Chương 47: Council and Politics
299 AC, Near the Harrenhall…
After a hard riding, Rody and his companions finally arrived at the united camp of the Riverlander and Northern armies. The sight that greeted them was a testament to the alliance formed to combat the Lannisters. Banners from Riverland houses such as Blackwood, Vance, and Ryger fluttered in the wind alongside the sigils of Northern houses like Umber, Glover, and Ryswell.
As Rody entered the camp, he couldn't help but be struck by the atmosphere that hung in the air. The men, despite the trials and tribulations they had faced, still held a spark of determination in their eyes. They sat around campfires, talking in low voices or tending to their weapons and armor. Some played dice games or shared meals.
The faces of these soldiers bore the marks of hardship, their eyes reflecting the weariness of countless battles and long marches. Yet, there was an undeniable sense of unity among them, a shared purpose that transcended the boundaries of their respective regions. They were here not just for their lords or their kings but for a greater cause – the future of their realms.
Rody dismounted and began to walk through the camp, taking in the sights and sounds. He exchanged nods and greetings with the soldiers he passed, their responses filled with respect for the Greycloaks and the mission they were undertaking.
As he moved deeper into the camp, Rody couldn't help but wonder about the challenges that lay ahead. The Lannisters were a formidable foe, and with the shifting allegiances and rumors of the Tyrells aligning with them, the situation had become even more precarious.
The king's decision to wait for the arrival of the crown prince's army was a prudent one, Rody thought. It was a time for unity and strength, for the North and the Riverlands to stand together against a common enemy. Rody knew that their success or failure in the battles to come would shape the fate of the entire realm and the future of the North.
But for now, as he observed the soldiers in the camp, Rody couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Despite the challenges, despite the uncertainty, they were soldiers of the North and the Riverlands, bound by duty and honor. And as long as they had that fire in their eyes, they would continue to fight, undeterred by the shadows that loomed on the horizon.
As Rody made his way through the bustling camp, a booming voice called out his name. Startled, he turned his head to locate the source of the voice. There, approaching him with a wide, genial grin, was a man who could only be described as imposing. He was a portly figure with a shiny bald head, and a massive walrus mustache that seemed to compete with his round belly for attention. It didn't take Rody long to recognize him – it was Ser Wendel Manderly, the second son of Lord Manderly.
"Ser Rody Greycloak!" Ser Wendel bellowed as he approached, his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture. "What brings you here, my good man? I was under the impression you'd be with the crown prince."
Rody greeted the man with a respectful nod, and the other Greycloaks bowed their heads in greeting. "Ser Wendel Manderly," he replied, his tone filled with respect. "It is an honor to see you here. I bring the news sent by the crown prince himself."
Ser Wendel's jovial expression faded as he listened intently to Rody's words. "A message, you mean?" he replied, his walrus mustache twitching with curiosity. "Do tell, Ser Rody. Are the tides bring bad news or good news?"
Rody proceeded to explain the crown prince's orders, recounting the events that had transpired in Lannisport, the message that needed to be delivered to the king, and their urgent journey to reach to him briefly.
Ser Wendel's face grew more serious with each passing word. "Troubling times, indeed," he muttered, stroking his mustache in contemplation. "If the crown prince believes this message is of such importance, then we must treat it as such."
"Indeed," Rody agreed, his voice filled with determination. "Every moment counts, Ser Wendel."
Ser Wendel nodded firmly. "Then let us waste no more time. We should head to the main tent where the king resides. Your message must reach him as swiftly as possible."
Rody nodded in agreement, and together, they made their way through the bustling camp towards the central tent where the king and his advisors gathered.
As they walked, Ser Wendel's curiosity got the better of him. "Ser Rody," he began, "I couldn't help but wonder – how did you manage to capture Lannisport so swiftly? Siege warfare is notoriously difficult, even for seasoned commanders. My family, as you may know, owns the great city of White Harbor in the North."
