A single night passed swiftly.
Before dawn had broken, Kevan Lannister, who had not slept all night, personally went to rouse the soldiers who had been hiding beneath wind-sheltered mountain rock faces, their bodies wrapped in thick furs as they slept huddled together.
The campfires that had burned down to mere embers were fed with fresh wood. Meat rations—jerky, salted fish, and the like, which they would normally never bear to eat—were chopped into small pieces all at once and thrown into the pots to stew.
The scent of food drew the soldiers to gather around the fires. They rubbed their hands and faces, swallowing again and again.
Tywin strolled among the ranks, speaking from time to time with the soldiers who followed him.
Kevan kept pace at his brother's side, watching him converse with the men without saying a word.
After everyone had finished this hearty breakfast and stored up enough warmth, the army—hidden within a ravine of some nameless mountain range—set foot on the snow and slowly marched out of the unnamed mountains.
"We are about to enter the Wolfswood," he said. "Forest folk still live there—smallholders and hunters. Through them we can obtain scarce supplies to support our withdrawal toward Deepwood Motte."
"House Glover's Deepwood Motte lies within these woods."
The Wolfswood is a forest of the North. Its main growth is oak, evergreen trees, and blackthorn and the like. Because wolf howls are often heard within it, the forest is called the Wolfswood. It lies along the northwestern coast of the North, and Deepwood Motte stands within it as well—this was Tywin's destination on this march.
Hearing Kevan's words, Tywin lifted his gaze toward the endless forest before him. Heavy snow blanketed the land, covering heaven and earth in a single color, as though the whole world were steeped in white.
Ever since the Citadel announced the end of summer and Westeros entered a brief autumn, the weather in the North had grown colder by the day.
Mounted on his horse, Tywin reached out and caught the snowflakes swirling down from the sky.
"Robb Stark and Roose Bolton will certainly have set up sentries in this area. Our force will be discovered."
"This snowfall has come at the right time, but we do not know how long it will last… We must quicken our pace."
"Since discovery is unavoidable, the faster we move, the more we can reduce our losses."
For reasons he could not name, Tywin always felt that whatever he did proceeded as though aided by heaven itself—as if the gods were helping him.
If not for this run of smooth fortune, these coincidences where everything he attempted seemed divinely favored, he could never have endured for so many months after leaving Last Hearth.
And over these months he had, astonishingly, suffered no great losses, nor had he once encountered the Northern armies hunting him.
Men born and raised in the North like Robb Stark had, upon their own land, failed again and again to seize him.
It was as though it were a miracle.
It had been this way ever since he resolved to betray the Night's Watch. The Valyrian weapon he had sought for half his life had come into his hands without the least effort.
When he wished to leave Castle Black, the harsh northern polar cold was met by a "ghost summer" warm enough to melt ice and snow.
And whenever he sought to evade pursuit, the enemy would, for one reason or another, pass him by at precisely the right moment.
And now, at last—when he meant to leave the mountains where he had hidden for so long, enter the Wolfswood, and lure the Northern host that had been hunting him all this time—
A perfectly timed wind and snowfall descended.
Watching the drifting flakes melt in his palm, Tywin drew his hand back, glanced at the beads of water on his fingers, and coldly wiped them away.
He pulled on his gloves, lifted his head to look once at the sky, then gave a low cry and urged his horse forward.
This was the gods' revelation.
The swirling snow fell without pause for two full days, escorting the column forward until they reached the edge of the Wolfswood.
The snowfall concealed them well; even the tracks they left behind were neatly erased by the drifting snow blown in by the wind.
A force of more than three thousand men moved through the blizzard like a ghost—silent and unseen.
It was not until an hour before they reached the Wolfswood that the sentries scattered through the surrounding area finally detected them, for by then the snowfall in the sky had stopped.
"Move faster. At most half a day—one full day at most—and the Northern army will catch up to us!"
After two days of running across the blizzard-scoured plains, the men forced themselves to rally at the order and hurriedly poured into the forest before them.
They did not halt until dusk.
They happened upon a village—one that still held more than a dozen households, with a stretch of cultivated land of no small size.
"Brother, this place is just right for a temporary rest camp. It can also serve as a defensive position, and Deepwood Motte is only half a day away from us."
The village hidden deep in the forest met with an unprovoked calamity.
Into what had once been peaceful air burst waves of piercing wails—pleas for mercy and every sort of desperate cry.
Tywin remained unmoved, merely listening as Kevan sorted through the information at his side.
After a long moment, he nodded.
"We must not take the initiative, nor appear to do so."
"Act the part… even if it costs a little."
Tywin gave no further detailed instructions. He knew Kevan understood what had to be done.
"I understand."
As he spoke, Kevan could not help but glance toward the chaotic scene not far away. Men's shouts and coarse laughter intertwined with the women's shrill, pleading cries; amid them were muted curses of pain and screams, which at last dwindled into broken sobs.
"This is a necessary indulgence, Kevan."
As if sensing his gaze, Tywin spoke coldly without lifting his head.
"…I understand," Kevan withdrew his eyes, his expression returning to calm. He nodded evenly. "I'll go make the arrangements."
…
"They're just ahead, Stark. From the moment we spotted them, we sent two brothers to keep following them."
Two consecutive days of heavy snow granted the night sky a rare clarity.
A bright moon hung high above, spilling dazzling silver light and draping the mortal world in a sacred veil.
"I didn't expect them to dare come down from the mountains during a blizzard," hearing the report of the ranger leading the patrol, Roose Bolton let out a cold remark from the side.
It was unclear whether he was cursing Tywin, or complaining about the time they had wasted during these days.
