Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Roose Bolton

[A.N: In this version Robb found it more prudent to have all the armies take the shortest route to Moat Cailin instead of gathering his own detachment in Winterfell before heading there]

Roose knew, throughout his life, that most men share the same sense. An instinct that acted up when they saw a predator, a creature that poses a danger to one's safety.

It is an unnatural emotion, one that creeps up on men like a hidden snake, yet usually serves itself useful in determining sources of danger.

That same sensation is the one Roose currently felt, as he sat on the edge of the banquet hall, attempting to blend into the crowd as always, while staring at the carefree form of the Quiet Wolf's son.

Robb Stark's coloring was nothing like a typical Stark, his hair was a rich red-brown, with a stocky yet tall build for his age, his eyes seem to do the utmost to seem unlike a Stark's, almost glowing in sky blue. Enough to charm maidens, perhaps, yet still lacking the colors of his forebears.

However, it was in demeanor that no one could deny his ancestry. He was silent as winter, cold and detached, he spoke little, but what he heard of him sounded logical, wise even.

He had no issues trading japes with peers and vassals, even if his humor was somewhat dry, but Roose thought he rather reminded him of ancient depictions of Northern Kings, the likes of Theon the Hungry Wolf.

Theon Stark, that was a man Roose knew enough about to respect. As a King and a Stark, the ancient figure was exemplary in his conduct, he repelled the largest outside invasion the North knew aside from the Targaryen Conquest, conquered the Three Sisters, defeated rebels from the Rills, repelled a king of beyond the wall and an Ironborn invasion.

In his childhood, his father owned an old portrait of the man, the paint was already losing its colors at the time, yet its depiction of the Hungry Wolf's demeanor strangely matched with the young Stark's aura.

No, in fact, something about Robb Stark made Roose feel even more threatened.

Yet, as he mentioned before, not all men share this particular survival instinct.

"For 30 years I've been making corpses out of men, boy." The so called 'Greatjon' Umber exclaims from his seat from the other side of the table. "And I'd rather see my head on a spike than see an Umber man march behind a Cerwyn." He screams for all to hear, naturally offending the aforementioned house. "I will lead the van, or I will take my men and march them home."

There was no warning, no prediction, before the people could even fall in silence in order to see what the matter with the Umber is, Robb Stark had already held a dagger and threw it at the giant man in the blink of an eye.

Jon Umber slowly extends a hand to his ear, noting a pinch of blood.

"You presume breaking the oaths you swore to my father one more time, Lord Umber." His voice is cold and unflappable, echoing through the halls. "And I will put your head on a spike for all the others to see."

"Oathbreaker?!" He asks, abruptly standing from his seat. "Oathbreaker! He says! I will not have my honor besmirched by a boy so green he pisses grass!" The moment Jon Umber touches the handle of his sword, before any other man here could react by doing the same, Stark's direwolf slams on the table to hard it flips, causing the large lord's vision of Robb to be impaired.

And as the others finally could respond and begin unsheathing their swords, the Greatjon included. Robb Stark had already made it to his side and driven a leather boot to his side.

As Jon Umber lurched backward, the young stark grabs his head by his hand and slams it to the table, before calmly and slowly walking back to his seat.

Whilst everyone is astonished, staring agape at the scene. Robb was already back next to his seat, staring at his disoriented, injured, yet conscious banner man.

"It is common knowledge… that bearing steel against your liege lord is considered a death sentence." He finally sits down. "It is fortunate that the Lord Umber fell on his head before he could commit such a dishonorable act." He says.

It takes moments for the words to register in Jon's head; the man ignores all stares and his own disorientation in favor of jovial laughter.

"Lucky indeed, Lord Robb!" He exclaims, bending down to grab a somewhat filled cup of mead. "It would have been a shame to not be able to fight under the banner of such an able warrior!" He ends his words by raising the cup high in a toast.

Robb simply indicates someone to lift the table back up, and nonchalantly continues the feast as it was going.

Initially a lot people expressed awkwardness in speaking in his presence, yet he seems to disarm them fairly quickly with honest conversation. And before long the feast came to an end.

After the festivities all men were made to leave, including Roose, yet before he did so a servant approached him, afraid, the woman barely stuttered her words before she left.

Bolton was used to such occurrences, so he paid them no mind, he has more pressing matters to tend to anyway.

Apparently, the Lord Stark desires a meeting.

*-*-*

The empty feast hall seemed somewhat intimidating when empty, with Robb mindlessly staring out a window to the sky.

Roose was unfazed however, as he calmly went forward and sat in front of the young Stark. "What need do you have of me, my Lord?" He asks.

Robb turns his gaze to his eyes, and Roose uncharacteristically finds himself intimidated, but he doesn't show it.

"First." Robb goes straight to the point. "I wish to offer my condolences; I heard Ramsay, your son, was recently deceased."

The boy makes no effort to hide his apathy, is this a test?

"Ramsay was my bastard, my lord." He said. "He was my son, yes, and I mourn for his death. Yet his demise has no bearing on my duty."

"That is relieving to hear." Robb answers, again with an emotionless tone. "Yet this leaves you with a conundrum, Lord Bolton. You have no heirs, and there are little eligible women of marriageable age in your vicinity."

If Bolton was a lesser man, he would've been offended, and even if he was, he wouldn't have shown it on his face anyway.

"I assume this line of questioning leads to a point, my Lord?"

Robb nods. "I know even as your liege lord, it is unbecoming for me to be involved in your house's matters, yet I wish to make a proposition." Roose nods. "Our next destination is the Twins, Lord Bolton."

'Ah' He thinks. "You wish to negotiate passage?"

"Indeed." Robb answers. "Lord Walder Frey is infamous for trying to pass his sons and daughters to any lord that may grace his… presence; I mean to use your free hand as a bargaining ship in order to negotiate."

Bolton thinks on it for a while, while the Frey's do not have the best situation, they are rich, and if he pushed both Lord Robb and Lord Walder further, taking advantage of this opportunity, then he'd perhaps be able to secure a sizable dowry.

"I am amenable to this deal, although I reserve the right to choose amongst the daughters." Each of Walder's daughters and granddaughters has either noble mothers or fathers not from House Frey, choosing the best combination would be best.

Robb nods again. "Agreed." He says. "It is why you will be present during the negotiations, alongside my mother."

Smart, his mother will remind the Late Lord of his relation to House Tully, which can act as the stick. And the Leech Lord's presence will act as the carrot, which will do well in easing Walder's mind.

"Then by your leave, my Lord." Roose says, leaving the hall.

At the corner of his eye, Robb turns again to the window, gazing at the night sky.