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Harrenhal covered an immense stretch of ground. Its heavy, sheer walls rose like cliffs, and from below the guards and defensive engines along the battlements looked no larger than sparrows.
The gatehouse alone was as large as Winterfell's main keep, its stones cracked and faded. From outside the gatehouse, the high walls blocked most of the view, leaving only the tops of the five towers visible.
The lowest of those five towers, even cut in half, would still have stood taller than Winterfell's highest tower. Yet not one of them was whole.
The towers that had been bathed in the black dread Balerion's dragonflame looked like candles half melted by heat. Their stones were split and charred black.
Late at night in the Kingspyre Tower, Gregor Clegane's deputy Rafford, called Raff the Sweetling, had only just fallen asleep when a rapid knocking startled him awake.
"Lord Rafford, bad news. The enemy has begun attacking the castle again!"
When Rafford opened the door, still thick with sleep, an anxious Lannister soldier hurriedly made his report.
"What are you panicking for? Haven't they come every night lately? Come on."
Rafford did not even bother putting on his armor. He threw a plain officer's coat over himself and led the way toward Harrenhal's gatehouse.
When he stepped onto the filthy battlements above the gate, Rafford saw the thousand or so defenders there, a mixture of Lannister soldiers and Stormlanders, all looking half asleep.
They barely reacted to the countless torches moving below the walls.
Rafford rubbed at the tangled sandy hair on his head. He wanted to punish the men, but he could not find a proper place to begin.
There was no good way to do it. Some time before, the Mountain had taken half of Harrenhal's remaining garrison out to raid the countryside. The combined northern and riverlander army had seized the chance to lay tight siege to Harrenhal.
By day, small scattered groups tried the walls from different directions. By night, they harried the castle without pause. The thousand remaining defenders were exhausted in both body and spirit.
At first, seeing enemies packed thick outside the walls had made Rafford nervous during the early days of the siege.
Later, once he discovered that the enemy's night attacks were only harassment, he had split the men, leaving half on the walls while the rest went inside to sleep.
The enemy commander, however, seemed to know the movement of Harrenhal's garrison with impossible precision. During that same night's routine harassment, a large group of shieldmen suddenly covered a specially built wagon as it rushed the gatehouse.
Fortunately, Rafford reached the wall in time and saw that something was wrong. When the archers' volleys were blocked by the shields, he made the decision at once.
He threw down two of the last four barrels of wildfire Lord Tywin had left in Harrenhal as a final safeguard.
Rafford then set the two barrels off with a storm of fire arrows. When the strange wagon was swallowed by green flame, it gave off a deafening secondary blast.
The explosion struck close to Harrenhal's gatehouse and blew a great hole through the massive, faded gate, wide enough for an ordinary wagon to pass through.
At the time, Rafford stared open-mouthed at the huge green plume painting the night.
If he had not used that last safeguard without hesitation, his head would likely have been hanging from Harrenhal's gate before dawn.
When Rafford recovered, he used the green fire still burning before the gatehouse to buy time. He immediately ordered the defenders to release a large number of prisoners from the cells and force them to repair the gate.
Before the wildfire burned out, the defenders and prisoners tore down cell doors and doorposts by the dozen and finished an emergency repair.
Rafford knew that after such repairs, the damaged section of the gate would certainly become the focus of the enemy's next attack.
He therefore ordered his men to supervise the prisoners as they knocked down one wall of the stables and used the stones to block the breach completely.
After that night of terror, Rafford still knew most of the enemy's attacks after dark were only meant to wear them down. Even so, he had no choice but to keep the garrison ready, just in case.
He believed the Mountain, out raiding beyond the castle, must already know Harrenhal was besieged. They only had to hold until Gregor returned with relief.
After the countless torches outside the walls stirred for an hour or two, they finally moved back at the sound of a low horn. Just as he had thought, tonight had been another routine harassment.
Rafford did not let the weary Harrenhal defenders go to rest. He gave a casual reminder and returned to the Kingspyre Tower on his own.
He did not get much rest. Three hours later, when the sky had only just begun to pale, the combined northern and riverlander army prepared to attack Harrenhal again.
"Send the order. The whole army attacks!"
Outside Harrenhal, Lord Tytos still wore his cloak of raven feathers. After giving his order to the messengers, he turned to Lord Jason beside him and said, "Lord Jason, today I entrust my back to you."
Lord Jason, wearing armor marked with the sigil of House Mallister, lifted a freshly sharpened axe from the ground. His voice was firm when he answered, "Rest easy, Lord Tytos. As long as I still live, not a scratch will reach your back."
"Don't talk of dying. After this battle, we still have wine to drink together."
