Today was the day the tourney officially began.
The morning light hadn't yet fully dispersed the thin mist over Harrenhal, but outside the walls, the voices were already boiling, far noisier than usual.
All the participating knights, nobles from afar, and commoners here to witness the grand event had risen earlier than usual. A black mass of people gathered at the huge city gate, the air filled with impatient restlessness.
The heavy gates were slowly pushed open amidst the groaning of hinges. Like a tide breaking a dam, the crowd surged toward the magnificent stands already set up outside the city, eagerly anticipating the brilliant opening of the joust.
However, the crowd did not see the host of the tourney—Lord Whent—appear to announce the opening.
Instead, they heard a dull, rhythmic thunder rolling in from the direction of the distant Kingsroad.
The sound grew clearer as it approached—the shocking noise that only hundreds of warhorses galloping simultaneously could produce. The dust kicked up into the sky was like a yellow cloud sweeping across the ground.
A banner suddenly appeared through the dust and smoke—on a pitch-black field, a ferocious, roaring, blood-red three-headed dragon was embroidered.
Suppressed gasps and whispers instantly erupted in the stands.
Prince Rhaegar was already seated in the VIP section, so the person arriving through the dust under the Targaryen royal banner could only be one man—the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King Aerys II.
The heavy sound of hooves approached like thunder. A squad of Royal Guards with bright armor and stern expressions galloped up first, forcefully clearing the main path to the stands with unquestionable momentum.
Three trumpeters raised their gold-inlaid long horns and blew with all their might.
"Woooo—"
"Woooo—"
"Woooo—"
Three long, solemn horn blasts tore through the air. This was the indisputable signal of the King's arrival, instantly suppressing all the clamor. An invisible pressure enveloped the entire venue.
Before the echoes of the horns faded, a herald wearing a cloak with the royal sigil rode forward. He took a deep breath and announced to the silent crowd in a voice loud as a bell and incredibly clear: "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men! Lord of the Seven Kingdoms! Protector of the Realm! His Grace, King Aerys II Targaryen — arrives! Make way!"
The moment the announcement ended, the entire scene fell into an absolute silence bordering on stagnation, as if time itself had been frozen by the majesty of royal power.
In the next moment, like a tide washing over a beach, the commoners present knelt in awe, lowering their heads, daring not to look directly. All the nobles, regardless of which family they came from, also rose in unison, either bowing or nodding in respect.
Amidst this solemn silence and submission, Aerys II's carriage moved forward slowly. Guarding its sides were the most striking figures—the white-cloaked Kingsguard. Their pure white armor shone in the morning light, their snowy cloaks spotless. Like moving snow-capped mountains, they were symbols of absolute martial force and the unquestionable guardians of Targaryen royal power.
The nobles on the stands looked at each other, their eyes filled with shock and disbelief.
A rare shadow passed over Tywin Lannister's usually impassive face; Robert Baratheon's rugged brows locked tight, as if seeing an extremely unpleasant hallucination; Jon Arryn exchanged a heavy look with Rickard Stark; King Quellon narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as a hawk.
Even Prince Rhaegar, who should have known his father best, wore a look of caught-off-guard shock and confusion at this moment.
This was the first time His Grace the King had left the impregnable Red Keep in fully five years since the Defiance of Duskendale. His arrival had no warning; he had revealed no intention to attend the tourney beforehand, nor had any news come from King's Landing.
Lord Tywin quickly composed all outward emotions. Turning slightly, he whispered to Jon Arryn beside him, his voice light as a breath: "Watch and wait." His gaze then swept to Lord Whent, who was still frozen on the spot. Frowning imperceptibly, he urged in a low voice with unquestionable command, "The King has arrived; why does the host not go forward to welcome him?"
Lord Whent woke as if from a dream. Hurriedly straightening his robes, he almost stumbled as he trotted to the King's carriage, bowing deeply. His voice trembled slightly from nervousness. "Your Grace's presence is the supreme honor of Harrenhal and House Whent! May your radiance bathe this grand event!"
A servant stepped forward quickly and opened the door of the gorgeously decorated carriage.
A figure stepped slowly out of the shadows of the carriage, standing high. A cold, disdainful gaze swept over the kneeling Lord Whent, and an ambiguous cold snort came from his nose. "Rise."
When the King's true appearance was fully exposed under the autumn daylight, almost everyone who witnessed it sucked in a breath of cold air.
His image was nearly horrifying—fingernails long and yellow, twisted like bird claws; beard greasy and matted, tangled like hemp; grey-white long hair unwashed for a long time, stuck together in strands hanging like ropes; deep, dark purple circles under sunken eyes that were filled with bloodshot madness—every detail was incomparably visceral, even terrifyingly proclaiming the nickname that had long spread through the Seven Kingdoms: "The Mad King."
When Euron's gaze finally penetrated the white-cloaked guards and landed clearly on Aerys II himself, even he, with his broad experience, felt an unprecedented speechlessness.
The massive, exquisite crown inlaid with dragon patterns passed down from Aegon IV on his head was the only bright spot on his entire body.
Those who had never had the fortune to see the King's true face, who had craned their necks hoping to glimpse the style of the true dragon, were now dumbstruck with shock, their jaws almost dropping.
This... is their King?
The entire venue fell into a suffocating dead silence, with only the wind flapping the banners.
Aerys II suddenly burst into a sharp, abrupt laugh, breaking the silence. "Lord Whent, you are truly lavish!" His voice carried an exaggerated admiration, yet faintly revealed a bone-piercing chill. "Such a scale for a tourney, such a high reward for the champion..."
Before his voice faded, the smile on his face vanished abruptly like a candle blown out by a cold wind, turning instantly gloomy. Those bloodshot eyes stared dead at Lord Whent, his voice suddenly becoming sharp and full of suspicion. "Where exactly did you get so much money?!"
Lord Whent's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat. Forcing down the panic in his heart, he answered respectfully, "Reporting to Your Grace, this is the meager savings of my family over decades, solely to host this grand event well and honor the royal family. I implore Your Grace to take the seat of honor and preside over the opening ceremony for us."
Aerys II glanced at him coldly, a strange arc pulling at his lips. "No need!" He waved that hand with yellow, twisted nails. "Proceed according to your original program!"
With that, ignoring everyone else, under the tight protection of the Kingsguard who followed like shadows, he walked straight to the most central, most conspicuous position of the tourney grounds, as if that was the only place worthy of his status.
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