He had not anticipated the vote taking such a course, but his mind adjusted quickly, pinning his remaining hope on the final participant.
Patrek looked toward Raymun Darry with an eager, pleading stare. The three of them had held the broken ramparts against the longships together, standing shoulder to shoulder against the tide. He trusted Raymun Darry, confident that the master of House Darry would deliver a choice that honored tradition and standing.
Raymun felt every eye in the room fixed on his shoulders like hot iron.
His pulse raced. His first instinct was to follow Ser Caek's lead, offering an abstention to avoid offending either side. It was the simplest path, and by far the safest.
Yet just as he opened his mouth, the image of Solomon pushing his lances into the war zone to pull him from the mud flashed through his mind, followed by the memory of his late father and his lost brothers.
During the nationwide storm of Robert's Rebellion, when his house was forced to choose its side, had his kin agonized over their decision the way he was doing now?
That was a true matter of survival, a choice that determined the fate of their lineage. Here he stood, hesitating before a secondary decision, behaving like a coward in the hour of accounting.
Raymun stood up so abruptly that his chair clattered onto the flagstones behind him. Having given Solomon his word in silent trust, he refused to turn back. A sudden, unyielding courage surged through his chest.
Before Patrek Mallister's hopeful eyes, Raymun extended his right hand.
Without a second's hesitation, his finger pointed straight toward Lymond Lychester.
Three to two.
Tytos Blackwood finally opened his eyes, casting a surprised glance at Raymun. Patrek Mallister slumped into his chair, the life draining from his face as his eyes went dim.
The tally landed like a heavy stone dropped into a quiet pool, sending a shockwave through the room.
A victory. The Lychester knights exchanged wide, disbelieving looks. The outcome was baffling, defying every established rule of the realm. By every ancient custom of the Riverlands, the supreme command belonged to Lord Tytos Blackwood by right of his First Men bloodline, his military renown, and the deep roots of his house.
The Lychesters carried a respectable heritage, but next to the ancient houses, their standing was small. Yet today, old Lord Lymond had been placed above Tytos Blackwood at the head of the host.
A young Lychester knight, his face flushed with sudden pride, could not check his excitement. He stepped forward, casting a quick glance past the serene Tytos and the defeated Patrek, his voice trembling with high emotion.
Speaking on behalf of his master, who sat muttering to himself at the stone column, he raised his voice. "The vote is decided! From this hour, every lord present shall follow Lord Lymond's command!"
The proclamation acted like a match thrown into dry powder.
The elderly Mallister knight who had spoken earlier exploded in raw fury, his rasped voice booming through the hall. "Follow his command?"
Unable to contain his rage, his hand shook violently as he pointed a finger at Lymond, who was currently drawing idle circles on the stone table with his thumb. The knight shouted at the room, spit flying from his lips.
"My Lords! Look at him! Are you truly prepared to place your lances under the command of a lunatic?"
A lunatic. The word landed like a thunderclap. The Lychester knights went rigid, their eyes turning red with immediate fury.
Tytos Blackwood's brow furrowed, his gaze shifting to the old Mallister retainer with a cold, disapproving scowl.
Young Patrek Mallister was equally appalled by his vassal's outburst. "Ser Cael!" he snapped hastily.
Ser Cael froze, realizing his speech had broken decorum. But with the phrase already delivered, he felt he had no choice but to press forward.
He set his jaw, raising his voice even higher. "Have I spoken a lie? Every seat in the Riverlands knows Lord Lymond lost his wits the day his sons fell!"
"How can a man who cannot govern his own mind guide thousands of shields into battle?"
An uncomfortable, suffocating silence settled over the chamber once more. Ser Cael's words were harsh, yet they tore away the polite fiction everyone had quietly maintained.
Lord Lymond Lychester was mad. That was the unvarnished truth.
In Westeros, a lord's authority was rarely absolute if his person carried a flaw. Cripples, dwarfs, bastards, and madmen—even when holding legitimate title—carried a natural crack in their standing. They struggled to command genuine respect from their vassals, and their orders were inevitably questioned.
Placing a man with a broken mind at the head of a host was not merely foolish, it was an insult to the pride of every noble officer present, especially with Tytos Blackwood set aside in the process.
Inside the quiet hall, Solomon, who had been resting against his chair with closed eyes, opened his gaze and stood up. His movement was fluid and unhurried, yet it drew every eye in the room.
He walked forward with a measured, steady stride, looking at no one, his dark eyes locked onto Ser Cael.
Stopping before the old knight, a pleasant smile touched his lips as he asked a simple, flat question.
"Repeat it."
Ser Cael felt a sharp chill run down his spine. He swallowed hard, finding the young commander's presence unexpectedly daunting.
He gathered his nerve, though his voice dropped several notes. "Every lord knows... Lord Lymond's mind is broken... he lacks the capacity to guide..."
The corner of Solomon's mouth lifted slightly as he interrupted softly. "No."
"Repeat the exact phrase you opened with."
Ser Cael hesitated, the tension in the room tightening like a drawn bowstring.
Two Mallister knights stepped forward, placing themselves behind Ser Cael with their hands resting against their hilts. At the same time, Ludo and Rosso moved up, stepping into position behind Solomon's shoulders.
Drawing courage from the presence of his companions, Ser Cael stood his ground. He convinced himself he was speaking for truth and honor, voicing what the other lords lacked the nerve to say.
He threw his chest out and spoke again, keeping his voice low yet clear.
"Every man knows Lord Lymond suffers from a mad fit, leaving him unfit to lead..."
Before the final word could clear his lips, a flash of white steel cut through the air. The motion was so fast the eye could barely track it. The old knight let out a sharp, agonized shriek as his right arm separated from his shoulder, blood spraying over the stone like a fountain.
Losing his balance from the force of the strike, the extreme pain forced him to his knees.
A second flash followed instantly, sweeping across his exposed neck. Ser Cael's head separated from his collar, tumbling across the flagstones in a arc of dark crimson before coming to a rest against the stone column.
His wide, unblinking eyes remained fixed in an expression of absolute shock.
The blade had moved with terrifying speed. The two Mallister knights stood frozen, their minds blank, their fingers still resting uselessly on their hilts before they could draw an inch of steel.
One made a slight motion to move, but a hand like an iron vise clamped around his throat. Ludo lifted the knight off his feet with a single arm, cutting off his breath instantly.
The second knight felt a sudden, freezing edge press against his throat. Rosso's longsword was locked against his carotid artery, pinning him in place.
It had taken less than three breaths.
Solomon pulled a clean cloth from his doublet, methodically wiping the crimson from his blade. He lifted his gaze past the pale face of Patrek Mallister, looking directly at Tytos Blackwood, who watched with quiet surprise.
His tone remained smooth and even, as if he had merely corrected a minor error on a ledger.
"His speech lacked proper respect. I have settled the matter on your behalf."
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