Inside Willowbrook's temporary command hall, the Blackfish watched the young man across from him aggressively press his face close to Robin Lege's, and slowly spoke.
"Lord Solomon, in your declaration you proclaimed this a limited war directed solely against House Lege."
"I have read your formal bill of grievances. It is well-written—logical and evidence-based."
"But does what you are doing now align with the promise of a limited war?"
Brynden's voice paused, growing more severe.
"You have entered Lege territory, burning the land in all directions. You have besieged the main castle. You have even killed his heir."
"This does not look like a 'limited war!'"
Beside him, Robin Lege leaned forward slightly, raising his head to hold Solomon's gaze. A small flame of hope rekindled in his eyes.
Solomon turned around, and a smile crossed his face. Brynden instantly felt a cold premonition.
Solomon met the Blackfish's stare without flinching.
"Ser, who struck first in this war?"
"Did I march within the five-day grace period?"
Solomon paused, then swung his gaze from Robin Lege to the Blackfish in turn, sending the question at both of them like a cold arrow from ambush.
"Exactly who declared war without warning?! Who drew steel first?! Who marched troops in to occupy the legal seat of another noble house?!"
"And who demolished my ancestral stronghold?! Who desecrated my forebears?!"
His words rang out like iron on steel, unyielding.
"Who started this war?!!!"
Brynden blinked. Robin's face turned bone-white in an instant.
He was right.
Solomon turned away and walked to the table, as if steadying himself against the tide of his own grief and rage. His fingers tapped a slow, dull rhythm on the wood.
"Lord Hoster's intelligence network covers the entire Riverlands. These facts should not be difficult to verify."
"House Lege struck first, attacking my ancestral seat, escalating what should have been a limited noble dispute into a war that could only end in the destruction of one side."
"Declaring war without warning. Striking first. Deliberate escalation. That responsibility does not lie with me."
He turned back toward Brynden Tully. He bit his lip, his black eyes blazing as if breathing fire. Every single word came out slow and separate, bitten off through clenched teeth.
"As. For. Jero. Lege. He was fortunate indeed to have escaped my capture!!!"
"Otherwise I would have eaten his flesh, drunk his blood, flayed him piece by piece, made his life a living death that he prayed would end, and buried his head inside a pigsty!!!"
"As it stands, I will do as much to his corpse!!!"
Every voice in the hall went silent. A pin dropping would have sounded like a thunderclap. Every breath in the room was audible. Yet no one could fault the sentiment; no noble could remain calm when his ancestors were desecrated. Not even the Targaryens had ever suffered that from the Baratheons.
Brynden Tully shifted his gaze away from Solomon's face, letting it fall upon the ashen face of Robin Lege.
He was silent for a long time. The breathing in the room remained the only sound. At last he slowly nodded.
"House Lege did indeed march troops within the five-day grace period, directly seizing the legal ancestral seat of a noble lord—not clashing in the disputed zone. That is a violation of the laws of noble war."
Brynden Tully's words hit like a war hammer, shattering the last stand Robin Lege had left. Robin collapsed back into his seat. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Solomon gave him no time to recover.
He waved a hand. Olivier stepped immediately forward and placed a stack of parchments and several scrolls on the negotiating table, sliding them across to Brynden.
"These are testimonies from the captured nobles of House Lege—regarding Roger Lege's command, issued during the five-day grace period, ordering his son to enter the legal territory of a noble house and commence hostilities, seizing the ancestral stronghold. Their hand-seals are upon them."
"Who bears the responsibility for escalating this war?!! Who started it?!! Who shattered the peace under the Lord Paramount?!!!"
Brynden Tully picked up the documents one by one and read with extreme care. He moved slowly, sometimes running a finger across a wax seal, sometimes narrowing his eyes to study a signature.
The council hall held only the soft rustle of turning pages. Robin Lege's color drained from iron-grey to the pale grey of ash. He stepped forward and began reading as well.
They had indeed learned by raven before arriving that, within the five-day period, House Lege had dispatched troops to occupy the Reekfort rather than mobilizing soldiers to the disputed territory west of Vycam Pass to contain the war. But what they had never expected was that the man had been so monumentally foolish as to issue the order openly, in front of witnesses, to militarily occupy the legal seat of another noble house.
After a long silence, Brynden set down the final testimony. He raised his head and looked at Solomon. Something more complex had entered his eyes.
This young man's mind runs very, very deep.
The Blackfish let out a slow breath. "The evidence is conclusive. But you must know the kingdom is at war. You should not have attempted to ignite a private war at a time like this."
Solomon's voice returned to absolute calm.
"I am not here to excuse my own actions."
"I only wish the entire Riverlands to understand how matters came to reach this point, and why."
"If Riverrun judges me guilty, I am willing to go and stand trial."
His voice suddenly shifted, becoming quiet and mournful. Something that looked like suppressed tears appeared in his eyes.
"Ser, how could I not know the cost of war?"
