Chapter 22:
North of Riverrun, in the Stark army camp.
Continuous autumn rain had turned the entire Riverlands into a vast muddy swamp. Northern soldiers huddled in their tents wrapped in soaked furs, their morale sinking lower by the day. Although Robb Stark had never lost a battle on the field, the lack of supplies and the longing for home were slowly devouring the soul of this army.
At that moment, the heavy sound of hooves shattered the camp's dead silence.
A column of black cavalry, equipped to an almost outrageous degree, sliced into the muddy camp like a sharp blade.
At the head rode a man with black hair and purple eyes, wearing an expensive black fox-fur cloak. Even in the pouring rain, he maintained the elegance and cleanliness unique to high nobility, forming a stark contrast with the mud-covered Northern soldiers around him.
"Stop! Who goes there?!"
The Karstark soldiers on patrol raised their spears warily, blocking the way.
"Are you blind, you dogs?!"
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, rode forward, his burned face looking especially grotesque in the rain. "Bring Robb Stark out! Baron Pompey has come to deliver a gift!"
"The Hound?! That's the Lannisters' dog!"
The Northern soldiers instantly exploded. Weapons were drawn in a flash — hundreds of swords pointed at the small group of only fifty men.
The atmosphere became explosive.
At that moment, the carriage curtain was lifted.
A small, slender figure jumped down. She didn't hide behind Victor. Instead, she shouted at the hostile soldiers:
"Stop! Everyone stop! It's me — Arya! Arya Stark!"
The soldiers froze.
That muddy, short-haired "boy"… looked strangely familiar.
"Is that… the second young lady?"
"Gods be good… it really is Lady Arya!"
…
Inside the command tent.
The atmosphere here was even heavier than outside.
A huge map was spread across the table. The young "King in the North," Robb Stark, sat with a deep frown. He had grown a beard, making him look far more mature and weary than his actual age. Beside him sat Catelyn Tully, still deep in mourning for her husband.
Suddenly, the tent flap was violently thrown open.
"Robb!!!"
Robb's head snapped up.
When he saw the small figure charging in like a cannonball, the Young Wolf — decisive and ruthless on the battlefield — felt his eyes instantly turn red.
"Arya?!"
Robb dropped the battle report in his hand, strode forward, and pulled his sister into a tight embrace.
"Gods… I thought… I thought you were…"
"Mother!" Arya cried as she threw herself into Catelyn's arms.
The three of them hugged and wept together. In this world full of death and betrayal, this reunion felt like a miracle.
A long time passed before emotions calmed.
Robb wiped away his tears and turned his sharp gaze toward the man who had been silently standing at the entrance, watching everything.
Beside him stood the legendary Victor Pompey — the man who had slain the Mountain.
And behind Victor stood a red-robed woman radiating a dangerous aura.
"Baron Pompey."
Robb gently pushed his sister aside and placed his hand on his sword hilt. At this moment, he was a wolf protecting his pack.
"My sister says you rescued her from under Lord Tywin's nose. House Stark always repays its debts. But I've also heard… that in King's Landing, you are Joffrey's favorite, and you now carry my father's sword, 'Ice'."
The atmosphere in the tent instantly dropped to freezing point.
Greatjon Umber and the other Northern lords glared at Victor with murderous intent, as if ready to tear him apart at any second.
Victor was not intimidated by the killing aura.
He walked slowly into the tent, ignored the hostile stares, and went straight to the map to examine the current situation.
"If I were truly Joffrey's favorite, I would be leading Tywin's army to stab you in the back right now — not returning your sister to you."
Victor turned around and looked Robb straight in the eyes.
"As for 'Ice'…"
Clang!
Victor drew the smoke-grey greatsword from his system space.
The cold light illuminated the entire tent.
The Northern lords gasped. That was their lord's sword!
Victor did not brandish it. Instead, he held it with both hands, hilt facing Robb, and gave a slight bow.
"It belongs to its rightful owner."
This single action completely stunned everyone.
