The Twins.
Walder Frey, the ninety-year-old patriarch whose life was nearing its end, sat in his high seat, peering through cloudy eyes at Patrek Frey, who knelt before him.
Below him sat Roose Bolton, wearing his usual expressionless mask.
"So," Old Walder rasped, his voice as harsh as sandpaper, "the Lannister army has driven the allied forces into a corner?"
"Yes, my lord."
Patrek kept his head lowered, his face displaying the perfect mixture of terror and relief expected of a man who had barely escaped with his life.
"I saw it with my own eyes.
The Lannister army came like a rising tide. We... we simply couldn't hold them.
If Lord Glover hadn't arrived in time with a thousand men, our army would have collapsed then and there.
When the Lannisters saw reinforcements arrive, they withdrew to observe the situation before attacking again.
That was the only reason I managed to escape and come here to ask for aid."
Roose studied Patrek closely, suspicion flickering in his pale eyes.
Once Patrek finished speaking, Roose began probing him with question after question.
But following Galon's instructions to the letter, Patrek answered every inquiry flawlessly.
Only when neither Roose nor Walder could detect a single inconsistency did Old Walder finally dismiss him to rest.
After Patrek disappeared from the hall, Roose turned toward Walder.
"It seems our plan is progressing even better than expected.
The allied army probably won't last many more days. Once the Lannisters seize Ruby Ford, their only escape route will be north.
They'll either have to pass through the Twins to return to the Riverlands...Or continue on to the North."
"Heh..."
Old Walder shifted in his chair, releasing a laugh like the screech of a night owl.
"Then we'll wait for them on the Kingsroad near the Twins. When they arrive, we'll lure them into the castle for a wedding feast.
They'll have the chance to experience House Frey's famous hospitality."
Roose spoke with his usual caution.
"Don't underestimate them. Glover isn't a Stark... He's more cunning. And far more dangerous.
When they arrive, don't act too quickly. I want to see what tricks he intends to play. By the way... How is Edmure?"
A smug smile spread across Old Walder's wrinkled face.
"How else would he be?
My daughter has him so completely enchanted that he hardly leaves her chambers. At this rate, he'll die in bed."
Roose nodded.
"I'll speak with Rodrik again. I want him to send another letter to Greyjoy..."
After talking a little longer, the two men went about their separate business.
Neither had the slightest idea that their enemies had already buried several barrels of wildfire beneath the Twins.
All that remained...
...Was to light the fuse.
.....
Riverrun.
When Maester Vyman hurried into the godswood carrying Galon's letter, Brynden Tully was crouched beside a stream, carefully cleaning his battle-worn sword.
"Lord Brynden!"
"Something terrible has happened!"
The elderly maester hurried over, his face filled with anxiety, and handed him the letter.
"What is it that's left you so flustered?"
Brynden set aside his sword and accepted the parchment. "Is it the Lannisters..."
He had barely read a few lines before his entire body trembled.
"Robb... Robb... He's dead?"
"Frey..."
"Bolton conspired against us?"
The contents of Galon's letter transformed his weathered, river-worn face.
For the first time in years, it showed naked grief and uncontrollable fury.
"Stannis... It was Stannis who murdered him with sorcery!"
"Frey and Bolton betrayed us?"
Even now, Maester Vyman's aged face still carried the shock of what he had learned.
He had never imagined that the Young Wolf, undefeated on the battlefield, would instead fall to dark magic.
Nor had he imagined that Houses Frey and Bolton would join forces with the Lannisters to drag everyone in Riverrun into ruin.
Brynden slowly closed his eyes.
He allowed the overwhelming grief threatening to tear him apart to wash over him.
He knew... That with Robb Stark's death, the Riverlands' last hope was collapsing.
Only a few breaths later, he opened his eyes again. The sorrow was gone.
Only cold, iron resolve remained.
Now... Was not the time to mourn.
He tore the letter into tiny pieces and scattered them into the stream, watching the current soak and carry them away.
