Lady Rona's castle had probably never been so lively; under Arthur's command, all the soldiers were now like tops whipped by a lash, running back and forth inside and outside the castle.
The officers directed the castle's servants and soldiers to carefully move boxes of heavy gold and silver, exquisite artifacts, rolls of magnificent tapestries, and anything of value onto carriages.
The wheels groaned dully on the flagstones, deeply emphasizing the heavy weight of the cargo.
Old Nicken had practically scraped the bottom of the barrel, not even sparing the remaining grain in the kitchen or the wine bottles in the cellar. Yet, the true owner of this castle, Lady Rona, turned a blind eye to it all.
Her world had shrunk to one person. She was choosing clothes for Arthur to wear when he went out, walking arm-in-arm with him in the courtyard behind the castle, pleading with him, who was reluctant to speak, to tell her strange tales of the mountain tribes, stories of bloodshed and battles she had never heard of.
As night fell, she clung to him like a vine, drawing comfort and a sense of security from their narrow escape. Arthur lay on the soft bed, the faint scent of Lady Rona lingering in his nostrils. He deeply understood that ancient Eastern proverb:
A gentle haven is a hero's grave. He was almost drowning in it, even seeing his imperial uncle's lazy, satisfied face after a drink in his mind.
Can't I enjoy myself yet?
As soon as this thought arose, he extinguished it. This world was full of dangers. If he wanted to have everything, he could not stop here. Tranquility was always short-lived, and the shadow of war never dissipated. A few years later, once war began, it would be either his death or his enemy's.
The door was urgently knocked on again.
Another raven had arrived. This was not the first letter. It brought a message from Daintings City, from Lady Roslyn. The handwriting was messy and urgent, as if every letter was a Urge, completely shattering this false peace.
From initial polite requests to anxious urgings, and now to the almost commanding tone in this letter, the bad news brought by the ravens grew heavier day by day.
On a wooden chair in the bedroom, Lady Rona sat on his lap. Arthur unfolded the letter, candlelight casting flickering shadows on his face.
The contents of the letter confirmed Lady Roslyn's worst fears about her situation. The ugly rules of the feudal system, hidden beneath a glossy exterior, were exposed in the face of crisis.
In the Westeros feudal system, either you had a deep sense of Northern identity like Eddard Stark, where even if the family suffered a terrible defeat,
and seemed almost annihilated to outsiders, the Northern lords would still fight for a surname.
Or, like Tywin Lannister, you ruled your vassals through fear. While you might not earn their true loyalty, no one would dare to defy them openly. However, if he ever fell from power, his vassals would likely not hesitate to step on him and pack down his grave.
At the very least, you had to be as wealthy as House Tyrell, with the chivalric traditions of the Vale. But his liege, Daedings Family, seemed to have none of these.
Arthur could almost see the Lady gritting her teeth. Her letter was filled with helplessness and anger between the lines.
"The vassals of Daedings Family either make various excuses or send only a handful of people to perfunctorily respond. I am at my wits' end."
"They watch as their liege's lands are plundered, yet they only think of preserving their meager forces. Our last hope can only be placed on you, my dear Little Suleiman."
This passage brought a strange smile to Arthur's lips. In the Lady's eyes, he seemed to truly be the most loyal subject of Daedings Family, and perhaps in the eyes of the world as well.
But as his gaze moved further down, his smile vanished. It was a piece of news mentioned at the end of the letter, news that could completely collapse the entire Riverlands defense line.
"Lord Damon Legge has led his troops to withdraw without authorization, returning to his own territory, claiming he needs to reclaim his family castle captured by the Ironborn."
Arthur's fingers tapped on the table, making a series of rhythmic clicks. This reason was impeccable: defending one's homeland,
and reclaiming one's castle. This was an action that no liege, not even a king, could criticize, and it was their sacred right. After all, answering the call was fulfilling an obligation, but protecting one's own land was natural law.
However, this set an extremely dangerous precedent, like the first crack appearing in a dam. Soon, more and more cracks would appear,
and the surging floodwaters would engulf everything.
He could almost foresee the next scenario: the other lords of Seaguard would one by one find various reasonable excuses,
and leave with their armies.
Those lords didn't know, but he did, that the Ironborn army would soon raid Seaguard, and this so-called Riverlands lord alliance would disintegrate on its own before the Ironborn launched an unexpected raid.
After all, normal people didn't have Balon Greyjoy's thought process. He really couldn't understand what was the point of the Ironborn taking Seaguard in the original timeline, besides depleting his own army...
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