A priceless Valyrian steel sword — a symbol of power — and he was simply handing it over?
Robb was momentarily stunned. He accepted his father's greatsword, stroking the familiar ripples on the blade, his hand trembling.
"What… what do you want?" Robb was no fool. "Baron Pompey, you are a merchant. This sword, plus my sister's life — what is your price?"
"Smart."
Victor straightened up, the corner of his lips curling into an appreciative smile.
"Then let's speak plainly."
Victor walked to the table and slapped a gold dragon onto the map at the location of "The Twins."
"Your Grace, your army is strong, but you are out of money and nearly out of grain. Moreover, if you want to return to the North to retake Winterfell from the ironborn, you must pass through House Frey's Twins."
"But I heard you broke your betrothal with House Frey for a foreign healer girl?"
Robb's expression darkened. That was his sore spot.
"Walder Frey is a vengeful old bastard," Victor said coldly. "He hasn't made a move yet because he's waiting for the right moment to sell you at the highest price."
"I can give you three things."
Victor raised three fingers.
"First, two thousand tons of grain — enough to feed your army until next summer."
"Second, this sword and Arya."
"Third, Sansa Stark's safety."
At the mention of Sansa, Lady Catelyn asked urgently, "Where is Sansa? Is she still in King's Landing?"
"She is safe."
Victor's eyes carried a playful glint. "In fact, she is now one of the mistresses of Pompey Castle. I 'stole' her out of the Red Keep, just like I rescued Arya."
"What do you want?" Robb asked in a deep voice.
"I want you."
Victor pointed at Robb, then at the North on the map.
"I want exclusive trading rights over the North and the Riverlands."
"And…"
Victor's gaze burned with ambition as he revealed his true intention:
"I want to marry Sansa Stark."
"Furthermore, I want you, as King in the North, to name me the heir to the title of 'Duke of Winterfell' (even if it was later taken by Bolton, this represents legal claim) — in case… you meet with misfortune."
"Insolence!"
Greatjon Umber roared and drew his massive sword. "You dare curse His Grace's death? And you want to lay claim to the North?"
"Calm down, you big oaf."
Victor didn't even glance at him, his eyes fixed only on Robb.
"This is a time of war. I am buying you insurance. If I marry Sansa, House Pompey's wealth, military power, and even my connections in the South will all be at your disposal."
"If you win, I will be your brother-in-law and your greatest ally."
"If you lose…" Victor's voice grew low and serious, "at least the blood of House Stark will continue under my protection."
The tent fell into dead silence.
It was an extremely tempting — and extremely dangerous — proposal.
It meant selling half of the North's future to this man.
Robb looked at his father's sword "Ice," at his newly returned sister Arya, and at his mother's grief-stricken face.
He knew he had no room to refuse.
His army was on the verge of running out of food.
"Fine."
Robb Stark took a deep breath and made his decision.
"As long as you can provide the grain and guarantee Sansa's happiness… I accept this marriage."
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on completing an Epic-level Transaction!] [Title Acquired: Protector of the North (Legal Claim Version).] [Sansa Stark Status Changed: Betrothed → Official Marriage Partner.] [Quest Triggered: Reversal of the Red Wedding!] [Background: Walder Frey has secretly defected to Tywin and plans to massacre the entire Stark family at Edmure Tully's wedding.] [Quest Objective: Turn the tables, counter-kill the Freys, and annex the Twins!]
Victor revealed a satisfied smile.
He extended his hand and shook Robb's.
"Pleasure doing business with you, brother-in-law."
"Now, let's talk about Lord Walder Frey… I think it's time to prepare a coffin for that old weasel."
At that moment, Melisandre, who had been standing quietly in the corner, suddenly stepped forward.
Her red eyes stared intently at Robb Stark.
"Lord Pompey," Melisandre said softly, "I smell the scent of death on this young king. The Grim Reaper is already sharpening his blade at the Twins."
Robb was startled. "Who are you?"
"She is my advisor."
Victor cut in, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
"And she is the… undertaker I'm sending to House Frey."
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