"Maester Vyman."
"Besides you and me... Does anyone else know?"
The maester shook his head.
"I found the letter myself while tending the rookery. Not even my servants know about it."
"Good." Brynden nodded. "This matter is of the utmost importance. Tell no one."
"If word spreads...The army's morale will collapse."
Maester Vyman nodded solemnly.
He understood.
Brynden immediately picked up his sword and strode toward the great hall.
"Effective immediately!
Riverrun is under the highest state of alert! Seal every gate. Raise every drawbridge.
No one enters or leaves without my personal authorization."
As his orders spread...
The shadow of war once again settled over Riverrun.
"Family. Duty. Honor. No matter what happens... I will defend Riverrun to the very end."
Standing atop the battlements, Brynden looked toward the distant Twins and offered a silent prayer.
"Galon..."
"...Everything depends on you now."
.....
The Gods Eye.
A small boat slowly drifted through the mist toward the shore.
Arya alternated between excitement and nervous anticipation.
During their time on the Isle of Faces, neither she nor Gendry had learned how the war had progressed.
If the Lannisters had won... Returning to the mainland would be little more than walking into a trap.
Yet no matter what she thought...
...The shore continued drawing nearer.
That very morning, the leader of the Green Men had found them and calmly informed them that it was time to leave.
Before either Arya or Gendry could react, they had been told to gather their belongings and board the boat.
Now... The shore was only a short distance away.
After a long silence, Gendry finally spoke.
"My lord..."
"I want to stay on the Isle of Faces. I'll even join the Green Men if they'll have me."
The Green Man rowing the boat merely shook his head.
"Your destiny does not lie on the Isle of Faces. The gods have already chosen your path."
"We're here. Take your belongings. Go ashore."
The boat slid quietly into the reeds.
Though Gendry still wanted to plead his case, the Green Man's emotionless expression convinced him otherwise.
Shouldering his pack, he jumped into the shallow water alongside Arya.
The boat slowly drifted backward...
Until it vanished once more into the mist.
"Come on, my prince." Arya tucked Needle into her belt. "Maybe the Lannisters have already lost."
Half excited and half anxious, she made her way toward the bank.
Gendry sighed and followed with the baggage slung over his shoulder.
"I don't care whether the Lannisters won or lost. You still have a home to return to.
What about me? I just want a quiet place to live. I don't want anything to do with princes or inheritance."
Arya shrugged.
"Please. That's the Iron Throne we're talking about.
You think you can just hide?
My father told me that King Robert wanted to kill the Targaryen girl across the Narrow Sea.
When a new king takes the throne...Why would he spare you?"
As a blacksmith, politics had always been beyond Gendry's understanding. "But why? She wasn't even a threat."
Arya reached the edge of the reeds and paused.
She listened carefully. Hearing nothing, she cautiously peeked out before climbing onto dry land.
Only after making sure no one was nearby did she answer.
"My father said the king feared she'd one day have lots of children. They'd fight with his sons for the Iron Throne."
"Maybe... The next king will think the same about you."
Gendry climbed onto the shore behind her and sighed quietly.
"So where do we go now? North?"
Arya looked toward Harrenhal. "Let's hide somewhere first. We'll gather some news...Then decide."
Gendry had no objections.
After getting his bearings, he led her toward the abandoned fishing village where he had once hidden in a cellar.
The two moved cautiously the entire way, fearful of encountering Lannister soldiers.
But as they reached the familiar village...
A familiar voice suddenly called from behind them.
"Lady Arya?"
Arya stiffened.
Turning around, she saw a familiar figure emerge from between the cottages.
It was none other than the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard... Barristan the Bold.
"Ser Barristan?!"
Arya's thoughts immediately spiraled toward despair.
"Did Joffrey send you to capture me?"
She still had no idea that Barristan had already been dismissed from the Kingsguard.
"No."
"I no longer serve Joffrey."
