A small group dragged itself slowly toward the Lion's Den.
Their clothes were ragged. Every face wore the grey, hollowed look of people who had been wrung dry.
Lushen sat on his horse and narrowed his eyes. He assumed they were more refugees who had wandered here from somewhere, and was about to ride over and question them — when the figure at the front of the column stumbled and nearly went down.
The man raised his head.
A face carved by exhaustion and deprivation blinked in the sunlight.
Lushen's pupils contracted. His voice came out tangled with shock and relief.
"Barna?!"
He was off the horse before he finished saying the name, striding forward, catching the swaying man with both arms.
In the Lion's Den council hall, Solomon was using a thin wooden rod to sketch town layouts in a sand table. Evelyn stood at his side, listening with close attention.
The outer door was pushed open.
Lushen came in half-carrying a man.
"Lord Solomon!!"
Solomon looked up. His gaze landed on the figure — a man who radiated exhaustion from every bone, barely held together.
He paused. Then he set down the rod.
He had already mentally prepared for the worst concerning Barna. Waylaid by bad weather. Robbed. The probability that he would come back at all had been sitting very low in Solomon's calculations.
He did not ask about the mission first.
He turned to Evelyn.
"Go. Bring my treasurer water, food, and clothing. Make it hot."
Evelyn withdrew without a word.
Solomon walked to Barna, looked at his cracked lips and sunken eyes, and spoke quietly.
"Welcome home, Barna."
"Drink something first. Eat something. Change your clothes. Then we talk."
Those simple words hit Barna like a key turning in a lock. The emotional pressure that had been sealed shut for months cracked open. His eyes went red at the rims. His lips trembled. He could not produce a single word.
A lord like this.
The food and water arrived quickly. Barna ate like a man who had forgotten what eating felt like — a large piece of bread and a bowl of hot broth gone in moments, until the warmth in his stomach reminded him he was alive. He drew a long, steadying breath.
Then he reached inside his coat and pulled out a small bundle wrapped tightly in cloth. He held it out with both hands.
Solomon took it, puzzled.
Barna's eyes reddened again. His voice was rough.
"I failed you, Lord Solomon."
"The mission... the mission ran into difficulty. But this—" He nodded at the bundle. "This is a letter for you. From House Frey."
He lowered his head, voice thick with guilt.
"I was captured by Frey men."
"They held me in a dungeon. They only released me a short time ago."
Solomon's voice was level.
"What do they want."
The Willow Wood campaign had made that clear enough — he was a black fish that had disrupted their interest chain on the King's Road. House Frey had been involved throughout, quietly stirring things from behind. But the Freys were no small power in the Riverlands, in commerce or in arms.
What no one had expected was that he would hold his position on the King's Road.
The hall was quiet except for the fire snapping in the hearth. No one pressed. Everyone simply waited.
Barna raised his head. His eyes moved across every face in the room before settling on Solomon's.
He swallowed.
"They said... they want to offer you something they called a great blessing."
"The Lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey, is willing to give one of his daughters — or granddaughters — to you in marriage. To let your family's blood mingle with House Frey's."
Evelyn's expression changed the moment the words landed. She looked at Solomon.
They exchanged a glance, and each saw the same thing in the other — gravity. This was a political marriage proposal. And it was not easy to refuse.
Solomon went quiet.
He controlled the King's Road — the main artery of north-south commerce in the Riverlands. The Freys had built their fortune on road tolls, which meant their entire interest was in keeping that road safe, stable, and uninterrupted. From every practical angle, this marriage made mutual sense.
But accepting it meant binding himself to House Frey's interests. He knew what came after. He knew where House Frey stood when the critical moment arrived. Would accepting this small gain cost him everything later? House Tully would not want a single unified bloc controlling the King's Road — that was certain. And how House Darry would read it was another question entirely.
And most critically — Frey women.
He had heard the reputation. He had not yet seen what a weasel-faced woman actually looked like in person, and he was not eager to find out.
Barna watched the lord sink into thought. He swallowed again and continued.
"Lord Walder also said — a formal embassy from the Crossing will be arriving at the Lion's Den soon. To discuss the specific arrangements for the wedding."
Deal with it when it arrives.
Solomon's expression did not change. He simply listened, one finger moving absently across the surface of the Frey letter — giving the people in the room no purchase on his actual thoughts.
"What else?"
Barna's expression shifted into something that looked like discomfort. He lowered his voice instinctively, as though handling something delicate.
"Lord Solomon... on the road, I encountered a sellsword who claimed to be in your employ."
"Goes by Bronn."
Solomon looked at Lushen.
"I almost forgot about that coin-grabbing deserter. Put out a warrant for his arrest. One hundred gold dragons."
Barna shook his head quickly.
"No — no, My Lord."
"Lord Solomon — Bronn doesn't not want to come back. He's in serious trouble."
Barna exhaled. Bronn had abandoned them at the Crossing and run — but he had also saved their lives outside Seagard.
"On the road, I overheard his mercenary companions talking when they thought no one was listening..."
He leaned slightly forward. His voice dropped lower.
"He apparently... led men to rob a caravan. On the road."
Solomon stared at him.
That tracks. He probably wanted to make a little extra.
"But what does that have to do with him not being able to come back?"
Barna's voice went quieter still.
"My Lord — the people who died weren't ordinary travelers."
"There was a nobleman from the Westerlands in that caravan. A Lannister man. House Lannister has people quietly hunting him across the entire region."
"When we found him, they had started with over a hundred sellswords. By the time they reached us, they were down to a handful."
Solomon said nothing.
The word Lannister made Evelyn flinch almost imperceptibly. Even Lushen shifted his footing. House Lannister's vendetta was known throughout all Seven Kingdoms — from lords in their halls to children in the street, everyone had a story about Lannister retribution. The official words of the house were "Hear Me Roar," but what everyone actually said in the inns and market squares was something else entirely.
A Lannister always pays his debts.
For the first time, Solomon's brow drew together. The calm cracked slightly.
Damn it. This shouldn't involve me — should it?
Do the Lannisters know Bronn was his employee? If they do — issuing a public arrest warrant for Bronn signals he is aware of the situation, potentially drawing their attention directly to the connection. If they don't — volunteering that information would be walking into it himself.
That absolute idiot.
You had better hope I don't catch you.
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