The Riverlands.
The Crossing army camp.
Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was as oppressive as the calm before a thunderstorm.
The northern lords and the Riverlands nobles sat on opposite sides, clearly divided, glaring at one another across the table.
Harlaw and his men remained quietly in a corner, saying nothing.
"Retreat?"
Rickard slammed his fist onto the table, the iron gauntlet on his hand striking it with a dull clang.
"Tywin has only just bared his fangs, and you're already talking about running with your tails between your legs?"
His words immediately enraged the Riverlands lords.
"Lord Karstark, mind your words!"
A knight from Darry rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger.
"Tywin's main army is right behind them and could arrive at any moment!
We have fewer than twenty thousand men here. How are we supposed to fight him?
The wisest course is to withdraw to Riverrun and defend it!"
Greatjon roared, "Wise? I call it cowardice!"
That single sentence lit the fuse.
Lords from both sides shot to their feet, shouting over one another as the argument exploded into chaos.
Even Gendry and the others, sitting in a tent at the edge of the camp, could faintly hear the uproar.
Barristan shook his head helplessly.
Ever since bringing Gendry to the Crossing, he had grown accustomed to the constant disputes between the North and the Riverlands.
He simply pretended not to hear them.
Gendry paid them little attention as well.
Instead, his worried gaze rested on Arya.
Ever since learning of Robb's and Rickon's deaths, she had sunk into a grief too deep for words.
She often sat alone inside the tent, staring blankly into space for hours without moving.
Even when Edmure came to visit her, she remained absent-minded, as though her soul had wandered elsewhere.
Gendry sighed softly.
He had no idea how to help.
If he had the choice, he would have left this place already and found somewhere quiet where he could live in peace.
Edmure felt much the same.
The nominal commander of the allied army sat motionless at the head of the table, his expression dull and exhausted.
He tried several times to stop the argument, but every word he spoke was drowned out by the deafening shouting.
Before departing, Galon had entrusted him with command in name, while instructing Lord Karstark to assist him.
Yet Edmure was utterly incapable of controlling the situation.
After everything that had happened at Riverrun, he was mentally exhausted, his confidence shattered.
What little authority he had possessed was no longer enough to command the respect of everyone present.
Especially after reports arrived that Tywin had already reached Harrenhal with an army of more than fifty thousand men.
Whether they should stand and fight or retreat had become an endless tug-of-war, leaving Edmure frozen like a puppet pulled in opposite directions.
Just as his worries threatened to overwhelm him, a scout burst into the tent, stumbling as he ran.
"My lords!
The Lannister... army is moving!
Their vanguard, about five thousand strong, is advancing toward the Trident!
They've almost reached the opposite bank of the Crossing!"
The news struck the room like a bucket of icy water. Every argument stopped instantly.
"What do we do now?"
"I said we should have retreated earlier!"
The Riverlords were ready to start blaming one another again, but Rickard had already drawn his sword and pointed it toward the tent entrance.
"What's the point of arguing now?"
His eyes swept across the room before settling on Edmure.
He raised his voice, trying to restore everyone's morale.
"There's only one path left. We fight!
Follow me out and meet the enemy!vIf we wait until they cross the river, every one of us will die here!"
At last, Edmure came to his senses.
He nodded in agreement.
Under the looming threat of the Lannisters, the camp finally reached a fragile consensus.
Edmure and Rickard hastily assembled ten thousand men and marched in disorder toward Ruby Ford.
When they arrived, they found Gregor Clegane—the Mountain—leading the Lannister vanguard to the opposite bank at almost the exact same moment.
The tide was high.
Neither side could cross.
They could only glare at one another across the rushing river.
"The Mountain..." Rickard frowned deeply as he rode beside Edmure. "And Reach banners as well."
"It looks like Tywin is finally getting serious. He wants to destroy us while Lord Galon is away."
Edmure nodded.
Watching the swollen river, he realized no battle could begin just yet.
A quiet sigh of relief escaped him. "Fortunately, the tide will remain high for another three hours."
"We still have time."
Forcing himself to regain his composure, he turned to Rickard.
"Prepare the army. The moment the water recedes, the Mountain will attack."
Rickard nodded and immediately ordered every soldier to ready themselves for battle.
Without enough boats to cross, the two armies remained separated by the river, reduced to staring at one another in an awkward stalemate.
As time passed, the current at Ruby Ford gradually weakened.
Both armies grew restless, ready to launch their assault the instant the water became shallow enough to cross.
Then—
From the northern flank of the allied army came the long, piercing cry of a war horn.
