Arthur's mouth hung open as Lyman Leicester's voice echoed through the hall with a strange sincerity.
"Will you be my son?"
The expression on Arthur's face froze. A thought, so absurd it made him want to laugh, flashed through his mind: 'I treat you as a temporary sugar daddy, but you want to be my father?'
However... he quickly recalled the inheritance laws of this world. Bloodline was the foundation that determined everything here. Some minor families, in order to inherit the legacy of major families that had died out, might change their surnames for legitimacy, but even then, they needed to find some far-fetched, distant blood relation.
As for using an adopted son with no blood relation to inherit a long-standing family, it was still unheard of in Westeros.
After much consideration, though it was very tempting, Arthur still rose and bowed, speaking humbly: "My Lord, your kindness is more than I can repay... But my family has no blood ties that can connect with House Leicester."
Deep disappointment showed in Lyman's cloudy eyes. He had heard the polite refusal in Arthur's words. His dry lips moved, and his voice carried a hint of sorrow.
"My sons, some for Targaryen, some for Robert Baratheon, none of them returned."
The old man's hunched figure looked particularly desolate in the flickering firelight of the hearth.
"House Leicester, with me, will end."
"No one knows who will inherit my title as a Leicester after I die. What bloodline will they have? Perhaps just a bastard that family found in some brothel."
"A conspiracy for my property and land."
He looked at Arthur again, a strange light burning in his eyes. His dead sons told him that the young man before him would one day elevate his surname to a position he dared not dream of, though he knew they were dead and everything was actually his own illusion.
"Child, reconsider."
"You don't even need to change your name to Leicester. We can find a way to merge the names and sigils of both families!"
Arthur was stunned by the old man's 'innovative' idea. A ridiculous name slipped out: "Leicester Stinkfort?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. It sounded like mockery. Unexpectedly, Lyman Leicester first paused, then burst into a fit of laughter.
He laughed so hard he bent over, tears streaming from his eyes, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world.
The heavy and sad atmosphere in the hall was greatly diluted by his laughter. The old man wiped his eyes:
"Good! A good name! I can personally write to King Robert! Given the circumstances of my House! Perhaps he will make an exception and allow it!"
Arthur didn't want to dwell on the topic. He brought the conversation back on track: "My Lord, have you truly decided not to send troops anymore?"
The smile on Lyman's face instantly vanished. He shook his head, his attitude firm: "No, I'm not going."
He looked at Arthur, like a true elder advising a junior.
"Child, you shouldn't go either."
"This war, from beginning to end, has nothing to do with you. I've heard you've done enough for Daedings Family."
"Guard your castle, guard your property, and quietly wait for this storm to pass."
Arthur remained silent, not responding. The storm to pass? He knew very well that great opportunities lay within great upheavals. If he did nothing and merely waited for the storm to pass, he would gain nothing.
The atmosphere between the two became subtle again. Lyman Leicester raised his wine glass, seemingly wanting to break the silence:
"Come, child, we..." Before he could finish, the hall door was violently thrown open. A House Leicester knight, supporting a mud-splattered messenger, rushed in. The messenger's armor was covered in grime, as if he had just climbed out of a mud pit. His lips were cracked, his eyes bloodshot, and he was almost collapsing from exhaustion.
He used the last ounce of his strength to hoarsely shout:
"Something terrible has happened!"
The entire hall instantly fell into a deathly silence. Everyone's gaze focused on this ominous messenger.
The messenger gasped for air, each word seemingly torn from his throat with a knife: "Seaguard... Seaguard has fallen!!"
The wine glass in Lyman Leicester's hand slipped, shattering into pieces on the stone floor. The clear wine splashed, and Arthur felt his eardrums vibrate.
The messenger continued his report, his voice trembling with fear: "Victarion Greyjoy's fleet has taken Seaguard! And has already entered the Three Rivers!"
"Now! At least twelve thousand Ironborn! Have entered the Trident River!!!!"
This number caused the knights in the hall to gasp. The messenger finally used all his strength to shout the command that would determine everyone's fate.
"Governor Hoster of Riverrun has issued a military order!"
"All nobles! Must hold their castles! And await the King's reinforcements!"
"Anyone who dares to abandon their castle!! And flee privately!! Will be severely punished for treason after the war!!!"
With the command delivered, the messenger could no longer stand. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. The entire hall descended into utter panic and despair. Knights looked at each other, their faces filled with fear. Maidservants covered their mouths to stifle their screams.
Lyman Leicester's face was ashen. His eyes, which had just regained a hint of vitality, now held only a deathly solemnity.
He subconsciously looked at Arthur, but saw a sight that utterly shocked him. Arthur's face was calm and unruffled.
There was no panic, no fear, not even the slightest hint of surprise. His dark eyes were as deep as night, as if this news, enough to overturn the entire Riverlands, had long been within his expectations.
Just then, Rosso Brun also hurried in, reporting to Arthur with a grave expression: "My Lord! House Blackwood's army has already left without permission!"
"Ser Hendry said they are returning immediately to Stone Hedge to defend!"
Arthur raised a hand, gently pressing his forehead. 'Good, now this so-called allied army has truly vanished into thin air.'
Lyman Leicester looked at Arthur, saying in a tone of unprecedented seriousness: "Child, listen to my advice."
"Don't linger outside any longer! Return to your castle immediately!"
The old man's voice trembled slightly.
"The Ironborn have entered the Trident River! In less than a week! Their longships will be on every tributary!"
"As long as you can hold out! At most a month! The King's reinforcements will arrive!"
Arthur nodded. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the vast and silent land beyond the castle. The night was deep, yet he seemed to see countless noble castles turning to ash in flames, ancient families heading towards extinction amidst wails of sorrow.
The Ironborn longships would spread along the rivers, like bloodthirsty locusts, bringing war and death to every corner. An old era was collapsing in the most tragic way, and a new era was about to be born in the ruins of blood and fire.
He murmured to himself, his voice carrying a cold chill: "The rehearsal of iron and blood... is coming."
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