Harrenhal

As the ferry cut through the waters of the Gods Eye, Leon finally got a clear look at the legendary castle.

Harrenhal.

Harren the Black's pride, Aegon the Conqueror's wrath, the largest and most desolate of all the ruins in the Seven Kingdoms.

It was not built into a mountain like Casterly Rock.

Nor was it surrounded by flowers like Highgarden.

It was simply itself...

Five enormous towers stabbed at the sky, twisted and ugly, yet possessed of a strange solemnity, like five giant fingers bent by fire, reaching out of the earth to accuse the heavens.

The walls were built of double layers of massive stones, thick enough to withstand any battering ram, but from certain angles, sunlight shone through the cracks-

Scars left by Dragonfire three hundred years ago, never fully repaired.

"Harren the Black thought his walls could stop dragons."

Ser Barristan Selmy rode beside Leon's carriage, his voice as calm as though he were reciting history. "He was wrong."

Leon did not answer.

His [Eye of Insight] had begun to tremble faintly the moment he approached the castle.

Not like an alarm.

Like... whispers.

Like countless mouths breathing deep within the stone walls, like imprisoned, vengeful spirits trying to squeeze through the cracks in time.

He could not make out their words, only sense a heavy, damp presence... carrying the smell of burning.

Harren the Black and his sons had been burned to death here.

Leon forced himself to withdraw his perception.

He focused his attention on the ferries and crowds before him.

Dozens of ferries shuttled across the lake, carrying the various houses' caravans and supplies toward Harrenhal.

The crimson banners of House Lannister, House Stark's direwolf, House Baratheon's crowned stag, House Tully's silver trout, House Arryn's sky-blue falcon...

Seven colors, the pride of seven houses, converged upon the same lake.

Robert Baratheon's booming laughter carried from afar. He stood at the prow of a large boat, shouting something to Eddard Stark.

Eddard's expression was as still as a frozen lake. Sometimes he nodded; sometimes he shook his head.

Jaime rode beside Leon's carriage, his golden hair tousled by the lake breeze, his face filled with the excitement peculiar to boys:

"Do you see those five towers? The most ruined one is called the Kingspyre Tower. They say Harren the Black was burned to death by Dragonfire there. I want to take a look."

"You will," Leon said. "We'll be staying there for seven days."

Jaime grinned like a child about to receive a new toy.

Leon did not tell him what he had sensed in the direction of that tower.

Harrenhal's main entrance was a pair of enormous gates made of black iron and oak, tall enough for a giant on horseback to pass through.

The history of House Whent was carved into the gates.

From the first Marsh Kings to Harren the Black, and finally to their downfall.

Wind and rain had worn the carvings almost beyond recognition, but from certain angles, twisted faces and open mouths were still visible, as though screaming silently.

Earl Walter Whent stood before the gates, welcoming the distinguished guests as they arrived.

He was a man in his fifties, thin and stooped, dressed in an excessively ornate robe of dark green velvet embroidered with House Whent's yellow arms.

Nine black bats on a yellow field. Under House Tully's rule, they used this understated sigil.

His face was wreathed in smiles, but the smile looked painted on, without a trace of warmth in his eyes.

Behind him stood a line of House Whent's members: his wife, his daughter, several distant relatives, and a group of apprehensive servants.

"Lord Hand!"

Earl Walter hurried forward, bowing with an almost obsequious air. "The presence of House Lannister honors our humble Harrenhal! Your tents are ready, in the finest position in the castle's east wing, overlooking the entire Gods Eye..."

"Walter," Tywin interrupted, his voice as steady as a verdict. "This is your castle. You are the host. There is no need for this."

Walter's smile froze for an instant, then grew even brighter. "Yes, yes, my lord is right. It's just... Harrenhal has not hosted so many distinguished guests in a long time. I feared we might neglect you."

His gaze swept over the company behind Tywin, lingering on Jaime for a moment, on Cersei for two, before finally settling on Leon.

His pupils contracted.

Ever so slightly. But Leon caught it.

"This must be..." Walter's voice paused. "Young Lord Leon?"

Leon inclined his head slightly. "My lord."

Walter stared at his face for a long time, especially those pale violet eyes. Then he forced a smile. "I've heard much about you. Much indeed. Please, come in."

Ser Oswell Whent rode forward from the rear of the company.

He did not dismount, merely looking down at his elder brother.

Walter's smile froze completely.

"Oswell," he said, his voice turning dry. "You've... returned."

