The king's sudden arrival disrupted every quiet plan.
None of the great lords knew whether the Mad King had uncovered their intentions. None knew if he had prepared a countermeasure.
So they chose silence.
Supporting Prince Rhaegar had been a possibility—an opportunity.
But if Aerys discovered it, entire houses could fall.
Thus, the nobles tacitly agreed to treat the Harrenhal Tournament as nothing more than a tournament.
Prince Rhaegar was left to stand alone.
The First Day
Lord Whent proceeded with the opening ceremonies.
Seats were arranged. Participants announced. Prize money declared.
This tournament was grander than any in memory.
In addition to jousting, melee, and archery, new events had been added:
Axe throwing
Horse racing
Single combat
The crowd roared with excitement.
Galladon registered for the joust and archery.
The first day passed in ceremony and preparation.
That evening, the grand opening feast would be held in Harrenhal's Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
Nearly half the nobles of Westeros would attend.
And the king himself.
In his tent, Carina helped Galladon choose his attire.
"Keep it simple," he said.
She selected a white linen shirt, a dark blue velvet jacket with delicate silver patterns, and black trousers.
Galladon bathed in the Gods Eye rather than in Harrenhal's chambers. The water was clean and cold, and he preferred simplicity over perfumes and oils.
When dressed, he asked, "Is it suitable?"
Carina nodded softly, her cheeks faintly warm.
He decided to visit the Hightower camp before heading to the feast.
Barius asked eagerly to accompany him—mostly for the wine.
Only two guards were permitted. Salio declined, leaving Stoin and Barius to join.
Flowers and a Harp
Passing through a small forest, Galladon paused.
Spring flowers bloomed between winter's fading chill and summer's warmth.
He decided to gather some for Helena.
As they picked blossoms, Stoin asked, "When will you and Lady Helena marry?"
"Two years," Galladon replied.
He knew war was coming.
Better to marry after securing victory and reputation.
As he gathered flowers, a soft harp melody drifted through the trees.
Melancholic. Beautiful.
They followed the sound.
A silver-haired young man sat upon the grass, indigo eyes lowered to the strings.
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
Galladon recognized him instantly.
"Prince Rhaegar," he greeted.
"I know of you," Rhaegar replied warmly. "Galladon Tarth. The one who found the Just Maid."
Galladon nodded, offering little more.
Rhaegar, surprisingly, apologized for the interruption before departing.
Galladon watched him go.
A prince so gentle, so yielding.
Too gentle.
Too yielding.
The throne had been within reach. The lords were ready to support him.
Yet he hesitated.
He sought love and recognition from a father who feared him.
And in the end, that hesitation would cost everything.
Suddenly, shouting erupted nearby.
Galladon and Rhaegar exchanged a glance and moved toward the sound.
Through the brush, they saw three knight squires surrounding a smaller boy in green robes.
The boy was slight, about fourteen or fifteen, clutching a trident.
"Howland Reed," Galladon realized.
The squires mocked him cruelly, soon knocking him to the ground.
Rhaegar stepped forward.
But before he could act—
"Stop!"
A clear female voice rang through the trees.
A tall girl burst from the woods, brown curls wild around her shoulders, gray eyes blazing.
Lyanna Stark.
She drew a blunt training sword and attacked without hesitation.
Though younger and smaller, she moved fiercely. Within moments, the squires were forced to retreat, panicked by her skill and bearing.
They fled.
Lyanna knelt beside Howland.
"You're bleeding! I'll take you to be treated."
"You didn't have to help me," he murmured.
"You are my father's bannerman," she replied simply.
She helped him up and disappeared into the trees.
Rhaegar stared after her.
Galladon noticed.
The gears of fate were already turning.
He had no intention of interfering.
Chaos was a ladder.
If the Targaryens did not falter, how could he rise?
He turned away without another word.
Stoin said quietly, "That girl was a Stark."
"Yes," Galladon replied. "Lyanna Stark."
"She has spirit," Barius chuckled.
"She does."
But Galladon had no interest in her.
Lyanna was brave, spirited, and magnetic.
Yet reckless.
Recklessness brought ruin—not only to oneself, but to family and allies.
Galladon preferred caution.
Lyanna would choose freedom.
And that choice would ignite war.
He gathered the last of the flowers and walked toward the Hightower camp.
The feast awaited.
And history was already shifting beneath their feet.
(End of Chapter 32)