Will lifted the corner of his mouth in relief. He'd been about to launch into a lecture on conservation of energy—after all, magic was just another form of energy, like sunlight or wind—but a sudden clatter of hurried footsteps outside the tent cut him off. He and Margaery exchanged disappointed looks and stood as the tent flap was thrown open.
An elderly man with white-streaked hair and beard strode in, his heavy ceremonial robes and ornate medallion marking him as a scholar. Behind him came Ser Aegon and Sir Osmond.
"Maester Lomys!" Margaery exclaimed, relief flooding her face. Will offered a silent, grateful nod—Lomys had arrived far sooner than he'd dared hope.
"My dear Margaery, I know you've been anxious—but fear not," the maester said kindly.
Margaery swept forward. "Maester, this is Ser William Rivers of Harrenhal."
Will bowed. "Maester."
Lomys barely glanced at him. "If you'll excuse me, I must examine Ser Garlan." He bustled to the bedside, followed by an assistant bearing a medic's pack.
Margaery hovered at his elbow, anxious. Will slipped to the back corner alongside Aegon and Osmond, offering them quiet greetings as they waited.
In moments, Lomys tucked Garlan's blankets snugly around him, then turned to Margaery with a warm smile. "His wounds are far less serious than I feared. He likely lost consciousness from blood loss, but the cuts themselves are healing nicely."
Margaery exhaled in joy. "By the Seven, thank the gods!" She likely also thanked them that Lomys hadn't guessed a touch of magic had sped the healing.
Aegon and Osmond, likewise, visibly relaxed—particularly Osmond, whose duty it was to protect Garlan. Had Garlan fallen, he would never have forgiven himself.
Will quietly praised Margaery: a deft reassurance indeed.
Lomys stroked his silvery beard. "Now that Ser Garlan is safe, nothing else matters, child." He turned to Osmond. "Let us depart on the morrow. Garlan should awaken by dawn—you may break camp then."
Osmond inclined. "As you wish, Maester. I'll make the preparations at once."
Aegon and Will rose to leave, but Lomys called after them. "Ser William—if you would stay a moment?"
Will froze, then smiled and bowed. "Of course, Maester."
Once the other two officers had gone, Lomys beckoned Margaery aside. "Stay with your brother awhile, child. I have words for Ser William."
She glanced at Will—he responded with an encouraging grin—then followed the maester outside.
They paused mere paces from the tent. Lomys gazed up at the starlit sky, then turned to Will. "Ser William, Lord Mace Tyrell has sent word: he wishes you not to return to Highgarden."
Will's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He recovered quickly, suppressing a grin. "Ah, so Grandfather has heard of my… attentions to Lady Margaery. I suppose puppet‑king he may be, but when it comes to meddling grandsons, he's not amused."
Lomys chuckled. "Lord Mace can be… impulsive. Give him time; he'll calm."
Will laughed. "Very well. I'll take my leave after Ser Garlan wakes. I won't overstay my welcome."
The maester regarded him with approval. They spoke a moment of small‑town politics and Maester's teaching at the Citadel, then Will bowed and departed.
---
Sure enough, Garlan awakened at dawn. Will found him sitting up as a servant cleared away breakfast dishes.
"It's been too long, Garlan," Will teased.
Garlan nodded, smiling with bittersweet relief. "Long indeed—long enough to feel like a lifetime."
They clasped forearms in greeting, patting each other on the back in silent camaraderie.
A servant stepped forward to help Garlan stand, but he waved him off. "Ser Aegon is about to depart. Shall we see them off?"
"Lead the way," Will said cheerfully. He had no worries about Garlan's recovery now that the healing magic and Maester's care had done their work.
They emerged into the damp morning air. Mist curled over the camp as troops bustled about.
Garlan paused, drawing in a deep breath. "In that moment, I truly believed I'd seen the end of it all."
Will grinned mischievously. "Including Lady Ffoswey?"
Garlan punched Will lightly on the arm, laughter in his eyes.
They reached the roadside just as Highgarden's cavalry trotted out in splendid order. Ser Aegon halted to speak with Garlan; passing knights saluted them both. Will lingered, bidding them farewell as the banners swept south toward Shining Tower and Breakwater Keep to hunt the remnants of the Ironborn raiders.
Garlan called after the departing riders, then turned to Will. "William, since when have you been so beloved among Highgarden's knights? Even I don't match your popularity!"
Will shrugged. "All credit goes to yesterday's battle."
The memory of that brutal dawn filled Will with lingering dread. Saving Riverrun's crossing had been his greatest impact on Westeros so far—but at risk of his life, and nearly Garlan's too. He squared his shoulders. "I owe you my life, Garlan."
Garlan's smile softened. "And I owe mine to you, William."
They clasped arms once more—friends bound by blood and steel.