The great hall of Riverrun was full of anger and treasonous words. Torches guttered in their sconces, their flames bending under the weight of raised voices. Lords of the North and Riverlands crowded the long tables, armor clinking as men leaned forward to hear and to shout. At the end, Robb Stark stood stiffly, parchment in hand, his youth plain in the set of his jaw but shadowed by the mantle of command.
The letter bore the seal of the stags but all of them knew it had words of lannisters. His voice did not shake as he read it aloud:
"The boy Robb Stark is commanded to lay down arms and swear fealty to His Grace Joffrey Baratheon, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. In return, Lord Eddard Stark, convicted traitor, will be granted mercy and allowed to take the black for his crimes. Any refusal will see him executed and the North burned."
By the time Robb finished, the chamber was already trembling with outrage.
Greatjon Umber bellowed first, his voice carrying over all others, "Kneel? To a whelp born of a brother's rut with his sister? By the Old Gods, I'd sooner have my tongue torn out than give oath to such filth!" He slammed his fist upon the table, rattling the cups and pitchers.
Rickard Karstark's face was pale with rage. "They dare name him traitor? Lord Eddard, who bled for Robert's throne while Tywin Lannister hid in his rock until the battle was won? I'll not hear another word of kneeling. War is upon us."
Even Roose Bolton's quiet tones carried a chill. "Anger is well and good, but anger wins no battles. The lions gather at Harrenhal, the roses beside them. If they march for the Green Fork, then we must meet them with cold precision."
The Blackfish, Brynden Tully, leaned forward, grey hair catching the torchlight. "He is right. They will come for us swift and hard. Tywin does not linger. We must decide where to meet them, and how to bleed them."
Edmure Tully, harried and pale, nodded vigorously. "Our strength lies here, at Riverrun. If we hold the Trident, we can force them to a crossing, buy time for the Riverlords to muster. The Lannisters bleed easily when stretched thin."
Lord Jason Mallister raised his voice next. "The sea is mine, and Seagard stands strong, but the Riverlands is being invaded while we sit in councils. We must answer the invaders with steel."
Arguments rose and clashed like swords. The lords debated the Green Fork, the crossings and where to draw lines of defense. Maps were unrolled, ink was spilled and tempers were flaring high. Robb stood silent amidst it, his hand on Grey Wind's head, the direwolf's low growl silencing men quicker than any command.
At last, the uproar gave way to plans. The host would march to the Green Fork. Scouts would ride ahead. Every man of the Riverlands who could bear steel would be called to arms.
When the lords began to finally drift away from the hall, voices still sharp with anger, Robb lingered behind. Theon Greyjoy sidled close, grinning with restless energy.
"You should let me send a raven to Pyke," Theon urged, his voice low. "My father would be glad to join the war, will probably be happy to do the burning of Lannisport again. He'd join us, split the Lannister men in half before they could gather in strong."
Robb's jaw clenched. "Your father started a rebellion once Theon. I do not trust him to keep it only to Westerlands."
Theon smirked, though his eyes betrayed a hint of pleading. "You need ships, Robb. My father has them. You can't fight Lannisters and Tyrells both without every ally you can get."
Robb exhaled, weary as Grey Wind stirred at his feet. "I'll think on it."
Far away, the towers of Castle Darry loomed, their stones damp with the mist of late evening. Ser Raymun Darry had ridden hard, dust and mud clinging to his boots, his heart thundering with the urgency of his secret. The expedition with Beric Dondarrion had taken him farther than he had ever thought to go, but it had also given him something he never dreamed to hold again—hope.
He had joined the Beric Dondarrion's expedition not out of loyalty to Eddard Stark words, nor for the gold, but for the ghost of a prince with silver hair. He'd heard what the Mountain had done to the Red Keep, the bloody stains on the throne room floor, and the whispered tales of two small children butchered like pigs. His rage had burned for a justice no king would ever grant.
Yet when the ambush came, he was as helpless as any other, swords were like straw against Gregor's brute strength. The Mountain was an unstoppable force of iron, a juggernaut of pure hatred. Raymun's own righteous fury was a child's tantrum against the storm.
But then everything changed, it wasn't his hand that avenged Elia's children. It was a boy's. A boy who fought with a direwolf at his side, a boy with eyes of fire and hair of ice.
He could still hear it in his mind: the boy who saved him, the direwolf's red eyes, the truth spoken in camp by the firelight.
The son of Rhaegar Targaryen lived. And not only lived, but fought. Fought and killed the Mountain and his band of butchers. Justice for Elia's children had come, at long last, from the very bloodline they had slain. His grief and rage turned to a new kind of fire, a fire of awe and fealty. He had bent his knee to the true heir then and there, for a new day had dawned over the Riverlands.
He took the steps to his father's solar two at a time, breath ragged with excitement. He did not knock. He burst through the door, words already spilling—
"Father, I bring news! I have seen—"
But the sight before him strangled his voice.
Lord Darry sat rigid at his desk, across from a soldier Raymun knew from the expedition, one who had ridden under Beric's banner. But standing beside him, tall and straight despite the years, was a man out of story and song. His white hair caught the candlelight, his lined face stern, and though he wore no armor, Raymun knew the weight of him at once.
Ser Barristan the Bold.
Raymun froze in the doorway, the words dying in his throat. His heart pounded with the enormity of it. Barristan Selmy himself, here, in Darry's solar, with his father.
The knight turned at the sound, his sharp blue eyes falling on Raymun. Recognition dawned upon his face, and in it something more, it was a flicker of surprise and almost disbelief.
"You," Barristan said, his voice rough with wonder. "You were with him. The King."
Raymun's lips parted, his breath coming fast. "You know," he whispered.
The old knight took a single step closer, his hand resting lightly upon the hilt at his side, though not in threat. His eyes shone with something Raymun had not expected to see in a man so storied.
"Yes," Barristan said softly. "I know. And if what I heard is true, then the realm is not as lost as I feared."