The wedding could only be described as a sea of green. From the banners to the gowns to the intricate floral arrangements, House Tyrell's sigil was woven into every aspect of the celebration.
The ceremony in the castle sept was a solemn affair, attended by nearly every house in the Reach. But it was the feast that followed where the true character of the Reach revealed itself: a whirlwind of music, laughter, and intricate political maneuvering.
I found myself pulled into countless conversations with knights, lords, and a dizzying number of ladies. While many had brought partners, I stood alone—or rather, I stood with Lady Janna Tyrell, who had quite forcefully appointed herself as my temporary companion. We occupied a corner of a balcony, a strategic vantage point from which to observe the event, occasionally engaging in light conversation with passersby. It was a clever ruse; by attaching herself to the intriguing foreign knight, she effectively built a wall against the suitors who sought to court her, the next eligible daughter of Highgarden.
Below, in a courtyard, my squires were sparring with Lady Olenna's personal guards, the twins Ser Arryk and Erryk. The men were as tall as I was and moved with a strength that dwarfed most other Tyrell knights. Alban and Alaric were holding their own better than I had expected, their forms clean and their blocks swift. The crowd loved the spectacle of twins fighting twins, cheering and placing bets on how long my boys would last. The whole thing had been Lord Mace Tyrell's idea, a way to boast of the "strong sword-arms" he had brought to his court.
I noted a stern-faced man with a striding huntsman on his doublet approach the boys after they had been gracefully bested and helped to their feet by the two guards. Randyll Tarly. I made a note to ask the boys what he had said.
My attention was then drawn to the most iconic woman in the room: Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns. She did not look old, but age had begun to trace lines on her face. She observed the festivities with an air of profound disinterest, her gaze frequently landing on her son, Lord Mace, with a glare that could curdle milk. Then her eyes found me. They did not linger long, but it was enough. I was being assessed. I knew a summons would come soon.
As if on cue, Lord Mace boisterously announced his "other foreign guest" and requested I entertain the assembly. I was dressed in my fine black leathers, looking every bit the foreign nobleman. Extricating my arm from Janna's thorny grip, I complied.
I chose a song that was romantic, not sad. Strumming my guitar, I began to sing, my voice carrying over the crowd.
"Every night in my dreams... I see you, I feel you... That is how I know you go on..."
The adults responded with warm applause and happy chatter. They were hungry for something new, and I had provided it. After a bow, I returned to Janna, who immediately reclaimed my arm, pressing her body against mine. "You must sing that again in the gardens, for a more... select audience," she murmured.
The dancing began. My first steps were hesitant, but the lessons Miranda had drilled into me, combined with Janna's expert guidance, saw me through. I danced with her, then with the radiant bride, Lady Mina, whom I congratulated. I danced with others—a Florent girl, the brash Lady Rosanna Rowan, and a blushing Ceryse Hightower. The faces began to blur.
By midnight, the feast had devolved into a raucous, drunken revelry. Then came the shouts for the bedding. To an outsider, it might have looked like a prank. But watching a mob of men and women violently rip the clothes from the groom and bride, their laughter taking on a cruel edge, was horrifying. They called the children born from such unions 'bastards' as an insult. The hypocrisy was staggering. I needed air.
I turned to find a balcony, but a small hand tugged my sleeve. It was a young girl, Janna's cousin, who informed me that Lady Olenna required my presence.
So, the interrogation was to begin.
I was led to a secluded part of the vast gardens. She sat at a small tea table with an empty chair opposite her. I approached and gave a respectful bow. She barely acknowledged it.
She signaled her guards to leave. When they hesitated, she shooed them away. "Oh, off you go. There are half a hundred women running through the halls in their smallclothes, and this one isn't going to do me harm. Now, shoo."
Once we were alone, I remained standing, not presuming to sit without an invitation. She subjected me to a silent, piercing stare, a tactic designed to unsettle. After a long five minutes, she spoke.
"Hmm. So, murmuring knight, or merchant prince, whatever you are," she began, a faintly impressed look on her face. "Tell me, what is it you want from my house?"
So, she believed I was here to seek employment or seduce her daughter. The assumption was irritating; it was her oaf of a son who had dragged me here.
"I want nothing, my lady," I replied calmly. "I wished to leave this place, and the things I want, House Tyrell does not possess."
"The gate is open. No one is stopping you," she said, her eyes narrowing. "But you should mind your tongue. House Tyrell is one of the wealthiest in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Even if your house has mountains of gold and a garden of daughters, my lady, I value my freedom more," I countered. "And you should know, I am not some poor hedge knight. With my skills, I could find employment in any noble house in Westeros. I am only here to preserve your son's dignity by honoring his invitation. A man of Lord Tyrell's intelligence might think twice before issuing such offers so freely."
I saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes, followed by a trace of sadness. Her guards returned, checking on her, but she waved them off again.
"I know my son is intelligent, Ser. He gets it from his mighty father, who embarrassed this house by dying in a horse-riding accident, making us a laughingstock." Her eyes hardened. "And now the boy brings a dangerous man like you into our home, and my daughter attaches herself to your side with a tenacity that gives gossips all the fodder they need. She is meant for a strategic match, not to become the subject of tavern tales about a mysterious knight."
Her anger was palpable, and from her perspective as the true ruler of Highgarden, it was justified. My mere presence was a problem.
"But I cannot simply let you leave. My son wishes to show off your other... talents... to the other lords. From what I gather, you've not taken advantage of our hospitality, I'll grant you that." She glanced at the empty chair. "I won't apologize for not letting you sit, and I know the respect I showed earlier has been lost. But I couldn't care less."
Her dismissal was a calculated insult. I was furious, but threatening the Queen of Thorns in her own castle was a swift path to a poisoned cup or a tragic "accident" for my squires. She saw me as a threat, and she wasn't entirely wrong—I was here to gather intelligence.
I offered her one more, shorter bow. "My lady."
Then I took my leave, walking briskly toward the chambers I had been granted. My mind churned with the encounter. But a more immediate concern surfaced.
Where in the seven hells were my squires? Well, they could enjoy their night. I, however, needed rest. Tomorrow held a tourney to win and a crown to bestow.