Conquest Calendar year 303, Harrenhal.
Since the fall of the Twins and the destruction of House Frey, most of those fleeing south from the Riverlands and the North had gathered at Harrenhal.
The stretch from the Twins to King's Landing was almost entirely open country, leaving only the two strongholds of Harrenhal and King's Landing to rely on.
There was a darkly humorous aspect to it: House Whent had never had the resources to restore and repair the enormous Harrenhal, and had only used the lower levels of two towers.
Now, with refugees and exiled lords pouring in, those towers were packed full. At least people had volunteered to clean them out.
"Harrenhal is the true foremost stronghold of the Riverlands, with towers truly fit for a king. Riverrun's tiny size seems rather laughable in comparison." The longer Blackfish stayed at Harrenhal, the more firmly he held to this view.
Harrenhal's immense curtain walls rose from the lakeshore, steep and abrupt as cliffs. All manner of ballistae and trebuchets stood on its battlements, looking as small as insects from afar.
The stone walls of Harrenhal were all cracked and discolored, a fearsome sight.
All five of Harrenhal's towers were immense, taller than Winterfell's highest tower. Yet they resembled an old man's crooked fingers, rough and uneven, grotesque and ugly after their destruction by dragonfire.
The golden banners atop Harrenhal's towers were striking, each as large as an entire oxhide.
Harrenhal's acting castellan, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, looked up at the dark sky as great flakes of snow drifted freely through the air.
Though the long night had already lasted several years, Blackfish still found it difficult to adjust to such a life.
The Long Night had begun in Conquest Calendar year 300, and the climate had grown colder with every passing