Inside the Lion's Den council hall, the fire in the hearth danced.
The air was heavy and silent.
In the center of the table, the plea for help from Deddington Castle lay still.
Olivier glanced at everyone, cleared his throat, and broke the silence first.
He looked at Solomon and spoke in a steady voice.
"Lord, you previously sent Lu Shen with four hundred soldiers to Deddington Castle. Compared to the other bannermen of House Deddington, this is already loyalty beyond the ordinary."
"I doubt there is another bannerman under Lady Roslin who would be so generous."
He paused, watching Solomon's expression.
"Now House Deddington has suffered a crushing defeat. Lady Roslin has formally asked all bannermen for aid."
"We can simply reply that the highlands face the risk of attacks from highland wildling clans, our forces are already stretched thin, and we cannot send more troops."
"Furthermore, four hundred soldiers guarding House Deddington's castle. No one can accuse us."
As Olivier finished speaking, Hebard's slightly overweight body shifted in his chair.
The chair groaned.
Solomon looked at him.
This fat man had successfully established a lord's monopoly system in five military towns, bringing him monopoly income.
His weight in the council hall now was almost as heavy as his physical weight.
The fat man did not look at Olivier.
His small eyes went straight to Solomon.
He used his usual tone, like evaluating a business deal, and asked, "Lord, forgive me for speaking plainly."
"What do you think, how do your army and those Ironborn who live by raiding on the sea compare?"
Solomon did not answer immediately.
He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers lightly pressing his forehead, and closed his eyes.
A moment later, he opened them. His gaze was calm.
"If the Ironborn are fewer than my army, I can defeat them with very little cost."
His voice echoed in the quiet hall, clear and cold.
"If the numbers are equal, I still believe I can win, but the cost will be heavy. I might lose a third, or even half, of my soldiers."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over everyone.
"But if their numbers exceed mine, I have no certainty of victory."
Hebard spread out his fleshy palm, as if displaying an undeniable product.
Then he grinned, showing the sharpness of a merchant.
"So, Lord, you see, is there profit in this war?"
"Since ancient times, when bannermen respond to their lord's summons, it is either for land or for wealth."
"If a war brings nothing, and one must risk all one's possessions just for a hollow vow, such foolishness can only be found in the songs of wandering minstrels."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice a bit, making it more persuasive.
"The force you sent has already proven your loyalty to everyone, especially to Lady Roslin."
"Compared to those nobles who only sent a few dozen farmers to make up the numbers, your reputation is already loud enough."
"Right now, you have the strongest reason to dodge this. Going to a war with no profit, no reward, and even no chance of victory is purely consuming the family wealth you have so hard accumulated."
Hebard's words struck Solomon straight in the heart.
He felt he had almost integrated into the feudal system of the Westeros region.
A cold, realistic noble lord, constantly calculating his own interests.
House Deddington had nothing left to grant, nothing left to award.
If he committed everything to fight a bloody battle against Ironborn several times his strength, whether he won or lost, ultimately only he would suffer.
That thought lasted only a few breaths.
Then Solomon understood and shattered it.
He had almost truly integrated into the regional environment.
When the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.
If House Deddington's lands were completely slaughtered and destroyed by the Ironborn, then the next target would be his own lands.
Letting these mad dogs rampage in a neighbor's house would, sooner or later, lead to them picking them apart one by one.
That was exactly what the Ironborn wanted.
Silence filled the council hall.
Only Solomon's footsteps echoed.
At last, he stopped.
"Hebard and Olivier are right. We cannot fight a war with no profit. But I still decide to mobilize three hundred more soldiers."
"These three hundred will all be used for our own border patrol with House Deddington. In name, I am responding to Lady Roslin's summons. But my army will not step into Deddington lands."
"We will wait."
In Solomon's eyes flashed a nearly cold rationality.
"We wait for Riverrun's pursuit army to arrive and meet us."
"We wait for the Vale, the North, or the royal army to arrive. That will take at most a month."
After saying this, Solomon fell silent.
This still would not be useful.
If several thousand Ironborn really came, he would have to abandon the plains and retreat to the highlands.
He could fight, but he would not gamble on this war.
And right now, what should be most feared was the safety of Seagard.
If that place fell, eliminating this Ironborn force would lose all meaning.
The Ironborn fleet would be able to roam freely on the Trident.
By then, even if the Vale, the North, or the royal army arrived, the entire Riverlands would already be scorched earth beyond repair.
Just as everyone thought this discussion had settled, the heavy wooden door of the council hall was suddenly knocked.
The knocking was urgent and forceful, completely without the usual formal announcement.
A guard ran in.
He knelt on one knee and held a letter high.
He was breathing heavily from running.
"Lord! An urgent letter from Lady Rona!"
The name Lady Rona made Solomon's heart jump violently.
He stepped quickly forward, snatched the letter, and with forceful fingers tore through the seal.
He unfolded the paper.
His eyes scanned the hurried, frantic writing.
The paper even had fear-tears on it.
Several hundred Ironborn had already crossed the Blue Fork's tributary and poured into her lands like locusts.
They burned villages and raided food.
At the end of the letter was Lady Rona's fearful, trembling question: what should she do? Should she abandon the castle and flee?
Solomon slowly closed the letter.
He could imagine what torment that frail woman had endured.
He let out a long sigh, a sigh of relief.
He had finally been forced onto the boat.
He lifted his head, looked at everyone, and announced calmly, "She and I are one. Her lands and my lands are no different."
That simple sentence was heavier than any vow.
Solomon crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it into the hearth.
The paper ball was instantly consumed by flame, just like the villages being consumed by warfire.
"Brin!"
"Summon five hundred commoner soldiers! Let them bring weapons, armor, and seven days of rations!"
"Yes, Lord!" Brin stood up and answered loudly.
In the council hall, everyone stared at him in shock.
One moment before, the lord had been calculating profit and loss.
The next moment, because of a woman's name, he had completely tilted.
He had decided to rush to the battlefield.
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