The Great Hall of the Eyrie was grim in the dead of night. The cold stone walls were cast in long, dancing shadows by the flickering candlelight.
Aside from Prince Doran Martell far away in Dorne, the heart of the rebellion sat gathered around a heavy oak table: Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, Eddard Stark, Euron Greyjoy, and Robert Baratheon. Maps and wine cups cluttered the wood, and the air was thick with the heavy silence that precedes war.
Euron Greyjoy's gaze swept over every lord present, his voice breaking the silence. It was calm, yet it carried a weight that allowed no room for argument.
"A ship cannot sail without a captain, just as an army cannot march without a general," Euron said, his voice smooth like dark water. "Before we formally declare war on the Iron Throne, we need a single head. A Supreme Commander to lead the coalition."
Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully exchanged a glance, seeing the same suspicion reflected in each other's eyes. Jon's fingers absently traced the rim of his goblet. Is he making a play for it? he wondered. Is this 'Son of the Drowned God,' known for his ambition and cunning, trying to seize the command for himself?
Euron seemed to pluck the thought right out of their heads. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk that wasn't quite a smile. "Rest easy, my lords. I have no desire to sit in that seat." He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight dancing in his eyes. "But ask yourselves this: What was the spark that ignited this fire?"
Jon Arryn answered, his voice low and suppressed with anger. "Rhaegar. He abducted Lyanna Stark."
"Exactly!" Euron's voice rose, striking the air like a warhammer. "Because Rhaegar took Lyanna, Brandon rode to King's Landing to demand justice. That led to the tragedy that followed—the brutal deaths of Lord Rickard and Brandon, forcing every one of us into this corner."
He paused, his gaze turning solid and heavy, fixing on the Lord of Storm's End, who sat silent but seething like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
"And Lyanna Stark," Euron added softly, "is Robert Baratheon's betrothed."
The words hung in the air, plunging the hall into a brief, heavy silence.
Every eye turned to the table where the Stag Lord sat. His chest was heaving, his eyes burning with endless rage and grief. Robert felt the weight of their stares. He looked up and slammed his fist onto the table, shaking the wine cups with a dull thud.
Euron's fingertips drummed lightly on the wood, his eyes locked on Robert. His voice carried an undeniable certainty. "So, strictly speaking, it is you, Robert Baratheon, who is the rightful leader of this uprising. Only your banner can serve as the lightning rod for the Seven Kingdoms' fury."
Robert's head snapped up. The fire and sorrow in his eyes finally found a target. He smashed his fist down again, rattling the map scrolls. "Aye! Lyanna is my betrothed! The Stark blood debt is mine to collect as well! By rights and by honor, the Stormlands should lead the vanguard! I will not shirk this duty!"
As the eldest and most respected lord among them, Jon Arryn looked around the circle. Seeing no objections, he gave a grave nod. "Good. Then it is decided. Robert shall be our commander." He immediately shifted the tone to practical matters. "Now, how do we wage this war?"
However, Robert, already fueled by rage and the mantle of leadership, didn't hesitate for a second. His massive frame leaned forward, his voice booming like thunder in a storm. "What is there to discuss?! We gather every sword we have, march east, and hit King's Landing with the force of a thunderbolt! I'm going to smash Aerys's head in with my own hammer!"
His proposal was simple, direct, and full of the reckless bravery of a Stormlands stag. But it gave the other lords pause. A direct assault on King's Landing? Is that truly a winning strategy?
Euron Greyjoy leaned back lazily against his chair, tapping the table in a rhythm that sounded almost like a mockery.
"If this were a battle at sea, I would swear by the Drowned God that I'd sink every ship they sent, no matter the number," Euron said with a scoff. "And if they marched up to the Eyrie, I'm sure Lord Jon could ensure they never marched back down. But right now..." His tone sharpened, his eyes cutting to each lord in turn. "We are talking about sieging King's Landing. The first order of business is to know exactly how many swords the Mad King holds, and who stands behind him."
Jon Arryn nodded in approval. The Warden of the East looked grim as he laid out the intelligence gathered over the past few days.
"When the news of the Stark, Tully, and Arryn alliance spread to King's Landing, the Red Keep went into a panic," Jon explained. "But Aerys, amidst his paranoia, moved faster than we expected. He summoned all his direct vassals in the Crownlands. Surprisingly, they answered. The traditional bannermen of House Targaryen, staring into the face of a madman, all swore their loyalty to the Iron Throne."
This news caught Robert off guard. He couldn't believe anyone would still back that lunatic on the throne.
"Furthermore," Jon continued, "Highgarden has declared. The Tyrells, along with the Redwyne fleet and the wealthy House Hightower, have pledged their swords to the Iron Throne. The Golden Rose is clinging tight to the rotting dragon. They provide King's Landing with vital grain and soldiers."
"But the real concern," Jon said, his voice dropping, "is the silence from the West."
Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock, had said nothing. Tywin was a man of deep schemes. Despite his bad blood with the Mad King—and the insults Aerys had heaped upon him—no one could guarantee he wouldn't cut a deal with the Throne.
"Perhaps Aerys offers to release Jaime from the Kingsguard and return him to Casterly Rock?"
"Perhaps he offers for Rhaegar to set aside Elia and marry Cersei?"
"Or perhaps he offers to restore Tywin as Hand of the King?"
Jon's expression was dark. "Any of those chips could be enough to make a calculator like Tywin change sides. Robert, if we look at it coldly, we don't have the numbers advantage. A siege isn't a field battle or a naval skirmish; you need three times the defenders' strength to win. Do we... have that?"
Jon Arryn looked Robert dead in the eye, his voice heavy with a hard truth. "Robert, even in the Stormlands, not all your bannermen are willing to follow the Stag. I received confirmation yesterday. House Grandison of Grandview, House Cafferen of Fawnton, and House Fell of Felwood..."
He paused, letting the names sink in. "They have all openly declared for the Mad King, Aerys II."
Jon sighed. "And my own Vale is not united either. Gulltown has declared itself for the Throne, claiming they are the true loyalists of the Vale."
The words were like a bucket of ice water on the council's fiery spirit.
These betrayals meant that before Robert could even march on King's Landing, he faced knives in his own back. The power of the Stormlands was fractured before the war had even truly begun.