The nearest ford across the Red Fork lay upstream from the castle.
To reach Daven Lannister's command post, Jaime's retinue had to pass through the camp of Emmon Frey, riding past the pavilions of the Riverlords who had bent the knee to return to the King's Peace. Jaime's eyes scanned the banners: the broken wheel of Wayfarer's Rest, the dancing girl of Piper, the acorns of Smallwood.
But it was the missing sigils that troubled him. There was no silver eagle of Mallister, no red horse of Bracken, no willow of Ryger. Though they claimed loyalty to the Iron Throne, they had sent no men to the siege. Jaime knew House Bracken was busy burning House Blackwood's crops, but the others? These new "friends" were as hollow as a drum, their loyalty extending only as far as the nearest Lannister spear.
At the crossing, Jaime's men raised the white banner of the Kingsguard alongside King Tommen's crowned stag and lion. In the main camp, the rhythmic thud of mallets filled the air as a new siege tower rose. Two others already stood complete, draped in damp rawhide to ward off fire-arrows. Between them sat a massive ram, its iron-shod head sharpened and fire-hardened.
"My Lord," Josmyn Peckledon asked, "where shall we strike our tents?"
"On the high ground," Jaime said, pointing with his golden hand. "Separate the baggage and the horse. Ensure Ser Addam Marbrand patrols the perimeter. I won't be caught like a sleeper in the Whispering Wood again."
"Shall I call a council of war?" Daven asked.
"Not yet. Not until I have spoken with the Blackfish." Jaime turned to 'Beardless' Jon Bettley. "Ride to the gates under a peace banner. Tell Ser Brynden Tully: I will meet him on the drawbridge at dawn."
"Lord Jaime, their crossbowmen are on the walls—" Peck warned.
"Let them look," Jaime said, dismounting. "Raise my banners."
Inside his tent, the air grew thick with the warmth of a coal brazier. Jaime sat with his aunt, Genna Lannister, and her husband, Emmon Frey. Genna was a lioness in a Frey's den, eleven years older than Jaime and sharp as a razor. Her husband, however, was a constant prick to the senses.
"Look at those machines out there, Jaime!" Emmon squeaked, thrusting a piece of parchment under Jaime's nose. "Daven wants to smash the gates and throw pitch into the bailey! That is my castle! I have the decree, signed by Tommen himself! The stag and the lion! I am the Lord of Riverrun, and I will not have my property ruined."
Genna rolled her eyes and dismissed her husband with a sharp word. She lingered only a moment longer before leaving Jaime to his thoughts.
Unexpectedly, his next visitors were Riverlords.
"Lord Clement Piper, Lord Lymond Goodbrook," Jaime said, gesturing with his golden hand. "Sit. Let us speak."
Lord Lymond Goodbrook offered a stiff bow. "Ser Jaime, when do we storm the walls? My castle at Blue-Wave is under siege by a mercenary calling himself the 'Lightbringer.' My wife sent word by raven—they are surrounded."
Lightbringer? Every beggar with a sword claims a title these days, Jaime thought.
"If the ravens can fly, the siege is loose," Jaime said flatly. "I cannot let you leave, Lymond. If the Blackfish sees my lords departing, he will think my resolve is failing."
"My men are starving!" Lymond snapped. "Daven has kept us here for three moons. Ser Brynden scoured the land, and Ser Ryman Frey won't share the grain from the Twins. My people want their hearths."
Jaime turned to Lord Piper. "And you, My Lord? I heard no news of your castle being besieged."
"No," Clement Piper said, "but this 'Lightbringer' has sent monks into my lands. They preach heresy and sedition against the Throne. Lord Goodbrook is being choked by spears; the rest of us are being choked by hymns. I ask that once Riverrun falls, you help us purge these zealots."
Jaime waved them off. "Heresy is for the High Septon to judge. I won't slaughter peasants for praying to a Sun God. Go back to your tents. We speak to the Blackfish tomorrow."
As the lords left, Jaime recalled the miracles he had heard on the road. His mind drifted to Aldric Cerese, the man with the dark eyes who had mended the stump of his arm with a flash of light. Was he this Lightbringer? Jaime called for Peck and ordered a few scouts to gather intelligence on the "Golden Dawn."
At dawn, Jaime rode to the drawbridge. Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, was already there, his chestnut stallion draped in the red-and-blue of House Tully. Jaime reined in a yard away and nodded.
"Kingslayer," the Blackfish said.
It was the first time the old man had addressed him so coldly.
"Blackfish," Jaime replied, swallowing his pride. "Thank you for the parley."
"I came because I thought you were here to fulfill a vow," Brynden said. "You promised Catelyn her daughters in exchange for your life. Where are the girls? Even their bones would suffice."
"I have not found them," Jaime said.
"A pity. Then you've come back to your cell? We've kept the straw fresh for you."
"I am here for the living, not the dead," Jaime countered. "I wish to save the men within your walls."
"Provided I hand you the keys?" The Blackfish's eyes were stone. "Edmure is your hostage, but my nephew is a dead man regardless of what I do. Hang him if you must. I am tired of the farce."
"I have Sybell Spicer and her children," Jaime offered. "I will trade them for your Lord."
"You offer a grandmother and three babes for a Lord Paramount? You trade like a back-alley merchant, Jaime. Catelyn was a fool to trust a man who builds on quicksand."
The parley spiraled into bitterness. Jaime offered safety for the garrison; the Blackfish offered a slaughter of Lannister men at the walls.
"The war is over, Ser," Jaime shouted. "Harrenhal, Seagard, and Maidenpool have fallen. Your vassals have bent the knee. You are twenty-to-one."
"Twenty-to-one in men, but twenty-to-one in grain," the Blackfish scoffed. "We can last two years. Can you?"
"I have a golden sword and a golden hand," Jaime said, his patience snapping. "Single combat. You and I. Or your champion and mine. Let the gods decide."
Brynden Tully laughed. "I was wondering when you'd say it. Who would you send? Strongboar? Addam Marbrand? Black Walder?" He leaned in. "Or will you fight me yourself, Ser?"
"Lady Catelyn made me swear not to take up arms against her kin."
"Ah, the convenient vow," the Blackfish mocked. "No, Jaime. I won't fight you. Not because I fear your steel, but because I know you're a cripple. That golden hand is a pretty toy, but it won't hold a shield."
"Release me from my vow," Jaime challenged. "If I win, the castle is mine. If you kill me, the siege is lifted."
"Your word is dross, and your death buys me nothing but a grin," Brynden said, turning his horse. "I won't risk a single life for your pride. Kingslayer, you have always been a disappointment."
The iron portcullis slammed shut behind the Blackfish.
Back at the camp, Jaime called a council. It was a cacophony of egos. Strongboar wanted to storm the gates; Emmon Frey wanted the castle "unscratched"; Lord Piper wanted his son back from the Twins. The meeting ended when Piper stormed out in a rage.
As the tent emptied, Ser Ilyn Payne, the silent headsman, looked at Jaime.
"I talk too much," Jaime muttered. "The mess is absolute. But the Blackfish is only a castellan. The true Lord of Riverrun is still standing under a noose. Let's go see if Edmure Tully is ready to talk."
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