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The Riverlands had begun to breathe again, but its lungs were scorched and torn. Smoke still curled over villages where Lannister foragers had pressed too far; hedgerows were flattened, orchards trampled, and roads pocked with burned carts. Yet the lion's roar had been broken, its golden tide scattered and routed by a combination of human steel and the unearthly power of the Green Men.
Jon Snow rode at the head of the vanguard, the morning mist burning off under the rising sun. Harrenhal had been liberated not by numbers alone, but by cunning, endurance, and the inexplicable might of the Green Men.
They had not merely aided in defense, they had made the Lannister army fear the earth itself. Rumors had already spread far and wide in the Riverland as smallfolk and soldiers alike whispered that the Old Gods were back. And they were on the side of the Starks. The men of House Lannister had been pressed into a panicked flight, losing thousands to the unforgiving terrain, to traps, to ambushes, and to the relentless Tully host now pressing from behind.
Jon's scouts reported the scattered remnants of the army in bits and pieces, retreating toward Golden Tooth. The siege towers abandoned at Harrenhal, some smoking from fire arrows, had been left behind. Wagons overturned, banners in tatters. From the tally of captured and dead, it was clear: Jaime Lannister's pride had been shattered. From his initial force of 10,000 men, over 6,000 had fallen, either slain or captured. Those who remained fled in fractured groups, harried at every turn.
Brynden "Blackfish" Tully rode alongside Jon, calm and stern as ever, eyes scanning the horizon. The Tully host moved with precision, securing its lands.
Acorn Hall fell first. The keep had been lightly defended, the garrison demoralized and isolated. Next came Pinkmaiden. Its defenders were more numerous, having received reinforcements fleeing from Harrenhal, but morale was already shattered. Jon and Brynden led a coordinated strike.
Jon rode among the captives and wounded towards Riverrun after they had finally driven the last remnants of Lannisters off Riverland. The Golden Tooth lay far to the west, and even there the men would carry stories of a defeat so complete it would haunt the Lannisters for years. Ten thousand men had been broken.
Jon and Brynden surveyed the battlefield as they rode to the main seat of power: torn banners, scorched earth, and the silence of the aftermath. For all the horror, there was a sense of order restored. The Riverlands had been reclaimed.
The march toward Riverrun was swift. When the banners of House Tully finally appeared on the hills above Riverrun, Jon felt a mixture of relief and anticipation tighten in his chest. He spurred his horse forward, galloping toward the castle gates. The Blackfish followed close behind, stoic as ever. Guards shouted from the walls, raising the drawbridge in recognition of the approaching host.
And then Jon saw him. Robb Stark, his brother, taller and broader than Jon remembered, mounted on a black destrier, eyes scanning the fields. Time seemed to stretch. Jon's heart thudded, and he had to rein in his horse to avoid rushing past. The moment of reunion had finally arrived.
Robb spotted him, recognition dawning. He dismounted in one smooth motion, moving toward Jon with long, purposeful strides. Jon dropped from his own horse, Ice strapped to his back, and the brothers met in the yard outside the castle walls.
It had been years since they last stood together. Years of war, of separation, of uncertain reports and letters carried by slow ravens. Now, all the fear and anticipation of those years fell away in a single embrace. They held each other tight, not speaking at first, just feeling the bond that had always been there.
"I thought… I might never see you again," Jon said at last, voice rough.
"And yet here you are," Robb replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "Against impossible odds, no less. You held strong against 10,000 men. They already sing tales about you. Jon the Great Defender!"
Jon laughed, a short bark of sound. "Harrenhal stands, the Lannisters are broken, and the Green Men… they fight as no men could." He gestured toward the woods at the edge of the castle. "You should see them, hundreds of them, and the land itself seems to rise in their defense."
Robb's eyes widened. "Green Men? By the Old Gods…so it's true. I heard whispers."
"Yes," Jon said simply. "They came to our aid. The old pact still holds, in part. They fight for balance, for the forests, for the land. And for us."
Robb shook his head in wonder, then placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I don't know what to say. They really have magic?!"
"Yes, and I have something for you," Jon drew Ice from its sheath, holding the Valyrian steel blade aloft. "For the North," he said. Then he handed it to Robb. "For the family. May it serve you as it has served me."
Robb took the sword, feeling its weight and the cold certainty of its edge. He nodded, eyes glistening with emotion. "And may it never have to leave our hands again in such need."