Barristan smiled kindly at her before turning toward the dark-haired, blue-eyed young man beside her.
"So... You must be Prince Gendry."
Having grown up in King's Landing, Gendry naturally knew the legendary reputation of Barristan the Bold.
He looked at the old knight with open admiration.
"Yes."
"I'm Gendry."
Without warning...
Barristan drew his greatsword.
Before either Arya or Gendry could react, he stepped before Gendry, knelt on one knee, and laid the sword across the ground.
"Your Highness, I once served your father, King Robert.
I failed in my duty. I could not protect him from those who murdered him. Since that day...I have searched for you.
I pray you will forgive my failure.
Today... I ask permission to once again serve House Baratheon.
I will be your shield. I will offer my counsel. And if necessary...I will gladly trade my life for yours.
I swear it before both the Old Gods and the New."
Barristan's solemn oath echoed in Gendry's ears.
The young blacksmith stood frozen. Instinctively, he looked toward Arya.
Arya's eyes shone with excitement.
She nodded encouragingly before rising onto her toes and whispering into his ear.
"I swear...
There will always be a place beside my hearth for you. And you shall share my mead and my meat.
I swear...
I will never ask you to swear an oath without honor. I swear it before both the Old Gods and the New."
Gendry stepped forward.
Taking Barristan by the arm, he helped the old knight to his feet.
"Ser... How did you end up here?"
Only then did Arya finally voice the question she had been wondering about.
"Lady Arya... It's a long story. This isn't the place to discuss it. I'll take both of you to meet someone."
"Your Highness... This way."
Barristan sheathed his sword and led Arya and Gendry to a secluded house where a man was already waiting.
The moment he saw Arya, his eyes widened.
"Lady Arya..."
Hugh limped forward, tears welling in his eyes. "If Lord Stark knew you were alive...He'd be overjoyed."
Arya looked at him curiously. "Were you one of my father's men?"
Hugh shook his head.
Then, in Gendry's presence, he introduced himself. "I was once an attendant serving King Robert in the Red Keep..."
He recounted everything that had happened in King's Landing.
Only then did Gendry and Arya learn just how many conspiracies and hidden schemes had surrounded the deaths of their fathers.
"That bastard Joffrey! I'm going to kill him!"
Tears streamed down Arya's face as she shouted her vow to avenge her father.
Even Gendry, who had never truly known King Robert, felt grief welling up inside him.
"Your Highness, this is no place to remain. I believe we should leave as soon as possible.
We should go to the Vale.
Once you reveal your identity, the knights of the Vale will surely help you reclaim the Iron Throne."
Steady and experienced as ever, Barristan proposed their next course of action.
He and Hugh had spent the past several weeks searching for Gendry. Neither of them knew that Robb Stark had already been killed.
"Why don't we go to Robb instead? Robb would help us!"
Arya asked in confusion.
Hugh smiled bitterly. "Lady Arya... the situation has changed greatly these past few weeks."
"Your brother Robb has already been crowned king."
Arya froze.
"How...Did things become like this?"
She stood there blankly, unsure of what to say.
Barristan gently shook his head and continued persuading Gendry.
The young man had originally hoped to settle down somewhere peaceful, but in the end he reluctantly agreed.
After making a few simple preparations, the four of them immediately set out for the Vale without delay.
...
King's Landing.
Inside the Small Council chamber—
Crash!
Before both his son and daughter, Tywin slammed a wine cup onto the floor, shattering it into pieces.
"Excellent."
"What an excellent Bolton."
The always-composed Lord of Casterly Rock had rarely displayed such fury.
"So... He dared to play me for a fool."
Standing beside the council table, Cersei remained utterly silent. She had never seen her father so enraged.
Yet she understood why. Her gaze drifted toward the two letters lying on the table.
One was Roose Bolton's proposal of cooperation sent to Kevan.
The other was the battlefield report sent back after Kevan's defeat at the hands of the Northern alliance.