Woooo—
Woooo—
Woooo—
The next moment, thunderous hoofbeats rolled across the earth.
Beyond the horizon appeared what looked like a vast blue sea in motion.
Countless knights wearing blue cloaks swept toward the battlefield like an unstoppable tide.
"The knights of the Vale!"
Edmure and Rickard both stiffened in alarm.
They hurriedly ordered their troops to turn and face the approaching cavalry, uncertain whether they were friend or foe.
Then they saw it.
A silver fist upon a crimson banner.
"It's the King's Protector!"
"It's Lord Galon!"
"He's back!"
"The King's Protector really brought the knights of the Vale!"
In an instant, relief washed through the northern army.
Their cheers echoed across the battlefield.
On the opposite bank, Gregor's expression changed dramatically the moment he recognized Galon's banner.
Without the slightest hesitation, he ordered an immediate retreat.
By the time Galon arrived with the leading cavalry, the Lannister army had already withdrawn like the receding tide.
"The Mountain..."
"Gregor Clegane..."
"And Tyrell banners as well."
Galon narrowed his eyes.
"So Tywin intends to settle everything in one decisive battle."
Rickard and Edmure quickly rode over, unable to hide their excitement.
"Lord Galon!"
"You've finally returned!"
Galon turned toward them with a smile. "Lord Edmure. Lord Rickard. You've both done well."
After a brief pause, he introduced the man riding beside him.
"This is Lord Yohn Royce, Protector of the Vale. I've successfully secured an alliance with the Vale."
Turning toward Royce, he continued, "Lord Royce, this is Lord Edmure Tully and Lord Rickard Karstark."
Lord Royce smiled and nodded in greeting.
He then looked across the river at the retreating Lannister army and sighed. "I had hoped to catch them off guard. It seems we won't get that chance."
Galon laughed.
"There will be plenty of opportunities later."
He raised his hand.
"Return to camp!"
At his command, no one in either the North or the Riverlands objected.
Filled with renewed confidence, they followed the crimson banner bearing the silver fist, like a wolf pack reunited with its alpha, merging once more into the great tide of steel.
Meanwhile, along the High Road, more and more soldiers from the Vale continued arriving.
By evening, Galon and Lord Royce had finally settled the newly arrived troops into camp.
Only then did Galon call for a military council.
There was no rest.
Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was completely different from earlier that day.
Whether from the North or the Riverlands, every commander now carried only one emotion in their eyes—
Victory.
The panic and arguments of the morning had completely vanished.
Galon naturally took the central seat.
On his left sat Yohn Royce.
On his right sat Lord Edmure Tully.
Below them sat the leading commanders of the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Iron Islands.
For the first time, an allied army numbering more than fifty thousand men had truly been united under a single command.
Galon looked around the tent, calm and composed.
"Today's probing attack tells me one thing.
Tywin has run out of patience.
I am certain that within five days, he will personally lead his main army here for a decisive battle."
He pointed toward the map.
"And the battlefield... Will be Ruby Ford."
His eyes shone with confidence as he prepared to explain his detailed battle plan.
Suddenly—
The tent flap was thrown open.
Galon paused and looked toward the entrance.
An elderly man with white hair and a tall, imposing frame strode inside.
Following behind him was an awkward-looking black-haired, blue-eyed young man.
A girl dressed in a boy's clothes entered next, a slender sword hanging at her waist.
Behind her came a young man wearing a worn servant's tunic.
"Arya?"
The moment Galon saw the girl, he shot to his feet.
His face filled with astonished delight.
"Galon!"
Arya's eyes immediately brightened with excitement, and she instinctively started toward him.
But Ser Barristan, who had protected her all this time, gave her no opportunity to reunite.
His aged eyes swept across everyone gathered in the tent.
They carried the unwavering dignity and authority of an old-fashioned knight.
"My lords."
Barristan looked deeply at Galon before speaking in a clear, powerful voice.
"A military council that will decide the future of the realm... Why is His Grace the King not present?"
He stepped aside and gently guided the nervous young man behind him into the center of the tent.
"Allow me to introduce him."
His voice rang through the command tent like a royal proclamation.
"By the last will of King Robert the First Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm...
He is the late king's legitimized bastard.
He is first in the line of succession to House Baratheon. He is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.
King Gendry Baratheon the First.
My lords... You should kneel before your king."
The entire command tent fell into absolute silence.
Barristan's solemn declaration echoed in Galon's ears.
His pupils contracted sharply.
'Gendry...'
'So... this is when he appears.'
Galon's thoughts remained perfectly calm.
He knew that a political storm, even more dangerous than any battlefield, had become unavoidable.
__________
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