Robert was shaking with rage.
"This… this hostage-taking, king-defying bitch. This lying, husband-murdering whore."
"She dares give me conditions!"
Pycelle stroked his beard and leaned forward carefully.
"Is Your Grace speaking of Lady Lysa?"
"Who else?" Robert flung the letter onto the long table. "She wrote me in her own hand. Says she doesn't believe Littlefinger's accusation was sincere. She wants me to send the prisoners to the Eyrie so she can question them face-to-face before she'll release anyone!"
He slammed his fist down. Wine sloshed out of the cups.
"Who the hell does Lysa think she is?"
"A powerless widow who stole the Eyrie after her husband died and now pretends to be Regent of the Vale! She's already sitting on a mountain fortress and she still thinks she can bargain with the king?"
"I will not tolerate this!"
Pycelle shook his head sadly. "The realm truly is sliding into decay when small men grow bold."
While the rest of the council chamber erupted, Joffrey sat quietly, calculating.
Letting Lysa and Littlefinger reunite at the Eyrie had always been part of his plan. He had expected it would take more time and more maneuvering.
He never thought Lysa would push the whole thing forward herself.
Renly stood up, voice ringing.
"Lysa is despicable. Defying the crown, refusing a royal command—this is treason. I urge Your Grace to raise an army and crush her."
Robert rose as well.
"Send word to every lord. Gather the banners."
"I will ride to the Vale myself and tear the Eyrie down stone by stone!"
Only now did his real intention stand naked in the open.
He wasn't furious because someone had defied the crown.
He had simply been handed a respectable excuse to get off the Iron Throne and go smash something with his hammer.
Eddard stood too.
"Your Grace, you must not. You cannot!"
"If you personally lead an army into the Vale, what will the lords of the Seven Kingdoms think?"
"Ned!" Robert cut him off sharply. "For your sake I have already shown that woman far more patience than she deserves."
He clenched his right fist in the air as if he could already feel the weight of his old warhammer.
"Do you know what these years have been like for me?"
Eddard stayed silent.
"Drinking. Hunting. Listening to them read account books." Robert jerked his chin at the others. "Who married whose daughter, who feuded with whom—my head's ready to split."
He swung his fist.
"War is simple. Enemy on the other side, you swing the hammer and smash them. Win, done."
"This is different," Eddard said quietly. "This time you would be marching against your own vassals."
"So what?" Robert shrugged. "At the Trident I smashed Rhaegar's chest in. Did anyone ask whether he was a vassal or a prince?"
"Nine years ago when you and I put down Greyjoy's rebellion, I don't remember you having so many objections."
He gave Eddard a mocking look. "You're not that old yet. When did you turn into such an old woman?"
Joffrey lowered his eyes, hiding his expression in shadow.
Lysa's second letter had just moved the question from whether to fight to how to fight.
Eddard's refusal was simple: the crown had no money. Another war meant Robert would have to borrow again.
But no matter how Eddard argued, he could not change the king's mind.
"Your Grace, Greyjoy rebelled openly. He had to be crushed with thunder and steel," Eddard said. "Attacking the Eyrie is different. No army has ever taken it by force. This will be a long, grinding siege."
Robert only grinned and swung his fist again.
"Then I will be the one to achieve that glory!"
"Your Grace, Lady Lysa still holds hostages. If anything happens to them—" Eddard tried once more.
Robert laughed.
"Ned, you just called them hostages yourself."
Eddard opened his mouth again, but Robert raised a hand and cut him off.
"Enough. I have waited long enough for you. Did you get your wife and the Imp back?"
"No? Then I will do it the hard way!"
…
Time passed.
Eddard's pleading had some effect.
Three days earlier Littlefinger had sailed from King's Landing, carrying the heavy task of persuading Lysa. He would land at Gulltown and then ride to the Eyrie.
Ser Robar Royce accompanied him to make sure he didn't slip away. Bronze Yohn Royce would meet them at Runestone and escort them the rest of the way with his own men.
But Robert had not stopped gathering troops.
His orders swept across the Seven Kingdoms like a storm.
The lords of the crownlands answered fastest. Though their lands were small, they still scraped together more than ten thousand men.
Stokeworth, Rosby, Buckwell, Rykker—dozens of houses sent every knight and levied man they could spare.
Within ten days the Kingsroad was lined with banners.
Everyone knew the king was watching; no one dared send too few.
The rest of the realm's response depended on how much they actually feared—or loved—the crown.
In Westeros's feudal system, vassals owed military service to their liege. But because of layered oaths, Robert could not command the lesser lords directly. He had to wait for the great lords to assemble their hosts and bring them.
House Baratheon's own lands answered with enthusiasm.
Renly had ridden hard back to Storm's End and called the storm lords to arms. Hearing that the king himself would lead, they flocked to the banners and raised twenty thousand warriors.
The North was more cautious.
Eddard knew the Vale offered no room for a huge army. He ordered each lord to bring only his household guard and a small force of veterans—six thousand men total—under Robb's command, marching south along the Kingsroad.
Stannis remained on Dragonstone, claiming illness. He sent his wife's uncle to command the royal fleet and anchored the ships in Blackwater Bay, then said no more.
The Reach and Dorne were too far for Robert to expect much, yet Mace Tyrell still sent two thousand cavalry at once and promised ten thousand more foot and wagons of grain following up the Roseroad.
Dorne's reply was cooler. Prince Doran sent only a thousand men "to show the colors." No one knew when they would actually reach the Bloody Gate.
The Iron Islands were the most half-hearted of all.
Balon sent barely twenty longships carrying a few hundred ironborn. They were probably still drifting somewhere near the Arbor.
The Riverlands—the closest and loudest—sent not a single soldier.
Edmure had pulled every man back to Riverrun and now stared down the Westerlands army across the border.
His ravens had stuffed the maester's cages full.
One letter begged the king to make the Lannisters take another road. Another accused the Westerlands troops of trampling wheat fields and ruining the smallfolk's grain. A third reported in panic that Ser Kevan had already crossed the Golden Tooth and was now advancing on Riverrun.
Robert answered with two short decrees.
The first was a polite lie. He told Tywin to compensate the river lords for any "inconvenience" while passing through. How much, when, and whether it would ever be paid was left conveniently vague.
The second decree crushed all complaints.
He ordered both the Westerlands and Riverlands forces to stand down and wait for the king to take personal command. Once he arrived, the two armies would march together to the Vale.
That left one problem.
If the king marched, who would guard the crownlands?
Joffrey, who had stayed silent the whole meeting, suddenly felt a chill of realization.
He looked up.
His eyes met Robert's.
"Joff."
"You will take the men to the Bloody Gate."