The skirmish was over. From the first strike to the final silence, barely a few minutes had passed.
Seven or eight corpses lay sprawled in the mud in grotesque, broken angles. The heavy reek of iron-scented blood and the sight of severed limbs sent Bana and the commoner helpers—who had spent the fight shouting and brandishing their weapons to look imposing—into fits of violent dry heaving.
Bronn's four companions moved with the practiced efficiency of vultures, stripping the bodies of coin purses and anything else of value. Bronn himself walked to the wagon loaded with Solomon's scrap metal. He used the tip of his sword to hook a piece of punctured chainmail, studied it for a second, and then tossed it back with a look of pure disdain.
Bana pulled his thoughts back from the abyss of memory. He watched Bronn, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat. A lingering wave of aftershock washed over him. Living in Westeros is too damn hard.
It had been terrifying to watch. This man and his four brothers had used brutal, calculated methods to break Ser Guy, forcing the knight to reveal where his wealth was hidden—with his mistress, Bana's ex-wife. They had then executed the knight, slipped into Seagard to silence Lena, and vanished with every copper they could carry.
Bana finally found the breath to answer Bronn's earlier question. "Yeah."
"It was all for this 'pile of junk'."
He reached out and touched a dented helmet on the wagon. Despite the horror he had just witnessed, a sliver of a smile touched his lips. Whatever the cost, he had fulfilled the task Lord Solomon had entrusted to him. That was enough.
Everything was back on track. His life had begun anew. The woman who had betrayed him was gone, and her debt was paid in blood.
The remainder of his years belonged to Lord Solomon—a service that would only end with his death.
In the distance, the jagged, grey silhouette of the Lion's Den valley began to cut into the horizon. But as they neared the entrance, a lone rider came galloping toward them at a breakneck pace. Bana felt a sudden, cold prickle of dread.
"We have to change our route, Lord Bana!" The rider pulled up, gasping for air, and thrust a roll of parchment toward him.
Bana snatched it, unfurled the sheet, and scanned the contents. His brow knotted into a heavy scowl.
"What is it?" Bronn asked, leaning back against the cart and raising an eyebrow.
Bana let out a long, weary sigh and held the parchment out to Bronn. "It's... well, look for yourself."
"Are you a half-wit?" Bronn spat, his voice sharp with annoyance. "Do I look like a man who can read? Read it to me, you merchant bastard!"
Bana pulled the parchment back, blushing with embarrassment, and began to read aloud, enunciating every word of the formal script.
"A Proclamation to the Lords and Households of the Riverlands.
I, Solomon, Lord of the Weeping Gorge and Vassal to House Deddings, do swear by the names of the Seven. It is with a deep reverence for peace and a heavy heart for the sake of honor that I set these words to parchment.
Previously, when the wildlings of the Mountains of the Moon ravaged the lands of the Riverlands and threatened the peace of Riverrun's rule, I led a force of farmers to the Battle of the Wailing Valley. There, we shattered the mountain clans, broke the siege of Deepwood, and secured victory after victory until the savages fled back into the heights, returning peace to our neighbors.
Since then, I have led my people into these masterless, barren wastes to build fortresses, till the soil, and construct defenses. My only aim was to establish a first line of defense against future incursions—to ensure the stability of the Riverlands and the peaceful reign of House Tully.
And yet, peace and goodwill have not been met with respect by my neighbors. Lord Roger Lege of Willowbrook has allowed an unrighteous greed to fester in his heart, leading him to commit acts of base villainy against my sacred fief.
His crimes are threefold:
First: Conspiracy and Alliance with Outlaws. House Lege has abandoned noble honor to secretly treat with the bandits of the mountains, promising them gold and steel to attack my lands and slaughter my people. This act is indistinguishable from banditry itself and is a stain upon the nobility.
Second: Treachery and Unprovoked Aggression. When his conspiracy was unmasked and his messengers taken, Lord Lege did not repent. Instead, his men-at-arms continue to occupy my ancestral soil—a flagrant desecration of a lord's sacred right to his land. This is the act of a coward who wages war without a declaration.
Third: Corrupting the Order of the Seven Kingdoms. House Lege's actions set a lethal precedent: that conspiracy and banditry are valid tools for seizing the property of a neighbor. If this rot is not cauterized, then the fate I face today will be the fate of every law-abiding lord in the Seven Kingdoms tomorrow.
The peace and order of our realm will be torn apart by such schemers.
Faced with the relentless encroachment and public humiliation dealt by House Lege, I find myself with no choice but to answer with iron and blood.
