The Debate at Riverrun

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The matters unfolding in King's Landing and on Dragonstone were of no concern to Clay in the North. In fact, he didn't know a thing about them, and even if he had, he wouldn't have spared them much thought.

Autumn was quietly slipping away, little by little. The days were turning colder with each passing moment, and time was running out for all of Westeros.

Clay set out from the west gate of the Twins, heading south along the course of the Green Fork.

The Riverlands had always been known as the crossroads of war, yet thanks to their previous victories, not many dared lay a hand on the smallfolk here.

But things were different now. After the crushing defeat to the east, Robb Stark — the very shield that once guarded the eastern lands of the Riverlands — had seen his entire army wiped out. And so, the lands east of Riverrun now lay exposed, vulnerable beneath the enemy's advancing blades.

Clay had no intention of sending scouts ahead. Right now, the only thing that mattered was reaching Riverrun as swiftly as possible.

The people at Riverrun had received word in advance that Clay was on his way. They had even sent men across the Red Fork to escort him, ensuring nothing would go wrong.

From the Riverlords' point of view, if Clay Manderly—the North's last shred of hope—were to meet with some unfortunate accident along the way, then their Riverlands, as the North's staunchest allies, would be in deep, irreparable trouble.

Though, in truth, they were worrying over nothing. Clay had brought with him a full company of one hundred elite cavalry. While they might not be enough to launch an assault on the Vale men directly, they were certainly capable of defending themselves if the need arose.

The group pressed on at full gallop, wasting no time in reaching Riverrun as swiftly as possible.

The moment they arrived outside the stronghold, Clay could see the sprawling sea of tents stretching across the fields. A place like Riverrun couldn't possibly hold twenty thousand men, so the armies had no choice but to camp beyond its walls.

Banners of every house fluttered in the wind—Raventree Hall, Riverrun, Seagard—all kinds of standards filled the camps, planted beside every single tent like a sea of colors and sigils.

At a glance, the scene certainly looked imposing enough. It certainly had the scale of a proper army now. But as for how well those soldiers could actually fight… well, that was a question only the battlefield itself could answer.

As they rode into Riverrun, the sight of the Manderly banners immediately drew the eyes of many. Almost instinctively, people paused in their tracks. Of course, they recognized that flag. It had not been long since the man behind that banner had appeared beneath the walls of Riverrun, crushed their enemies, and pulled them back from the brink of disaster.

Upon reaching the main keep of House Tully, Clay was led into the great hall by the family's guards.

Not long ago, after lingering what felt like an eternity upon his sickbed, Lord Hoster Tully had finally lost his battle with time. In the end, he had gone to meet the Seven he had so devoutly believed in. And so… Edmure Tully had formally taken up the mantle as Lord of the Riverlands.

But the newly appointed Lord Edmure had barely settled into his seat before calamity descended upon him. His greatest allies—the Northern king army—had collapsed completely. Now, Edmure found himself trapped within a castle that could fall at any moment, powerless to make a move.

This entire situation had left Edmure Tully completely rattled. With barely any real experience on the battlefield, his decisions changed by the hour, each one more panicked and uncertain than the last, leaving the other lords gathered at Riverrun frowning in frustration.

It hadn't taken long for them to see the truth: if they followed this young lord's lead, their armies would end up buried in some ditch.

And so, the old, well-established noble houses of the Riverlands — the ones with deep roots and towering influence — began working together. They lobbied Edmure endlessly, urging him not to move his forces lightly, while quietly tightening the pressure around him, forcing him to send word to Clay Manderly at the Twins.

Once the Vale cavalry began their assault on the three eastern castles of Riverrun, Edmure had sent reinforcements. But his men were ambushed with almost laughable ease by the riders of the Vale. Their rear was cut off, their ranks divided and encircled, and they were wiped out so completely that not even a ripple remained in their wake.

After that, Edmure Tully no longer dared to send aid to the three besieged castles. The lords of those strongholds were left fuming, pacing back and forth inside Riverrun, so anxious they could scarcely remain still, yet utterly powerless to change their fate.

This was, after all, a time of war. Technically, they could have simply packed up and left. But doing so would mean cutting themselves off entirely from all future plans and decisions made by Riverrun and its forces. That was a price no lord in his right mind was willing to pay.

Clay entered the great hall. His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure standing by the massive sand table in the center of the hall, a heavy cloak draped across his shoulders, brow furrowed in silence — the bearded Edmure Tully.

"Ha! Clay Manderly, you're finally here," Edmure greeted him as soon as their eyes met, the frustration in his voice impossible to miss. "How the hell did things get to this point? We're in real trouble now."

Hearing that, Clay's brow creased ever so slightly.

"Lord Edmure," he replied evenly, "let's not dwell on that for now. I am not entirely clear on the battlefield situation myself. By the time I reached the Twins, His Majesty's army had already suffered disaster. So, truth be told… I probably do not know much more than you."

His voice was light and steady as he spoke, shrugging off his heavy cloak with practiced ease. Without the slightest hesitation in his stride, he walked directly over to the sand table.

