Chapter 291: All Men Must Die

Chapter 291: Chapter 276: All Men Must Die

Arya froze.

Her big eyes, set in a dirty little face, stared at the man walking towards her.

Dust, blood, and exhaustion had almost completely obscured his original appearance.

But that silhouette, those eyes, that voice…

She stood stunned for a few seconds, then sprang up from the ground and rushed over.

Robb frowned, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

But seeing that it was only an unarmed, scrawny little girl charging at him, he stopped.

Then the girl slammed into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist with such force that he staggered slightly.

“Brother…!”

Robb froze.

That voice…

He looked down at the head buried in his chest, so dirty its original color was unrecognizable.

“…Arya?” The voice was squeezed from his throat; he raised his arms but didn’t dare to lower them.

She nodded vigorously, burying her face deeper into his dust- and sweat-stained leather armor, her shoulders beginning to heave.

Robb slowly raised his hand and placed it on her trembling back.

It was real.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was his little sister, the one who had run wild like a boy since childhood, stubborn, a headache, and yet beloved.

A massive wave of emotions—relief, heartache, and guilt—shattered the dam of coldness and numbness he had built over these past few days.

His eyes reddened, and he tightened his arms, pulling his sister close, resting his chin on her messy, dirty hair, and closed his eyes.

A moment later, he forced himself to let go, cupping her dirty little face in his hands, and clumsily wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs.

Her hair was chopped messily, and her face was streaked with black and red.

If not for that familiar voice, he would hardly have recognized his own sister.

Only those grey eyes, now filled with tears, reflected his own equally disheveled face.

“How are you here? And him?” His gaze swept over Sandor Clegane, who was leaning on his sword nearby.

Arya sniffled and explained quickly and incoherently:

The chaos in King’s Landing, how she escaped, meeting the Hound on the road, the hardships of the journey north, and what those routed Soldiers had wanted to do to her just now.

Listening to his sister’s account, especially hearing the vile intentions of those routed Soldiers, the muscles on Robb’s face tightened.

He released Arya and turned to walk toward the captives, who were being held at bay by his Soldiers’ weapons.

He walked up to them and looked down from above.

These men, who perhaps once shouted “Long live the North” while following him south, now had nothing on their faces but numbness, resentment, or a reckless, desperate madness.

“You…” Robb began, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

“Plundering civilians, violating women and children. Is this your honor as Northmen? How is this any different from the Lannister butchers?”

A routed Soldier, held to the ground, looked up, his face a mix of fear and desperate spite: “Honor? To hell with honor!”

“Following you, we left our homes to lay down our lives for these Riverlands people! Our homes are being ravaged by the Ironborn! And what about you?”

“You only care about your revenge! You forced us to stay in these cursed Riverlands! Now we’ve lost, our brothers are dead, if we don’t plunder, are we supposed to starve to death?”

Robb was silent.

If it were before, hearing such treasonous words, he would have ordered their execution without hesitation.

But having been through so much, watching countless loyal subordinates fall before his eyes, and seeing a great situation ruined by his own mistakes, he understood more deeply than anyone how fragile honor was in the face of survival.

He drew his greatsword, Ice, and walked to the captives: “I only punish the ringleaders. Who led this?”

The captives fell silent.

Several gazes darted quietly toward the routed Soldier who had just spoken back.

The man’s face turned pale instantly, and he began to curse wildly.

Robb gave him no more chances.

A flash of cold steel… the shouting stopped abruptly.

A head rolled onto the ground.

Robb shook the blood from his sword: “Enough Northmen have already died in The Riverlands.”

“Now, I will give you one chance. Pick up your weapons and follow me. I will take you home.”

Dead silence.

Then, it was unclear who knelt first.

One, two… the remaining captives knelt one by one toward the Direwolf banner.

Robb sheathed his sword and walked back to Arya’s side.

He tore off a relatively clean sleeve of his undergarment, dampened it with water from his waterskin, and clumsily wiped the blood from his sister’s face.

He wanted to say something, but his throat felt blocked.

Tell her that their uncle might already be dead at Riverrun?

Tell her that their mother and her unborn child were in grave danger?

Tell her that Winterfell had been betrayed and taken by Theon, and that Bran and Rickon were missing?

No. This burden should not be borne by this girl, who had already suffered too much.

Arya seemed to sense the heavy pain in her brother’s heart; she reached out her small hand and tugged gently at his tattered cloak: “Robb, are you okay? We will go home, won’t we?”

Robb’s heart ached, and he hugged her tightly: “I’m fine. We will go home.”

He turned to Sandor Clegane, who had been standing silently not far away.

