William sipped his red wine, gazing at the drifting white clouds and the gulls wheeling overhead. Each time his eyes strayed to Malora, who was carefully leafing through his notes, the eye on the table would glare back at him, like a loyal hound guarding its mistress.
The notebook bore many neatly placed little tags to distinguish passages from different sources. But William had another purpose in mind for those tags—he wanted to confirm a certain suspicion.
From the tags, it's clear she spent the most time on that book's notes.
After studying those manuscripts, William had noticed something intriguing: as recently as seven centuries ago, the children of the forest could still be found in the south of Westeros, though meeting them had been no easy feat. The parts of the manuscripts never made public were all precious accounts of how to make contact with the children—how to find them, how to speak with them.
The Citadel claimed it withheld such records to protect the children, yet the children of the forest had nonetheless vanished entirely from south of the Wall.
Another discovery was that the manuscripts described more than one greenseer. Judging from time and place, at least three existed simultaneously in that age.
In a book titled The Old Lands of the Trident, William had noticed a passage describing the children who dwelt at High Heart. They were said to be adept at rearing and controlling great forest bears—beasts twice the size of common bears. That instantly reminded him of the massive bear he had seen on his last return to Harrenhal, by the shores of the Gods Eye.
Though High Heart was some distance from there, he could not help but wonder: perhaps Harrenhal's curse was tied to the children of the forest at High Heart, and the adversary Danelle had schemed so tirelessly against could only have been a greenseer.
And indeed, from his observations just now, Malora had lingered longest over the passages concerning High Heart. That all but confirmed William's suspicion. Between me and a greenseer, whose cheat is greater? he thought, a chill running down his spine. He prayed the title "the last greenseer" given to the Three-Eyed Raven was no exaggeration, and that High Heart now truly lay abandoned. Otherwise, only Malora's defiance of fate could save him—for all his deference before her had been to break Harrenhal's curse, and now he had reached the final step. Whatever came, he had to see it through.
Closing the notes, Malora set them aside. At once, the eye scrambled atop them, waving its tendrils in a show of defiance, clearly unwilling to return the book.
"Very good, William. When the next stage begins, I will summon you." Malora raised her goblet toward him. "Be prepared."
William lifted his glass in turn, catching a glint of cold steel in her eyes, sharp as a blade.
After taking his leave, William made his way to the training yard, intent on donning his armor for some practice. But there he suddenly spotted a familiar figure: a man with sharply cut features, eyes bright as starlight, and a strength of bearing that inspired unshakable trust.
"Garlan!" William exclaimed with joy.
Garlan strode over quickly, and the two embraced tightly, breaking into hearty laughter as they looked each other over. Nothing more needed to be said.
"What brings you to Oldtown?"
"The wedding date's set—next month. I came to invite my grandfather, and my uncles as well."
"You may be disappointed. Lord Leyton hasn't left the Hightower in many years."
Garlan only shrugged. "Courtesy must be given!"
"From Highgarden?"
"No—King's Landing."
At the mention of King's Landing, William remembered the gift he had prepared for Garlan. "I had a wedding gift made for you in King's Landing. You'll love it."
"Oh?" Garlan smiled at William's mysterious air, shook his head, and did not press. "Very well—thank you in advance, then."
They shared a smile and strolled together down the corridor.
"Garlan, why were you in King's Landing?"
"Inviting guests—some kin, and Ser Barristan, too."
"Wow. Barristan the Bold?"
"You should have known. Uncle Garth asked me especially."
"You know I've never been much of a proper squire," William said, though without the slightest hint of shame.
Garlan let it pass, turning the talk to other things. The two laughed and spoke as if no time had passed, as though it were again those days months ago when their conversations never seemed to end.
At last, William feigned casualness as he asked, "How is Margaery these days?"
Garlan paused, his eyes tinged with regret. "Margaery had been planning to come to Oldtown—if not for the rumors she heard about you in Dorne."
William felt a pang of guilt, glancing around nervously. "That night I drank too much, I don't even know what happened afterward. You know how Dornish can be… very passionate…"
Seeing William's faintly flustered look, Garlan couldn't help but laugh. He placed a hand on William's shoulder. "All right, William. You and Margaery never made any promises. I have no right or position to reproach you for anything."
Then his smile faded, his expression turning serious. "But truthfully, I hope Margaery can be with you."
William was a little surprised. When he had tried to get closer to Margaery, he had sensed Garlan's subtle indulgence, but hearing him speak so directly made William a little embarrassed. He gave a self-deprecating smile. "Lord Mace and Lady Olenna probably wouldn't see it that way."
"Margaery showed cleverness, wit, and reason from a very young age. Grandmother thought her gifted and was determined to shape her into a powerful weapon to defend the family's honor." Garlan turned, leaning on the railing with both hands, gazing into the distance, his eyes unfocused and faraway. "It's a pity Father and Mother never opposed Grandmother's decision. But I only wish for Margaery to be truly happy, to have joy, and not just live surrounded by intrigue and danger."
Suddenly, he slammed the railing with a dull thud. "House Tyrell has so many men—why put that burden on a fragile girl?"
William stepped to his side, patted his shoulder, and looked out at the Mander. The waters surged and glimmered, foam carried downstream, powerless to change their fate, rushing only toward their destined course.
He didn't know how to comfort Garlan and sighed. "I understand what you mean, but I'm afraid I don't deserve Margaery. And she might not even like me."
"She does like you!" Garlan looked at William.
Startled, William stared at him, hardly believing his ears. His throat went dry, and he swallowed.
Did Margaery really like him? He felt there might be something—but that hazy affection of a young girl, how far was it from true love?
Garlan spoke earnestly again. "And you like her. That's enough. I may not be a good brother, but if I weren't sure of this, I would never say such words to you, even though you are my best friend."
Did he like Margaery? William asked himself, and found his feelings for her deeply tangled—colored by old impressions, by clearer memories from their time together, and even by magic.
He admired her wit and kindness, feared her resilience and ambition, and pitied her sacrifice and selflessness. He coveted her rare magical talent and could not resist her breathtaking beauty.
Even if Margaery did not carry that fierce sense of duty to her family, he still couldn't imagine being with her—noble birth, flawless beauty, unshakable poise… what worth did he have to deserve such an almost perfect girl?
"Garlan, you may be overthinking this," William finally said with difficulty, hesitating whether to tell him about the magic. "What Margaery feels for me, and what I feel for her—it isn't the kind of affection you imagine."
But Garlan only smiled. "Very well. Then grant me a favor, will you?"
William answered with a confident grin. "Of course."
"Lord Renly has arrived at Highgarden. He's brought a plan. I don't know the details, but it certainly involves Margaery." Garlan leaned in, voice low. "Don't let her get pulled into the whirlpool. If it comes to it… Take her away."
"Take Margaery away?" William drew in a sharp breath, staring wide-eyed in disbelief. Had he considered what Lord Pufferfish and the Queen of Thorns would think?
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