Yet when he came closer, Catelyn saw that his mailed glove and the sleeve of his surcoat were black with blood. "You're hurt," she said.
Robb lifted his hand, opened and closed his fingers. "No," he said. "This is... Torrhen's blood, perhaps, or... " He shook his head. "I do not know."
A mob of men followed him up the slope, dirty and dented and grinning, with Theon and the Greatjon at their head. Between them they dragged Sir Jaime Lannister. They threw him down in front of her horse. "The Kingslayer," Hal announced, unnecessarily.
Lannister raised his head. "Lady Stark," he said from his knees. Blood ran down one cheek from a gash across his scalp, but the pale light of dawn had put the glint of gold back in his hair. "I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it."
It is not your sword I want, ser, she told him. "Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my lord husband."
I have mislaid them as well, I fear.
A pity, Catelyn said coldly.
Kill him, Robb, Theon Greyjoy urged. "Take his head off."
No, her son answered, peeling off his bloody glove. "He's more use alive than dead. And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle."
A wise man, Jaime Lannister said, "and honorable."