They walked into Riverrun together, passing through gates flanked by banners of the Tully and the Stark. Jon's men mingled with Brynden's soldiers, sharing tales of the pursuit and capture of the fleeing Lannisters. The Green Men remained at the edges, almost ghostly, watching silently, their presence a reminder that not all victory was won by mortal hands.
In the main hall, they sat together. Wine was poured, strong and dark, and the weight of the campaign settled into shared laughter and grim stories. Jon recounted the siege of Harrenhal, the strange and terrible ways the Green Men had fought alongside them. Robb spoke of his victories in the field, the battles he had won against Tywin's maneuvers, the clever ambushes and the coordination that had allowed them to claim the Riverlands.
For a long while, they spoke without concern for titles or banners, brothers reunited in a hall that had once been a place of planning and councils. Ice rested against Jon's chair, a silent witness to their conversation, gleaming in the torchlight.
Outside, the Riverlands began to heal. Flags of House Lannister were no longer visible in the countryside. Towns and keeps reclaimed their banners, and farmers began the long work of restoring fields and orchards. The land itself seemed to breathe easier, as if the forest and the rivers acknowledged that balance had returned, at least for the moment.
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The hall at Riverrun was swollen with men and banners. The walls hung with tapestries depicting the trout. Rob stood at the head of the long, scarred table, Ice at his side, surveying the assembled lords, captains, and commanders. It was the first time that so many of the North and Riverlords, both young and aged, had gathered together in a single place since the Lannisters had begun their descent on the Riverlands. The tension in the room was tangible, a mixture of relief, lingering fear, and the restless anticipation of what was to come.
Jon was on his left with Brynden "Blackfish" Tully next to him, calm and imperious, his sharp eyes taking in the room with the precision of a master strategist. To Rob's right was Edmure Tully, newly restored as Lord of Riverrun, bore the weight of his house on his shoulders, flanked by his trusted captains and lords. Rob also had his northern lords here: Greatjon Umber, broad-shouldered and scarred from battles past; Maege Mormont, her presence fierce even seated; Galbart Glover, meticulous and cautious; the stoic Rickard Karstark, whose eyes never left the maps spread across the table; the pale eyed Roose Bolton with his sickly white skin that seemed to have its blood drained.
Rob cleared his throat. "We've driven the Lannisters from the Riverlands," he began. "They are held up in the Golden Tooth, contained for now. But we cannot pretend the threat is gone."
The room murmured in agreement. Brynden leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Containment is temporary," he said. "Golden Tooth is a fortress in the hills, and Tywin Lannister is not a man known for surrender. He will rebuild, gather new forces, and return. What we decide here may determine whether we strike him in the Riverlands or meet him in the West."
Rob gestured to a map laid flat on the table, pins marking the positions of the remaining Lannister forces and their recent losses. "Tywin began this campaign with thirty-five thousand men. Reports tell us he has already lost five thousand under Kevan Lannister who we have now, six thousand under Jaime during the siege of Harrenhal, and four thousand more in his retreat from Riverrun. That leaves him with twenty thousand, at least according to our best counts. Now however we received news that suggests he is raising a second army of ten thousand new recruits, now having his army up to thirty thousand strong. They are desperate and aggressive."
A pause followed. Greatjon Umber leaned forward, his fists resting heavily on the table. "Thirty thousand, you say? The lion is desperate, numbers alone do not win wars. They are weary. Their teeth have been broken, their pride wounded. We need only strike with purpose."
Edmure nodded, "The second army he raised is made up of green boys. We can crush them with ease."
Jon spoke then. "The North has brought twenty thousand men, though we have already lost three thousand in the various battles. The Riverland lords have reorganized and consolidated their forces and now are roughly fourteen thousand strong under Riverrun's banners, though losses were high and now these fresh levies are less disciplined. If we add it all together, the combined forces of the North and Riverlands are comparable to the Lannisters. We are evenly matched."
Karstark spoke next, voice low and deliberate. "Yes we are evenly matched and if we attack them in their land like they did right here we can be overrun with ease as they know the terrain."
Brynden considered this, his lips pressed together. "Striking into the Westerlands is risky. Tywin has depth to his lands. Mountains, rivers, fortified castles… Every march into his territory stretches our supply lines and exposes us to counterattacks. A full assault may require more men than we have currently organized, and a failed attempt could cost us the Riverlands entirely."
