"Ser Edwin, you're early." Tyrion sat in the great tent. Last night she had sent Podrick to notify all the lords about today's meeting.
"Indeed, my lord." Edwyn Frey dipped his head. "My father behaved poorly, and I wished to make a good impression. Besides, he left early this morning."
"Sit beside me."
Edwyn Frey was a pale, slender man with a sharp nose and straight Blackhair. Flattered and tense, he hurried into the seat beside Tyrion, afraid someone else might snatch this seat of honor.
Tyrion handed him a sheet of parchment—the appointment for Riverrun.
"My lord..." Edwyn looked up, startled. "This..."
"The poor messenger was hanged," Tyrion said. "Our men found him, stripped the body, and recovered this letter. Forgive me, ser—I opened and read it, but decided it still belonged to you."
"My lord, this... Riverrun..." Edwyn stammered.
"Riverrun is grand enough, a prize for many," Tyrion said. "But a royal decree is final. His Grace Joffrey granted Riverrun to your family, and I must acknowledge that."
He noticed Edwyn's hand trembling.
"I intend to appoint you as Lord of Riverrun. Your father is heir to the Crossing, so placing you in charge of Riverrun makes sense."
"Thank you, my lord."
"No need. We're allies—Lannister and Frey." Tyrion patted his shoulder, glad the man hadn't attended his betrothal feast; otherwise he might never have believed Tyrion's feigned warmth.
"You're a good man, my lord." Edwyn tucked the letter away. "Black Walder's accusations against you are nothing but slander. Everyone knows how vicious he is..."
Tyrion cut him off. "We arrived half an hour ahead of time. I wanted you informed first. The other three river lords will be here soon. Whether you reveal this appointment to them is your choice. For now, the siege camp is yours to command."
"My lord, I..."
Edwyn tried to continue, but footsteps outside interrupted him.
The three river lords filed into the tent. Those who came early took seats farthest from Lannister and Frey; the latecomers had no choice but to sit near them.
Closest were Daven and the bastard son of the Weasel, Walder Rivers.
Tyrion cleared his throat.
"Let's discuss the castle." His father always let the commanders speak first at war councils, so he did the same. "My attempt at persuading them to yield has failed. What should we do?"
"Start by hanging Edmure Tully," Walder Rivers said. "A lesson for Ser Brynden. The best lesson. Send him his nephew's head—he'll be terrified and open the gates."
"Edmure Tully is my wife's uncle!" Tyrion snapped. "If I didn't want this wife, I'd hang them both without your advice!"
"Brynden Blackfish isn't easily cowed," said Karyl Vance, Lord of Wayfarer's Rest, his wine-red birthmark stretching across half his neck and one cheek. "His own brother never convinced him to take a wife."
Daven shook his head of wild hair. "As I've said, we'll have to storm it. Use catapults to smash a breach, then charge."
Tyrion glanced at Edwyn.
"No," Edwyn said quickly, face flushing. "That would destroy Riverrun. I mean—the cost is too high, the casualties too great."
"Better than scaling with ladders," Daven replied.
"Storming will cost too much," Walder Rivers argued. "Wait for a moonless night. Send a dozen good men across the river by boat, paddles wrapped to muffle sound. Once close, they climb with hooks and ropes and open the gates from inside. If you agree, I'll lead them myself."
"Fool!" Daven barked. "If tricks like that worked, he wouldn't be the Blackfish."
"Blackfish is difficult," Edwyn Frey agreed, "but he wears a black trout on his helm—easy to spot. I say we move siege towers packed with crossbowmen forward while pretending to assault the gates. When Blackfish appears fully armored, unleash a storm of bolts. And have the crossbowmen smear their arrows with dung as a mark. Once Ser Brynden falls, Riverrun is ours."
Lord Karyl's birthmark darkened. "Dung? Your own dung, Edwyn? That filth could kill a man, I've no doubt."
"Flooding?" Walder Rivers pressed on. "Lord Tyrion destroyed Stannis at the Blackwater Rush. We could do it again."
Tyrion saw Edwyn tug at Walder. He's worried about Riverrun, Tyrion thought.
"It won't work. Late autumn brings no rain," Tyrion said. "Back then, nearly ten thousand men were sent to dam the Blackwater Rush, with local farmers helping—we paid them in silver and grain."
