Trial by Combat

Robert followed the sound and looked over to see a tall, sturdy, and spirited youth bowing to him with calm composure.

"A fine lad of The North!"

Robert praised him heartily in his heart, though his eyes were bleary with drink as he asked, "You are Garon?"

"Indeed, Garon Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, awaits your command!"

Garon answered with steady poise while observing the reactions of those around him.

Ned, standing beside Robert, wore a look of worry, while Sansa, sitting two long tables away, felt a flicker of joy at his appearance, followed quickly by nervous apprehension.

Catelyn wore a faint smile, seemingly convinced the outcome was settled, while Theon looked on with arrogance, ignoring the glare from Robb nearby.

Joffrey gazed at Garon with a look of contempt, his eyes filled with disdain.

Conversely, Cersei, sitting on the high seat, felt a flash of admiration as she watched the unyielding Garon.

Jaime noticed this, and a hint of jealousy stirred within him.

"I recall the Lord of Deepwood Motte was Galbart, was he not?"

"How is it you?"

Robert did not dismiss Garon outright, but looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Glancing once more toward the entrance of the hall and seeing that Roger had vanished, Garon responded slowly.

"Your Grace, nine years ago, my father answered the summons of the King and Lord Ned to lead troops against the rebel Balon Greyjoy!"

His eyes shifted to glance at Theon, who was looking uncomfortable, and he added in a heavy tone.

"While breaching the walls of Pyke Castle for Your Grace, he was unfortunately severely wounded."

"He lingered on his sickbed for years, and half a year ago, he returned to the Old Gods."

Garon's sorrowful voice stirred the memories of the many vassals present, most of whom had participated in the Greyjoy Rebellion nine years prior.

Even Robert could not help but conjure the scene in his mind.

That war had been perilous; the Greyjoys had relied on their geography to hold the Iron Throne at bay, and had it not been for the reckless charges of the Northern lords, Balon would not have surrendered so quickly.

Thinking of this, Robert set down his goblet and sighed.

"I remember Galbart's loyalty and courage clearly."

"Had he not led his men to block the counterattack of that ironborn, Maron, I doubt Pyke Castle would have fallen so easily."

"To think such a brave man has passed away; it is truly a pity."

Once these words were spoken, the vassals and knights who had also fought in the war could not help but feel a surge of goodwill toward Garon.

Consequently, the tense atmosphere in the hall eased slightly.

"Serving Your Grace and Lord Ned is merely the duty of a vassal," Garon said, noting the shift in mood while remaining respectful. "Before my father passed, he worried for my marriage, so he took the liberty of asking Lord Ned for a betrothal."

"Lord Ned, ever considerate of his vassals, summoned me to Winterfell three days ago to discuss the union."

"Although the betrothal was not finalized at the time, the intention was to have it witnessed by both Your Grace and the Old Gods."

In a few short sentences, Garon clarified the sequence of events regarding his betrothal to Sansa.

Ned spoke up at this moment to confirm the story, hoping to persuade Robert to rescind his decree.

But hearing Ned's words, Robert felt a sudden headache.

If it were just the two of them, he might have let the matter slide, but with so many eyes upon him, retracting his previous words would be tantamount to letting his vassals trample upon the King's dignity.

Robert would not accept that under any circumstances.

At this point, Jaime continued to fan the flames from the sidelines.

"When all is said and done, you and the Starks have no formal betrothal. Glover, are you asking the King to yield to you?"

"Such audacity!"

Joffrey, who had disliked Garon from the start, shouted, "A coward hiding in the Wolfswood dares to defy the King!"

"Dog! Dog!"

"Go and seize him for me!"

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, pushed his way out of the crowd, appearing ready to obey Joffrey's command and apprehend Garon.

Ned's brows locked in a frown as he glanced at Jory, who understood immediately and stepped forward to block the Hound.

Theon also reacted at this moment; he had been anxious when Garon mentioned the war and the others had agreed, but the words of Jaime and Joffrey made him realize that Garon had become a target for both the Baratheons and the Lannisters.

Thus, Theon seized the chance to kick a man while he was down. "That's right! You haven't established a real betrothal, so Sansa is still free."

"Prince Joffrey is still qualified to betroth Sansa, and the gods will surely bless them."

Yet his words did not curry favor with Joffrey; instead, they drew looks of collective contempt from everyone else in the hall.

Joffrey stared coldly at Theon and cursed, "Shut your mouth! Is there any room for a squid like you to speak here!"

Robb stood up as well, warning him icily, "Theon, hold your tongue!"

Theon trembled all over and instinctively looked toward Catelyn, only to see her glaring at him with an equally livid expression.

Only then did he realize he had provoked the wrath of everyone, and for a moment, he dared not say another word.

Garon shook his head inwardly and sneered, Idiot!

Theon didn't even know what kind of person Joffrey was, yet he dared to flatter him so rashly.

One had to know just how arrogant a person Joffrey was.

For Theon to say he was qualified was equivalent to saying that, given his status, he still had to look to Ned for approval.

How could Joffrey, who prided himself on being the heir to the Iron Throne, ever accept that?

However, Theon's words have actually given me an opportunity!

A flash of inspiration struck Garon, and he thought of a way to break the deadlock.

He stepped forward, stood before the long table, and spoke up to break the silence.

"Ser Jaime is right; what right does Glover have to make the King back down?"

Jaime sneered upon hearing this, "So, you intend to give up?"

Sansa's expression turned sorrowful, and she lowered her head, not daring to look at Garon again.

Yet, Garon's next words filled her with hope once more.

Garon shook his head, denying it, "Of course I will not give up!"

If he gave up, then Glover would become a complete laughingstock in The North, and even the family honor of the Stark would be tarnished.

How then would Garon be able to continue living in The North?

"Then what do you mean?"

Jaime looked puzzled; for a moment, he couldn't figure out what Garon was up to.

Garon's lips curled upward, his red eyes burning like flames, and his voice rang out with intensity.

"Since both Prince Joffrey and I wish to marry Lady Sansa!"

"And since the views of His Grace the King and Lord Ned are at odds, making it difficult to decide!"

"Then let the gods decide the marriage of Lady Sansa!"

Ignoring the shocked gazes of everyone present, his impassioned voice echoed throughout the entire Great Hall of Winterfell.

"Your grace!" Garon's gaze first turned toward Robert, then shifted sharply toward Ned, "my lord!"

After both of their majestic and equally shocked gazes were locked firmly upon him, Garon's face suddenly turned stern, and he made his request to the two of them with a resounding, forceful tone.

"I demand a Trial by Combat!"

Boom—

The hall erupted as if a pot had boiled over, and everyone stared at Garon in utter disbelief.