Chapter 258 244: The Rift

"Summon the lords? Gather an army?"

Greatjon Umber was the first to speak, pointing at Edmure with merciless mockery.

"Lord Tully, what exactly will you use to gather them? With the fifteen thousand lives you just threw away outside Stone Hedge?"

Edmure's face instantly flushed a deep crimson; his mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Maege Mormont's voice was cold: "Lord Edmure, the fifteen thousand men you managed to scrape together before were likely every Riverlands lord you could coerce or coax onto the battlefield. Those remaining are either too far away to arrive in time, or..."

She paused deliberately, her sharp gaze sweeping across Edmure's face, "...or they are like Lord Frey of The Twins, who simply couldn't be bothered to heed your summons."

"Ha!"

A lord from The Rills couldn't help but sneer, "Isn't that the truth? Our noble 'Late Lord Frey' is currently sitting comfortably in his Twins, pointing crossbows at the backs of us Northerners and clutching us by the throat so we can't return home! This is your prestige as the Lord Paramount of The Riverlands?"

"Exactly!"

Someone immediately chimed in, their voice thick with long-suppressed resentment.

"Lord Edmure, you can't even control your own vassals, letting him block the Green Fork like a highwayman, and now you have the nerve to talk to us about summoning the lords?"

"Why don't you get Walder Frey to open his gates, let us cross the river, and bring those few thousand men of his to back you up? If you can manage that, I'll be the first to look at you with respect."

The command tent was suddenly filled with an uproar; accusations, mockery, and curses were heard incessantly.

Those words were sharp and biting, bloodily tearing open the wounds of his recent crushing defeat and rubbing salt into them.

Edmure's face turned from red to white, then from white to a sickly green. He wanted to retort, but not a single word would come out.

Because what those men said was the truth. It was his rash decision to march that had sacrificed the main force of The Riverlands; it was House Tully's loss of prestige that led to Frey's open defiance; and it was he who had dragged the Northern army into this quagmire.

Robb looked deeply at his uncle; those eyes, so similar to his mother Catelyn's, were now filled with shame and indignation.

Disappointment washed over Robb's heart like cold river water. He had once held a great deal of affection for this uncle, the first to answer his call, but war is a mirror that reflects the true nature of many.

Edmure's recklessness, short-sightedness, and his current impotent rage all made Robb feel a profound sense of exhaustion.

"Enough!"

Robb stood up. The young King's face was expressionless, but within those blue eyes lay a storm held back with great effort.

"Arguing, mocking, blaming each other," Robb's gaze slowly swept across every face, "will any of that solve our current problems? Will it get our army across the Green Fork? Will it defeat the Ironborn, or... will it give us the strength to face the one at Stone Hedge?"

The tent fell momentarily silent, but the suppressed fury did not subside.

"Then what does Your Majesty suggest we do?" It was the same lord from The Rills. He stiffened his neck, and though he didn't dare look Robb in the eye, his tone was full of sarcasm.

"Discuss the next step? Hasn't our King already decided? To take us Northerners, who are desperate to return home, and hand over military glory to that Targaryen and his invulnerable monster cavalry? To let them taste the flavor of Northern blood, is that it?"

"Impudence!" a guard beside Robb barked, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

Robb's hand gripped the hilt of Ice so hard his knuckles turned white.

A cold killing intent surged to his head, making him want to order Grey Wind to pounce and rip out the throat of this arrogant minor lord right then and there.

Just as he had done to Karstark.

But he didn't.

He took a deep breath, as if to push down the boiling rage in his chest. The painful consequences of executing Rickard acted like a bucket of cold water, waking him up.

He ignored the provocative mockery, not even sparing the lord another glance, as if the man were merely an insignificant fly.

He turned his gaze back to the pale-faced Edmure, his voice calm and unreadable: "Uncle, tell me. What is the situation with Aegon Targaryen and his army?"

