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KoW: Chapter 58
🕑 Added 2025-07-17 17:14:54 +0000 UTC[A.N: A large part of this speech was inspired by Steven Moffat’s “Good Men” Poem, as seen in the Doctor Who series.]
General Harrenhall POV
Robb’s steps echoed through the hall as he slowly but surely approached the crowd. In his hand, the bronze chains were still tied, causing the sound of scraping metal with stone to reverberate.
He looked at an unassuming man.
“You!” He pointed. “Why do you fight?”
The man held a panicked and confused expression, before the question registered to his mind.
“I-I drew lots, y-yer Grace!” He let out.
“A man who fights so other won’t.” Robb nods. “Good man!”
He then pointed at another.
“You! Why do you fight?!”
“The Lannisters raped and murdered my family!” The man eyes blazed with hate. “I wish to kill them!”
“Justice for those who wronged you?” Robb says. “Good man!”
“You! Why do you fight!?”
“To defend the Riverlands!”
“Good man!”
“You…!”
“I swore an oath of knighthood!”
“Good man!”
…
“Good man!”
…
“Good man!”
Robb went through the crowd, asking peasant, knight, sellsword and lord for their reason to fight, and he declared their cause worthy of good.
Finally, he stood before Daemon Waters, who unflinchingly stared back.
“Why do you fight?” His voice was low, but was heard nonetheless.
“I fought for a creature so vile its name must be forgotten.” Daemon spat on Thorns’ corpse. “That is not the measure of a good man.” He said.
Robb stared in silence for a long moment, then he simply patted the green man on the shoulder, turning to scale up the steps to his broken throne.
“As a child, I used to hear stories of this castle.” He began. “They say Harrenhall is a cursed place. Every lord who holds it comes to a bad end.”
His hands slowly scraped the dust off of Harrenhall’s broken throne, but that did naught to make it seem cleaner.
“Harren the Black was roasted alive in his tower by Balerion the Black Dread. Since then, the castle has passed from house to house, and none have prospered. Some say the ghosts of Harren and his sons still haunt those blackened halls.”
Catelyn’s hand went to cover her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks, and why not? For the first time since she left him, se saw her son laugh.
Deep chuckles were let out by Robb, they sounded rough and awkward, like he scratched an itch he left unattended.
“They say Harrenhall was built by Harren the Black, but what did he do aside from reaving and pillaging the land? How could such a feat be attributed to man who only knows to destroy?” He shook his head. “What of the toiling men and women, who broke their backs, then their spirits, building such a monstrosity? The carpenters, the masons, the blacksmiths, laborers, architects, timbermen, the quarrymen who chiseled stone till their fingers bled, the women who cooked and cleaned for the crews, the children who ran errands with bare feet on the scorched earth…”
Robb turned around, and stood in front of the crowd with Thorns’ body at his feet, staring at Daemon straight in the eyes.
“People who did the bidding of a creature so vile it must be forgotten.” He threw the Green Man’s words back at him. “What do you think of those men and women? What of their last thoughts?”
“They bled into these stones, every ounce of effort of their waking hours went into making this castle. It was theirs, a thousand times more so than Harren’s. Their castle, their crowning achievement, to them—who knew that they would become forgotten, this fortress was not Harren the Black’s treasure, but the only way they could leave a trace upon this world. To have people wonder, how could one build such a thing?” He said.
“Aegon might have crushed Harren’s wretched hopes, but he also burned thousands of people’s legacy.” His hand extended to his back, twisting around Ice’s handle. “Much like all of you, were those not good men? Good men, taken advantage by evil?”
With blistering speed, Ice was drawn and swung, piercing through the dark pulsing shard at Thorns’ heart, or more importantly, the weirwood seed stuck at its core.
And from the cracks, pitch white light escaped, the purifying rays of the light side of the force guided by Robb through them.
“Aye, this castle is cursed.” He declared. “But not by a craven man and his lesser sons, but by hardworking good men who labored all their lives, only to be forgotten.”
Robb wrenched his sword out, and from its wound the light found purchase. A pillar of light the size of a tree’s trunk surged from it and through the ceiling, reaching for the sky.
All people who spectated found themselves incapable of movement, their bodies stood still, mouth hung open, and eyes stared in shock at something they could not fathom.
