ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

011

Robb IV

Robb's time in Riverrun had been anything but uneventful. Ever since the Battle of the Camps where the northern force routed the Kingslayer's army, the men of the Riverlands had been trickling into Riverrun by the hundreds. Robb's council had also expanded as well, including seasoned veterans such as Jason Mallister, Tytos Blackwood, and Jonos Bracken. Roose Bolton had also returned from his lost battle at the Green Fork with what remained of his two thousand men.

Robb's first stop after relieving the castle was his grandfather's chambers. Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, would have been a great addition to Robb's war council. A man with just as much experience as the great Tywin Lannister. Unfortunately, Hoster's health had been slowly declining over the last few years, and he had been bedridden ever since the beginning of the siege. A shell of the man he once was.

It was a terrible sight to see, especially for Robb's mother who had taken to staying by her father's side ever since she arrived at the castle.

Robb had spoken briefly to his grandfather but didn't have much time for his grandfather as he was currently in the middle of a heated war council. With the combined might of the Riverlands and the North, some thirty-seven thousand men, the lords were at odds with what to do. Some, mainly the Northmen, wanted to continue south and bring the fight to Tywin Lannister on their way to save Robb's father. The riverlords, especially the younger lords led by Edmure Tully, wanted to head into the Westerlands and take revenge on the lands and people of Tywin Lannister.

Robb's uncle was who Robb expected him to be. For a man nearly a decade older than his nephew, he didn't seem to be taking the war all that seriously. He had been very vocal about his want to raid the Westerlands, but Robb suspected it was more so to gain glory and gold rather than any want for revenge.

"Ned is still a prisoner in King's Landing," the Greatjon growled. "We go south!"

That was the clinching point for the argument. No one wanted to say that rescuing Eddard Stark wasn't the aim of the entire campaign. A man respected by both parties, both as a man and a warrior. He was also the good-son of Hoster Tully. There were arguments to be made for attacking the Westerlands and bringing the fight to Tywin at Harrenhal, but there was no counter-point whenever the debate fell back to saving Robb's father.

Robb scratched his beard, a scruffy thing that the young lord had been growing since he had left Winterfell months ago. It was nothing compared to beards Rickard Karstark or the Greatjon sported, but Robb liked his. He felt it made him look older than he was.

"Who else are we waiting for?" He asked his council.

"The Frey's have finally assembled their force and are a few days away." Ser Brynden grunted. "four thousand men under the command of Stevron Frey."

"Took their fucking time," Ser Marq Piper grunted from down the table.

The fact that the Frey's were answering the Tullys call to arms was surprising for all present, but the good feeling was quickly dissipating with how long it was taking for their force to arrive. Robb had heard a few of the old jokes about House Frey resurfacing amongst his allies and hoped that they would stop before Stevron and his men arrived. He would be greatly annoyed if he lost thousands of important men because of a thoughtless word.

Robb ignored the comment. "We'll wait for them to arrive, then we'll head south and deal with Tywin."

"Surely nephew, we can still attack them on two fronts. We have more than enough men to attack the Westerlands and rescue Ned." Edmure pointed out.