The sheer, almost absurd scale of Harrenhal finally proved its worth.
After the coalition forces completely occupied the massive fortress, every soldier and horse found a place within its walls.
Harrenhal was built to house fifty thousand men. Even now, its halls, barracks, and courtyards seemed spacious and more than sufficient.
Gathered here were the coalition armies:
The Northern Host, led by Eddard Stark, bringing ten thousand resolute Northmen.
The Riverlands forces, loyal to Lord Hoster Tully, numbering eight thousand strong.
The Knights and infantry of the Vale, under the banner of Lord Jon Arryn, totaling ten thousand.
The Ironborn of the Iron Islands, following Euron Greyjoy, with three thousand fierce reavers. The rest prowled the seas in their longships, countering the King's remaining naval forces.
Dornish spearmen and cavalry, led by Prince Oberyn Martell, numbering six thousand.
The Stormlands legions, though battered from defeat, had regrouped under Robert Baratheon, mustering four thousand warriors.
The six-party coalition totaled nearly forty thousand swords, yet they didn't even fill Harrenhal to its limit. Soldiers filled the courtyards, barracks, and some great halls, while the banners of the great houses flew from the battlements and towers, declaring the change of hands for this legendary fortress.
In the courtyards of Harrenhal, a solemn joint funeral was held.
Flames devoured rows of pyres, containing both members of House Whent and their loyal soldiers, as well as coalition men who fell in the siege.
Smoke and mourning rose together into the gloomy sky. War was equally cruel to all.
Robert Baratheon stood before the assembly, his massive figure illuminated by the firelight like a god of war descended. His voice was heavy and booming, echoing across the silent square as he once again recounted the atrocities of Aerys II—from murdering nobles to butchering the innocent. Every crime ignited the anger in the eyes of the soldiers present.
In his impassioned indictment, one name and one tragedy were deliberately omitted. Robert said not a word about Arriana Whent's fate, nor the humiliation and false hope she was forced to bear.
This was not forgetfulness, but a silent mercy.
He knew that making this public would be a deeper humiliation for House Whent—a family already on the brink of ruin after losing its lord—than defeat and death.
Some wounds need to be buried beneath dignity.
Lady Shella Whent, Lord Walter's widow, stood quietly at the front of the mourners. She heard Robert's speech and understood what the deliberate omission meant. She cast a glance in Robert's direction. There was no hatred in her eyes, only endless exhaustion and a trace of unspeakable gratitude.
As night fell, ravens fluttered their wings, bringing the latest news from King's Landing, stirring ripples of unease among the coalition leaders at Harrenhal.
The message confirmed that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had returned to the Red Keep. However, in all related intelligence, there was not a single word about Lyanna Stark's whereabouts. Lyanna had simply not appeared in King's Landing; there was no news of where she had gone, or even if she was alive or dead.
Even more thought-provoking was that the three Kingsguard who were always inseparable from Rhaegar—Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne the "Sword of the Morning," and Ser Oswell Whent—had not returned to King's Landing with their prince.
With the great war imminent, the simultaneous absence of the three greatest knights in the realm was, in itself, an extremely unusual signal.
Euron Greyjoy listened to the reports, knowing in his heart as clear as a mirror—Lyanna Stark was hidden in the Tower of Joy in the Dornish Marches, and those three missing Kingsguard were there, loyally guarding her.
But Euron chose silence. Now was absolutely not the time to make this secret public. He couldn't explain to Robert, and especially not to Ned Stark, how he knew a secret that even Varys's spiders might not have touched.
This intelligence was like a dangerous poison. Held in hand, it had to be used at the most critical moment, in the most precise way. Euron could only let suspicion and anxiety spread among his allies, waiting for a better opportunity.
The news that "Rhaegar has returned to King's Landing, but Lady Lyanna is missing, fate unknown" instantly tore the joy of victory to shreds.
Upon hearing this, Eddard Stark froze as if turned to ice by the Northern wind. He didn't roar, nor did he press for answers. He simply lowered his grey eyes slowly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his fist. All anxiety and fear were locked tight within his silent, enduring shell. Only the slight trembling of his wine cup betrayed the storm raging inside him.
Robert Baratheon's reaction was the complete opposite. He violently hurled his silver goblet against the wall. Precious wine splashed like blood on the stone. "Rhaegar!!" He roared like a wounded stag, his berserk rage almost lifting the roof. "Where has he hidden my Lyanna?! I'll skin him alive!"
This suppressed worry and scorching anger hung over the banquet intended to celebrate victory like a heavy cloud. The long tables were laden with fine food and wine, but no one had a real appetite. The atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy. Laughter vanished without a trace, leaving only the awkward clatter of cutlery and Robert's heavy breathing.
In this embarrassing silence, a soldier marched quickly into the hall, his loud announcement breaking the deadlock:
"My Lords, the envoy of the Iron Bank—Tycho Nestoris—is outside the gates, requesting an audience with the leader of the rebellion, Lord Robert."
The echo of Robert's roar hadn't even faded. The news of the Iron Bank envoy was like a bizarre interlude, stunning him. He grumbled gruffly, "Me? What does the Iron Bank want with me? I've never dealt with those copper-counting Braavosi!"
The seasoned Jon Arryn stroked his goblet and explained, "Robert, from what I know, this envoy went to King's Landing before coming here. He went to collect a debt, but Aerys's treasury has long been empty."
Robert's brow furrowed tighter, like a child confused by complex sums. "King's Landing is broke. What's that got to do with me?"
Beside him, Euron Greyjoy let out a low chuckle. "This is the rule that has kept the Iron Bank standing for centuries, my dear Robert. When a king defaults on a debt, they immediately turn around and fund that king's enemies."
Robert's eyes lit up instantly, like a bear spotting fresh meat. "Oh? You mean they're here to give us gold dragons?"
"Yes, and no." Euron's smile was unfathomable, his words a riddle.
At this point, Lord Jon finally couldn't help but laugh loudly, a laugh filled with worldly cynicism. "Robert, oh Robert, is there anything in that head besides warhammers and wine? Where in the world would you find people giving away gold for free? It's a loan! Not just a loan, but one with high interest that you have to pay back! And—" he paused deliberately, emphasizing his tone, "I'm afraid you'll have to shoulder the bad debt Aerys owes them as well!"
Dizzied by the barrage of "loan," "interest," and "shouldering debt," Robert waved his hand with a mix of impatience and pure curiosity. "Fine! Let the envoy in! I want to hear personally what flowers he can grow with that tongue of his!"