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Robb had won battle after battle.
He had captured Jaime, seized the Golden Tooth, and shattered Lannister detachments across the Riverlands.
And yet Tywin's main force remained intact.
It left Robb in a humiliating position like a man who fought ferociously only to realize the war itself had barely moved.
Tywin would not be baited into open battle.
He waited.
He watched.
He knew Robb was young.
One mistake.
One.
And Tywin would make the Riverlands sing of Castamere.
Robb could feel it.
Though he had victories, true victory slipped further away.
The soldiers were exhausted.
Prisoners filled the camps.
Food ran thin.
Kill the captives?
It violated everything Robb believed in.
Release them?
They would rearm and return.
Keep them?
They drained supplies.
And that wasn't the worst of it.
Robb had never intended rebellion.
He had only wanted to confront Tywin, free his father and sisters from King's Landing, and return home.
But once the banners were called and the swords drawn, events spiraled.
Suddenly he was proclaimed King in the North.
Suddenly the war was not about rescue, but conquest.
At the Twins, his bannermen had insisted on securing passage through Walder Frey's bridge.
The price?
Marriage.
A Frey daughter would become Queen in the North.
Now, those same bannermen muttered of fatigue.
They had spoken of marching to King's Landing.
Now they spoke of going home.
You urged me south, Robb thought bitterly. Now you ask me to turn back?
House Tully's lands burned under Lannister assault.
Could he simply withdraw?
It was like dragging a brawl into your uncle's house, bloodying the intruder—only to leave just as the fight turned serious.
You walk away.
Your uncle remains.
And the lion remembers.
…
Robb had anticipated Frey's anger over breaking his betrothal.
He had sent Theon to Pyke to negotiate with Balon.
He had offered recognition, alliance.
Instead, Theon returned not as an envoy but as a conqueror.
Winterfell fell.
Worse Bran and Rickon were reported dead.
The North bled.
And the cracks widened.
Some lords now prepared contingencies.
If the Young Wolf failed, they intended to survive.
As if that were not enough, another blow came.
His mother, Catelyn Stark, in desperation, released Jaime Lannister.
Robb had understood the value of Jaime.
Not as leverage against Tywin—Tywin would never bend for a son.
Jaime was leveraged for morale.
As long as the Kingslayer remained captive, Robb's own men believed there was a ceiling to Lannister retaliation.
A limit.
Now that illusion was gone.
Robb reacted not with cold strategy but with wounded pride.
He married Talisa Maegyr in secret.
In that moment, Walder Frey's pride was ground into the dirt.
Catelyn had hoped that releasing Jaime might secure mercy if the war turned.
Perhaps Jaime could plead for Robb's life.
It was a fragile hope.
A naive one.
And now, consequences came swiftly.
Walder Frey recalled his forces.
Theon, once trusted, had taken Winterfell.
Robb had no choice.
He had to return North.
And the only road home ran through the Twins.
Robb had no choice but to renegotiate with the Freys.
For all his brilliance on the battlefield, he was painfully naive in matters of politics. He trusted oaths too easily.
The envoy sent to mend the breach was none other than Roose though it would be more accurate to say Bolton volunteered.
His reasoning was sound on the surface. The Dreadfort was not far from Winterfell. With Winterfell fallen and its garrison depleted, the Dreadfort's own strength was vulnerable. If the Ironborn turned their attention there, Theon Greyjoy would show no mercy.
So Bolton rode for the Twins.
…
While Robb waited in strained hope for Walder Frey to reopen the crossing, Tywin Lannister remained preoccupied by the shadow of the Laughing Tree.
For a brief stretch, the Riverlands fell into an uneasy calm.
The only disruption came from Lyle Crakehall, known as the Strongboar, who scoured the countryside with five hundred cavalry in pursuit of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
The so-called Lightning Lord truly lived up to his name now vanishing and reappearing with maddening speed.
Crakehall was cautious.
He remembered what had happened to Gregor.
If word spread that the Laughing Tree was absent from a particular band, Crakehall shifted his hunt elsewhere.
He refused to be the next cautionary tale.
…
Robb noticed.
And one morning, a small wooden shield appeared on his table.
No larger than a man's palm.
The carving was crude—likely cut from any scrap of wood found in the forest. A tree with a blood-red canopy. Beneath it, three curved lines form a simple smiling face.
It resembled the heart trees of the old gods.
But heart trees did not smile.
They watched.
They judged.
This one grinned.
Robb turned it over in his hands.
The symbol meant nothing to him.
So he brought it to his mother.
Catelyn Stark had been confined since releasing Jaime Lannister.
When she saw the shield, she went pale.
"The Laughing Tree?" she whispered.
"Mother," Robb asked carefully, "you know this?"
She stared at it, shaken.
"It cannot be."
She drew a slow breath.
"The only time that symbol appeared was at the great tourney of Harrenhal."
Robb frowned.
Catelyn continued.
"In the days before the tourney, three knights—known as the Porcupine Knight, the Forked Spear Knight, and the Knight of the Twin Towers—had won their tilts. They were arrogant men. Cruel."
"The following evening, a mysterious knight appeared."
"He was small of stature. His armor was mismatched, ill-fitting—as though assembled from scraps."
"He challenged the three knights."
"And he defeated them."
"He took their horses and armor as forfeit."
"They were not beloved men. The common folk cheered wildly."
"He bore a shield painted with a heart tree that smiled."
"That is how he became known as the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
Robb listened intently.
"At the time, Robert Baratheon—who was not yet king—and Rickard Lonmouth both swore they would unmask him."
"King Aerys declared the knight an enemy of the crown."
"The next morning, the Laughing Tree vanished."
"Aerys sent Prince Rhaegar to find him."
"They found only a painted shield hanging from a tree."
She fell silent for a long moment.
"It is said," she added quietly, "that Rhaegar may have been the only one who ever saw the knight's face."
Catelyn looked back at the small wooden shield in her hand.
"How could this symbol appear now?"
Her voice carried both confusion and something else.
Foreboding.
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