Looming alone in the dark, sitting on her ice-cold throne, made of stone sat Lady Lothston. She was mistress of the largest castle in Westeros. She had ruled it for many years now. And her family had ruled it long before she had done. But she felt empty inside. As empty and cold as the very stones of this castle. Empty and mocked. Mocked by her very own vassals. Which had angered her. She had burned the ravens alive who had brought the bad news of two of her vassals declining their support for there liege. Father would never have allowed this. She thought. They might think I am weak. They might have consulted me in why they failed to raise there levy. Don't they understand it was for their own good? To protect them for these strange bandits.
She might have understood the reasons for ser Blanetree, who was recently the victim of the raid. However, he should have consulted her, which he failed to do. Ser Wode had no excuse and had brought the wrath of Lady Danelle upon himself and his family. She had thought about it, what to do about this situation?
She had consulted with herself and the ghosts of Harrenhal and had made a decision about what she should do.
The maester was called out his bed and she commanded him to write letters to the knights of Esgaroth and Shoreham. Summoning them to Harrenhal.