Rody puffed out his chest with a touch of pride. "It was a daring plan, Ser Wendel. We disguised ourselves as enemy soldiers who had supposedly retreated from the recent battle and managed to infiltrate the Lannister army. From there, we volunteered for duty and were chosen to be stationed at the gatehouse. Once inside, we poisoned the guards and opened the gates for the crown prince and his army."
Ser Wendel's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "Impressive," he muttered. "Your men must be as skilled as they are brave."
Rody nodded. "They are, Ser Wendel. The Greycloaks are a force to be reckoned with."
However, Rody's expression grew somber as he continued. "But it wasn't without its challenges. Some Frey men tried to loot the corpses of our fallen Greycloaks, and Black Walder Frey attempted to free his imprisoned kin who were guilty of such crimes."
"Seven curse the Freys," Hunter, who was behind Rody, muttered and spat onto the ground.
Ser Wendel's face contorted in disgust, and he also cursed under his breath. "The Freys," he spat, "always lurking at the back of the army during battles but claiming to be the bravest after it. I dread the day House Frey joins in marriage with House Stark."
Rody sighed, sharing Ser Wendel's sentiments. "Lord Rickard Karstark shared the same sentiment, Ser Wendel, but there is little we can do in such matters."
The Manderly heir fell silent, a troubled expression crossing his face, and they continued their journey towards the king's tent with the weight of their shared concerns heavy upon them.
As Rody and Ser Wendel approached the entrance to the main tent, their path was barred by a pair of guards adorned in Stark sigils on their armor. One of them, a burly man with a weathered face and a scar across his cheek, caught Rody's eye. His name was Harren, and they had crossed paths before during their service to House Stark.
With a warm grin, Rody called out, "Harren, it's good to see a familiar face." He extended his hand in greeting.
Harren's eyes lit up with recognition, and he clasped Rody's hand in a firm shake. "Ser Rody, as I live and breathe," he said, his voice tinged with warmth. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Captain."
However, the other guard, less familiar with Rody, moved to intervene. "Hold on there," he grumbled, raising a hand to stop Rody from proceeding. "Who are you, and what's your business here?"
Harren, clearly irritated by his companion's lack of recognition, smacked the back of the man's head with a gruff motion. "This is Ser Rody Greyguard, the captain of the Greycloaks, you numbskull," he chided. "Show some respect."
The chastised guard rubbed the back of his head and shot Rody an apologetic look before Harren turned his attention back to the Greycloak captain. "Forgive him, Ser Rody. The days have been long and tense here. He'll go inside and inform the king of your arrival. He'll want to hear what you have to say."
As the guard headed into the tent, Rody and Harren engaged in a brief catch-up. They spoke of old battles, shared a few laughs, and reminisced about their service to House Stark. It was a brief respite from the weight of their current mission and the grim realities of war that surrounded them.
Their exchange was cut short as the guard reemerged from the tent after a few moments, addressing Rody directly. "Ser Rody Greyguard, the king will see you now. Alone."
Rody turned his head to cast an apologetic look at Ser Wendel Manderly, who nodded understandingly. "Go on, Ser Rody," he said, bidding farewell. "Visit me in the evening if you have the chance. We have much to discuss."
With a nod of gratitude, Rody followed the guard into the tent. Upon entering, he realized that the interior was much larger and more opulent than it appeared from the outside. It resembled the solar of a lord, adorned with rich fabrics and furnishings.
At the head of a long table sat the king, his head wrapped in a single cloth as if to conceal some injury. Rody's heart clenched with worry at the sight. Without hesitation, he approached the king and knelt before him, a respectful and dutiful gesture.
"Your Grace," Rody began, his voice filled with deference, "I bring the words of the Crown Prince. He believes these tidings are of utmost importance."
The king acknowledged Rody with a nod, his eyes studying the Greycloak captain. "Rise, Ser Rody," he said, gesturing to an empty chair opposite him at the table.
