In the Throne Room of the Red Keep, when the parchment detailing the prizes for the Tourney at Harrenhal was presented before the Iron Throne, the air seemed to freeze instantly.
Sitting upon the jagged, twisted throne forged from countless swords, Aerys II Targaryen locked his gaze dead onto that number—Two hundred and twenty thousand Gold Dragons.
The King's already unnaturally pale face seemed to lose all remaining color. Only his pale lilac eyes shot forth a terrifying light mixed with extreme shock, greed, and suspicion. His fingers twitched nervously, nails nearly digging into the bladed armrest of the throne.
For a monarch increasingly obsessed with the Alchemists' wildfire and growing ever more sensitive (albeit often paranoid) about the treasury's expenses, the impact of this number far exceeded the tourney itself.
"Two hundred and twenty thousand..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice like dry leather rubbing together. "House Whent... that bat... where did they get so much gold?" This was no longer admiration for a grand event, but an instinctive fear and rage originating from the marrow—fear that someone else might possess such vast wealth.
Aerys II was not unfamiliar with House Whent. One of his Kingsguard, Ser Oswell Whent, was a member of that house. Not long ago, Ser Oswell had returned to Harrenhal to meet with his brother, Lord Whent. Shortly after that meeting, Lord Whent announced this terrifyingly expensive tourney!
Aerys paced angrily before the Iron Throne, muttering to himself:
"My Kingsguard, Oswell Whent... does he have anything to do with this?"
"I still remember, in 272 AC, the Tourney at King's Landing to celebrate my tenth year on the throne... the total prize pool was only twenty thousand gold dragons. Heh... merely a fraction of this Harrenhal prize! In 276 AC, the tourney celebrating Prince Viserys's birth... Tywin Lannister, still Hand of the King then, held a grand tourney at Lannisport. Even that prize pool was only a third of this, less than a hundred thousand dragons, yet its grandeur was the greatest I had ever seen!"
"The Lannisters are the wealthiest in Westeros, a lucky family living atop gold mines."
"But House Whent... House Whent?!"
"How can they suddenly produce so much hard gold and silver?!"
"Do they intend to renege on the debt after the tourney ends? Refuse to pay the champions?"
"Impossible! If they dared to do that, the lords, nobles, knights, and mercenaries would turn on them instantly and hang every Whent from their own castle walls!"
From the shadows, Varys glided forward like a silent ghost. Dressed in soft velvet robes, his hands were respectfully clasped before him.
His voice was as soft and sweet as ever, yet like the finest spider silk, it probed precisely into the King's ear, strumming the most sensitive nerve.
House Whent was called "wealthy," but their wealth lay mostly in the scale of their lands and the strategic value of Harrenhal, not in liquid cash or vault reserves.
As one of the largest and most expensive castles in Westeros, Harrenhal commanded vast lands and many subjects. Profits from agriculture (the fertile Riverlands produced ample grain), livestock, and river trade (on the Trident) were their main sources, along with tax revenue.
However, simply maintaining the operation of Harrenhal required massive expenditure. The castle was famously "cursed," and its owners seemed doomed to misfortune. The sheer scale of the fortress made upkeep costs astronomical. (Littlefinger would later be named Lord of Harrenhal but kept only the title, never intending to take over the castle precisely because of the ruinous maintenance costs!)
In other words, House Whent would need to save their income for many years, after expenses, just to scrape together a prize pool of two hundred and twenty thousand gold dragons.
"Your Grace, please calm your anger," Varys began, his tone filled with just the right amount of concern and empathetic loyalty. "The amount is indeed extraordinarily shocking, enough to shake the mind of anyone who sees it." He paused artfully, planting the seed named 'suspicion' into the silent soil.
"However," his tone shifted slightly, becoming cautious and thoughtful, "forgive your humble servant for speaking plainly. Given House Whent's current industries and harvest, even accounting for all taxes from Harrenhal, the produce of their lands, and past accumulations... to bear such a massive bounty independently would likely be... extremely difficult." He paused again, letting the words "extremely difficult" ferment in the air.
"One might even say..." Varys lowered his voice further, as if afraid the walls were listening, "...it is impossible. The gold dragons flowing behind this... their stamp likely does not originate solely from the vaults of Harrenhal."
He named no names, but the vague, pointed implication acted like a fuse for wildfire—pointing directly at the Lannisters... and Rhaegar!
Under the provocation of the "Spider's" carefully woven words, King Aerys's pupils shrank to dangerous pinpoints. Endless suspicion was instantly injected into his heart like thick poison.
Tywin Lannister's cold, wealthy face, or any other powerful lord capable of threatening the Iron Throne, morphed into potential financiers and traitors in his mad imagination. Aerys II had already heard whispers... about his son—Rhaegar!
Does this matter... involve him?!
"Investigate!" The King sprang from the throne, his shriek sharp and piercing with extreme rage, echoing madly through the throne room and shaking dust from the rafters. "Investigate it thoroughly for me! Who has the gall bigger than a dragon?! Whose gold is plentiful enough to dare buy my kingdom?!"
---
While dark currents surged and suspicion rose in the Red Keep over the massive prize, far away in the Riverlands at Harrenhal, the scene was entirely different.
House Whent was already busy off their feet preparing for this unprecedented event.
Although the final number of participants and spectators couldn't be precisely calculated yet, every experienced steward could sense from the scale of procurement and the flood of inquiries arriving from all over—this would be an event far surpassing any previous tourney, perhaps even surpassing any legendary gathering in history.
When the time came, a tide of humanity would converge on Harrenhal from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms: knights and mercenaries hungry for glory and wealth, merchants chasing profit, nobles seeking excitement, singers, hedge knights, septons peddling holy relics, and countless commoners looking for work and bread...
Harrenhal, the castle famous for curses and ruin, was being temporarily washed by a sea of gold dragons and a surging crowd into the most dazzling, and most restless, center of Westeros. And in King's Landing, the whispers about the source of all this wealth had only just begun.