Chapter 256 242: The Twins Dilemma

The twin towers of The Twins cast long shadows in the dim sunlight. The massive arch bridge spanning the Green Fork connected the north and south banks, as well as the Northern army and the road home...

Yet it was so close, yet so far.

The Northern camp was pitched outside the city on the south bank, banners still flying, but the atmosphere in the camp was as oppressive as the cold mist rising from the river.

The Soldiers often gathered by the riverbank, staring at the northern lands on the opposite side with burning anxiety in their eyes.

They could see the woods on the other side and smell the crisp, cold air unique to the North before the arrival of winter carried by the wind, as if they could step onto the path home with just a single stride.

However, the tightly shut gates of The Twins and the stern Frey archers on the walls pinned their feet firmly to the south bank.

News of the Ironborn ravaging north of Moat Cailin had already spread through the camp like a freezing wind carrying shards of ice.

Deepwood Motte was in peril, Torrhen's Square was under siege, the Stony Shore was burning, and the tragic fall of Castle Cerwyn was described by refugees as a living hell...

The heart of every Northern Soldier was gripped tight; their homes, families, and lands were being plundered and ravaged.

Their hearts yearned for home, yet they could not move an inch.

The reason was none other than their King, Robb Stark.

When he first marched south, in order to secure the Frey family's army and the crucial bridge crossing rights, Robb had personally made a marriage pact, promising to marry a daughter of Lord Walder Frey.

However, during the campaign in the Westerlands, the young King fell in love with a noblewoman named Jeyne Westerling.

When the news reached back, Lord Walder felt as if he had been slapped hard in the face, and the dignity of House Frey was trampled underfoot.

Thus, when Robb brought his weary but homesick Northern army outside The Twins, preparing to cross and return to the North, they were no longer met with hypocritical welcomes, but with closed gates, raised drawbridges, and cold crossbow bolts on the walls.

"Oathbreakers have no right to cross the river!" This was the only message Lord Walder sent.

Robb was in the wrong.

He could not order a forced assault on this strategically vital castle as if he were dealing with an enemy.

That would cause the Northern army to bleed profusely before even reaching home, and lead to a complete break with one of The Riverlands' most powerful allies.

He could only set up camp and send envoys, trying to negotiate with the "Late" Lord Walder Frey, who was notorious for being stingy, vengeful, and having many children.

The negotiations lasted for several days, and the results were infuriating.

Lord Walder raised his price, offering terms so harsh they were almost humiliating: a massive compensation in gold dragons, and several Northern noble scions to stay at The Twins as "guests."

Robb had to publicly repent and admit his mistake, and Walder even demanded that Jeyne Westerling be sent to serve as a handmaid...

Every single term made the proud Northern lords seethe with rage and cast a dark cloud over Robb's young face.

Outside The Twins, Northern Camp, the Command Tent.

The atmosphere inside the tent was heavy; the fire crackled, but it could not dispel the bone-chilling cold.

Robb Stark sat in the high seat, brow furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tapping the rough wooden armrest of his chair.

He looked much more mature than when he had left Winterfell, with a light stubble on his chin, and the direwolf Grey Wind lay quietly at his feet.

Standing or sitting before him were several of the North's most prominent lords: Umber of Last Hearth, House Manderly of White Harbor...

And several other counts and clan chiefs, everyone's face clouded with gloom and growing dissatisfaction.

"...That old fox is practically sucking our blood!" The Greatjon's low growl broke the silence. "Compensation? Hostages? And Your Majesty must apologize in public? Who does he think he is? The old gods?"

"If you ask me, we should gather the army and smash those two broken towers! Let's see if his crossbows are more formidable, or if our Northern blades are sharper!"

"A forced assault?" Lord House Manderly sighed, his voice old and weary. "Lord Jon, those are just angry words. The Twins is easy to defend and hard to attack, and Walder Frey still has thousands of troops in his hands."

"Even if we could take it, how much Northern blood would we have to spill to fill that moat? We just suffered significant losses in the Westerlands and can no longer afford such attrition. Furthermore..."

He glanced at Robb and didn't continue, but the meaning was clear: sending Soldiers to their deaths for the King's broken oath would further destabilize morale.

"But every day we waste here is a loss!" Lady Maege Mormont's voice was firm, but her worry ran deeper. "The Ironborn won't wait for us. Bear Island is in a bitter struggle, and warriors die every day."

"Your Majesty, we really don't have time to haggle here with Walder Frey!"

"That old bastard is counting on exactly that!" a minor lord said indignantly. "He knows we're desperate, which is why he dares to extort us like this. But our homeland is burning! My people are weeping!"

Robb felt his temples throbbing.

Anger, shame, anxiety, and a faint, undetectable regret for his initial impulse gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake.

He knew the lords were right; every day of delay meant heavier losses for the North, and his prestige as King was draining away.

But the negotiations were at a stalemate, and Walder Frey wouldn't budge an inch.

Just as the argument reached an impasse and the oppressive silence filled the air again, the tent flap was suddenly thrown open.

Robb's squire, a panicked young Northerner, practically rushed in, clutching a small scroll of parchment tightly in his hand.

"Your Majesty! A raven! An urgent letter from Riverrun! It's a plea for help from Lord Edmure Tully!"

The tent fell silent instantly, all eyes focused on that scroll.

Robb grabbed it and quickly unfurled it.

His eyes moved rapidly across the parchment, his brow furrowing deeper, and his expression becoming increasingly grim.

The letter wasn't long, but the panic and desperation between the lines poured down like ice water.

Aegon Targaryen's army was advancing into The Riverlands.

Edmure had gathered the remaining forces of The Riverlands and actually went to the vicinity of Stone Hedge to confront Aegon Targaryen's army; now he was in a predicament and requested Robb to march south immediately to his aid!

"Foolish!" Robb slammed the letter onto the table, his voice filled with unbelievable anger and a hint of panic. "Does he not know that Aegon has dragons? Does he not know the current situation in The Riverlands?"

"He's seeking death! And he's pushing the last of those troops into a fiery pit!"

He looked up, fire burning in his eyes, but deeper within was the anxiety of rapid calculation.

The Riverlands was one of his foundations, the support for his title as King of the North and The Riverlands, and more importantly, it was the home of his mother and uncle.

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