Lord Tytos immediately shot him a sideways glare, his tone edged with reproach.
"Ha! I know you still cannot accept that I drank you under the table last time. Very well. I will give you your chance to do the same to me. I will go make ready."
Lord Jason laughed heartily, waved a hand, and turned away.
Lord Tytos watched Jason's seemingly easy stride, and his expression slowly grew solemn.
He and Lord Jason were both riverlander lords, but their houses shared no real interests and no marriage ties. Before this, their acquaintance had barely gone beyond nods.
During the siege of Harrenhal, however, the two like-minded lords had slowly become friends who seemed to have found each other too late.
Lord Jason's task today was both dangerous and important. Apart from him, Lord Tytos could think of no one else able to shoulder it.
The horn for the general assault sounded. Large numbers of soldiers carrying wooden shields and extra-long scaling ladders surged toward Harrenhal like ants.
The watchmen on Harrenhal's walls immediately noticed that this was different from the earlier attacks. They roused themselves and struck the alarm bells again and again.
More than a thousand armored defenders who had been sleeping against the parapets were jolted awake. They forced themselves up and dragged their exhausted bodies into position.
Only after the attackers had been within bowshot for some time did a sparse rain of arrows begin to fall from the wall.
The scattered volleys did little damage. The attackers closed quickly on Harrenhal's towering walls and set their lengthened ladders firmly against the stone.
Many brave men climbed with wooden shields over their heads. Others simply threw their shields away and used both hands, scaling the ladders as fast as they could.
Irregular stones and streams of boiling filth came down to meet them.
Leaving the stones aside, Tywin had learned the use of boiling filth as a defensive measure at Riverrun. The materials were simple and easy to gather, but they caused terrible losses among the men climbing the walls.
With Harrenhal's walls rising so high, few men survived a fall from those long ladders.
Fortunately, after hearing of King Robb's many classic siege tactics, Lord Tytos had made good use of the nightly harassment.
The defenders drew their bows a few times and threw down a few stones before an unprecedented fatigue seized them. Their rhythm slowed without their willing it.
The men climbing below felt the pressure above slacken. They would not let such a chance pass. They began climbing faster.
Soon, one brave soldier was the first to mount Harrenhal's battlements. After killing two sluggish defenders, he was swallowed by the enemy crowd.
But once one section of Harrenhal's defense was breached, others followed one after another. Attackers gradually gained a foothold on the wall, and more men poured up behind them.
Seeing the wall on the verge of collapse, Rafford could no longer care about anything else. He immediately ordered all the soldiers guarding the gate and other important positions inside the castle to reinforce the walls.
"Lord Rafford commands all soldiers to the walls for the defense!"
At the entrance to Harrenhal's underground storeroom, two soldiers bearing the dark green turtle of House Estermont hurried over to inform the two Lannister soldiers on guard.
"What? We are to help defend the walls? What about this place?"
One Lannister soldier asked with obvious doubt.
"The castle is about to fall. What use is guarding this now?"
"I will stay here. You go find Lord Rafford and confirm the order."
The first Lannister soldier was just about to agree when the more cautious of the two spoke.
"Fine."
The Lannister soldier nodded and walked between the two Estermont messengers. The two men suddenly drew their longswords and hacked into him.
"You..."
The remaining Lannister cried out and tried to draw, but in the next instant the two men killed him together.
"It is noisy outside, and no one heard enough to come down and check. Looks like the other group is doing well too."
After killing the two guards, one of the Estermont soldiers listened for a moment and spoke.
"Good. Let us get the wildfire out quickly. If the gate does not open today, we are dead."
The other Estermont soldier hurried toward the door of the underground storeroom.
These Estermont soldiers were several trusted followers of Auren Estermont. After Robb defeated Auren's command in the Westerlands, Auren had made up his mind to submit.
Later, during the prisoner exchange before Riverrun, Robb had used the chance to return him to Tywin.
Because of his status, Auren had gone with Kevan's army to King's Landing, but he had found a chance to leave several trusted men in Harrenhal.
During this time, every piece of news from Harrenhal, including the Mountain leading men out to raid and the internal movement of the garrison, had been passed out through methods arranged in advance.
Now one group had come to seize Harrenhal's last two barrels of wildfire, while another went to release every prisoner and create chaos.
The frontal assault and the Estermont men's work inside Harrenhal were both going smoothly. Lord Jason, waiting in formation with three thousand elite foot, was facing a severe test.
Nearly fifteen hundred Lannister riders had circled out from the hills behind them while Lord Tytos pressed the army against Harrenhal's walls. They were charging straight for the rear of the riverlander line.
