Several messengers from the garrison left behind at Willowbrook reined in their horses, the hooves thudding dully against the muddy ground.
They swung down from their saddles, only to have their breath catch at the scene before them.
Outside the small castle, bonfires blazed everywhere. Solomon's army was in full celebration. The air was thick with the charred fragrance of roasting meat, the sweet scent of ale, and the salt of sweat.
Bare-chested soldiers danced around the fires in some strange, wild rhythm, loudly singing of the Battle of the River Valley. In their hands they waved rough burlap sacks, and something inside those sacks clinked together with a crisp, irresistible sound. Naked ecstasy shone on every face.
One soldier noticed the messengers and strode over, slapping one of them on the shoulder. Grinning proudly, he shook open the sack in his hand.
"Look at this, my friend!"
"As long as you follow Lord Solomon, you can have anything!!!"
The messengers swallowed hard. Their throats bobbed.
They had thought themselves lucky—lucky enough to remain behind in the city, spared from fighting, spared from wounds. The best possible arrangement.
Only now did they realize that following Lord Solomon into battle meant making a fortune.
A mad, gnawing regret chewed at their insides. Why had they been left behind? Why had they not been among those who followed Solomon from castle to castle?
Inside the small keep, in what had once been the knight's bedchamber and was now occupied by Solomon, Solomon was using a quill to sketch simple lines across a map.
If it came to a pitched battle, he was badly short on cavalry. But perhaps he could choose terrain unfavorable to a cavalry charge—marshy, muddy ground.
A soldier strode in quickly, bowed respectfully, and spoke over the crackle of burning wood.
"My lord, Riverrun's envoys have arrived at Willowbrook."
"The representative is Ser Brynden Tully, younger brother to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."
Solomon turned toward him, frowning slightly. Honestly, Riverrun's envoys had come too late.
He rose at once.
"Lushen!"
Lushen emerged from the shadows outside the door. He still insisted on personally serving as Solomon's guard, his armor giving off a faint rasp as he moved.
"At your command, Lord Solomon!"
Solomon finally lifted his head, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Send men to keep a close watch on the remaining vassals of House Lege."
"The moment there is any movement, report it at once."
"If troops begin to mobilize, do not engage them. Withdraw from here and return to Willowbrook."
"Yes, my lord!" Lushen turned and departed, his steps steady.
Solomon then looked toward Olivier, who was seated nearby handling documents.
"Come, Olivier. Let us go meet the legend of the Riverlands."
He took only Olivier and a dozen of his finest riders before returning to Willowbrook.
All along the way, Olivier kept murmuring noble etiquette into his ear. Solomon did not absorb a word of it.
Drawing a breath, he stepped into Willowbrook's temporary command hall.
Solomon pushed open the doors. Light poured in, outlining several figures inside.
At their head stood a tall older man, his beard and hair grey-white, yet his back remained ramrod straight. His deep blue eyes were like the waters beneath Riverrun—seemingly calm, while undercurrents churned below. He wore plain mail, scarred by years and wars alike.
Solomon recognized him at once.
Brynden Tully.
The Blackfish.
A legend.
Their gazes met in midair.
Solomon could feel the heavy stillness on the man, the solidity of someone seasoned by countless battlefields—like a stone at the bottom of a river, unmoved no matter how the current battered it.
The Blackfish was also studying him.
Too young.
The young man before him was even calmer than rumor suggested. There was none of the blood-mad frenzy the ravens had described in those black eyes, only something strange and unreadable.
His voice came out rough and low.
"You are Solomon? The Black Lion?"
Solomon gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
"Ser Brynden."
Beside the Blackfish, a large bald middle-aged knight let out a cold snort, his hostility undisguised. Solomon guessed his identity at once as well.
Robin Lege, captain of Riverrun's guard.
The Blackfish spoke first, breaking the stagnant air.
"Lord Solomon, I come here under orders from the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."
"You have broken the King's Peace and disturbed the order of the Riverlands."
"The peace and order of the Riverlands depend upon the restraint of every noble house. Yet your war against House Lege has shaken the entire region."
He paused, his stare keen as fire.
"What explanation do you offer for this?"
Solomon smiled faintly. He walked to the center of the hall and met the Blackfish's eyes.
"Ser, I admit that the peace of the Riverlands has been broken."
"If Riverrun believes me guilty, I am willing to go to Riverrun and stand trial. But I hope Roger Lege will go as well."
He lifted a hand and pointed out the window.
"As for the current situation, I must make one thing clear."
"It was Roger Lege in the inner keep who refused peace. He even refused all communication."
"It was his refusal to have any contact with me that led matters to this point. Since events have reached this stage, all responsibility lies with him."
"After my army took Willowbrook, I personally urged him to negotiate. Every man on those walls can testify to it. He chose war."
"Our purpose is the same, Ser—to end this war. To fight no more."
"But—"
Solomon gestured to Olivier. It was his turn now. A performance could not be carried by one actor alone, and Olivier understood immediately.
Olivier stepped forward and bowed respectfully to Brynden.
"Ser, everyone in the city can testify."
"Lord Solomon personally tried to persuade him. He even declared that he sought only a dignified negotiation between nobles. But Roger Lege's reply was… truly… beyond decency."
"He even insulted his own wife."
"He said that even if soldiers… did things to her before his eyes, he would not care."
"How can one conduct a dignified negotiation with such a man?"
Brynden frowned. Robin's face turned livid. The Tully knights exchanged glances. Inwardly, Solomon gave the speech high praise.
At last Robin Lege could contain himself no longer.
"So you raise an army in a single day, sail downriver, and take the city in three days—is that not a carefully planned sneak attack?!!"
His voice echoed through the hall, full of grief and outrage.
No matter how anyone looked at it, it truly did resemble a meticulously planned surprise strike.
Nothing like this had happened before in Westeros.
Olivier frowned and seemed about to say something, but Solomon silenced him with a glance.
Then Solomon turned to Robin. His expression remained calm, his voice unchanged.
"A sneak attack?"
"Ser Robin, have you forgotten something?"
"Before I marched, my declaration was delivered to the tables of every lord. It clearly listed the crimes of House Lege and gave them five days to prepare."
"You were witness to that as well, were you not?"
"I gave him time. He simply did not prepare."
"I publicly declared my intentions before all. He chose to ignore them."
"How can that be called a sneak attack?"
Solomon stepped forward, fixing Robin Lege with a direct stare. His presence sharpened suddenly, like a drawn blade.
"And if we speak of sneak attacks—what of his secret collusion with brigands, his attempt to strike at my lands? Does that count as one?"
"I sent his envoys safely onward to Riverrun, did I not?"
"And before all this, he seized my family seat, tore down my ancestral stronghold, and desecrated the graves of my forebears."
"What do you call that?"
"Ser Robin—what is your answer?"
Robin Lege, whose face had been flushed with anger a moment before, turned pale in an instant.
He wanted to argue, but found no ground beneath his feet.
The declaration had existed.
The lords of the Riverlands had indeed received it.
Solomon stepped closer again, until he was almost face-to-face with Robin Lege, his words coming through clenched teeth.
"Look at me."
"And answer."
70+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/zefyrus