All the senior commanders of the coalition were gathered here.
Timett had changed into clean clothes, his face freshly shaved, revealing youthful features. The skin on his cheeks was rough, but beneath the beard the flesh was pale and smooth. His attire was striking, emblazoned with the crescent falcon sigil. Though he had not yet chosen a family name or personal banner, both Bronze Yohn and Tyrion had advised him to wear the Arryn crescent falcon.
Yohn Royce and Horton Redfort sat close beside their uncrowned liege, backs straight, clearly seeing themselves as his left and right hands.
Brynden Tully sat farther away. Since the death of Lord Robert, he rarely attended councils, but today was an exception. Family was the only thing he truly cared about. Blood of House Tully.
At the far end sat the Lannister brothers, Tyrion and Jaime.
The men of the Vale disliked the mountain clans and disliked the Lannisters just as much. Yet circumstance had forced them together, and Tyrion understood that perfectly.
"My lords," he said, "Lyn Corbray is dead. What do we do next? Do we assault the castle, or lay siege?"
"I advise a siege, my lord," Bronze Yohn said to Timett. "Gates of the Moon is the first line of defense beneath the Eyrie. We cannot afford to damage it."
Horton Redfort nodded vigorously.
"Surround them and force their surrender."
"How long can Gates of the Moon hold out?" Tyrion asked. "As you said, it is the Eyrie's first line of defense. Their stores could last four or five years. But their garrison is barely a tenth of our strength. Their weakness and our advantage are obvious. I recommend a direct assault."
"An assault will cost many lives."
"A siege will cost us time," Tyrion countered. "As long as Littlefinger lives, supporters and troops from the Vale will keep arriving. Today it's Lyn Corbray. Tomorrow it will be someone else. The day after, twice as many."
"Enough arguing," Blackfish said. "I only care that whatever method we choose, Lysa's safety is guaranteed. Lord Royce, do we have news from inside Gates of the Moon?"
"Littlefinger has bought off most of them," Yohn Royce replied, "but I still have an informant inside. Lysa Tully has gone mad. Littlefinger keeps her locked alone in a chamber. May the Seven grant her mercy."
"Mercy?" Brynden Tully snapped. "What are you saying?" He slammed his gauntlet onto the floor. "Does my niece no longer deserve to live? I don't care about the Eyrie, Gates of the Moon, or the Warden of the Vale. I want Lysa. If anything happens to her—"
He turned and stormed out, the tent flap snapping behind him.
Hateful, yet pitiful. All the women of House Tully were the same, Tyrion thought, glancing at Bronze. He knew the Lord of Runestone had once been among Lysa's suitors. But now? With Little Robert dead, her suitors had scattered like monkeys fleeing a fallen tree.
"Blackfish values family above all else," Jaime said quietly. "I know him."
"The forces at Heart's Home have already begun withdrawing," Bronze Yohn said. "Since Ser Lyn's death, their morale has been collapsing by the day. Perhaps…"
"Return the body and Lady Forlorn to Lord Lyonel Corbray," Tyrion finished for him. "In exchange for their loyalty to Timett."
"Correct." Bronze Yohn's tone softened slightly. "Though we differ on how to handle Gates of the Moon, I must admit you are a clever man. So you agree to this plan?"
"I agree to half of it," Tyrion said. "The body can be returned at once. I have no objection. Tell Lord Lyonel his brother died bravely. But the sword…"
He tapped Lady Forlorn lightly.
"Lady Forlorn stays with us. Only when Littlefinger is dead will it be returned to Heart's Home."
"That demand is not unreasonable," Bronze said after a moment's thought, nodding.
"Lady Waynwood's forces from Ironoaks are already on the march," Horton Redfort added. "Roughly a thousand men, including many hedge knights from the southern Vale who still swear loyalty to Littlefinger. Our reports arrived this morning. They should reach us within two weeks."
"They're slow already," Tyrion said with a hint of disdain. "Slow to gather, slow to march, slow in everything. Littlefinger is fortunate to have such allies. Still, does Lady Waynwood not worry about Harrold Hardyng's safety? He's trapped inside Gates of the Moon as well."
"He is only her foster son," Horton Redfort sighed. "For her to commit troops at all is no small thing. In the end, we must still fight."
"We storm Gates of the Moon," Tyrion said firmly. "Break the gates, clear every corridor and staircase. Capture Nestor Royce, then pardon him. Gates of the Moon remains under the stewardship of its seneschal, your kinsman."
He turned to Bronze.
"Seize Harrold Hardyng. We'll use her foster son and her second son to force her to kneel. Then send Hardyng to King's Landing, give him a fine position far from the Vale. Finally, kill Littlefinger and leave these chameleons without anyone to serve. Ten days. Ten days to take Gates of the Moon."
"You still insist on a direct assault," Bronze said. "Stubbornness should not be a Lannister trait."
"If we delay, we'll have to meet the Ironoaks army in open field," Tyrion replied. "Would that cost fewer lives?"
"Can Nestor Royce retain his title as Lord of Gates of the Moon?"
"That depends on Lord Timett," Tyrion said with a shrug. "All our plans require the approval of the Eyrie's heir, do they not?"
"Is this Nestor Royce an honorable and reliable man?" Timett asked.
"Nestor Royce has long served as Seneschal of the Vale and Keeper of Gates of the Moon," Yohn Royce said after exchanging a glance with Horton Redfort. "He is diligent and upright. A good man, in our eyes."
"In that case, his crimes may be pardoned," Timett said gruffly. "Provided he shows true repentance and swears loyalty to me."
Tyrion looked around the tent.
"Then what of the plan to storm Gates of the Moon? Do any of you object?"
Timett's gaze swept across the assembled commanders. When no one spoke, he rose to his feet and delivered the final decision.
Beginning tomorrow, preparations will begin for a full assault on Gates of the Moon.