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***
281 A.D.
Riverlands, Harrenhal
Harrenhal...
The largest castle in Westeros by area and size, it greeted us with the sight of its five leaning towers long before we docked. Lyon had very correctly said that even Osgiliath seemed toy-like against its backdrop.
"Huge indeed." - I thought as my ships docked at the sparse wooden piers in front of the shocked locals. It was all too rare, due to the swift flow of the God River, to see ships here. - "Harren the Black was too wasteful though - who sets aside nearly a hundred acres to build a castle?
In the Citadel books on Aegon's conquests, it is said that about a century before the dragonlords took over the Seven Kingdoms, King Harvin Hoare of the Iron Islands conquered the Riverlands, wresting them from the Durrandons, the Storm Kings. The River Lords supported Harvin and his companions, seeing them as liberators, but the Ironborn proved to be even more brutal and demanding invaders. And this was very well demonstrated by the grandson of the "liberator".
Harren Hoare, Harwin's grandson, decided as a young man to build the grandest castle of all that currently exists - Harrenhall. This ambitious project stretched over forty years. Harren chose an empty place on the shore of Lake God's Eye and imposed heavy taxes on all his holdings. Both the Riverlands and the Iron Islands were devastated. But even this was not enough and Harren's people began to fight with their neighbors, taking from them stone, timber, gold and workers.
Eventually, the most magnificent castle ever built in Westeros was born. It boasted five enormous towers, an inexhaustible source of spring water, vast underground storerooms full of provisions, and powerful walls of black stone - higher than any ladder could reach and thicker than any battering ram could breach or trebuchet could shatter.
It is said that at the final meeting of the River and Iron Lords shortly before Aegon's landing, Hoare said that even if an army of a million men besieged his castle, they would not succeed.
He was right. But there was one thing he hadn't foreseen: dragons. Balerion the Black Terror, a creature from the days of Valyria, spared no one. As a result, we have almost three hundred years of Targaryen rule over the Seven Kingdoms, and a completely exterminated Hoar family, with the only monument to their existence - the cursed castle.
Fate is a cruel thing.
"Okay, let's get to work," I thought, taking Lyon in my arms and heading off to find a place for my tent. The tournament was only a week away, and the field, in front of the ready staging area, was already dotted with hundreds of tents of visiting knights and lords. - "Although, if you think carefully, there are many strange things about this tournament."
First of all, I am well aware of the wealth of the Wents. After all, my main income is trade and I need to know about the wealth of all the major houses in the Seven Kingdoms. The Bats are not poor, but they're not rich. And here... To organize a tournament where the first prize is ten thousand dragons??? For that kind of money, they could have restored Harrenhal a long time ago instead of leaving half their domain in ruins. There's something fishy going on here.
Second, it's the King's visit with the second Prince Viserys. Not only has Aerys never left the Red Keep since the Twilight's Rebellion, but he's taken his second son with him, rumored to be guarded just as well as he is. I don't know what made this paranoid man so frantic, but it doesn't bode well.
And third is Tywin Lannister resigning as Hand. I don't know what happened, but rumor has it the Great Lion had another big fight with the king, eventually throwing the Hand's chain at him and retiring to Casterly Rock. The new Hand was Owen Merriweather, Lord of the Long Table, rumored to be a cowardly and cowardly man, capable of doing little more than giving in to his king.
"Be that as it may, we must keep our eyes open." - I thought as I approached one of the Went warriors serving as an assistant to the tournament steward. - "Something tells me this tournament will have a lot of impact."
***
...and you shall have no wife, no children, no family, no title! You are now a knight of the Kingsguard! The King's most loyal and brave knight! Arise Jaime Lannister! - Lord Commander Herold Hightower's voice rang out as he approached and lifted the new knight of the White Guard to his feet. The young teenager, who had said his vows in front of the luxurious royal pavilion, kneeling on the green grass, wearing white enamel armor, in front of half the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, was smiling proudly.
«I said thoughtfully, sitting on one of the pavilions among the middle-aged Dornish lords and slowly getting offended by what was happening. - Our king has given a good pig to the Guardian of the West. I'll say.
