Banquet

As he entered the Hightower, Samwell could not help looking around with curiosity.

The walls, built from dark giant stones, gave off a sense of immense weight. Countless traces of time had settled within them; perhaps every tiny crack concealed a story long forgotten.

Seeing this, Baelor smiled. "Everyone who comes here for the first time finds it novel. But if you lived here for decades, all you would feel was oppression and weariness. Ah, if I had an elder brother instead of only a younger one, I probably would have left long ago to wander the world."

Samwell ran a hand over the dark, smooth wall and asked,

"Was this really built more than ten thousand years ago?"

Baelor burst out laughing.

"Not nearly that early! House Hightower did indeed settle here during the Dawn Age more than ten thousand years ago, but our castle at the time was only a wooden tower, fifty feet tall. Later, several more towers were built in succession. It was not until the fifth one that the present Hightower came into being."

"Was it built by Brandon Stark, the 'Builder'?" Samwell recalled the relevant accounts he had read in the original work.

"Yes." Baelor nodded, then said wistfully, "They say he also built The Wall, an even grander structure. I truly want to see it someday."

"And Storm's End." At that moment, a clear voice came from behind them.

Samwell turned around and saw a beautiful young man descending the stairs.

Yes, beautiful.

For the first time, Samwell felt that there was nothing strange about using that word to describe a man.

Flowing brown curls, enchanting golden eyes, and a handsome face of exquisite beauty—enough to make any woman fall for him, and more than a few men as well.

Noticing everyone looking at him, the beautiful youth on the stairs smiled faintly and continued,

"Lord Renly told me that Storm's End was also the work of Brandon the Builder. No storm, no matter how fierce, could shake it in the slightest."

"Loras, come here." Margaery beckoned to the youth on the stairs. "This is the pioneering knight I mentioned to you, Samwell Caesar."

Loras descended the steps, nodded to Samwell, and said,

"I am Loras Tyrell, third son of the Lord of Highgarden. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Caesar."

"The honor is mine, Ser Loras." Samwell returned the nod, suddenly realizing that this was the famed Knight of Flowers. His reputation was well deserved.

But why was he also in Oldtown?

Samwell remembered that Loras was supposed to be serving Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, as a squire.

Perhaps noticing Samwell's confusion, Loras offered an explanation.

"Lord Renly has come as well. He is upstairs speaking with the count and my mother."

Renly was here too?

Samwell was slightly startled, but an even greater question arose in his mind—

What was Renly doing here? House Hightower and House Baratheon were not related.

He immediately realized that Margaery and her mother had probably not come to the Hightower merely to visit relatives.

When there were too many coincidences, it became hard to believe they were coincidences.

While Samwell's thoughts ran wild, Loras spoke again.

"You are completely different from what I imagined, Ser Caesar. I heard that you have already established a territory in the Red Mountains? And subdued more than ten thousand Wildlings?"

"Yes, thanks to the blessings of the Seven."

"The Seven only bless knights who are brave and devout." Loras smiled. "I had once heard some unpleasant rumors about you, but now it seems they were all malicious and unfounded slander. No wonder Lord Renly always says not to trust your ears, but your eyes."

"Thank you for the compliment." Samwell returned the flattery. "I had long heard that you are a knight of exceptional skill, especially with a lance."

"I learned all my lance work from Lord Renly. He is an even finer knight than I am, and an even wiser lord. Oh, I have never seen Wildlings before, Ser Caesar. Could you tell me about them? How do they fight? What weapons do they use?"

"Of course. Their weapons are all rather crude..."

As he spoke, Samwell secretly chuckled to himself.

Loras really was a straightforward guy—too straightforward, in fact. He had no idea how to conceal his feelings. Every other sentence was about "Lord Renly." No wonder rumors about those two close friends had spread throughout noble circles.

They walked and talked, and the atmosphere was quite pleasant.

After climbing an unknown number of floors, Ser Baelor stopped and pointed to a room before them.

"Ser Caesar, this is the room prepared for you. Your attendants' rooms are next door as well. Please rest for a while. The dinner will begin at six, and a servant will come to notify you then."

"Very well, Ser Baelor. Thank you for your hospitality. Ser Loras, Lady Margaery, I will see you later."

"See you later."

After entering his room, Samwell first took a bath, then went to bed to rest. He did not rise leisurely to change until a maid knocked on his door.

After leaving the room, Samwell did not hurry to the banquet hall. Instead, he waited until Todd Flowers and Chiman had finished getting ready before attending the feast with them.

He could not help it. The lesson from Sunhouse had left Samwell with lingering trauma. Though he knew Count Leyton was unlikely to be as eager to marry off a daughter as Viscount Brandon had been, he no longer dared follow someone else's maid alone.

What if it was some other kind of trap?

A boy traveling alone had to remember to protect himself.

The three followed a maid to the banquet hall.

The floor was laid with purple paulownia wood that reflected people's figures. This timber was dense and lustrous, an excellent material for furniture, yet such precious purple paulownia wood was used here merely as flooring.

Seven white jade pillars carved with floral patterns supported the hall's vaulted ceiling. More than a dozen imposing armored warriors stood motionless around the hall with lances in hand, while graceful, beautiful maids carried platters of delicacies to the long dining tables with light steps.

The dinner was served buffet-style. Unfortunately, few guests lingered beside the long tables laden with wine and food. Even when they took something, they only sampled it lightly, lest they appear impolite.

The guests were divided into two groups. The dazzlingly beautiful ladies and noblewomen, dressed in elaborate attire, sat on the left side of the hall, occasionally letting out laughter like silver bells. On the right side gathered well-dressed gentlemen, conversing in small groups.

The brightly lit hall, its luxurious and elegant decorations, courteous attendants, lovely maids, and endless array of exquisite dishes painted the scene of a great noble's evening banquet.

Though Todd was a bastard, he had been born into a great noble house like House Redwyne and had served in Highgarden for many years, so he was not overly nervous at such a sight. Still, he unconsciously adjusted his collar again. As for Chiman, a country bumpkin who had never seen such a grand occasion, even his movements had become stiff.

Samwell paid no attention to the state of his two attendants. With an impeccable smile on his face, he strode into the banquet hall under the bowing guidance of a young maid.