The two of them sat in the tent, their conversation shrouded in an air of gravity and confidentiality. Aside from the distant murmur of voices outside the tent, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the king and his messenger to discuss the pressing matters at hand.
As Rody took his seat, the king's gaze remained fixed on him, his eyes keen with curiosity and anticipation. He broke the silence, his voice steady and composed. "Rody, what tidings you bring, tell me."
Rody didn't hesitate. "Your Grace," he began, his tone respectful yet forthright, "I left the side of the Crown Prince on his orders. He deemed it crucial that you be informed of his intent to bring an army to support your position."
Rody elaborated, outlining the route the Crown Prince's army was taking and when it could be expected to arrive. The king listened attentively, his expression thoughtful. When Rody finished, a shade of relief washed over the old Stark's face, and he nodded approvingly.
"That is welcome news," the king said. "We shall prepare for their arrival accordingly."
Before Rody could delve further into the matter, he seized the opportunity to inquire about the king's well-being. "Your Grace," he began, "I've heard conflicting sayings about your condition. How do you fare?"
A warm smile played on the king's lips in response to Rody's concern. "I appreciate your inquiry, Rody. I am better now, save for some occasional headaches. Nothing to be overly concerned about."
Just as their conversation was about to continue, a guard entered the tent, holding a small missive in his hand. He approached the king and presented the message, bowing slightly. The king took the parchment, breaking the seal, and quickly scanned its contents. After a brief moment, he nodded in acknowledgment. With a gesture, he dismissed the guard.
The king's attention returned to Rody, and he sighed. "This is the third missive this moon." He put the letter on the table.
Rody looked at it with interest but he could not understand anything as he did not know how to read.
The king, noticing Rody's inquisitive glance, explained, "Ravens bring messages, Ser Rody. This one brings more troubling news."
He looked at Rody with a troubled expression, his voice laced with concern. "Our enemy does not come only from the South, but there are dire tidings from the North as well. That is why we must bring this war in the South to a swift end."
Rody's brow furrowed in worry, and he inquired, "What's happening in the North, Your Grace?"
The king remained silent for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with foreboding. "The ravens came from Winterfell. The Night's Watch has sent a plea for aid. A vast wildling army, led by a new King-Beyond-the-Wall, is marching on the Wall. They request reinforcements to defend against this threat."
Rody's face paled as he realized the implications of this news. He knew well how much the North had been emptied of able-bodied men who had marched south with their king. However, he couldn't let despair overcome him. The Wall was a formidable structure, and a few thousand determined men could hold it against a wildling assault.
"I see," Rody said, trying to remain hopeful despite the grim situation. "If the mountain clansmen arrive on time, they could bolster the defenses at the Wall. It's a formidable structure, Your Grace, and with the right men, we can hold it against the wildlings."
The king nodded in agreement but with a heavy heart. "I have already sent orders to call upon the mountain clansmen. It may not be enough, but it's all we can do for now."
"The threats to the North are not confined solely to wildlings and Lannisters," the king continued, his tone grave.
Rody frowned, his concern deepening. "Who else poses a threat to the North, Your Grace?"
The king's gaze remained fixed on Rody, his voice filled with apprehension. "The ravens did not only come from the North," he explained. "Lord Mallister has informed us of troubling reports from the western coast. Merchants are being held back from leaving Lordsport, and his men have sighted hundreds of longships docked near the isles."
Rody's frown deepened. "Greyjoys cannot make a move without risking the life of their heir. We have a Greyjoy hostage with us."
The king's expression darkened as he spoke, "Balon Greyjoy is anything but a loving father. He did not make any attempt to contact his son even once during Theon's time in Winterfell. I fear that he may have his own ambitions, and the North's current state of vulnerability could make it an attractive target."
The king sighed, a heavy burden in his eyes. "I have already sent a raven to Winterfell, urging them to warn the lords of the western coast and remain vigilant."
Rody nodded thoughtfully, considering their options. "Perhaps we could send some Greycloaks north to aid the lords in defending against any potential Greyjoy threat."
