Roose Bolton turned in his saddle, studying Jon as though truly seeing him for the first time. The pale lord's usual composure faltered; had he been on foot, he might have shifted a pace further away from the young man riding beside him.The Leech Lord's pale eyes flicked from Tywin Lannister and his son, then back to Jon Snow. Jon's expression was as calm as ever, almost detached, yet the words he had spoken still hung heavy in the air.He really dared to say it, Bolton thought. The demands Jon had voiced—if granted—would strip the Lannisters of everything they had gained since Robert's Rebellion. It would undo decades of careful calculation.Tyrion, sitting stiffly on his pony, looked at Jon as if he were some strange creature newly hatched from an egg. His eyes, already wide, grew wider still.This can't be the boy I knew in Winterfell, he thought. The Jon he remembered had carried an air of quiet resignation, a shadow clinging to him as a bastard son. Yet this Jon stared down Tywin Lannister himself without flinching. Something had changed him, shaped him into something dangerous.Tywin, after hearing Jon's outrageous conditions, said nothing. He merely wheeled his horse about, the lion's cloak whipping behind him. In his mind, negotiations were finished. No agreement could be reached with such insolence.But Jon's voice cut through the air like a blade."It seems," he said, his tone level, "that Lord Tywin does not care for his eldest son's life."Tywin halted. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his horse back. His green eyes fixed on Jon with the cold focus of a predator sighting prey. The great destrier beneath him snorted, pawing the earth, its muscles taut with its rider's fury."What," Tywin said softly, dangerously, "do you mean?"Jon's gaze did not waver. "I believe word will reach you soon," he said, his tone half-veiled, calculated to leave them guessing. "You did not think Winterfell's strength amounted only to a handful of cavalry, did you?"Tyrion's heart lurched. "What has happened to Jaime?" he demanded, his voice betraying rare anxiety.Jon met his gaze but gave no answer.Beside Jon, Roose Bolton stiffened. He had heard nothing of this from Robb. So the Stark boys keep their own channels of communication, he realized with cold clarity. Robb had distrusted him from the start.Bitterness curdled in Bolton's chest, though his face showed none of it. His hand tightened on the reins. All he wanted was to command, to win victories and carve his name into history. Was it truly necessary for the Starks to treat him as if he were already a traitor?Jon leaned forward slightly, speaking with quiet menace. "Write to King's Landing, Lord Tywin. Guarantee my father's safety. If harm comes to him, then I swear—your son, and the tens of thousands you command here, may march into the Riverlands alive, but not one will return to the Westerlands breathing."This time it was Jon who turned his horse and rode away, leaving Tywin to glare after him with eyes that seemed to burn holes in his back.The demands Jon had made earlier had been bluster, meant to unbalance his foe. But these last words—this threat—were the truth of his purpose.If Eddard Stark lived, then the execution in King's Landing, the spark that would ignite the War of the Five Kings, might never happen. Perhaps thousands of lives could be spared. Perhaps Westeros could save its strength for the true enemy in the North.---Both sides departed with thunderclouds hanging over them.And sure enough, no sooner had Tywin returned to his command tent than a raven arrived from the west. From the Golden Tooth came the staggering news: Jaime Lannister had been defeated in battle—captured by Robb Stark.Tywin's composure cracked. He slammed the message onto the table. "Tyrion!" he barked. "Write to King's Landing at once. Tell Cersei to guard Eddard Stark closely. No one—no one—must be allowed near him.""Of course," Tyrion replied quickly. Yet unease stirred in his chest. He could not help but wonder: if he had been captured instead of Jaime, would his father have shown such urgency?In truth, Tyrion knew this campaign into the Riverlands was never solely about him. Tywin had been maneuvering, always maneuvering. And Tyrion suspected now that whispers of Cersei and Jaime's relationship had reached ears that should never have heard. Perhaps his father had feared the exposure all along.As Tyrion prepared the raven, another message arrived.The letter, sealed with the crown's mark, was read aloud. Its words struck the tent like a hammer blow.By command of King Joffrey Baratheon, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, was executed for treason.Tywin's vision swam. "That fool," he hissed, his face dark with wrath.Tyrion craned his neck, rising on his toes to see the parchment. When the words sank in, his roar echoed like a wounded beast. "No!"With Eddard dead, Jaime's life was imperiled as well. The fragile balance was broken. The boy-king had shattered it with one stroke of arrogance.For a moment, Tyrion wished only to fly to King's Landing and strangle his nephew with his bare hands.But Tywin, though shaken, forced his fury into orders. His voice cracked like a whip."Kevan will strengthen the camp. Marbrand, increase patrols. Double the sellswords at Harrenhal. And you—" he pointed at Tyrion "—you will ride for King's Landing. Hold it, no matter what it takes."Tyrion's head bobbed rapidly, his mind already racing. He left with Bronn and a strong escort, their departure swift.When the tent emptied, Tywin finally sank into his chair. Sweat beaded his brow, his skin pale beneath the candlelight. For the first time in years, the Lion of Casterly Rock looked old.---Back in the Northern camp, life carried on.Old York busied himself among the mountain clansmen who had chosen to follow Jon. He distributed scavenged armor and captured Westerlander weapons, inspecting their state with a veteran's eye.York himself was older than most of them, but years of noble food and shelter had preserved him better than these men who had spent their lives in the harsh mountains. The mountain elders looked older still, weathered as cracked oak.Yet under York's strict drills and barked orders, even these gray-haired veterans began to look less like rabble and more like soldiers. Their morale lifted, their eyes brightened with purpose.Two among them, Erwin and Forgas, the pair who had first approached Jon, grew particularly eager. They had lived their whole lives together, and now they stood shoulder to shoulder once more, proud to call themselves Jon's men.They took every chance to curry favor with York, praising Jon's deeds."Did you know, my lord," Erwin said one day, "that Lord Jon once bested a knight in full plate with naught but a wooden practice sword? It's true.""Aye," Forgas chimed in. "And this army's discipline—why, that's all Lord Jon's doing."York grunted, half embarrassed, half amused. Their admiration was sincere, and he could not deny that Jon's command had been remarkable.But then Erwin asked a question that caught him off guard. "Tell me, my lord, why does such a general as Lord Jon have only you and Ser Tormien beneath him? Why so few men of his own?"York stammered, face coloring. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Training time now," he barked at last. "No excuses for age! On the battlefield, anyone who slows the line will be treated as a deserter. Now go drill!"The veterans scrambled off to practice. York's cheeks still burned at the memory of his own doubts when Jon had first led. But then he remembered the raven—how near disaster had come that night—and the blood drained from his face. Had I failed then, ten heads would not have been enough to pay the price.He cast a glance toward the Westerlander camp in the distance. What had Jon said to Tywin? How had that confrontation ended?---He had his answer sooner than expected.Jon returned, and Old York hurried to his side. Jon's face revealed little, but he took the unusual step of speaking to Roose Bolton on the way back."The matter of Jaime," Jon said evenly, "was something I invented."Bolton's eyes narrowed.Jon's voice did not waver. "Your betrayal comes later—after Stannis falls and the Lannisters join with the Tyrells. When that alliance forms, their strength will be beyond measure. That is when you turn. Not now."It was as much explanation as warning.Jon did not trust Roose Bolton, not truly. But he would not allow suspicion alone to drive Bolton down the path of treachery too soon. For now, they were still bound together by circumstance.He only prayed that his father still lived. For if Ned Stark was already lost, then many more battles awaited—and countless more graves would be filled.--
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