Edmure could be incompetent, but Robb could never let the Targaryens destroy him right under his nose. If he did, his rule over the Riverlands would collapse in an instant.
"We must march south immediately!" Robb rose to his feet, his voice resolute as his gaze swept over the lords in the tent. "Edmure cannot hold out much longer. We must stabilize the situation before Aegon swallows up the Riverlands army!"
For a moment, dead silence filled the tent. Then an uproar erupted.
"South?!" Greatjon roared first, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "Your Grace! Have you lost your mind? Our homes are in the north!"
"The Ironborn are burning, killing, and plundering on our lands! You want us to turn south and meddle in the Riverlands' affairs?"
"This is not meddling!" Robb raised his voice, his tone brooking no argument. "I am not only the King in the North, but also the King of the Riverlands!"
"My uncle, House Tully, the Riverlands' vassals-they answered my call to war and shed their blood for me! Now they are in danger and have asked for my aid. How can I abandon them?"
"If we forsake our oaths and our allies, how are we any different from the Lannisters?"
"But our own people are bleeding!" Lady Maege Mormont stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Your Grace's uncle is your kin, and the Riverlands' lords are your vassals. Are the people of the North not your subjects as well?"
"Their wives and daughters are being violated by the Ironborn! Their homes are being burned to ashes!"
"Does Your Grace expect us to watch the North fall while we go save those southern fools who were just beaten senseless by the Lannisters and have now gone off to provoke a