“The Hound, Sandor Clegane. I remember you. When King Robert traveled to Winterfell, you stood on the Lannister side.”

“Now, why are you here?”

Sandor turned slowly and glanced at Arya: “I didn’t hurt her. We were just traveling the same way.”

Arya was silent for a moment before speaking: “It’s true, brother, he helped me.”

Robb scrutinized Sandor, eventually letting go of his sword hilt.

“And your master?”

“My master is in King’s Landing, turned to ash by a bolt of lightning from that three-headed dragon of the Targaryens.” Sandor’s voice was flat. “I am a free man now.”

Robb was silent for a moment, then looked back at Arya: “You cannot come with me. The North is being attacked by the Ironborn; it’s too dangerous.”

“I am going to The Twins to rendezvous with Lord Bolton; that is the front line.”

He looked at Sandor: “Since you have escorted her this far, I hope you can continue this responsibility.”

“Protect her and ensure she reaches The Eyrie in the Vale safely. I will send a squad of Soldiers to assist you. In return, when I retake the North, I will grant you land there.”

Sandor stood there like a weathered rock. After a long while, he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Arya, on the side, shook her head immediately upon hearing this, her eyes full of unyielding stubbornness, with no intention of leaving.

“I’m not going.” Her voice was clear.

“So what if there is war everywhere? I fought my way from King’s Landing, I’ve seen everything. If I stay by your side, I can protect myself; I will never hold you back.”

Robb looked at her, a hint of helplessness crossing his brow.

He knew his sister’s temper too well; coercion or scolding would only make her more resistant.

He softened his tone, shedding his hardness, leaving only heavy consideration.

“You really can’t help if you stay here.”

“Right now, my ranks are filled with collected routed Soldiers, morale is scattered, and the road ahead is full of slaughter.”

“I must reorganize the troops and deal with the Targaryens and Lannisters; I must keep my guard up every moment.”

“If you are by my side, I will always be distracted worrying about your safety, which will only throw me off balance.”

Arya pursed her lips, still unwilling to give in.

Robb saw this and changed his tone.

“That is why I want you to go to the Vale, not just to avoid harm.” He looked at the young girl solemnly.

“Aunt Lysa holds the forces of the Vale and has remained neutral until now. Go to The Eyrie and persuade her to send troops to join me.”

“The North is currently besieged from within and without, with the Targaryens watching like tigers; we need these reinforcements.”

This made Arya pause, and the resistance on her face gradually faded.

“Persuade Aunt to send troops?” She repeated in a low voice.

“Yes.” Robb nodded, his tone serious. “It may not be appropriate for others to do this. You are her own niece; your intervention will carry far more weight than an envoy.”

“You are not going on this trip to be an idler hiding in a castle; you are going to accomplish an important task for me.”

Arya was silent for a moment.

She was unwilling to leave the battlefield, but she understood that her brother was telling the truth; if she stayed, she would only be a burden to him.

And going to the Vale to lobby for reinforcements was something she could truly help with.

After struggling, she finally nodded slowly, lingering reluctance in her eyes, but she no longer stubbornly refused.

“Fine, I will go to the Vale. I will do my best to persuade Aunt and bring reinforcements back to find you.”

Robb breathed a sigh of relief and quickly arranged a cavalry unit of one hundred men to escort her.

As departure neared, Arya gripped her reins tightly, looking at her brother: “Robb… you must be careful.”

Robb hugged her thin shoulders tightly: “I promise. It won’t be long; once I retake Winterfell, I will bring you home.”

He mounted his horse, no longer hesitating, and leading the remaining hundreds of Soldiers, he turned his horse and galloped toward The Twins.

Dust rose, gradually blurring his silhouette.

Arya rode on her horse, staring motionless in the direction her brother had disappeared.

For some reason, watching Robb’s back as he rode resolutely toward The Twins, her heart suddenly fluttered with panic, as if something cold had gripped her heart.

“We should go, girl.” Sandor’s raspy voice sounded beside her.

Arya snapped back to reality, took a deep breath, shook the reins, and rode ahead in the direction of the Vale.

One hundred Northmen cavalry escorted her silently on the sides and rear.

The group moved forward in silence for a long time.

Finally, she couldn’t help but ask in a low voice: “My brother… he will be fine, won’t he?”

Sandor rode on his horse, silent for a long time.

Then he turned his head slowly, and those eyes, usually devoid of emotion, glanced at Arya.

He turned his head back and said in that raspy, low voice:

“All men must die, girl.”

The second half of the phrase was pressed deep in his heart, known only to him:

“All men must serve.”

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