A subtle tension spread through the Riverlands army.
Some poor knights had greed glittering in their eyes. To them, these surrendered Ironborn weren't prisoners of war, but walking bags of Gold Dragons.
Other knights frowned as they watched Tytos Blackwood nervously.
They had heard the story of the battle at the Trident crossing. Suleiman had killed every Ironborn prisoner who refused to convert without batting an eye, and he might well do the same thing this time.
Everyone's gaze focused on the face hidden behind Tytos Blackwood's visor.
Tytos Blackwood reined in his warhorse and said nothing. He could feel the reins trembling slightly in his hands.
Suleiman's young but utterly cold face appeared in his mind. He could imagine how the boy would look when he heard that Tytos had accepted the surrender.
Perhaps mocking, perhaps furious—but certainly not understanding or supportive.
If he wanted to smooth things over between them, all he had to do was raise his longsword again and give a simple order.
The battle would end in a way that satisfied everyone.
Tytos Blackwood looked at the Ironborn before him. The Harlaw boy who had spoken had eyes full of the desire to live, along with a hint of cunning. Clearly, he was taking a gamble.
He looked at the young Ironborn behind him. Their faces were smeared with dirt and blood, and fear had overwhelmed their inborn savagery. By the standards of Westeros, many of them were still children.
They were enemies, invaders, and raiders, but now they had laid down their weapons and asked to surrender.
One noble was asking another to honor the ancient laws of war.
He could not slaughter prisoners who had laid down their weapons and declared their surrender beneath his family's banner.
He couldn't do it.
Tytos Blackwood