The king, however, shook his head. "As much as I value the prowess of the Greycloaks, we need an elite force like yours here. The situation in the South is far from stable, and we must be prepared for any developments."
Rody accepted the king's decision with a nod, recognizing the wisdom in keeping the Greycloaks close at hand. However, he couldn't help but voice another concern. "Your Grace, with the news of potential threats from the Greyjoys, it might be prudent to place some men to watch over the Greyjoy boy. If he learns of his family's intentions, he might attempt to escape."
The king fell silent, lost in thought for a time. Then, he nodded slowly. "You are right, Rody. We cannot afford to underestimate the thoughts of a young man. I shall see to it."
With that settled, the king rose from his seat. "You have delivered your message, Ser Rody, and for that, I am grateful. Now, get some rest. In the evening, we shall convene a war council to decide our course. The men grow restless, and our enemies do not wait for us to make our move."
Rody bowed his head respectfully. "As you command, Your Grace. I shall take my leave then."
Rody left the king's tent, the gravity of their conversation weighing on his mind. As he stepped outside, he was greeted by the familiar faces of his Greycloak companions, including Hunter, who had been patiently waiting for his return. Without a word, they fell into step behind him as he led them away from the royal tent.
Their destination was where the soldiers who had come from Winterfell were encamped. Rody and his men made their way through the bustling camp, but they didn't mingle much with the other soldiers. Instead, they sought out an empty tent where they could take a brief rest and gather their thoughts before the impending war council.
Inside the tent, they found a momentary respite from the chaos of the camp. Rody knew the importance of being clear-headed and somber for the council that would be held in the evening. It was a time for strategy and decision-making, and they needed to be prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
As they settled into the tent, Rody couldn't help but reflect on the weight of their responsibilities. The fate of the North hung in the balance, and the choices they made in the coming hours and days would shape its future. With the knowledge of threats from both the South and the North, the challenges ahead were daunting…
…
The evening descended with a peculiar tension that lingered over the camp. The usual calm that accompanied the fading light was replaced by an air of anticipation. The men in the camp were acutely aware that the decisions made tonight would chart the course of their army.
The night had fully claimed the sky, with only the faint glow of campfires illuminating the faces of the soldiers. In the midst of this quiet yet charged atmosphere, Rody rose early. He could feel the weight of the impending council pressing on him.
After a quick ritual of refreshing his face with water from his flask, Rody left the Winterfell camp. His steps were purposeful as he traversed the familiar paths towards the king's tent, where the war council was to take place. The evening was cool, and the sounds of the camp were subdued.
Upon entering the tent, Rody noted that only the king and, surprisingly, Crag was present. The lords, key figures in the ongoing war, had not yet arrived. The air inside the tent was heavy with the solemnity of the impending discussion.
Rody threw a look at Crag and nodded with his head and took his place at the far end of the long table. Unexpectedly, the king motioned for Rody to come closer. With a slight bow of his head, Rody obeyed, making his way to the side of the king.
"Rody," the king declared, his tone firm and resonant, "sit beside me. I want every lord in this council to know that my son is close by, and he brings with him a formidable army ready for battle."
Rody nodded in acknowledgment, understanding the strategic move. The symbolism was clear; his presence beside the king was a testament to their strength and success. As Rody took his seat, the flap of the tent rustled once again.
Lords from both the North and the Riverlands filed into the tent, each with their own retinue and advisors waiting outside. Riverlanders followed their lord, Edmure Tully, and took their seat on the right side while their lord sat beside the king.
Some eyes regarded Rody with strange looks, others with surprise at his unexpected place beside the king. However, the unspoken rules of the council prevented any immediate inquiries. The focus shifted to the matters at hand, and the tent, now filled with key figures of the alliance, settled into a solemn expectancy. The war council was about to begin.
As the last lords took their seat, the king, Eddard Stark, rose from his chair. The murmurs within the tent hushed, and all eyes turned towards him. The flickering candlelight accentuated the stern lines on his face as he began his short but impactful speech.
