CHAPTER 116
Riverrun, Council Chamber.
The air was as heavy as before a storm.
Not long ago, news brought by ravens shattered the composure of all the Northern commanders like three successive bolts of lightning.
Firstly, the North was under attack by three armies from the Iron Islands. Garon Glover had already defeated one of them and was now defending Winterfell.
Secondly, Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon had both declared themselves kings, and war between the brothers was on the verge of erupting.
Thirdly, Lord Eddard Stark had been beheaded by King Joffrey Baratheon before the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing.
Initially, upon hearing that Garon had held back the Ironborn, the Northerners present breathed a slight sigh of relief.
But upon hearing the next two pieces of news, the fury of the Northern lords was instantly ignited.
"Kill the Kingslayer!"
Greatjon Umber was the first to roar, his massive hand slamming down on the table and making the wine cups jump.
"Let the blood of Jaime Lannister be an offering to Lord Eddard!"
Lord Rickard Karstark's eyes were bloodshot, his voice filled with rage over the deaths of his sons.
"Lord Robb, we should march directly on Harrenhal, join forces with Roose Bolton, and then advance on King's Landing!"
"Level the Red Keep!"
"Make the Lannisters pay for their blood debt!"
The crowd was incensed, the flames of vengeance almost tearing the roof from the hall.
Even the Riverlands nobles, who had been defeated by Jaime and had only recently returned to Riverrun, were filled with righteous indignation and demanded the execution of the Kingslayer.
Edmure Tully sat in the high seat of the council chamber, looking at the ceaselessly arguing Northern and Riverlands lords, his head aching.
He could not see the situation clearly, nor could he control the crowd, so he could only awkwardly look toward his nephew.
The young Robb Stark sat opposite Edmure, his face pale and his fists tightly clenched.
The image of his father's execution and the news of the North's peril intertwined in his mind, nearly suffocating him.
Immense grief and an even greater responsibility weighed upon his shoulders, making it difficult to breathe.
Robb wanted to seek comfort from his mother, but Catelyn instead demanded that Jaime be kept alive so he could be exchanged for the safety of her daughters and sons.
To this day, Robb and Catelyn still did not know Arya's whereabouts and still believed she was somewhere in Lannister hands. Likewise, Rickon remained in Winterfell, though the chaos of war and the lack of communication left many uncertainties hanging over the family.
But Catelyn's proposal only intensified the argument within the council chamber, with many opposing her suggestion.
Jaime Lannister had killed too many of their people. How could they release the lion back into the wild for the sake of a few captives?
Catelyn argued fiercely, attempting to use feudal obligations and sworn oaths to persuade those present.
Unfortunately, it had little effect, and the discussion quickly shifted to another question.
Which king should they support?
Amidst the roars of "Revenge!" and "March South!" a more radical voice suddenly rang out.
"My lords!"
Greatjon Umber leapt to his feet and shouted loudly.
"The Lannisters murdered Lord Eddard without justice!"
"And Renly and Stannis, caring only for their own crowns, have declared themselves kings while the realm burns!"
"What justice is there in that?"
"Do such men expect us to bend the knee?"
"For me, kneeling is no problem. But I will kneel before only one king!"
His voice was like thunder as he drew his sword and laid it at Robb's feet.
"The King in the North!"
The council chamber fell silent.
Robb's heart trembled as he stared at Greatjon.
Before he could speak, another voice joined in.
Rickard Karstark, carrying the grief of losing his sons, spoke in a deep voice.
"That's right. If this is the choice before us, then let the south keep the Red Keep and the Iron Throne."
"We will follow our own king."
He drew his longsword, knelt beside Greatjon, and declared:
"The King in the North!"
At that moment, Robb finally remembered the conversations he had once shared with Garon in Winterfell regarding Gendry Baratheon and the possibility of supporting a legitimized Baratheon heir.
"No, I can't."
"The king's legitimized bastard, Gendry Baratheon, is my father's ward. We should place him upon the Iron Throne."
"Gendry?" Lord Jonos Bracken said with open disdain.
"Who even knows where he is now? Perhaps the Lannisters killed him long ago."
