Robb walked onto the battlements of Riverrun, gazing at the dust that had yet to settle on the northern road.
The morning wind, carrying the dampness of the river, felt somewhat cold against his face.
He leaned against the cold merlons, his fingers tightening bit by bit, his nails digging deep into the moss within the stone crevices until his knuckles turned white, yet he could not suppress the sinking chill in his heart.
Upon returning to the main tent, a guard practically sprinted toward him, clutching a scroll of parchment tightly in his hand, his face even whiter than the paper.
"Your Majesty! A raven from the Lannisters!"
Robb took it and broke the wax seal.
After scanning just a few lines, the color drained completely from his face, and his lips pressed into a rigid line.
The parchment made a faint, strained sound between his fingers.
Edmure Tully, just approaching from the other side, stepped forward in confusion at the sight: "Your Majesty, what does the letter say?"
Robb slowly raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the Riverlands lords who had gathered in the tent upon hearing the news.
His throat bobbed as if he were trying to swallow a hard lump, and his voice came out hoarse and dry: "Tywin Lannister... has detained the families of all the Riverlands lords."
The tent fell silent for an instant, then erupted into a roar of voices.
Robb ignored the sudden outburst of shocked and angry discussion; he stared at his uncle and finished his sentence, emphasizing each word: "If I do not release Jaime Lannister and cease hostilities with the Westerlands... in three days, he will execute every single one of them."
"Your Majesty!" a Riverlands lord could no longer restrain himself, his voice sharp and shrill. "Back in the Westerlands, it was you who insisted on honor! You wouldn't let us pillage, wouldn't let us take hostages! We bled and sweated in the Westerlands, but we couldn't even hold the castles we took; we gained nothing!"
"But how do the Lions treat us? They seize our wives and children! Now they have knives at their throats!"
"If you had been willing to set aside that bit of honor back then, we would at least have Westerlands hostages in our hands! We wouldn't be like this now, held by the throat and unable to move!"
Complaints and fears pelted him like stones.
Robb stood where he was; those words and those gazes made him feel as if he were standing in icy water.
He had thought the honor and principles he upheld were armor, but at this moment, he felt they might be shackles—not only binding him but dragging his vassals into a desperate situation.
He could not allow those who followed him to lose their homes and families because of his choices.
This thought fell like a sentence.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, only a weary resolve remained.
He took a deep breath; the sharp pain of his old palm wound being reopened by his nails cleared his muddled mind.
He looked up at the faces—some anxious, some angry, some pleading—and his voice became unnervingly calm, leaving only an unmistakable exhaustion and deep resentment:
"I will not make things difficult for my vassals."
"I agree to Tywin's request for a truce. We will exchange Jaime Lannister for your families."
He paused, his gaze suddenly turning cold as it swept across the room, where the wolf-like stubbornness and hatred belonging to the King in the North reconsolidated:
"But let me say it again: I will never ally with the Lannisters. The Lions are the ones who murdered my father, the eternal enemies of the North. This will never change."
The three-day deadline arrived in the blink of an eye.
By the banks of the Red Fork, the two armies faced each other.
The wind, swirling with the river's dampness and the scent of dust, swept past the front lines.
There were no war drums, no horns; only the muffled thud of banners snapping in the wind and the occasional faint metallic clinking of armor plates.
An oppression more suffocating than actual combat permeated the air above the riverbank.
The combined forces of the North and the Riverlands drew up their ranks on the east bank, wolf and Trout banners fluttering in the wind.
Robb Stark, clad in armor and mounted on his warhorse, personally took his position at the front.
Behind him, Jaime Lannister stood at the front, bound in chains and guarded by two northern warriors.
On the west bank, the Westerlands army stood in silent formation.
Crimson and gold Lion banners covered the horizon, their armor and spears glinting coldly in the afternoon sun.
In the open space before the lines stood a dense crowd: the old, the weak, women, children, and young men and women in noble attire but with fearful expressions.
They were the families of the Riverlands lords. Lannister Soldiers surrounded them with spears.
