The city of Runestone was now shrouded beneath a grim cloud of war.
Beyond the walls, as far as the eye could see, stretched ranks upon ranks of tents.
Not long ago, Jaime had led five thousand Lannister soldiers, along with ten thousand displaced farmers hastily conscripted from the Crownlands, into the Vale. Acting in the name of the Vale's Warden, Littlefinger had ordered every house in the Vale to send troops to besiege Runestone, forcing the Lords Declarant to hand over Mya Stone.
Across the open fields outside Runestone, the crimson lions of House Lannister and the banners of the Vale's noble houses fluttered above tens of thousands of tents, sealing off every road leading out of the city. Along the edges of the encampment, rows of siege engines were being assembled, soldiers preparing for an assault.
Inside the walls, the great hall of the main keep was deathly cold.
Lord Yohn Royce sat in the seat of honor, his face marked by anger and exhaustion. His eyes burned with fury as he stared at the man in the center of the hall, Isembard Arryn, who was being roughly held in place by two Royce soldiers.
The moment Yohn had returned from the Eyrie, he had seized him.
The head of House Arryn of Gulltown no longer bore any trace of the splendor he once had as a King's Man. Bruises marred his face, fear filled his eyes, and he could barely stand upright.
"Isembard Arryn!"
Lord Yohn roared, "You greed-driven pig! You blasphemous traitor who defiles the Seven and stains the honor of the Vale! Who gave you the nerve to proclaim a bastard daughter the 'Queen of the Seven Kingdoms'?! You are declaring war on all of Westeros! You are dragging Runestone, the Lords Declarant, and the entire Vale of Arryn into an abyss of utter ruin!"
Isembard Arryn shuddered and hurried to defend himself.
"Lord Royce, I did it for the glory of House Arryn. The Eyrie has been defiled by bastards. We need true Baratheon blood, and Mya has already been legitimized—"
"Silence!"
Yohn cut him off sharply, the fire in his eyes flaring even hotter.
"Baratheon blood? Legitimized? That's your excuse? You only wanted to use her as a stepping stone to covet the seat of the Eyrie! You greedy merchant. Your stupidity and ambition have put every one of us at odds with the nobles of the Vale!"
He surged to his feet and pointed at Isembard.
"Throw him into the dungeons!"
Without hesitation, the soldiers hauled up the limp Isembard Arryn and dragged him out of the hall like a dead dog.
Yohn dropped heavily back into his seat, his chest heaving. His sharp gaze then swept toward the left side of the hall.
Standing there was his eldest son and heir, Andar Royce.
Andar's face was pale, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes filled with pain and inner turmoil.
Yohn's voice carried bitter disappointment.
"Andar! You let that bastard woman bewitch you, and you led our house's soldiers to help that madman Isembard?! To fight against Grafton, the rightful lord of Gulltown?! What was in your head? Horse dung?! Do you realize you nearly destroyed our entire house?!"
Andar raised his head, meeting his father's furious stare.
"Father, Mya saved my life. At the Eyrie, she and Mychel Redfort risked everything to rescue me from Lady Lysa and Littlefinger's captivity. Without her, I would have died at the Eyrie long ago. Was I supposed to watch her be used by Isembard, then abandoned by us, only to be handed over to the Lannisters and sent to the gallows? That isn't honor. That's ingratitude!"
"Honor?!"
Yohn's roar nearly tore the roof apart.
"You dare speak to me of honor?! You aided a false ruler raised by intrigue and turned your blade against another lord with a rightful claim. That is your idea of honor?! Now look at the result. Our Lords Declarant are branded rebels. Jaime Lannister's army is outside the city, demanding we hand over that 'queen,' or he will level Runestone to the ground. Is this the honor you wanted? To repay your petty personal debt with the destruction of our entire house and our entire alliance?!"
Andar lowered his head in anguish.
He could not refute his father's words, yet the guilt he felt toward Mya, and the crushing weight of her life-saving kindness, made it impossible for him to accept the decision calmly.
The hall was not occupied by the Royce father and son alone.
The core members of the Lords Declarant, Lady Waynwood, the Lord of Redfort, the Lord of Longbow Hall, and several of their most trusted retainers, sat in silence on either side.
"Lord Yohn…"
Lady Waynwood spoke first. "Anger will not solve this. The lions outside the walls will not give us much time. Jaime Lannister's demand is very clear. He wants the girl and Isembard Arryn. That is his only condition for sparing Runestone and pardoning the Lords Declarant for this so-called 'rebellion.'"
