Harrenhal

North of the emerald waters of Gods Eye stood the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms—Harrenhal.

It was a castle built upon fear.

Legend had it that Harren the Black, King of the Iron Islands and the Riverlands, had built this "impregnable fortress" at the cost of countless weirwoods, rocks, the lives of thousands of captives, and mortar mixed with the blood of infants.

Unfortunately, he had not accounted for Aegon's dragon.

During Aegon's Conquest, dragonflame flooded down from the sky and consumed everything. Harren was reduced to charred bones in the highest tower, which later came to be known as Kingspyre Tower.

Harrenhal lost its master.

After that, Harrenhal changed hands several times, and without exception, every family that possessed it eventually became history.

People thus believed Harrenhal was cursed.

Joffrey had originally thought this was nothing more than rumor. So what if several families had perished in succession over the course of centuries? That proved nothing.

But now.

Atop the vast, decaying Harrenhal, Joffrey saw a hazy wash of blood-red light everywhere he looked.

Lady of Harrenhal Shella Whent appeared with only a dozen or so people. Every one of them was deeply wary, doing their best to hide their fear of the enormous beast.

Rainwater's power clearly did little to put people at ease.

"Harrenhal does not welcome strangers! Who are you? What are you after!? Do not think we are afraid of this monster."

These people did not recognize the Crown Prince.

Tyrion reluctantly jumped down from Lion's Back and went over to negotiate with the people of House Whent.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Whent. I am Tyrion Lannister. I believe you have heard of me."

The dwarf's stature was highly distinctive.

"The king's procession will arrive shortly. The Crown Prince and I mean no harm; we merely wished to take an early look at magnificent Harrenhal. I hope House Whent will forgive us."

A dozen or so knights came galloping over.

These knights should have remained close to the Crown Prince, but their horses could not match Rainwater's speed, so they naturally arrived somewhat later.

Fortunately, they were still in time.

House Whent saw the Baratheon stag banners and Lannister golden lion banners fluttering from their backs.

The elderly Lady Whent dismissed all her suspicions.

"Your Highness, Lord Tyrion, this old woman has been terribly discourteous. I beg that you esteemed guests do not take offense."

Lady Whent struggled to complete a bow.

She turned and ordered her men, "Hurry back and make preparations. Inform everyone that we must ensure His Majesty the King and his party feel House Whent's warmth and sincerity."

Rainwater had already begun striding forward majestically, leaving Tyrion no choice but to follow behind regretfully, trudging through the mud.

Lady Whent personally led the Crown Prince atop Lion's Back.

"Your Highness has honored us with this visit; this old woman is overwhelmed. I only hope you will not be disappointed once you see it."

Her face bore obvious bitterness.

"Harrenhal is nothing but a lonely ruin now."

All of her children had passed before her. Harrenhal was vast and difficult to maintain, while she herself was old and poor. She did not even know who the next Lord of Harrenhal would be. These troubles had long since destroyed her smile.

"You are too modest. How can this be called a ruin? I think it is no worse than the Red Keep."

Joffrey studied Harrenhal intently.

It truly did resemble ruins. There were no tightly guarded gates or defenses, nor was there any clear boundary between the buildings and the disorderly piles of stone.

The people living within appeared particularly small and silent, like vagrants in unfinished buildings.

Fortunately, there was a gatehouse.

Passing through a gatehouse as tall as the Tower of the Hand in the Red Keep probably counted as officially entering the castle.

Even from within, Joffrey could still see the scars left by dragonflame ravaging the castle.

Every stone wall was cracked and faded. Rock that had melted and cooled again and again flowed everywhere like droplets of water. The five towers piercing the clouds resembled the rough, crooked fingers of evil spirits, clutching at human souls.

The sight was terrifying.

Yet Joffrey's gaze seemed fixed upon somewhere nonexistent within the stone walls.

The hazy red light shrouding Harrenhal was not bright enough, allowing him to directly make out the stranger, brighter Patterns within the walls.

The new Rune is calling to me.

Joffrey had confirmed another way to acquire Runes.

Buildings with mysterious, ancient legends.

The Wall and Storm's End could be confirmed to possess magical power. What about Winterfell?

He looked forward to the rest of the journey even more.

Night fell.

At last, Harrenhal seemed somewhat livelier.

King Robert arrived with a large party and made camp there. Lady Whent respectfully invited the king and the others to stay in Harrenhal's central tower, Kingspyre Tower.

Though the name was somewhat inauspicious, King Robert happily accepted the offering.

At that moment, several hundred knights and lords, along with over a thousand servants, gathered in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, yet the immense space still felt somewhat empty.

Joffrey was very curious why Harren the Black had built everything so large.

It was inconvenient to live in, and the environment was hardly pleasant.

It was almost as though it had been built specifically to let people marvel at how an unprecedentedly enormous castle could be destroyed like a toy by a giant dragon.

But deep down, he was rather envious.

Still, bigger was better.

The Red Keep was decent, but it only covered a few hundred thousand square meters.

Even without comparing it to the great imperial palaces of his previous life, castles such as Harrenhal and Winterfell were larger than the Red Keep even in Westeros.

How could he tolerate that?

He set another lofty goal for himself: to build a dreamlike imperial palace unmatched before or since.

At the very least, it had to be as large as King's Landing was now.

King's Landing.

King's Landing.

Joffrey looked at King Robert with complicated emotions.

The king, reeking of alcohol, had an arm around a serving girl as he bragged to the surrounding noble knights about his past glories.

Every moment, every time he saw King Robert, every time he thought of the Schemers of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey understood exactly how dangerous his situation was.

He could plan how to kill the king without the slightest hesitation.

He faced this world with a brand-new soul, so naturally he accepted no constraints from any relationship. He could acknowledge people and matters that benefited him; those that did not were enemies.

Besides, King Robert had shown far too little concern for his son. Their days together had not built much affection.

And without Robert, things would be very important to him.

Other than the vague curse of kinslaying, there was no reason for Joffrey to hesitate, much less give up.

Speaking of which, did it count as kinslaying without a blood relation?

Joffrey did not care.

He had already made his decision. He would not waver, nor would he torment himself.

Father. Let me sincerely call you Father one more time.

I am going to kill you.

You named me Prince of Dragonstone, so I will make you happy one more time.

You like spectacular scenes, do you not?

I have brought a piece of music I dearly loved into this world.

It was called "The King's Arrival" there. Now, its name is "King's Landing."

I had originally planned to save it for my own coronation.

Now it is yours.

Your name will be bound to it.

Be happy.

Let me offer you "King's Landing" as a gift.

And as your farewell.