"By law," Robb insisted, his voice cutting through the clamor of the Great Hall, "Stannis's rights come before Renly's."
Edmure Tully frowned. "So you mean for us to declare for Stannis?"
"I don't know," Robb admitted, running a hand through his auburn hair. "I prayed to the gods for guidance, but they were silent. The Lannisters say my father was a traitor who murdered King Robert. We know that is a lie. But if Joffrey is the lawful king, and we fight him, then we are traitors."
Ser Stevron Frey, eldest son of Lord Walder, smiled the thin, weasel-like smile of his house. "My father would urge caution, my lords. Why not wait? Let the two stag kings play their game of thrones. When they are done bleeding each other, we can make terms with the victor. Or fight him. The choice remains ours."
He leaned forward. "With Renly marching, Lord Tywin will be desperate for peace. Let me go to Harrenhal. I will negotiate a truce, offer a ransom for the Kingslayer..."
"COWARD!"
The roar shook the rafters. The Greatjon slammed his fist onto the table, making the wine cups jump.
"Peace is weakness!" Maege Mormont declared, her bear-island accent thick and harsh.
"Fuck your ransom!" Rickard Karstark shouted, his face twisted with grief. "We don't give back the Kingslayer! Not for all the gold in Casterly Rock!"
"Why not peace?"
The voice was quiet, but it silenced the room. Catelyn Stark stood up.
Every eye turned to her.
"Mother," Robb said gently, "they murdered my father. Your husband."
He drew his sword and laid it on the rough wood of the table. The steel gleamed cold in the torchlight. "This is the only negotiation I will have with them."
The Greatjon cheered. Others pounded the table, drawing their own blades.
When the noise subsided, Catelyn spoke again. Her voice trembled, but she forced steel into it. "My lords, Lord Eddard was your liege and your friend. But I shared his bed. I bore his children. Do you think I love him less than you?"
She took a breath. "Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I would never let you sheathe it. But he is gone. A hundred victories in the Whispering Wood will not change that. Ned is gone. Daryn Hornwood is gone. Lord Karstark's sons are gone. Do we need more dead?"
"My lady," the Greatjon rumbled, "with respect... women do not understand these things."
"Women have soft hearts," Lord Karstark added bitterly. "Men need vengeance."
"Give me Cersei Lannister, my lord," Catelyn shot back, "and I will show you how soft a woman's heart can be. I may not know tactics, but I know futility. We marched to stop the burning of the Riverlands and to free Ned. We have done one. The other is impossible."
She looked at her son. "I want my daughters back. If I must trade four Lannisters for two Starks, I call that a bargain. I want you to live, Robb. To rule Winterfell. To kiss a girl, to have a son. I want to go home and weep for my husband in peace."
Silence stretched in the hall.
"Peace is good, Cat," the Blackfish said finally. "But on what terms? If we make peace today only to fight again tomorrow, what is the point?"
"If I go back to Karhold with nothing but my son's bones," Karstark growled, "what was the value of his life? Will Torrhen's hand grow back?"
"Gregor Clegane burned my fields," Lord Jonos Bracken shouted. "Stone Hedge is a ruin. Am I to bow to the man who sent him? If we forget so easily, why did we fight at all?"
"Even if we make peace with Joffrey," Lord Tytos Blackwood added, eyeing his rival, "will Renly forgive us? If the Stag beats the Lion, we are still traitors."
"I will not bow to a Lannister!" Marq Piper yelled.
"Nor I!" shouted the young Lord Darry.
Bedlam threatened to erupt again.
Then, the Greatjon stood up. He was a mountain of a man, flushed with wine and fury.
"MY LORDS!" he bellowed. "Here is what I say to these two kings!"
He spat on the floor. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Stannis is nothing to me. Why should they rule over me from a flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Of the Wolfswood?"
He reached over his shoulder and drew his massive greatsword. The sound of steel ringing filled the hall.
"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, and the dragons are dead!"
