Outside Stone Hedge, the red-and-blue trout banners of House Tully fluttered listlessly in the damp winds of the Riverlands.
The makeshift camps stretched on and on, but their scale was far from imposing, and morale was even less impressive.
Edmure Tully sat astride his horse at the front of the camp, staring east at the lands now covered by the black banners of House Targaryen, his brow deeply furrowed.
He had chosen to station his army here, not daring to advance any farther.
He was no fool.
That Aegon Targaryen had dragons, and his army had won victory after victory, earning a fearsome reputation.
The army under his own command had just endured bitter fighting against the Westerlands and then been hastily assembled. Its morale and equipment were nowhere near their best, and even the most generous count put its strength at barely fifteen thousand.
A few thousand more might arrive later, but the total would never exceed twenty thousand. Challenge Aegon with so little strength?
That would be suicide.
His thinking was practical.
He would display enough military strength to show that the Riverlands still possessed unity and the will to resist, then use that as the basis for a "dignified" negotiation with Aegon.
With money, or certain concessions, he could ransom the occupied castles.
After all, he now owed allegiance to Robb Stark, King of the North and the Riverlands. In legal terms, they had already severed their ties with House Baratheon.
He believed this could be treated as ordinary diplomatic negotiation between two kingdoms.
Aegon's principal enemy was Tywin in the Westerlands. Having just fought a major battle, he surely would not want to open another front in the Riverlands.
Perhaps he had occupied the castles of the Riverlands merely to ease his advance into the Westerlands,