"Roose is careful," Luwin said. "He waits to see who is winning." He handed a scroll to a young boy. "I am sending a letter to the Dreadfort anyway."
Alaric turned away from the window. Two Blood Knights stood behind him. They wore dark red armor and heavy helmets. They did not move.
"Ride to the Dreadfort," Alaric told them. "Bring Bolton."
The knights nodded. Their metal armor clicked as they turned and walked out of the room.
Alaric stepped over to the table and tapped his finger on the map. "Everyone meets at the Kingsroad. Foot soldiers gather here. Riders go first. We march for Moat Cailin. If we hold the Neck, we control the North."
Luwin finished writing. He carried the last of the small scrolls to the cages. One by one, he threw the ravens out the open window.
The black birds flew up into the cold air. They circled the stone tower once, then flew away in different directions.
A Week Later – The Great Keep
Maester Luwin stood at the end of the heavy oak table. His hands shook as he held a letter that had arrived an hour ago. The broken wax on the table showed the Lannister lion, but the handwriting on the paper belonged to Sansa.
Ser Rodrik Cassel pulled hard at his white whiskers. His face was bright red. Alaric sat back in his chair, his expression completely blank.
"Read it again," Alaric said.
Luwin cleared his throat. "It is from Lady Sansa. She writes: 'Father has been arrested. They say he is a traitor... The Queen says he can be saved if Robb proves his loyalty... come to King's Landing. And please, tell Alaric he must come too. The Queen specifically asked for him.'"
No one spoke.
Alaric steepled his fingers and waited.
Good. Just as he had instructed.
Behind a calm expression, his thoughts moved elsewhere. Two of his blood scouts had already done their work. Septa Mordane had been pulled from danger, and Arya lifted from the street crowds. Both safe. Both hidden.
He said nothing.
Ser Rodrik's fist crashed onto the table. The wood split with a sharp crack.
"It's a trap," he growled. "A child could see it. They have Ned, and now they want us to walk straight into their hands."
"It is a trap," Alaric said.
He rose. His chair scraped against stone, loud in the silence.
"But what Cersei wants does not matter.."
He stepped forward and laid a finger on the map, pressing down over the Riverlands.
"Our soldiers are already moving. We will not wait for the slower banners. We march at dawn."
Ser Rodrik glanced toward Maester Luwin. "The boy speaks true," he said. "Waiting gains us nothing but a tighter noose."
Maester Luwin looked up from the letter. "And the boy? Bran is the Stark in Winterfell. He must stay behind the walls."
"No," Alaric said. He turned toward the door. "Winterfell will be on target once our forces leaves to march to south. I will not leave Bran here for a thief or a some opportunistic to find. He comes with us. He will be safer in a camp of ten thousand men than he is in this cold tower."
Rodrik nodded slowly. "I will prepare the horses. We will be ready by sunrise."
Alaric walked out of the room without saying anything else. His heavy boots thumped loudly against the stone floor of the empty hallway. He walked straight to his own rooms in the guest wing.
...
He pushed open his heavy wooden door. The room smelled of roasted meat and spices. A large fire burned in the fireplace. Roslin stood by the table. She set down a thick clay bowl and blew a piece of hair out of her eyes when she saw him.
"Late again," she said. She shook her head and wiped her hands on her apron. She walked over to him and looked closely at his face. "I heard the horns... my lord what is going on?."
"The war started," he said. He tossed his leather gloves onto a chair.
"And we will be leaving in morning"
Roslin sighed. She stepped close and started unfastening the thick metal buckles on his leather armor. "My Lord, if we leave in morning, you need to sleep. That means no distractions. We are not doing anything tonight. You need your strength for the ride."
Alaric let out a short laugh. He caught her hand and pulled her a step closer. "Is that right? The future Lady of the North giving me orders?"
"Someone has to," she said. She smiled, but her eyes stayed worried and flat. She stepped back to the table and pointed at the bowl. "Eat. I used the recipe with the spices from your 'book'. It smells better than anything the castle cook makes."
Alaric sat down and ate the thick stew. Roslin sat across the table. She just watched him eat.
When he finished, he pushed the bowl away. He took off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the large bed. The thick animal furs smelled like cedar wood. The mattress sank down as Roslin climbed in beside him.
She curled against his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and put her arm across his chest. She kept her fingers away from the old, faint scar on his skin. Alaric closed his eyes and put his hand on her lower back. The room went completely quiet except for the popping of the fire.
Alaric didn't go to sleep. Instead he reached up, cupped the back of Roslin's head, and pulled her into a slow kiss. It tasted of wine and the warmth of the fire. It wasn't like the fast, hungry nights they'd spent together before.
When they pulled apart, Roslin's breath was heavy. Her eyes searched his face in the dim orange light of the dying fire. She rested her head back on his shoulder and traced her fingers across his chest.
The embers in the fireplace glowed low, turning the room a dark amber. Alaric ran his hand down her back. The room was so quiet he could hear their hearts beating.
"Roslin," he said, leaning in close. "There's something you need to know before we go."
She shifted, resting her head against his shoulder. "What is it?"
"I love you," he said quietly. His voice caught for a moment. "That hasn't changed. But I'm… I'm not going to lie to you."
"It's better to tell you now than for you to find out later."
He paused before speaking again.
"There's someone else. Another woman I love."