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Harrenhal arose before them. He’d seen it only once before, from afar with Brynden at his side. Even then as but a dark shape on the horizon, it had unnerved him. Now, he was at its feet, dwarfed by its walls and melted towers. Everything he saw of its insides was dizzyingly large.

If Winterfell and Highgarden were built for men in mind, then Harrenhal was erected for giants.

He tried to imagine his ancestors in the skies, Aegon on Balerion’s back and a stream of dragonfire pouring into the castle, or Daemon and Aegon on the backs of Caraxes and Vhager. The tension left him slowly.

The castle’s great gates, so large that ten carts could pass through abreast, were closed at the sight of their army, but they were opened by a hair and a well dressed older man rode from the gates with a few knights at his side beneath a white banner.

“Welcome, my lords.” The man said. “I beg you forgive this old castellan his ignorance. I recognize the falcon of the Arryns, but I am unfamiliar with the checkered banner beside it.”

“The banner of House Hardyng. I am Harold Hardyng, Lord Regent of the Vale. At my side are Ser Domeric Bolton and Ser Jon Stark.”

“Stark? The Stormscourge?” The man asked, his eyes widened and fell onto Jon. “Lord Brandon Stark’s elder brother?”

“Aye.” Jon said. “I heard he was here in Harrenhal.”

“He is Lord of Harrenhal, ser, and wise beyond his years.” The castellan praised.

“Where is he? I am anxious to see him.”

“He wanders the castle sometimes, ser.” The man said, his eyes darted between Jon and the others. “With the appropriate guards at his back of course. He’ll return soon.”

“Excellent.” Hardyng said. “Now my good man, Lord Arryn’s father, the great Jon Arryn and Lord Tully were allies, an alliance I will extend once I meet with Robb Stark. I’ve your lord’s other brother at my side, our army means your castle and people no harm. I would ask we be allowed inside.”

“Could you not erect a camp outside the walls? Of course the lords would be welcome, but the soldiers…”

“Can the biggest castle on Westeros not make room?” Hardyng asked. “I’m afraid I must insist. Should some Lannister or Ironborn ambush befall us, I’d rather my men have Harrenhal’s walls to defend.”

“I meant no offense, my lord. I only worry that should some disagreement take place between one of your soldiers and the commonfolk and escalate to drawn steel, the chaos that would follow—”

“Valemen are more disciplined than that.” Hardyng scoffed. “And if there are some among them who are not, then I will see to them personally. You’ve my word.”

The castellan still looked hesitant, but he was in position to argue and Hardyng’s word was all he would get. Soon a great column of men would pour inside Harren’s folly with Jon and the others at its head.

The noise and smell struck them before they were even through the gates. Chatter and footfalls as he’d only heard in King’s Landing mixed with the pungent scent smell of oven smoke and sweat entrapped by the enormous walls.

The courtyards of the castle were swarmed with bodies, and there were markets, tents and workshops in the shadow of every wall and tower. Fishmongers travelled dragging their carts behind them, while inside of what had been a stable sat a circle of women weaving baskets and clothes. Not far from them came the scent of warm bread. Further still were workshops, some where carpenters took a saw to timber and another where blacksmiths hammered soft iron into shape.

And even these were a mote of dust to the castle at large. The towers rose high above them and through there windows Jon saw all of them abuzz with some acitivy or another, and swarmed on all sides by a carpet of bodies.

The opening of the gates and the sound of a marching army turned a few heads. Soon half of the host was inside, and the entire city had pulled away, the people retreating into the tents and buildings that had become their home. The castellan reappeared soon after and led them to a still empty barracks, but by that time Harrenhal looked almost abandoned, save for the thousands of eyes peering through every window and crack.

“Forgive them, my lords. They know not if you are here to protect or slaughter them.” The castellan said.

“No offense taken. These are uncertain times.”  

“Have you counted how many there are?” Jon asked.

“Only to get an idea, my lord.” The castellan said. “More than a hundred thousand to be sure, mayhaps even a hundred and fifty.”

“So many?” Hardyng said after a moment of stunned silence. “That would make it the third or fourth largest city on the continent!”

“Fourth. Lannisport is home to more than two hundred thousand, but it does dwarf Gulltown and White Harbor.” Domeric said. “They are all from Stannis’ expulsions in the Captial?”

“The majority, but there are also Riverlanders escaping the Ironborn and Reachmen escaping the Lannister redcloaks. A small troop of five hundred even came from the Vale. Their villages at the foot of the Mountains of the Moon had been burned.” The castellan said. He bit his tongue before his courage returned. “The clansmen have been defeated, my lords? Ur and his griffins?”

“Aye, Jon and Domeric each took a lance to one, and I buried a spear in a third.” Hardyng declared proudly. The newfound maturity that came with Hardyng’s title had done little to quell his vanity. Jon could hardly blame him, as his chest seemed to puff up on its own. “Ur himself fell to Jon in single combat. They are dealt with.”

