3:10 in the afternoon.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky, with distant thunder rumbling across the horizon.
Outside the Twins, Roose and Walder stood atop the battlements, watching the Northern army slowly approach.
Roose's pale eyes were sharp as he carefully studied the force that was barely maintaining any semblance of formation, searching for the slightest flaw.
No matter how closely he looked, however, the army truly appeared to be in miserable condition.
Its banners hung crookedly, the soldiers' armor was caked with mud and scarred with damage, many of the men were wrapped in bloodstained bandages, and they frequently glanced nervously over their shoulders.
The soldiers looked exhausted, and so did the nobles leading them on horseback.
Heads hung low, their faces were difficult to make out, and an air of lifeless despair surrounded them all.
The entire column was shrouded in the hopelessness of a defeated army.
"Judging by the banners, there are about four thousand men."
An experienced commander, Roose estimated the army's strength with a single glance.
He also recognized many familiar faces among them: Galon Glover, Greatjon Umber, Lady Mormont, and members of House Blackwood.
These were the most loyal bannermen of both the North and the Riverlands.
Ninety-year-old Walder's eyesight was nowhere near as sharp.
He narrowed his cloudy eyes with all his strength, but still saw little more than vague outlines.
Hearing Roose's assessment, he gave up trying to see for himself and let out a dry chuckle.
"So the battle report wasn't false after all."
"In that case, take Lame Lothar and welcome our guests."
Roose nodded before turning and descending the wall.
Walder cast one more glance at the "defeated" army, a sly grin spreading across his wrinkled face like a fox scenting prey, then slowly made his way back toward the hall.
Soon afterward, the drawbridge of the western castle of the Twins was lowered with a loud groan of protesting chains.
Roose rode out on a large black stallion, while the heir to the Twins, Lothar Frey, followed beside him atop a brown horse.
Behind them came a small escort of guards from the Dreadfort and House Frey.
Unlike the pale-faced and indulgent Lothar, Roose's cold features remained calm and cautious.
Yet beneath those pale eyes lay the icy excitement of a hunter waiting for his prey to step willingly into the trap.
Almost there.
Just one final step remained before House Bolton would rule the North.
Suppressing his excitement, Roose rode forward and halted roughly a hundred yards beyond the drawbridge.
His party waited quietly for the approaching army.
About half an hour later, the ragged column finally entered full view.
At its head rode Galon, clad in smoke-black scale armor.
His handsome face was streaked with dried blood and dust, while fatigue was etched deeply into his features.
According to the plan, after confirming that Stannis could not be caught in the short term, Galon had immediately marched toward the Twins without pause.
He had to seize both Bolton and the Freys before word of the Green Fork reached the castle.
To accomplish that, his army had pushed forward day and night.
In only a few days they had marched from the Trident crossing to the Twins, and the exhaustion on every soldier's face was genuine.
Earlier that morning, shortly before reaching the castle, Galon had divided his army into two groups.
He personally led one force disguised as defeated troops to make contact with the Twins.
The second force, under Rickard, remained hidden to await the night's signal before joining forces with the infiltrators inside the castle to seize it.
To ensure Rickard's complete loyalty, Galon had quietly allowed the Karstark lord to avenge his sons by executing Kevan and the other Lannister prisoners.
As Galon drew closer, Roose urged his horse forward, carefully arranging an expression of sorrow and surprise upon his face.
"Lord Glover!"
He called loudly, his voice full of practiced concern.
"Thank the Old Gods you're still alive."
"We... we've heard what happened."
Galon reined in his horse about twenty yards away.
His handsome face was caked with dirt and blood, his weary eyes seemingly stripped of all their former sharpness.
His voice came out hoarse with grief, carrying unmistakable accusation.
"Lord Bolton, I sent Ser Patrek to request reinforcements. Why did neither you nor the Freys come to our aid?
If you had arrived, Lord Rickard, Ser Wylis Manderly, and Lord Bracken would never have died."
"I wanted to come, but..."
Roose sighed before glancing meaningfully toward Lothar behind him.
