A Mother's Arrival
It was not long after my conversation with Theon that Robb had sought me out, inviting me to ride with him at the vanguard of the army. The honour that day had been shared with my levy, given the privilege to march first. A petty one in my opinion, one that I had little understanding for. I could have sought out Roose's memories for understanding, but that was a path I sought to avoid as best as I could.
Still, at the front I was, riding with Robb Stark alone. Theon was somewhere further back in the army, no doubt acquainting himself wine or women. He'd earned enough of a reputation in both, spending much of his drinking time with the Umbers, who were apt to drink him under the table.
"You were unkind to Theon," he'd said suddenly "Both at the meeting and afterwards."
"Whereas you are too kind," I retorted pointedly "Which has its own dangers."
"The man is my brother," the boy-lord of Winterfell said, sighing as he did so "And I would trust him with my life."
"Your life is yours to give. The lives of every man in this army marching south is not. He is a Greyjoy by blood, an inescapable fact of life. He may very well see himself your brother, but if the Greyjoys or the Lannisters try to prey on his heritage, should he forget his upbringing... Then we suffer the consequences, Robb."
"You worry so much over one man," he said a little more harshly "When we've greater dangers awaiting us? I do not pretend to understand you, Lord Bolton."
"Consider this a lesson, then. The man with a sword to your front is easily feared, but equally recognized. The man with a dagger at your back is less likely known, but far more dangerous. Tywin Lannister is a dangerous man not because of his armies or his gold mines, but because of his cunning. When he was your age, he committed the deeds that earned him the Rains of Castamere. That old lion has only grown more cunning and vicious in age, and those who have truly crossed him have rarely lived long enough to regret it. Aerys Targaryen, the Martells, the Reynes and Tarbecks... history shows that he does not suffer his enemies gladly."
"You're speaking of more than just the man."
"I'm speaking of the war, of putting reason above emotion. We go south for your family, for your mother's family. But the Riverlands is already collapsing to the Lannisters. We're entering this fight with a foot in the water, Robb. When we cross the Neck, when we enter the Riverlands, you need to understand that final victory will come at a cost, and that you must be prepared to pay it."
--
Our time at Moat Cailin is spent in frustration. More men come to join Robb's army, coming in handfuls of tens and hundreds, drawn from the Neck itself and elsewhere. Crannogmen, hedge-knights, freeriders and freemen, a motley crew of would-be warriors to face the greater hosts of the South. As our numbers slowly swelled, as we awaited the final arrival of the Houses Flint and Manderly, new councils of war were held, as information trickled in from merchants and traders.
As Robb held his councils from on high, two major factions emerged, each pressing for a seperate target. Some, led by Greatjon Umber argued that battle should be had with Tywin Lannister's host, that the army ought to march down the eastern bank of the Green Fork, collecting Tully bannermen as we went to bolster our numbers. Others, including the Glover brothers argued for a march against Jaime Lannister, that smashing his host against Riverrun's walls before Tywin's hasty arrival would reunite them with both House Tully and several prominent Riverlander lords.
I myself was undecided.
On the one hand, repeating the sure success of the Battles of Whispering Wood and the Camps was tempting, but also frightening. Roose Bolton had been Robb's final choice to command the eastern army, the very one that fought Tywin Lannister. While I had had my sneaking suspicions that Roose had done his best to throw the fight on behalf of House Stark with his contradictory tactics, I wasn't the commander he was. I'd had access to his memories, yes, but memories alone didn't give me the confidence to position myself over any lord or knight present. Unless years of playing Total War games would suddenly come into play and turn me into Robb's own Matrim Cauthon, I'd be conducting the battle at a disadvantage, with the memories or without.
And it'd be against Tywin fucking Lannister.
I could beg off, to be fair. Suggest that command be passed on to the younger Glover, or another of the northern lords. But surrendering command didn't sit right with me, and not just the part that was still Roose Bolton. This was as critical a moment in the series as anything was. Robb's decision to head to Riverrun was what saw him crowned as king, a decision that Roose Bolton had not partaken in personally. That decision of kingship pitted him against Renly Baratheon, against Stannis Baratheon. It forced him to defend the Riverlands in their entirety, whittled down his numbers in battles across the south and embittered his bannermen.
Moreover, for all of Jaime's skill with a blade and at war, it was the Lannister leadership on the Green Fork that was the true threat. Kevan Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, half the chivalry of the Westerlands. Decapitating the head of the snake would leave Jaime and Cersei as the heads of House Lannister, and neither of them could prosecute the war as effectively as their relatives could. Arguably, their leadership could doom the Lannister cause.
What to do...
"Lord Bolton!" said the Greatjon with his booming voice "Have you lost your wits or your tongue? Or has the Lord of the Dreadfort no opinion on the path that awaits us?"
"I'm surprised you noticed my silence, Umber. Considering how much you and your son have drunk tonight, I'd have thought you passed out underneath the table."
"Do you have something to add or not, Bolton?" added Maege Mormont as she looked me over with her eyes "Or are you just going to sit there with the Greatjon and trade words like you were in a sewing circle?"
"My lord?" I said with an incline of my head to Robb Stark "Might I speak?"
"I... of course," said the boy-lord with a nod in return "Please share your thoughts with us, Lord Bolton."
"Very well. What I propose, is this..."
--
Soon enough, the Manderly levy had come, and with it Catelyn Tully and her uncle, the Blackfish himself, Brynden Tully.
They had come later that same week, the host coming with them a welcome sight as Robb's preparations were finalized. As to be expected, and as I inquired after, Tyrion Lannister was no longer in her custody.
"A pity," I had said then "And more troublesome for us, and your lady sister. A rich dwarf passing out of the Vale, with a grudge to settle with House Arryn? I imagine any clansmen he comes across will find themselves burdened with new purpose and weapons from the Lannister smithies soon enough."
That comment drew a frown and a sigh from Brynden, knowing well enough the jist of my jibe.
Little more could be said however, as the Lady Catelyn ushered us out, intent on speaking privately with her son. As we left, I caught the Blackfish's attention, quietly bidding him to join me for words.
--
"It's not a bad plan," he said begrudgingly "But there's more than a few problems. If the Kingslayer gets word in time, we'll be buggered for certain. And that's ignoring whatever Old Walder Frey decides to do, and if the foot can even fight Tywin's men long enough to make it count. Lot of risks here, Bolton."
"Yes," I said with a nod and a sigh "But it's the best plan I can think of. Do you disagree?"
"I don't know," he said honestly "Even in the Rebellion, the fighting never reached so deep into the Riverlands. And fighting Tywin Lannister... the man earned his spurs true enough. He's not Mace Tyrell."
"No," I said in agreement "He certainly isn't."