Chapter 257 243: King in the North and The Riverlands

Edmure could be incompetent, but he absolutely could not be eliminated by the Targaryens right under his nose; otherwise, his rule over The Riverlands would collapse in an instant.

"We must head south immediately!" Robb stood up and spoke decisively, his gaze sweeping over the lords in the tent. "Edmure won't last long. We must stabilize the situation before Aegon swallows up the Riverlands Allied Forces!"

As soon as these words were spoken, there was a dead silence in the tent, followed by an uproar.

"South?!" Greatjon was the first to roar, his eyeballs nearly bulging out of their sockets. "Your Grace! Have you lost your mind? Our home is to the north!"

"The Ironborn are burning, killing, and looting on our lands! And you want us to turn around and head south to meddle in the business of The Riverlands?"

"This is not meddling!" Robb's voice rose with an unquestionable firmness. "I am not only the King in the North, but also the King of The Riverlands!"

"My uncle, House Tully, and the vassals of The Riverlands—they answered my call to war and bled for me! Now that they are in danger and asking me for help, how can I abandon them?"

"To break an oath and abandon allies, how would we be any different from the Lannisters?"

"But our people are bleeding!" Lady Maege Mormont took a step forward, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Your Grace's uncle is family, and the lords of The Riverlands are vassals, but are the people of the North not Your Grace's subjects?"

"Their wives and daughters are being violated by the Ironborn, and their homes are being turned to scorched earth!"

"Does Your Grace want us to watch the North fall while we go to save those fools who were just beaten down by the Lannisters and are now provoking a true dragon?"

"Watch your words, Lady Mormont!" Robb turned his head sharply, his gaze piercing the female warrior he had always respected like an icicle. Grey Wind also looked up instantly, letting out a low, warning growl from his throat.

The temperature in the tent plummeted.

Maege Mormont did not back down, but her face was pale, and her hand tightly gripped the hilt of the sword at her waist.

The other lords also changed color, and the atmosphere became tense to the extreme.

The scene of Robb executing Rickard Karstark, while it had intimidated everyone, had also left an indelible rift.

Ultimately, it was Robb's past battle record and his remaining prestige that temporarily suppressed this wave of resistance that was almost ready to explode.

Even though the "The Young Wolf" had stumbled in politics and honor, he had proven himself a once-in-a-century battlefield genius with a string of victories in the Westerlands.

Northmen respected the strong.

Under the mediation of several relatively steady lords and the wait-and-see attitude of the silent majority, the Northern army ultimately did not cross back north despite the complaints and everyone's dissatisfaction. Instead, under Robb's forceful command, they broke camp and headed south.

The Soldiers' complaints spread through the army like a plague. They stood by the riverbank, looking toward their northern homes one last time, with deep pain and confusion in their eyes.

They were already so close; they could have gone back to defend their homes and embrace their loved ones. Now, they had to leave their homeland again to face legendary dragons for an outsider's trouble.

Morale, which had already been set back when they were humiliated by Walder Frey outside The Twins, hit rock bottom at this moment.

As the army moved south, the atmosphere was somber and oppressive, filled only with the heavy sound of footsteps, the rumbling of wagons, and the suppressed anxiety for their homes and unknown fates.

Just as they dragged their weary and resentful steps to the vicinity of Riverrun, before they even had time to enter the city to rest—

A piece of news like a bolt from the blue, accompanied by rolling dust and a few scattered, soul-shaken routing Soldiers from The Riverlands, crashed down upon Robb and all the Northern generals.

The fifteen thousand Riverlands Allied Forces assembled by Edmure Tully had been completely wiped out outside Stone Hedge within half a day.

The detailed battle report was not yet fully clear, but the incoherent descriptions from the routing Soldiers pieced together a terrifying fact:

A red dragon banner on a black field, a black battle formation as silent as a mountain, and... a terrifying cavalry that was invulnerable, with both men and horses covered in heavy armor, unstoppable like red demon gods.

The Riverlands army collapsed at the first touch. Duke Edmure's whereabouts were unknown, his life or death uncertain; he might have been captured or killed in battle.

Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was even more deathly silent and colder than it had been outside The Twins.

Robb sat there, clutching the rough battle report he had just received, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The color drained from his handsome face, his lips were tightly pressed, and his blue eyes were first filled with shock, then surged with a towering rage, and finally turned into a bottomless icy chill.

Completely wiped out... How many days had it been? He was only halfway south! The last of The Riverlands' capable troops were just gone like that?

"Your Grace!" Greatjon Umber's voice was like a thunderclap, breaking the silence. The flesh on his face quivered, both from horror at The Riverlands' crushing defeat and anger at Robb's decision. "You see! You see it all now!"

"That fool Edmure Tully has squandered the last of The Riverlands' assets! Do you still want us to head south now?"

"To face that dragon and that monster army that crushed fifteen thousand men in half a day? This is sending us to our deaths! It's making us Northmen die for nothing to be buried alongside your uncle's stupidity!"

"Lord Jon is right!" another young and hot-headed lord shouted excitedly. "Your Grace, we can't go south anymore! The North can't wait!"