"The Freys insisted that no troops would move until Lord Edmure's wedding was completed.
According to the customs of the Faith of the Seven, only today was considered an auspicious day for the ceremony.
They delayed us.
And without the Freys moving, there was little I could accomplish alone."
He shifted all responsibility onto the marriage alliance between House Frey and House Tully.
The excuse was full of holes.
Roose simply did not care.
He knew Galon was too rational to turn against him here and now.
After all, he remained Lord of the Dreadfort, while Galon was merely House Stark's future son-in-law.
Even Robb Stark's dying command did not change that reality.
Galon understood that perfectly.
His expression remained displeased, but he chose not to press the issue further.
"In that case, where is Lord Edmure?"
Galon looked around but saw no sign of Edmure Tully.
"Lord Edmure..."
Roose deliberately hesitated before answering.
"Since His Grace's death, Lord Edmure has been overwhelmed with grief.
Fortunately, Lady Roslin has comforted him enough to keep him from completely collapsing.
Still, he has remained inside his chambers every day. Aside from Lady Roslin, he refuses to see anyone."
The implication was obvious.
The Northern lords behind Galon immediately understood.
The camp erupted into angry voices.
"We bled for the Riverlands while he's hiding away with a woman?"
"Damn it!"
Even Lord Blackwood could not contain his anger.
"Bring Lord Edmure out here and let him see what we've become!
We shed every last drop of blood for Riverrun. And what has he been doing? Sharing a bed with his bride!"
The outrage spreading through the army was exactly what Roose had hoped to see.
Impulsive.
Unstable.
Consumed by frustration.
That was how a defeated army ought to behave. The last trace of suspicion lingering in Roose's mind vanished.
Once the shouting died down somewhat, he spoke again.
"My lords.
No matter what has happened, your safe arrival is the greatest blessing for both the North and the Riverlands.
Lord Frey has already prepared a feast inside the castle to welcome you."
His eyes shifted toward the soldiers behind Galon.
"There is only one difficulty.
The Twins cannot accommodate so many men.
Please make camp outside the walls and settle your soldiers before accompanying me into the castle."
Galon merely smiled inwardly.
He was no fool.
There was no chance he would willingly walk into the Twins unprepared.
He stared coldly at Roose for a long moment before glancing toward the towering fortress, whose gates resembled the jaws of a waiting beast.
Finally, he spoke.
"There's no need, Lord Bolton. We've already lost this war."
Turning his horse around, he faced the weary nobles and soldiers behind him.
"I've made my decision."
His voice rang clearly across the field.
"I will lead the last sons of the North back to our homeland to defend our own lands."
Then he turned back toward Roose.
"Lord Bolton, you are one of the North's greatest bannermen.
By the authority entrusted to me by King Robb before his death, I command you to gather your forces immediately and return north with me."
The words struck Roose like a hammer.
Return north?
Now?
He instantly realized Galon could not be allowed to leave.
If Galon returned to the North with several thousand of House Stark's most loyal followers, everything would change.
Taking Winterfell would become vastly more difficult.
No matter the cost, Galon had to remain here.
"My lord, you mustn't!"
Roose urged his horse a step closer, every trace of urgency appearing genuine.
"The king's death remains unavenged.
Stannis Baratheon still lives.
And besides, Lord Edmure's wedding takes place tonight. It was the final alliance arranged by King Robb himself.
You are now the man who best represents His Grace.
If you fail to attend this wedding, would that not mean King Robb has broken his oath a second time?
What would become of his honor?"
By doing so, Roose elevated Galon's personal decision into a question of House Stark's honor itself.
Hearing Robb's honor invoked, Galon allowed hesitation to appear across his face.
He glanced toward the Northern lords behind him, who likewise looked conflicted.
After a long silence, the loyal servant of House Stark finally seemed to reach a difficult decision.
"Very well."
His tired voice carried quiet resignation.
"The king's oath cannot be broken because of me. Nor can his honor be stained through my actions.