"My lords and ladies," the king's voice resonated through the tent, "we gather tonight to discuss the path that lies before us. The South is embroiled in conflict, and our alliance stands as a bulwark against the chaos that threatens to engulf the realm. Robb Stark, my son, approaches with an army, and together, we shall face whatever challenges the war may bring. Let this council be the last one we need to gather alone."
The lords responded with nods of approval, and a sense of resolve settled over the gathering. The war council delved into discussions about small but crucial developments in the ongoing conflict. Strategies were weighed, reports from scouts were analyzed, and decisions were made on the immediate course of action.
However, the gravity of the situation shifted when the king addressed the Northerners specifically. He spoke of the call for aid from the North, of wildling attacks, and the vast army marching towards the Wall. The news stirred restlessness among some of the Northern lords. Grumbles and mutterings filled the air, voices expressing the urgency to return home to defend against this new threat.
Eddard Stark's gaze swept across the room, his expression unyielding. "This is not a matter I could hide from you," he declared. "I already sent the mountain clans to the Wall for aid but if the need arises, I may need to send some of you back to the North."
Some Northerners expressed discontent, the prospect of leaving the South and its battles weighing heavily on their minds. Yet, to Rody's keen observation, none argued for staying and continuing the fight in the South.
As the murmurs of agreement lingered, King Eddard Stark rose to his feet once more. His voice, now raised, cut through the air with authority.
"And that is precisely why we find ourselves in need of additional allies," the king proclaimed, his eyes scanning the faces of those gathered. "Rumors of an alliance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells grow stronger by the day. Our position in the South is precarious, and we must fortify our strength."
He continued after giving a nod to Edmure Tully, "Lord Tully and I dispatched an envoy to the Vale, but news of their success has yet to reach our ears. However, our envoy to Dragonstone returned, and he brings with him a representative of the last trueborn male Baratheon left in Westeros."
The tent flaps rustled, and the guards at the entrance moved aside, revealing a middle-aged man with brown eyes and a weathered face adorned by a beard and an older man, tall and slender with a long, elegant face adorned by graying hair and beard
"This is Lord Alester Florent and Ser Davos Seaworth, envoy of Stannis Baratheon," the king declared, gesturing toward the newcomers. "They bring words from the Stormlands and a potential alliance that could bolster our forces against the gathering storm in the South."
As both men stepped into the tent, they approached the king with a demeanor that caught the attention of some astute observers. Rather than executing a proper bow as was customary in greeting a king, they merely inclined their head in a slight nod to both the king and Lord Tully. A murmur of surprise rippled through the gathered lords, a subtle breach of etiquette not lost on keen eyes. Yet, in the presence of Eddard Stark, the king himself, silence prevailed.
Lord Florent, undeterred by the muted response, stepped forward to address the assembly of lords and the king. His voice, though weathered, carried a weight that demanded attention.
"I stand before you on behalf of King Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone, Lord of Storm's End, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm," Lord Florent declared, reciting the titles with a practiced cadence.
The gravity of Stannis Baratheon's titles hung in the air, a reminder of the lineage and duty that accompanied them. Eddard Stark nodded, acknowledging the weight that Stannis carried.
"Many of you know the steadfast devotion King Stannis holds for justice and duty," Eddard spoke, his gaze sweeping across the assembly. "And in these dire times, he extends an offer for a mutual agreement against the Lannisters and Tyrells."
The tent was filled with a hushed anticipation, and the lords exchanged glances. The prospect of another powerful ally in their fight against the Lannister-Tyrell alliance was a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness of war.
Hope blossomed in the eyes of the gathered lords as they considered the potential alliance. However, that hope would be tempered by the reality of politics and the conditions that often accompanied such proposals.
Lord Florent, standing beside the king, cleared his throat, signaling his intention to deliver the conditions set by King Stannis Baratheon. The king, in turn, motioned with a wave of his hand, granting the envoy permission to speak.
