"This place truly is beautiful."
Kal rode astride Fawkes, gazing across the Mander River at the white castle on the opposite bank, nestled amid lush greenery.
To be honest, although the Eyrie also possessed scenery that, to a certain extent, was no less beautiful than this, compared with the garden-like vista before his eyes, the Eyrie seemed rather small and cramped.
That was because the Eyrie was not only small, but also carried an added sense of lofty, precipitous pride, giving people a feeling of something utterly beyond reach.
Thus, by comparison, even though Kal had grown up in the Eyrie, he still preferred this garden castle built of white marble.
This natural pastoral serenity and agrarian atmosphere gave him a sense of calm and comfort.
It was only a pity that such beautiful scenery had, because of human ambition, been transformed into a battlefield of clashing arms.
Drawing his gaze back from Highgarden, Kal looked at the massive army blocking his path.
Outside the vast forests along the banks of the Mander, amid the lush green fields, the banners of most of the Reach's noble houses were fluttering here.
Aside from House Tyrell's own forces and the golden rose banner blooming upon the verdant fields, all those Reach nobles who followed their liege—whom Lady Arwyn Oakheart had previously told Kal about—were now gathered here in full.
Aside from Oldtown, which up to now had still shown no reaction whatsoever to the situation of the Seven Kingdoms.
As for the scene before them, even at such a distance, a single glance revealed a dense, dark mass—at the very least a force numbering in the tens of thousands.
Jon followed at Kal's side, just as he had in the past, when Kal was still only a knight and he himself merely Kal's squire.
"They have a lot of men."
Compared with Kal's praise of Highgarden's beauty, Jon's attention had remained fixed on the army opposite them.
He was thinking about how, if it were him in command, he would fight the coming war.
On such a vast, flat plain, there was scarcely any terrain suitable for setting up tactics, as though every war fought on such ground could only come down to a direct, head-on clash.
It would all come down to numbers.
This had made Jon feel an unshakable sense of pressure ever since arriving here.
Kal heard the worry in Jon's words, but merely smiled calmly and spoke with deeper meaning: "Jon, many times, having more men does not decide the outcome."
Because of the change of seasons, a fine drizzle now drifted through the sky, landing on the cloak Kal wore and forming bead after bead of crystal-clear droplets.
Not far behind him, Kal's army—having just incorporated the cavalry regiment sent by Randyll Tarly—was setting up a simple camp and beginning to cook their meals.
This time, those who had come forward to observe the situation on the opposite side were only Kal, Jon, and the Kingsguard, including the newly joined Garlan Tyrell.
Hearing his words, several of the White Knights instinctively looked over, yet none of the three showed any expression of surprise on their faces.
They were already used to it—even Garlan Tyrell himself.
Seeing that no one responded to him, Kal looked toward the opposite side, and a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.
"Since we're idle anyway, how about we go over and take a look?"
"I'm quite curious what the House Tyrell thinks of an army like ours pressing up to their walls."
After speaking, he did not wait for any of them to refuse. He lightly tapped Fawkes with his foot, held the reins, and broke into a light trot toward the enemy's direction.
No one had expected their king to pull something like this. After a brief moment of stunned silence, Jon and the others instinctively hurried after him.
However, after taking only a couple of steps, Arys Oakheart seemed to think of something and quickly leaned over to whisper a few words into the ear of his sworn brother, Ser Balon Swann.
Balon Swann's brow tightened. He lifted his head to glance toward the opposite side, then nodded, immediately stopping, turning around, and returning to the camp.
Kal paid no attention to them. He rode forward calmly, as though out for a countryside outing, unhurried and at ease as he headed toward House Tyrell's encampment ahead.
Before long, a cavalry detachment of several dozen riders followed after them from behind Balon Swann and caught up.
Several banners were held high within the formation. The foremost was the black banner of House El, bearing a red, gold-edged design of a jeweled river.
The remaining two were the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
With the three standards raised high, the group advanced until they were roughly 1.6 kilometers from the opposing camp, where they finally came to a halt.
After glancing at the watchtower a hundred paces away, Kal held Fawkes's reins and turned his head to look at Garlan Tyrell.
"Ser Garlan, could I trouble you to make a trip home?"
"I still lack someone to inform Lord Mace Tyrell that I have come to pay a visit. I hope to invite him to gather here and enjoy the scenery of the Reach."
Garlan had not expected Kal to have him act as the messenger. He paused slightly in surprise, then glanced at Arys and the others, and the expression on his face grew solemn.
