The Riverlands.
The war was intensifying, and the atmosphere was extremely tense.
"My Lord, how much longer must the siege continue?"
Ser Jon frowned, deeply disapproving of the commander's stubbornness.
Tywin remained expressionless, gazing at the tightly shut gates of Riverrun. He said in a deep voice, "As long as Hoster Tully does not surrender, we shall continue the siege. We will stay until the rebels are purged and no lord in the Riverlands dares to revolt again."
Ser Jon shook his head inwardly, thinking the question had been redundant.
After the Battle of the Bells, the Royalists and the rebels had developed a deep-seated hatred, engaging in over a dozen skirmishes within a single month.
Hand of the King Tywin hated not only Lord Robert Baratheon, but even more so Lord Hoster Tully, who had rescued Lord Robert.
According to reliable reports, after Robert was rescued, he was taken to The Eyrie in the Vale to recover from his injuries.
The front-line operations were jointly commanded by Lord Eddard Stark and Ser Denys Arryn. They stationed the rebel army across Trident River and launched several surprise counterattacks through the castles of the Riverlands lords who supported the rebellion.
Meanwhile, Lord Hoster, advanced in years and wounded during the Battle of the Bells, was trapped within Riverrun to recover.
Hand of the King Tywin could not find Lord Robert and could not best Lord Eddard and the others in battle, so he focused on the siege of Riverrun, constantly putting pressure on the Tully family defending the castle.
But this strategy was clearly born of vengeance, which only encouraged Lord Eddard and the others to use the Riverlands lords to launch counter-strikes against the Royalist Army.
Seeing his persuasion was fruitless, Ser Jon thought to himself, "I hope Ser Barristan's mission at Harrenhal goes smoothly and he can stabilize the situation in the Riverlands. We cannot allow Eddard Stark to deplete our forces through guerrilla tactics."
By the Seven!
Lord Tywin, as Hand, indeed managed the kingdom in an orderly fashion.
But his military prowess truly couldn't compare to the young men of today.
Eddard and Denys fought with a reckless frenzy, disregarding their own lives in every battle, which greatly bolstered the rebels' morale.
As one side waxed and the other waned, the situation was looking grim.
Tywin did not see it that way. He ordered his subordinates, "Go fetch Kevan. Deploy the catapults from the Westerlands and bombard them in shifts every twelve hours."
"Damn Robert, damn Hoster Tully."
"To dare provoke a Lannister... I will make sure they learn the meaning of 'A Lannister always pays his debts'."
"Yes, my Lord."
A tall, burly youth with messy hair covering most of his face responded. With a world-weary expression, he turned to notify the high-ranking officials.
Ser Jon took an extra look at him.
The youth was incredibly strong, tall as an iron tower. Half of his face was scarred by fire, and on his loose-fitting full plate armor was the "Three Hounds" sigil of House Clegane.
"To master Life Force at such a young age, another genius!"
Ser Jon grumbled inwardly.
It seemed he wasn't doing well in the Westerlands army. House Clegane was also an obscure minor house. If there was a chance, he might recruit him to work for Dragon Prince Daeron.
The Prince needed subordinates like this.
Riverrun.
Lord Hoster lay in bed, his upper body wrapped in layers of gauze, with a bloodstain seeping through near his lower abdomen.
His arm was also suspended from his neck, with wooden boards fixing the bone.
"Hiss." Lord Hoster moved slightly, grimacing in pain.
During the Battle of the Bells, he had been struck in the right arm by a Lannister Soldier and hit in the stomach by a stray arrow. Had it not been for his armor, he would have met The Stranger.
"Damn Lannisters. We aren't even rebelling against you, yet you're so eager to be the Mad King's dogs, refusing to let go of the Tully family."
Thinking of Tywin's relentless assault on Riverrun, Lord Hoster's face soured, and he even cursed Tywin's father, Tytos "The Laughing Lion".
I really don't understand!
We, the Lords of the Four Regions, are rebelling; if we don't try our hardest, our heads will roll.
You, a Lord of the Westerlands and the Hand of the King, why must you fight us to the death?
Even the House Tyrell isn't putting in as much effort as you Lannisters.
At this thought, Lord Hoster's mood darkened. He muttered to himself, "The Crownlands plus half of the Riverlands and The great Lannister army already total thirty to forty thousand men. The House Tyrell's seventy thousand troops are stationed at the edge of the Riverlands, waiting to march at any moment."
"And what about our side? Storm's End has fallen, and we've suddenly lost contact with Gulltown. We only have half of the Riverlands, most of the North, and the Vale, which has lost Gulltown."
The more Lord Hoster thought about it, the more discouraged he became, thinking it might all be over.
"That stubborn boy Eddard Stark... couldn't he have properly negotiated with the Northern lords to gather a few thousand more troops?"
The North was vast but sparsely populated, yet its people were fierce. Historically, Northerners always played a crucial role in wars.
But Lord Rickard Stark was dead, and his eldest son, Brandon "The Wild Wolf", had died with him.
House Stark was left with only a Second Son, Eddard Stark, who had grown up fostered at The Eyrie. In terms of status,
age, and personal connections, he couldn't gain the recognition of all the Northern vassals.
After scraping together what he could, he only managed to assemble a little over ten thousand troops.
Lord Hoster's head throbbed painfully. He sighed, "This war must not stop. If the Starks and Arryns surrender and hide away in the North and the Vale, the Iron Throne won't be able to touch them for a while, but the Tully family will be left high and dry."
