Lady Rosalyn's voice was a jagged mixture of irritation and lingering regret. "I sent him to deal with the wildlings, and he performed admirably."
"I told him to 'handle it as he saw fit' regarding the disputed lands. And this is how he handles it?"
She pointed a trembling finger at the proclamation, nearly piercing the parchment.
"He's declared open war!"
"Does he honestly believe he can win?!"
Old Maister Walder opened his eyes, his gaze as steady and cool as a mountain pool. "My Lady, from a legal standpoint, Solomon's document is flawless."
"In fact, it is drafted so well it may become a standard for the Seven Kingdoms."
"It will be sung of in the halls."
His voice was slow and rhythmic, like a tutor explaining a complex theorem to a frantic student.
"He has cast himself perfectly as the victim, laid out House Lege's crimes in the light of day, and explicitly stated his objectives are limited to his own soil. He has made it legally impossible for anyone to condemn him."
"And he has made it just as difficult for anyone else to intervene."
"Legal standing?" Rosalyn's voice rose, the word clearly stinging her. "Maister Walder, the issue is war! He is my vassal! The world will believe we commanded this!"
She strode to the table, leaning over it to fix him with a hard, demanding stare.
"He is a vassal of House Deddings! He declares war on an ancient house, and instead of seeking our permission first, he broadcasts it to the entire Riverlands!"
Her voice shook with the force of her indignation.
"It's as if my own hound has stopped listening to its master and run off to maul the neighbors on its own whim!"
"How will the Warden of the Riverlands at Riverrun view us? How will the other lords of the Riverlands look upon House Deddings?"
Maister Walder remained silent for a long moment before speaking softly. "My Lady..."
"We did tell him to handle it as he saw fit."
The sentence struck like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames of Rosalyn's fury.
She froze, straightening her back, her face a complicated mask of annoyance and dawning realization.
Yes... those were my words, weren't they?
She was furious at Solomon's audacity—his decision to bypass her authority was a direct insult to her husband's seat. A minor vassal was supposed to know his place: to petition, to wait, to obey.
But Solomon was like a stallion that had slipped its lead, entirely indifferent to the existence of the reins.
Yet, deep within her, a small, hidden spark of satisfaction flickered.
She had loathed House Lege for years. They were greedy, arrogant, and looked down upon her husband. They occupied Deddings land and met every protest with excuses and condescension.
Now, with this proclamation, Solomon had effectively nailed Roger Lege to a pillar of shame before the entire realm.
There was a certain, malicious joy in that.
Furthermore, the young man's achievements—his iron-fisted results and the sheer grit he had shown—proved he was a man of immense capability. A vassal who could make House Lege bleed was infinitely more useful than a groveling weakling.
"What was the exact wording of our last letter to him?" Rosalyn's voice calmed. She needed confirmation—she needed a way out.
Maister Walder was prepared. He pulled a copy of the missive from a stack of documents and unfurled it on the oak table.
He traced a line with his finger, reading softly. "'The Weeping Gorge has been granted to you as your family's hereditary fief... Regarding the disputed matters, you may decide for yourself and handle them appropriately.'"
"'Decide for yourself,'" Rosalyn repeated the words, letting out a long, heavy exhale.
She felt the tension drain from her shoulders. If only my husband were here, she thought, before pushing the sentiment aside. For now, she was the master of his lands while he fought at the front.
She turned to Maister Walder, her tone filled with the relief of a woman who had found her excuse. "You see?"
"He decided for himself. We gave him the power, and now he must bear the consequences of how he used it."
She finally reached her decision.
"We do nothing."
Maister Walder looked up at her.
Rosalyn continued, her logic sharpening as she spoke.
"We cannot help him. If we send soldiers, it is a public admission that we support this war."
"My husband has always led a house that serves as a model of loyalty to the Tullys."
"If he were here, he would never permit a private war to break out under Lord Hoster's peaceful reign. I will not stain his reputation."
She walked to the window, watching the soldiers in the courtyard below drilling with their pikes.
"But what exactly does 'doing nothing' mean for us?"
Old Walder let out a dry cough. "It means we watch."
"House Lege deserves a reprimand. They have grown too bold."
"Let the little lion do his biting. If he wins—as he did against the wildlings—he solves the problem of House Lege for us and deters our other ambitious neighbors. And if he loses..."
The old man's voice trailed off, turning cold.
"To be blunt, I do not believe he can achieve victory without the help of House Deddings. The odds are hopeless."
"If he loses, he is merely a disobedient vassal who has been taught a lesson. At that point, we step in as his liege lord to mediate the 'peace,' settle the remains, and force House Lege to stop, thereby projecting our own strength."
Lady Rosalyn hesitated, then nodded slowly, a sliver of approval touching her face. "That is perhaps the most advantageous path for us."
"Then, send the reply to Solomon," Rosalyn said, turning away. "Measure the words carefully. He must know we are displeased, but he must not feel as if we are sliding a dagger into his back."
Maister Walder stood and gave a shallow bow. "I understand, My Lady."
A small party of riders left Deding Castle, galloping east toward the Mountains of the Moon.
They carried a reply drafted in the most official, ambiguous language possible.
When the messenger reached the Lion's Den, Solomon was standing with Evelyn before a massive pile of felled timber outside the mountain entrance, gesturing and giving orders.
Solomon took the letter and unfurled it. Evelyn stood by his side, her eyes tracking the text on the parchment.
In the opening lines, Lady Rosalyn used a severe tone to rebuke Solomon's "recklessness," stating she was "deeply pained by the potential for bloodshed within the Riverlands."
Solomon's mouth twitched. Usually, when a liege says they are 'pained,' it means they aren't going to do a damn thing to stop it.
Then, the tone shifted. It stated that "Since this matter has been proclaimed to the lords of the Riverlands, and the cause lies in the treachery of House Lege..."
"...House Deddings shall maintain a principle of justice, remaining neutral while closely monitoring the development of the situation."
At the end, Rosalyn "reminded" Solomon to "hold fast to his identity and honor as a vassal of House Deddings."
Solomon and Evelyn exchanged a look and shared a brief, knowing smile. In truth, this was exactly the outcome the Proclamation was designed to achieve. He had provided everyone with a reason not to intervene—some out of a desire for peace, others out of a belief that Solomon was already a dead man walking. But fundamentally, his "legal standing" prevented anyone from wanting to take the blame for stopping him.
In this era of Westeros, the truly world-shattering betrayals had not yet begun. Nobles might scheme in the dark, but they were still terrified of being caught in a public breach of law.
Solomon folded the parchment and handed it to Lushen. In full view of the Deddings messenger, he gave a single order: "Burn it."
Lushen took the letter and tossed it into a nearby brazier without a second thought. The parchment curled in the heat, turning into black ash in seconds.
The messenger from Deding Castle gave a respectful, grateful bow.
Solomon looked past the dying flames, his eyes returning to the massive logs piled before him. A dark, jagged smile spread across his face.