“But back to the Harranhal.” Domeric said, drawing the conversation back. “It is the largest castle in realm. My aunt once told me it covers thrice the ground of even Winterfell, that no army has ever been able to garrison it, but can its walls house hundreds of thousands?”

 “Comfortably, my lord, and all without turning the castle ground into slums.” The Castellan told them. “Each tower can hold three thousand souls, though we keep the Kingspyre’s tower bare for the knights and nobility.

“Each of the thirty-five hearths in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths can fit a village beside it. The Hunter’s Hall and stables can house another ten thousand, and the eastern courtyards can hold enough tents for twenty thousand and already shacks and huts are being erected to take the place of the tents.

“And there are other grounds and halls which had been buried under rubble since the day the Conqueror delivered on his promise to Harren Hoare. With so many bodies to put to work, we’ve been able to dig them out and there is no shortage of stone masons and builders to renovate them.”

“How do you feed them?” Jon asked. “How will you keep them warm when winter comes?”

“The first we’ve solved with shipments of grain meant for the capital that had nowhere to go with the siege, though this is rapidly draining out treasuries.” The sastellan admitted. “And should the siege be resolved then prices will rise even higher. There is much untended earth nearby, but the first crop is months away, and it will not be enough to sustain us alone.

“As for heating, Harren solved that for us centuries ago. Beneath every hall is a great furnace that feeds heat into flues inside the walls and inside is like a summer's day even in the worst of winter. The last time they were used was for Jaeherys the Wise’s Great Council. There are forests, coal mines and peat bogs within the Harrenhal lands, enough to feed every furnace for millennia.”

There was a gleam in his eyes when he spoke of such projects, borne of either of personal ambition or a desire to see the dead citadel he’d spent a lifetime inside of restored.Which is it?

“These would prove difficult tasks for even the most experience stewards.” Jon said. “And while my brother is quick and diligent, he is still a boy.”

“I am eager to serve him as I served his Lady grandmother.” The man said. “And should you find a regent or stewards, then I would be eager to work alongside them in guiding him. I do not expect such Harrenhal restored until long after I am buried and your brother is a man grown.”

That quelled Jon’s concerns for a time, though he would keep an eye out for a worthy steward or advisor on his travels. Erecting a city in the middle of the Seven Kingdoms was too monumental a task for one to manage or be trusted with. Despite the castellan’s best efforts, in Jon’s eyes this was still more of a slum than a city proper.

“Have you news of Robb’s whereabouts?” Jon asked him.

“Aye, he and Lord Bran regularly exchange letters and employ the same circle of couriers. It was by Robb’s order that Bran was officially named Lord of Harrenhal and released from his squireship to Lord Jason Mallister so that he might dedicate his time to overlooking Harrenhal.” The castellan told him. “In his last letter, he was still at Stone Hedge pursuing Victorian Greyjoy’s fleet eastward. He warned us that what is left of the Greyjoys might appear on our walls.”

“Let him come.” Hardyng said haughtily.  

They were then somewhere on the northern end on the castle grounds. The barrakcs that the castellan had found for them were  great buildings along the walls, so tall that Jon nearly fell on his back craning his neck up to look them over. This barracks that dwarfed the entire Veridian Falls were hidden away in some forgotten corner of Harrenhal.

How great was Harren’s view of himself? How many died with spines bent out shape and skin grated like sand to satisfy it? Jon wondered. _What Aegon did to him might have been his finest act.

“You, my lords, are welcome to rooms in the Kingspyre, you and any nobility. A thousand guests if you wish.”

“No need for so many.” Hardyng told him. “Four hundred at most.”

“I will go arrange it,” The man nodded, then turned tense and turned his head to Jon. “But if I might share a private word with Lord Stark first, it is about his brother.”

Jon’s eyebrows furrowed at that, but he consented to the request and followed the castellan some distance away as sergeants shouted orders to organize the knights and levies both into the barracks.

“Is something the matter with Bran?” Jon asked him.

“It may be baseless worry, but it is a cause for concern in my eyes.” The castellan said. “Lord Bran, he, he does not keep to castle. He wanders out to the God’s Eye and takes a small skiff to the Isle of Faces. Sometimes he disappears there for days at a time.”

“Doing what?”

“I know not, ser.” The man told him. “The commonfolk swear they sometimes see the shadows of green men on the island, but no man Lady Whent sent has ever found anything on the island but Heart Trees, though none lingered long. Even the most devout septon cannot endure the gaze of the smiling trees for long.”

“What could he be doing?” Jon asked, though the man only shrugged. Even the deepest meditation or prayer could not take so long. “I’ll speak to him. Who else knows of this?”

“Only the watchmen who spotted it, my lord.” The castellan told him. “And I ordered they hold their tongues under threat of exile. I did not wish to speak in front of the half-Arryn, should he look down on followers of the Old Gods.”

“He does not, but it was prudent of you.” Jon told him. Perhaps I need not worry about him betraying Bran...