Edmure Tully let out an awkward laugh. Faced with Clay Manderly, he simply couldn't muster the slightest bit of confidence. After all, back when he'd been taken prisoner, it was Clay who had personally rescued him.

Later, during the battle that lifted Riverrun's siege, and in the sweeping rout that shattered the Lannister army, if it hadn't been for Clay Manderly's command, Edmure honestly couldn't say where he would be standing now… or if he'd even still be alive.

"Lord Clay," spoke up the Lord of Raventree Hall, stepping forward to explain, "the current situation is like this. Our army is holding along the Riverrun perimeter. To the west, the Lannisters are still locked up in Golden Tooth with no movement whatsoever."

Clay nodded slightly. Ever since Jaime Lannister had been sent back to the Westerlands by his father, Lord Tywin, he'd been behaving himself rather well. Aside from leading a bunch of green recruits to thrash some of the Ironborn who had landed ashore, he hadn't done much else.

Seeing Clay stay silent, the Lord of Raventree Hall continued with his explanation:

"Before you arrived, Lord Edmure sent an army of two thousand men to rescue Stone Hedge, Acorn Hall, and Stonedance after they came under attack. But clearly, the Vale men were lying in wait nearby."

"How many Vale troops are there exactly? Have you figured that out?" Clay cut in, his voice calm but sharp. "I don't want to hear what the soldiers 'think.' That kind of guesswork only clouds everyone's judgment."

What Clay truly wanted to know was this: had the Vale sent their entire force of ten thousand cavalry here? Or had they held back reserves elsewhere?

If all ten thousand were here, then at least the cards were on the table. That would actually make this fight a little easier to plan.

"Mm… it should be their full force," the Lord of Raventree Hall replied after a moment's thought, stroking his chin as he spoke. "The soldiers who made it back alive, along with the ravens we received from the three castles, all reported encountering large enemy numbers. If the Vale hadn't committed their entire army here, there's no way they could blockade so many places at once."

As the man overseeing the battlefield, the Lord of Raventree's assessment carried considerable weight.

Clay gave a slight nod, his voice as calm as ever.

"All ten thousand of them are here… yet they're not attacking Riverrun," he murmured, his eyes fixed steadily on the sand table. "They have cavalry acting like infantry… what they want is for us to abandon the safety of these walls and meet them in open battle."

As he spoke, Clay first pointed to the location of the three besieged castles, then traced his finger across the map to where they now stood at Riverrun. Finally, he circled a small patch of land in between, his voice lowering slightly.

"If I'm not mistaken… this whole area here… it's just flat, open plains, isn't it? No hills, no rough terrain to speak of?"

"That's right. All good farmland belonging to my House Tully," Edmure replied, taking the chance to interject, his voice carrying a faint edge of displeasure. "It's densely populated too."

Once again, he felt himself being pushed to the sidelines of the discussion, and the frustration showed plainly in his words.

But Clay had no time or patience to spare for Edmure's feelings. His hand came down on the map with a soft but deliberate pat, and a cold chuckle escaped his lips.

"That explains it," he said, eyes sweeping across the gathered nobles. "Look here… they're all cavalry. Even though they've dismounted for now and are playing the part of foot soldiers, their horses must be close by. The moment we recklessly march out to meet them, they'll be able to mount up at lightning speed."

Clay's knuckles tapped the stretch of plains twice, the sound echoing faintly through the hall.

"What a perfect battlefield for them. No hills, no forests to break their charge. If Riverrun sends twenty thousand men out there, they only need to repeat the same tactics they used against King Robb. One cavalry charge under cover of night, and even if our men somehow manage to hold their ground… the casualties will be disastrous."

His words, steady and cutting, left the nobles of the Riverlands visibly shaken. Faces darkened one after another, a heavy silence settling over the great hall.

Seeing this, Clay delivered his final conclusion without the slightest hesitation.

"The Vale riders don't even need to wipe you out completely. All they have to do is cripple you, make you bleed, break your will to send reinforcements east… that alone would be enough."

"They gain nothing from crushing you entirely. Since they have chosen to side with Tywin Lannister, their first objective is to head south. Once the two stags have fought themselves bloody, they'll swoop in and devour the victor, taking back their seat on the Iron Throne."

Clay's voice was calm, but every word struck with sharp precision, laying bare the logic behind the Vale cavalry's strange tactics.

Because if this were truly an all-out war aimed at crushing the Riverlands entirely, those riders would have gone straight for the military camps beneath Riverrun by now.

"That's why, for now, we absolutely cannot move our army lightly," Clay declared, his gaze firm and unwavering. "As long as we hold this position, the Vale riders will not dare to withdraw. And Tywin Lannister… he will be forced to remain camped outside Harrenhal, keeping watch over His Majesty Robb."

"There's enough food in Harrenhal. Worst case, we drag this out with Tywin Lannister for as long as it takes. But if King's Landing picks a winner… well, I'd love to see what Lord Tywin plans to do then."

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