"The news brought by the stragglers is a mess. Some say dragons blot out the sun, others say the cavalry is invulnerable... You personally led an army to face them. You tell us, what happened? Did you, or did you not, actually see a dragon?"

Robb's question pulled everyone's attention back to the disastrous defeat that had decided the fate of The Riverlands.

Though the lords were still dissatisfied with Edmure, they wanted to hear first-hand information. After all, that army was very likely the enemy they would face next.

Edmure acted as if he had grasped a lifeline, speaking eagerly in an attempt to prove he wasn't entirely useless, or at least that he had brought back crucial intelligence:

"Dragons? No! I swear, Robb, I didn't see so much as a dragon scale. It must be a rumor the Targaryens spread to intimidate us, or... Aegon Targaryen himself didn't come at all, and only sent his army."

The more he spoke, the more likely it seemed: "Yes, that must be it. He might be elsewhere. Those who came to The Riverlands are just his generals and part of his army. Robb, we don't need to defeat him completely. We just need to deter him, to let him know that The Riverlands and the North are not lambs for the slaughter!"

"You are the The Young Wolf; you've had victory after victory in the Westerlands! You are a born commander! If you march south and draw up your battle lines, he might not dare to act rashly. Then we can offer a ransom—even if it means emptying the vaults of Riverrun—to buy back all the captured vassals and lands. If you can just deter him and buy us time for negotiations."

Edmure's plan was calculated; as long as Robb's Northern army stood at the front to scare off the Targaryen, he could solve the problem with gold dragons and save some face.

"Here we go again!" Greatjon roared. "Letting us Northerners be your shield to buy you time. Edmure Tully, every time you cause trouble, it's us Northerners who have to clean up the mess for you Riverlanders."

"Exactly," another count added indignantly.

"If you hadn't blocked Tywin Lannister's army in The Riverlands, causing our main Northern force to miss the chance to ambush them in the Westerlands, we would have finished off the Lannisters long ago."

"Yes! That's right!"

"The Riverlands is a bottomless pit! It can never be filled!"

The command tent devolved into chaos again as old and new grudges erupted. The accusations were aimed directly at Edmure and even began to faintly affect Robb. Edmure was cursed until his face was bloodless and his body trembled, yet he couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal.

Robb watched the chaos before him, his heart sinking continuously.

He knew that continuing the discussion would yield no results other than deepening the rift.

He could even feel the ropes of loyalty snapping one by one in the hearts of these Northerners. The humiliation at The Twins, their homes ravaged by Ironborn, the hopelessness of the southern rescue, and this incompetent Lord of Riverrun—all of it weighed like a massive boulder on the young King's shoulders.

"Enough." Robb spoke again, his voice carrying a heavy weariness but also an unquestionable decisiveness. "That is all for today. Return to your camps, soothe the Soldiers, and restrain your subordinates. No one is to act without my command. Dismissed."

His order was given. Though the lords were full of grievances, under Robb's cold gaze and Grey Wind's silent stare, they eventually bowed one by one and silently withdrew from the tent.

Robb did not look at the despondent Edmure as he turned and left the suffocating command tent.

He needed to be calm; he needed to think.

Edmure dithered for a moment before hurriedly following him.

Robb's private quarters.

Robb waved away his attendants, leaving only himself and Edmure.

He looked at his uncle; his hair was disheveled, his face smeared with grime, and he wore a suit of leather armor that was clearly ill-fitting and covered in dust and blood. He retained none of the former glory of the Lord of Riverrun.

A mixture of emotions welled up in Robb's heart, but in the end, he only let out a silent sigh. The bonds of blood and the coldness of reality intertwined within him.

"Sit, Uncle."

Edmure sat down woodenly, still immersed in the massive blow and the recent humiliation, his body still trembling slightly.

Just then, the tent flap was thrust open, and Catelyn walked in quickly, lifting her skirts. Her breathing was slightly hurried, clearly having rushed over after hearing the news.

She first glanced at her son sitting in the high seat with a somber expression, then her gaze immediately locked onto her disheveled brother.

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