Riverrun.
Inside the dimly lit solar of the solar tower, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and cold tallow. Robb Stark sat hunched over a heavy stone table, the bronze spikes of his crown casting jagged shadows against the maps spread before him. His expression was solemn, his eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep that no king could truly afford.
Dozens of letters lay scattered like autumn leaves across the table. The most troubling among them was the earliest arrival, a message from his uncle Brynden, the "Blackfish," currently garrisoned at Harrenhal. Ser Brynden's scouts, tasked with monitoring the roads toward the Crownlands, had spotted a terrifying sight: the green banner of a red-clad hunter drawing a bow.
House Tarly of Horn Hill.
There was no mistaking the sigil of Randyll Tarly. He was a man renowned across the Seven Kingdoms as a commander who had never known defeat in the field, the only man to have ever bested Robert Baratheon during the Rebellion. However, the Tarly scouts were as elite as their reputation suggested. They were quick, decisive, and had detected the Blackfish's men before their own strength could be fully gauged. After a brief, bloody skirmish, the Northern scouts had been forced to retreat. By the time Brynden sent a larger force to investigate, the Tarly army had vanished.
Seven or eight thousand men had simply evaporated into the Riverlands.
"Ruby Ford is held by the Dreadfort men," Robb muttered to the empty room, his finger tracing the Blue Fork. "The river is in flood. It's a natural wall. They can't pass there. Are they heading for Saltpans? Maidenpool?"
He shook his head, the logic failing him. If Tarly intended to strike Saltpans, seven thousand men were not enough to hold it against a pincer from Harrenhal and the local garrisons. Randyll Tarly was too seasoned a general to make a mistake that elementary. The uncertainty was a gnawing hunger in Robb's gut.
The heavy oak door was suddenly pushed open with a violent bang. Lady Catelyn hurried in, her face etched with a mask of anxiety and sharp reproach. Behind her followed a silhouette of living steel, Brienne of Tarth. The woman was a giant in blue-enameled plate, her helmet rarely removed, her back draped in an old, seven-colored silk cloak that marked her as a former member of Renly's Rainbow Guard.
"Robb!" Catelyn's voice was a whip-crack in the quiet room.
"Mother," Robb replied, his voice flat. He didn't look up, his gaze remaining fixed on the tactical lines of the Trident. The warmth that usually defined their relationship had been replaced by a chilly, professional distance.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Catelyn demanded, striding to the table. She looked down at her son; the red of his hair was matted, his beard grown thick and dark. "The Iron Islands fleet has invaded the North. Deepwood Motte has fallen. And you sit here playing with wooden blocks and ink!"
Robb remained silent, his jaw tightening.
"I warned you, Robb," she continued, her voice rising. "I told you not to let Theon Greyjoy leave this castle. He was a hostage, the only thing keeping Balon, that kraken, in his cave. But you wouldn't listen. You insisted on sending him as an envoy to a father who had already forgotten him."
She let out a trembling breath. "And now? Now the North is engulfed in fire. Your brothers, Seven Gods, Robb, Bran's legs are broken, and Rickon is only four years old. They have to face a swarm of Ironborn because you wanted a friend instead of a prisoner!"
Robb felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The words were almost identical to the warning Eddard Karstark had given him weeks ago, though Karstark had phrased it with a cold, tactical edge that had cut deeper than a mother's grief.
Robb glanced at Brienne. The Maid of Tarth understood the silent command; she bowed stiffly and exited the room, leaving the Mother and the King alone.
"Mother," Robb said finally, his voice sullen and heavy. "This has nothing to do with Theon."
"Nothing to do with--"
"Theon is dead," Robb cut her off. The words hit the room like a physical weight. "He died in Fairmarket shortly after you left to meet Renly. Lord Jason Mallister found the body. It was the work of Westerlands rebels or deserters. They burned him, Mother. There was nothing left but charred bone."
Catelyn's eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a cry. "Seven Gods..."
"So you see," Robb continued, his eyes finally meeting hers, "whether I sent him home or kept him in a cage, Balon Greyjoy had already decided to strike. He didn't care about his son. He cared about a crown of salt and rock."
