Hooves pounded along the muddy road, splashing water everywhere. Suleiman reined in his horse and looked back toward the distant, surging Green Fork.
The Riverlands were truly a terrible place: exposed on every side, with enemies closing in from all directions.
Any lord with even a little power could follow this web of waterways and rapidly bring his men right to your doorstep.
For the Ironborn who sailed longships, it was even worse. These rivers were no natural barriers; they were highways.
The most important thing was the unfamiliar anxiety clutching his heart. Everything had slipped out of his control, and nameless fury welled up inside him.
The storm was raging beyond his lands. For the first time, he felt like an ordinary Westerosi, a reef battered by the waves.
In his memories, there had never been an Ironborn invasion on this scale. How had two or three thousand Ironborn raiders sailed past Seaguard? This force was enough to plunge half the Riverlands into chaos and flames.
Had his arrival set the butterfly's wings beating? His mind raced through the possibilities. Maybe the situation wasn't as dire as he imagined. Reinforcements from the Crownlands would surely arrive soon, and the knights of the Vale were just beyond the Mountains of the Moon. The North wouldn't sit idly by, either.
Back at the Lion's Den, even the cold stone walls couldn't calm him. He pulled off his leather gloves, tossed them irritably onto the table, and began pacing around the Council Chamber.
Olivier, Bryn, and Rosso stood in silence, watching their lord and feeling the anxious tension radiating from him.
They listened to their lord's boots striking the flagstones with dull, steady thuds, as if each one were pounding on their nerves.
Suddenly, Suleiman stopped. He came to a halt before