The three massive contingents led by the crimson banners of House Lannister, the golden kraken of the Iron Islands, and the spear piercing the sun of Dorne did not hesitate at the intersection of the Roseroad and the Kingsroad. Instead of turning southeast toward King's Landing, they stepped straight onto the Kingsroad to continue north.
These three powers each had their reasons, but tacitly chose to avoid the capital: Lord Tywin Lannister had long since completely fallen out with the "Mad King" Aerys II, and the dignity of Casterly Rock would not allow him to set foot in that place of humiliation again unless it was under different circumstances; Euron Greyjoy held no respect for the Iron Throne or its owner, couldn't be bothered to waste travel time feigning politeness, and didn't want to be inexplicably burned to death; the Dornish contingent, due to the cold treatment and disdain Princess Elia Martell had received at the Red Keep, collectively showed resistance to King's Landing, preferring to bypass it directly.
This mixed legion, gathering the strength of the Westerlands, the Iron Islands, and Dorne, with its massive momentum and prominent banners, invisibly became a beacon for those who followed.
Many smaller groups, hedge knights, freeriders, and merchant caravans also heading to Harrenhal flocked to the rear of this massive column, like streams merging into a great river. The further north they marched, the larger the procession grew. Amidst flying dust, the sound of hooves and clamor shook the land along the way, like an unstoppable torrent surging toward Harrenhal.
On the final stretch of the road to Harrenhal, a figure in pure, dazzling white stood quietly by the roadside waiting—it was Kingsguard Ser Arthur Dayne. He was there specifically to welcome his sister Ashara Dayne, as well as Prince Rhaegar's wife and daughter, Princess Elia Martell and Princess Rhaenys.
Ser Arthur Dayne first exchanged solemn greetings with Lord Tywin Lannister, sharing brief pleasantries. Then, his gaze turned to the dashing Jaime Lannister beside him—the young knight he had personally knighted. He nodded slightly to Jaime, casting a look of acknowledgment and greeting.
After handling the necessary etiquette, Arthur's primary concern remained his sister and the princesses he needed to escort.
He walked toward the carriage just as Princess Elia Martell leaned out gracefully, holding her daughter.
But seeing no sign of his lovely sister, Arthur politely asked Princess Elia about her whereabouts.
Hearing Arthur's inquiry, a gentle, slightly teasing smile appeared on Princess Elia's pale face. She answered softly, "Naturally, she is with her fiancé. Those two... are getting along very well." Her gaze turned to Euron and Ashara standing together in the distance, her tone carrying a hint of good-natured banter. "Sticking together all day, either watching the stars and moon side by side or strolling and whispering, enjoying all the romance. You can rest assured, your precious sister is being taken care of meticulously."
Not waiting long, after someone announced them, Euron and Ashara hurried over.
When Arthur saw Euron and Ashara walking side by side, fingers interlaced, a gentle smile appeared on the handsome face of the "Sword of the Morning."
Arthur Dayne didn't look at Euron but spoke directly to his sister, his tone carrying the unique, slightly teasing doting of an elder brother. "Alright, my dear sister, time to return to your brother's side for a while." He sighed with feigned melancholy, though warmth shone in his eyes. "The days ahead are still long. While you aren't officially married yet, spend more time with your 'poor' brother. Otherwise, once you're married, I'm afraid there won't be room for me in your eyes anymore."
This joke made both Euron and Ashara laugh.
A faint blush rose on Ashara's cheeks. She gently let go of Euron's hand, and like an obedient, shy rabbit, walked quickly to her brother's side, affectionately taking his arm and whispering coquettishly, "Brother..."
Before the sun sank into the shimmering waves of the Gods Eye, this massive coalition army finally reached the journey's end—Harrenhal.
This colossal fortress was the ultimate embodiment of the mad ambition of Harren the Black, the self-proclaimed King of the Isles and the Rivers.
He built this castle to commemorate his "immortal achievements," determined to make it the grandest, most awe-inspiring castle in all of Westeros, to look down upon all other kings.
To build this fortress, he spent forty whole years realizing this cruel dream.
Thousands of captives from other kingdoms exhausted their lives in quarries or died of exhaustion on the scaffolds building the five skyscraping towers; their flesh and blood were part of the wall materials. Countless ancient weirwoods were felled to become rafters and beams supporting the halls.
Harrenhal was built before Aegon's Conquest, located in the Riverlands, leaning against the north shore of the Gods Eye.
It was undoubtedly the largest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms. But since the War of Conquest, when Harren and his line were incinerated in dragonfire, this place had always been shrouded in a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere, like a gigantic, scarred ruin.
The castle possessed five extremely massive towers and matching walls that were unbelievably thick.
These walls were thick enough for giants to live comfortably within rooms inside them. Its scale was so huge that almost no comparable building could be found; the stables could easily accommodate a thousand warhorses; its godswood was as vast as a small forest, covering twenty acres; and its kitchens were even comparable in scale to the entire Great Hall of Winterfell.
However, most areas of Harrenhal today had fallen into deep decay.
The current holders, House Whent, used only the lower two-thirds of the five high towers. The upper levels and many areas of the castle had been abandoned for decades, left to gradually crumble and become nests for bats and shadows.
Harrenhal's thick, steep walls rose from the ground like cliffs. Looking up from the ground, the trebuchets between the battlements atop the walls looked as tiny as bugs. Its gatehouse was incomparably massive, though the stones on it were cracked and faded.
Looking from outside the gatehouse, the towering walls blocked most of the view. Only the spires of the five giant towers could pierce above the perimeter wall, grimly entering one's sight.
Before even formally arriving under the massive shadow of Harrenhal, the scene before them deeply shocked the visitors.
Outside the colossal fortress, the originally open fields had been completely covered by a boundless ocean of tents.
There were simply too many families coming for the grand event. Nobles, knights, squires, and freeriders flocked from everywhere in countless numbers. Even with its staggering scale, the ancient Harrenhal could not accommodate such a surging tide of people at this moment.
As far as the eye could see, various colorful family banners flapped in the wind like a rolling ocean of tapestries, declaring the presence of lords from all over the Seven Kingdoms. Countless tents were densely linked together, spreading to the end of the horizon.
Among them, many were formed by multiple luxurious tents cleverly arranged into a square or circle, leaving a private communal area in the middle, with tent doors opening inward. They formed self-contained, heavily guarded temporary small manors, highlighting the status and strength of their owners.
The grandeur and bustling atmosphere of this temporarily formed "City of Tents" itself constituted the most breathtaking spectacle before the tourney even began.
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