gleaming. "It sounded like a love song. Tell me, Ser William—who was it written for, to be so heartfelt?"
Oh no, that's a trap if I've ever seen one… William immediately sensed danger. No matter what he said, he'd likely dig himself a hole. Then, inspiration struck. He simply smiled without answering.
Margaery blushed slightly, flustered by his silence and the way he held her gaze.
She took a deep breath, then said softly, "It's a bit noisy here. Walk with me?" She turned and exchanged a brief glance with one of her companions.
"We still have a few things to pack, so we'll leave you now, my lady. Ser William." The shy-looking girl bowed politely, and the three of them withdrew with graceful efficiency.
Margaery was known for her caution—always surrounded by companions, never giving anyone the chance to be alone with her. Her level of guardedness made "a gentleman cautious when alone" look like child's play—she simply never was alone. William hadn't expected this turn of events at all.
What's going on? Caught off guard by this unexpected opportunity, William hesitated for a moment. But seeing Margaery already heading toward the Mander, he quickly followed.
The camp was abuzz with movement: neighing horses, shouted orders, the rattle of luggage being packed. Tents had already been taken down, and knights were tending to their steeds. Tonight, they would return to Highgarden—to their home. The air was thick with anticipation and joy.
They walked in silence for a while, one behind the other. After putting some distance between themselves and the bustling camp, Margaery finally stopped in front of a patch of wildflowers. William came to a halt just a step behind her, resisting the urge to reach out and take her hand.
Margaery stared at the flowers swaying in the breeze—vibrant, unrestrained, full of life. "The Golden Hand… was it a metaphor, Ser William?"
She really wants to talk about that song, huh? How do I steer this conversation somewhere else? William's mind raced. He answered casually, "I've heard that the Hand of the King's badge is always forged of gold, and it always bears a palm."
"Do you know how heavy it is?"
That caught William off guard, but he quickly understood. "To someone who sees it as light—it's light. But to someone who sees it as heavy—it's heavy."
"So," Margaery said slowly, "do you think a lover's embrace weighs more than the Hand of the King?"
William definitely didn't believe a lover's embrace outweighed the Hand. Why else would he train in swordsmanship, practice magic, dive into research, and build his household from the ground up? Wasn't it all so he could make his mark when the dragons returned and Westeros entered a new age of upheaval? Of course he'd aim for the Hand's position if the opportunity arose.
Damn those lyricists and their rhymes, he cursed inwardly. They'll say anything for poetic flair. But there was no way he could say that out loud in this moment. So he improvised, "A lover is close—within reach. But power? It's distant, intangible."
Margaery turned to him, her expression hard to read—was she smiling or about to get angry? William panicked slightly and added, "I just mean… life's short. Treasure what's in front of you."
Margaery seemed to pause at that. Her expression softened, and she turned away again, eyes back on the field of wildflowers.
"Do you remember the feast two nights ago?" she asked, her voice quiet. "You came up so awkwardly to offer a toast… and Aunt Janna made that absolutely awful joke."
How could I forget? William sighed inwardly. Ever since he'd sensed Margaery's magical potential, he'd been thinking of ways to get close to her, to guide her into the world of magic. He answered honestly, "It's unforgettable."
"I thought it'd be just another passing moment," Margaery said softly, crouching down to brush her fingers across a little red flower. "I'd exchange names with yet another stranger, exchange courtesies, like I've done a dozen times before. And then… nothing more. As the daughter of House Tyrell, I've long accepted that I would experience countless such meetings. I never thought any of them would matter."
"The only thing I ever thought I'd hold on to was the honor of my house."
She slowly rose to her feet again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Until I met you. Until I felt… something I've never felt before."
She couldn't help but recall that moment—when their eyes met, and something stirred in her soul.
Wait a minute—she felt it?! William's mind clicked into place. He rushed forward, closing the distance in three strides and grasped her hand. His eyes locked on hers, full of astonishment. "You felt it too? That feeling—really?!"
Margaery jerked her head away, avoiding his gaze. "I can't even explain it… I was terrified…" She was scared that this feeling might unravel everything she believed in. That's why she'd been avoiding him—until she heard that song. Something inside her stirred again. She knew that if she returned to Highgarden without confronting this, she would regret it forever.
She had to face him—right here, right now—no matter how things ended.
"Don't be afraid. I've got you," William said, brimming with confidence.
Margaery shook her head in pain, eyes closed. "You don't understand, William. I'm the daughter of Highgarden. I carry my house's future. I was born to be the bride of power!"
She married three kings in the books—she really was the bride of power… is this prophecy magic at work? William's heart skipped a beat with excitement. "That's okay, Margaery!" he said, boldly using her name. "I know hundreds of spells. There's bound to be magic that suits you!"
Margaery gave him a bewildered look, eyes full of innocent confusion, blinking like a doe.