The great figures of the Seven Kingdoms

Over the next few days.

As crowds arrived from all across the kingdom, merchants and commoners from the Riverlands also flocked to the area around Harrenhal.

Outside the castle.

On the sandy tournament grounds beside the lake, not a drop of the noble knights' blood had yet been spilled, but behind the nearly finished stands on either side, plenty of illicit businesses had already begun to spring up in the shadows.

Gambling boomed.

Nobles in mink cloaks, knights in gleaming armor, merchants dripping with gold and silver, and commoners with a little money to their names kept emerging from the castle or their tents. They gathered around crude gambling tables, slowly piling precious-metal coins stamped with gold dragons, silver moons, and silver stags into little mountains.

As the contestants arrived one after another, shields bearing the various houses' arms filled the displays, while the bookmakers' accountants gradually covered their parchment ledgers with untidy writing and symbols for coins.

While waiting for the opening ceremony, Titus would meet up with Robert and Eddard, or take his guards out of the castle to wander around.

He often went down to the lakeshore, where an impromptu market formed by the Riverlanders had now become a sea of jostling heads.

The smithies' fires burned from dawn until late at night. Amid the ringing of hammers, squires paid high prices for newly forged lances, sharp swords, horseshoes, and repaired armor, while even the lake water used for quenching ran with the smell of rust and copper coins.

The Harrens' environmental protection is a complete shambles, Titus thought. Do they even care about sustainable development?

The owners of little wineshops sold drink in coarse earthenware jars for twice the usual price, yet that still did nothing to stop the knights and sellswords from handing over their bits of silver and copper stars.

Idle small-stakes gamblers gathered in corners to wager with dice and copper coins. Farmers who lost everything would get carried away and stake their iron farming tools, or even plow oxen worth more than people, letting the leather-booted gambling sharks take their last hard-earned coin amid roars of laughter.

And that was not all.

Behind them waited priests acting as moneylenders, holding copies of the Seven-Pointed Star. Their indulgences had clearly marked prices, and their loan interest was equally fair to young and old. Once you could not repay, they would tell you on behalf of the Seven: gambling was a sin.

The burly thugs following those priests would personally teach your body the profound truths of the Faith of the Seven.

Looking at this bustling scene, Titus, who had now wandered through every part of the castle, realized that business opportunities really did twine like vines through every corner here.

It was the same inside the castle. No sooner had a baker's cart stopped than noblewomen's maids snapped up every jam-filled wheat cake; silk banners brought by weavers were bought in an instant by lords who planted them outside their tents as decorations.

The shrewdest of all were the grain merchants, who had stockpiled plenty of hay and oats half a month in advance.

When horses arriving from everywhere filled the stables inside and outside the castle, they smilingly quadrupled the price of fodder and watched the knights grit their teeth and pay to keep their warhorses fed.

Even wandering fortune-tellers with matted braids had pitched their brightly colored tents, using strange wooden blocks, bones, and bamboo slips to calculate the "chances of victory" for people who were anxious or hesitant.

Titus, too, exchanged a few silver stags for a vague prophecy: he would shine at this tournament and achieve a good placing.

Clearly, the fortune-teller's abilities were quite limited. He was nowhere near as pleasing to listen to as Master Klein, who kept a stall outside the Golden Bowl Gate.

That went without saying!

Even without his divination, Titus knew he could place well.

His strength lay in swordsmanship. His riding was not particularly good, but he could lean on Black Pearl. He lacked practice in mounted lance combat, yet Titus was full of confidence in his ability to adapt during a match.

He was also thinking that, once Starpike had the means in the future, he might turn the "tournaments" of Westeros into regularly scheduled events.

Rather than keeping things as they were now, when there always had to be some pretext like "someone's name day" or "someone's betrothal" before one could be held.

Celebratory contests could absolutely be gradually developed into periodic commercial competitions!

Given the geography of Westeros, he could even establish east coast, west coast, southern, and northern divisions. Once the winners of each division had been decided, he could stage a continental final. That would let him rake in money more than once, while providing a steady stream of income through events held year after year.

For places too far away for him to oversee, he could also charge agency fees or naming-rights fees, sending people to assist while granting powerful local lords franchises to run the events according to the rules.

Having conducted thorough research and seen the evidence firsthand, Titus thought about the enormous profits from tournament betting and the equally substantial commercial earnings on the sidelines as he made his way back to his quarters in the castle, where he solemnly bade farewell to the entirety of the wealth he had brought.

The gambling business outside was in full swing, and he intended to get involved, using his advantage of foreknowledge to take a gamble.

Golden coins cascaded through his fingers onto the soft goose-down quilt as the Earl of Starpike, who wanted to escape poverty, cried out inwardly:

These are my last gold dragons!

The very next day after greed stirred so strongly in the Earl of Starpike.

Another great figure arrived at Harrenhal-a very great figure indeed.

The king of the Seven Kingdoms had arrived.

The procession from the Crownlands was a mingling of steel, gold, and silver, streaming mightily through Harrenhal's gates beneath the gazes of the people in the tents and makeshift markets on either side.

The procession numbered three or four hundred, consisting of Crownlands vassals and court knights, with many sworn knights and freeriders following close behind. The late-winter wind slapped against the dozen or so black banners held high above the Gold Cloaks' heads, embroidered with the three-headed red dragon that symbolized House Targaryen.

The king remained inside his enclosed wheelhouse without showing himself. Six Kingsguard in snow-white cloaks rode fine horses alongside the enormous carriage.

Why six?

Because the oldest-serving of King Aerys's "white knights," the Sleeping Lion, Harlan Grandison, whose seniority exceeded even that of the Lord Commander, the White Bull, Gerold Hightower, had died.

He had died in his sleep in his own room in the White Sword Tower, within the Red Keep in King's Landing.

The arrival of Aerys II was like a clear signal, or perhaps a switch being flipped.

After the king arrived at his less-than-loyal Harrenhal.

The king's heir, Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, who normally resided on Dragonstone, arrived soon afterward.

Then, as it turned out, none of the great lords came...

Except Robert.

Quite a few people hoping to enjoy the spectacle might have found this very amusing.

Titus was not a man of such base tastes.

He had learned that, although the great lords of the various regions had not come to this gathering, representatives from every region had been arriving one after another.

The Reach and the east, of course, went without saying.

Representing the Riverlands was Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, younger brother of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. Many Riverlanders had accompanied him. After all, it was close by, and Riverrun and Harrenhal had been joined by marriage in recent generations, so they were more or less supporting their own family's event.

Leading the Westerlands party was Ser Kevan Lannister, the second younger brother and trusted aide of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. A considerable number of western nobles and knights had come with him, more than three times as many as had come from the Vale, and about as many as from the Reach.

For the Stormlands, the representative noble was the lord of Redwatch, west of Cape Wrath, Gulian Swann of Stonehelm, a young and capable earl. Titus knew that Robert was not particularly well acquainted with him.

The noble party from the distant North was led by Brandon Stark of Winterfell. The young eldest son of the lord was already quite famous, one of the outstanding figures of the younger generation.

Lastly came equally distant Dorne. Crown Princess Elia's mother, the current Princess of House Martell, likewise had no intention of appearing in person. Since her eldest son, Doran Martell, had been frail and sickly since childhood and could not endure the long journey, she had sent the equally young Oberyn Martell to lead the party.

Nearly all the great figures of the kingdom had arrived.

The betting: