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Robb considered everything he had heard.
"Mother… could it be possible that this Knight of the Laughing Tree has returned to avenge Prince Rhaegar?"
Catelyn lowered the small shield slowly.
"Why would you think that?"
Robb exhaled.
"The first sightings of the Laughing Tree were near the Gods Eye. Amory Lorch attacked Yoren of the Night's Watch. Then a knight in blue armor like a ghost appeared and slaughtered Lorch's men."
"When Lorch was found, forty-seven swords had been driven through his body."
Robb's voice tightened.
"And a small shield with the laughing tree was placed on him."
Catelyn's eyes darkened.
"Princess Rhaenys was stabbed forty-seven times by Lorch," Robb continued quietly. "Pulled from beneath a bed."
"And Gregor Clegane… he was escorting prisoners toward Harrenhal when the Laughing Tree intercepted him. His men were cut down. Only a few escaped."
"Clegane's skull was crushed with bare hands."
"Just like what happened to Prince Aegon."
Robb met his mother's gaze.
"People are saying the Laughing Tree is Rhaegar's ghost. That he's hunting Lannisters."
Catelyn's expression remained guarded.
"And you believe that?"
"No," Robb answered immediately. "Of course not."
He paused.
"But I've been wondering… if he could be persuaded to fight for us."
"Even if he only appeared in our camp once, morale would soar."
Catelyn shook her head.
"No."
"If this knight wished to aid you, he would have sought you out already."
"And if he truly seeks vengeance for Rhaegar… House Stark is hardly innocent in that tragedy."
She folded her hands.
"Wait for word from Roose."
Robb lowered his head slightly.
For the first time, he fully understood how his own choices had weakened his position.
…
For a time, the Riverlands fell into an eerie calm.
Jimmy had been absent.
First Valyria.
Then Highgarden.
Without his presence stirring chaos, rumors shifted.
People began saying Rhaegar's spirit had exacted its revenge and passed on.
Tywin Lannister capitalized on the lull.
He executed several men falsely claiming to be the Laughing Tree, mounting their heads on pikes.
With enough impostors slain, fear began to dull.
Some soldiers even joked drunkenly about the ghost knight.
The real one had been absent long enough to fade into myth.
But Jimmy was finished preparing.
It was time to return.
To stir the waters again.
…
"These stores are for you," Jimmy told Ned and Gendry. "I'll be gone—ten days, maybe a month. If you need anything, tell me now."
Gendry shook his head.
He had his forge.
That was enough.
Ned smiled faintly.
"If you could carry a letter to Robb, I would be grateful."
"A letter?" Jimmy grinned suddenly. "Sure. Beat me in a match, and I'll deliver it."
Ned raised an eyebrow.
"Very well. One more game. This time, I command the Northern host."
Half an hour later—
Jimmy walked out laughing.
Behind him, Ned Stark stared at the chessboard in stunned disbelief.
The Northern army was annihilated.
Robb—and nearly every Northern lord—was slaughtered at the Twins.
Only Roose Bolton survived.
Winterfell fell twice.
And in the end, the Dreadfort prevailed.
The pieces on the board formed a pattern so precise, so inevitable, it chilled him.
The massacre at the Twins seemed to unfold before his eyes.
"No," Ned whispered. "It cannot happen that way."
He looked at the board again.
It made terrible sense.
"I must warn Robb," he breathed.
Ned rushed outside, desperate to stop Jimmy.
He would have given Winterfell itself if it meant that the warning could reach Robb.
But Jimmy was already gone.
Gendry followed him out.
In these past weeks, he had grown close to Ned. He even called him uncle now.
"Uncle," Gendry said quietly, "I haven't studied war long… but even I can see it."
"Even if Robb knows, the best outcome is mutual destruction."
"If Roose is exposed and executed, the Northern army collapses immediately."
"If Robb refuses to cross the Twins, the army loses its only route home and collapses anyway."
He clenched his fists.
"Even if Robb knows it's a trap… he'll still go."
"At least that way, the Northern soldiers can return north."
"As long as people survive… as long as one Stark remains… the North will remember."
He looked toward the horizon.
"The North never forgets."
Ned sighed deeply and sat down at the doorway, staring at the sky.
Yes.
Even Gendry could see it.
From the moment Robb marched south, the game may already have been lost.
All those victories…
Perhaps they were only fireworks.
Brilliant.
Brief.
Doomed.
…
Jimmy arrived in King's Landing.
He wanted to observe how Tyrion Lannister was governing the city.
If timing allowed, he even hoped to witness Tyrion's finest moment—how he would strike Joffrey Baratheon, and how he would lead men into battle.
Horus had already been dispatched to watch the Twins.
If Walder sent word to Robb, Horus would fly straight to the capital.
Jimmy sat in a tavern.
He drank water.
He paid for the finest Arbor wine.
The tavern patrons gave him space.
The silk of Highgarden.
The ornate scabbard at his waist.
The casual way he spent coins.
Recently, the "Little Rose" of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell, was said to be betrothed to Joffrey.
Knights from the Reach had begun filling the city.
Flashy.
Arrogant.
Heavy purses.
Even the Gold Cloaks hesitated to provoke them.
For once, the knights mocked as the weakest in the Seven Kingdoms carried themselves like victors.
And perhaps, as often happens, victory made them insufferable.
…
The rumors were spreading again.
"Did you hear? King Robert wasn't killed by accident. Prince Rhaegar turned into a boar and gored him!"
"I heard Rhaegar's ghost walks the Riverlands… killed Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory!"
"Wasn't that the Laughing Tree Knight?"
"Wasn't he executed already?"
"Wasn't it the Brotherhood Without Banners?"
Rumors multiplied.
In the Riverlands, the panic had begun to fade.
But here in King's Landing, it was only starting.
Inside the Red Keep, Joffrey's temper burned.
"Why are these stories spreading? He's been dead for years! Why is there talk of ghosts?"
"Send word to my grandfather. I want the Laughing Tree's head delivered to the Red Keep."
"I'll mount it beside Ned Stark's."
"Go!"
He turned toward Sansa Stark.
"You must be pleased," he sneered. "Even dead men protect you."
"Hound. Take her to her father."
"Make her look at him all day."
"If she looks away—strike her."
Joffrey left.
Sansa was dragged to the wall.
There, impaled upon a spike, was her father's head.
The flesh had rotted.
Crows pecked at what remained.
Tears streamed silently down her face.
She was forced to look.
And not look away.
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