Davos shifted his weight, choosing his words with care. "His Grace, King Stannis Baratheon, would agree to an alliance against the Lannisters under certain conditions," Davos announced, his gaze respectful but unwavering as it met Eddard Stark's.
The air in the tent shifted, tension growing as the lords awaited the terms of this potential agreement. Lord Florent continued, "In exchange for his military support, King Stannis requests a demonstration of loyalty. Lord Edmure Tully, as the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, King Stannis Baratheon, demands you to bend the knee on behalf of your lordly father. In return for the loyal service of your father, he is willing to offer your house a place in the Small Council, the position to be decided later, and exemption of three years taxes. Also, the Crown will aid in the reconstruction of villages and towns destroyed by the war."
Some murmurs broke out amongst the Riverlander lords. Most of them were already tired of being in this situation as they were beholden to neither side and in the event of the Northerners retreating back, there was no one to support them in the South, except for the Vale which was isolating itself until now.
"It is a good offer but we heard that your king worships some fire god from the east and keeps a witch beside him. Already burning septs and forcing people to convert. Why would we bow our heads to such a person?" A man with thick shoulders and arms raised his voice and rose to his feet. Approving sounds came from the Riverlander lords.
"His Grace does not endorse burning of any worshiping places or forceful conversions. Those who did such deeds are already punished heavily." Lord Florent scoffed and turned to the gathered lords, "Believing the rumors spread by the Lannisters was not something I would see in this place."
Before any Riverlander lord could say anything, Lord Tully cleared his throat. "Lord Florent, I thank you on behalf of my father for your generous offer. House Tully is willing to take its rightful place once again with our alliance."
A smile graced Lord Florent's face and he nodded his head amiably. "His Grace will be most pleased to hear your answer, Lord Tully."
Sitting beside the king, Rody noticed something strange. The thing that happened before him was expected but not this quick. He looked at the king's face and noticed that he was not surprised at all. Normally, Lord Tully should have given a counter offer to get more favorable terms but he accepted the offer rather quickly. Rody was suspicious of a deal made beforehand but he held his opinions to himself.
Lord Florent turned his head to the king, "Lord Eddard Stark, it is His Grace's wish that you relinquish the false crown you wear and bend the knee to him. In return, your youngest son will be betrothed to Princess Shireen Baratheon, serving as a prince consort. Furthermore, the North will enjoy the same tax exemption for three years."
As these conditions were laid out, a hushed murmur swept through the tent. The mention of Eddard Stark relinquishing his crown and bending the knee to another king was met with explosive reactions from most Northern lords. Angry protests and harsh comments filled the air, reflecting the pride and independence ingrained in the Northern spirit.
On the other hand, the Riverlanders, who had not sworn oaths to Eddard Stark, remained silent. The tempting offers presented by the envoy of King Stannis were enough to pique their interest, setting the stage for a delicate negotiation amid the swirling currents of war and politics.
Amidst the fervor of objections and murmurs, Eddard Stark raised his hand to quell the rising discontent. His expression, stern and determined, conveyed the weight of his response. "I appreciate the offer of King Stannis Baratheon," he began, his voice cutting through the tumult, "but circumstances have changed since this negotiation began."
Eddard's gaze met Lord Florent's, and he continued, "Part of our combined army, hardened in Westerlands, is returning as we speak. They will be here imminently." The revelation hung in the air, altering the dynamics of the negotiation partly.
"Last we heard, King Stannis was preparing to attack King's Landing," Eddard continued, noting the subtle surprise in both Lord Florent's and Lord Seaworth's expression. "But there's one crucial piece of information your king may not yet be aware of. The Tyrells are on the move, and their destination is northwards. It seems unlikely that they will march to attack the Lannisters, considering their known ambitions." Eddard's words were deliberate, and Lord Davos's eyes widened in realization.
The implications of this information settled over the tent, replacing the fervor with a tense stillness.
