The Red Fork flowed beneath the slanting light of the setting sun, its muddy waters reflecting the scorched earth on either bank.
The pungent smell of burning grain filled the air.
The Westerlands army's camp spread along the riverbank like a forest of steel and canvas. Banners snapped in the wind, their gold-and-red lion sigils still fierce and striking in the dusk.
At the center of the camp stood the largest tent, deep crimson and embroidered with intricate gold thread: Lord Tywin Lannister's command pavilion.
Inside the tent, the atmosphere was heavy.
A detailed map of the Riverlands lay across the enormous oak table. The Red Fork wound across it like a ribbon of blood, and a heavy wooden golden lion piece covered the mark for Pinkmaiden, making it the focus of attention.
Lord Tywin sat at the head of the table, straight-backed as a pine. His pale green eyes, like frozen lakes of unfathomable depth, swept over the Westerlands vassals seated around him.
"The king's letter."
Tywin's voice was calm and flat.
He pushed a letter bearing the seal of the Baratheon crowned stag into the center of the table.
"King Robert requests that we halt our military operations in the Riverlands and restrain our men's conduct."
He deliberately emphasized certain words, sending a chill through the knights present.
No one was naive enough to think this was merely a "request."
Earl Roland Crakehall of Crakehall could not help snorting. "Punishment? Where was the king's request when our people were abducted? Now they know what pain feels like?"
"His Grace has dispatched Earl Beric Dondarrion to lead troops into the Riverlands on a punitive expedition, and demands that we surrender Ser Gregor Clegane for them to take back to King's Landing for trial, on charges of atrocities committed during