"At your command, Your Grace!"
Garlan said nothing more. After completing his salute, he took a banner bearing the jeweled river sigil, raised it high in one hand, mounted his horse, and galloped straight toward his family's lands.
Seeing him accept so decisively, with no hesitation in his actions, Jon—half a body length behind Kal—could not help exchanging looks with Arys and the others.
Their expressions were complicated, but in the end they all turned serious.
They did not know whether Kal was testing Garlan, or whether he was simply expressing trust born of confidence in Garlan's loyalty.
But in any case, that was not something they should be considering.
And if Garlan did not return, Arys knew what he himself would have to do.
Fortunately, their wait did not last long.
While Kal lay at ease on the tables and stools brought by the guards, eating fruit as he waited, a group of several dozen men also emerged from the opposing camp.
The jeweled river banner still led the way, followed behind by House Tyrell's golden rose.
"Your Grace, Lord Mace Tyrell has arrived."
Upon reaching them, Garlan dismounted first and came before Kal to report.
Kal nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and said nothing.
His gaze merely passed over him, settling on Mace Tyrell behind him, whose expression was far from pleasant.
This Lord of Highgarden—still handsome in appearance, with a head of curly brown hair and a triangular beard already flecked with white, his figure grown plump—Warden of the South, made no effort at all to hide the anger on his face.
He silently watched his second son submit to the young man before him, without uttering a single word.
After finishing his report, Garlan rose in silence, gathered the banner in his hand, and moved to stand beside Jon and Arys, who were waiting behind Kal.
Both men nodded to him.
Jon, with Kal's cloak that had just been removed draped over his arm, even offered him a friendly smile.
Kal, meanwhile, still reclined on the lounge chair, his gaze fixed on the bloated lord before him, with no intention of standing.
He merely spoke calmly, "Welcome, Lord Mace Tyrell. I had thought you might refuse my invitation—or even bring your knights and simply kill me here."
"Knights of Highgarden have never done things without honor," Mace replied, neither yielding nor hardening his tone.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Kal merely smiled, his gaze shifting to a limping man beside him who leaned on a walking stick.
"And who might this be?"
During the exchange between Kal and Mace, this man—who had worn a gentle smile all along—had patiently remained standing where he was.
Seeing Kal notice him, Willas Tyrell respectfully bowed to Kal and offered his greeting: "Your Grace, King Kal I of House Baratheon, I am Willas of House Tyrell. It is a great honor to meet you."
However, whether because Willas had spoken in his stead, or because Mace disliked his words, he added in a stiff tone the moment Willas finished speaking, "Willas Tyrell is my eldest son, and the heir to Highgarden."
It was unclear what he meant to convey by this. As he spoke, his gaze flicked toward Garlan, who stood respectfully at Kal's side, and he let out a low, cold snort.
Faced with his father's look, Garlan remained unmoved, standing silently in place.
Seeing this, Willas offered Kal an apologetic smile.
Looking at the lame man, Kal found it rather amusing.
"Your manner of addressing me is quite interesting. Perhaps if you were the Lord of Highgarden, this war would never have happened."
"Come, sit. I think there are indeed some matters we ought to discuss. At the very least, even if it truly comes to fighting, there should still be a process to go through, should there not?"
Kal gestured to the two of them, signaling for them to come over.
At Kal's gesture, Mace hesitated instinctively, unable to resist glancing back at the guards who had followed him.
Willas, however, paid it no mind at all. Limping forward to Kal, he first offered a respectful bow before taking his seat, without waiting for his father, Lord Mace Tyrell.
At this, Mace was left awkwardly standing in place. With little else he could do, he had no choice but to step forward and follow.
"Your Grace Kal is right. If there were another opportunity, House Tyrell would not hesitate to swear fealty to you."
Only after his father, Lord Mace Tyrell, had also taken his seat did Willas speak with a smile toward Kal.
His words took several of those present by surprise.
All except Kal.
He merely looked calmly at the two men seated before him.
At the side, Mace, having been repeatedly slighted by his son, could no longer keep his expression in check.
"Willas, mind your position. At present, we and Kal Baratheon are enemies!"
"Yes, Father."
Willas answered with impeccable courtesy.
"A clever young man—no, on second thought, you are considerably older than I am."
Watching the exchange between father and son, Kal found it exceedingly interesting.
What surprised him even more was that Willas would seek reconciliation at such a moment.