Anyone reading both letters together would naturally conclude that Bolton had only pretended to submit to the Iron Throne while secretly intending to use the Lannister army to destroy his enemies before claiming everything for himself.
Tyrion had reached the same conclusion. The timing was simply too perfect.
Ignoring his father's anger, he carefully analyzed the report.
"Ser Marbrand says victory was already within reach. Then Glover's army struck from the rear.
Uncle Kevan was taken down...And the entire army collapsed.
Aside from the fleeing Brave Companions, fewer than five hundred men survived out of the five thousand Westermen Uncle Kevan commanded.
Father... You should prepare yourself."
"Hmph."
A dangerous light flashed in Tywin's pale green eyes.
"You're right."
"Glover and Bolton truly are troublesome. But this isn't the time to discuss them."
Suppressing his anger, he regained his composure.
"According to the report, the direwolf banner never appeared on the battlefield.
Has Robb Stark truly been killed by Stannis?"
"Sorcery...Can such dark magic truly exist?"
Cersei's expression shifted slightly as she remembered the prophecy given to her by the woods witch during her childhood.
Tyrion, however, dismissed such notions. "Perhaps... Stannis hired a Faceless Man."
Tywin glanced at his son before replying, "No matter the method... As long as Stark is dead."
"Without House Stark, the North and the Riverlands are nothing more than loose sand.
A few well-placed offers...And they'll submit to the Iron Throne."
Seeing Tyrion deep in thought, Tywin abruptly changed the subject. "Tyrion. How is Lady Margaery's health?"
Tyrion shrugged.
"Grand Maester Pycelle examined her.
He says she's simply exhausted from the long journey. She'll recover after a few days' rest.
The wedding will probably have to be postponed."
"Postponed..." A cold smile curled across Tywin's lips. "I suspect Lady Margaery's illness won't be cured anytime soon."
Cersei looked puzzled, unable to understand what he meant.
Tyrion, however, immediately grasped his father's implication. "Father... You mean House Tyrell wants to wait a little longer?"
"Hmph. The Queen of Thorns is probably hoping to squeeze a few more concessions out of us."
Tywin answered calmly. "If she wants to wait...Then let her wait."
He fixed his gaze on Tyrion.
"I want you to go to the Riverlands. Find out exactly what happened to Kevan. And determine whether Robb Stark is truly dead."
"You want me to go?"
Tyrion stared at him in disbelief.
"You want your only son who's still free to walk into such a dangerous place? Aren't you afraid I'll end up imprisoned beside Jaime?"
Tywin sneered. "Precisely because you're my son...You're the one I'm sending."
Left with no choice, Tyrion reluctantly accepted.
"Remember.
When you reach the Riverlands, if Stark truly is dead...Do everything possible to win them over.
Especially Glover.
As for Bolton... I'll flay him alive to repay Kevan's death."
...
Winterfell.
When Sansa, who had been in the godswood, received Galon's letter, she rushed forward eagerly, completely unaware of the grief in Maester Luwin's and Jon's eyes.
Then she read its contents.
Her world collapsed.
"No!"
"Robb... Rickon!"
Her vision went black as she staggered backward.
Fortunately, Jon had been watching her and caught her before she could fall.
"Sansa!"
"Sansa!"
Jon called her name hoarsely while Maester Luwin hurried forward to examine her.
"She's all right. She simply fainted from shock."
"She'll awaken shortly."
The old maester sighed. He and Jon exchanged silent looks filled with sorrow.
Who could have imagined...
After House Stark had been scattered, some had vanished, some had died, others had journeyed far away...
Until now, all of Winterfell and the North rested upon the shoulders of a single young woman.
Luwin sighed once more.
Moments later, Sansa slowly regained consciousness.
The instant she opened her eyes...The words from the letter flooded back into her mind.
"Robb... Rickon... No..."
She cried out again, nearly fainting a second time.
Jon wrapped her tightly in his arms.
