The gentle sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, refracting into a spectrum of colored light that spilled onto the circular floor at the center of the sept. The floor was surrounded by seven altars, with candles burning brightly before the lifelike statues of the Seven Gods above, who seemed to gaze upon the joys and sorrows, the passions and griefs of the mortal world.
On the circular floor in the center of the sept, William, bathed in the brilliant light, knelt on one knee before Barristan. They were surrounded by lords, ladies, and maidens who had come to witness the ceremony.
Knighting ceremonies were common, but the two principals in this ritual were anything but.
"Barristan the Bold" was renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms, a living legend. And William had displayed astonishing prowess during the tournament. Regardless of their personal opinions of him, all present had to admit that as one legend gradually aged, a new one was rapidly rising.
"William of House Hightower," Barristan said, lightly touching his sword to William's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
The sword moved from William's right shoulder to his left. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
Barristan solemnly recited the vows, the sword moving back and forth between William's shoulders. He concluded, "In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to be humble."
As William rose to his feet, those present broke into applause. Having witnessed a knighting ceremony likely to be recorded in the annals of history, everyone felt a sense of shared honor.
The glances cast William's way were varied. Most held admiration and approval; the ladies made no attempt to hide their affection, even infatuation. Lord "Inflatable Fish" and Renly exchanged a look, their expressions complex and indescribable.
After the midday feast, it was time to part ways.
The Red Viper was the first to leave, accompanied by his paramour and daughter. A hundred Dornish horsemen raised banners bearing the red sun and golden spear, their copper scales reflecting dazzling glints of light.
Next was Renly, with the Knight of Flowers still attending him as his squire.
Thanks to William's connections, Rosso and Robin had also become acquainted with Ser Barristan and planned to travel with him to King's Landing. The smith Tobho Mott would accompany them as well; the High Steward of Highgarden had already booked his time, intending to commission another set of Valyrian steel armor. Three or four other noble houses had also expressed interest, though they couldn't immediately gather the required materials.
William was with the Hightower party. He needed to return to Oldtown to settle some affairs before heading back to Harrenhal.
On the walls of Highgarden, the Tyrell siblings watched the departing crowds. Among the dozens of grey banners with the white tower, the single golden banner bearing the black bat stood out strikingly.
Garlan glanced at Margaery, a faint trace of worry creasing his brow.
"Everything will be fine, Garlan," Margaery said with a slight smile, though a hint of imperceptible uncertainty flickered deep in her eyes.
Reason told her the possibility William mentioned was very small, but the feeling he gave her was very strange. He had denied it was prophetic magic, yet he seemed exceptionally confident.
In the distance, the Mander River was shrouded in vast, misty vapors. The hazy fog lay heavy on the water's surface, much like her state of mind.
---
William met Malora again on the same balcony as last time, and she was seated in the same spot.
The large eye covered with tentacles crawled about on the table, occasionally stopping to stare at William.
"You return to Harrenhal tomorrow?"
"Yes," William replied calmly, taking a sip of wine. "There isn't actually too much to handle there, and it's not a permanent departure. This place is my second home."
"Good. I have made all the necessary preparations. We shall set out together tomorrow."
William was taken aback and asked cautiously, "Lady Malora, are you saying... you are also going to Harrenhal?"
Malora cast him a faint glance. "You alone would likely be unable to resolve the curse of Harrenhal."
On the table, the eye's tentacles waved in a wavelike motion, as if mocking William.
William slowly raised his cup, thinking rapidly. He had always assumed Malora would give him a weapon or artifact to deal with the curse himself; it truly hadn't occurred to him that she would personally go to Harrenhal.
"Lady Malora, could you tell me exactly how the curse on Harrenhal came to be? Does it have something to do with the children of the forest?"
"You are clever, William," Malora said with a smile. "Black Harren built more than just a castle; he brought the ironborn's faith with him. But Harrenhal is too close to the Isle of Faces. The children of the forest naturally found it intolerable."
So that's it, William thought. "But soon after, Black Harren was burned by dragonfire, and the ironborn were driven from the Riverlands. Why did the children of the forest continue to curse Harrenhal?"
"You will know when we get there," Malora said, a strange light gleaming in her eyes.
William instinctively felt she had ulterior motives. No matter how he thought about it, the standard practice for a mastermind was to give him the magical equipment or weapon, then stay safely behind, watching him risk life and limb, wasn't it?
"Why does she want to go to Harrenhal? Could it be to reclaim her family's lands?"
Dismissing this far-fetched idea, William kept his composure. "How can the curse be lifted?"
"Curses cannot be *lifted*," Malora replied with a cold smile. "One can only deal with the person who cast it."
William wondered again, 'Is she just wanting to kill her enemy with her own hands?' His wariness relaxed slightly.
"Lady Malora, you must be aware that I can sense fluctuations of magic. Yet I have never felt any magical power at Harrenhal beyond the rune disks. What exactly *is* the curse?"
Malora took a sip of her blood-red wine. "If you were present when the children of the forest worked their magic, you would undoubtedly feel its immense power. The curse of Harrenhal is an intangible force; it only disturbs the threads of fate. Naturally, you cannot detect it in the physical world."
Seeing that Malora seemed willing to answer his questions, William quickly posed a long-standing doubt. "What exactly are the effects of the curse? I've studied the history of Harrenhal over the past three hundred years, and the misfortunes suffered by its various lords seem quite different."
"The curse affects the human heart," Malora explained. "When those connected to it make decisions, they invariably choose options detrimental to Harrenhal."
William pondered this. "For example, if the lord of Harrenhal falls ill and could recover with immediate treatment from a maester, but a stray thought makes him wait two days, until his condition becomes irreparable?"
Malora nodded.
Then William thought of a more severe problem. "Or if two armies are locked in a stalemate, and Harrenhal's soldiers, at the moment they could choose to hold the line a little longer or turn and flee, will prioritize fleeing?"
Malora nodded again.
William's expression grew grave. His plan for the coming war was active defense, ideally preventing the conflict from causing excessive damage to the Riverlands. The minimum goal was to stop the Westerland armies from entering the God's Eye region—these were Harrenhal's traditional lands. If handled properly, these territories should return to House Hightower's control after the war.
But to achieve this, open battle would be unavoidable. Based on the original story's descriptions, the Westerland armies, at least the forty thousand troops that invaded the Riverlands, were highly professional, well-trained, and well-equipped. Fighting such an army would inevitably involve bloody, grueling battles. Harrenhal's forces were already at a disadvantage in terms of military quality; adding a morale-sapping curse to the mix would make the war truly unwinnable.
'The curse of Harrenhal must be resolved before the war begins!'
Though his mind raced, William's face cleared. "If Lady Malora would grace Harrenhal with her presence, House Whent would be deeply honored."
A smile touched Malora's lips. The eye on the table, seemingly sensing its master's mood, began spinning happily in circles.