The festive atmosphere of Riverrun, preparing for the wedding, had long been washed away by the cold news from King's Landing, replaced by a grim chill and grief shrouding the entire castle.
Lord Hoster Tully's face was ashen. Orders were issued one after another; the footsteps of soldiers patrolling the battlements grew denser, and the drawbridge before the moat was repeatedly checked—Riverrun had entered full combat readiness.
The details of the tragedy from King's Landing were enough to chill any lord's heart: Lord Rickard burned by wildfire, Brandon forced to strangle himself. Following closely was the Mad King's insane execution order, like another dagger pressed against their throats.
At the other end of the corridor, Catelyn Tully stood quietly by the window, shrouded in the heavy shadow of being widowed before marriage. The token at her fingertip, once symbolizing a vow, was cold as iron, yet seemed to retain the warmth of Brandon Stark's departure. Now, the warmth was gone, leaving only terrible news and boundless grief.
Young Eddard Stark bore an unimaginable pain. In a single day, he lost both his father and his brother. The sudden inheritance of the title Lord of Winterfell felt more like a cruel joke and fate's most heartless irony than an honor.
His eyes red like a trapped direwolf, young Eddard charged at his door again and again. Had Lord Hoster Tully not foreseen this and ordered him locked tightly in his room with guards watching every inch, he would have ridden alone out of Riverrun, rushing desperately to King's Landing to avenge his father and brother with his life.
Amidst this turmoil, another family scandal thoroughly ignited Lord Hoster's rage. When he learned his second daughter, Lysa, had an affair with Petyr Baelish—the lowly-born boy he had kindly taken in—he was furious. Without hesitation, he ordered the audacious boy expelled from Riverrun.
With a cold order, several strong guards escorted the heavily injured and unhealed Petyr onto a ship, sending him back to his distant and barren home on the Fingers, as if wiping away a disgraceful stain.
In troubled times, Hoster Tully displayed the ruthlessness and decisive power a family head should have. Without hesitation, he immediately announced two betrothals significant enough to change the landscape of the Seven Kingdoms:
First, the new heir of the North, Eddard Stark, would take his deceased brother's place and immediately marry his eldest daughter, Catelyn Tully.
This was not only to comfort the grieving Eddard but also to re-cement the alliance bond between Riverrun and Winterfell—nearly broken by Brandon's death—in the swiftest, firmest way possible.
Second, he announced almost simultaneously that his second daughter Lysa, who had just shamed the family with scandal, would be betrothed to the Guardian of the Vale, Lord Jon Arryn, who had just lost his heir Elbert Arryn. This was not only a direct "disposal" of Lysa's behavior, sending her to a distant and dignified destination, but also a weighty political investment, binding House Tully tightly to the core of the gathering rebel forces.
The wedding date was symbolically set for just ten days later, and the location was the impregnable Eyrie, symbolizing a new beginning. Two hasty weddings, like rapid horns before war drums, heralded the fate of the Seven Kingdoms turning sharply toward an unknown abyss.
---
When the news of Rickard and Brandon Stark's tragic deaths in King's Landing arrived in the Iron Islands with the salty sea breeze, Euron Greyjoy stood on the cliffs of Pyke, gazing at the surging Sunset Sea.
"What a pity..." Euron muttered to himself, his voice dissipating in the wind. "The Direwolf humiliated so by the Mad King's hand... perhaps this is fate."
There wasn't much surprise in his sigh, more a slight pity for the sudden change. But immediately, the pity was replaced by a cold, sharp glint.
The time was ripe.
Euron turned and walked toward the mass of Ironborn troops gathered below. Three thousand warriors could hold back no longer; axe blades and armor flashed with bloodthirsty cold light in the twilight. Euron stepped onto the high ground. No shout was needed; all noise ceased instantly, every pair of eyes burning with focus on him alone.
"The time has come!" His voice wasn't loud, but like the low growl of a sea monster, it delivered every word clearly into the ears of the Ironborn, igniting the long-suppressed wildfire in their hearts. "Pick up your axes, raise our sails—we depart!"
He swept his arm, pointing straight at the hazy outline of the eastern continent.
"Target—The Eyrie!"
In an instant, roars and shouts exploded like thunder. Countless war axes beat against shields in response to their leader. The longships of the Iron Fleet began to surge like a shark pack scenting blood, about to pounce on the rich land they had coveted for so long.
---
The Stormlands roared. Within the towering walls of Storm's End, Robert Baratheon's rage turned into thunderous war drums and a torrent of steel. He smashed almost everything breakable in his room, then poured all this heart-burning fury into war preparations.
Knights and soldiers of the Stormlands gathered rapidly. Led by their Duke—the Stag furious over his humiliated fiancée and tragically murdered friend—they marched out of the castle like dark clouds carrying thunder. Mighty and imposing, they marched toward the Vale, toward the Eyrie, to join Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark.
---
Casterly Rock in the Westerlands presented an unsettling silence. Tywin Lannister sat on his throne of gold mines. Regarding the upheaval in King's Landing and the turmoil in the realm, he had yet to make any public statement or move a single soldier.
The giant golden lion seemed lost in thought, merely watching everything coldly from the shadows. No one could guess what calculations lay beneath that calm surface.
---
Highgarden in the Reach. The castle of House Tyrell was still filled with the sweet scent of flowers and song. Rumors of their close ties with the royal family in King's Landing were rampant. They seemed to be treading carefully on the wire between loyalty and interest, their true intentions obscured by layers of rose petals, blurred and indistinct.
---
Dorne. The scorching sun baked the red sands. The spear of vengeance from the fiery-tempered "Red Viper" Oberyn Martell had already been hurled. He personally led three thousand elite Dornish warriors. These agile desert warriors did not choose the sea route or the Kingsroad. Instead, like vipers, they quietly detoured through the treacherous Boneway, advancing rapidly toward Summerhall, determined to reclaim honor and the price of blood for Dorne in the coming storm.
---
King's Landing, the Red Keep. The atmosphere interwoven with gloom and madness was suffocating. Perched high on the twisted Iron Throne, Aerys II dug his pale fingers deep into the cold blades, as if only this could suppress the boiling rage and paranoia within him. Sickly fire burned in his eyes, convinced he was surrounded by countless traitors and conspiracies.
An edict stamped with the Dragon King's seal was issued from the Red Keep, carried by messengers and ravens to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, to the hands of every noble. The words in the edict were like poisoned ice picks, full of the King's roar and curses:
> "In the name of Aerys II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, it is hereby declared: Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie; Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell; and Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, are all oath-breaking, rebellious traitors! Their crimes are too numerous to record, their hearts worthy of execution!"
> "It is ordered that all bannermen loyal to the Iron Throne, whether in the Riverlands, Westerlands, Reach, or Dorne, must raise armies immediately upon receipt of this order to crusade against the rebels! Exterminate these three and their cohorts, and prove your loyalty to the Throne with their heads! Anyone hesitating, watching, or colluding with them shall be guilty of the same crime and will face the Dragon's wrath!"
This was not a call to arms, but an ultimatum.
Like a boulder smashed into a lake already surging with undercurrents, it forced the Wolves, Stags, Fish, Lions, Krakens, Roses, Suns, and Falcons of Westeros to make their final choice in this impending storm.