The Lord of Redfort followed at once.
"Her ladyship is right. We formed the Lords Declarant to drive out that outsider, Littlefinger, to protect the traditions of the Vale and the purity of House Arryn. But look at where we stand now. Not only did we fail to expel Littlefinger, but because of Isembard Arryn's folly and Ser Andar's recklessness, we have been branded traitors for supporting a false ruler.
"Jaime's army is right outside the city, and Lysa and Littlefinger watch us from the Eyrie like vultures. We are trapped, Lord Yohn."
Lord Hunter was even more direct. He sprang to his feet, barely restraining his agitation.
"Lord Royce, this is no time to speak of personal debts or family pride. That girl must be handed over. One life in exchange for the safety and survival of all our houses. That is the only choice left to us. Do you truly mean for all of us, our castles, and our people to be buried alongside Isembard Arryn's ambition and your son's misplaced loyalty?!"
Yohn closed his eyes in pain.
How could he not understand that this was the most rational course?
Yet handing over a girl who had been manipulated, and who had saved his son's life, in exchange for a hollow reprieve ran counter to everything he believed in.
"Father…"
Andar's voice carried a plea, though he knew all too well that, under the crushing pressure of the other allied houses and the looming threat of the army beyond the walls, his insistence meant very little.
At that moment, a messenger rushed into the hall and dropped to one knee.
"My lord! The Lannister heralds are shouting from beneath the walls. Ser Jaime has reiterated his demand. Mya Stone must be handed over before sunset, or the siege engines will begin their assault at dawn!"
An ultimatum.
The cold weight of it crushed the last trace of hesitation from Yohn's heart.
He opened his eyes and gave the order.
"Bring Mya Stone out. Hand her over to the Lannisters before sunset."
...
Duskendale.
Dun Fort had become the Iron Throne's temporary seat.
Inside the hastily converted Small Council chamber, the atmosphere was heavy and tense. Around the long, dark table sat those who now held power in the realm.
Queen Regent Cersei had just finished reading a secret letter sent by Littlefinger from the Eyrie.
Ser Kevan, the Hand of the King, sat with a grave expression. Frost touched his temples, and he wore a dark woolen cloak, his brow deeply furrowed.
Cersei set the letter down, breaking the silence.
"Uncle, Lord Baelish believes that merely accepting the surrender and taking the false ruler is not enough. He advises that after Jaime accepts the Lords Declarant's surrender and our forces enter Runestone, we should find the right moment to deal with the core families of the Lords Declarant, as well as the Arryns of Gulltown, who dared to proclaim a false ruler.
"He believes that only such decisive action will truly cow the other restless nobles of the Vale, secure the authority of the Eyrie and Lady Lysa, and restore genuine peace to the Vale, ensuring its absolute loyalty to House Lannister and the Iron Throne."
Ser Kevan shot upright, fury blazing in his eyes.
"Preposterous! Petyr Baelish, that scheming flea, dares to suggest something so vile, so damaging to the honor of House Lannister. Accepting a surrender, only to slaughter the nobles who laid down their arms? That is the work of the lowest bandits. It would destroy the trust of every noble in the Seven Kingdoms in the Iron Throne and stain the Lannister name forever!"
Cersei sneered inwardly.
Lannister honor?
What of the Rains of Castamere?
The annihilation of House Reyne?
The Red Wedding?
Spare her the pretense.
Cersei cared nothing for honor. In truth, she agreed completely with Littlefinger's proposal.
House Royce was among the most stubborn houses in the Vale. First they had formed the Lords Declarant to oppose Littlefinger's rule. Now, this affair of supporting a false ruler had laid bare their contempt for the authority of the Eyrie.
To cut the weeds at the root, to remove the problem once and for all, and at the same time intimidate the other restless lords of the Vale struck her as the wisest possible course.
Especially Andar Royce. The thought that he had dared to aid that bastard girl made a cold, murderous glint flash through Cersei's eyes.
Outwardly, however, she did not contradict Kevan. She merely took a graceful sip of wine, a subtle light shifting deep within her emerald gaze.
At that moment, the newly appointed Master of Coin, Lord Renfred Rykker of Duskendale, cleared his throat.
"Lord Hand, Your Grace, Master Noho Dimittis of the Iron Bank is waiting outside."
...
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