Robert's Grief and Fury, Army Lost in the Riverlands

Robert Baratheon's laughter echoed through the tent, full of smug satisfaction.

He had just set what he believed to be an utterly fair wager, an open scheme that would silence everyone.

Eddard Stark silently watched his friend, whose face was bloated from excessive drinking.

It was filled with a childish provocation no king should possess.

The bannermen in the tent exchanged looks, but no one dared say another word.

The king had made his decision—a decision that placed the fate of House Lychester on the line.

Just then, the tent flap was once again yanked open roughly.

This time, it was not a servant who rushed in, but a Crownlands noble with a ferocious expression.

He did not even have time to bow before throwing himself to the ground, his voice hoarse with overwhelming grief.

"Your Majesty!"

The smile on Robert Baratheon's face froze. He hated being disturbed when he was in high spirits.

"What is it?" he roared impatiently. "Has the sky fallen?"

The noble raised his head, his face filled with fury.

"It's worse than the sky falling, Your Majesty!"

"The Riverlands...

...the Riverlands have risen in rebellion!"

Those words were like a cold current from The North, instantly freezing every sound and all warmth within the tent.

The color drained from Robert Baratheon's face.

He stepped forward, his massive body radiating an immense pressure.

"What did you say? Speak clearly!"

Panting heavily, the noble shouted with all his strength, "House Lychester! In the name of punishing the Usurper, they have raised an army in the Riverlands!"

"Suleiman has led his troops south, unstoppable as a flood!"

"Every castle along the way has either fled or surrendered! None can stand against him!"

"King's Landing...

...King's Landing is in imminent danger!"

Silence.

A deathly silence.

The air seemed to