And as the pillar of light failed to reach the sky, Daemon Waters found his body lurching forward, his heart of sap breaking under inward pressure, and a smaller ray surged from it, joining the first and adding to its radiance.
“What the hell?!” Jon exclaims as he feels the seed given by Robb surge around his missing arm.
More followed, as the green men fell to their knees one by one, beams of lights of differing sizes surging through their cores and into the main shaft.
Then the moment the pillar of light reached a big enough size to blind all spectators, the ground trembled as stones shifted in the underground.
And finally, ghosts of men and women appeared in the shape of blue ectoplasm, each wore their own arbs, be it a handmaid’s, laborer’s, or architect’s, they all seemed to have worn bodies and tired faces, yet their faces held thin smiles.
The source of the commotion appeared from the ground in the form of roots of white with veins of crimson sap, the weirwood seed at Robb’s feet had grown and burrowed underground, and through the energies created by the purification of Thorns’ heart, channeled into the unfathomable weirwood network, the castle itself began to shift.
The roots grew to such gigantic sizes as to encircle the walls of Harrenhall itself, and with guidance from the force ghosts of the people who built this castle, this fortress began to be repaired.
Large breaks that needed to be filled were repaired by twisting roots, and the small spaces were filled by breaking apart the castle’s black stone, or from the natural deposits of white limestone common in the region.
And slowly but surely, the pillar of light blinding everyone and hiding Robb within it slowly diminished, however, for every inch it did, a large part of the castle was repaired.
Finally, the light dissipated into errant sparks, taking the echoes of men with them.
The new Harrenhall looked nothing like the broken ruin it had been. Thick weirwood roots, pale with red veins, wrapped around towers and walls, holding the old stones together. Gaps were filled with fresh white limestone, bright against the dark, burned rock.
The tallest towers, once cracked and leaning, now stood straight with smooth bark winding around their base like natural support beams. The great hall's ceiling, once open to the sky, was now covered in living wood, its branches forming a roof that let in soft light through glowing leaves.
The old sept had been little more than rubble, but now stood quiet and clean, rebuilt from white stone with a roof of woven roots and soft green moss. Inside, seven small weirwood figures stood where statues had once crumbled, each one shaped with care.
Nearby, the godswood remained where it always had been, but the heart tree had changed. The thirteen marks once carved deep into it by Dark Sister were gone, the wounds now smooth and healed. The tree itself had grown—its trunk thicker, its limbs stretching higher than before.
From the granaries, to the gates, even the Braavosi style baths, every single part of the castle was rebuilt.
And in the great hall, all eyes were drawn to the ceiling first—there, carved into the stone in careful lines, was a seven-pointed star made of white limestone, set into the darker stone like a mark of balance. Below it stood the new throne, shaped from a single mass of weirwood. It towered high but seemed almost to grow out of the floor, its back rising in twisting, branch-like curves..
Yet, before any could speak, Robb stepped forward, Ice held at his hand and pointing at the sky.
“GOOD MEN OF WESTEROS, HEAR ME!” He screamed. “FOR TOO LONG HAVE GOOD PEOPLE SUFFERED UNDER THE YOKE OF THOSE WITH EVIL INTENT! BUT LITTLE DO THEY KNOW…”
“DEMONS RUN WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR!”
“NIGHT WILL FALL AND DROWN THE SUN, WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR!”
“THE GROUND QUAKES AND SEA BOIL, WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR!”
“THEY SAY THE ONLY THING NECESSARY FOR THE THRIUMPH OF EVIL IS FOR GOOD MEN TO DO NOTHING…”
“WHAT SAY YOU TO THAT?!”
As the men gained their senses back, as the green men stood back with hearts of white, as Robb’s words echoed in their hearts and minds.
All they could think to do was scream.
Comments
Jordan Belmont
Damn I hate catching up to stories. I hope you have other scenes invisioned for this story to spur you to keep writing. I can't wait to see how ppl react to hearing about the blessed rebirth of harrenhall. Also who do you have in mind for Rob to marry I thought you'd go with Marjorie tyrells but I've seen no movement yet. So that still leaves Arianna martell and danny
Nachoooo
Great chapter and great story hope we get more soon. Especially since from that day on Robb might not be seen as just a King but a Demigod
