On the same day Jaime acquired his exceptional new sword, the northern caravan — carrying most of the Stark siblings — finally arrived at Harrenhal. As they approached the sprawling encampments, they were greeted by Eddard Stark, who had come with the Vale's retinue under Jon Arryn's tutelage. It had been a long time since he had last seen his home in Winterfell.
That night, within Harrenhal's vast and echoing great hall, the nobles of Westeros gathered for the grand feast preceding the tourney. At one of the long tables reserved for northerners sat the four Stark siblings: Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna, and Benjen. Around them were other guests and lords, and beside Lyanna sat a shorter young man — one who was currently receiving a scolding.
"Howland, you can't let those squires treat you like that," Lyanna chastised him. "Look at you — you're all bruised."
"Lady Lyanna, please… my humiliation is already heavy enough. You didn't have to step in for me," Howland Reed murmured, embarrassed.
"Well, what were you going to do? They were three against one. If it had been fair, one on one, I bet you could've handled yourself."
"Oh, leave the lad alone, Lyanna," Benjen interrupted. "You already did more than enough by scaring off those three. You're as wild as direwolf."
"Benjen, mind your own business," Lyanna snapped back.
Before the bickering could continue, a young male voice interrupted:
"Excuse me—are you Lyanna Stark?"
The Starks turned toward the newcomer. Lyanna frowned, studying him. "And who are you?"
"I'm Jaime Lannister," said the blond youth who had approached them.
Those nearby leaned in to observe the golden lion on his clothing, confirming his identity. Lyanna's expression hardened.
"What do you want, Lannister?" she asked bluntly.
Jaime blinked, taken aback by the hostility.
What did I do to deserve that? he wondered.
Before tension could rise, Brandon intervened smoothly.
"I apologize for my sister's tone, Ser Jaime. And congratulations on the great honor of being knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne. Tales of your battle against the Kingswood Brotherhood have reached even the North. My compliments."
"Thank you," Jaime replied, inclining his head politely. "No offense taken. I only came to deliver a message."
"A message?" the Stark siblings echoed, exchanging looks.
"Yes. From a merchant. He told me to inform you he arrived at Harrenhal yesterday. I don't know why — I'm only passing on the request. Enjoy your night."
Jaime turned to leave—
"Wait," Lyanna called. "The masked merchant? Robert?"
Jaime paused, glancing back. "He didn't give me a name. Only asked that I tell Lyanna Stark that the Smiling Merchant — the masked one — arrived yesterday. That was all."
"So, it's him, thank you Ser," Lyanna said.
Jaime returned to his table, leaving the Starks murmuring among themselves.
"What is this about? A smiling mask?" Eddard asked, puzzled.
Benjen, who hadn't been present during the earlier encounter, chimed in. "Isn't that the merchant jester who gave you that strange sweet? That one everyone was talking about?"
"Sounds like him," Brandon agreed. "Well, Lyanna, seems you just lost a horse, didn't you?"
"What?" Ned frowned. "Lost a horse?"
"Yes, Ned. Our dear sister here made a bet with that merchant—if he reached Harrenhal on foot before our caravan arrived, she'd owe him a horse. In return, he'd give her some stupid masks. And she agreed. Had to be Lyanna… the she-wolf as always."
"By the gods, Lyanna," Ned sighed. "Wagering horses? You're becoming reckless."
"Oh, don't start lecturing me, Ned," Lyanna retorted sharply. "You who spent gods-know-how-long up in the Eyrie with that whoremonger Robert Baratheon —don't come preach at me. You've been away from home too long, brother."
Across the hall, Prince Rhaegar sat deep in thought, unsettled by his father's sudden arrival. His quiet plans to gain discreet support from certain lords during the tourney now seemed jeopardized. His appetite was gone, though he forced composure.
Elia Martell, seated beside him, gently nudged him back to the present.
"Rhaegar… over there, aren't those the Starks?" She gestured toward the northern table.
Rhaegar followed her gaze. "Yes. That is them."
"I should go speak to them," Elia said. "I have a message to deliver."
"A message?"
"Yes… fulfilling a favor for that insolent merchant."
"Ah, the masked merchant," Rhaegar said, surprising her.
"Yes. He said you visited his stall before I did," Elia replied.
"So he asked you for a favor as well?" Rhaegar murmured.
"He did. To tell one of the Starks he arrived yesterday."
"He asked me the same. The nerve — asking favors of princes and princesses," Rhaegar muttered, though curiosity crept into his voice.
"That merchant… there's something strange about him."
