The raven's message fluttered in Robert's fist like a wounded bird. For a long moment the king simply stared at it, the corners of his mouth twitching between rage and disbelief. Then the laughter came—short, ugly, and loud enough to rattle the rafters of Moon Gate's great hall.
"Married!" Robert slammed the parchment onto the table. "Lysa Tully and that slimy little shit Petyr Baelish got married in the Eyrie's sept and sent me a fucking invitation!"
He looked around at the stunned faces of his lords as if expecting applause. None came.
Edmure Tully turned the color of old milk. "My sister… she… she actually—"
Renly leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, at least she's consistent. First she kidnaps the Hand's widow and your brother's son, now she weds the realm's most notorious debtor. The woman has taste."
Tywin Lannister said nothing. His pale green eyes merely flicked toward Joffrey for the briefest instant before returning to the map spread across the table. Joffrey met the look without flinching. He had expected this.
The marriage was the final, desperate move. Littlefinger had clearly realized the rumors racing up the mountain were no longer whispers—they were a war-horn. With half the Vale already kneeling outside the Bloody Gate and the other half locked inside the Eyrie as "guests," Lysa had only one card left: bind herself to the man who could still pretend to speak for the crown's mercy.
Robert's laughter died as quickly as it had come. He jabbed a thick finger at the parchment.
"She thinks this makes it better? That she can just marry the man who helped her murder Jon Arryn and everything will be forgiven?" His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "I'll drag both their heads down the Giant's Lance myself."
Joffrey stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
"Father, the invitation is a trap. They want you to climb the mountain in a rage, with only a small escort, so they can claim you died 'honorably' in single combat or some other nonsense." He kept his tone respectful but firm—the concerned military advisor, not the scheming prince. "Let the army finish what it started. The Eyrie is a cage now. They have no food coming in, no allies coming out. Time is on our side."
Tywin gave the smallest nod of approval. Edmure looked relieved. Even Renly, who loved nothing more than chaos, seemed willing to wait.
Robert stared at the map for a long time. The Eyrie sat at the very top of the Giant's Lance like a white crown on a gray spear. Three successive strongholds—Stone, Snow, and Sky—guarded the single winding path. Winch elevators for supplies. Narrow steps cut into the rock. A single determined defender with a spear could hold each choke point against an army.
But the army no longer needed to fight its way up.
The Bloody Gate had opened without a single arrow loosed. Moon Gate had simply surrendered its garrison. The only thing left was the mountain itself.
"Fine," Robert grunted at last. "We wait. But I want scouts on every path. If they try to slip anyone out, I want their heads on pikes before they reach the bottom."
He turned to Joffrey, eyes still burning. "You still command the Crownlands men. Take them up as far as Sky if you can. I want my banner flying from every tower on the way."
Joffrey bowed. "As you command, Father."
Outside, the wind howled down the valley. The host was already spreading out across the fertile floor of the Vale like a steel tide. Banners of every color fluttered—Lannister crimson, Tully silver, Baratheon gold, and the dozen lesser houses that had flocked to the king the moment the Bloody Gate fell.
Joffrey mounted his horse and rode to the head of his column. The Crownlands troops had grown used to his orders by now. They moved with crisp discipline, no longer the rabble he had inherited outside King's Landing.
Barristan rode up beside him, white cloak snapping in the wind.
"You played this well, Your Grace," the old knight said quietly. "The Vale bleeds no more than necessary."
Joffrey kept his eyes on the mountain path ahead.
"I only removed the need for a siege that would have cost thousands of lives. The cage was already built. All I did was close the door."
Barristan studied him for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
"Some cages are built by the prisoners themselves."
They began the climb at first light the next day.
The path to Stone was wide enough for twenty men abreast. The defenders had already fled or thrown down their arms. Joffrey's men planted the crowned stag banner on the first tower without striking a blow.
By the time they reached Snow, the wind had turned vicious. Snow flurries whipped across the narrow ledges. The path here was barely wide enough for three men to walk side by side. One wrong step meant a fall of hundreds of feet.
Still, no resistance.
At Sky the path narrowed to a single file. The winch elevator creaked in the wind, empty. Joffrey ordered his men to secure the platform and wait.
He climbed the final stretch alone with only the Hound and two Gold Cloaks.
The Eyrie appeared above them like a dream carved from white stone—seven slender towers reaching for the sky, the castle itself perched on the very peak of the mountain. It looked beautiful.
It looked like a prison.
A single rider waited at the final gate. Ser Robar Royce, bronze armor dulled by the mountain mist, lowered his lance in salute.
"Prince Joffrey," he called, voice carrying on the wind. "Lady Lysa and Lord Petyr request the honor of your presence. They wish to explain themselves before the king arrives."
Joffrey's horse stamped nervously on the narrow ledge.
He looked past Robar to the white walls above. Somewhere inside that beautiful cage, Lysa was clinging to her last illusions, and Littlefinger was calculating how to turn a lost game into a winning hand.
Joffrey smiled coldly.
"Tell them the king is coming," he said. "And tell them the cage is already locked."
He turned his horse and began the long ride back down.
Behind him, the crowned stag banner snapped once in the mountain wind, then hung still.
The Vale had fallen.
All that remained was to decide what to do with the prisoners inside the most famous cage in Westeros.