From afar, Harrenhal looked like an ancient black dragon, its wings riddled with holes.
Magnificent. Spectacular. Ruined.
Galladon and his companions were stunned by its scale. No one could see it without feeling awe—and imagining how terrifyingly powerful it must have been before dragonfire melted its towers.
Yet soon, another sight seized their attention.
Outside Harrenhal's massive black walls, countless tents sprawled across the plains like mushrooms after rain.
At a glance—tens of thousands.
"My gods, how many people are here?" Barius muttered, frozen in shock.
"At least tens of thousands," Galladon said calmly.
The prize for the tourney totaled one hundred and twenty thousand golden dragons—enough to change a knight's life. Renowned champions, young hopefuls, hedge knights—all had come.
And nobles. From nearly every kingdom.
The Tourney at Harrenhal was more than sport. It was a grand political exchange.
Such a gathering had not been seen in decades.
The ruins could not contain such a tide of people. Tents encircled the castle, even stretching along the shores of the Gods Eye.
The emerald lake shimmered beneath the spring sun. Black swans drifted across its surface. In the distance lay the Isle of Faces, said to be where ancient pacts were sworn between the First Men and the Children of the Forest.
"If there's time," Galladon thought, "I'll visit the Isle."
Entering Harrenhal
Rather than camp immediately, Galladon chose to enter the castle first.
The walls loomed like cliffs.
Cracked stone. Twisted towers. Dragonfire scars still visible centuries later.
Even the shortest tower dwarfed the Evenstar Tower of Tarth—yet none remained whole.
Inside, the scale was overwhelming. Black stone everywhere. A fortress built to rival a city.
And still destroyed by dragons.
"So dragons are still necessary…" Galladon thought.
They deposited the horses in vast stone stables.
Galladon instructed Quill to personally watch Thundersmoke.
"No one else handles her. Check the feed yourself."
With so many rivals present, sabotage was not impossible.
Meeting Lord Whent
Soon, Lord Walter Whent approached with a warm smile.
"Lord Galladon Tarth! I am pleased you could attend."
Galladon bowed politely. "An honor, Lord Whent."
Whent had only a few rooms to spare; most nobles' children and retainers camped outside—even the Starks.
After briefly inspecting his assigned chamber—cold and rarely used—Galladon decided to camp by the lake instead.
Harrenhal felt gloomy.
A tent beneath the open sky was preferable.
Camp by the Gods Eye
They chose soft grass near the water. Willow trees offered shade. Swans drifted nearby as servants tossed dried fish.
Tents were raised. Carpets laid.
The blue moon and red sun banner of House Tarth was planted high.
Karina carefully arranged Galladon's bedding. When he tried to help, everyone protested.
The young master lifting tent poles? Unacceptable.
Left with nothing to do, Galladon sat by the lake with Thundersmoke, feeding swans.
Spring breeze. Warm air. Peaceful.
Then—
"What a beautiful horse. Is she yours?"
Galladon turned.
A tall girl in a Dornish dress stood beside Thundersmoke. Long black hair. Violet eyes. Fair skin.
"Yes."
"May I touch her?"
"Yes."
She approached carefully. Thundersmoke, docile as ever, nudged her hand.
The girl laughed softly.
"What is her name?"
"Thundersmoke."
"A lovely name."
She sat nearby.
"My name is Ashara. From Starfall. Are you from House Tarth?"
Galladon looked at her more closely.
Ashara Dayne.
Sister of Arthur Dayne.
"Yes. Galladon Tarth."
She asked about the horse, about Essos, about toothbrushes and trade goods—chatting freely, without hesitation.
She was lively. Curious.
Before long, maids came searching.
"My lady! Lord Arthur is looking for you!"
Ashara sighed but rose gracefully.
"Goodbye, Galladon. Perhaps I will see you at dinner."
She left, surrounded by attendants.
Galladon watched the lake ripples.
Ashara Dayne… Arthur Dayne…
He felt a faint regret for their fates.
But he would not interfere.
There were too many tragedies in the world to mend.
Night by the Fire
As evening fell, Stoin and the others lit a bonfire.
Fresh mutton was purchased. Wine poured.
Galladon joined in roasting skewers, even pulling Karina beside him to help.
Laughter echoed by the lakeside.
"My lord, will you attend tonight's feast?" Stoin asked.
"No. The important guests have not yet arrived."
The true highlight would come later.
Mad King Aerys.
Inside Harrenhal's Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Ashara entered in a crimson gown beside her brother Arthur Dayne.
She searched the Stormlander tables.
But did not find Galladon.
Young nobles lined up to request dances.
Reluctantly, she accepted one—then another—before finally using Arthur as a shield.
Arthur noticed her distraction.
He had heard she was speaking with a young lord by the lake.
The Next Morning
At dawn, Galladon prepared to visit the Hightower camp.
As he walked among the sea of banners, a familiar voice called out.
"Galladon!"
He turned.
Baelor Hightower waved enthusiastically in the distance.
Galladon smiled.
"Baelor?"
He had been searching for the Hightower banner—and instead found his Good brother first.
(End of Chapter 28)