"My father, my brothers, all died at the hands of the Ironborn. I nearly died beside them. My mother threw herself from the battlements when they came."
"If Riverrun and Lord Balon Deddings have any use for me, I am willing to commit the full strength of my lands to the front lines, exactly as my father did. I will not speak two words about it."
When Solomon finished, he waved his hand once more.
This time, two guards carried in a long wooden box draped in dark velvet and set it carefully on the table before stepping back and bowing out.
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately into something strange and suspended. Everyone tried to guess what Solomon intended.
Robin Lege stared at the box in puzzlement. Brynden Tully frowned, attempting to calculate Solomon's intent.
Surely he isn't trying to bribe us.
Solomon rose from his seat and personally lifted the velvet cloth.
A sword without a scabbard lay quietly against silk padding inside the box.
The blade was long and slender, giving off an uncanny, almost supernatural white—as if it had been forged from moonlight and ivory. Light rippled across its surface, revealing endless undulating wave-patterns layered one upon another, flowing like water over the steel. That was a lustre no common iron could ever possess. It carried the beauty of something ancient and lethally alive.
Brynden Tully's breath stopped.
He crossed the room in quick strides. The hand he extended toward the sword carried an almost imperceptible tremor, which he immediately brought under control.
His voice came out rough and dry.
"Valyrian steel."
Solomon's voice rose clear and steady, ignoring Olivier's reproachful stare.
"Ser. This sword was found within my family's tomb—the tomb that Jero Lege desecrated."
"I will conceal nothing from Riverrun. This sword does not belong to my house. It is only right that Riverrun determines its fate."
Brynden was no longer listening. His fingers drifted slowly across the cold length of the blade, feeling that singular sensation—the sense that the steel was somehow alive.
He gripped the hilt and drew the sword slowly from the box. A faint, pure ring shivered through the hall. The clean white light of the blade illuminated his deeply lined face.
Brynden looked up sharply at Solomon. His stare blazed.
He had recognized the sword.
"This is Lamentation. The sword of House Royce."
"Solomon. Do you know the value of this blade? It is worth more than every territory, every castle, and every coin you currently possess combined."
Robin Lege's jaw fell open. He stared at the legendary Valyrian steel blade in stunned silence. His mind went blank.
This young man is actually surrendering the sword.
Solomon answered without hesitation.
"I know."
His gaze was clear and direct. Not a trace of greed, not a flicker of reluctance.
"But I value my loyalty and my honor far more. I will conceal nothing from Riverrun. This sword does not belong to me. Its final home should be decided by House Tully and Riverrun."
Brynden Tully gripped the hilt of Lamentation, the veins on the back of his hand standing out against his skin. He looked at Solomon. For a moment he seemed to be trying to see the young man in front of him as if for the very first time, setting aside every question of whether the words were true or false.
He spoke slowly.
"If not for this war, the gift of this sword alone would have earned you a knighthood from my hand."
Solomon did not pause. He reached into his chest and drew out a small journal, setting it on the table. The leather cover was rotted and stiff, the pages yellowed and brittle, carrying the combined scent of old soil and old time. He had torn out certain sections—the passages of fanatical heresy and the prophecy—but left the ancestor's history intact.
"Ser. This is my ancestor's diary, found in the same tomb. It records the sword's origin and certain chapters of our family's past."
Brynden picked up the journal and read it slowly. His finger stopped on a particular page. He looked up and met Solomon's eyes with a long, searching stare.
Now I understand what this young man is after.
Solomon held Brynden's gaze with equal steadiness, and a smile crossed his face.
A sword I cannot use is scrap metal. But trade it for the official recognition of the Dragon-Slaying House and the Champion of the Seven—certified by Tully authority—and it becomes something no amount of gold can buy.
He had of course removed the passages insulting the nobility and the heretical prophecy content from the diary. With a few careful alterations, the text now told a story that might even appeal to Robert Baratheon's generosity, should the king ever hear of it.
Robin Lege looked at the silent Blackfish. Then at the perfectly composed Solomon. Then finally at Lamentation—priceless, undeniable, lying in the box.
The fury, the indignation, the humiliation on his face dissolved at last into something utterly hollow. He lowered his head slowly. His shoulders dropped. He did not say another word.
What man could call one who surrendered a Valyrian steel sword anything but loyal?
A long silence settled over the hall.
At last Brynden Tully spoke again. A trace of tiredness had entered his voice. He held the journal against his chest, and in that gesture was a gravity unlike anything he had shown before.
"I will take this diary back to Riverrun."
"You have proven the justice of your cause with facts and evidence."
"You have won honor for yourself and your house with this sword and this family record."
Brynden looked at Solomon and paused, as if what he was about to say did not come easily, yet he said it anyway, one word at a time.
"But."
"This war must end."
"Will you accept Riverrun's arbitration?"
Solomon's face finally settled into a smile that—no one in the room could quite say why—left them all feeling vaguely unsettled.
"But of course, Ser."
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