This is not an act of personal greed. It is a somber, painful declaration made to uphold the sacred rights of a lord and the laws of the Seven Kingdoms.
I hereby solemnly declare before the Seven and all honorable Lords: My war has a limited objective and a defined border.
My sword shall be drawn only against those Lege soldiers who set foot upon my family's soil. I shall not take one step into House Lege's ancestral lands. I shall not harm a single commoner upon their soil. I shall not loot a single copper that belongs to them, nor shall I claim a single inch of their lawful territory.
My deployment is intended for one purpose: to reclaim what is mine. I shall not cross the line; I shall not tilt my banner.
This conflict is a duel between my house and House Lege—a duel to defend the rights of lordship and the ancient laws of our nobility. I seek no private gain; I seek only to maintain the justice established by House Tully and to defend the legal order that has sustained the Seven Kingdoms for a thousand years.
I know that I am the smaller force. I know that victory is a slim hope. Yet for the sake of justice and law, I am willing to gamble my life. Whether I win or lose, I pray that my resistance serves as an example to every noble in the Seven Kingdoms who holds his vows sacred.
Should House Lege refuse to withdraw from my lands within five days of this proclamation reaching Willowbrook, I, Solomon, Lord of the Weeping Gorge and Vassal to House Deddings, shall have no choice but to take up arms to reclaim my justice."
Bana finished reading. The two men stood in the mud, staring at one another in a heavy silence.
Bana looked at the parchment again, making sure he hadn't misread the name. Gods... what's happening? Why is Lord Solomon moving so fast?
In Riverrun, where the three branches of the Trident converge, the damp air of the rivers seeped into the stone. A thin layer of moisture hung on the walls of the great council hall.
Lord Hoster Tully's fingers pressed down against the fine parchment of the proclamation.
The edges of the sheet were slightly curled from the long journey, but the ink remained sharp and clear.
He looked away from the document and toward the window. Outside, the rushing currents of the three rivers merged in a deafening roar. Usually, he found the sound comforting; today, it was merely an irritant.
The proclamation had arrived two days ago. There were three days left.
For forty-eight hours, the messenger had been housed in a guest room, enjoying the hospitality of Riverrun, but he had not been granted an audience with a single person of rank. The messenger couldn't decide anything anyway. Time was moving. Three days remained.
Hoster Tully's aged palm struck the table with a heavy thud. Why is everything in the Riverlands always so wretched? Every house had a grudge; every house demanded blood. Blackwood and Bracken—and now Deddings and Lege.
Ser Robin Ryger, the Captain of the Riverrun guard, took the parchment and read it in silence. He spoke slowly. "The fault in this matter does lie with the Lege family... that much is certain."
"But House Deddings—or rather, this vassal of theirs—should not be provoking a private war during a time of general conflict."
"I am willing to return to Willowbrook in the name of Riverrun to mediate this dispute."
Ser Desmond Grell, the Master-at-Arms of Riverrun, took the parchment and chuckled.
"The boy's meaning is clear: 'I'm going to have a fight, it's the other fellow's fault, I'm only going to give him a thrashing and I won't steal his boots. You lot just stay back and watch'."
But everyone in the room understood the dilemma. The envoys Solomon had sent previously had already confirmed the facts: House Lege's behavior was indeed contemptible. But Solomon's response bypassed the traditional chain of command.
For a new lord to have the audacity to declare war on an ancient house was, in itself, a challenge to the existing order.
This was precisely why Hoster had not summoned the Lege family to answer for the previous messenger's report.
He thought of the endless, fruitless bickering between the Brackens and the Blackwoods. Every time he tried to mediate, it was like thrusting his hand into a pot of boiling oil. Now, another pair was at it.
Hoster Tully rubbed his temples. "The Riverlands cannot afford another internal drain. The Ironborn are still raiding the coast. I need every one of my vassals to point their swords west, not at their neighbors."
Yet, the actions of House Lege had undeniably stained the honor of the realm. The conspiracy was one thing—all lords schemed—but these fools had been caught, and now it had become a public scandal.
"Family, Duty, Honor," Hoster whispered the Tully words.
And what was his duty? Was it to protect the interests of an individual vassal, or to maintain the stability of the entire Riverlands, especially with an external enemy at the gates?
If he intervened now, regardless of which side he favored, he would earn the eternal resentment of the other. The best choice seemed to be the simplest one.
He stood up and walked to the window, turning his back on the council.
"Wait," he said. "We wait."