Tywin Lannister sat on his warhorse, his dark crimson cloak hanging by his side. His face was expressionless as he simply raised a hand.
A Lannister knight rode out from the ranks, his voice booming across the river: "King in the North, release the prisoner. The families will be returned immediately."
Robb's knuckles turned white as he gripped the reins. He looked at the shivering figures on the opposite bank, then back at Jaime Lannister, bound in chains.
A fire burned in his chest, making his throat dry, his heart filled with resentment and hatred, but he had no choice.
"Bring Jaime Lannister forward," he ordered coldly.
The northern warriors gave Jaime a shove.
The golden-haired Kingslayer set off, his chains clanking as he walked step by step toward the open ground between the two armies.
On the opposite bank, the Lannister Soldiers began to herd the hostages, making them walk slowly toward the river.
One step, two steps. The distance shortened.
The hostages and the prisoner passed each other in the middle of the long bridge spanning the river.
The Riverlands families stumbled and wept, rushing toward the lords and kin who awaited them.
Suppressed sobs, gasps of relief, and low calls rose and fell within the allied ranks.
It wasn't until the last old woman, supported by her son, stumbled into the allied lines and was held tightly by her family that the breath caught in Robb's throat was slowly and heavily released.
At that moment, Jaime Lannister had also just reached the edge of the Westerlands formation.
Two Soldiers stepped forward with axes; with a few sharp cracks, the chains that had bound him for months fell to the ground, clattering against the riverbank stones.
Jaime shook his freed wrists and stretched his neck, not even sparing a glance toward the opposite bank before turning to step into that sea of crimson and gold.
"Jaime Lannister!"
Robb's voice, at that precise moment, suddenly tore through the suffocating silence of the riverbank. It wasn't loud, but it was cold and sharp, like the bared fangs of a direwolf, clearly piercing through the hundred-pace distance.
Jaime's footsteps halted.
He stopped in the open space between the two armies that symbolized the completion of the exchange and slowly turned around.
Robb remained seated on his horse, looking across the murky river and the open ground, his gaze like tempered steel fixed firmly on Jaime.
The young king straightened his back, every word sounding as if it were carved from the frozen earth of the North, carrying a bone-chilling cold and an unmistakable scent of blood:
"The blood feud between me and the Lannisters has not been settled by a single stroke."
"I hope that the next time we meet, your head is still firmly on your neck."
"For then... I shall take it myself."
Jaime looked at the opposite bank.
The wind tossed his disheveled golden hair. Having heard the words, the habitual, slightly flippant sneer on his face slowly faded, eventually turning into a very faint, very cold curve.
He did not answer, but gave an almost imperceptible, extremely slight nod.
Like an acknowledgment, and also like a mockery.
Then, he turned away completely, set off, and without further hesitation, walked into the protection of the Golden Lion banners, vanishing into the dense ranks of the Westerlands Soldiers.
Throughout it all, Tywin Lannister's gaze never truly fell upon the young King in the North on the opposite bank.
It was as if the exchange and the declaration just now were nothing more than insignificant interludes.
Seeing Jaime return safely, he indifferently turned his horse and gave a faint wave to the herald beside him.
"Withdraw."
The order was passed down through the ranks.
The Westerlands army began to move backward in an orderly fashion, like a receding tide of metal, silently and steadily disengaging from the riverbank and retreating toward the west, from whence they came.
The crimson and gold Lion banners grew distant, eventually disappearing behind the silhouette of the hills.
Robb stood at the front, motionless, like a suddenly cooled steel statue.
He gazed at the now-empty opposite bank, his nails having long since dug deep into the wounds in his palms. The pain was sharp and clear, yet it did nothing to offset the hollow, burning humiliation in his heart, nor the heavy anxiety for the future.
He had recovered the families of his vassals and maintained the crumbling alliance.
The price was returning the Kingslayer with his own hands and forever losing the most powerful card he held against the Lions.
The river flowed beside him, its sound heavy and dull.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898