Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story! Thank you! Pat**on : CaveLeather
The long tables used for the banquet were cleared away, and the nobles retreated to the sides, making the massive ballroom instantly feel spacious, perhaps even empty.
The chandeliers overhead bathed the hall in light, making it almost as bright as day.
The Tyrells and Jon's faction stood beneath their respective banners. The center of the ballroom looked like a giant chessboard ready for play.
If you looked closely, you'd see the Tyrell side dominated by shades of green, while Jon's side was a motley crew of various colors with no unified theme.
It created a distinct visual divide between the two camps.
Both opposing sides sent out their "vanguards," ready to engage in a very different kind of skirmish.
In the center of the ballroom, Margaery, dressed in a flowing green gown, lifted her hem and curtsied to the Duke in the blue-gray tunic before her. As she moved, the emerald necklace at her throat caught the light, refracting a brilliant glow.
The verdant gem complemented her fair skin perfectly. The curve of her waist and her slender neck seemed to be on display, proving exactly why she was called the "Rose of Highgarden."
The musicians began to play on cue. However, neither party was particularly relaxed; the music sounded less like a melody and more like a horn sounding the charge.
Their hands rested lightly on each other's shoulders and waists, but the touch was barely there, hovering without applying any real weight.
As the music swelled and they began to move, Jon caught a scent of something fresh and sweet. Margaery's steps were light and practiced. She soon found an opening to speak: "Lord Stark, your dancing—"
"It has a sense of power."
Power? Jon wasn't sure if Margaery meant something else—was she implying his steps were clumsy, or was she hinting at the incident with her cousin earlier?
He decided to answer based on his own interpretation. Looking into the girl's brown eyes, he said, "Power and softness... these things are relative."
"Please, enlighten me, Lord Stark."
"Where there is a front, there is a back. Where there is strength, there is weakness. Where there are kings, there are subjects; and where there are leaders, there are followers. I am dancing with a beautiful young lady. If I were dancing with a giant, I would appear quite soft in comparison."
"A unique perspective, Lord Stark." Jon's slightly humorous explanation made Margaery smile like a blooming flower.
Lord Stark. Hearing Margaery address him this way again moved Jon slightly. Most people called him "Lord Jon," "Duke Jon," or "Lord Duke." Very few called him "Lord Stark."
She must have put effort into researching him. At the very least, she had thought about what a bastard whose destiny had suddenly changed would want to hear. She was a smart one.
In fact, she might be the smartest girl Jon had met since coming to this world. And since she was smart, things could be simple.
He could skip the probing and the games, show his hand, and see if she accepted the deal.
After a spinning turn, Jon adjusted his angle and asked, "Lady Margaery, could we talk alone later? I'd like to take a walk in the garden with you."
Margaery hadn't expected Jon to accelerate the pace so suddenly. She paused for a split second but adapted quickly. "Hehe, Duke Stark, you are a bit hasty. Most girls don't like being asked questions."
Margaery's eyes were bright, her tone playful and slightly provocative, but impossible to dislike.
"Then... I am going to the garden. Come with me!"
"Hmm... a bit too forceful."
"I am going to the garden. Will you join me?"
"That's still a question."
Jon's mind raced, and he said, "I am going to the garden, but it would be incredibly dull without you."
"Lord Stark truly lives up to his reputation as a victorious general. But how do you plan to get me out of here?"
Margaery guided Jon's gaze toward the Tyrell family section. Jon immediately saw Mace, whose face was dark, looking like he wanted to swallow Jon whole.
Mace was staring at him like a brown bear guarding a cave entrance, all while giving instructions to the guards and his son, Garlan.
It was ninety percent certain he was setting up a blockade to prevent Jon from abducting his daughter.
"For a general who wins every battle, this is hardly a difficult task," Jon said confidently, his breathing steady and calm.
Margaery simply nodded. It was clear her stamina was flagging a bit; finishing the dance was fine, but dancing while holding a conversation was taxing her.
When the music ended, Jon and Margaery retreated to their respective "camps."
Interestingly, once they separated, neither looked directly at the other. Instead, they both angled their bodies slightly, using their peripheral vision to keep tabs on one another.
Between the two of them, they had about eight hundred hidden agendas.
Alester saw the time was right. after receiving permission from Stannis, he loudly announced: "In the name of King Stannis Baratheon the First, let the ball officially begin!"
As soon as the acting Hand spoke, the musicians in every corner began playing in unison. In a world with Renaissance-level technology, the crowd was treated to a live surround-sound experience.
Men and women in colorful attire began to dance. Stannis even led the "charge" personally. Although his army was small right now, this venue belonged entirely to the royal family.
The Tyrells suddenly found themselves "besieged." King's Landing was Stannis's turf, after all. He had long ago ordered people to target each member of the Tyrell family, tying them all up in dances to create an opening for Jon.
Sansa was also pulling her weight, casting aside her reserved ladylike demeanor to actively invite Garlan to dance.
Jon seized the moment. He circled around the dance floor and reached Margaery.
They exchanged a look. She placed her gloved hand in his, feeling the roughness and warmth of his large palm. Taking advantage of the chaos, they quickly slipped away to open up a "secondary front."
Lia, standing nearby, naturally saw what was happening. Seeing Jon go for Margaery instead of her made her feel relieved, but also a little jealous and disappointed.
But overall, mostly relieved.
So what if he was a Duke? He didn't even have his own land yet. Besides, she had no desire to marry a bastard.
However, nobody cared what she thought.
—
On Jon and Margaery's end, it was just as she had said: Mace had set up layer upon layer of obstacles.
Once they left the main hall, the light dimmed instantly. The sun had long since set, relying on candlelight streetlamps to provide meager illumination.
Since they weren't electric lights, visibility was limited. They barely pushed back the darkness, making the surrounding shadows feel like they were hiding danger.
They walked briskly, Jon's coattails and Margaery's dress fluttering behind them.
"Stop!" Jon squeezed Margaery's hand slightly. They stopped abruptly and ducked behind a suit of decorative dragon-scale armor.
The armor looked like a relic from the Targaryen era.
Hiding behind the armor with Jon, Margaery watched as a Tyrell guard suddenly appeared, looking around suspiciously. She was astonished, wondering how Jon had this ability of "foresight."
After the guard left, they continued. But they had barely taken two steps when Jon whispered, "Left turn!"
Sure enough, as soon as they changed routes, three more guards hurried past where they would have been.
As Jon led her through this "obstacle course," Margaery felt her heartbeat accelerating. The tension and excitement made her eyes shine brighter, as if some primal instinct deep inside her had been activated.
At the same time, because the temperature had dropped sharply after leaving the hall, she unconsciously leaned her body closer to Jon.
Along the way, Jon led Margaery to dodge, duck, hide, retreat, and circle, as if playing a thrilling game. It gave her an incredibly novel experience.
Before long, they arrived at the Red Keep's gardens.
To welcome the Tyrells, the gardens had also been spruced up, mostly by transplanting some fresher flowers.
"Lady Margaery, I believe there are no more guards around."
Hearing Jon's reminder, Margaery slowly pulled away from him.
Beneath their feet was a gray cobblestone path leading deeper into the garden. Jon and Margaery stood on either side of it, the narrow gray road acting like a border between two nations.
A cool autumn breeze blew past, stirring the ends of Margaery's hair and the hem of Jon's tunic.
The ambiguity of the ballroom and the thrill of their escape faded rapidly. They now looked like two diplomats about to open negotiations.
The time had come to define power and interests.