To unite his allies, he had married his eldest daughter Catelyn and his second daughter Lysa to Eddard Stark and Albert Arryn, respectively.
Before the Battle of the Bells, the two daughters had been hastily married in Riverrun and were then separated from their husbands.
Unexpectedly, both daughters' wombs were incredibly fertile; they had both conceived at the same time.
Now they were in Riverrun, nurturing their unborn children.
Knock, knock, knock!
While his head was aching, a unique rhythm of knocking came from outside the door.
Lord Hoster perked up. He stared intently at the tightly closed door and lowered his voice, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Hoster."
A familiar raspy voice came from outside.
Lord Hoster was immediately excited, nearly getting out of bed to open the door himself. He said deeply, "Come in, quickly."
It was his brother, "Blackfish" Brynden Tully.
Just as his two daughters had a secret language only they understood, the two brothers had been inseparable in their youth and had secret signals unknown to outsiders.
Creak!
Brynden, clad in black-scaled mail, pushed the door open and entered, quickly closing it behind him to avoid exposing his identity.
"Tywin's army is everywhere outside. How did you get back?"
Lord Hoster asked in pleasant surprise.
Brynden said with great pride, "This is my home. I grew up here. If a Blackfish wants to slip back into its nest, it has its ways of evading outside eyes."
"Aren't you serving the House Targaryen under Dragon Prince Daeron?"
Lord Hoster thought his brother had returned out of concern for the family to help him out of this predicament.
"That is true, but the Prince allowed me to come home."
Brynden's heart was heavy. He looked at his brother and said bluntly, "Hoster, the rebels cannot defeat the Iron Throne. We both know this, don't we?"
Lord Hoster was stunned, his expression becoming complicated as well.
Brynden continued, "You haven't seen Daeron slaughtering enemies while riding a dragon, but you must have heard of it. If House Tully faces him, we will only become the second House Hoare, and Riverrun will become the second Harrenhal."
"You've come back to persuade me to surrender?"
Lord Hoster's eyes were filled with disappointment.
Brynden smiled, his voice sounding like grating glass. He said, "I have returned this time only to preserve a sliver of House Tully's bloodline, so that this name may continue in the Riverlands, rather than being swept away entirely."
Without him saying more, Hoster should understand the fate of House Hoare and House Gardener during the War of Conquest.
More recently, House Baratheon, having lost Storms End, had become like rats in the street, hated by everyone.
"Is there truly no other way?"
Lord Hoster refused to give up, staring into his brother's eyes, hoping to find a solution.
Unfortunately, Brynden stared back with his dead-fish eyes, leaving no room for any false hope.
Lord Hoster's heart instantly turned to ash.
After a long silence.
Lord Hoster's face turned pale, as if he had aged ten years in an instant. He said in a low voice, "Catelyn and Lysa are already married and both are pregnant. House Tully cannot simply withdraw."
"If you're willing to part with your grandsons, give each of the girls a bowl of Moon Tea. I will find them two new young talents to marry."
Brynden loved his family, but he also had a ruthless side.
Indecisiveness leads to chaos.
Lord Hoster considered it seriously, then shook his head. "You know Cat's temperament; she won't agree. And Lysa—she has already drunk Moon Tea once before."
After successive abortions, Lysa might die.
Brynden felt a wave of dizziness, frustrated by his brother's poor decisions and his inability to clean up the mess properly.
"Brynden, you are Catelyn and Lysa's uncle. I'm old, it doesn't matter what happens to me, but you cannot abandon them.
"
Lord Hoster foresaw his own end; he only prayed for his children's safety.
Brynden took a deep breath and said solemnly, "Hand Catelyn over to Eddard Stark and have him send her to Winterfell. I will take Lysa and send her to The Eyrie."
He had seen dragons and knew something of their habits.
Sending his two nieces to Winterfell and The Eyrie was a move of desperation.
Winter was coming, and Winterfell was freezing; dragons loathed such climates.
As for The Eyrie—
He could only hope Jon Arryn would be sensible and not resist to the end, dragging his heir and Lysa down with him.
"You have a way to get them out?"
Lord Hoster's eyes lit up.
Brynden said with a cold face, "Use a raven to notify Eddard Stark to meet them. I will lead the garrison of Riverrun to create an opportunity."
Dragonstone.
Daeron held Shaena's hand as they were invited into the Stone Drum Tower as guests.
"Prince, please come in."
Ser Arthur personally led the way to a room.
Upon entering, Lyanna on the bed came into view.
Rhaegar sat by Lyanna's bedside with his head bowed.
Shaena noticed Lyanna's fever and looked sideways at Daeron.
Daeron's eyes flickered, but he did not speak first.
—
"As you can see, Lyanna has contracted Childbed Fever."
Rhaegar's Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke with difficulty.
Daeron stepped forward and looked at the flushed Lyanna. "Her condition is very poor."
His perception was extremely sharp; he could sense a stubborn Life Force within Lyanna fighting against the fever. Otherwise, she wouldn't have lasted this long.
"She is a warrior no less than any man. I have never seen a girl like her."
Rhaegar showed his true feelings, clutching Lyanna's hand. He whispered, "Daeron, I know you have some... miraculous abilities. I beg you, in the name of family, to help me save Lyanna."
"I beg of you."
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