"Go, Hobber!
Defeat the Dornishman!"
In the training yard of the Red Keep, Hobber Redwyne relished the cheers of the Reach nobles as his squire helped him into his armor.
"Come on, Hobber! Take him down!" Samwell joined the crowd, adding to the uproar.
Things were going even more smoothly than Samwell had expected. Hobber Redwyne and Gerold Dayne, two hot-blooded young men, had quickly escalated their disagreement into a duel in the yard.
Of course, this wasn't a duel to the death, but it was enough to highlight and intensify the tensions between them—just what Samwell needed to keep advancing his plans.
"For the Reach's honor, Hobber! Show that Dornish upstart!" came the voices of the Tyrell brothers, Garlan and Loras, who had been nowhere to be found during the tea gathering earlier, but had suddenly appeared when they heard about the duel.
Not only them—nearly all the Reach nobles who had come to King's Landing were present. Among them were Ser Alyn Ambrose of House Ambrose from the Arbor, and Alester Florent of Brightwater Keep, Samwell's own uncle. However, Randyll Tarly had not come himself, though he had sent several knights of his own bannermen.
Samwell knew the ones his father had sent; they had fought alongside him at the Battle of Starfall. These knights explained that Lord Randyll was "unwell" and couldn't make the journey to King's Landing.
Samwell didn't buy it. That sounded like a thin excuse to him.
Still, he could understand. After all, his father and King Robert had a certain… history.
During Robert's Rebellion, the one person to defeat Robert in battle had been Lord Randyll Tarly. If they met again, Robert would probably, at some point, end up drunkenly yelling for a rematch with Randyll.
Better to avoid that.
"Who do you want to win?" Margaery asked, holding hands with Nathalie, a playful smile on her face.
"I…" Nathalie seemed stumped by the question.
As the lord of Starfall, Gerold Dayne had recently sworn fealty to her, so she should logically be rooting for him. But… Margaery had been so kind to her, and Samwell was from the Reach…
"I… don't really know…"
"How could you not know? These two knights are dueling for you, after all."
"Oh… well… then I hope they both win…"
Both win? Isn't that the same as both of them losing?
Samwell wasn't sure whether Nathalie's answer was clever or just naïve.
Margaery laughed softly. "Nathalie, you're too kind. There has to be a winner and a loser in the yard. They can't both win."
Of course, both could lose.
Samwell chuckled to himself.
For a moment, he thought he might understand how Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish felt, standing in the shadows and watching others battle for his own ends.
Is this what it feels like to be a puppet master?
No, no.
He quickly banished the thought.
I'm nothing like Littlefinger, he reminded himself. I'm a good guy.
"Lady Nathalie," Gerold Dayne, fully armored, rode up to Nathalie, bowing in the saddle. "Would you grant me a token of your favor?"
"Oh?" Nathalie looked bewildered.
Margaery leaned in, whispering instructions, and finally, Nathalie understood. She was wearing her hair in a charming braided style today, decorated with several pink ribbons. She removed one and handed it to Gerold.
Gerold tied the ribbon around his wrist, declaring grandly, "Thank you, fair Lady Nathalie. I will fight for your honor!"
Not to be outdone, Hobber hurried over to ask for his own token.
Nattalie quickly handed him another ribbon.
With both knights now bearing their tokens, they entered the yard to duel "for the honor of Lady Nathalie."
The sound of the gong signaled the start of the match, and the two knights began to charge each other.
Horses' hooves thundered, and the gap between the two narrowed swiftly.
Nathalie covered her eyes.
With a thunderous clash, the yard resounded with cheers from the Dornish side.
Nathalie cautiously opened her eyes to see Hobber sprawled in the dirt, his purple-grape-emblazoned shield thrown a good distance away. Gerold Dayne, meanwhile, galloped around the yard in victory, basking in the applause.
"Idiot!" Someone in the Reach ranks muttered angrily. Nathalie couldn't tell who.
"Pathetic!" came another voice. This time she recognized Garlan Tyrell.
She blinked and looked away, only to see Hobber's brother Horas rushing over to help him up. Hobber's helmet was dented and stuck on his head, and the group around him looked like they were trying to pull up a stubborn turnip.
Nathalie couldn't help but laugh.
Seeing her smile, Gerold Dayne trotted over and mistook it as a reaction to his victory, which filled him with delight.
"Lady Nathalie, allow me to dedicate this victory to you! Though its honor could never match your beauty."