The youthful look had faded from Robb Stark's face, leaving him noticeably more mature and steady. He did not answer the leech lord's remark. Instead, he raised a hand and took a parchment map from the guard beside him.
He untied the leather cord and spread it open in his hands.
Yet he did not look down at the map at once. Instead, he turned his head toward a man who was also riding at his side, brown-haired and thick-bearded.
"This is Deepwood Motte, the lands of House Glover. Galbart, you are more familiar with this area—where do you think they are most likely to be?"
Tywin fled; Robb pursued.
Robb was, of course, no fool. He would not rely solely on the forces of three houses and exhaust himself in vain.
Having come to this northwestern stretch of the North, he naturally summoned the bannermen of House Stark in the region to cooperate with him.
The head of House Glover—lord of Deepwood Motte—Galbart Glover, was one of those who had answered his call.
At Robb's question, Galbart pushed his way forward.
He cast only a casual glance at the map in Robb's hands, then shook his head.
"I don't need that. On my own family's lands, if I were unfamiliar with the place, that would be my failing."
As he stepped into the clustered group, Galbart made a brief joke.
But his expression quickly turned serious.
"Ahead, about a league from here, there should be a village of fair size. Because it lies close to the castle and supplies pass through it, the place has grown rather lively."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the lord of Torrhen's Square, Helman Tallhart, moved in beside him.
"You mean Tywin Lannister and his men are likely there?"
He frowned, seeking confirmation.
"If that's true, then those people have likely met with misfortune…"
Galbart pressed his lips together. How could he not understand what Helman meant?
"In that case, we should move even faster. May the gods watch over them."
Realizing this, Robb's expression also grew grave.
He then spread the map flat atop a large stone in the snow. After scanning it briefly, he extended a finger and drew a rough circle.
Noticing his motion, Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Helman Tallhart, Galbart Glover, and Maege Mormont of Bear Island—who had also brought her strength in support—gathered around.
"They are most likely here," Robb said. "What counsel do you have?"
Out of regard for his position—and because he was the only junior present, acting in his father's name—Robb showed sufficient humility.
He did not rush to speak or claim authority. Instead, he first asked for the views of those present.
"I suggest we first surround this place, then launch a surprise attack on them in the latter half of the night. If possible, it would be best to settle everything here."
With a head of graying hair and a full white beard, Rickard studied the map before him, then glanced toward the forest ahead, offering what he believed to be the quickest way to resolve the matter.
Hearing his proposal, Helman and Galbart raised no objections. On the contrary, both nodded.
Because it was indeed the fastest solution.
Yet Robb paused slightly at Rickard's words, then frowned faintly.
Forgetting decorum toward his elders, Robb immediately poured cold water on the idea.
"But Tywin Lannister's force still numbers at least three to four thousand men. If we rashly surround them like this, they will surely fight back with desperation."
"It's like trapping a rabbit in a cage. Once it realizes there's no way out, even a rabbit's bite can hurt badly."
Robb's warning struck like a wake-up call.
Those present lifted their heads and exchanged looks. Once they reacted, they all realized the problem.
They had to remember that Robb had summoned them in his father Eddard Stark's name—and the men being used here were their own.
If they truly left these people no way out and forced them to die here, then should Tywin launch a frenzied counterattack, the damage to them would be fatal.
No one here commanded limitless resources. What little they had was the result of generations of accumulation.
To squander such living strength here without care would be nothing short of foolishness.
Thus, once they understood the implications, both Helman and Galbart shot a glare at Rickard, who had put forward this ill-considered plan.
"And this place is also too close to my House Glover's castle. If we fail to contain them and they break out, the threat and losses afterward will only be greater."
"We can't do this. We need to think of a more suitable plan."
Seeing Robb point out the severity of the problem, Galbart immediately followed up.
He had been nodding in agreement with Rickard's proposal only moments before, yet now he was the first to step forward in opposition.
But with that suggestion rejected, those present could not, in the rush of the moment, come up with a better solution. One after another, they instinctively turned their eyes toward the young man, Robb.
Before Robb could give his own answer, however, Roose, who had said little up to now, suddenly spoke.
"If we cannot surround and destroy them, then we have only one option left—pursuit. We chase them hard, bite at their heels, give them no chance to breathe, and, if possible, even steer the direction of their retreat."
"But the measure here is hard to grasp. Before we can swallow them in one bite, we must do our utmost to ensure they do not go mad."
Just as Robb was about to put forward his own plan, the difficulty Roose abruptly raised left him momentarily speechless.
He lifted a hand and stroked the beard that had grown noticeably thicker on his chin. Staring at the map before him, Robb's expression turned troubled as his mind began to race.
Just when it seemed the matter was finally nearing its conclusion, this new problem arose. For a moment, everyone present—including Rickard—fell silent.
Yet as the hesitant men stood there, the current ruler of Bear Island, Lady Maege Mormont, head of House Mormont, spoke up.
"The Wolfswood is vast. Simply chasing them through it is not a good idea. And with storms and snowfall arriving again and again, we no longer have time to waste."
"If you want to solve this more securely, you must think harder about what the price truly is."
As the sister of Jeor Mormont, the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lady Maege Mormont had not come on this expedition merely in response to Robb Stark's summons.
Personal grievances filled her voice with anger as she spoke.
"You are right, Lady Mormont."
"We cannot ignore greater things because of this so-called cost. Then we will keep them here."
Robb came back from his thoughts.
Amid the silence of the group, a smile rose on his face.
"But we should not act rashly either. So next, this is what we will do…"
Confidence and composure appeared on the just-come-of-age, still-youthful face.
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