Maege Mormont's eyes flashed. "We cannot give them respite. The Lannisters can start hiring sellswords and drawing more men from their lands. We must strike before they can regroup. We Northerners are battle-hardened, and now we have the Old Gods on our side. We should crush them once and for all."
Roose Bolton's pale eyes flicked around the room. "What of the Arryns? If they send their men, we could crush Tywin entirely, without risking overextension." Jon's jaw tightened, he distrusted Bolton but the point was not without merit.
Rob turned to his uncle and great-uncle who shook their heads, "Still no word from the Lady Arryn," Edmure ground his teeth.
"I could have some words with her if I'm sent there," Brynden remarked. "Though I'm not sure if I should step back from this battlefield."
Stevron Frey spoke. "We should also consider diplomacy. The Westerlands are wealthy, but there are those in the Reach, the Vale, even Dorne, who may be swayed by our demonstrations of strength. Allies, supplies, soldiers can be sent. Perhaps a message should be sent, to offer loyalty to any of the crowns, or at least to signal intent."
"But at what cost will it come?" Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard asked. "The Kings will ask us to bend the knee and the others some very steep price."
"Regardless," Tytos Blackwood said. "We block the Lannister's access to the capital in which it will soon be under siege by any number of forces. He is stuck between us and the river, hemmed in. Every day we hold strengthens our position."
Robb finally spoke then, "So we have three primary courses of action: either hold the Riverlands, prepare for defense; strike into Lannister lands with a swift and calculated offensive; or consolidate alliances with other kingdoms, including the Vale, Reach, or even Dorne, to strengthen our hand before committing to further conflict."
Then unexpectedly in the middle of their meeting, a lone rider, soaked with sweat and travel dust, entered hastily, bowing deeply before Robb.
"My lord," the rider gasped, "I bring word from King's Landing… terrible word."
Robb's hand went instinctively to Ice, resting along the hilt. Jon's eyes narrowed. Brynden leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Speak, man."
"The… the boy king," the rider stammered, "Joffrey… he… my lord… my lord Ned Stark… has been… executed… publicly, at the gates of the Red Keep. Beheaded."
The words fell like a hammer. A silence heavier than stone filled the hall. Lords and commanders froze, some pale, some shaking with disbelief. The tapestries of the Riverlands, trout leaping in golden rivers, seemed suddenly distant and meaningless.
Jon felt his stomach drop. Everytime he heard the news he felt sick to his stomach. He had hoped with the dwarf there in the capital or with their victories in the Riverland that would stay the mad boy's hand.
Brynden's face, always controlled, hardened further, jaw set like iron. Robb rose slowly, his chair scraping on the stone. "Father…" His voice broke once, then steadied, cold and commanding.
Edmure Tully's hands clenched on the table. "By the gods… the boy king! By the Seven! How could he…?"
Jon's gaze swept the room, meeting eyes of every lord present: Greatjon Umber's face had gone red, veins bulging; Maege Mormont's hands rested on her sword hilt, her expression unreadable but fierce; Roose Bolton's pale face remained cold and calculating. Even Tytos Blackwood's lips were pressed thin in anger.
Brynden finally spoke, voice low but cutting. "This changes everything. This is no longer just a war for the Riverlands. It is a war for the honor of our houses, the Stark name, and justice has been denied."
Rickard's hand clenched. "We cannot simply wait for Tywin to rebuild. We must act. We must show them that Stark blood is not cheap, it's old blood, king's blood."
Robb's face had grown grim, resolute. "We will not be cowed by a boy king or his council. They will regret this decision."
Greatjon slammed a fist down. "The North will march. The Riverlands will march. And we will show the lion and the boy king that justice, Stark justice, will be delivered!"
Maege Mormont leaned forward, steel in her eyes. "The way to the capital is open. Let us take it and burn them all!"
Jon took a deep breath and held his hand up to try to have cooler heads prevail. "If we go on a rampage to the south, Tywin will attack us from behind. The 3 options my brother laid out is what we have. Either we attack Westerland, hold the Riverlands, or seek allies."
Robb clenched his fist so hard, Jon feared it would bleed, "That is true. You are all dismissed. I will think on what we should do next."
A murmur of assent rippled through the room as the lords headed out of the room. Jon was going to join them before his brother called out, "Jon stay behind."