The Reach army departed silently under the cover of dawn, choosing the most disorienting time to avoid alerting the defenders of Twin River City. Their retreat was orderly and meticulously organized. Scouts rode ahead, archers and baggage remained in the center, infantry provided support at the front and rear, and large cavalry units patrolled the flanks, ensuring no disorder would slow their withdrawal.
Eddard Karstark observed from the city walls. His cavalry was too small to pursue—only a hundred or so men, hardly enough to harass an army in full retreat. Had he possessed a thousand riders, the Reach forces might have felt his pressure, suffering ambushes and constant skirmishes as they withdrew. Unfortunately, numbers dictated caution.
"Lord Tarly," Eddard called as he motioned toward the shining figure of his captive, "your son has led the retreat."
Although he could not attack, he sent word inviting Count Tarly closer. The older man approached, his golden armor gleaming in the morning light, a symbol of rank and pride even amidst defeat.
"From what I know of King Robb," Eddard continued, "Ruby Ford must be blocked by Lord Brynden's forces. Your son has no way back." He paused, allowing the words to sink in. Then a sly smile crept across his face. "Why not write a letter in your own hand, persuading him to surrender? That way, both sides save themselves unnecessary trouble."
Randyll Tarly remained silent for a long moment, gazing at the abandoned camp beyond the city walls. Finally, he spoke, his tone heavy with reluctance: "You have won. What must I pay to redeem my freedom and the family sword? Tell me, and I can write a letter. Scholar Bennett can send a raven back to Horn Hill."
The words were spoken with extreme reluctance. Tarly had faith in his second son; he knew Deacon would never flee or falter in battle like his elder brother. It must have been Count Matthus Rowan of Goldengrove, that toad-like sycophant of the Tyrells, and a few other cowardly lords who, seeing Roose Bolton flee, abandoned the will to fight. Were Tarly still present in the camp, this retreat would never have occurred.
But life has no "ifs." Eddard Karstark's strategy had been ruthlessly effective. Capturing the commander without hesitation created uncertainty in the Reach army, ensuring victory regardless of whether Tarly's life had been spared.
"No hurry, Lord Tarly," Eddard said gently. "Perhaps your son will arrive in the city shortly. We can discuss terms then. Believe me, that day will not be far off."
The two descended from the city wall. Randyll Tarly was escorted to the dungeon, while Eddard returned to the tower to draft a letter, planning the next steps of administration and defense.
Twin River City itself stirred into motion. Scholar Bennett led medical teams through the streets, tending to the wounded. Basins of once-clear water quickly turned crimson, and the stench of blood ran into the Green Fork River, attracting schools of fish. Abel and Lando, with many laborers, began clearing the filled-in moat, salvaging the bodies of those who had sunk to the riverbed. In such times, no one worried about consuming fish that had fed on human remains.
Yet Eddard remained cautious. As weather warmed, rotting bodies could pollute the water, spreading disease. Even if the likelihood of plague was low, it was a risk he refused to gamble with.
Karas Snow and Matthew led small cavalry squads south, tracking the retreating Reach forces from a distance. One could never be careless. What if the enemy attempted a surprise cavalry assault? A few well-placed scouts ensured early warning.
Meanwhile, Eddard, accompanied by Paine and Rollger, reassured the city's residents, who had been tense during the siege. He fulfilled his promises, paying commissions to the young men who had aided in the defense and providing additional food for their service. Even temporary rulers could earn gratitude through thoughtful gestures.
The unpopularity of House Frey in the city became evident through the villagers' reactions. Dita Kalander and her followers were sent to Riverrun to confirm Robb Stark's itinerary, theoretically arriving in the city in about two days.
"Lord Eddard, by the blessing of the Lord of Light, congratulations on repelling the enemy," the Red Priest from Myr said. "Since the battle has ended, most of us may need to take our leave."
He smiled amiably. Though only in Twin River City for a few days, his relaxed features had regained firmness, and his curved eyes hinted at untold stories. He had come to bid farewell.
"Oh?" Eddard replied, handing a coin to a young man receiving his commission. Smiling, he motioned for Paine to continue distribution before turning back to Thoros. "The Riverlands are more stable now. I fear there are fewer bandits for you to face. Once lords return to their lands, they will not tolerate groups like yours. Will you disband, be recruited, or return to farming?"
"I will not abandon my brothers," Berry Dondelion said firmly, stepping forward. His one good eye shone with resolve. His plate armor, recently repaired, gleamed smoothly beneath a grey-black wool cloak that shielded him from the chill and rain.
Eddard's curiosity was piqued. "Then where will you go?"
"We have our plans," Thoros replied with a restrained smile, though his newly rounded face betrayed some disappointment. He had hoped Eddard would recruit them, allowing him to spread the teachings of the Lord of Light across the Riverlands. Since arriving, he had mastered several powers: prophecy through fire, making swords burn with blood and prayer, and even resurrection.
Thoros believed the Riverlands were favored by the Lord of Light, granting him grace and awakening. Yet Eddard gently reminded him, "There are many places you could go. Storm's End, perhaps. Stannis has converted to your faith and employed Melisandre. The Wall, too, faces threats. Lord Commander Mormont seeks reinforcements to counter the undead Beyond the Wall."
Thoros stiffened, and Eddard chuckled. "Of course, you may stay, but the King's decision will ultimately prevail."
"When will the King of the North arrive?" Berry asked.
Robb Stark arrived faster than expected. On the evening of the second day after the battle, three thousand Northern cavalry appeared on the East Bank of Twin River City, mud-soaked and exhausted, yet unbroken. Their speed exceeded all expectations.
Eddard, standing at the city gate with Patrick Mallister, marveled silently. "How are Northern soldiers like animals? Can they march so swiftly in heavy rain?"
Indeed, they had. Robb Stark had feared for Twin River City's safety and spared no effort. Traveling light, with simple weapons and minimal rations, his men marched against wind and storm, arriving at the city as swiftly as possible.
"The enemy has retreated?" Robb's face first reflected surprise, then settled into a satisfied smile. "Eddard, I knew you could handle this. You have never disappointed anyone."
Eddard's gaze flicked briefly to a familiar figure—a playboy who had infiltrated Roslin's bed in two days, a habitual deceiver of young women, yet for now, a trivial concern.
"Your Majesty," Eddard said firmly, "although difficult, the enemy retreated on their own. My credit is secondary; the timely support of the Mallister family was crucial. Our work, however, is far from over."
Patrick smiled awkwardly, thinking of how he might plead for Roslin's pardon. Colluding with foreign enemies, attempting regicide, and implicating at least a third of one's family would usually warrant execution.
"Yes," Robb agreed, leading the way into the city, followed by Greatjon, who gave a hearty thumbs-up. "Well done, fellow!"
Next came Earl Glover, Lady Maege, Ser Willis, and heirs of Northern families. Lastly, Eddard's half-brother Harrion Karstark arrived. He studied his younger brother with a mix of surprise and pride, realizing that war had tempered Eddard into a leader even before him.
"Ned, you've changed so much," Harrion said.
"You too," Eddard replied casually, using the nickname shared among family. Harrion's fierce features softened as he nodded in agreement, acknowledging both the battle's toll and its lessons.
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