As the distance closed, one huge knight at their head drew Lord Jason's gaze. Only an exceptionally strong warhorse could carry him.
The Mountain.
That man, one of the strongest ordinary men in Westeros, could change a battlefield by breaking many with few.
"Archers, draw and shoot. Shieldmen, raise shields. Spearmen, brace your spears."
Watching the Mountain's cavalry draw closer, Lord Jason gave each order calmly.
The shieldmen in front drove their kite shields into the ground. The spearmen raised a forest of cold steel outward.
A small group of riders broke away from the Mountain's cavalry and accelerated toward them. Lord Jason frowned.
The small group hit the horse pits and tripwires hidden in the ground, and men and horses tumbled in a mess.
That warning made the Mountain's cavalry change direction at once. They began circling to the right.
After a long series of wars, both sides had learned many of the other's methods.
Once several small groups of riders had tested out a safe route for the charge, the Mountain's cavalry struck Lord Jason's formation from the right.
The moment the two sides collided, blood from men and horses splashed across the ground. Some of Jason's men were knocked flying by warhorses; some of Gregor's riders were pierced on spears like torn cloth.
The Mountain, holding a greatsword meant for two hands in one, swept aside the spears before him and crashed easily into the infantry formation. With his monstrous strength behind each swing, the greatsword caused terrible losses.
In the middle of the infantry, Lord Jason watched the Mountain, still clear even among the packed bodies of the battlefield, driving steadily forward. His grip tightened on his axe.
The Mountain urged his horse on, using it to batter men aside while his greatsword swept left and right. Just as he seemed unstoppable, seven heavy infantrymen in full armor blocked his path.
Gregor did not think much of them. The muscles in his powerful arm bunched, and the blood-soaked greatsword struck one heavy infantryman's head with a crisp ring.
The blow did not cut the man's head off as easily as before, but the force in the blade broke his neck outright and left his head dangling to one side.
For the Mountain, killing heavy infantry only required a little more effort than killing ordinary footmen.
Just as the heavy infantry drew Gregor's attention, a figure slid past from his right. The towering warhorse beneath him had its right foreleg severed near the shoulder and fell with a scream.
Gregor fell heavily with it. One surviving heavy infantryman tried to step in and finish him, but the Mountain suddenly sat up and swept his greatsword across with brutal force, caving in the armor at the man's waist.
For some time, Gregor had been unable to attack the besieging army in force, and he knew King's Landing would send no relief. He rose to his feet and roared at the sky, venting the darkness that had piled up in him.
After the roar, he strode directly toward the man who had cut down his horse. The three remaining heavy infantrymen immediately attacked from three directions to stop him.
Lord Jason, who had cut the horse's leg with his axe, rose as well and turned back to help surround the Mountain.
After Gregor was thrown from the saddle, the cavalry behind him no longer had that impossibly sharp point driving the charge. Their progress through the infantry slowed.
Still, the momentum of their charge had not been fully stopped. Breaking through Lord Jason's formation was only a matter of time.
Gregor seized one of Lord Jason's mistakes. His greatsword drove into Jason's belly and came out through his back.
The furious Mountain did not pull the blade free. Instead, he gripped the hilt with both hands, growled, and lifted Lord Jason into the air, impaled on the sword.
Lord Jason, pinned on the greatsword, seemed to rally for one final moment. He raised his head and looked toward Harrenhal's gate, still unopened, then let out a soft sigh.
The three thousand footmen he commanded were elite veterans from the North and the Riverlands. Most of the assault troops at the walls were new soldiers.
If the gate had not been taken before Gregor's cavalry broke through, then when those riders charged again, the assault would collapse.
"Heh. You made me look this wretched. Now pay with your life."
Lord Jason's blood poured over Gregor's armor. The Mountain stuck out his tongue and licked the blood running beneath his helmet, his voice thick and muffled.
'Patrek, I will not see the day you follow King Robb to take the Iron Throne.'
'Lord Tytos, that drink of ours will have to wait for the next life.'
Hearing Gregor's words, memories flashed through Lord Jason's mind like a dying man's last light. In the end, only those two thoughts remained.
"Cough. Pah."
Lord Jason used the last of his strength to spit a mouthful of bloody saliva down at the Mountain.
The enraged Gregor smashed him to the ground and hacked at his body again and again.
As the Mountain was still chopping at the corpse, hoofbeats came from the left side of the battlefield.
Thousands of riders in worn, mismatched armor charged toward them without raising any banner.
At their head, Beric wore an eyepatch and an eager expression. He murmured to himself, "Gregor Clegane, you have reached your end. Today, the Lord of Light will pass judgment on your sins."
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