Five years since they had set out to conquer the Vale, and still they were getting nowhere. They had conquered castles only to have the lords of those castles rebel when they moved on. It was a tiring business this, and Edmure was now facing the consequences of it, lying face down, dying, his last grandson Benjamin had died a few days ago. He knew not where he was but he knew he was dead. He sighed. "Conquest and Faith indeed my king." And then he breathed no more, dead on the fifth day of the twelfth month 665 years before the dragons landed.