"By the king's command." There was no warmth in Oswell's voice. "To escort the young Lord Lannister."

The brothers looked at each other. Something Leon could not fully decipher hung in the air.

Not hostility, nor familial affection, but something more complicated, a... void corroded by time and distance.

"Good," Walter finally said. "Good. Go inside."

Oswell did not answer.

He merely turned his horse and headed toward the castle.

Before passing through the enormous gates, Leon glanced back at Walter Whent one last time.

The man's smile had vanished. He stood where he was, watching Oswell's retreating back, with nothing but exhaustion on his face.

Harrenhal's interior was even more oppressive than its exterior.

The corridors were absurdly broad, yet as cold and gloomy as tombs.

Portraits of House Whent's successive lords were carved into the enormous stone pillars, but time had worn their faces smooth, leaving only indistinct outlines.

A torch stood every few paces, but their light could not illuminate the entire corridor, only cast flickering, distorted shadows upon the stone walls.

Leon's [Eye of Insight] remained under a light load throughout.

The whispers had not stopped.

They seeped from deep within the stone walls, leaked through cracks in the ceiling, and crawled up through the gaps between the flagstones beneath his feet. Their words were indistinct, but their emotions could be felt...

Despair, anger, fear, and... waiting.

What were they waiting for?

Leon did not know.

House Lannister's quarters had been arranged in the castle's east wing, which truly was the best-situated area in all Harrenhal.

The windows faced the Gods Eye, with plentiful sunlight, far from the shadows of the five tall towers to the west.

Thea and Sandor quickly checked every corner.

Ser Barristan Selmy personally led men to guard the corridor entrance.

Ser Oswell stood at the entrance to the castle's east wing, as silent as a statue.

"Are you all right?"

Tyrion slipped over from the room next door, still holding a piece of pie he had pilfered from the kitchens. "This place is gloomy as a graveyard."

"It is a graveyard," Leon said.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "You mean..."

"Harren the Black and his sons died here." Leon looked toward the five tall towers outside the window. "Their bodies might be buried in some corner."

Tyrion shuddered and put down his pie.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

Two short knocks and one long: Barristan's signal.

"Come in."

Barristan pushed the door open and entered, his expression graver than usual. "Leon, Ser Gerold Hightower requests that you and Tyrion come to the Kingsguard's tent. There has been an important discovery."

Leon and Tyrion exchanged a glance.

The Kingsguard's tent stood in a separate area of the castle courtyard, heavily guarded on all sides.

When Leon and Tyrion were led inside, all five Kingsguard were already assembled.

Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, Jon Darry, Barristan Selmy, and Oswell Whent.

Jaime was there too.

He stood beside Arthur, the excitement on his face replaced by gravity.

"Young Lord Leon." Ser Gerold came straight to the point. "While checking those entering the castle, we discovered some... irregularities."

He spread out a sheet of parchment bearing several faces, rough sketches, but with recognizable outlines.

"These men slipped in among House Baratheon's servants."

Gerold said, "Their identity papers were forged, very professionally. Our men discovered them by chance while checking the baggage. This was hidden in one man's boot."

He placed an iron badge on the table.

Leon's heart skipped a beat.

It was an "oak leaf and dagger" badge.

"The Brotherhood?" Tyrion's voice rose. "They've infiltrated the castle? What are they here for?"

"We don't know," Arthur Dayne said, his voice as calm as the dead of night. "But we caught one of them. He told us a few things."

He paused, his gaze settling on Leon.

"Their target is a particular person in Harrenhal.

"Their leader, Simon Toyne, gave the order himself-

"He wants them 'alive,' especially 'the one with purple eyes.'"

Dead silence fell over the tent.

Leon felt everyone's eyes settle on him.

Those gazes held vigilance, worry, appraisal, and, in Jaime's eyes, anger.

"They still want to capture Leon?" Jaime's hand was already on his sword hilt. "At Harrenhal? Right in front of all of us?"

"Which is why we need to know their plan."

Gerold said, "That's all the prisoner confessed. The others are still at large. They could be hiding in some corner of the castle."

"I suggest sealing off the castle immediately," Jon Darry said. "Conduct a thorough search."

"We cannot." Gerold shook his head. "The tourney begins tomorrow, and the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms are all here. Sealing the castle now would be tantamount to telling everyone that the Kingswood Brotherhood has infiltrated it. Panic would ruin the tourney and enrage His Grace."

