Lord Gendry set off with Lord Jason, Lord Yohn, Ser Barristan, Anguy, and one hundred gold-cloaked guards.
Lord Jason, as a Lord of Riverrun, knew Catelyn, while Lord Yohn had kinship with House Stark, making them friendly for generations. Because it was not far from the North, many Lords of the Vale had good relations with the Northern Lords.
Golden banners flew, and the soldiers were proud and confident. Saving The Three Rivers, slaughtering the Frey Family—they were the stag of Night, victorious in every battle.
Lord Gendry stood on a small hill and soon saw the white banners, with the gray Direwolf of House Stark in the center, followed by the banners of other Northern Lords. The Northmen were marching south, but at this time, only a few vanguards had arrived.
Robb Stark appeared. He had reddish-brown hair, blue eyes, and a stubbled chin; the Young Wolf had grown a beard.
Robb rode a shaggy gray destrier, his shield hanging at his side: a wooden shield, iron-rimmed, gray and white, with a roaring Direwolf head carved upon it. He wore a bleached leather vest over gray chainmail, a longsword and dagger at his waist, and a fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders.
Robb was trying to pass himself off as an adult, but alas, this youth was not yet one. Robb was powerfully built, his appearance more like a Tully than a Stark. Beside Robb were two friends, the bastard Jon and the hostage Theon.
Lord Gendry's gaze swept over the Northern army. Some Lords and elite soldiers had good equipment and armor, but the majority of the other summoned soldiers were probably very outdated, still relying on chainmail, and the North had few cavalry. With the warming climate and economic exchanges, the gap between the North and other Lords had actually widened.
"Lord Gendry," Robb rode forward and then saluted.
Robb also observed the visitors before him. Although their attitude was friendly, they had, after all, taken The Twins. Robb saw Lord Gendry in black scale plate armor like an eternal dark night, with a resplendent golden cloak over his armor. A large spiked warhammer and an arakh were tied to his saddle.
Lord Gendry also stepped forward, with Anguy and Barristan following closely.
"It is an honor to meet you."
"And you as well."
"My Lord, I am sorry I did not return to Myr as scheduled," Jon Snow said apologetically. According to his mission, he should have returned after reaching White Harbor, but his love for his family caused him to delay for quite some time.
"Jon," Robb wanted to interject and stop him. If Lord Gendry truly needed men, he could offer thirty Northern soldiers in exchange for Jon.
"This was Lord Eddard's wish. Now that I have seen you, I should follow you," Jon said.
So Robb, enduring great torment, nodded. With the North now arrayed for battle, the best helper was Stark, and the bastard was at least his brother. He hadn't expected Jon, like his father, to keep his word.
"Let's go." Lord Gendry and Robb exchanged a smile, Robb's very forced.
Robb's Direwolf, Grey Wind, not far behind him, also seemed somewhat agitated, wanting to distance himself from Lord Gendry. Lord Gendry had never seen such a large wolf, with golden eyes.
Grey Wind, seeing him, became even more agitated, wanting to leave the place. Robb also felt some surprise; this was not aversion, but fear.
"It's the scent of a dragon," Lord Gendry understood in his heart the reason for Grey Wind's anxiety. Direwolf were also magical creatures. Like dragons, fierce beasts would make horses tremble in fear, but dragons were the most magical and mystical creatures; that smell of fire and smoke, even Direwolf could not endure.
Lord Gendry made a "please" gesture, not towards The Twins, but towards the large military camp on the East River.
The Blackfish, following behind Robb, changed his expression slightly. Great Jon was about to speak but was stopped by someone else, Robb signaling with his eyes. Jon Umber was a tall man, almost seven feet, with thick muscles covering his body. He was also a formidable warrior.
"Go and inform my mother and the others."
"Yes." The Blackfish turned and left.
Lord Gendry glanced again at the cynical Theon beside Robb. He was a slender, brown-haired, handsome nineteen-year-old.
"Young Master Theon, your father has never written to me."
Theon immediately flushed. The shimmering golden cloak and the stag on the helmet, the warhammer on the horse, reminded him of his years of kneeling. He had knelt to the stag and the Direwolf after Pyke fell, which filled him with a wave of fear. "The matters of the Iron Islands, I..."
"I hope King Balon is forgetful, and not deliberate," Lord Gendry's words were unsparing. The Iron Islands were not an ally that could be appeased.
"Yes..." Theon dared not retort. In truth, Balon cared nothing for his life and never wrote. Theon felt the biting killing intent around him solidify, as if the stag was mocking his courage; it was a tremor of power and will.
The situation changed like the plum rains, and the Direwolf banner and the golden dragon-stag quartered banner entered the large camp together. Lord Gendry usually did not reside in the castle, but in the military camp.
Robb saw the knights in the large camp, clad in fine black scale plate armor, full of fighting spirit.
"So many cavalry," Robb sighed in his heart. When he raised men in the North, he only had about three thousand cavalry, and their armor and equipment were far inferior. (Part of the reason was that some Lords simply did not obey orders and hid their elites.)
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