At that moment, Solomon, who had kept his silence throughout the heated exchange, stood up slowly with a faint, pleasant smile. His motion was subtle, yet it instantly brought an absolute quiet to the hall.
The shouting vanished in a single breath.
Solomon looked directly at the indignant Mallister retainer, privately finding the performance utterly repulsive. He wondered briefly if the blood in Blackwood veins ran a different shade of red to bring such passionate fury from a man who believed himself a defender of the ancient order.
He spread his hands wide, gesturing as if to display an invisible object. "However, my person, my steel, and the lances I command."
"We are entirely unacquainted with the grand glory of House Blackwood."
The phrase fell softly, yet it landed like an iron sledgehammer against young Patrek Mallister, his retainers, and the Blackwood house guards. It was an unvarnished, direct insult to their house, expressing total contempt for the thousand-year lineage and pride they held sacred.
The color drained from Patrek Mallister's face in an instant as he stared in complete disbelief. The Blackwood retainers glared at Solomon with raw fury, their gauntlets tightening around their hilts, while Tytos Blackwood remained motionless, buried deep in his own quiet thoughts.
Solomon ignored their murderously cold glares. Under the unblinking watch of every man present, he walked around the long stone column and took a seat directly beside Lymond Lychester. He uttered not a word, but the simple act was a statement far clearer than any speech.
Patrek Mallister flushed deep red, his young frame trembling with indignation. He had never encountered a knight so coarse, so entirely devoid of nobility, a man whose origins as a personal servant were reflected in his utter disregard for the traditional hierarchy.
Trapped like a cornered beast, he scanned the room and drew breath for a frantic, desperate shout. "If that is your stance, then we shall put it to a vote!"
"Let the lords present decide who holds the true mandate to guide this host!"
Solomon watched the boy with cold detachment, finding the spectacle both pathetic and remarkably childish. To measure a man's worth by his bloodline, and to gamble the lives of thousands of soldiers on a voting contest, was an absurd exercise.
It was a dull game. Solomon closed his eyes, appearing as though he had drifted off to sleep. Regardless of how the tally fell, the true control of the lances would not shift. The only outcome would be the isolation of the Mallisters and Blackwoods. Still, he noted internally that the fragile table of Westerosi tradition would eventually need to be flipped entirely.
Young Patrek Mallister, however, felt a surge of energy. He imagined himself a grand, righteous arbiter presiding over a solemn judgment of blood, honor, and authority.
He cleared his throat, raising his voice to a high pitch. "Let the voting begin!"
The outcome of the first round held no mystery. A Blackwood sergeant standing behind Tytos immediately raised his gauntlet, casting the vote for his master as expected.
Across the table, a knight at Lymond Lychester's side lifted his hand with equal resolve, locking in a vote for old Lymond.
Every eye in the room shifted to Solomon. The captains waited for the leader of the Willowdale and Deddington forces to deliver his decisive vote to his ally, Lymond Lychester.
Yet Solomon remained perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed as if the proceedings in the hall had nothing to do with him. Old Ser Robin felt his pulse quicken at the sight. Realizing this was his commander's silent test, he stood up from his seat without a moment's hesitation and raised his right gauntlet high.
His deep voice boomed through the quiet chamber. "I, Robin, speaking for the strength of House Deddington, offer our full support to Lord Lymond Lychester!"
Patrek Mallister cast a furious glance at Solomon, noting with frustration that the young man, barely older than himself, was sitting with closed eyes just like Tytos Blackwood, completely indifferent to the tally.
The boy ignored him, lifting his own hand high, his voice trembling with excitement.
"I, Patrek Mallister, master of Seagard, speaking for House Mallister, cast my vote for Lord Tytos Blackwood!"
Two to two. The scale was balanced once more. The room turned its focus toward the final two key figures at the table.
Ser Caek, leading the Vance lances from Atranta, and Lord Raymun Darry.
Patrek turned to the Vance officer, his voice tight with urgency. "Ser Caek!"
"Deliver your vote!"
Ser Caek felt a wave of sharp awkwardness as his name was called. His mind worked quickly, analyzing the complicated geometry of his choice.
By every established custom and law of the realm, the ancient, royal bloodline of House Blackwood made Tytos Blackwood the natural commander of a Riverlands host. The Lychesters carried a respectable history, but compared to the First Men heritage of Raventree Hall, their standing was secondary.
That was the tradition, the legal framework that every noble was expected to honor.
However, Lord Tytos wished to march south to relieve Raventree Hall, a suicidal course that would lead them straight into the main ironborn host. Lord Lymond advocated returning to the eastern valleys to build a line, which was by far the safer, more logical strategy.
Furthermore, Ser Caek represented House Vance. If he insulted Tytos Blackwood here, he risked a severe reprimand from his own liege once the war ended.
He glanced toward Solomon. He knew full well that the quiet second son was the true brain and muscle behind Lymond's posture, a man who possessed sharp intellect, real force, and an unyielding severity.
It was a pity, he thought to himself. The boy's bloodline was low, and the manner in which his house had secured its title was looked down upon by the old realm. Otherwise, he would have cast his vote for Solomon without a second thought.
In short, the boy lacked the traditional standing.
Yet Solomon had paid them extraordinarily well. Ser Caek had never encountered a lord so generous with his plunder. The wealth the young commander had distributed to him and the Vance soldiers exceeded what they had earned in ten years of service under their own liege.
He could not vote for Blackwood. Self-interest and basic survival far outweighed traditional protocol. Ancient blood mattered little if Tytos marched them into a grave without a single silver piece to show for it, whereas Solomon offered a live road and real coin.
Ser Caek rose slowly from his seat, offering a deep, respectful bow toward Tytos Blackwood.
"My Lord, I entered this column under direct orders from Lord Vance."
"Whomever the host selects as its master, my steel will follow."
He straightened his posture, scanning the faces around the column before delivering his final line.
"Therefore..."
"I shall abstain from the vote."
Patrek Mallister froze, his mouth hanging open in utter surprise.
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