Three thousand Ironborn warriors, led by Euron Greyjoy, launched like arrows from the gloomy harbor of Pyke.
Their longship fleet, like a swarm of sea monsters, split the dark green waves of Ironman's Bay, sailing eastward. The fleet eventually landed at Saltpans in the Riverlands. The Ironborn roared as they stepped onto the shore, axe blades flashing under the dim light, instantly shattering the tranquility of the small town.
After a brief reorganization, this fierce army switched to horses and marched along the broad River Road. They were like a black stream of iron, cold kicking up dust all along the way. The procession passed mightily by the towering walls of Riverrun. On the battlements, guards of House Tully watched nervously as this uninvited, unsettling force passed their doorstep.
Upon entering the Vale, the majestic and precipitous Mountains of the Moon lay ahead like a natural barrier. Euron's troops had to leave the main road, plunging into rugged mountain paths and narrow passes.
Here, the march became exceptionally difficult. The column wound like a long snake through valleys filled with jagged rocks and howling winds.
Finally, the Bloody Gate, hailed as an impregnable natural barrier, stood before them.
This fortress guarding the strategic pass seemed to grow from the mountain itself, coldly scrutinizing all comers. After passing through the Bloody Gate, the road did not flatten; instead, it became steeper.
The "Blackfish" Brynden Tully, having received news, was waiting at the Bloody Gate. He led the Ironborn contingent up the dizzying winding mountain paths, climbing higher and higher, as if ascending a staircase to the sky.
Only when clouds and mist began to swirl beneath their feet and the air became thin and cold did the castle—seemingly carved from white clouds and snow-capped mountains—finally appear before their eyes. The Eyrie floated silently atop the mountains, like a distant, cold dream.
The Eyrie's soaring white castle seemed suspended in the clouds. Its cold white stone walls shimmered with a solemn luster in the thin air.
Inside this sky fortress, easy to defend and hard to attack, two weddings crucial to alliance and survival were being prepared with urgency.
The air was filled with a contradictory and peculiar mix of scents—the hasty decoration of fresh flowers, the metallic smell of cold weapons, and the lingering tension brought by the mountain wind.
Euron Greyjoy represented the powerful fleet and fierce warriors of the Iron Islands. His arrival brought the power to control the waves to the alliance. Robert Baratheon represented the rage and elite cavalry of the Stormlands. Beneath his stag banner was an army of vengeance sworn to wash away humiliation.
Their joint attendance meant far more than witnessing the ceremony.
It clearly announced to the Seven Kingdoms: The camp resisting Aerys II's tyranny was not fighting alone. The cold, cruel Iron Islands and the angry, impassioned Stormlands had made their choice. From this moment on, the will of iron and storm formally merged into the raging fire of resistance against the Mad King.
The stone hall of the Eyrie had never been so crowded.
The smell of roasted bread, roasted goose, and anxiety permeated the air. Beyond the battlements, the red and blue trout banner of House Tully flew alongside the direwolf of Stark and the sky falcon of Arryn—this was not a celebration of peace, but a covenant of war.
Lord Hoster Tully stood on the dais, his face haggard but his eyes burning like torches. His two daughters, Catelyn and Lysa, wore cloaks of their respective house colors, awaiting the moment of fate.
This double wedding was the most exquisite chess move of his life: permanently binding the blood of the Riverlands with the North and the Vale to jointly oppose the Mad King Aerys.
Amidst the oppressive atmosphere of gathering war clouds.
Inside the Sept. Candlelight flickered before the statues of the Seven.
Eddard Stark moved slightly clumsily as he unfastened the Tully blue and red cloak from Catelyn's shoulders. His hands—hands that held swords, not flowers—gently draped the grey-white direwolf cloak of House Stark over her. "From now on, you are under the protection of House Stark," he whispered. Catelyn felt the calluses on his fingertips, marks carved by the frost of the North.
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Jon Arryn, Guardian of the Vale, was older and steady. When he draped the sky-blue falcon cloak over Lysa, his movements were as gentle as a father's. Lysa's fingers gripped her skirt tightly, her face pale as paper—in her heart, she was thinking of Petyr Baelish, not this man old enough to be her father standing before her.
The old septon led them in reciting their vows. Each couple faced a statue of the Seven, his voice trembling but solemn:
Before the Father: Vows of justice and protection.
Before the Mother: Vows of mercy and fertility.
Before the Warrior: Vows of courage and loyalty.
Before the Maiden: Vows of purity and hope.
Before the Smith: Vows of resilience and labor.
Before the Crone: Vows of wisdom and guidance.
Before the Stranger: Prayers for death to stay away.
Eddard and Jon each placed their longswords on the altar—Ice (represented) and the Falcon blade stood crossed, symbolizing that martial force would serve the new families and the alliance.
When Eddard Stark held Catelyn Tully's hand, and when Jon Arryn accepted Lysa Tully as his wife, it was not merely the union of four people, but the solemn oath of three powerful forces.
The resilience of the Northern Direwolf, the agility of the Riverlands Trout, and the high flight of the Vale's Moon Falcon—Stark, Tully, and Arryn. These three ancient houses, each dominating a region, were tightly bound together through this double marriage.
The moment the cold rings slipped onto their fingers, the birth of a powerful alliance was declared: The armies of the North and the Vale would be closely linked through the Trident, advancing and retreating together. It was no longer just a temporary union to deal with the Mad King's tyranny, but an unbreakable political and military alliance capable of shaking the foundation of the Iron Throne.
In the hasty yet solemn wedding ceremony at the Eyrie, while everyone's eyes focused on the two couples, Euron and Robert sat in the guest seats. Though in the same hall, their thoughts had long flown to vastly different distances.
Euron Greyjoy's face was calm as water, as if simply appreciating a performance unrelated to him. However, his gaze pierced through the stone walls of the hall, crossing thousands of mountains and rivers, casting toward the distant, hot South. He thought of his fiancée, Ashara Dayne, still in Dorne—that woman who seemed to carry the light of stars; he thought of Princess Elia Martell, bound by fate, and their son Caesar.
Beside him, Robert Baratheon presented a completely different picture. his massive frame was taut, fists clenched on his knees, knuckles turning white from the force. Though his eyes looked forward, they were empty, as if seeing another scene—his beloved Lyanna Stark, the northern maiden with a bright smile and a nature like wildifre, being imprisoned and bullied by the hideous Targaryen dragon. This image, like the most vicious thorn, wrapped around his heart. Every breath brought stinging pain and heart-burning rage. The desire for vengeance roared in his chest, far louder than any wedding vow.
The "bedding ceremony" was strictly forbidden by Lord Hoster.
"In times of war, rowdiness is inappropriate."
Eddard stood outside the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. He saw Catelyn sitting upright on the edge of the bed, firelight dancing in her blue eyes. His first words were: "I promise you, My Lady. House Stark never breaks an oath."
In the next room, Lysa's sobbing penetrated the stone wall. Jon Arryn did not enter the room, only saying from outside the door: "Rest well, Lysa. The future of the Vale will be born from your womb."
That night, there were no stars over Riverrun. Only the candlelight of the Seven and the sound of two great rivers (the Tumblestone and the Red Fork) converging witnessed the vows of the Direwolf, the Falcon, and the Silver Trout—they would tear apart the dynasty of the Dragon.