Robb climbed onto the walls of Riverrun and gazed at the dust that had yet to settle along the northern road.
The morning wind carried the dampness of the river, cold against his face.
He braced himself against the icy battlements, his fingers tightening little by little, his nails digging deep into the moss between the stones. Even when his knuckles turned white, he could not suppress the chill sinking ever deeper into his heart.
When he returned to the command tent, a guard came almost running up to him, clutching a rolled letter in his hand, his face paler than the paper.
"Your Grace! A raven from the Lannisters!"
Robb took it and broke the sealing wax.
He had read only a few lines before all color drained from his face, his lips pressing into a rigid line.
The paper gave a faint, strained rustle between his fingers.
Edmure Tully had just approached from the other side. Puzzled by the sight, he stepped closer. "Your Grace, what does the letter say?"
Robb slowly raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the Riverlands lords who had gathered inside the tent at the news.
His throat worked as though he were trying to swallow something hard. His voice came out hoarse and dry. "Tywin Lannister... has taken all the Riverlands lords' families hostage."
The tent fell silent for an instant, then erupted into an uproar.
Robb ignored the sudden cries of shock and anger. He stared at his uncle and finished, each word measured. "If I do not release Jaime Lannister and agree to a truce with the Westerlands... in three days, he will execute every last one of them."
"Your Grace!" One Riverlands lord could contain himself no longer, his voice sharp and shrill. "Back in the Westerlands, you were