No ambush that William had been secretly wary of materialized. Instead, they encountered a troop of cavalry returning from field exercises. Ser Willis Wode, who always wore a stern expression, recognized him, and promptly, this hundred-strong cavalry unit joined the escort detail.
William rode at the head of the column alongside Willis. The cavalry stretched out in a long line behind them, protecting Malora's carriage in the center. At least nominally, this troop was now under William's command. He glanced back at the formation, seeing the impressive military bearing and the banners snapping in the wind, and felt a surge of pride.
Willis had participated in the last minor skirmish with the Freys. Though his face remained characteristically expressionless during their conversation, William detected a note of regret in his tone; the knight was somewhat disappointed that it hadn't come to a full-blown fight.
William found this somewhat amusing, but it also pleased him. He wasn't aiming to run a charity in Westeros; he would be more than happy if all his men were warmongers.
Harrenhal's cavalry had expanded to fifteen hundred men, a number approaching the historical peak for House Haren. Willis was one of the newly promoted cavalry captains.
While the army expansion was good, Willis subtly complained about the reduced frequency of field exercises. Field training was, of course, more costly. It consumed more provisions and supplies compared to training within the castle walls, and horses could be lost to accidents. However, a major advantage of cavalry was its capacity for rapid mobility over large areas. These losses were necessary costs of maintaining an effective cavalry force.
"Is just fifteen hundred cavalry already straining Harrenhal's finances?" William was puzzled. From his correspondence with Lord Walder, the situation at Harrenhal seemed excellent. The mechanically woven cloth was high-quality and inexpensive, finding a ready market.
In fact, to prevent interested parties from calculating Harrenhal's actual profits from the textile trade, on William's advice, sales within Westeros were strictly controlled. Most of the production was sold in Essos through Saltpans.
House Cox of Saltpans had always been bannermen to Harrenhal. After Robert's Rebellion, they were placed under Frey rule. However, Lord Quincy Cox held the upstart Freys in contempt and was eager to return to Harrenhal's fold. He had been very cooperative with Lord Walder's requests, and the trade with Essos was proceeding smoothly.
Therefore, William felt that with Harrenhal's current financial strength, maintaining a standing army of two thousand cavalry and four thousand infantry shouldn't be a problem.
However, this wasn't a topic for deep discussion with a knight like Willis, whose interests lay solely in combat. Soon their conversation turned to another topic knights were most passionate about: tournaments. After Rolf and Robin returned, they spoke of the splendour of the tourney at Highgarden, leaving everyone filled with envy.
At dusk, the party arrived at Harrenhal. The evening glow dyed half the sky red, and clouds, once milk-white, turned a deep crimson.
From a distance, Harrenhal was merely immense. Up close, one felt its oppressive weight. The towering walls rose sheer from the lakeshore, as steep and sudden as cliffs. Crenellations were lined with ballistae, menacingly aimed groundward, making a direct assault on the walls seem an impossible task.
However, the upkeep of the walls seemed less than ideal. The grey stone was cracked and faded in many places, with even bright green weeds sprouting from the fissures.
A rider from their party sounded a horn blast. In the low call of the horn, William saw figures moving along the battlements. Soon, accompanied by the clatter of chains, Harrenhal's eastern gate slowly rose. William urged his horse forward, leading the way inside.
The walls were thick, and the passageway was dimly lit. In the shadows, he could make out openings that seemed to conceal weapons—deadly threats lying in wait. After passing a dozen or so of these murder holes, light suddenly flooded in, and the towering bathed in the evening glow, stood starkly before them.
"Finally, I'm back," William thought, a thrill of excitement running through him. His own story would begin here.
After passing a well, Willis led the cavalry back to the barracks located near the eastern tower. William continued onward with the carriage. Along the way, he saw the ruins of the sept surrounded by layers of scaffolding, with at least a hundred workers bustling about. He also noticed many other areas seemingly undergoing repairs.
The party halted before the main keep's entrance. Seeing his mother, Lady Shella, and his sister, Minisa, already waiting at the door, William quickly dismounted and went to the carriage door to open it.
Malora, holding onto William's arm, alighted from the carriage and walked over with Dora.
Whether intentional or not, Malora was dressed identically to the portrait of Count Denyse. Even though William had spoken of Malora beforehand, Shella was still visibly startled. However, she quickly composed herself, and by the time Malora approached, no trace of surprise remained on her face.
After William made the introductions, Shella greeted her with a flawless smile. "Welcome to Harrenhal, Lady Malora. Please make yourself at home, just as you would at the Hightower."
"Thank you, Lady Shella. I shall consider it my home," Malora replied with a smile.
The party ascended the steps of the main keep. The three ladies walked ahead, chatting amongst themselves, their vibrant red hair resembling three dancing flames. William, noticing an unreadable look in Malora's eyes as she glanced at Minisa, felt a stir of caution.
Compared to his last visit, the great hall of Harrenhal could be described as completely revitalized. The walls and floors had clearly been refurbished, and the decorations and furnishings were more numerous and ornate.
Malora seemed pleased and even discussed interior decoration tips with Shella. William, however, couldn't help but shake his head slightly. After what he had seen on the way, he began to understand why military funds might be tight.
'This won't do. Even if renovations are necessary, the walls should be the priority.'
William understood that no one could foresee a war arriving so soon, and ostentatious displays were commonplace among nobles. Sprucing up one's residence with newfound wealth was almost inevitable. But repairing the walls could also be considered a prestige project; perhaps he could persuade Lord Walder to prioritize the fortifications.
As Lord Walter and some important bannermen were out hunting, the dinner was a small affair, but the atmosphere was pleasant.
The three red-haired ladies conversed cheerfully and softly. Ser Raymund Grell, the captain of the guard, and Ser Lyman Mullendore, who had escorted Malora, discussed topics of interest to knights.
William deliberately sat next to Mollos to discuss matters related to the hydraulic workshops.
Mollos had been stationed at Harrenhal for the past two years, returning to Oldtown only once.
"We're short-handed, Ser," Mollos said, spreading his hands. "The machinery breaks down frequently. With thousands of machines now in the textile and forging workshops, my apprentices and I are overwhelmed. Adding more machines at this point is hardly useful."
"You have worked hard, Maester," William said, raising his glass in a toast to Mollos. Setting the cup down, he added casually, "Why not recruit some apprentices locally here at Harrenhal? They wouldn't need to learn all the knowledge required at the Citadel, just follow you to learn how to maintain the machinery. That would free up more of your time for research. Isn't the reason you've stayed at Harrenhall to observe the performance of various machines in actual production and study how to improve them?"
"That goes against the rules," Mollos shook his head, his expression meaningful. "You were an acolyte; you know how strictly the Citadel governs its apprentices. The fact that I can keep several apprentices here at Harrenhal long-term is already under significant pressure. If I were to do anything further outside the norms, the consequences would be unpredictable."
Looking at the maester's complex expression, William said sincerely, "I understand. Thank you very much, Maester."
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