On this sunny day, when there was nothing left before the start of the tournament, the king's heralds announced that a new member of the Kingsguard had been chosen to replace Harlan Grandison, who had recently died in the White Sword Tower. Naturally, all the lords and knights present quickly filled the newly built stands, and the commoners from the nearby town of Harrenton took up the remaining space. As everyone took their seats, someone I hadn't seen in five years stepped onto the royal platform. The young Lannister had grown taller, more mature, and his gait gave off the article of a well-trained warrior, but he was still a child against such monsters as Erthur Dane and Herold Hightower. I even felt a little sorry for him - his dream (almost like any boy in the Seven Kingdoms) had been fulfilled, but not for his swordsmanship and knightly prowess, but to mess with the Old Lion.
«What do you mean, Father? After all, becoming a knight of the Royal Guard is very honorable. - Asked me sitting next to me Lyon, dressed in simple pants, a shirt, a surcoat and a child's cloak. Judging from the lords who tensed up and turned in our direction, they too became interested in this conversation.
"Yes, please. It's not such a secret." - I thought, and, lowering my voice to be heard only by those around me, I said. - 'You see, son, if you don't go into details, it is. Our king has honored House Lannister greatly by taking one of their sons into his service. But there is one important point. Although joining the Kingsguard is considered a great achievement, the oath of the Guardsmen does not allow them to marry or inherit their parents' title. Therefore, just now, not only has the main clan of the Golden Lions lost their representative, but Lord Tywin has been left without his heir.
Judging by his pensive face, my son almost understood everything and didn't ask any more questions.
«But he has a younger son. - Unlike the lords around me. I believe it was Lord Quargil's brother who asked. - Tyrion, if memory serves.
«She is not misremembering you. - I said, standing up and taking my son in my arms. - But everyone knows that he is a dwarf who killed the Old Lion's favorite wife, Lady Joanna. Imagine the relationship that runs in the family.
Without saying anything to the others, I turned around and headed toward the tents. I was in a bad mood, and the fact that in a few hours the feast in the main hall would begin, and I had to prepare for it, made it worse.
I went into the tent and handed Lyon over to Robin, who was teaching him the basics of literacy, and sat down at my desk, which was made of two goats and a board placed on them, and began to beat out a simple rhythm.
The past week had brought many interesting discoveries. Both good and bad.
The good was that the perfume, porcelain, and the rest of Osgiliath's products had sold well, assuring me that I wouldn't end up broke in the future.
And of the bad... the point of the tournament became clear.
From my men's unobtrusive questioning of Harrenton's residents in taverns and brothels, I learned that a few months ago a royal guard with a bat on his helmet had appeared here. Oswell Went. A close friend of Prince Rhaegar. And knowing where to dig, I could easily find the information I needed from a reliable source: his wife. I'd kept up a steady correspondence with Elia since the wedding, often telling her about the joints of Oberyn's guests and affairs in Dorne. Plus, one of the many maid of honor the Dornish princess had recruited since her marriage was my sister, Thea. After asking them a few leading questions and comparing facts, I came to a very disappointing conclusion.
The Grand Council.
It is a general council of lords of the Seven Kingdoms, called in exceptional cases - from determining the heir to the throne to the overthrow of the king. It has only been convened a few times in history, and that was when the country was on the brink of the worst crises. Many clues helped me reach this conclusion, the most important of which was Elia's mention of Rhaegar's desire to invite the High Septon and current Seneschal of the Citadel to the tournament. And if the invitation of the representative of the Faith could still be understood, then the head of the Maesters... With them in Harrenhal, most of the lords of Westeros, if not Tywin Lannister and his cronies, could hold the Great Council. And that number might well have been enough.
If not for the King's arrival.
"I wonder if the wenches dance four pairs in a row," I thought as I began to change. My pants, shirt, tunic, and boots were simple enough, but expensive, made of quality cloth with gold and silver embroidery. Still, clothing in Westeros was much more modest than in the Free Cities, where most of the local "fashionistas" were barely covered in colored feathers. - "Lucky Aerys has a master of the whisperers. I think he's the only one of the Small Council who works properly."
After going into the next room, reading a few local tales, and putting my son to bed, I slipped my red cloak with the sun and purple flames on it over my shoulders and headed for the entrance to the Hall of a Thousand Hearths, the Great Hall of Harrenhal. They were waiting for me there.
«Brother, what took you so long?! - I could have recognized Aerys's loud voice anywhere. It was the fact that he was the only one who could address me that way.
«I was late. Took Lyon to bed. - I answered, and seeing the smug and mocking expression on my older brother's face, I continued. - When you have kids, you'll understand.
«No, no, no... No!" Aerys waved his arms playfully as he walked through the open gate of the palace. - I am too young to marry! There are too many beauties left in this world for me to see!
«Need I remind you what will happen if you "see" so many beauties? - In response, I teased my lovelorn brother. Noticing how his shoulders jerked reflexively, I realized that I hadn't forgotten. The compulsions of childhood are lifelong, unlike those of adulthood. Oberyn wasn't affected by those images. He shunned a lot of casual sex for a while, but eventually he'd fall off and I'd have to treat him for the diseases he'd picked up in the Free Cities and the Summer Isles.
When I entered the Hall of a Thousand Hearths, I could fully appreciate how huge it was - I'd never been able to do that before because Walter Went had agreed to host only the grand lords and their lord bannermen, sending the others to Harrenton for the night.
"What's it to me - I have no worse quarters on my ships, but the others..." - I thought as I walked farther and farther into the palace and marveled at its size. It was three times the size of the throne room of the Red Castle in King's Landing, overwhelming in appearance. Because of this, I was beginning to believe that Harren the Black had taken almost 40 years to build this monstrosity, replacing the standard 3-4, completely devastating two of the nine regions of Westerosse.
But it was obvious that the current owners couldn't maintain it. Only twenty of the thirty-four hearths, whose width reached an exorbitant ten feet, were melted, and there were drafts and a sense of desolation walking through the room, with its slate-paved floor. Even the furniture, consisting of simple wooden tables and benches, draped with tablecloths embroidered with the arms of the Wents and Targaryens, was new and crude, taking a great deal out of the ambiance of the room.
But that didn't stop the lords present from having fun. Aerys and I were a little late and didn't arrive until half an hour after the fun had begun, but most of the guests had already gotten drunk. The Storm, Royal, Prostorian, Dornish, Western, and River Lords were partying hard, forgetting their disagreements and quarrels, pouring more and more goblets of wine. Their ladies, more cultured, sat quietly beside their husbands and made small talk about the weather, fashion, novels, and other things not available to ordinary men. Peddlers and maids milled about, barely managing to bring food and wine and take away empty plates. Musicians played on a variety of instruments, ranging from the usual harp to some hybrid of drum and horn, and bards sang their best songs, trying to cause a storm of emotion in the audience, often thanking them with golden rain.
«Let's do it again! - A loud roar came from the center of the crowd and belonged to a huge man, as tall and massive as me. - Lonmouth, be a man! Three more cups!
Judging by the thick black hair, blue eyes, and black crowned stag on his cloak, it was Robert Baratheon, the current Lord of Storm's End.
"Though he hasn't been there since Steffan's death." - I thought, remembering that when I visited Storm's End, I had to deal not with the grandlord, but with his younger brother, Stannis, acting as castellan. - "If rumors are to be believed all he does is guest at Eagle's Nest and participate in tournaments all over the kingdom."
The knight sitting next to him, competing with him in the amount he drank, was, if memory served, Richard Lonmouth. The head of a small house in the Stormlands and a close friend of Prince Rhaegar, who sat not far away and watched the action with apathy, occasionally strumming his harp.
In general, one could understand a lot about the experience and life stance of those present just by the arrangement of the people here. The youngest and hottest, mostly heirs and young lords, crowded around Baratheon and argued over whether or not the amount drunk would reach the second cask. They were not interested in politics or the governance of their lands, they lived in the here and now, not caring about what would happen tomorrow.
The more experienced and older players, like Jon Arryn, Jon Royce, Brinden Tully and Randyll Tarly, sat in small groups and talked quietly, only occasionally tapping their mugs, trying to keep their heads sober. They were old foxes, with a lot of life experience and knowledge from their father's reign, and even their grandfather, the current king, and they were hard to shake.
What stood out a bit was the absence of Aerys , as well as Lord Commander Herold Hightower and his new ward Jaime.
"I don't know why the Madman needs them, but I just wonder when he'll realize that the son of Tywin Lannister, who they hate so much, can now officially be at his side day and night with a sword at his side." - I thought and walked a little way down the hall and looked at one detail that stood out.
A separate group of northerners sat in a separate group. I was quite familiar with some of them-Gior Mormont, Ruse Bolton, Howland Reed, and Galbart Glover. The Starks, on the other hand, sitting in the center of their vassals, was the first time I had ever seen them.
As one of the two houses (along with the Lannisters) that drove the plot of the story I partly knew, they needed special attention.
Rickard Stark "The Dire Wolf" fully lived up to his reputation. He was tall, with a sturdy build and a thick mane of black hair, and in his northern attire he resembled the symbol of his house - a formidable and dangerous direwolf whose eyes looked wildly at those around him, searching for creeping enemies, and looked with incredible tenderness at his family - his wife Liara, sons Brandon, Eddard, Benjen and daughter Lyanna.
The oldest and youngest brother were very much alike. As bearded and black-haired as their father, they possessed elongated faces, sharp features, and gray Stark eyes. Only while Benjen's eyes showed a chuckle and he was constantly trying to make jokes at his sister sitting next to him, the older man's eyes lived up to his nickname. "Wild Wolf." I had heard of his adventures while I was a guest of the Night's Watch and the Dreadfort. He was the local "ideal of a young lord," who never missed a skirt, liked to drink and party with his friends, heirs to the great houses of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale of Arryn. Though I didn't much believe it.
The middle brother, on the other hand, was much more different. Brown-haired, with an elongated face and eyes that conveyed emotion so well, he stood out from the family as the white crow. Quiet and quiet, Eddard, according to my informants, had been sent as a child to be raised by Jon Arryn, the current Grandlord of the Vale. There he met and befriended Robert Baratheon, the current Lord of Storm's End. Rumor has it they made a curious tandem - stag looking for trouble, wolf getting him out of it.
Liara, on the other hand, and her daughter Lianna, looked frankly wild among this pack of wolves. Both of them were the possessors of that "wild Northern beauty" that the Northerners had so often told me about. Their thick black hair flowed down their backs, reflecting the glow of the candlelight in the candelabra, and their light, but closed dresses were not badly outlined in a figure that on earth would be called model-like. The only thing they had in common with the men sitting next to them were their eyes. The same gray and cold, like the perpetually overcast sky above the Wall, but at the same time very soft and warm, the kind that only loving mothers and sisters have.
"So that's what they are... Starks." - I thought, remembering that, judging by the only three episodes of the show I'd watched, only two of the six wolves present would survive. - "What's going to happen in the near future that an entire grandlord house is going to be so affected?"
«What's wrong with you, brother? - The sound of Aerys' voice made me flinch slightly and realize that I had been continuously looking at the northern lords for several minutes now, who were already starting to look at me strangely. Mostly Bolton, Mormont, and Reed.
"That's an idea!" - I thought, realizing how to get out of an awkward situation and at the same time solve a small problem with the old boggart who had stopped sending letters lately. - It's nothing, brother. I just recognized an old acquaintance. I just wanted to catch up. Will you come with me?
«No." Aerys sighed, waving his hands in denial. - That stag will drink all the wine while you're talking politics. - He pointed to Baratheon, who had drunk too much of that lemon knight and was screaming like a little child. - So don't be long.
And he left, waving his blue cloak spectacularly with four snowflakes on it. The coat of arms of his house.
"Show-off." - I thought, turning around and heading for the table of northerners, who at my approach fell silent and began to glare at me. Without success. - Hello Howland, long time no see. How is Lord Ilys?
A moment later, piercing swamp-colored eyes stared back at me.
***
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