Inside the main hall of Riverrun, massive marble columns supported the towering ceiling, and the surrounding walls were adorned with magnificent tapestries depicting history, legends, and house sigils.
On the high platform of the hall, Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident, sat on an exquisitely carved oak chair with a high back.
On Robb's head, the sword crown of copper and black iron cast a dim light under the torches, creating shadows that obscured his eyes.
Guards in grey robes carried the body of Martin Lannister on their shoulders and brought it below the high platform.
Silence immediately fell upon the hall, where candlelight flickered.
The body clearly showed signs of struggle, with arms covered in sword wounds from parrying, and red liquid still slowly oozing from wounds on the chest and lower abdomen, as if numerous toothless mouths were drooling all over his body.
Edmure stood to the King's right, one hand resting on the back of his father's throne, and he withdrew his gaze from below the platform, glancing at Ser Brynden beside him, who subtly nodded his head.
Below the high platform, Roose Bolton stood in front of the Northern vassals, his face still like an ice sculpture, as if he hadn't seen the body not far away.
King Robb looked down, and after a long while, his gaze finally left the bloody corpse.
There was no fluctuation of emotion in his voice: "Reynald, tell Greatjon to bring them in."
"Yes, Your Grace!" Reynald Westerling turned, his footsteps echoing in the somber stone hall.
Not long after, the figure of Greatjon, the escort, appeared; he bore many similarities to the prisoners in his custody, both tall, with thick beards and long, disheveled hair reaching his shoulders.
A dozen or so people followed closely behind them, all wearing chainmail or brigandine made of iron rings, long boots, and thick cloaks, some woven from wool, others from natural animal fur… One could only distinguish who was a prisoner by whether they held a weapon.
Two of Greatjon's men were wounded, and three of the captives had been struck by swords. Yesterday, or more precisely… just a short while ago, they were brothers in arms, fighting and drinking together. The North is a harsh and cold land, and the descendants of the First Men who have lived there for generations are merciless; they only recognize the lords they acknowledge.
When the captives stood quietly in place, King Robb's voice came from above after a pause: "Greatjon, only five men?"
Greatjon's groan was like a bell: "King Robb, we killed two when we captured them, and one was gravely wounded and is dying, so he wasn't brought."
King Robb's gaze shifted to the prisoners below: "Did eight strong men go to kill an unarmed thirteen-year-old captive?"
At this moment, seeing his uncle's subtle signal, Edmure quickly spoke up: "They also murdered two Tully guards to enter the cell."
After speaking, Edmure glanced at his uncle as if seeking praise.
... Ser Brynden pretended not to see; the reason he let Edmure speak was as a precaution. The First Men of the North are not only stubborn but also reckless, and Robb is still new to the game of power. He worried that his grand-nephew, the King, would be forced to kill. As a King wearing a sword crown of copper and black iron, he had the power to punish lawbreakers, but… the man below was Rickard Karstark. Karstark is a branch of the Stark family, and… that man was also Robb's father's vassal.
Ser Brynden's eyes flickered; a pack of wolves cannot long exist with two alpha wolves. Robb and his father must meet as soon as possible, otherwise the Northern vassals will eventually split. Regardless of their size, every lord has selfish motives, and this cannot be simply resolved by father-son affection.
Brynden's deep eyes slowly swept over Lord Bolton and the other Northern vassals; perhaps there were others with even greater ambitions hidden there… Something was amiss with today's events, and he suspected that the simple-minded Lord Karstark might have been incited by someone with ulterior motives.
...
"Edmure, that was not murder." Lord Rickard retorted the heir of Riverrun's accusation without changing his expression.
He was tightly bound with ropes, his face bloody, and he shouted towards the King: "Even a King has no right to stop a father from avenging his son."
King Robb's voice carried a hint of suppressed anger: "Karstark, in the Battle of the Whispering Wood (Chapter 221), I personally saw your sons die in battle. Torren Karstark (Rickard's second son) and Eddard Karstark (Rickard's third son) did not die at the hands of Martin Lannister. How can you call this the revenge you speak of?"
His gaze sharpened: "This is a foolish act, bloody murder! Your two sons died gloriously in battle, yet you dishonor their memory by murdering an innocent captive."
Lord Rickard was unmoved by King Robb's accusation: "My two sons died; they died at the hands of the Kingslayer. Blood debt can only be repaid with blood, and this man is of his kin, so his death is no loss."
"Repay with a child's blood?"
Robb angrily pointed to the body below, then continued: "Rickard, how old was he? Only twelve or thirteen!"
Lord Rickard did not back down; he met the King's anger with his own: "Among the First Men descendants of the North, a ten-year-old can hunt and fight; his age is not young anymore."
Robb clenched his fists, staring at the man below, and said: "Rickard Karstark, Martin Lannister laid down his weapon in the Westerlands long ago (Chapter 262); from then on, they were merely captives, disarmed and locked in cells… Damn it, this child was just a captive!"
Seeing the King's anger growing, Ser Brynden quietly approached, about to speak, but Robb slightly raised his hand to stop him.
He continued: "You murdered a disarmed captive; this is treason!"
"Treason?!"
Lord Rickard raised his chin and said: "Killing a Lannister is treason? Your Grace, have you forgotten who our enemy is? We are still at war with the Lannister; in war, people die."
He scoffed: "Ned must have taught you this. Your Grace, have you forgotten your father's teachings, boy?"
"Damn fellow!" Greatjon swung his steel-gauntleted fist, knocking Lord Rickard to the ground.
"Don't touch him!" Robb's tone was stern as he stopped Greatjon, who was about to continue.
"Mind your mouth!" After a warning, Greatjon retreated.
"Pah!" Lord Rickard spat out a tooth and said: "Very well, Greatjon, let the King deal with me."
His bloodied mouth split open: "Your Grace, a father who loves his son will make any demand of a King. If you execute the Kingslayer, I will be at your disposal."
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