They returned to Hardyng and Domeric and found them joined by a larger company bound for the Kingspyre. Among them was Lord Belmore, Roland Waynwood, Ysilla Royce, Nymeria, Lord Lynderly, Hugh Melcolm and a flurry of lesser lordlings and knights. Jon even spotted the Ser Wylas and Lord Mortimer whom he had ridden with the day before.

It was a far longer walk back the towers than it needed to be, as was the case with everything in Harrenhal. The common men and women had left their hiding spots by then and were communing as they were before. The Castellan had sent a few runners to quell the panic.

They were housed low in the tower, so low that none of Balerion’s flames had reached. It was rather spartan for a castle so large. The bare granite floors and walls reminded him of the Bloody Gates moreso than Highgarden or Winterfell.

Jon had barely removed his armor and laid in his bed before there was knock at his door. Grey eyes met sapphire ones, and a small mass collided into his chest. Bran had gained a few inches in the months since, but he remained a head shorter than Jon.

“Jon!” Bran said. “I’ve missed you! I wish I were there to greet you when you arrived!”

“And where were you?”

“The northern end of the castle, I was organizing a small tent town.” Bran said, and even without the castellan’s warning, Jon would have seen through this lie.

“Not on the Isle of Faces?” Jon asked, and his brother’s eyes widened. “What bid you disappear there for days at a time? What bid you lie about it?”

“I…” Bran started, then stopped. “Prayer.”

“And you lie again.” Jon told him. He knelt and looked his brother in the eyes. “Speak true, Bran.”

“You’ll not believe the truth.”

“There’s few things I won’t believe.” Jon told him. “I’ve fought griffins and Lord Stark fights the dead. I’d believe it if you told me you were herding a flock of grumpkins on the Isle.”

Bran still hesitated, as though something had taken hold of his tongue. His eyes met Jon’s, then the ground then Jon’s again before he finally spoke.

“I am a greenseer.” Bran said hesitantly, gaging Jon’s inscrutable expression. “It means—”

“I know what a greenseer is.” Jon said, much to his brother’s surprise. “I’ve met one before. Are you sure?”

“Aye.” Bran told him. “I’ve seen you riding rays of moonlight on a griffin’s back. I’ve seen Robb galloping after an Ironborn ship and Sansa in Highgarden meeting in secret with a pale woman and a dark one.”

Tyene and Arianne.

“But I’ve also seen things that have not yet come to pass. A great city reduced to nothing, three dragons and a flames hotter than volcanos spreading over the realm.”

Bran’s tone was unsteady with fear, and Jon needed to sit. His breathing shortened.

“And you can skinchange as well?” Jon asked, his brother hesitated for a breath, then nodded his head. “Do you dream of Summer? Did you see her and Grey Wind and Lady and Ghost downing three bucks together a few nights ago?”

Bran’s head turned in confusion for moment before his eyes widened once more.

“You can skinchange?”

“At this rate we might all be able to.” Jon said, half joking and half serious. “And the Isle of Faces, are there green men? Do they instruct you?”

“They’re Children of the Forest.” Bran said, he began to explain them, before Jon told him he had also met them. “And it is not them who instruct me, but a raven with three eyes. He says he’ll help me fulfil my potential.”

A crow with three eyes. Was it an Old God? What did it even want with Bran, with any of them?

There hung a silence for a time as Jon buried his eyes in his hands and Bran stood nervously waiting for a word from his brother. Eventually, Jon sat up and sighed.

“You’ll leave word before you depart, and you’ll pay twice as much attention to your lordship as you will this crow. An absent lord invites treachery.” Jon said, Bran rapidly nodded at his words. “Secondly, if this crow as something from you, you’ll get permission before you do it, be it from me, Robb, or your mother or father, no matter how hard it tries to convince otherwise.”

Bran nodded again and Jon rose from his bed to hug his brother once more.

It was dark by the time Bran had taken his leave. Jon laid in his bed for time, considering all that his brother had told him, but he had barely closed his eyes before sleep took him.

His mind rushed towards Ghost, but Jon pulled himself instead to Zephyr. The hawk could find Robb and reach King’s Landing all in one night.

Zephyr was near, having dove down into Harrenhal to pluck a rat from one of the very few still abandoned section of the castle. He rose and circled the castle once and twice, then closed in on the five towers that stood like skyward fortress.

He travelled to the peak where the Balerion’s breath had been hottest, then flew down to see his brother in his rooms. In his own rooms, Jon was asleep in his bed, but when he reached Domeric’s, they were bare.

At first, his assumption was business, but Nymeria’s rooms were similarly empty. Hardyng’s by contrast contained all three. Hardyng sat, Nymeria paced and Domeric leaned against the wall.

“What you propose is madness.” Hardyng said.

“Would you rather—” Domeric started then bite his tongue. His pale eyes looked directly into Jon’s. He pointed his head towards it, and both Nymeria and Hardyng looked towards it suddenly. “We’ll speak of this later, thank you for the dinner, Hardyng.”

They turned and left and Jon awoke in his bed, shivering.

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