The king's speech

The Crown Prince appeared first.

Then the king's figure appeared at the carriage door as well.

On the middle tier of the viewing stand, Titus stood among the crowd and seemed to hear a wave of stifled gasps around him.

That was the collective impression left by the king's "stunning" entrance.

He followed the gazes of those around him and looked into the distance-

The monarch, who ought to have looked dignified and noble, wore sumptuous Targaryen-style "dragon robes," yet his long nails were yellowed and curled, as though they had not been trimmed in ages. His tangled gray-white beard was matted into clumps, covering most of his gaunt cheeks.

More startling still, his long silver-gray hair, unwashed and uncombed for ages, hung over his shoulders like dried-out ropes, flecked with debris that might have been bits of grass, dust, or scraps of food.

As the king, whose personal appearance defied description, slowly climbed the steps with a hand on the Crown Prince's strong arm, the contrast between them grew sharper: the former's steps were somewhat feeble, while the latter advanced steadily.

The king's golden crown, adorned with dragon patterns, teetered amid his disheveled hair. Several men dressed as ministers followed attentively behind the pair. Seeing their cautious manner, Titus unkindly guessed that they were terrified the "crown" might fall off the king's head.

When the king finally reached the throne at the highest point, released his supporting arm, and settled into his seat, Titus had no idea what things were like on the top tier of the viewing stand, but the whispers below almost drowned out the wind.

"Gods, how did he end up like this...?"

"Didn't you know, ser? He's been like this since the Defiance of Duskendale..."

Titus heard several deliberately hushed remarks. Amid the murmurs, the master of ceremonies standing before the viewing stand announced loudly:

"His Grace King Aerys will now address the tourney at Harrenhal!"

Looking up and to his left, Titus could see the king above him slowly rise, walk slowly to the railing of his platform, and slowly grip it with his withered hands. He seemed to open his mouth, coughed a few times, and made a sound as dry and rasping as gravel.

Titus listened as carefully as he could. Whatever else might be said, this was the king's speech.

"Ev-everyone... today... is, is the glory of the realm..."

His keen eyesight let Titus see clearly how the old king, who seemed especially nervous for some reason, stammered.

His gaze alternated between unfocused and tense, his body twitching in ways he could hardly conceal. Every few words were followed by a long pause, forming an even more glaring contrast with the Crown Prince, who had appeared behind him at some point and stood straight, his gaze calm.

Had the occasion not been so inappropriate, Titus would almost have put a hand to his forehead, thinking:

This really is torture, for everyone...

King Aerys might once have hoped to recover something of his youth, display his charm and bearing, and win back his subjects' love by appearing at this grand gathering.

Indeed, the earlier news that Aerys II would attend the tourney had added further splendor to an already grand event, drawing many lords and knights from across the realm who had not originally intended to travel.

Unfortunately, things had gone against his wishes. Expectations and reality were far apart.

Titus's assessment of Aerys was: he did not look like a king.

The Crown Prince seemed unable to watch any longer. He took a timely half step forward and picked up the speech in a ringing voice:

"My royal father, mindful of the realm's nobles and his subjects, has braved the hardships of travel to come here and witness the valor of your knights... May glory be with House Whent of Harrenhal, and with the brave!"

Though his clear voice hurried through the closing words, once it carried across the grounds alongside the deep blare of horns, the crowd immediately erupted in enthusiastic cheers, as though to bury the entire awkward scene that had just unfolded.

The Master of Laws, Earl Simon Staunton, secretly glared at the Crown Prince before carefully helping his king back to the throne. Somewhat dazed, the king unconsciously picked at the carvings on the oak armrest with his fingertips, still muttering to himself.

The Master of Coin, Earl Qarlton Chelsted, leaned close to the king but still could not make out what his master was mumbling.

Seeing the Crown Prince "steal the limelight," he was more anxious than the king himself.

This petty noble from the Crownlands, whose arms bore a mace and dagger and who had no skill at managing money beyond flattering the king, hurriedly reminded him in a quiet voice not to forget their original plan:

"Your Grace, don't forget Jaime Lannister's request."

He seemed awakened by the Master of Coin's words, or perhaps provoked by the surname in them.

King Aerys's clouded eyes gradually regained their light. Deep within them appeared traces of the satisfaction of revenge achieved, and even his speech became fluent:

"Quick, Qarlton, go and have Jaime Lannister come out!"

Father.

Cersei!

And Ser Arthur...

Not yet sixteen, Jaime Lannister's thoughts drifted through his mind.

Over the past six months, this son of the Duke of Casterly Rock had made his name resound across several regions by emerging unscathed from an encounter with the Smiling Knight, the Kingswood outlaw, and receiving his knighthood from the Sword of the Morning himself. Now he knelt respectfully on one knee on the grass before the viewing stand, his head bowed.

From his angle, Titus could clearly see Ser Jaime's profile.

The golden twins of House Lannister truly lived up to their reputation.

Even compared with Rhaegar, who had appeared earlier, he fell short in no respect.

Another fellow no less handsome than me...

Leaving aside how much pressure the young Earl of Starpike felt, Aerys II announced on the spot, before the eyes of nearly half the realm's lords:

Jaime Lannister would replace the late Ser Harlan Grandison as a new member of the Kingsguard serving the Iron Throne.

As Jaime Lannister, whose future held boundless promise, swore fealty to his king, the fledgling young lion officially replaced the dead lion and joined the ranks of the white knights.

His white-cloaked brother Ser Oswell Whent, something of a host here, stepped forward and helped him rise with a smile; the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, personally fastened a white cloak about his shoulders; Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Barristan the Bold, idols of countless knights across the continent, welcomed him with smiles and congratulated their new member.

Apart from a few clearheaded spectators who had not been swept up in the atmosphere... such as the deeply frowning Ser Kevan Lannister, everyone present cheered in heartfelt unison.

Even the dozens of vassals and hundreds of knights from the Westerlands shouted at the top of their lungs, sending cheers into the sky for the newly appointed, youngest Kingsguard in history.

Before Jaime Lannister, the title of "youngest Kingsguard" had always referred to Roland Darklyn. He had won his white cloak on the battlefield at seventeen, and an hour later had died wearing it to protect the king...

High on the viewing stand.

Unaware that those Westerlands nobles were seizing the chance to vent some grievance, the mad king almost thought for a moment that these visitors from the Westerlands were cheering for him, their king.

The lively opening ceremony drew to a close amid the magnificent sound of horns blowing in unison.

Sunset was turning the horizon gold and red, and the clamor of the grounds gradually subsided as the king, nobles, knights, attendants, common folk, and others departed.

At the same time.

In another direction from the tourney grounds, hundreds upon thousands of candles had already been lit in the banquet hall of the enormous black castle.

Everything in Harrenhal was famed for its immense size.

That included kitchens larger than the main halls of ordinary castles.

That included vast stables capable of housing more than a thousand warhorses-something simply unimaginable in other castles.

And it included this Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

Its name alone gave some idea of its grandeur.

Crown Prince Rhaegar: