When the feast ended, the guests gradually departed the following morning, and Horn Hill returned to its usual quiet rhythm.
A long procession wound its way along the road leading from Horn Hill toward the Roseroad.
Green banners embroidered with golden roses fluttered proudly in the wind, while the escort itself was impressive, dozens of mounted riders clad in fine armor and livery, a clear display of House Tyrell’s wealth and authority.
Margaery and her companions traveled in a wheelhouse, with several wagons loaded with supplies following behind and slowing the pace of the journey considerably.
Although the party had departed before sunrise, they would still need to spend a night on the road before reaching Highgarden the following day.
By midmorning, the column advanced steadily beneath a bright sky.
Garlan rode beside the wheelhouse, whose windows stood open, and every so often he exchanged a few words with Margaery and her ladies through the opening.
Then the sound of galloping hooves approached from behind.
A mounted outrider called out loudly, “Ser Garlan!
Ser William Whent requests an audience!” Margaery leaned curiously out of the window and looked back.
“What is this about?” “Bring him forward,” Garlan instructed the rider before turning to his sister.
“Nothing unusual.
He’s simply traveling the same road for a while.” Margaery immediately narrowed her eyes.
“The same road?” Her expression made it perfectly clear she wasn’t convinced.
“Highgarden is north of Horn Hill.” She pointed in the opposite direction.
“Oldtown is south.” Then she looked at Garlan with an innocent expression that fooled absolutely no one.
Garlan remained perfectly composed.
“We’re merely traveling together until the Roseroad.” Margaery burst out laughing.
“So he’s riding an extra day’s journey in both directions just because it’s ‘on the way’?” Inside the wheelhouse, her companions dissolved into giggles.
The laughter was still ringing through the air when William finally rode up alongside them.
“Morning, Garlan!” He greeted his friend casually.
Then, without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward and inserted himself directly between Garlan and the wheelhouse.
The distance was so close he could almost catch the faint scent of perfume drifting from within.
Immediately adopting what he believed was his most charming smile and most dashing posture, William bowed dramatically.
“Good morning, Lady Margaery.
Good morning, my ladies.” Garlan wisely guided his horse several paces away to avoid a collision.
The girls returned the greeting politely.
Margaery smiled sweetly.
“I’m sure Ser William and my brother have much to discuss.” She inclined her head.
“I won’t interrupt.” Then she sat back inside the carriage.
One of her companions immediately closed the window.
Firmly.
William’s carefully prepared speech died before it could leave his mouth.
Garlan merely shrugged.
He had done all he could.
Despite the rejection, William noticed something strange.
Margaery felt different from the previous evening.
At the feast, she had been courteous but distant.
Today, she had been less accommodating.
Yet somehow there had been something else in her expression, something difficult to describe.
That smile.
That look.
Was I imagining things?
He paused.
No.
I was definitely imagining things.
Shaking off the thought, William guided his horse beside Garlan’s, and the two rode side by side.
“Last night, when you said we’d travel together, I thought you’d be leaving with us.” Garlan had honestly assumed William wasn’t coming.
“I stopped to say goodbye to Sam.” William grinned.
“That little fat fool sleeps later than a Dornish prince.” Garlan laughed.
“Sam is a good lad.” His expression softened.
“If he weren’t a Tarly, life would be much easier for him.” William shook his head.
“I disagree.” “Oh?” “If Sam weren’t a Tarly, he wouldn’t be exactly like Lord Randyll.” Garlan blinked.
“Exactly alike?” “They’re both people who refuse to give up.” William smiled.
“They just happen to be fighting for opposite goals.” Garlan considered the comparison.
After a moment, he sighed.
“Perhaps the Seven had their reasons.” William almost laughed.
Looking at it that way…
maybe someone like Sam could only end up at the Wall if he was born a Tarly.
The gods’ plans seem suspiciously complicated.
As they talked, William paid attention to the procession around them.
One thing quickly caught his attention.
Garlan wasn’t issuing any orders.
Nobody seemed to be reporting to him either.
“You don’t seem very involved in managing the column.” Garlan shrugged.
“Ser Osmund is overseeing everything.
There isn’t much need for me to interfere.” Careful as always.
William smiled and changed the subject.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Mentioning Leonette immediately softened Garlan’s features.
“Early next year, at the earliest.” “That’s months away.” William grinned.
“Will there be a tournament?” “Maybe.” Garlan nodded.
“Highgarden hasn’t hosted one in some time.
My father is unlikely to miss the opportunity.” William brightened instantly.
“Excellent.
I’m still waiting for my revenge.” Garlan burst out laughing.
“If my grandmother heard that, she’d call you an idiot.” “Why?” “Because I’ll be the groom.” He gestured helplessly.
“How exactly am I supposed to participate in a tournament during my own wedding?” William immediately pictured Lady Olenna Tyrell.
The Queen of Thorns herself.
That sharp tongue.
That merciless wit.
That complete inability to let anyone live in peace.
“Seven save me.” He laughed.
“I’m genuinely grateful she isn’t my grandmother.” In William’s eyes, Garlan was almost absurdly competent.
Reasonable.
Honorable.
Well-educated.
A gifted warrior.
The sort of perfect noble lord every kingdom wished it had.
And yet Lady Olenna still called him a fool whenever the mood struck her.
Most people would have been bullied into stupidity by now.
The fact that all three Tyrell siblings turned out so well is practically a miracle.
“Well,” William continued, “that’s bad news.
But there is an upside.” Garlan raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?” “If you’re not competing, winning becomes much easier.” William shuddered dramatically.
“Another eleven-pass duel sounds horrifying.” Garlan chuckled.
“Don’t grow overconfident.
My brother Loras will almost certainly compete.” He paused.
“Truthfully, I might be slightly inferior to him in the lists.” William merely smiled.
The Knight of Flowers.
Of course.
No further comment seemed necessary.
The conversation drifted elsewhere.
They discussed martial training, campaigns, famous commanders, and small incidents from daily life.
The more they talked, the more relaxed they became.
Garlan possessed a rare gift.
From childhood, he had been unusually perceptive when it came to people.
He could often sense whether someone was sincere or deceitful, whether their intentions were good or ill.
From the beginning, he had felt William’s genuine admiration.
What Garlan didn’t realize was why.
He believed it stemmed from the respect forged between worthy rivals during their unforgettable duel.
Because of that misunderstanding, he quickly came to regard William as a friend.
For William’s part, he genuinely liked Garlan.
The result was an effortless camaraderie.
By the time the sun began setting, neither seemed remotely tired of talking.
The road stretched endlessly before them.
So did the conversation.
Eventually, the procession approached a small castle silhouetted against the evening sky.
Bitterbridge.
From its walls, one could see the Roseroad stretching eastward.
Turn around, and the Mander flowed into view.
The Reach had spent enormous resources constructing watchposts along its western coast.
Large invading fleets could rarely approach unnoticed.
The true problem was smaller groups, the sort of desperate raiders willing to sail a handful of longships deep into Reach territory in search of plunder.
Against such enemies, large warning networks often proved ineffective.
The Mander river west of Highgarden had become one of their favorite routes.
Though the Reach could field over one hundred thousand men in war, hunting down scattered raiding parties of only a few dozen warriors was surprisingly difficult.
Bitterbridge existed for precisely that reason.
Its purpose was to guard the point where the Mander came closest to the Roseroad.
Should raiders land nearby, they could be intercepted before threatening one of the Reach’s most important trade routes.
The castle itself was modest.
Fewer than a hundred soldiers normally garrisoned its walls.
If raiders appeared, they fought.
If they couldn’t win, they lit the beacon fires.
As the wheelhouse rolled closer, Garlan pointed toward a broad stretch of flat ground outside the walls.
“We’ll camp there tonight.” William looked surprised.
“Not inside the castle?” He glanced toward the wheelhouse.
“Surely Lady Margaery would be more comfortable indoors.” Garlan laughed.
“This castle is less comfortable than the wheelhouse.
We camped here last time as well.” The servants immediately set to work.
Tents emerged from wagons.
Campfires were prepared.
Supplies were unloaded with practiced efficiency.
By the time darkness settled across the land, an orderly camp surrounded the wheelhouse.
Fires crackled everywhere.
Soldiers roasted meat.
Servants stirred soup in iron pots.
The smell of food filled the night air.
William had secretly hoped dinner might provide another opportunity to speak with Margaery.
Unfortunately, she and her companions dined inside the wheelhouse.
The opportunity never came.
Eventually, William accepted defeat.
Instead, he spent the evening drinking and talking with Garlan and several other knights.
The conversation lasted deep into the night.
══════════ The next morning it dawned clear and cool.
William sat beside Garlan and several knights around a campfire, finishing breakfast.
As he glanced around the camp, something about the scene struck him as oddly familiar.
A memory surfaced.
Grinning suddenly, he stood.
“We’ll be parting ways soon.” He spread his hands dramatically.
“So allow me to offer a farewell gift.” “A song.” That immediately earned applause.
Without further warning, William began singing.
“The Hands of Gold.” The melody floated through the camp.
Gentle.
Melancholy.
Beautiful.
After a few repetitions, some of the knights found themselves humming along.
Several servants stopped what they were doing to listen.
Even passing soldiers slowed their pace.
The camp gradually fell under the spell of the music.
When the song ended, Garlan shook his head in amazement.
“I never would have guessed.” William grinned.
“Guessed what?” “That you could sing this well.” Just as everyone began discussing the song, a young noblewoman approached from the direction of the wheelhouse, one of Margaery’s companions.
She curtsied politely to the assembled knights, then looked directly at William.
“Ser William.” Her smile was warm.
“Lady Margaery greatly enjoyed your song.
She says she has never heard it before.” The young woman paused.
Then delivered the words William had been longing to hear.
“If you are willing, she would like to ask you about it personally.” For a heartbeat, William simply stared.
Then every alarm bell in his mind exploded at once.
The opportunity he had spent two days chasing…
Had finally arrived.