The Betrothal Is Confirmed

Garon stood in the dueling yard, a bloodstained sword in his hand.

His sharp red eyes swept slowly over the crowd. The king's vassals and knights hurriedly stepped aside, daring not meet his gaze.

His old acquaintances from Winterfell were stunned, still unable to believe their eyes.

Garon stood like a tiger surveying its domain and said, "It seems the gods still favor me!"

Only then did everyone come back to their senses.

Robert looked exhilarated. He abruptly rose to his feet and gazed at Garon with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

He strode down from the dais to Garon's side and laughed boisterously. "Well done, Garon!"

"I never expected someone so young to be such a gifted swordsman!" Robert exclaimed in astonishment, then glanced at Meryn, still lying in a pool of blood. "Ser Meryn has guarded me for years. I never thought you'd defeat him so effortlessly."

"But to die in a Trial by Combat is an honorable death!"

He gestured, and a nearby servant hurried over to carry Meryn Trant's body away.

Robert took a deep breath, looked around, and announced the result of the Trial by Combat.

"I, Robert I of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby proclaim:"

"Garon Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, has won the Trial by Combat and secured a marriage to Sansa Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North."

"The gods and I shall bear witness to their betrothal!"

The hall erupted in a thunderous chant—

Garon! Garon! Garon!

The deafening roar threatened to lift the roof off Winterfell's great hall.

"From this day forward, Sansa Stark truly belongs to me. No one can stop it!"

Garon was triumphant, and his gaze fell on Sansa in the crowd.

Sansa covered her mouth shyly, meeting Garon's eyes with open admiration.

She hadn't expected Garon to really keep his word—and to do so through a Trial by Combat!

It was even more legendary than a prince marrying a princess in a story.

Ned smiled and summoned a servant, ordering more food and wine to be brought out.

The feast was far from over.

Once the feast resumed, King Robert raised his cup and called out, "A toast to Garon!"

"A toast to Garon!"

Everyone in the hall raised their cups in unison.

Garon laughed, raised his own cup, and drained it.

When a servant refilled it, Garon raised it again, full of confidence, and called, "A toast to the king! A toast to Lord Ned!"

Everyone raised their cups again in celebration.

The hall grew livelier by the moment. Everyone wanted to share a drink with Garon, and no one spared a thought for Meryn Trant, who had just lost his life.

That was the appeal of a Trial by Combat.

Victory earned you everyone's respect.

As for the loser, no one gave him a second thought.

Only Joffrey glared jealously at Garon, who had stolen the spotlight, while cursing Meryn Trant to himself.

"Useless!"

"Meryn, you useless fool! You couldn't even beat some nobody from Deepwood Motte!"

"You made me look bad!"

He had been doted on by everyone since childhood. He had never been treated with such indifference.

He turned toward the dais, hoping to find comfort from Cersei, only to see her watching Garon too, her eyes full of approval.

Catelyn, meanwhile, looked dejected, forcing a smile as she watched it all unfold.

She had never expected Garon to find such a way out of the situation.

Now that the gods had passed judgment, even she couldn't change Garon and Sansa's betrothal.

When Joffrey saw that neither of them even glanced his way, he angrily stamped his foot, cursed, and shoved his way through the crowd and out of the hall.

But Garon had no time to spare for Joffrey's reaction.

Robert kept him by his side as people took turns raising their cups to celebrate him.

After seven or eight cups, Ned couldn't stand watching any longer and stepped in to rescue him.

The wine had gone to Robert's head. He had none of a king's airs as he slung an arm around Garon's shoulders and laughed.

"Ned will be heading south to King's Landing with me soon. I'll hold a grand tournament for him there."

"With your skill, you'll surely defeat the southern knights and take first place!"

"Garon, how about coming south with me?"

Garon smiled and politely declined. "How could I refuse an invitation from Your Grace?"

"But I've only just taken up my duties as lord, so I can't leave right away. I hope Your Grace will allow me a few months."

