Most of the lords would probably recall the recent actions of Highgarden, Sunspear, and Runestone the very day they read the letter, then follow their lead and agree to Viserys's arrangements, sending men back to their lands to muster fresh troops and take stock of provisions and armor.
But some might simply toss the letter onto a table and drink a cup of wine to steady their nerves, while others might gather their vassals behind closed doors to discuss ways of fobbing off this newly crowned young king.
None of that had any direct bearing on Viserys now, however. All the raven letters had been sent, and all that remained was to wait for the lords across the realm to respond.
For now, all these speculations and deliberations over the undercurrents stirring in Westeros remained hidden behind the long oak tables of its castles. None had reached the high walls of the Red Keep.
Before that, however, another undercurrent of power had been stirring relentlessly at the Dreadfort, in the North, more than a thousand leagues from King's Landing.
The Dreadfort stood in the heart of the eastern North, on the banks of the Tears River, roughly two weeks' ride from Winterfell at a normal pace.
The Dreadfort was a sturdy fortress built entirely of gray sandstone, with towering walls and sharp, jagged battlements. A volcanic crater lay nearby, so it was heated in much the same way as Winterfell.
Its corridors, however, were narrow and dim, and the blood-red flayed man banners of House Bolton hung on the walls, lending the place a sinister, chilling air.
The servants and guards in the castle seldom spoke to one another. Even when they did, they kept their voices low, as though afraid of disturbing something.
In the Dreadfort's study, where sunlight