Riverrun stood proudly at the confluence of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone, its blue spires gleaming in the afternoon sun and its pale stone walls reflected upon the rivers. For centuries it had been more than just a fortress; it was the very heart of the Riverlands. The great Kingsroad, that lifeline of the realm, ran close to its gates, making Riverrun not only a stronghold but also a hub of power and trade. Whoever held it could claim authority over half of the Riverlands, if not more.The rivers themselves gave life to the land. Sturgeons thrived in the waters north and south of the castle, so plentiful that they had become the very sigil of House Tully. But now, Riverrun bore the marks of both triumph and grief.The triumph came with Robb Stark's arrival. The young wolf had led the northern host with such fury that the Lannister siege had been broken in a matter of days. Better yet, the Starks and Tullys had captured a prize beyond measure: Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin, heir to Casterly Rock, and brother to the Queen. It was a victory no bard could overpraise.The grief, however, was crueler still. Word had come that Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had been executed in King's Landing. No amount of victory could bring him back. To the Riverlands, his death was a wound; to the North, it was the sundering of an age.Now, within the great hall of Riverrun, the lords of both realms gathered. Torches flared along the walls, casting long shadows across banners of trout and direwolf. Voices rose and fell in heated debate as the question before them weighed heavier than steel:Whom should they follow?King Robert was dead, leaving chaos in his wake. Both of Robert's brothers had declared themselves king. Stannis, the elder, claimed the Iron Throne by right of law, for Robert's children were falseborn. Renly, the younger, claimed it by force of arms, his alliance with the Tyrells of Highgarden giving him a host large enough to make good his ambition.Catelyn Stark sat among them, her face pale and drawn with sleeplessness. She had lost her husband, and her daughters remained hostages in the clutches of their enemies. To her, the path seemed clear: ally with Renly Baratheon."Highgarden has already set its banners upon the field," she pressed. "Storm's End will of course march with him. If we add our strength to his cause, Lady Lysa will surely not hold back either. Imagine it, my lords—six of the seven great houses united! With such power, we could sweep aside the Queen Mother, the boy Joffrey, Tywin, Tyrion—every Lannister who ever wronged us. It would not take a year!"Her words brought nods from several of the Riverlords. Even Stevron Frey, usually dour, leaned forward with enthusiasm. "Aye, my lady speaks wisely. Renly's cause is the winning cause. Join him, and our enemies will be crushed in months."For the first time in years, Catelyn found a Frey agreeable. Yet her fragile hope was dashed in an instant—by her own son.Robb Stark, seated at the head of the hall, rose slowly. He was no longer the boy who had left Winterfell. Victory in battle had burnished him, and in his stance, in his eyes, one could already glimpse the shadow of his father."Renly cannot be king," Robb declared, his voice steady, ringing across the hall. "By law and by birth, the crown is Stannis's. Just as Bran and Rickon cannot inherit Winterfell while I yet live, so too is Renly set aside. The throne belongs to Stannis."The hall rippled with unease. Catelyn felt her breath catch. Honor—always honor. It was Ned Stark's legacy, and now it shone through his son like a blade. But to cling to honor here meant turning away from Renly, the strongest ally they might ever hope for. It was a path that promised hardship and peril.Stevron Frey, unwilling to yield, offered another course. "Or… we might wait. Let Stannis and Renly fight each other, bleed each other dry. When the victor emerges, we can bend the knee then. Tywin Lannister would surely pay a ransom for his son in the meantime."A murmur of agreement rose—until a roar silenced it."Cowardice!" Greatjon Umber thundered. He was already half out of his seat, his massive hand gripping his sword hilt. "Begging for peace is no better than rolling over like dogs!"Lady Maege Mormont's voice was sharp as an axe. "To hell with peace talks!"Rickard Karstark, gaunt with grief for his slain sons, slammed his fist upon the table. "Peace? With lions who butchered my blood? Never!"One after another, lords of both North and Riverlands gave voice to fury. Their lands had burned, their people slaughtered, their kin butchered by the Lannisters. They would not sit idle.Catelyn pleaded softly, almost desperately, "Peace would bring back my daughters. Is that not worth seeking?"But her words fell on stone. To the lords, vengeance mattered more than daughters far away.Brynden Tully—the Blackfish—spoke then, his calm cutting through the noise. "A peace that is only words is no peace at all. We may sheath our swords for a time, but war will come again. Better to prepare than to dream."Catelyn's shoulders slumped. Even her uncle, her last hope, had turned from peace.Voices clamored still. One was startlingly young, piping above the din. Catelyn turned and saw the boy from House Darry, no more than ten. His father had fallen to Ser Gregor's butchery. His small voice carried the weight of blood."Never make peace!" he cried, and the hall answered him with grim approval.Robb said nothing, his silence heavy. As commander, his word would bind them all. Catelyn could only watch, powerless, as the tide swept her son toward a fate she dreaded.Then Greatjon Umber leapt to his feet again. His great voice boomed like thunder."Stannis? Renly? Bah!" He spat upon the rushes. "What are Highgarden or Storm's End to us? What do they know of snow, or the wolfswood, or the Old Gods? Let the southrons play at crowns—I say we govern ourselves!"Gasps rose. Catelyn's heart pounded.Greatjon drew his sword with a flourish, its broad blade glinting in the firelight, and pointed it at Robb."If we must have a king, let it be him! Robb Stark, the Young Wolf! He is my king!"With a mighty crash, he hurled the sword at Robb's feet. The hall trembled with the sound. "Long live the King in the North!"A hush fell, followed by a rising chorus. Rickard Karstark took up the cry. Lady Mormont strode forward, sword in hand, ready to kneel. One voice after another pledged allegiance, a wave building, unstoppable.Catelyn felt the last shard of her hope shatter. Once, she had thought to win peace, to win her daughters' safety. But the North had found its king, and war would follow.Just then, a voice roared from the entrance:"Stop!"All heads turned. In the doorway stood a figure half-familiar, half-strange—Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell.The lords looked upon him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. He had come south a boy, seeking to save his father. Since then he had shown discipline, skill, and cunning beyond his years. At the Green Fork he had turned defeat into victory, his stratagems the envy of older men. The northern lords valued martial virtue, and in Jon they had seen it in abundance. Some whispered that Eddard Stark had been doubly blessed in sons.But why did he come now, to halt what seemed inevitable?Robb stared at him, pride and unease mingling. He owed much to his half-brother. Yet now, with the crown almost upon his brow, Jon's interruption cut deep.Greatjon, still kneeling, growled in irritation. "Jon Snow! We claim our own king. What grievance have you?"Jon did not answer at once. He walked slowly forward, his dark eyes sweeping across the hall, reading the faces of every lord. At last he stood before Robb."I say the claim of Stannis Baratheon must be acknowledged," he declared. His voice was quiet, yet it carried to every corner. "By law, he is the king. We cannot deny it."Gasps erupted. Robb's face hardened, surprise flickering into anger.Jon held his brother's gaze, steady and unwavering. If Robb showed hunger for the crown, Jon knew what he must do. In that moment, he weighed not only the fate of his family, but of the realm itself.
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