A few days later, on the plain outside Lord Harroway's Town.
Lymond Lychester stood on the city wall, gazing at the scene before him in excitement, his hands gripping the cold stone bricks tightly.
Everything had gone as Suleiman had said. The lords of the East Riverlands had answered his call—and his "letter of thanks."
The lords had brought their family knights and soldiers, along with a great deal of supplies. One force after another converged from every direction. The banners of the great houses fluttered in the wind across the plain, like a colorful forest. Horns sounded one after another, and the knights' armor glinted in the sunlight.
House Mooton, House Darry, House Deddings, House Wayn, House Roote, House Legg, House Butterwell...
Even the banner of House Whent of Harrenhal waved in the distance.
The envoys who had entered the town ahead of the others brought Lymond Lychester enthusiastic greetings. Their words brimmed with boundless admiration for Lord Lymond, who had turned the tide. They spoke as though they had been his staunchest allies from the very beginning and had contributed greatly.
Standing atop the city wall, Lymond Lychester returned the eager overtures of the envoys who had arrived ahead of the others. As he gazed at the magnificent scene and felt a sense of power unlike anything he had ever known, his whole body trembled with excitement. He had never imagined that one day so many noble lords of the Riverlands would rally around him and hold him in such esteem.
His life seemed to have reached a height it had never known before. The bloodshed and hardship of those days seemed, in that moment, to have been worth it.
Suleiman walked slowly to his side and calmly surveyed the riot of banners in the distance. A bunch