Eddard Stark stood by the window, his gaze passing over the walls to the orderly camp outside the city.
It had been there for more than a week, planted like a nail and utterly unmoving.
He turned to the captain of House Tully's guards from Riverrun, Robin Leger, and asked, "It's been more than a week. Has that young man still not left?"
Robin Leger nodded silently. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice came out a little hoarse. "No, Lord Eddard."
Eddard Stark studied Robin Leger's face for a moment.
The loyal captain, one of Lord Hoster's most trusted men, had sunken eyes and slumped shoulders. A gloom seemed to cling to him.
Eddard Stark assumed he was mourning his lord's passing. Hoster Tully had always been kind and generous to his subordinates, after all.
He turned his gaze back to the window, his thoughts in turmoil. He had already made it clear to Suleiman that he refused.
Eddard Stark had thought the young man would leave disappointed, or perhaps, like so many southern nobles, pester him with endless talk in the hope of persuading him to go to Harrenhal and win some favor with Robert.
But Suleiman had done neither.
He had simply made camp outside the city with his knights.
Then each day he sent men into the city to collect provisions, without the least bit of embarrassment.
Aside from that, they stayed in their camp, setting up defenses and patrolling, as though they were waiting for a battle.
That quiet persistence was more baffling than any amount of pestering.
Eddard Stark had no idea what Suleiman was waiting for.
He understood Robert even less.
The smoke of war still hung in the air, and its flames seemed to burn across every inch of the Riverlands.
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