Game of thrones: the Sunblode rise

Chapter 65: The King's Intervention

The smoke of war lingered in the Riverlands, but its echoes had reached far beyond its borders. In King's Landing, the stories of Tywin Lannister's defeats and Ivar Sunblode's defiance had become the talk of the court. The lion's humiliation and the wolf's growing reputation were impossible to ignore, and whispers began to reach the ears of King Robert Baratheon himself.

For Robert, tales of bloody battles and cunning victories stirred something deep within him—a yearning for the days when he, too, had been a warrior, fighting for his crown with hammer in hand. But these stories also brought with them a threat to the fragile peace of the realm.

The king's court had grown restless with each new report. Lords muttered over goblets of wine, and the Small Council found themselves mired in debates over how to address the growing instability. Tywin Lannister, once considered unassailable, now appeared vulnerable. The Riverlands, once the heart of the rebellion that had placed Robert on the throne, were rallying under the banner of a lord no one had anticipated.

When a raven brought word of Tywin's latest retreat, Robert's patience finally snapped. He slammed his goblet on the feasting table, sending wine splashing across the polished wood. The sound reverberated through the hall, silencing the chatter of the assembled lords.

"Enough of this!" Robert bellowed, his voice filling the chamber. "I've had my fill of squabbling and bloodshed. Summon the council! This war ends now."

Within hours, a royal decree was drafted and sealed with the crown's sigil. The King of the Seven Kingdoms commanded a halt to the bloodshed and summoned all parties to Harrenhal for a council. Refusal, the decree warned, would be considered treason.

The decree was dispatched with royal authority, its reach stretching across Westeros.

At Riverrun, Ivar stood in the great hall, listening to the cheers of his men as they celebrated another successful raid against Tywin's supply lines. The mood in the castle was triumphant, but Ivar's mind was elsewhere.

A messenger burst into the hall, his face flushed and his breathing labored. In his hand, he clutched a scroll bearing the royal seal of House Baratheon.

"Lord Sunblode," the messenger said, bowing hastily. "A decree from King Robert."

The hall fell silent as Ivar took the scroll and broke the seal. His sharp eyes scanned the parchment, his expression unreadable as he read the king's words.

To Lord Ivar Sunblode, Defender of the Riverlands,

The bloodshed in the Riverlands has stained the honor of the realm and threatens the peace I fought to forge. As King of the Seven Kingdoms, I command you to halt your campaigns and attend a council at Harrenhal, where all parties shall gather to negotiate terms.

Failure to comply will be seen as rebellion against the Crown.

By the authority of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Ivar folded the parchment slowly, his expression betraying no emotion.

"Well?" Lysa Blackthorne asked, her sharp eyes fixed on him.

"The king has summoned me to Harrenhal," Ivar said. "He wants a truce."

The hall erupted in murmurs, the soldiers exchanging uneasy glances.

Roland Emberhill stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "A truce? After everything Tywin's done?"

"It's not a request," Ivar said. "It's a command. And if I refuse, I risk turning the Crown against us."

"Perhaps that's what Tywin wants," Lysa said thoughtfully. "To force the king to intervene and undermine your momentum."

"Perhaps," Ivar replied. "But we'll turn this to our advantage. If Robert wants peace, we'll give it to him—on our terms."

Days later, Ivar rode toward Harrenhal with a small contingent of his most trusted advisors. Lysa, Roland, and Timothy Sunrise accompanied him, their expressions reflecting a mix of caution and curiosity.

Harrenhal loomed on the horizon like a scar on the land, its massive towers and crumbling walls a testament to both its grandeur and its decay. As they approached, the banners of House Baratheon flew high above the castle, signaling the king's presence.

The atmosphere within Harrenhal was tense. Tywin Lannister's forces occupied the northern wing of the castle, while Ivar's delegation was housed in the southern. The tension between the two groups was palpable, with every glance and word laced with suspicion.

The great hall of Harrenhal was filled with lords and knights from across the realm. At the head of the chamber sat King Robert Baratheon, his massive frame draped in a fur-lined cloak. He held his warhammer at his side, a reminder of the warrior he had once been.

To his right stood Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, his expression grave. To his left, Queen Cersei Lannister watched the proceedings with cold, calculating eyes.

As Ivar entered the hall, his crimson cloak drawing every eye, Robert leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowing.

"So, you're the one they call the Wolf of the Riverlands," Robert said, his voice booming. "You've caused quite the stir."

Ivar bowed slightly, his expression calm. "Your Grace. I fight only to protect the Riverlands from destruction."

"And you've done a fine job of it," Robert said with a grin. "But you've also made a mess that I now have to clean up."

Tywin Lannister entered the hall next, his golden armor gleaming. He moved with the cold precision of a predator, his sharp gaze locking onto Ivar.

"Your Grace," Tywin said, bowing deeply. "I trust you will see reason in these negotiations."

Robert waved a hand dismissively. "Reason? You both think you're in the right, and that's the problem. So, here's how this is going to work. You're going to sit down, shut up, and listen to me."

The hall fell silent as Robert rose to his feet, his presence commanding.

"The Riverlands are part of my realm," he said. "And I won't have them turned into a graveyard because you two can't settle your differences. Tywin, you'll withdraw your forces and end your scorched-earth campaign. Ivar, you'll halt your raids and return to Riverrun."

"And what of justice, Your Grace?" Ivar asked, his voice steady but firm. "The Riverlands have suffered greatly under Tywin's hand. Will his crimes go unanswered?"

Robert's gaze hardened. "Justice will be served. Tywin will pay reparations to the Riverlands—gold, grain, and whatever else is needed to rebuild. And you, Ivar, will ensure that peace is maintained."

Tywin's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The prospect of reparations clearly rankled him, but defying the king was not an option.

In the days that followed, the terms of the truce were formalized. Tywin's forces began to withdraw, and shipments of gold and supplies were sent to Riverrun as part of the reparations.

Though the truce was a victory for Ivar, he knew it was also a fragile one. The Riverlands had gained breathing room, but Tywin's retreat was not a sign of surrender—it was a pause, a chance for the lion to regroup and strike again.

As Ivar prepared to return to Riverrun, Lysa approached him.

"You played this well," she said. "The king's intervention gave us more than we could have hoped for. But Tywin won't forget this."

"He doesn't have to," Ivar replied. "He just has to bleed long enough for the Riverlands to recover. And when the time comes, we'll be ready for him."