A column of white smoke rose suddenly from the distant horizon, piercing the sky like a spear. It looked jarringly out of place. Before long, people around the camp began to notice. Those who understood its meaning started whispering among themselves, and unease spread like a slow tide. Soldiers swiftly readied their horses and gear, while the servants picked up their pace.
Even Riverrun fell into a stir. The gates had barely begun to open when a dozen heavily armed cavalrymen thundered out, charging straight toward the convoy. Ser Osmund Crakehall, captain of the guard, led a small group out to meet them just beyond the perimeter of the camp. The riders pulled up in front of him, and the leading knight didn't even bother dismounting. He exchanged a few hurried words with Osmund before turning his horse and riding off again with his men.
Osmund turned to his lieutenant. "Ser Ambrose, take a squad and scout along the river. Keep your distance from the banks—don't get too close."
"At once!" Ser Ambrose Wyber snapped a salute and galloped back into camp. Moments later, a troop of riders bearing green banners with golden roses surged out of camp, saluted Osmund, and sped off.
Osmund returned and found Garlan Tyrell gazing at the sky, his expression grim.
"Ser Reynard recommends we move out as soon as possible," Osmund said in a low voice.
"That smoke... it must be a signal from Sharp Point. We should be relatively safe here, shouldn't we?" Garlan asked, frowning.
"Riverrun's sentries spotted longships on the river," Osmund replied. "Ser Reynard already went to confirm it. There might be a large group of Ironborn on this side, too."
Two distant strongholds spotting Ironborn at the same time? That was anything but ordinary. Garlan nodded. "I'll find Margaery." He mounted up and rode toward the wheelhouse.
Outside the ornate carriage, he saw three of Margaery's companions chatting and laughing, but the lady herself was nowhere in sight. A hint of suspicion crept into his heart. He turned to the most composed of the three, Lady Yalanna Tyrell.
"Lady Yalanna, where did Margaery go?" Garlan asked.
"She's just over there… with Ser William," Yalanna said softly, a blush rising to her cheeks.
Garlan raised an eyebrow, clearly baffled. Before he could speak, the more quick-witted of the trio, Elinor Tyrell, jumped in to explain, "Lady Margaery wanted to ask Ser William about his new song."
Garlan looked at the three young women, momentarily at a loss for words. That was their excuse for sneaking off? The girls realized they'd been careless and shrank under his disapproving gaze, eyes downcast.
Did I just invite a wolf into the house? Garlan thought grimly, his eyes drifting toward two distant figures. After a brief pause, he spurred his horse in their direction.
He found William and Margaery locked in a passionate back-and-forth.
"Listen to me! Listen to me! Listen to me!"
"I'm not listening! Not listening! Not listening!"
That loop continued until Garlan rode close. Only then did they notice his presence. Margaery yanked her hand free from William's grasp and turned away, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. William stood there like a thief caught red-handed in the garden. Margaery's face was a storm of emotions—shame, anger, frustration, confusion.
Now that's the kind of expression a girl her age should wear, Garlan thought, surprisingly comforted. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his sister act like this.
He steered his horse toward them and slowed to a halt. "Sorry to interrupt your... musical discussion. But we've got trouble. We need to move. Now."
When neither of them reacted, still frozen in their earlier poses, Garlan pointed toward the horizon.
"See that smoke? It's a signal. Ironborn spotted—and not a small number, either. We need to leave immediately."
That finally wiped the dazed looks off their faces.
Garlan turned to William. "Your horse and gear are ready. Ride out alone and stay sharp."
"You think I'd run off now, Garlan?" William said, his voice firm. "After coming this far? I'm staying. I'll protect Lady Margaery."
Garlan sighed. "Fine. Escort her back to the wheelhouse—quickly. I'll head to Riverrun and get you a spare suit of armor."
He leaned down and whispered something to Margaery, a smile tugging at his lips. "I liked that look on your face just now, little sister."
With that, he turned and rode off, chuckling to himself. Margaery blinked, then let out a soft giggle.
William wasn't an idiot. It quickly dawned on him—If I'd known she had feelings for me earlier, maybe I'd have gone for romance first, magic second… Too bad there were no save points in real life. While the romance seemed to be slipping away, the magic still needed a shot.
Seeing Margaery's mood improve, William sidled up to her again.
"Margaery, listen. If you don't study magic, it would be such a waste of talent."
"Hmph!" Margaery ignored his offered hand and lifted her skirts, striding off on her own. William gave a helpless chuckle and hurried to catch up.
"Margaery, you can't just idle your youth away—"
"Hmph!"
"Magic is incredible, you know."
"So what? My brother still beat you," she snapped, not even glancing back.
William had full confidence that he'd win next time. But "next time" didn't sound very convincing right now. He changed tactics.
"I'm younger than Garlan by several years, and I still held my own. Doesn't that prove how powerful magic is?"
"And what good does that do me? My brothers will protect me."
"Magic isn't just for battle! You carry the blood of Garth Greenhand—you could master nature magic, anything to do with plants."
"Enough! I don't want to hear it. I'm not a gardener!"
By the time they returned to the camp, Margaery still hadn't budged on her stance. She boarded the wheelhouse with her companions, leaving William empty-handed—but not disappointed.
He was more than satisfied. Just last night, he'd all but given up on persuading her. And now? They'd openly discussed it. He was just one step away. Progress.
Before long, Garlan returned with a full set of Tyrell heavy cavalry armor. One of the attendants rushed over to help William change. William, being familiar with armor, tested the pieces and nodded with approval. It wasn't tailor-made, but the protection was solid.
With the servant's help, he was soon suited up. Garlan noticed how broad William's frame had already become. Give it a few years, and he'd definitely need custom armor.
Finally, William donned his helmet—a peculiar piece with a large bat on the front, its wings flared and mouth wide open.
"William… I don't think that's the bat on House Harroway's crest," Garlan said, barely holding back a laugh.
"You're right. I designed this one myself. I call it the Bigmouth Bat. Looks fierce, right?"
Garlan had to admit—his idea of "fierce" and William's clearly didn't align. He instinctively touched the sigil on his own armor—two golden roses on a field of green, marking him as a second son.
"You're not like me," he said. "You're the heir of House Harroway."
William clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd love to grant you a fief and make you my vassal. Not that there's any land out there worthy of you. Shame you're a Tyrell, though. Just wishful thinking."
Garlan chuckled and shook his head, uncertain which part of that to deny.
Soon after, shouts and commands rang out across the camp—the convoy was moving.
Garlan mounted his horse, only to see William vault into the saddle with surprising ease. The heavy armor didn't seem to weigh him down at all. Typically, even seasoned knights needed help getting into the saddle in full plate. Everyone nearby stared in disbelief.
Realizing what he'd done, William played it cool, pretending not to notice. He did a quick check—greatsword, rapier, shield, morningstar—everything in place. He nodded in satisfaction and rode up beside the wheelhouse.
The convoy began to roll.
The sky above was crystal clear, promising a day of sunshine. But that white pillar of smoke on the horizon cast a long, faint shadow over every heart.