"Tell me—how many men can you gather for a dam? Three hundred? Five hundred? And what farmer would help drown his own lord, Lord Tully?"
Walder Rivers fell silent.
"Lord Tyrion is right. This approach won't work," Edwyn said.
"Brynden Tully and I go back a long way. We served as squires together under Lord Darry when we were boys," said the Lord of Atranta, the blind Norbert Vance. "If you'll allow it, I'm willing to step in and try to make him see reason."
"He sees perfectly well," said Lord Piper, a short, round man with bowed legs and a mess of unruly red hair.
He was the father of my brother Jaime's squire, and the two looked very much alike. "He's no fool, Norbert. He's not blind. He knows full well he can't yield to this lot." Piper jabbed a finger in the direction of Edwyn Frey and Walder Rivers.
Edwyn lifted a brow. "Lord Piper is implying…"
"I'm not implying anything, Frey. I'm a decent man—I say what I think. Though I doubt the likes of you could ever understand a decent man's mind. You fickle, lying weasel. I'd rather drink piss than listen to House Frey spew filth." He leaned forward across the table. "Answer me—where is Marq? What have you done with my son? He was a guest at your wedding, for God's sake!"
"He remains our honored guest," Edwyn declared, "until you prove your unwavering loyalty to His Majesty, King Joffrey."
"Five knights and twenty men escorted Marq to the Twins," Piper shot back. "Were they honored guests too, Frey?"
"Perhaps some of the knights were guests. The others received the punishment they deserved. Piper, you'd best watch that traitor's tongue of yours, or you'll lose your heir."
Piper shot to his feet. "Say that again with a sword in your hand, Frey," the little lord roared. "Can you do anything besides spew shit?"
The Frey's pale, narrow face went bloodless, and Walder Rivers stood as well. "Edwyn isn't much of a swordsman… practice with me, Piper. We'll step outside and end this properly."
"This is a war council, not a battlefield," Tyrion reminded them. "Both of you, sit."
Walder Rivers obeyed at once, but Lord Piper was not so easily dismissed. Muttering curses, he stormed out of the tent.
"Shall I send men to bring him back, my lord?" Ser Daven asked.
Karyl Vance appealed to Tyrion. "Lord Piper is overcome with grief. Marq is his eldest son, and the knights who accompanied him to The Twins were his nephews and cousins."
"Traitors," Edwyn Frey muttered.
Tyrion fixed Edwyn with a stare, thinking that even if Edwyn gave the order to storm the walls right now, no one would follow him.
"Starve the Blackfish," Tyrion said at last. "Starve them until they open the gates."
"Their stores are full," Walder Rivers objected.
"Did you see them?" Tyrion countered. "Did you walk into Riverrun's granaries and see mountains of food? The Trident has been ravaged. If you ask me, he's lying."
"It's a good idea," Edwyn nodded. The risk was low, and it would keep Riverrun—his Riverrun—intact. "But the horses…"
"A siege needs no cavalry," Tyrion said. "Infantry will do. All we need is enough men to encircle the castle and ensure the food runs short."
The three river lords nodded in agreement. Edwyn Frey didn't want Riverrun destroyed, and they didn't want to see House Tully bleed. This solution suited everyone.
"Food and supplies—the Crossing will shoulder most of it," Tyrion said as he rose and clapped Edwyn's shoulder. "The price of victory. I doubt Lord Frey will begrudge it, will he?"
"Of course not," Edwyn said quickly. "Rest assured, my lords. During the siege, you'll have our full support."
With someone footing the bill and provisions guaranteed, the three river lords had no objections.
"All right, that's it," Tyrion said, clapping his hands. "Return to your camps and see to your defenses."
Once everyone had left the tent, Daven leaned in. "Cousin, what are you thinking? The Blackfish isn't bluffing. They might not have two years of grain, but they've surely got a year, maybe more."
"What are you thinking, cousin?" Tyrion grinned. "You really think I want to take Riverrun? And then what? Hand it to Edmure Tully?"
"Ah…" Daven exhaled. "I understand…"
"Eat well and drink well, Daven," Tyrion said. "Enjoy a few idle days. Should I go find a girl? A clean country maiden?"
"Are you mad? Your betrothed is right here," Daven said.
"We're not married yet," Tyrion chuckled. "I can't very well force myself on her in front of her uncle."