Robert would be killed by a boar in just a few months, and Ned would soon be imprisoned in King's Landing. With major events about to unfold, there was no way Garon would leave the North for King's Landing now.

Robert wasn't disappointed by his answer.

With him around, there would be plenty of tournaments. He'd have many chances to see Garon in action.

He sighed. "With your courage, loyalty, and skill, you'd be fit to join the Kingsguard!"

"It's just a shame..."

Just then, Jaime pushed his way over with a cup in hand and teased, "Your Grace, our champion has only just won a betrothal. Surely you wouldn't ask him to join the Kingsguard?"

"If you did, our Lord Hand might be rather upset!"

Ned shot Jaime a look of disgust.

Robert was also put out and glared at him in displeasure.

Jaime merely shrugged. "Your Grace, might I have a private word with the champion?"

"What are you planning?" Ned demanded.

"Relax. I won't hurt the Lord Hand's son-in-law, especially not one this formidable." Jaime grinned, though his eyes remained calm. "I just want to talk with him!"

Garon smiled. "I'd be honored."

Seeing that Garon agreed, Robert let go of him.

Garon nodded to the king and Ned, then followed Jaime to a secluded corner of the hall.

Jaime stopped once they were away from the crowd.

"After this Trial by Combat, your name will soon be known throughout the Seven Kingdoms."

"People may even sing songs about you."

"But, Garon..."

The smile vanished from Jaime's face. He said coldly, "The Kingsguard aren't all wine-swilling fools like Meryn."

"If I hear that you've dared to trample on the Kingsguard's name, I won't let you get away with it!"

Garon was a little surprised. He hadn't expected Jaime to bring him over just to say that.

Still, he shook his head and replied, "The Kingsguard are the king's protectors. I respect them. Why would I trample on their name?"

Jaime stared at Garon for a long moment before finally saying, "See that you don't."

He turned to leave, but Garon wasn't about to let him finish lecturing him and walk away.

"This afternoon, Ser Jaime asked me a question. Now I'd like to ask him one."

Jaime stopped in his tracks, his eyes shifting. "Oh? What do you want to ask?"

"I heard you donned the white cloak and joined the Kingsguard when you were fifteen," Garon said with a knowing smile, returning the jab. "I wonder, is the sword in your heart still sharp?"

The arrogant smirk on Jaime's face froze.

He stared coldly at Garon. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing in particular." Garon smiled, his gaze piercing. "I was just wondering—are you happy playing at being a knight with a bunch of wine-swilling fools?"

"Your sword is wailing."

Jaime laughed in fury and instinctively reached for the sword at his waist, ready to show the boy that his blade wasn't wailing.

But since he was attending the feast, he had left his sword in his room. His hand closed on empty air.

"Ser Jaime, if you want to cross swords with me, I'll gladly oblige anytime!"

Seeing that he had provoked Jaime into anger, Garon stopped needling him. He left those words behind and walked straight past him.

Jaime was still fuming, while not far away, Garon was already surrounded by Robb and the others.

"Garon, what did the Kingslayer say to you?" Robb asked curiously.

Garon smiled. "He just wanted to spar with me."

His answer only made them more excited.

"Really?"

"If Garon beats the Kingslayer too, won't he be the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms?"

Arya's eyes darted about, her face alight with excitement and admiration.

She circled Garon, repeatedly begging him to teach her swordsmanship.

Sansa had wanted to speak with Garon too, but under Arya's verbal barrage, she couldn't get a word in.

Finally, Sansa lost patience and dragged Arya away.

The two girls bickered as they shoved and tugged at each other, leaving Robb shaking his head with a wry smile.

Garon laughed and led him over to find Jon.

On the way, he exchanged a glance with Roger, who had just returned, and knew that he had taken care of things.

Then Garon threw himself into the feast and soon drank himself into a stupor.

And so, the evening feast came to an end.