He pointed his sword at Robb.
"There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to, m'lords!"
He dropped to one knee. "The King in the North!"
Lord Karstark stood slowly. "I'll have peace on those terms," he said. "They can keep their Red Keep and their iron chair." He drew his sword and knelt beside the Greatjon.
"The King in the North!"
"The King of Winter!" Maege Mormont shouted, slamming her spiked mace onto the table.
One by one, the Riverlords rose. Blackwood, Bracken, Mallister. They had never been ruled by Winterfell, but they drew their swords all the same. They knelt.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
A golden, spectral crown shimmered into existence above Robb's head—a lingering effect of Aldric's blessing, or perhaps a manifestation of the collective will.
The ancient shout, unheard for three hundred years, shook the dust from the rafters of Riverrun.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
The meeting broke up late into the night. As the lords filed out, flushed with patriotic fervor, Robb called out.
"Commander Aldric. A moment."
Aldric stopped. "Your Grace?"
Robb looked at him, eyes wide with the sudden weight of the crown he hadn't asked for. "You are not of the North, nor the Riverlands. What do you think?"
"About what?"
"About me becoming King."
Aldric hesitated. "Your Grace, it is not my place..."
"I insist."
Aldric sighed. "Very well. In my homeland, a great emperor once gave this advice before he took the throne: 'Build high walls, store abundant grain, and be slow to claim the crown.'"
He met Robb's gaze. "To be a king is an all-or-nothing game. Winner takes all. Loser dies. Once you start, you cannot quit. It is a hard road."
Robb gripped his sword hilt, his knuckles white. "Aldric... from the moment they called my father a traitor, there was no other road."
Aldric bowed low. "Then I will fight for you, Your Grace."
The next morning, Aldric prepared to leave for the camp, but a servant stopped him at the gate.
"My lord, Lady Catelyn invites you to break your fast in the Great Hall."
Aldric was surprised. Catelyn had ignored him yesterday. But one did not refuse the King's mother.
He found her in the hall, eating a breakfast of buttered mushrooms, steak, and white bread.
"Commander Aldric," she said politely. "Please, sit."
"Lady Catelyn."
They ate in relative silence. The food was excellent, far better than camp rations.
"Commander," she said finally, wiping her mouth. "My father, Lord Hoster, is very ill. He is sixty. Age and old wounds weigh on him. Can your magic restore him?"
Aldric shook his head. "Aging is not a disease, my lady. I cannot reverse time."
Seeing her face fall, he added, "But... I might be able to ease his pain. Repair some old damage."
"Truly?" Her eyes lit up.
She led him to the lord's solar. Hoster Tully lay in bed, a shriveled husk of a man.
"Cat?" he wheezed. "Is Lysa with you?"
"No, Father. Lysa is at the Eyrie."
Aldric pulled up a chair. He checked the old man's pulse, mimicking the Traditional Chinese Medicine techniques he'd seen in dramas to build confidence.
"His heart is weak," Aldric diagnosed theatrically. "Like a worn pump. But I can help."
He placed a hand on Hoster's chest. "Light, grant this man peace."
He flared his aura. A pillar of warm, golden light enveloped the bed. Hoster gasped, his face relaxing for the first time in months. The pain melted away, and he drifted into a deep, restful sleep.
Aldric wiped "sweat" from his brow. "He will sleep well today."
"Thank you," Catelyn said, genuinely grateful. "Edmure, stay with Father."
She led Aldric out to the balcony, dismissing the guards.
Her demeanor changed instantly. The gratitude vanished, replaced by the cold, protective glare of a mother wolf.
"Commander," she said sharply. "I hear that my husband's bastard, Jon Snow, is serving in your unit. That he is your student."
"He is," Aldric nodded. "Jon is a good lad."
Catelyn didn't blink. "I also hear that in the teachings of your Sun God, all men are born equal."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Tell me, Commander. In the eyes of your Sun God... do bastards and trueborn sons have the same rights?"
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