Day after day, traveling by day and resting by night.
Before setting out, William borrowed from Garth that Dornish sand steed suited for long journeys. With two horses to alternate, he could cover far more ground each day. In two days, he reached Highgarden; a day later, he arrived near New Barrel, the home of Garlan's betrothed, Lady Leonie. From there, the Rose Road bent eastward toward King's Landing, but to save time, William left the main road and pressed straight north.
On the sixth day from Oldtown, he crossed the junction where the Gold Road met the Blackwater. This stretch was nothing but narrow tracks, and he inevitably ran into a few bands of witless brigands—before the battle of Ten Mile, they might have survived an encounter, but now their luck had simply run out.
By dusk on the seventh day, William reached Atranta on the southern shore of the Gods Eye, but he didn't call on Lord Vance. Instead, he passed the night in a small town outside the city. At midday the following day, riding along the lake's western shore, he finally caught sight of the massive fortress rising beside the blue waters. He couldn't help but let out a long sigh and smile. Harrenhal was hardly his favorite place, but it still held family he missed dearly.
Crossing a ridge, he came upon a little brook with a small copse beside it. This close to Harroway's Town, the land was largely treeless, so such a patch was rare. Brilliant sunshine might sound poetic, but for a weary traveler under the blazing sun, it was anything but kind. Anyone would be tempted to stop and rest here.
The brook murmured, the leaves offered shade. William tied up his horses, leaned against a great tree, and ate his dry rations, gazing out at the endless plains on one side and the rippling lake on the other. Everywhere seemed boundless and beautiful. His expression grew grave. Such a place should never be marred by war. This peace and stillness—it is mine to protect!
Suddenly, the horses grew restless and uneasy, and William too felt danger pressing in. But after so many battles, his state of mind was no longer what it once was. Calmly, he rose, soothed his warhorse, set down his half-finished rations beside the sand steed, and drew the greatsword from its saddle. A blade that most men could barely wield with both hands hung light as a feather in his single grip as he strode to the brook's edge, eyes fixed on the distance.
The attacker appeared atop a low ridge before him. William blinked in surprise. What a bear! The black bear's shoulders stood higher than his warhorse. William had seen brown bears and polar bears before, but this beast was nearly half again as large as any he'd encountered.
And he had a strange certainty—the bear wasn't here by chance. It had come for him. Or rather, for the silver disk. Fearing the beasts might maul or frighten his horses, William crossed the brook and advanced toward the ridge. As if enraged at being challenged, the black bear roared and charged, its speed shockingly swift.
"Good! Come on then!" William shouted back, breaking into a run to meet it.
The bear drew nearer, its beady eyes gleaming with savage malice. Its gaping jaws revealed knife-like fangs, and a reeking stench washed over him.
William measured speed and distance, adjusting his footing and stance. But at the instant he prepared to strike, the bear bellowed and leapt, pouncing down at him from above. With its immense weight and downward momentum, the attack struck like a mountain falling.
Without armor, William dared not take such a blow head-on. He slipped aside to the left, dodging the lunge, while thrusting his blade by feel with his right hand, hoping at least to wound the beast. Against such a monster, leaving as many cuts as possible was a sound tactic.
He felt his sword bite into something and for a moment his heart leapt—then sank as a tremendous force jolted his hand. The greatsword wrenched free and flew from his grasp. When the bear landed, William saw his blade jutting from its back, halfway buried in flesh. Such a wound would have felled a man instantly, yet the bear seemed unfazed. It only grew more furious, rearing up on its hind legs, its bulk towering over ten feet high, blotting out the sky, before dropping to all fours and charging again at full tilt.
William could only gape in exasperation and dismay, forced to dodge once more. He had never expected such a turn.
As the bear missed its mark, William circled quickly to its left, hoping to wrench his sword free. But the beast, far more agile than its size suggested, spun halfway around and lashed out with one massive paw. William had no choice but to evade yet again.
If he were wearing heavy armor, William could have faced the black bear head-on, trading a punch for a swipe, and would have had it down in just a few blows. If he had his longsword in hand, he could have shredded the bear to pieces, and the blood loss alone would have been enough to kill it. But now, bare-handed, he had no choice but to dodge.
They went back and forth for several rounds. Though William had avoided serious injury, he felt a twinge of frustration. Still lacking a decisive move… The only advantage he had was that the sword had at least inflicted a wound. Though it bled little, the bear's constant exertion would prevent it from healing, and perhaps, in the end, he could wear it down.
Yet the bear seemed to realize something. After forcing William back once more, it stopped attacking and instead turned to leave. William dared not follow, watching as the massive black silhouette with the sword embedded slowly disappeared behind the hills.
This bear is definitely abnormal.
Retreating on its own accord—had it become sentient? And with such a huge, heavy body, it still moved with speed and agility. William began to suspect that this bear's body might have been magically enhanced.
Back at the brook, William checked his gear and saw the rune disk safely resting in its box. He wasted no time leaving the slightly eerie spot. Though he had lost his sword, the rest of the journey passed without incident. Riding steadily, he finally entered Harren Town under the setting sun.
As he rode through the main street, William noticed the town seemed livelier than when he had left. Apparently, his letters to Walter from Oldtown, filled with economic knowledge, had some effect. Passing through, he soon saw Harrenhal's gatehouse. Looking up, he could make out the five distant towers, their tips like a hand stirring drifting white clouds.
The city gates were wide open. A simple barricade blocked the center, with rows of open-sided shelters on either side. A dozen or so soldiers stood or sat beneath them. Up close, William saw they all wore uniform leather armor, their surcoats emblazoned with bat insignias. Their weapons looked decent, their discipline only passable—but at least they recognized a mounted rider and assumed a guarded stance.
Two shield-bearers stepped forward. Seeing William dusty and travel-worn, they assumed he was an ordinary merchant. One called out loudly, "Hey, stop! What's your business?" Noticing he rode a sand steed accompanied by a well-kept warhorse, he added, "Selling horses?"
"No. I just want to go home."
"Home? This is Harrenhal. Can't you tell how big it is? Or does your home match this size?" The remark drew a round of laughter from the other soldiers.
William pulled back his hood. "I am William Whent." Seeing their puzzled expressions, he added, "My father is Lord Walter Whent."
The soldiers' faces suddenly lit up with recognition.