"Edmure!" Catelyn hurried forward, gripped her brother's shoulders with both hands, and looked him over carefully, her eyes full of worry.
Only when she was certain Edmure had no obvious injuries did she breathe a sigh of relief. A moment later, that sigh became one of pain, anger, and bitter disappointment.
"You... how could you be so reckless?" Catelyn kept her voice low, but it trembled. "Father entrusted Riverrun and the Riverlands to you. Is this how you repay his trust?"
"Uncle Brynden has fought for our family all his life, and now, in the end, he has to take your place..." She could not continue. Her eyes reddened, and she turned her face away. She never said the words death or capture, but all three people in the tent understood what she meant.
Edmure's eyes reddened again. He clutched his sister's hands like a drowning man seizing a piece of driftwood.
"Sister, I know I was wrong. I truly do... I regret it... That's why we have to save Uncle Brynden. I have to get him out. You must help me, sister. You must make Robb help me."
As he spoke, his pleading gaze turned toward the silent Robb. His meaning could not have been clearer. The Riverlands army was gone. Only the northern army under Robb's command could save the Blackfish now.
Robb sat upright, deep thought weighing in the depths of his blue eyes.
He did not look at Edmure, nor did he immediately respond to his mother's gaze.
The news of the Riverlands army's destruction weighed on his heart like a boulder. Reason screamed at him-the terrifying accounts of the fleeing soldiers, and the Dragon that had yet to appear...
Everything told him that marching his exhausted, bitter northern army farther south to confront the Targaryens