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Bronze Yohn Royce's weathered face was carved with seriousness.
"Lord Lynn, the Vale agrees to your terms."
"But how can you guarantee the Lannisters won't exploit the chaos and march from the Golden Tooth to sweep through the Riverlands again?"
"If the Riverlands fall, the Bloody Gate will be exposed to Tywin's blades."
It was the question every Riverlands lord had been sitting with.
The Freys were gone. The Lannisters were not.
That old lion would never stand by and watch the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale knit themselves into one.
Edmure Tully looked at Lynn, his nerves plain on his face.
He was the Lord of Riverrun now.
But he knew the truth of it. Without Lynn, he couldn't hold this land alone. It was a battlefield on every side, and he knew his own limits.
Lynn's gaze swept the hall. The worry on every face was impossible to hide, and he didn't miss a trace of it.
He wasn't troubled in the slightest.
"Lord Royce asks exactly the right question."
"If I'm willing to leave the Riverlands and the Vale in your hands, I have more than enough prepared to back that up."
He rose and walked to the great map of Westeros spread across the center of the hall.
His finger found the fortress where the Riverlands met the Westerlands.
The Golden Tooth.
"Since Robert's death and Joffrey's ascension to the Iron Throne, the bulk of Tywin Lannister's Westerlands forces have been in King's Landing, keeping his grandson's grip on the capital from slipping."
"The Golden Tooth has a garrison. It's not worth fearing."
"And with our three parties combined, our strength outweighs any single power in Westeros."
"As long as Tywin hasn't lost his mind, he won't light the first fire against a tripartite alliance."
"He can't afford what that war would cost him."
"So what we need to watch is not the Westerlands."
Lynn's finger traced the Kingsroad south and pressed down hard on King's Landing.
"It's the south."
"Tywin is a sharp man. He won't meet us head-on. Not now."
"He'll do what he does best: divide, flatter, and promise."
"My lords, the enemy you face is not only Tywin."
"The moment we stand united like this, every other power in Westeros will see us as a threat to be broken."
The words settled over the hall like a stone dropped into still water.
They had been watching the Lannisters. They had forgotten that Westeros was full of hungry wolves.
"Then... what do we do?"
A Riverlands count spoke up.
"Simple."
Lynn turned. His gaze moved past Edmure to the quiet old man standing behind him.
"Ser Brynden Tully."
The Blackfish stepped forward and gave a short bow.
"Lord Lynn."
"From today, I appoint you Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the combined forces of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale." Lynn's voice carried clean and clear through the hall. "You will assist Robb in commanding the army. Unified command of all Riverlands and Vale military strength falls to you, with full authority over our southern defenses against King's Landing and everything beyond."
The hall erupted.
Edmure's head snapped up. He stared at his uncle, then at Lynn, disbelief written across his face.
Something sharp flickered through Bronze Yohn Royce's hawk eyes as well.
Promoting Robb, he understood. The boy had real military talent, and he was Ned's eldest son. That relationship alone made it sensible.
But Brynden?
He had expected Lynn to plant a Northern general here to keep them in line. He never imagined Lynn would hand that kind of authority to a Tully.
Brynden himself had gone still.
He had never once thought he would live to help command the armies of three kingdoms.
"Lord Lynn, this..." He forced the words out. "This isn't proper. I'm only a knight."
"Proper?" Lynn smiled. "In these lands, right now, my word is what's proper."
He stepped close to Brynden and looked straight into those weathered eyes.
"Ser, I don't care about your rank. I know one thing: you are one of the finest commanders in all of Westeros."
In the War of the Five Kings, the Blackfish had fought alongside Robb without a single defeat. The only loss on the strategic level had come because Edmure charged ahead without orders. That was no failure of Brynden's.
He was more than enough for this.
"Your experience and judgment are unmatched. Putting the southern line in your hands lets me sleep easy."
The words hit Brynden like a physical thing.
He looked into Lynn's eyes, and what he found there was unmistakable. No performance, no calculation. Just trust. Genuine, unguarded appreciation.
A man of worth will give everything for the one who truly sees him.
The blood that had cooled over a lifetime of war came rushing back.
"My lord..."
Brynden's voice was rough.