"Then what do we do?" Jaime asked.

Gerold fell silent for a moment, then looked at Leon.

"Young Lord Leon, from this moment onward, you must not act alone or leave our sight. We will strengthen security in the east wing while secretly hunting down these infiltrators."

Leon nodded. "I understand."

"One more thing," Arthur said, his gaze still on Leon, though something else had entered his dark eyes. "Before the prisoner confessed, he said something."

"What?"

"'Lord Toyne said those eyes don't belong to House Lannister. They belong to something older.'"

Leon's fingers tightened slightly inside his sleeves.

Something older.

Shiera Seastar.

Tyrion quietly touched the back of his hand, both comforting him and reminding him: Don't let it show.

Leon drew a deep breath and pressed all his emotions back into the depths of his heart.

"Thank you, sers." His voice was steady. "I will cooperate with every arrangement."

That night, Jaime did not sleep.

He lay in the temporary lodgings assigned to House Lannister's members in Harrenhal's east wing, staring at the shadows of flickering firelight on the ceiling.

He remembered what had happened with Cersei two days earlier.

"The Kingsguard." Her voice had been like velvet in the darkness. "Ser Harlan Grandison is dead. There's a vacancy.

"Father wants you to marry that Lysa Tully? That ugly, stupid Riverlands girl? Absolutely not."

Jaime had rolled over, turning his back to her.

"You could join the Kingsguard."

Cersei continued, tracing circles on his back with her finger. "Then you could stay in King's Landing, close to me, and close to Father too. Father told me to try approaching Viserys. I still have a chance of becoming queen."

"The Kingsguard swear to take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children," Jaime said. "Do you want my line to end with me?"

Cersei laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down Jaime's spine. "We'll have children someday, Jaime. Our children, with both our blood in their veins. Purer than any marriage alliance."

He fell silent.

Then she kissed him, and he could not resist.

After that night, he agreed.

Now Jaime clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

What had I agreed to?

Suddenly, an exceedingly faint sound came from outside the window.

Jaime immediately rolled out of bed and grabbed the longsword propped against the headboard.

He threw on his outer clothes and pushed open the door. The corridor was empty, with only the torches swaying in the wind.

But he saw them.

In the distance, several dark figures flashed through the courtyard shadows and disappeared around the corner leading to the west wing.

Jaime did not hesitate. Sword in hand, he gave chase.

The shadow threaded through Harrenhal's labyrinthine corridors, intimately familiar with the layout.

Jaime pursued relentlessly, passing through an abandoned kitchen and a storeroom piled with old furniture before finally bursting out of the castle through a side door.

Outside lay the forest on the eastern shore of the Gods Eye.

Clouds obscured the moonlight, leaving the woods pitch-black.

Jaime slowed and listened. There was hurried breathing just a dozen or so paces ahead.

He crouched low and approached like a hunting cat.

Behind a large tree, three figures were talking in hushed voices.

Jaime could not make out their words, but he recognized the daggers at their waists.

Their shape matched the design on the oak-leaf badge the Kingsguard had shown them today.

The Brotherhood.

Without hesitation, Jaime sprang from behind the tree, sweeping his longsword across.

The first man fell before he could even scream. The other two reacted swiftly, drawing their weapons to meet him.

Sparks flashed in the darkness as their blades clashed.

Fighting two men alone, Jaime held his own without the slightest difficulty.

His sword was fast, precise, and vicious, every strike aimed straight at a vital spot.

After ten exchanges, the second man fell.

The third turned and ran, blowing a whistle for help as he fled.

Jaime caught up and drove his sword through the man's back into his heart.

But the whistle had already sounded.

Rustling came from the woods, and more and more shadows surged in from every direction. By Jaime's rough count, there were at least twenty.

Damn it.

He fought as he retreated, keeping his back against an enormous tree so the enemy could not surround him.

But there were too many. They attacked in turns like a wolf pack, wearing down his strength.

Jaime's arms began to ache, his breathing growing ragged.

A flash of steel grazed his cheek, leaving a bloody line. Another blade thrust toward his ribs, and he barely managed to parry it.

I'm going to die here, Jaime thought.

Just then, snow-white cloaks burst from the woods.

Arthur Dayne led the way, Dawn tracing a cold arc in the moonlight and instantly severing two longswords thrusting at Jaime.

Gerold Hightower and Jon Darry followed close behind, the three steel swords reaping lives through the woods like the scythes of death.