Rhaegar noticed movement nearby.
"Is that Jaime Lannister leaving the Starks' table? What business would a Lannister and a Stark have at this hour?"
"Elia," he decided quietly, "I'll go with you. I want to hear their account as well."
The prince and princess rose, moving across the hall. A ripple of whispers followed them.
The prince approached the table where the Northerners were talking, but paused for a moment when he noticed Lyanna's lively expression as she spoke enthusiastically with those around her.
At the Starks' table, Brandon noticed first.
"Your Highness!" he said, rising. "What an honor. How may we assist you?"
Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen fell silent, letting Brandon handle the formality.
"You're Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell, correct?" Rhaegar asked. "My wife and I bring a message — and questions."
"A message, Your Highness? Of course. Ask what you wish."
"Earlier today, we met a masked merchant. Peculiar. Insolent. He asked us to inform you he arrived at Harrenhal yesterday."
The siblings exchanged looks again.
"Do you know him?" Rhaegar pressed.
"Well… not truly," Lyanna admitted. "We met him on the road from Riverrun. He called himself Robert."
"And why does this message matter?" Rhaegar asked. "Why must you know when he arrived?"
Brandon sighed. "My sister made a wager with him. If he reached Harrenhal on foot before our caravan, she'd owe him a horse."
"But why is that important?" Rhaegar asked again, brows furrowing. "What does arriving first prove?"
"We saw him on foot," Brandon explained. "He asked us for directions. Walking. We doubted he'd reach Harrenhal before us. If he arrived yesterday… then he must have gotten a horse along the way."
Rhaegar and Elia stared at each other, perplexed.
"You said he had no horse?" Rhaegar confirmed.
"None," Brandon said.
"No cart? No supplies?" Elia added.
"No," Brandon repeated. "Just a small bag — from which he pulled some oddities. Masks… and a strange sweet he gave Lyanna."
"Oh, I know those sweets," Elia said, retrieving a candy cane. "Like this one."
"Exactly," Brandon nodded. "The same."
Rhaegar asked one final thing:
"And Jaime Lannister? What business did he have with you?"
Brandon replied, "The same as you and the princess. He also met the merchant and came to give the message."
"Masks… Riverrun… unusual artifacts…" Rhaegar murmured. "Thank you. Enjoy your evening."
The prince and princess turned back — but halfway, Rhaegar leaned to Elia.
"Return to our table. I need a word with the young Lannister."
Elia nodded and continued on. Rhaegar veered toward Jaime.
"Jaime Lannister," he called.
"Your Highness?" Jaime stood partially.
"I hear you encountered the masked merchant. Tell me everything."
"Your Highness… why does a mere merchant interest you?" Jaime asked carefully.
"I am curious," Rhaegar said simply. "Speak."
Jaime inhaled. "Forgive the boldness, Your Highness. Setting aside the impressive sword I bought — and another he refused to sell — the man behaved… strangely."
"Oh? You bought a sword from him?"
"Yes." Jaime touched the hilt at his hip. "For ten gold coins."
Rhaegar blinked. "And you believe a common sword is worth ten gold coins?"
"It is not common, Your Highness," Jaime insisted. "It is worth more."
He swallowed before continuing.
"The merchant wielded a blade identical to Dusk — the sword you gifted Ser Arthur Dayne. He struck me with it. I blocked the blow… and my sword remained untouched."
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed sharply. "You're telling me he carried a blade like the one I gave Arthur?"
"I won't claim it was the exact same," Jaime said, "but I've seen Arthur use it in battle. The guard, the edge — almost identical.
And the force behind the blow… I was thrown back. People say Dusk increases the strength of its wielder."
"Jaime… do you realize the absurdity of what you're saying?"
"I only report what I saw," Jaime replied. "I swear on the Seven and my House: it happened exactly as I said."
Rhaegar exhaled slowly.
"…Very well. I must speak to this merchant again — and understand who he is."
He stepped back. "Return to your meal."
Jaime bowed his head, and the prince turned away — not to his table, but toward his guards, preparing to issue new commands.
Across the hall, the buzz of rumors swelled.
The exchange between Starks, Lannisters, and Targaryens had not gone unnoticed.
Before long, whispers about a mysterious masked merchant spread through Harrenhal like wildfire. People speculated, embellished, and imagined wonders.
Who was he?
What did he sell?
By the end of the night, he had become the unofficial star of the feast — despite not being there at all.
Twig, far from the commotion, wasn't even in Harrenhal that night.
Perks of being able to teleport wherever — and whenever — he wanted.