"My cousins are being slaughtered by the Ironborn! We must go back! Now! Immediately! Turn around! Back to the North! Every moment we delay, more Northmen die!"

"Robb," Earl Manderly's voice was old and heavy, carrying deep exhaustion and entreaty. "Child, listen to us. The Riverlands... can no longer be saved. Edmure lost too quickly, too completely."

"Aegon Targaryen's next target will be either Riverrun or us."

"If we head south now, we will be a weary army facing an enemy carrying the momentum of a great victory, possessing dragons and that terrifying cavalry."

"This... this is suicide! And even if we win, by the time we return to the North, all we will see is a wasteland ravaged by the Ironborn! Our wives, daughters, sons... they can't wait that long!"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

"We can't go south anymore!"

"Back to the North! We want to go home!"

The emotions in the tent were surging; the long-suppressed fear, anger, homesickness, and doubt about Robb's decisions erupted like a flood breaking through a dam.

Even Robb's most loyal subordinates and others showed signs of struggle and wavering on their faces.

Robb stood up abruptly, his hand resting on the hilt of Ice. Grey Wind also bared his teeth with a low growl and stood up.

A wild, fierce light flashed in the wolf's eyes.

He wanted to roar in anger, to use his royal majesty and the direwolf's teeth to suppress these signs of rebellion.

Cold killing intent surged in his chest; he needed an outlet, a target to intimidate everyone.

His gaze was like the cold wind on the frozen plains, sweeping over the few who were shouting the loudest, especially the agitated Greatjon Umber.

Just at this moment of tension, when blood was almost about to be spilled in the command tent again—

"Your Grace!" The previous attendant burst in again, his voice even more urgent this time, even carrying a hint of unbelievable trembling. "Someone... someone is outside the camp asking for an audience! It's... it's Lord Edmure Tully!"

"What?!" Everyone in the tent was stunned, including Robb.

Edmure? Wasn't his entire army wiped out, his whereabouts unknown, or even captured? How could he appear here?

Robb suppressed the surging anger and killing intent in his chest, forcing himself to be calm: "Bring him in!"

A moment later, a figure in a wretched state, covered in dust and wearing ill-fitting old leather and chainmail, was helped into the command tent by two Northern Soldiers.

He had bruises and scrapes on his face, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were filled with lingering terror. It was indeed Edmure Tully. But the once high-spirited Duke of Riverrun now looked like a terrified refugee.

"Uncle?!" Robb stepped forward quickly, identifying him carefully. After confirming it was truly Edmure, he was filled with shock and even more doubt. "How did you... escape? Wasn't Ser Brynden with you?"

Hearing the name "Blackfish," Edmure trembled all over, and all color instantly drained from his face. Shame, fear, and lingering dread surged together, making him almost unable to stand.

He pushed away the Soldiers supporting him, staggered a few steps, threw himself before Robb, and grabbed his nephew's arm. His voice was hoarse and tearful:

"Robb! Robb! Save Brynden! He... he was captured! It was to save me! He put on my armor and led away the pursuers, and I... I only escaped by luck!"

Edmure spoke incoherently, his face covered in tears and snot, no longer caring about noble dignity.

"It's my fault! It's all my fault! I shouldn't have ignored him, I shouldn't have gone out for a field battle... I... sob..."

He intermittently recounted the events of the crushing defeat outside Stone Hedge, mixed with sobbing and regret.

When he spoke of how that red heavy cavalry had smashed through everything and how the Blackfish had switched armor to be captured in his place, the tent fell into a dead silence, save for Edmure's suppressed crying and the crackling of the hearth fire.

Although the Northern lords looked down on Edmure's stupidity and cowardice, hearing of Brynden the Blackfish's loyalty and bravery, they couldn't help but be moved. At the same time, the fear of that "red heavy cavalry" deepened in their hearts.

"Robb!" After Edmure finished his tearful account, he gripped Robb's arm tightly as if grabbing a final lifeline, his eyes full of pleading. "You must save Uncle Brynden! He did it all for me, for House Tully! Send the troops!"

"We'll go to Harrenhal and rescue my uncle! I... I can still gather The Riverlands' army! Yes, gather the lords! We still have strength! Together, we'll help you defeat that Aegon and rescue Uncle Brynden!"

Edmure's voice echoed in the command tent, filled with the urgency of a desperate situation and an unrealistic fantasy.

However, the response he received was the even colder, even mocking gazes of the Northern lords in the tent, and the complex, unspeakable, bone-chilling exhaustion and heaviness on Robb Stark's face.

Head south? Save the Blackfish? Defeat Aegon?

With a Riverlands army that had just suffered a crushing defeat, had no morale, and had very little left, plus this Northern army that was desperate to return home, filled with resentment, and anxious over the Ironborn ravaging their homeland?

Robb looked at his uncle's tear-stained face, feeling the almost tangible pressure of opposition in the tent and the deep-seated dread of the unknown force that had crushed fifteen thousand men in half a day.

For the first time, he felt so clearly how cold, hard, and full of cracks that throne of the King in the North and The Riverlands was.

And Grey Wind, at his feet, seemed to feel his master's burden, letting out only a low whimper, his eyes sweeping over the faces in the tent—some angry, some indifferent, some pleading.

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