"Cry, Sansa." His own voice trembled with grief. "I know Robb's and Rickon's deaths have broken your heart."
"So cry. It will ease your pain."
But although Sansa's blue eyes reddened...No tears came.
"Sansa."
Maester Luwin spoke with a heart full of sorrow.
"You must stand again."
"From this day forward...You are the Lady of Winterfell. Do not betray Robb's final wish."
"Lady..."
"...Of Winterfell..."
Sansa whispered.
"Yes." Jon's eyes became resolute. "Robb entrusted the North to you. We cannot fail him."
"And Galon...He's still fighting for your sake. You must wait for him to return."
"Galon..."
Fresh tears finally welled in Sansa's eyes.
"Yes... I still have Galon. I have to bring him home. I can't lose him too."
Forcing herself upright, Sansa gently pulled away from Jon's embrace and wiped away her tears.
The innocence inherited from her youth vanished from her blue eyes. In its place burned the unwavering resolve of House Stark.
"Galon says Bolton and the Freys are plotting against the North.
He's afraid Ramsay Snow will take advantage of the situation and attack Winterfell.
He wants us to send word to Lord Robett immediately.
Maester Luwin.
Please send a raven to Deepwood Motte at once. Tell Lord Robett to march here with all speed.
And notify House Cerwyn, House Hornwood, and White Harbor. Warn them to watch Bolton's movements carefully.
Jon...
From this day forward, no one enters or leaves Winterfell without my direct permission.
Search every resident of Winter Town.
Once they're cleared...Bring them all inside the castle walls."
Having gathered herself, Sansa immediately began issuing orders as Lady of Winterfell.
Soon...
Ravens flew out from Winterfell in every direction.
At the same time, Ramsay Snow, having received his father's letter, was already leading the forces of the Dreadfort toward Winterfell.
Another great battle for Winterfell was about to begin.
...
Beyond the Wall.
Outside the tunnel beneath the Wall—
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sat astride his horse, facing Mance Rayder across the frozen ground.
His gaze swept past the King-Beyond-the-Wall to the countless wildlings and free folk assembled behind him.
"Lord Commander Mormont.
I do not wish to sound the Horn of Winter and bring the Wall crashing down.
So I ask only this. Stand aside.
Let my people pass into the North in search of the Prince That Was Promised.
I swear we will not harm the Night's Watch."
Mormont slowly shook his head.
"The Night's Watch exists to uphold its vows. To protect the kingdoms behind us."
"I will never permit you to pass."
"So... There is no room for negotiation?" Mance asked.
Mormont answered solemnly, "Unless the gods themselves command it...The Night's Watch will never retreat."
Mance nodded.
Without another word, he turned and rode back toward the vast host of wildlings.
Mormont likewise returned through the Wall.
The battle for the Wall...
...Was about to begin.
...
Slaver's Bay.
Meereen.
The great pyramid city, built from blood and brick, now flew a new banner.
A black field bearing the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen stood atop the Great Pyramid as the sea breeze swept through her silver hair.
Above her soared three legendary dragons.
The black Drogon.
The green Rhaegal.
The cream-and-gold Viserion.
Each had grown to the size of a small horse.
Their scales gleamed like polished metal beneath the sun, while wisps of smoke drifted from their jaws.
Below her stood tens of thousands of newly freed slaves... Alongside the army feared throughout Essos.
The Unsullied.
"Your Grace!"
"Mother of Dragons!"
Thunderous cheers echoed through every corner of the city, merging into a tidal wave of devotion.
She had conquered the strongest of the slave cities. With fire and steel, she had shattered the slave masters' rule forever.
Now...
Daenerys turned her gaze westward. Toward the war-torn continent of Westeros.
The moment of destiny...
Was drawing near.
...
Completely unaware of these events, Galon was nearing the Twins. His attention remained fixed on a single objective.
Preparing the trap that would decide the fate of the Twins.
__________
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