"And you didn't tell me?" Catelyn wailed. "I am your mother! I have lost a husband to a Lannister axe, and now you treat me like a stranger in my own home!"
"You are my mother," Robb shouted, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the stone. "And you will always be my mother. But I am the King! My Hand warned me that the Ironborn were coming, and I have done what I can. I sent ravens to the Manderlys to fortify the White Knife. I sent word to the Reeds to hold Moat Cailin. But I cannot be in two places at once!"
Catelyn was not comforted. "Then hurry and send the army North! Every day we sit in Riverrun is another day my babies spend in terror!"
Robb slumped back into his chair, his spirit seemingly deflated. "It's not that simple. King's Landing has the Tyrells now. Fifty thousand Reachmen. If I take the army North, the Lannisters will march across the Trident and burn everything you ever called home. And the Riverlords... they won't follow me."
Catelyn frowned. "They swore oaths, Robb. They named you King of the Trident."
Robb pushed a stack of letters toward her. "Read them. They swear oaths with their mouths and hide their men in their cellars."
Catelyn picked up the first letter, the Pink Maiden of House Piper. Earl Clement stated that with a thousand men already garrisoned at the Golden Tooth under Karstark command, his fields were barren and his people were starving. He begged for mercy and refused to send a single man more.
She picked up another. House Bracken of Stone Hedge. Their lands had been razed by the Mountain; they claimed their fortress was on the verge of collapse and begged the King for gold and grain rather than providing swords.
Lord Jason Mallister wrote that while he had sent his son Patrek with five hundred men, the rest must remain at Seagard to watch for the Kraken's sails. House Vance provided only a thousand men between their two branches, a pittance for a house of their standing. Maidenpool and Saltpans had refused outright, claiming the threat from the Crownlands was too great.
"Three thousand men," Robb whispered. "That is all the Riverlands would give me to reclaim the North. Only Lord Tytos Blackwood showed true loyalty, arriving with fifteen hundred of his own."
He looked at his mother with a mix of anger and distress. "They were happy to follow me when we were winning gold in the West. But now that the North is cold and the Lannisters are strong? They've found their spines and they're using them to say 'no'."
Catelyn looked at the pile of refusals. "Then make peace, Robb. This war has cost us everything. If the lords won't fight, and your brothers are in danger, give Tywin what he wants. Return his son. Return Jaime."
"My vassals would never agree!" Robb roared. "The Karstarks, the Umbers, they've bled for this cause. If I hand over the Kingslayer for nothing, they'll put my head on a spike next to my father's!"
"They elected you!" Catelyn screamed back. "They can--"
The door slammed open again. Edmure Tully rushed in, his face pale and slick with sweat. He was clutching a piece of parchment with a broken wax sea, the black sunburst of Karstark.
"Robb! Robb! A letter from the Twins! From Eddard!"
Smalljon Umber and Brienne were at his heels, unable to restrain the Lord of Riverrun in his urgency. Robb snatched the letter, his eyes darting across the lines. As he read, the blood drained from his face. The mystery of Randyll Tarly, the silence of the Ruby Ford, it all clicked into a terrifying new reality.
"Eddmure," Robb said, his voice trembling with a cold, sharp fury. "Find Lord Jon, Galbart Glover, and Tytos Blackwood. Immediately. Do not speak a word of this to anyone else."
He looked at the map, then at the window where the Frey camp sat just outside the walls. Four thousand Freys were currently eating his bread and sharpening their swords within his own perimeter.
"If what Eddard says is true," Robb whispered, "we are sitting in a nest of vipers."
Catelyn reached for him, confused. "Robb, what is it? What did the Karstark boy say?"
Robb didn't answer. He turned to the shadows where Grey Wind lay. Sensing his master's murderous intent, the direwolf stood, his hackles rising, and let out a low, mournful howl that seemed to shake the very foundations of the tower.
"Mother, go to Grandfather's chambers," Robb ordered, his eyes turning to flint. "I have traitors to handle."