"Stannis probably wishes to end this war in one battle by taking over King's Landing in one move." Eddard Stark broke the silence that hung heavy in the air. "However, this can be prevented, if…"
"How?" Lord Davos, who stayed silent until now, asked.
"If you have permission to negotiate with me on behalf of your king." the king said.
The whole tent was intrigued by the words of the king. What was there to negotiate, they were asked to relinquish their independence and bow their heads to the South once again. Most Northern lords were ready to speak out their mind at any moment.
"That is the reason we are sent here, my lord." Lord Florent said, once again not showing the proper respect on purpose.
The king ignored the disrespect and said, "Tywin Lannister has 10000 men sitting behind the walls of Harrenhall. Me and the Northern lords can hold them back from marching back to the south while your new allies…" The king gave a nod to Lord Tully with a small smile. "... can march to your king's aid without any interruption and allow your king to take over the King's Landing before the Reach arrives."
"And what does House Stark want in return?" Lord Florent asked.
Eddard's gaze remained unwavering, and he continued, "In exchange for our support, the North seeks recognition of its independence from the realm ruled by King Stannis. We propose the establishment of friendly trade relations and alliances as sovereign neighbors."
The gravity of Eddard Stark's words echoed in the tent. The Northern lords, who had been vehemently opposed to the idea of bending the knee, now listened intently, their expressions contemplative. The fate of their independence rested on the delicate balance of diplomacy and strategy.
Lord Florent, standing beside Lord Davos, exchanged a measured look with his companion. He then turned to face Eddard Stark, his expression composed but contemplative. "My lord, I cannot make such a decision on my own," Lord Florent spoke with a measured tone. "I will need to send a raven to King Stannis to relay these new developments and seek his counsel on the matter."
Eddard Stark, however, cut through the diplomatic formality with a stern response, "There is no time for that. By the time the raven reaches Dragonstone, your king may have already marched, and Tywin Lannister could be on his way to King's Landing. Time is of the essence."
In a moment of whispered counsel, Lord Davos spoke into Lord Florent's ear. Lord Florent's face paled slightly, but he took a deep breath, signaling his readiness to speak. "I cannot decide on everything, but I can convey His Grace's position. If House Stark agrees to the terms proposed, King Stannis Baratheon will recognize the North's independence. However, the finer details of this arrangement will need to be discussed and decided upon later."
As the tension in the tent reached its peak, Lord Tully, representing the Riverlands and House Tully, stepped forward. "As the Riverlands stand witness to these words, I will ensure that the terms spoken here are conveyed accurately to King Stannis Baratheon," he declared, adding an air of formality to the proceedings.
Eddard Stark, maintaining his stern demeanor, nodded in acknowledgment. "I know King Stannis values duty and honor above all," he said, his gaze shifting between Lord Florent and Lord Davos. "I trust he will stand by the words spoken by his representatives."
In that moment, Rody, who had been silently observing the unfolding negotiations, felt a sudden realization settle over him. The trap laid out was clear. King Stannis's representatives were placed in a position where they had to make immediate decisions without the luxury of consulting their king.
As Lord Davos and Lord Florent took their leave, the lords from the North and the Riverlands engaged in hushed discussions about the implications of the alliance. The air was thick with uncertainty, but the potential benefits outweighed the risks, at least in the eyes of some.
Once the discussions concluded, the lords took their leave, leaving only Rody, King Eddard Stark, and Crag, the stalwart guard, in the tent. The king, with a sagacious look, turned to Rody and asked, "Is there something you wish to say, Ser Rody?"
Caught off guard by the question, Rody hesitated for a moment before gathering his thoughts. "My lord, was this negotiation staged?" he inquired, his eyes probing for the truth. "At first, I thought Lord Tully and King Stannis's envoy had planned it all beforehand. But now, after witnessing the end of the talks, it seems you and Lord Tully forced them into a decision here and now."
A knowing smile crept across Eddard Stark's face. "What do you think, Ser Rody?" he asked, leaving the interpretation of the events to his keen and perceptive knight.
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