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Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Deserter to Power
Game of Thrones: King of Harrenhal— Garth Greenhand Stat Panel
The Great Tourney of Harrenhal drew to a close amidst countless whispers and looks full of meaning.
As the last banner was lowered from the high towers, knights and nobles embarked on their return journeys with hearts heavier than when they arrived. The scraps of the grand feast had not yet been cleared, but rumors were already spreading like wildfire along the Kingsroad to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms.
Caravans carried stories north and south; ravens flapped their wings over snowy mountains and long rivers.
In the taverns of King's Landing, in the Citadel of Oldtown, deep in the gold mines of the Westerlands—people whispered not just about the spectacular moments of the tourney, but about the scandals and gossip that were even more tantalizing than the duels themselves.
The Tourney at Harrenhal would be recorded in history for its unprecedented scale. The number of knights, the richness of the prizes, the brutality and brilliance of the contests—all were the greatest the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Yet, fiercer than the clash of lance tips was the clash of power and ambition that took place here.
When Aerys II made his first public appearance since the Defiance of Duskendale, his appearance shocked everyone. The once-handsome monarch was now gaunt and skeletal, his fingers curled like eagle claws, his eyes burning with the fires of unease and paranoia. He publicly humiliated the Lord of Highgarden, threatened the Lord of Storm's End, and openly questioned the loyalty of the Warden of the East. The title of "Mad King" was solidified beyond doubt during this tourney.
The event was bloody from the start. The notorious Brave Companions attempted to rape an Ironborn handmaiden. Euron of the Iron Islands chose a hardline response. After a fierce battle, the entire mercenary company lay dead in their tents. The killer left only a laughing kraken sigil and ordered musicians to play "The Rains of Castamere" over the corpses. Thus, Euron, the second son of the Iron Islands, entered the public eye.
The arena was thrilling but maimed many. Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, fell from his horse, his leg shattered, ending his knightly dreams and earning him the nickname "Willas the Cripple." Domeric Bolton, the sturdy heir to the Dreadfort, sought to prove his valor in the melee but paid the price when Euron Greyjoy severed his left arm in the finals, earning him the moniker "One-Armed" Domeric.
Most shocking was the appointment of fifteen-year-old Jaime Lannister to the Kingsguard. As the golden-haired youth knelt to take his vows, Tywin Lannister stormed out in rage—this meant the inheritance of Casterly Rock unexpectedly fell to his second son, Tyrion, the dwarf he considered a disgrace.
The Mad King's insanity didn't stop there. He forcibly named Jon Arryn's distant relative, Esember Arryn, as heir to the Vale, completely disregarding the Arryn bloodline traditions, causing an uproar among the Vale lords.
The exiled Captain-General of the Golden Company came in person to beg for a pardon and return to his homeland, only to have Aerys throw wine in his face and curse him viciously. Finally, in the Seven-Sided Melee, this Captain-General was beheaded by Euron Greyjoy, leaving his body in Westeros forever.
Though Euron lost to Barristan Selmy in the semifinals of the joust, he left the stage hand-in-hand with his betrothed, Ashara Dayne—sister of the Sword of the Morning—becoming the most envied couple of the event.
The Iron Islands shone brightly, capturing three championships.
In the semifinals of the Single Combat, Euron's duel of flames against the red priest Thoros pushed the excitement to a peak—their blades clashing in fire, sparks flying like meteors, becoming the most dazzling footnote of this epic tourney.
Most praised was Euron's victory over "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane in the Single Combat finals. After a heart-stopping duel, Euron executed the villainous giant with the force of judgment, drawing thunderous cheers from the crowd.
...
Finally, there was the earth-shattering final joust between Ser Barristan and Prince Rhaegar. Fifteen tilts of unparalleled brilliance. Yet, even more jaw-dropping than the joust was what Rhaegar did after his victory.
Prince Rhaegar placed the crown of winter roses—representing the Queen of Love and Beauty—past his own wife, Princess Elia, and onto the lap of the Northern maiden, Lyanna Stark. Brandon Stark drew his sword on the spot demanding a duel; Robert Baratheon laughed boisterously but hid thunder in his eyes; the Mad King nearly came to blows with the North... Every detail was chewed over repeatedly, embellished with each telling.
This story grew into a thousand versions, but the core remained: the unsettling entanglement between the Dragon and the Direwolf, and how this tourney was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples across the political landscape of Westeros.
