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Morning. Highgarden. Beneath the first white wall.
When Arthur left Highgarden, Garlan Tyrell gave him more than just fresh water and fine food—he presented a very special gift.
"A special gift for you, Arthur!"
Garlan had a stable hand lead forward a magnificent Reach warhorse with a golden mane that flowed like fine yellow silk. The horse's coat was a rich, warm gold that perfectly matched the gold field of House Whent's sigil.
The stallion was tall and powerfully built, with excellent explosive power and sprinting ability. Its only drawback was slightly less endurance than a Dornish sand steed.
"What a fine horse! But this is far too valuable," Arthur said, eyes brightening with genuine appreciation.
Every realm except the Iron Islands bred warhorses, but the Reach and the Vale produced some of the very best.
Dorne and the North had their own famed breeds as well, though those were specialized horses adapted to extreme environments.
"Melee fights don't need warhorses, but for the joust and the battlefield, a good mount is essential," Garlan laughed, waving it off as if it were nothing.
A prime Reach destrier was expensive, yet he gave it away without hesitation.
Only lions, roses, and high towers could afford to be this generous.
Ordinary knights spent their gold the same way—helmets and armor, lances and greatswords, horses, hawks, and hounds.
Then came master-at-arms fees, healing costs, feasting, whoring, fine clothes, and tourney entries.
Knighthood was an expensive profession.
The most coveted set of all—a full Valyrian dragonlord ensemble of dragonbone plate, Valyrian steel armor, and matching weapons—was almost mythical.
Some lesser knights gambled everything on the lists and lost their entire fortune in a single bad tourney, ending up as broken men.
"Our time together has been short. When I return, you must visit me at Harrenhal," Arthur said, accepting the valuable gift. There was genuine respect between the two young men.
He didn't stand on ceremony and took the golden horse.
Willas was scholarly, Loras was arrogant, but Garlan suited Arthur's taste perfectly.
Leaving Highgarden for Oldtown now meant switching back to riding overland.
The constant switching between river and road was rather troublesome.
If only I had a dragon, Arthur thought. I could reach anywhere in no time.
High above on the white tower of Highgarden.
"A short farewell. The little bat has real charm," the Queen of Thorns remarked, watching the scene below through a Myrish lens set in a bronze tube.
She had known about Garlan gifting the horse and had not stopped it.
Beside her stood Willas, heir to Highgarden.
"What is your opinion of Arthur Whent?" the Queen of Thorns asked.
"A hero of our age," Willas answered carefully after a moment. "And at the same time… extremely dangerous. His mind runs deep, his talent is inhuman, and he is frighteningly precocious. House Whent bled heavily in the failed rebellion, yet Arthur still appears gentle and courteous."
"Words like honey, courage like a tiger, cunning like a fox. And your father—that fool—actually believes the little bat truly admires him. His head must be full of mushroom soup," the Queen of Thorns said, lowering the lens. "A young man with exceptional talent and deep resentment will always bring conflict."
"Then what should we do about him?" Willas asked.
"We don't need to do anything," the Queen of Thorns said softly. "A resentful, ambitious boy who dislikes both Robert and the old falcon? If he stirs up trouble, I'd welcome it."
She rested her hand on the railing. "Your brothers are not the same kind of person as Arthur Whent. They are your supporters and will obey your commands. Arthur, however, is like you—an heir, a future lord who will decide his house's destiny. A knight can afford to be honorable, but a lord cannot. A lord must never forget power and must face the darkness where it truly flows."
"I am to be the brain," Willas said.
"Exactly," the Queen of Thorns nodded. "Arms, brain, and the marriage flower. Only then is the rose complete. When family obeys you, the rose will bloom forever. If we turn on each other, those who covet Highgarden will tear us apart. The Tyrells are only the descendants of stewards. We cannot afford the kind of internal slaughter that houses like Stark, Arryn, or even Lannister can survive."
While the Queen of Thorns instructed her grandson, Arthur and his party had already departed Highgarden.
"Move out!"
Hooves thundered as they set off.
Riding the golden stallion, Arthur looked every bit the elegant young lord, his yellow cloak billowing dramatically behind him.
The Black Bat company rode swiftly along the Rose Road, three hedge knights proudly carrying the bat banner of House Whent.
"Lord Mace truly is blessed," Ser Lucas said with a sigh. "His mother still lives, and his children are many. House Tyrell truly is flourishing—brothers living in harmony."
Three generations under one roof was indeed a happy household.
Both House Dayne and House Whent had once been large and prosperous. Now only a few remained.
"And Willas is scholarly, Garlan has real spirit, plus a daughter for marriage alliances," young Lucas Roote added. "Together, they will make the rose even stronger."
The prosperity of the rose had always depended on clever marriages.
After the Dance of the Dragons, House Hightower had stayed low-key and contributed little, but at least they hadn't actively sabotaged the Tyrells.
"They will indeed make Highgarden greater. Truly enviable," Arthur said, getting a feel for his new horse's temperament.
Under normal circumstances, the Tyrells' lineup of heirs was overwhelming.
Unfortunately, they were heading into a magical and chaotic future full of krakens, dragons, and greenseers. Their fate was far from certain.
Still, Arthur decided he would look out for Garlan when the time came. The man felt like a true brother.
"Our next stop is Oldtown, where Lord Leyton has even more children," Ser Lucas said, his voice carrying clear mockery.
Leyton had ten children—an impressive number.
And that was after he became obsessed with mysticism and stopped having time for more. Otherwise the number would be even higher.
There was no love lost between House Dayne and House Hightower.
Lucas couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for the bad blood, only that they had never gotten along.
Both families were among the oldest in Westeros, possibly even visitors from the Dawn Age.
One had slain dragons on an island, the other chased falling stars.
Yet somehow the Daynes had become Oldtown's designated victims.
"Perhaps the Hightowers did something truly outrageous, and the Daynes have never forgotten," Arthur speculated.
The Hightowers had likely gathered dragon blood, dragon eggs, and stone dragons.
In the original timeline, they had poured resources into the effort with no results.
But Arthur refused to underestimate this powerful, shadowy house.
If anything, the Hightowers may have been the first family to prepare for the return of magic.
Though preparing earliest didn't necessarily mean they had the best talent or results.
If the Hightowers have dragon eggs, I'll start looking for mine once I return to Harrenhal, Arthur thought.
Their horses flew along the road toward Oldtown.
...
Several days later. Oldtown.
When it came to size, wealth, and prosperity, the Reach stood supreme in the Seven Kingdoms, and Oldtown stood supreme within the Reach.
At the very top of the towering Hightower, in the lord's solar, the windows stood open, offering a breathtaking view of the city and the surrounding miles.
A tall woman with silver hair—similar in appearance to Lady Alerie but carrying an unmistakable aura of madness—stared intently at the green glass candle on the table, completely motionless.
Every so often, a faint flame would flicker to life on the candle before quickly dying out again, leaving it cold and silent.
"When the flame burns bright, magic will truly awaken, and I will finally see what I wish to see."
The madwoman gripped the glass candle. Its razor-sharp edges cut into her palm, drawing blood.