Kal did not know whether this was Willas's own idea, or the view of House Tyrell—or even of the Reach as a whole.
But he knew one thing: this was a clever man.
Kal tapped his fingers against the armrest of the lounge chair. Then he suddenly stood up and casually picked up a piece of fruit from the table, tossing it toward Willas.
Kal spoke, "I can give House Tyrell an opportunity—but there are conditions. You know very well that this is the only basis on which you can negotiate right now."
Caught off guard by Kal's action, Willas hurriedly caught the fruit thrown his way.
Holding the fruit, he looked at Kal with a moment of blank surprise, then could not help but smile.
He was very confident, thoroughly assured.
"My sister has fallen in love with you. She is the most beautiful rose of Highgarden. And Garlan has already followed at your side. Your Grace Kal, House Tyrell is willing to hear your conditions."
"If we can thereby reach peace and spare ourselves the calamity of a war, that would be a good thing."
Mace had not expected the two of them, in just a few exchanges, to push the conversation to this point, and his mind struggled to keep up.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something more, but under the strangely oppressive atmosphere before him, he instinctively shrank back again.
Willas spoke with flawless restraint, giving off an air of refinement, gentleness, and courteous warmth, like a breath of spring.
Kal had not expected House Tyrell to harbor someone so interesting.
Thus he smiled faintly, and then suddenly shifted the topic as he spoke.
"From your words, I hear an implication. That is to say, House Tyrell can negotiate directly—and you do not need to concern yourselves with my uncle, Renly Baratheon, is that correct?"
"Apologies. This war was started because of him, yet unfortunately I never managed to meet him."
"So the words you just spoke—do they mean what I think they mean?"
Faced with Kal's pointed, probing test, Willas's expression shifted slightly, but he quickly composed himself.
"House Tyrell represents only House Tyrell itself."
Still watertight, and yet not a single piece of the intended message was missing.
"Very good." Hearing this, unseen by either Mace or Willas, several faint glints flashed through Kal's eyes.
He then leaned forward slightly. His expression turned serious, yet his eyes still carried a trace of a smile as he looked at the two men before him.
"Then, in that case, I require House Tyrell—along with all the nobles of the Reach who have responded to your call—to surrender to me, kneel, bow their heads, and swear fealty."
"Additionally, because of House Tyrell's erroneous choice, you will be stripped of the titles of Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. Likewise, as a consequence of your decision, I will confiscate House Tyrell's lands."
"These are my conditions. If you accept them, I will grant you peace."
As Kal's words fell, silence once again engulfed the scene.
Including Jon, several people stared at him in astonishment, while Willas could no longer maintain the smile on his face.
As for Mace himself, his face flushed red with fury as he sprang to his feet.
"You… you are insulting us!"
"Damn you, you imp—hmph! House Tyrell will never agree to such utterly insincere demands!"
Willas said nothing further. He shared the same view as his father.
Kal's demands were nothing short of an outright humiliation; there was no sincerity toward peace talks whatsoever.
Moreover, after having hinted so clearly—indicating that both his sister and his younger brother were already following at Kal's side—he had expected him, at the very least, to grant them an opportunity.
Yet this young man seemed not to have properly positioned himself.
"It seems today is not an appropriate time for conversation."
Willas rose to his feet, reached out to take his walking cane, and spoke abruptly.
"It appears you do not agree with my thinking. But I must remind you that this is the only mercy I am willing to extend to House Tyrell."
Watching the peace talks he had arranged collapse just like this, Kal was not surprised. He merely spoke with a hint of deeper meaning.
As for the repeated humiliations, Mace no longer bothered to maintain even a façade of courtesy.
"Kal Baratheon, it seems your previous victories have blinded you."
"If you still have the courage to speak to me like this after tomorrow, I might hold you in higher regard."
"You will pay the price for your arrogance!"
With those words, Mace completely lost his patience, turned around angrily, and stormed off.
Willas remained standing where he was, watching his father's furious retreating figure. He let out a soft sigh, then turned his gaze back to Kal.
"Your Grace Kal, we should have had a very solid foundation for cooperation, but it seems there is some misunderstanding between us."
"The Reach is stronger than you imagine. It cannot be measured by one or two victories in localized wars."
"Oh, and let me remind you of one more thing: House Redwyne's fleet should already have arrived at your Casterly Rock. Perhaps by tomorrow or the day after—or even tonight—you will receive the news."
"If you change your mind, Highgarden awaits your visit."
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