The sky over Gulltown darkened as the first true flames of war lit Westeros.
Reports poured in: Lord Hoster Tully had declared for Baratheon. The Starks marched south in vengeance. Jon Arryn, Protector of the Vale, broke from neutrality and pledged his banners to Robert's cause. In every mountain valley and along the coastal towns, banners were sewn and swords sharpened.
But in Gulltown, a storm of a different kind began to stir.
Lord Gerold Grafton, young and proud, had made a decision that stunned his court. He would not follow Jon Arryn. He would not fight for the rebellion. He declared his loyalty to the Iron Throne, to House Targaryen—and by extension, to the Mad King Aerys.
The proclamation came during a hastily assembled court gathering. Edward, standing among the crowd in his simple grey cloak, watched the faces around him shift from confusion to disbelief.
"I have sworn no fealty to Robert Baratheon," Gerold said, his voice ringing out. "The Graftons have served the realm for generations. The Targaryens are the realm. We will not betray the crown, no matter what Arryn decides."
Whispers rippled like thunder through the stone hall.
Edward said nothing. He didn't have to.
Later that day, merchants met in shadowed rooms. Captains of ships murmured to one another in quiet taverns. The common folk, who had once been indifferent to their lord's politics, now looked to Edward Grafton with anxious eyes.
He had prepared them for months—for order, for stability, for survival. And now Gerold was dragging them toward madness.
At dusk, a group of prominent noblemen and merchants met Edward in the granary now used as his provisional headquarters.
"We can't let this happen," said Meryn Velan, master of the shipwrights. "The ports will close. The Riverlands won't trade with us. We'll starve."
"Jon Arryn's word is law in the Vale," added Ser Caldon Royce. "If we're seen supporting the Targaryens, the Eyrie will crush us."
Edward listened silently. Across from him, Hal Vex leaned against a beam, arms folded. Tym stood by the doorway, alert as always.
"It must not be me," Edward finally said. "Not unless I'm asked."
"You are being asked," said Velan. "By everyone who matters."
A silence settled. Edward stood and walked to the window. Beyond it, Gulltown's torches flickered to life as the sun dipped below the waterline.
"He is still my kin," he said. "And still the Lord of Gulltown."
"You've built a city within the city," said Lady Elenna of House Tyrell's trading branch in the Vale. "Your father is respected. Your men loyal. The banners might not fly, but they follow you."
"Gulltown cannot afford treason," murmured Edmure from the shadows. "But we also cannot afford a lord who betrays the Vale. You don't need to take the city by force. You only need to open the gates to the truth."
Edward turned slowly. "Then we do it together. If the people ask for me, I'll answer. But I won't turn this into a coup."
And so, the quiet plan was set in motion.
Over the next ten days, Edward's allies spread the word carefully. Letters were penned to Jon Arryn explaining the situation: a rogue lord acting against the wishes of the Vale. Merchants halted their payments to Gerold. City guards shifted their loyalty without a word.
The people—those Edward had protected, fed, and organized—began murmuring his name openly.
When Gerold ordered ships to be prepared to carry soldiers for the Targaryens, no captains came. When he summoned the city's blacksmiths to forge new weapons, they refused, citing "backlogs from Edward's guard."
The final straw came when a delegation of mountain clansmen loyal to House Arryn came to Gulltown, demanding to know the city's position.
Gerold denied them entry. Edward greeted them personally.
On the twelfth day, the bells rang in the square. Hundreds gathered to hear Edward speak. He stood not on a dais, not behind guards or banners—but on the steps of the Quiet Hearth, where Myria once treated beggars and soldiers alike.
"I am no usurper," he said. "No conqueror. But I will not let Gulltown fall into chaos. Lord Gerold has chosen a path that leads to fire. The Vale does not follow Targaryens. Neither shall we."
There was no cheer. Only solemn nods. Men and women who had known war before, who feared the dragons more than wolves.
That night, Gerold Grafton was approached in his chambers by three of his own guards. They were quiet. Respectful.
And they escorted him to the tower overlooking the harbor, where Edward waited.
"You've stolen my city," Gerold said bitterly.
"I saved it from you," Edward replied.
"I am still the rightful lord."
"Then you will live. You will keep your name. But you will not rule."
Gerold looked at him long and hard, then at the guards. He saw no victory.
He walked away.
The next day, Edward Grafton was named Protector of Gulltown by the will of the city's council and under quiet approval from the Eyrie.
No banners changed. No blood spilled.
But the war had come to Gulltown.
And Edward now ruled it.