In the towering hall of the Eyrie.
The fighting spirit Lysa Arryn had just stirred up flickered like a bonfire on a mountaintop in the cold wind, threatening to go out at any moment.
Excitement and unease mingled on the faces of the noble knights.
The glory of killing a dragon was certainly tempting, but the fear of becoming enemies of the entire North and the royal family was no small matter either.
For now, the Conservatives and Surrenderists made up the overwhelming majority.
Some of the more pragmatic men had already begun considering how to feign agreement, then put in only a token effort, hoping to earn leniency when they were brought to judgment.
Their armies were strong, and Lynn's Wildlings were weak, but they must never forget one thing.
If they wanted to attack the Gift, they could never get around Winterfell.
The North was no pushover!
If the Vale dared attack, Ned would deal it a devastating blow!
Lysa Arryn took it all in.
She knew hatred and temptation alone were not enough.
She had to give these wavering fence-sitters something that would truly set their minds at ease.
Only then could she persuade them all to walk this tightrope with her, and only then could she survive Robert's wrath.
"I know what you are worried about."
Lysa's voice rang out again.
This time, she put away her madness and adopted the confidence of someone with everything under control.
"Do you think I have no dependable allies?"
She surveyed the crowd, a mysterious smile curling her lips.
"You have forgotten that besides Arryn, my name is also Tully!"
"Riverrun is my home, and Duke Hoster Tully is my father."
"House Tully's banners will always fly for its own blood!"
"The Riverlands will be our first line of