The Brotherhood's formation collapsed in an instant.

Jaime panted as he watched the shadows scatter and flee beneath the Kingsguard's swords. He wanted to pursue them, but his legs had already gone weak.

Arthur walked up to him, his gaze sweeping over the bodies strewn across the ground before finally settling on his face.

"You came after them alone?"

Jaime nodded.

Arthur was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "How many did you kill?"

"Three here. Another five in the castle before that." Jaime's voice was hoarse. "But there are more of them than we thought. I heard them say Simon Toyne was nearby."

Gerold Hightower approached, his expression grave. "After them. We can't let him escape."

The five Kingsguard and Jaime pursued, following the trail left by the fleeing Brotherhood.

At dawn, they found Simon Toyne's hiding place in an abandoned fishing village on the eastern shore of the Gods Eye.

The final battle lasted only a quarter of an hour.

Arthur Dayne drove his sword through Simon Toyne's shoulder, taking him alive.

As the sun rose over the lake, Jaime stood by the shore, covered in blood and gasping for breath.

He propped his sword against the ground, his hands trembling uncontrollably from the exhaustion of overexertion.

Arthur walked to his side without speaking.

He simply looked at Jaime, something stirring in his dark eyes...

Surprise, approval, something deeper... recognition.

Then he did something no one had expected.

He planted Dawn in the ground.

"Jaime Lannister." His clear voice carried through the morning mist. "You have proven your worth through courage and swordsmanship. Beside this ancient lake, before the gods and all those gathered here, I, Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, shall dub you a knight."

Jaime froze.

He looked at the Sword of the Morning before him, the legend he had admired since childhood, the man acknowledged throughout the Seven Kingdoms as their strongest knight.

The morning light gilded Arthur's silver hair, his face as serene as a statue of a god.

"I... I..." Jaime's voice was a little dry, his excitement leaving him incoherent.

"Tonight, you pursued the enemy alone, saving countless nobles who might have been assassinated. You fought one against ten, battling to the death without retreating. You helped track down the enemy leader and capture him on the spot."

Arthur looked straight into his eyes. "You are worthy of the title of knight, Ser Jaime!"

Jaime fell silent.

He thought of Cersei, of their conversation that night, of the promise he had made her.

Join the Kingsguard, stay by her side, and keep away from those sickening marriage alliances.

This is the path I will take.

He knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

The tip of Arthur's sword lightly touched his left shoulder, his right shoulder, and the crown of his head.

A sacred voice rang out:

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.

In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.

In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the weak.

In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect innocence.

In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise.

In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to face death without fear."

He paused.

"Jaime Lannister, will you swear these vows?"

Jaime raised his head. The morning light burned in his eyes.

"I will."

"Then remember your vows." Arthur sheathed his sword and straightened, reaching out to pull him to his feet. "From this day forth, you are a sworn knight."

Gerold Hightower approached, took a strip of white silk from inside his clothes, and tied it to Jaime's sword.

It was the mark of a prospective member of the Kingsguard.

Once he met the king and formally swore his vows before him, he would be able to don the white cloak.

Jaime stood there, gazing at the sun rising over the lake.

He thought of Cersei.

She was still asleep in the castle, unaware of his life-and-death struggles that night.

But she would soon know-

Her brother, her lover, was about to become a member of the Kingsguard.

I chose this path myself.

He thought.

But did I truly choose it myself, or did she choose it for me?

He did not know.

In the distance, the Kingsguard escorted the tightly bound Simon Toyne toward them.

The legendary figure was now a bedraggled sight, blood still seeping from his wounded shoulder, but a fanatical light still burned in his eyes.

He stared at Jaime and suddenly smiled.

"The little lion of Lannister." His voice was hoarse. "You killed a lot of people tonight. But among those you protected, there was one... who should not have been protected."

Jaime frowned. "What do you mean?"

Simon Toyne did not answer.

He merely looked toward Harrenhal, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You agreed?"

Jaime nodded.

"Was it you who wanted to agree, or did she want you to agree?"

Jaime froze.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Leon asked no more questions.

The whispers of Harrenhal...

Could they muddle the misguided desires deep in people's hearts...?

He rose, walked to the door, and looked back. "Jaime, you're a knight now. One of a knight's vows is... 'In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.' The first step toward justice is being honest with yourself."

He opened the door and left.

Jaime remained alone in the room, gazing out the window at the Gods Eye, motionless for a long time.