A raven rose from the top of the Maester's Tower and quickly became a tiny black dot before vanishing into the northern sky.
Joffrey had already lost count of how many had been sent.
The first raven went out. No reply.
The second raven followed. Still no reply.
The third. The fourth.
This one would probably be the same.
"She will come. He will let my mother go," Sansa said behind him. Her voice was so soft it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "She is my aunt. She is only afraid."
"She just... needs time."
Joffrey did not turn around.
Outside the window, King's Landing was still loud and busy. The excitement of the tournament had already faded.
The people had returned to their daily struggles, filling their stomachs with bowls of brown stew while the sea wind blew through the streets.
Only those inside the Red Keep knew what kind of mess had been left behind after the celebration.
"She will not come," Joffrey said.
Day after day, more ravens were sent.
"She will come," Eddard would say.
"Will she come or not?" Robert demanded.
Eddard would nod with painful certainty.
"She will come, Your Grace."
The atmosphere of the Small Council grew heavier with each passing day.
Tywin no longer attended the meetings. Instead, every day he sent the same message through his envoys.
"The army of the Westerlands stands ready, awaiting the king's judgment."
Robert had stopped shouting and cursing.
Now he simply sat in the high seat with a dark expression, his fingers tapping against the table faster and faster.
Recently he had attended more council meetings than he had in the past several years combined.
"Ned, is that woman coming or not?" Robert growled. "My patience is running out."
But Eddard already feared the worst.
Lysa had not only detained Tyrion. She might also be holding her own sister.
Eddard had written to his father-in-law, Hoster Tully, asking him to intervene. But the old lord was bedridden.
Riverrun was now managed by Edmure Tully. And the boy carried little authority.
Eddard then placed his hopes on Brynden Tully.
Because he shared a name with another famous man, everyone called him by his title instead.
The Blackfish.
He was the younger brother of the Lord of Riverrun and had never married despite being past fifty.
Years ago, after growing tired of his brother pressuring him to wed, he had followed his niece to the Vale and taken command as the Knight of the Bloody Gate.
Although his relationship with his brother was strained, the Blackfish cared deeply for his nieces. Eddard had known him for years.
But now even he could not step into the Eyrie. After repeated pleas, he was finally given a letter pushed through the gate.
It was not even written by Lysa herself.
The wording was polite and cold.
[The Lady of the Eyrie grieves deeply and remains in poor health. Travel is not suitable at this time.
Lord Tyrion and Lady Catelyn are guests of their own will and are treated with proper honor.
Once the Lady has recovered, she will personally arrange for their safe return south.]
Robert slammed the letter onto the table.
"Outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"
"Does she think I'm a three-year-old child? I'll have her head and mount it on a spear!"
Then he glanced toward Eddard. "I'm just saying that. I'm not actually going to do it."
Compared to everyone else, Joffrey had been enjoying himself lately.
Cersei had been secretly pleased because everyone's attention had shifted toward Lysa.
As a result, she allowed Joffrey almost complete freedom and rarely questioned where he went.
Joffrey took full advantage of the opportunity.
One by one, he removed the agents Littlefinger had planted throughout King's Landing and replaced them with his own people.
As for Lord Janos, his health seemed to be declining more and more each day. It would probably not be long before he voluntarily resigned.
This had absolutely nothing to do with the wine Joffrey had shared with him.
At every meeting of the Small Council, Joffrey attended beside Robert, wearing an expression of concern for the kingdom.
After several months of careful accumulation, his Providence Points had finally filled once again.
This time he drew another defensive skill.
[Dream Killing]
[Sleep is sleep: If an assassination attempt occurs while pretending to sleep, the body will automatically fight back and the attacker will fall into different levels of sleep depending on their strength]
Joffrey stared at the screen for a long time.
Why did the descriptions of these skills always sound so strange? And it only worked if he was pretending to sleep.
If he was truly asleep, it would not activate.
The next role had also refreshed.
[Cunning Schemer]
The system had also unlocked a new feature. Draw attempts could now be used to upgrade existing skills.
As for the situation in the Vale, Joffrey had already confirmed it twice using [Stargazing].
Catelyn and Tyrion were being held separately in their own rooms. Lysa had placed both of them under strict confinement.
She had no intention of releasing them. Nor did she plan to come to King's Landing.
Coming to the capital would be walking into a trap.
She had clearly decided to rely on the Eyrie's natural defenses and drag this matter out indefinitely.
At least until the moment Littlefinger had once promised her.
"When the realm falls into chaos, we will marry."
Lysa had her own confidence in defying the king.
Since the Andal invasion and even during the Targaryen conquest, no army had ever taken the Eyrie by force.
The Bloody Gate guarded the entrance to the Vale. The Gates of the Moon stood at the base of the mountains.
Three more strongholds—Stone, Snow, and Sky—blocked the narrow path upward.
And the Eyrie itself sat atop the Giant's Lance, a small palace with seven white towers.
The stables and forge were built further down the mountain.
As a fortress, the Eyrie could hold only five hundred people. Yet its granary was as large as Winterfell's.
When filled, it could feed its inhabitants for an entire year.
The only ways in or out were a cargo winch or a narrow mountain path hundreds of feet long, wide enough for only a few men side by side.
Even traveling light, climbing from the bottom to the top took an hour.
The Eyrie had surrendered only once in history.
Centuries ago, Visenya Targaryen flew her dragon Vhagar directly to the summit and forced the lord of the Vale to kneel.
But now?
There were no dragons.
And even if someone wanted to build another Eyrie, they probably could not even carry siege engines up the mountain.
Westeros truly was declining.
During another meeting of the Small Council, Tywin suddenly appeared after many days of absence.
He did not sit.
Instead, he stood at the end of the long table and spoke calmly.
"Tyrion has been 'voluntarily detained' for more than a month. Lady Catelyn has also sent no word."
He emphasized the word voluntarily heavily, though his tone remained completely calm.
"The army of the Westerlands has already marched to the Golden Tooth. If Lady Lysa refuses to release him, I will retrieve my son myself."
Eddard stood abruptly.
"That would require passing through the Riverlands. If an army marches across their lands, what position would that leave House Tully in?"
Tywin glanced at him.
"That is why I have come to seek the king's approval."
Joffrey studied Robert's face carefully. But he could not read the king's thoughts.
"Wait a little longer," Robert said.
Tywin nodded once and turned to leave.
Something was wrong.
Joffrey felt a flicker of surprise. When had Tywin ever become so patient? This was not his usual style.
Robert's reaction was also strange.
He did not question the Westerlands gathering an army. He did not object. He did not even show anger.
Joffrey glanced sideways at Eddard's dark expression.
Suddenly a thought crossed his mind.
Robert had always been eager for war.
Could it be that he and Tywin had already reached some understanding behind the Hand's back?
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