Perhaps one day, people would realize that the gathering at Harrenhal never truly ended—it was merely the first note of a grand overture.
As Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had predicted, after this tourney, the name of Euron Greyjoy of the Iron Islands resounded throughout the Seven Kingdoms. No one did not know him.
Some busybodies even gave Euron a nickname—"The Blade of Justice."
---
On the winding Kingsroad heading south, a peculiar procession was slowly making its way.
Euron Greyjoy rode at the very front. The sea breeze brushed through his dark hair, and the trademark confident smile on his lips seemed permanent. Looking back at the Dornish contingent behind him, his eyes shone with satisfaction. Persuading Elia to leave King's Landing—that pit of conspiracy and danger—was undoubtedly his greatest harvest from this journey.
Whenever he glanced back and saw Elia and Rhaenys safe in the carriage (or riding), a rare sense of achievement surged in his heart. Changing the tragic fate of a friend felt more satisfying than any honor won in the arena. He stroked Farul's mane, unconsciously humming an ancient Ironborn sea shanty, the melody lilting and free.
At this moment, Euron had no idea that back in some corner of Harrenhal, the knights, hedge knights, and mercenaries defeated by him had given him a rather unflattering nickname—"The Blade of Justice." This moniker came from the final duel where Euron, like a judge, interrogated The Mountain while carving wound after wound into his flesh, before finally taking his head.
If he knew of this nickname, his breezy smile might freeze instantly. After all, even the seemingly unbothered Euron cared about his image in the eyes of others.
Ashara Dayne rode an elegant grey mare the color of morning mist, keeping pace beside Euron. Her long hair, lifted gently by the wind, flowed with the luster of molten gold in the sunlight. Strands occasionally drifted onto Euron's dark sleeve before sliding away.
Sometimes she turned to exchange a look with Euron, understanding passing between them without words. Other times, she looked back worriedly at Princess Elia, her violet eyes full of gentle concern.
Euron had already told her on the road that Elia was about to divorce Prince Rhaegar. The news made Ashara's heart sink.
She knew what this meant—not just a drastic change in the Dornish Princess's personal life, but potential unrest in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms.
But what wrenched her heart more was Elia's state of mind. As a woman, Ashara could imagine the pain and struggle Elia was enduring. She gripped her reins lightly, resolving to keep the Princess company during the journey ahead.
Sunlight gilded Ashara's silhouette. She was not only beautiful as a dream but possessed kindness and wisdom to match. She looked at Euron and asked softly, "Do you think Princess Elia is truly ready to face all this?" The wind scattered her whisper but not her sincere worry.
"How could she possibly be ready?"
Euron nodded slightly, his gaze following Elia's distant figure. The wind ruffled the black hair on his forehead. "But I believe, give her some time, and everything will be fine." His voice was calm and certain, stating a destined truth. "Time always heals the deepest wounds."
He reined in his horse slightly to match Ashara's pace. "In the shadow of the Red Keep, she never truly smiled," Euron continued, a sharpness flashing in his eyes. "Those gilded cages, no matter how beautiful, are still cages. The sun of Dorne, the sands of her homeland—that is where she belongs."
Ashara noticed that when Euron spoke of Dorne, a rare warmth appeared in his eyes, as if he understood better than anyone what that land meant to Elia.
"There," Euron said finally, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost imperceptible arc, "she will no longer be anyone's accessory. She will become Princess Elia Martell of Dorne once again."
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting flecks of gold in his deep eyes.
In this moment, Ashara suddenly understood. Euron insisted on escorting Elia back to Dorne not just out of friendship, but because he saw clearly before anyone else: Some birds are destined to fly only under their own skies.
---
Silence permeated the Dornish procession.
Prince Oberyn's face was dark, anxiety flashing in his eyes whenever he looked at his sister. Princess Arianne rubbed her reins thoughtfully, glancing occasionally toward the Ironborn. Princess Elia, unwilling to sit in the carriage, rode with dignity on horseback. Her expression behind her veil was inscrutable, only her eyes occasionally betraying an unconcealed sorrow.
In this oppressive silence, only little Rhaenys's laughter was as pleasant as a spring. Perched on the saddle in front of her mother, her silver-gold braids swaying with the horse's gait, she was full of curiosity about everything along the way. When she pointed at birds in the sky with a cry of wonder, her innocent smile seemed to temporarily dispel the gloom in the adults' hearts.
This silent group, each burdened with their own thoughts, marched south, carrying the different marks left by Harrenhal into an unknown future.