Rumplestiltskin's eyes scanned the sombre faces that gathered at Riverrun, where the Starks (and their army) had come to pay their respects to the late Hoster Tully. The river flowed peacefully by their side, its current carrying a small row boat that held Hoster's body, adorned with flowers and wreaths.
As Catelyn and Robb stood with Brynden Tully (Catelyn's uncle) in silence, Edmure Tully stepped forward, his grip firm around a large bow with an arrow already loaded. He approached a brazier and lit the arrow's tip before drawing back the bowstring and aiming it at the boat.
The arrow missed the boat, causing a splash in the water. Edmure's face twisted in frustration as he grabbed another arrow and repeated the process, but to no avail.
Rumplestiltskin watched the scene unfold, a small smirk forming on his lips. He conjured a bow of his own and strode forward, past the Stark family, towards Edmure.
"Allow me," he said, snatching the arrow from Edmure's hand and loading it onto his bow. He lit the arrow's tip with the brazier before aiming it towards the river, slightly off to the right.
Firing the bow, the arrow soared through the air, catching up to the boat and landing on the hay surrounding Hoster's body. The flames quickly ignited the straw, engulfing the boat in a fiery blaze.
Rumplestiltskin turned around to face the others, a smug expression on his face. "It's that simple, dearie," he said.
Edmure's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you do that? You weren't even aiming at the boat properly."
Rumplestiltskin's smile widened. "Oh, an arrow fired from this bow always finds its target, no matter where it is," he explained before walking off the wooden dock.
Back at Riverrun, Brynden and Edmure Tully were in the main hall of the great castle, discussing the past few days of the war against the Lannisters. Robb Stark was over by the window, looking at the countryside surrounding Riverrun.
Edmure stepped up towards Robb, his nephew. "If I may, nephew," he began. "I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing …."
Brynden stepped forward with a stern look showing upon his grizzled face. "Why don't you shut your mouth about that damned mill? And don't call him 'nephew.' He is your king."
"Robb knows I meant him no disrespect," Edmure began.
"You're lucky I'm not your king," Brynden interrupted. "I wouldn't let you wave your blunders like a victory flag."
"My blunder sent Tywin's mad dog scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs," Edmure said. "I think King Robb understands that we won't win this war if he's the only one winning any battles. No, there's glory enough to go around."
"It's not about glory," Robb said, looking at his uncle and great-uncle. "Your instructions were to wait for him to come to you."
"I seized an opportunity," Edmure explained. "The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from the mill. I took the fight to him. He could not withstand us."
"I wanted to draw the Mountain into the west," Robb told Edmure. "Into our country, where we could surround him and kill him. I wanted him to chase us, which he would have done because he is a mad dog without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now. But, instead, I have a mill."
"We took hostages. Willem Lannister. Martyn Lannister."
"Willem and Martyn Lannister are 14 years old."
"Martyn is 15, I believe," corrected Brynden from afar.
Robb stepped closer to his uncle. "Tywin Lannister has my sisters. Have I sued for peace?"
Edmure shook his head. "No."
"Do you think he'll sue for peace because we have his father's brother's great-grandsons?"
"No."
"How many men did you lose?"
"208. But for every man we lost, the Lannisters …"
"We need our men more than Tywin needs his!" roared Robb.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"You would have. Right here today at this gathering if you had been patient."
"We seem to be running short of patience here," Brynden said as he stepped forward.
"You know who isn't?" Robb asked. "Tywin Lannister."