I'll attend tonight's wedding and witness Lord Edmure's marriage on behalf of King Robb.
But tomorrow morning, my men and I leave."
Relief flooded through Roose.
A warm smile returned to his face.
"Of course. Naturally."
Just as he believed everything had been settled, Galon added another request.
"Before that," Galon said cautiously, "I wish to meet someone."
"Captain Rodrik Harlaw should still be inside the castle, shouldn't he?"
Roose immediately became alert again.
"Captain Harlaw? Certainly."
"As an honored guest of King Robb, he remains at the Twins. May I ask why you wish to see him?"
Galon's answer was firm.
"King Robb is dead.
The Northern alliance exists in name only.
My agreement with the Iron Islands was built upon the North's military strength.
Now I must personally speak with Captain Harlaw and ensure that once we return north, the Ironborn won't seize this opportunity to raid our western coast.
I need his word."
Roose considered the explanation carefully.
Nothing sounded suspicious.
Everyone in Westeros knew of the long-standing hatred between House Glover and the Ironborn.
Only recently Galon himself had led an assault against Pyke, and both sides had suffered heavy losses.
With the North's strength greatly diminished, it was only natural for Galon to worry about the safety of Deepwood Motte.
If anything, it confirmed Roose's earlier judgment.
The alliance between Galon and the Ironborn truly was one of convenience rather than trust.
He's afraid.
Afraid the Ironborn will turn on him.
Afraid their fleet will seek revenge by attacking Deepwood Motte.
Roose sneered inwardly.
He was already considering how to exploit Rodrik once Galon was dead and squeeze even more concessions from the Iron Islands.
"That's only reasonable, my lord."
"Harlaw is presently in the eastern castle. Why don't you accompany me inside while someone fetches him?"
Galon shook his head.
"Lord Bolton, after our defeat, caution is necessary. I'll meet Captain Harlaw outside the walls."
Roose felt a flicker of disappointment.
Just then, Lothar Frey, who had grown bored listening to the conversation, spoke carelessly.
"You're all far too cautious.
What, do you really think we'd murder you inside our own castle?
This is the Twins.
If we truly meant you harm, do you think your handful of beaten soldiers could stop us?"
Galon's eyebrows rose as his sharp gaze shifted past Roose toward Lame Lothar.
"And who might this be?"
Roose cursed inwardly.
Idiot.
He quickly answered, "This is Ser Lothar Frey, son of the late Stevron Frey and heir to the Twins."
"He speaks rather... bluntly. I hope you won't take offense."
Turning to Lame Lothar, he said:
"Ride back and bring Captain Harlaw here. Tell him Lord Glover wishes to speak with him."
After sending him away, Roose faced Galon once more.
"My lords, you've had a long journey.
Why not establish your camp now? I'll have Lord Frey send food and drink for your soldiers.
What do you think?"
Thanks to Lothar's interruption, Roose wisely abandoned the idea of inviting them inside again.
Pushing the matter further might only arouse Galon's suspicion.
Galon nodded with a tired smile. "Thank you, Lord Bolton."
"Oh, one more thing."
"When you return to the castle, have your own men prepare as well. We leave for the North together tomorrow morning."
Roose readily agreed.
After all, he had no intention of seeing any of these people alive by sunrise.
Galon nodded, turned his horse, and led his battered army toward an open field outside the walls to establish camp.
Roose remained where he was for another few moments, listening as the sounds of restless soldiers drifted from the camp.
Satisfied, he finally relaxed.
'Kevan Lannister did an excellent job wearing them down.'
'Now I only need to contact the Lannisters and secure my appointment from the Iron Throne.'
With the smile of a man who believed victory was already his, Roose rode back toward the Twins, already imagining how he would deal with the families of everyone before him once he became Warden of the North.
The moment Roose turned away, Galon's gaze settled on his retreating figure.
A cold smile crossed his face.
'No matter whether tonight becomes a banquet of betrayal or another Red Wedding, there can only be one victor.'
'Let us see who 'The Rains of Castamere' will mourn before this night is over.'
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