The eastern gate of Harrenhal stood wide open, with people coming and going. Many workers were repairing the city walls. On top of and below the walls, others were suspended by ropes, working at great heights.
Feeling the vibration of hoofbeats approaching from the distance, some looked up and saw the fluttering banners. With a few shouts and calls, the workers at the gate hurriedly cleared the path.
Margaery and her companions gazed from the carriage window at the massive black silhouette. Besides the walls, they could see the tops of five towers. Unlike normal, soaring towers, these were rough, uneven, bent, and distorted, like a giant hand reaching for the sky, trying to grasp the passing clouds.
Recalling the bedtime stories that had haunted their childhoods, they felt the castle exuded an eerie and terrifying atmosphere. As the carriage drew closer, an inexplicable pressure quietly weighed on them. The young women unconsciously pressed close together.
In terms of height, the Hightower far surpassed Harrenhal. Margaery had been deeply impressed when she first saw the Hightower, but Harrenhal gave her feelings beyond mere awe—something more complex.
A terrifying gash in the stone wall caught her eye, where several workers were making repairs.
The ancient walls, having endured three hundred years of weathering, should have been mottled and cracked. Now, they bore many patches of repair, stark white blocks interspersed among the black and grey.
With large numbers of workers still busily toiling, the wall repairs were clearly in full swing. Imagining what the walls might look like once finished, Margaery suddenly couldn't help but laugh.
The other three young women didn't understand why, but Margaery's laughter had a magical infectiousness, and they found themselves laughing along. The carriage was filled with continuous, clear, and melodious laughter until it stopped before the main tower of Harrenhal.
Margaery, holding William's hand, stepped down from the carriage and immediately saw the three red-haired beauties standing before the steps.
Aunt Malora, her face full of pride, stood in the center as if it were her rightful place. To her left was a middle-aged beauty, graceful and dignified, and to her right a young woman about Margaery's age, charming and lovely.
Approaching them, before William could introduce her, Margaery very obediently curtseyed, greeted them, and introduced herself.
Seeing the enchanting, poised, and gracious Rose of Highgarden before them, Shella and Minisa beamed, their eyes flashing with pleasant surprise, and eagerly inquired after her well-being.
A faint, strange smile appeared on Malora's lips. "So you came after all. It seems no one can refuse the call of fate, Margaery."
This welcome speech was somewhat ambiguous. Minisa's expression suddenly stiffened slightly. Shella and Margaery exchanged a glance, then continued making polite conversation as if nothing were amiss. The atmosphere remained very harmonious.
William thought the madwoman just had this style of speaking and found it unremarkable; it was Minisa's expression that worried him a little.
Margaery was the guest of honor at the banquet, and most attendees were ladies—Walter and his banner-men had accepted an invitation to Riverrun. But hearing that the daughter of the Lord of Highgarden was visiting, the ladies and young women from various houses had arrived at Harrenhal early.
Over the past two years, Margaery's reputation had gradually spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Even without considering her potential future as the lady of Harrenhal, the noblewomen were eager to befriend the Rose of Highgarden and witness the grace of a paragon of ladylike virtue.
But even by the most stringent standards, Margaery was impeccable in every aspect: naturally beautiful and delicate; elegant in demeanor, appropriate in speech. Most admirable was her empathy and understanding. Anyone who spoke with her felt as if bathed in a warm spring breeze. She charmed all the guests, making them sigh that seeing her in person was far better than merely hearing her fame.
If this were a dating sim, she'd have nearly maxed out most characters' affection meters in just one banquet.
The next day, William took Margaery on a tour around Harrenhal.
"This godswood is so large," Margaery said, looking around. The sky was segmented into strips of blue satin by the dense foliage. Dappled spots of light shone down, and as the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze, the light spots flickered in and out like playful winks.
"Everything in Harrenhal is big," William said, not without pride. "Even the legendary giants could live here."
"Are there really giants?" She raised her hand before her eyes, her fingers slender and delicate like bamboo shoots after rain. Suddenly, she smiled self-deprecatingly. "Since magic is real, giants must be real too."
William gently took hold of that hand. "Do you remember our agreement?"
"War?" Margaery couldn't help but smile. "Repairing the defenses, recruiting troops... does Lord Walder also believe a war is imminent?"
"Half-believing, half-doubting, I suppose," William shrugged. "But even without a war, we need to deal with the Freys. So Father isn't opposed to military expansion and preparation either."
He thought a degree of skepticism was a normal reaction for Walter. The reason he could accept his suggestions so completely was probably just a father's doting love for his child.
"With Harrenhal's power gradually recovering, conflict with the Twins is indeed unavoidable. Whether in the Riverlands or Dorne, the most powerful vassals never seem to get along very well," Margaery sighed softly.
William smiled but didn't tell her that the potential conflict with the Freys was actually over Saltpans. Before coming to the godswood, he had first taken Margaery to the West Tower. Although she was curious and admiring of the various machines, William could tell she didn't grasp the power these machines represented, and naturally couldn't understand the significance of Saltpans to Harrenhal.
He could only comfort her softly. "It's alright, Margaery. The war I prophesied will change everything. People's views on magic, the situation in the Reach... everything will be turned upside down. And we won't have to wait long."
Margaery gave a faint smile, like a light cloud tinged with melancholy.
That smile made William's heart ache a little. "I'll be going North soon. I might even capture a giant. Do you speak the Old Tongue? I hear giants speak the Old Tongue."
"Are there giants in the North... You mean Beyond the Wall?" Margaery was surprised, her beautiful eyes widening.
"That's right. Don't worry, I'm not even afraid of giants," William winked at her. "I am the Magic Knight who can work miracles, after all."
"Why... suddenly go Beyond the Wall?"
William was hesitating, unsure how to answer, when a voice came from behind them.
"Fate."
They turned to see Malora approaching along the stream. The long stream meandered, its view obscured by dense trees, hiding its source and destination.
Malora didn't even glance at William, walking straight up to Margaery, her gaze cool. "Just like your coming to Harrenhal."
"Good afternoon, Aunt Malora." Margaery smiled and curtsied, trying to change the subject. "Are you also here to see that special heart tree?"
"No. I merely saw you standing at a crossroads of fate, and came to remind you to take the correct path."
"Oh?" Margaery suddenly grew a little curious. "Which direction should I take?"
Malora looked at her expressionlessly and said softly, "North!"