What surprised Robb even more was that Tytos Blackwood agreed.
"That's right. The boy is missing, and we do not have the time to search for him."
"Besides, neither Stannis nor Renly recognizes him. He was never destined to sit upon the Iron Throne."
Their words made Robb hesitate.
Yes.
Gendry was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps he had already died, just like so many others in King's Landing.
Then Maege Mormont rose to her feet.
"The North does not know any Gendry Baratheon."
"We know only Stark!"
She placed her spiked mace beside the two swords, knelt, and shouted:
"The King in the North!"
At that moment, the Riverlands lords also rose one after another.
They drew their swords and bent their knees.
They loudly chanted an ancient title unheard for three hundred years.
"The King in the North!"
"The King in the North!!"
"The King in the North!!!"
Robb slowly stood.
His blood surged.
An indescribable emotion welled up inside him, causing grief and ambition to intertwine and boil together.
"If this is the will of the North and the Riverlands..."
"If this is the only way to avenge my father and reclaim justice..."
"Then I, Robb Stark, accept!"
He drew his sword and raised it high.
"In the name of the Old Gods and the New, I swear that I will lead you against the Lannisters, wash away this shame, and restore our honor!"
The council chamber erupted into deafening cheers.
The King in the North had been born.
King's Landing.
Red Keep, Small Council Chamber.
The atmosphere was equally oppressive.
Tyrion Lannister sat in the Hand's seat, suffering from a splitting headache.
Ever since arriving in King's Landing and learning that Joffrey and Cersei had executed Eddard Stark, he had not enjoyed a moment of peace.
With Ned Stark dead, any chance of reconciliation between the North and House Lannister had vanished.
The prisoner exchange was now effectively impossible.
Tyrion's only hope was to locate Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon so the Iron Throne would retain some form of leverage.
"How goes the search?"
Tyrion's voice carried suppressed anger as he scanned the assembled councillors.
Master of Whisperers Varys wore his usual expression of concern for the realm.
"Oh, my dear Acting Hand, we have indeed uncovered certain traces, but unfortunately we always seem to arrive a step too late."
"The girl is like a wildcat, slippery as an eel, and the blacksmith boy appears to have someone assisting him."
"Assisting him?"
Petyr Baelish chuckled.
His tone was dripping with sarcasm.
"To hide from every eye in King's Landing requires remarkable talent."
"Perhaps only certain omniscient friends could accomplish such a feat."
"Lord Varys, have your little birds flown in the wrong direction?"
"Or have they simply chosen not to see?"
Facing Littlefinger's accusation, Varys adopted an injured expression.
"Lord Petyr, such words wound me."
"My loyalty has always belonged to the Iron Throne."
"It is you, however, who somehow maintains such a vast information network despite the crown's financial troubles."
"Most impressive."
He smoothly redirected the attack back toward Littlefinger.
The two men exchanged hidden barbs with practiced ease.
Their words were polite, but every sentence carried a knife.
"Enough!"
Tyrion snapped, interrupting their verbal duel.
"I want results, not riddles."
"Lord Varys, what is the latest lead?"
Varys appeared to hesitate before finally sighing.
"According to certain... uncertain reports... there is a possibility they blended into a group of recruits traveling toward the Wall."
"You know how the Night's Watch accepts almost anyone."
"The Night's Watch..."
A glint flashed in Tyrion's eyes.
He immediately remembered the Night's Watch party that had passed through the Riverlands.
"I think I know where they may be."
He immediately summoned guards and issued his orders as Acting Hand.
"Send riders to search every village around the Gods Eye."
"Even if you must dig three feet into the earth, find them."
With Tyrion's command, groups of Lannister soldiers and Gold Cloaks rode out from King's Landing toward the Gods Eye.
Meanwhile, Yoren, still wandering near the Gods Eye and struggling to find a safe route past Harrenhal, had no idea his trail had been uncovered.
As for Garon in the North, he was equally unaware that Arya's fate was about to take a dangerous turn.
At this moment, his attention was focused entirely on the Ironborn forces advancing into the Ox Horn Mountain range.
The great war in the North was about to erupt.
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