The air in Riverrun's council hall was so heavy it could be wrung out.
The Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, Hoster Tully, leaned back in his massive, fish-carved lord's chair.
He had just expended all his strength on a furious roar, and now his body trembled uncontrollably. His cheeks were deeply sunken, and his cloudy eyes were bloodshot. The robe, symbolizing the master of Riverrun, hung loosely on his emaciated frame; he could no longer support it.
His voice hoarse, he repeated his earlier words, pounding them into everyone's ears: "Why?"
"Tell me, why could two to three thousand Ironborn stroll through the Seaguard defenses as if it were their own backyard, and stab directly into our heart?"
Inside the hall, a host of vassals and knights, including Ser Desmond Grell, the Steward of Riverrun, and Ser Robin Lygg, all kept their heads bowed, as if the patterns on the floor were worthy of immediate study.
No one could answer, and no one dared to. They didn't believe so many people could have gotten through, but the refugees who survived the Ironborn attack swore they saw it with their own eyes, leaving them no choice but to believe.
A deathly silence, like a massive stone, pressed down on everyone's chests.
In this suffocating silence, Hoster Tully felt a familiar sense of powerlessness wash over him. He suddenly thought of his younger brother, the one who always defied orders, was unruly, yet always stepped forward to solve problems at the most critical moments.
This thought was but a fleeting one, quickly turning into a sigh he couldn't suppress, a broken rasp like a bellows.
This sudden calamity made him feel as if his already limited lifespan had been abruptly cut short.
He struggled, propping himself up with his elbows on the armrests, trying to sit straighter: "How many men can Riverrun still mobilize?"
Desmond and Robin exchanged glances, the latter stepping forward, his voice dry as he replied: "Lord Hoster, about two thousand men."
"Perhaps we can transfer troops from Seaguard..."
Hoster stood up, his voice firm, as if he had shed many years: "Pass on my orders! Mobilize them!"
"Have Blackwood, Bracken, and Frey Family deploy their troops immediately! Get me four thousand men! Go find those damned Ironborn for me! Crush them!"
He paused, then added: "Remember! Not a single soldier must be drawn from Seaguard!"
"Yes, my Lord," everyone murmured in agreement, filing out.
But everyone who left the hall knew full well that this order would be incredibly difficult to execute.
And their greatest fear, like that of the old man, on the verge of death from this sudden blow, pointed to the port now swaying in the storm.
Seaguard.
At the same time, in Daintings City.
Inside the castle's council room, the atmosphere was equally anxious.
Lady Roslyn, the mistress who had solely managed the entire territory since her husband, Baron Deddings, went to war, felt spells of dizziness.
Her desk was piled high with various desperate messages, and the elderly Maester Walder beside her was also deeply troubled, remaining silent.
News of the Ironborn invasion spread like a plague throughout the territory, and the rumors among the common folk grew increasingly outlandish,
and increasingly deadly.
"Did you hear?! Seaguard has already fallen!"
"The noble lords are preparing to flee! They're going to sacrifice us to the Ironborn to buy themselves time to escape!"
"I heard there are ten thousand Ironborn! If we don't run now, it'll be too late!"
These increasingly twisted and terrifying rumors caused widespread panic and flight among the farmers.
Under the cover of night, they abandoned their fields, taking their families with them, and desperately fled inland.
The governing order of Daintings City was visibly on the verge of collapse, or rather, the smaller and medium-sized lords of the Riverlands were all facing the same predicament.
Maester Walder handed over a roll of parchment, his voice devoid of emotion: "My Lady, Lord Bell has replied."
Lady Roslyn snatched it, quickly unrolling it. The letter's wording was polite and courteous, full of loyal sentiments, but its content was as cold as ice.
"The territory is near the river and requires defense; it is truly unable to send troops."
"In this tense situation, fifty elite soldiers have been dispatched to guard Lord Balon's castle."
She crumpled the parchment into a ball and slammed it onto the floor. This was already the third such letter she had received—all filled with declarations of loyalty unto death, yet only sending a few dozen men. What kind of elite soldiers?! They were all captured refugees given a farm tool and then sent over!
In her husband's name, she had sought aid from these vassals who had sworn fealty countless times at banquets, pounding their chests and promising to be Daedings Family's most loyal subjects.
But what she received in return was, without exception, such coldness, evasion, and even deceit!
For the first time, she so clearly felt that a lord could not be soft and generous. How she wished her husband could be like that young man....
If he were like that young man, how would these people dare to insult their liege lord in such a way...?
Maester Walder hesitated: "My Lady..."
"There are only eight hundred people in the city... people are panicking..."
"We must find a way...."
Lady Roslyn closed her eyes, not wanting to speak, her body trembling slightly.
Just then, a hurried and disorderly sound of footsteps came from outside the door.
A guard, without even knocking, burst through the door, panting as he rushed in: "My Lady! My Lady!"
Lady Roslyn snapped her eyes open. Was her governance truly so poor?! Even these soldiers were so undisciplined.
She sharply demanded: "What is so alarming?!"
The guard, disregarding etiquette, knelt on one knee and reported in an excited and disbelieving tone:
"My Lady! Outside the city.... outside the city, a reinforcement army has arrived!"
Lady Roslyn abruptly stood up from her chair: "Reinforcements? How many men?"
Her eyes dimmed, and she sat back down, fearing it was another reinforcement of only a few dozen men.
The guard looked up, his expression extremely strange: "Reporting to my Lady! They have over four hundred men!"
Lady Roslyn's eyes widened, once again regaining their sparkle. She jumped up: "Banners? Whose banners?"
"My Lady! It's Lord Arthur's banners!!" The guard's reply plunged the entire study into a deathly silence.
"They said! They are acting on Lord Arthur's orders! To assist my Lady in defending the city!"
In her mind, she instantly saw the young man who, several months ago, had wept bitterly before her. And she, despite his great achievements and the formidable reputation he had forged, had repeatedly targeted him, while she herself....
When she was being deceived by all the powerful vassals who constantly repeated their so-called oaths of loyalty, this young man, whom she hadn't even written to for aid, had actually taken the initiative to send troops.
The immense contrast, an indescribable shock, a complex emotion mixed with shame, gratitude, and awe, instantly broke through her last vestiges of noblewoman's composure.
Lady Roslyn's eyes, without warning, turned crimson. She quickly turned around, her back to the guard and the maester, not wanting anyone to see her loss of composure.
How could she have treated him like that? She gently pressed her hand to the corner of her eye, but a few hot tears still disobediently slipped through her fingers,
sliding down and dripping onto the cold floor.
Even the usually steady Maester Walder was now lost in a prolonged silence. He looked at Lady Roslyn's slightly trembling back, his aged eyes filled with endless emotion. He truly hadn't expected that in times of crisis, one would find those truly loyal to their vows.
Lady Roslyn took a deep breath, using all her strength to calm her tumultuous emotions.
When she turned around again, her face had regained the dignity of a mistress, though her voice still carried a tremor she couldn't completely hide: "Open the city gates!"
She paused, looking towards the city gates, and said, word by word.
"No!"
"I will go myself!"
"Let me personally go... to welcome the army of my family's most loyal vassal!"
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