Harrenhal stood at the center of the Riverlands, which was also the center of Westeros.
Transport links were extensive here, with convenient access by land and water.
On land, the Kingsroad ran north to south; by water, one could travel through the Gods Eye and down the Blackwater Rush to Blackwater Bay outside King's Landing, then sail straight east into the Narrow Sea.
The castle's lands were also extensive. The northern and eastern shores of the Gods Eye, along with part of its southern shore, all belonged to House Whent.
Thanks to this unique geographical advantage, House Whent had become one of the wealthiest vassal houses in the Riverlands.
In prominence within the lands of the three rivers, they ranked below only their nominal liege lords, House Tully of Riverrun, and on par with House Frey of The Twins, upstarts with only a few centuries of history who had made their fortune collecting river-crossing tolls.
Earl Whent's younger brother, Ser Oswell, known as the "Black Bat," was also one of the seven current members of the Kingsguard, a thoroughly loyal servant of the royal house.
The only question was whether they were more loyal to the father on the throne or to the son with the better reputation.
Thinking of the delicate relationship between Aerys Targaryen and his son Rhaegar Targaryen, Titus casually set down House Whent's invitation.
Maester Greg continued, "This will be a grand tournament. Highgarden may have the invited nobles of the Reach travel together, setting off as a group to compete at Harrenhal."
Titus nodded, fully agreeing with the maester's assessment. Indeed, that was very likely.
House Tyrell of Highgarden never passed up an opportunity to display their status as the ducal rulers of a region.
The Tyrells of the Reach and the Tullys of the Riverlands were both fortunate beneficiaries who had never ruled as kings and owed their ducal seats entirely to the support of the Targaryen royal house.
Their origins alone meant that they were more likely than the other ducal houses to face probing and challenges from powerful vassals.
Seemingly remembering something else, Maester Greg sounded somewhat puzzled:
"However, the maester at Harrenhal privately hinted to me that it seems none of the dukes will be attending this tournament..."
"Oh? Did he send you a private letter?" Titus smiled, quite interested in this hint.
None of the dukes are going to join the festivities?
Except Robert Baratheon, surely...
Judging by the timing, isn't the young Duke of Storm's End currently at the Eyrie in the Vale of Arryn, serving as Duke Arryn's ward?
They really don't take young men seriously...
Maester Greg had previously believed that House Whent intended to use the tournament to display their wealth and glory to the outside world.
Titus disagreed.
House Whent of Harrenhal did not have that kind of strength. Even with their reputation for wealth, they presumably lacked sufficient capital... and that capital meant more than money. It also meant deep roots and the ability to rally others.
The true purpose of this tournament was not necessarily as simple as the letter suggested. There had to be others sponsoring House Whent behind the scenes.
Perhaps one house, perhaps several. In any case, he could guess that Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, definitely had a hand in it.
A grand, even unprecedented tournament involved reputation, glory, wealth, and the economy. Politics, of course, would not be absent either.
Just as the Earl of Starpike was letting his imagination wander along these lines.
Far away in King's Landing in the Crownlands, atop Aegon's High Hill, a conspiracy theory was also quietly brewing within the Red Keep, the royal castle of House Targaryen.
In a cavernous hall.
A gaunt king was shouting with frantic madness, his voice full of resistance:
"No! I'm not going! The king will not leave his city! I will not leave the Red Keep!!-"
The "Iron Throne" stood upon a raised dais.
Its name was no exaggerated description.
It truly was a cold, hard chair, covered in spikes, sharp edges, and twisted metal jutting at bizarre angles, a thoroughly terrifying lump of iron.
Numerous sharp spikes extended from its back. There was no need to sit on it in person; merely looking at it was enough to cause profound discomfort.
It was nothing short of a nightmare for anyone with trypophobia.
This hard chair, made entirely of iron, had been created by Aegon I "the Conqueror," the first monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.
Songs claimed that he had ordered his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, to melt down over a thousand swords discarded by enemies who had surrendered at word of his coming. Craftsmen had then spent fifty-nine days working them before the throne took its final shape.
The Conqueror had said that a king should not sit comfortably.
Comfortable or not, anyone who wished to occupy that seat had to bear its dangers.
There had been numerous cases of unfit or unlucky Targaryen kings being injured by this iron chair, deliberately made uncomfortable to remind those in power to take care.
It had even claimed lives.
For instance, Maegor I, renowned for his cruelty, was a king who had been "killed by the Iron Throne."
His death had been exceptionally gruesome.
The Iron Throne's current occupant, Aerys "the Mad," had also been cut by it, but he no longer cared about such trifles.
The pitiful "King Scab" was curled up on this ferocious-looking throne, petulantly yelling at his ministers like a little child refusing to go to kindergarten.
The king stood firm, unwilling to make the long journey to Harrenhal, with its rumors of ghosts and monsters. He simply did not want to leave the Red Keep.
Below the high steps, a long carpet stretched from the throne all the way to the bronze-and-oak doors at the far end of the vast hall.
In the great hall, which faced south and could hold nearly a thousand people, the skulls of generations of Targaryen dragons hung along both walls.
The dark eye sockets of these dragon skulls silently watched the three senior ministers below the throne, as though reminding them to choose their words carefully.
"Your Grace, I have always held your son, our Crown Prince, in the highest regard. But to do justice to the duties you have entrusted to me, I must still warn you that there is something very wrong with this tournament at Harrenhal."
The man making this lofty declaration was plump, dressed in a loose silk robe beneath a vest sewn with gold thread.
His head was completely bald, without a single strand of hair. His ostentatious attire had a distinctly Essosi style, heavy with the scent of cosmetics.
"Earl Varys, I fail to see any regard on your part. All I know is that Prince Rhaegar certainly regards you with hostility."
Another senior royal minister, Simon Staunton, Earl of Rook's Rest, had always resented this bald man who had come across the Narrow Sea to compete for favor in King's Landing.
Varys's title of "Earl" was merely an empty honor, granted out of consideration for his position as a senior minister at court.
In truth, Varys was not the lord of any fief. The only subordinates he commanded were those informants known as the "Little Birds." He was even a eunuch.
The eunuch limply spread his hands:
"My esteemed Master of Laws, I love my king, and naturally I love his eldest son as well. Unfortunately, the prince and you... both seem to misunderstand me. It truly saddens me..."
The Mad King:
Before you continue