Nathalie quickly composed herself and curtseyed. "Thank you, Ser Gerold."
"Gerold Dayne!" Garlan Tyrell called out. "Why don't you face me next?"
Before Gerold could reply, Princess Arianne Martell stepped forward.
"Ser Garlan, are you also fighting for Lady Nathalie's honor?"
Garlan was engaged to be married, so Arianne's question clearly caught him off guard.
"I fight for the honor of the Reach!" he said.
Arianne put on a look of exaggerated innocence. "But we just agreed on peace between the Reach and Dorne, did we not?"
Margaery stepped forward to smooth things over. "All right, brother, enough sparring for today. We wouldn't want the Dornish to think we can't handle a little defeat. Ser Gerold, you're a fine knight."
Gerold bowed respectfully to Margaery.
With her intervention, both sides left the yard without further incident.
Only the Redwyne men were left, still struggling with Hobber's helmet.
---
The group of Reach nobles returned to the garden to drink tea and chat. As the sun began to set, Samwell finally rose, offering his goodbyes, and escorted Nathalie back to her quarters.
"Samwell, do you think Hobber and Gerold are courting me?"
Nathalie asked, her hand resting on his arm.
"Why else would they fight for you?" Samwell chuckled. "Which one do you like?"
"I don't like either of them."
"Oh? Aren't they impressive enough?"
"It's not that…" Nattalie kicked a pebble as they walked. "Ser Hobber is of high birth, but he's hard to understand… and a bit dim, if I'm honest. As for Ser Gerold… he's a Dayne, but there's something about him that feels… off. The way he looks at me makes me uneasy."
"Well, that's too bad for them. They'll be heartbroken to hear it."
"Then don't tell them."
"Ah, so you're stringing them along."
"Stringing them along?" Nathalie tilted her head, puzzled.
Samwell shook his head. She likely didn't even know the term.
"All right, I won't tell them. Let them pine for you in vain."
"Yes!" Nathalie grinned, then hesitated. "But… isn't that wrong? If I don't say anything, they'll just keep pursuing me. Should I refuse them outright?"
"Simple." Samwell grinned. "Just give them an impossible test."
"An impossible test?"
"Right. You could say you'll only marry a knight who can conquer a dragon."
"Good idea!" She brightened, then paused. "But… what if… he does find a dragon?"
"Well, then you should marry him!"
"Oh…" Nathalie pouted slightly, looking unconvinced.
Rounding a corner, Samwell stopped at her door.
"Well, here we are. Good night, Nathalie."
"Samwell," she hesitated, "do you think you could tame a dragon?"
He laughed. "There are no dragons left, silly girl."
"But what if there were?"
"Then I'd give it a good thrashing."
He ruffled her hair, playfully mussing it up.
"Now you've gone and ruined my ribbons," she protested, trying to fix her hair.
"They were already coming loose. Just take them off."
"All right…"
---
Back in his room, Gerold Dayne couldn't calm his excitement.
After ordering a bath drawn, he sat at his desk and began writing a letter to his father in Dorne.
I will reclaim all that is rightfully ours! he wrote, his words filled with fiery resolve.
When he finished, Gerold began to remove his clothes for the bath. He touched the pink ribbon on his wrist and smiled. Bringing it to his nose, he took in its gentle scent of violets.
He carefully put it away, changed into fresh clothes, and sealed his letter with wax.
But as he opened the door, a familiar ribbon slipped through the crack.
Gerold caught it midair. It was identical to the one Lady Nathalie had given him earlier.
This ribbon, too, bore a faint scent of violets. But upon closer inspection, he noticed there was something written on it:
"Tonight at ten, in the godswood."
Gerold's breath quickened. Is Lady Nathalie inviting me to meet her under the moonlight?
His heart started pounding wildly. "Oh, my dear Lady Nathalie," he murmured to himself. "You act so demure, but it seems there's a fiery, passionate Dornish spirit hidden beneath your facade."
He lifted the ribbon again, inhaling its light floral scent as though savoring a forbidden treasure.
And so, as the evening deepened, Ser Gerold readied himself with care. He dressed impeccably, adjusted his sword belt, and even tucked the original ribbon Nathalie had given him into his breast pocket, letting it peek out as a small token.
Then, as the appointed hour approached, he slipped out of his chambers and made his way toward the godswood, anticipation building with every step.
(End of Chapter)