He didn't argue further. He dropped to one knee, right hand pressed to his chest.
"Brynden Tully. Yours until death."
Edmure watched his uncle kneel and felt nothing like jealousy. What he felt was relief, long and clean.
He knew what he was. He could manage a lordship in peacetime well enough. But commanding a great army against Tywin Lannister, or against Joffrey Baratheon? That thought made his stomach turn.
His uncle taking charge was the best thing that could have happened.
Which meant Edmure could carry on quite comfortably without any of that responsibility.
"House Tully stands fully behind Lord Lynn's decision!"
He said it immediately.
Bronze Yohn Royce was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate.
The Blackfish had guarded the Bloody Gate for years. Royce knew the name. Having him alongside Robb was the right call.
"The Vale has no objections."
Lynn looked around the hall and nodded, satisfied.
"As for the Iron Islands."
His gaze returned to the map, settling on that strip of barren rock off the western coast.
"Balon Greyjoy is a fool who won't move without profit. But he's not stupid."
"My strike on the Eyrie and the bloodbath at the Twins have already broken his nerve."
"Without a sure thing in front of him, he won't risk a move."
"And he doesn't have much time left anyway."
"So the south is in your hands."
Lynn gave the room a nod.
"One set of requirements. Build your defensive lines. Pull out every dragon-hunting crossbow Lysa had built and put them to use. Produce weapons and armor at full capacity. Settle whatever internal problems are festering within your houses. And within one month, I want the first shipment of grain arriving at White Harbor."
"As you command, my lord!"
Brynden and Yohn Royce answered together.
Lynn looked at the scene in front of him and knew it was done. The south was settled.
He was leaving the Giant Legion and the White Walker Guard in the Riverlands, under Robb's unified command. A shield against the south. A sword hanging over every head in the room.
If anyone decided this was the moment to cause trouble, Lynn had no objection to dispatching a White Walker to deliver that person directly to whatever hell waited for them.
They could reflect on their choices down there.
"Since the south is handled," Lynn said, "I'll be returning to the North."
"Returning to the North?" Edmure blinked.
"There are still traitors to deal with."
Something cold moved through Lynn's eyes.
"Roose Bolton."
"The Dreadfort."
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop when those words left his mouth.
Every noble present went pale.
House Bolton. The family that flayed men for pleasure.
They had forgotten. The war wasn't truly over.
Bolton had openly betrayed Lynn. By any measure, by any code, Lynn would not let that go.
"I will personally erase the Dreadfort from the map of Westeros."
"I will make Bolton a name more feared than Reyne."
"I will have their skins stretched into saddles for my horses."
His voice was perfectly calm.
The content of those words sent ice through every person in the room.
No one doubted him. Not for a moment.
They could already see it. The Dreadfort. Rivers of blood. Screaming that didn't stop.
Lynn was just drawing breath to close the meeting and head north when the doors burst open.
A maester from Riverrun rushed into the hall, moving fast, face tight with alarm. He held a scroll of parchment above his head, sealed in black wax.
"Lord Lynn! Urgent!"
He crossed the hall and thrust the scroll forward.
Every heart in the room climbed into every throat.
Had Tywin marched?
Lynn took the parchment and looked at the seal.
Not a lion. Not a rose.
A flayed man, hanging upside down.
House Bolton. The Dreadfort.
The hall filled with a single sharp collective breath.
Roose Bolton had already betrayed Lynn once. And now he was sending a messenger?
Who in the world had given him that kind of nerve?
Lynn's face didn't move.
He broke the seal without hurry and unrolled the scroll. A faint smell of blood came off it.
No words on the parchment.
Only a piece of leather, tanned to careful perfection.
Human skin.
At the center, drawn in blood, was a crude smiling face.
Strange. Mocking. Daring him.
"Hah."
Lynn let out a short laugh.
He tossed the skin onto the table like it was a scrap of waste paper and looked up at the hall. Every lord had gone silent as stone. Lynn's smile hadn't changed.
"It seems Lord Bolton can't wait to offer his skin to me personally."
He turned and walked toward the doors.
"Roslin."
Roslin Frey had been standing quietly in the corner. She startled, then moved quickly to follow.
"Come with me to Winterfell."
➤ Next: Meeting Ramsay Again