Roose Bolton reread Lord Tywin's letter, sitting at the cooling hearth, and lit only by candlelight. He plucked a leech off his leg with one hand and dropped it in the water-filled pail, ignoring the sharp pinch as the parasite lost its grip.

He leaned back into the hard-wooden back of his chair, tucking the letter into his pocket. The conspiracy Lord Tywin had arranged with him and Lord Frey was critical for him to become Warden of the North. When Robb Stark was slain at Edmure Tully's wedding, all opposition to the Lannisters would crumble. In turn, House Frey would be appointed the new head of the Riverlands, and Roose would receive the title of Warden of the North.

His bastard Ramsay had already taken the fortress of Winterfell from the Ironborn. Roose did have some misgivings on how his bastard had done it, however. Betraying the raiders after betraying Rodrik Cassel as well would likely cause serious issues with future negotiations. The North would never forget about Donelle Hornwood's grisly fate after Ramsay married and raped her. Chewing off her own fingers while starving to death in a cold tower… Ramsay should have flayed her instead if he was going to kill her anyway.

Ramsay was a failure for his house. The Bastard had to go. The harm he had done to any trust with the Northerners was practically irrepareable. With luck, however, his wife "Fat Walda" Frey would bear him a trueborn son in several months. If Ramsay received word of the marriage with Walda… Roose abandoned this line of thought. He had given this thought ever since Walder arranged the match. The "Bolton" would be dealt with soon enough.

He reread Tywin's letter for a final time.

Harrion Karstark,

If all goes well, Robb Stark will die at the Tully's wedding feast as arranged. I trust that lord Frey's men are separate from the Northerners. For obvious reasons, Catelyn Stark and Edmure Tully must be spared. If the reasons for this order are not clear to lord Frey, you are expected to explain them to him. Hostages are required if peace is to be negotiated— or forced.

Tywin Lannister

With a leech-covered hand, he tucked the letter back into a leather bag and bound it closed. The heat coming from the dying embers warmed his body like a bath of fresh blood. Lord Bolton frowned. He could hear the voices of Merret and Lothar Frey arguing. What a fool, that Merret Frey. A burly man with the intelligence of a layman and a predictable weakness for drink. Roose despised Merret the most out of those who had accompanied him to Harrenhal. He was not his least favorite Frey, but that was not saying much. If any of those squabbling Freys managed to fuck up the conspiracy next month, Robb would force him to take the black like a common criminal and go to the wall. That is if the Young Wolf did not simply execute him immediately. He picked a freshly soaked leech from the pail and put it on his leg.

A messenger garbed in Bolton colors dismounted from his light horse. The man strode past a line of prisoners, earning little more than a few curious glances. Herman Talhart walked up to him and shook his hand, the letter slipping into his hands. The carrier nodded but uttered not a word. Robett peeled the pink wax seal off the paper like skin from flesh, finally unfolding it completely.

Greetings Lord Talhart.

I recieved word that you were besieging Castle Darry. I trust you have taken it by the time you are reading this letter, and that your casualties are limited as I have a new task for you. As soon as your men are rested, march on the Antlers and capture It by storm. It must happen before the Lannisters and Tyrells assault you with overwhelming force. At any sign of an army of theirs, I expect you to pull back to Harrenhal with great haste. If a retreat in that direction becomes unviable, I suggest you move on Maidenpool, and send a messenger to inform me. The Brave Companions have recently taken the town and its keep. But movement there is not to be taken lightly. Avoid being cut off from my forces at all costs! If you must take refuge in Maidenpool I will be unable to help you. Unfortunately, I must inform you that you must execute your prisoners. I understand that it be against your scruples, but they will only slow you down and any man spent guarding them is a man absent from battle.

Roose Bolton.

Helman refolded the letter, and thanked the messenger, who just waved him off grimly, as if he knew the contents of it.

"Do you wish me to carry a message to Lord Bolton?"

"I do. Expect to receive one before tomorrow morning," said he, wiping from his head a sudden burst of cold sweat. The messenger stalked off, his cloak billowing behind him like a banner. A flayed man upon a field of pink sprinkled with droplets of blood. The emblem waved wildly in the whistling wind, as if to mock him for his upcoming task.

The prisoner screamed incoherent begs for mercy, thrashing wildly, his arms held fast by the guards and his head pinned against the cold block. Helman held his sword above the man's bared, shaking neck.

"I, Helman Talhart, Lord of Torrhen's Square and House Talhart, bannerman of Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident, sentence you to die." The blade thudded against flesh, bone, and wood. There was silence. A stream of red poured down the block from the corpse's twitching neck. The guards waited until the stream ebbed, and threw the body and head into the burial pit. Wordlessly, the soldiers grabbed another prisoner, ignoring his incoherent cries for mercy. The men dragged him to the block, blood seeping from his knees as they scraped against the sharp flagstones. He lifted the massive blade and recited the words of execution over the sound of weeping men. The blade hit the block.

Helman urged his horse through the fresh mud, leading a column of infantry at his back. The majority of his men were strewn about, hacking down doors in a futile search of valuables. Desperate lads. Any locals with a bronze stag of sense would have taken everything with them. Normally they would have burned them to the ground but the timber was so damp it was too difficult to even bother trying. It was five nights since Lord Bolton ordered them to depart from Castle Darry after executing their prisoners. The murders were shameful, but neccesary to keep their army at full strength and prisoners would only slow them down.

Helman watched as men ahead reached a barn and disappeared inside. There didn't seem to be much reason to be doing this, unless Roose wanted to vex the Lannisters who were occupied fighting Stannis around King's Landing. He supposed it was why Lord Bolton believed they would be able to carry out this raid unopposed.

The rapid sound of hoofbeats rang on the road behind him. A horseman rode up the road behind him, slowed slightly by the mud. As Lord Glover turned his steed around to face him the young fellow attempted a clumsy bow from atop his horse as he slowed to a halt in front of him.

"News?"

"Lord Glover's scouts have reported columns of smoke behind us, milord. Glover believes we are only seven miles south-east of Harrion Karstark's army," said the rider. Helman cursed under his breath. Dusk was approaching. While it was possible the five hundred-strong force of Karstark men could reach Helman Talhart's rearguard detachment before nightfall, it was unlikely they would be able to set camp before darkness.

"Tell Lord Glover to dispatch a messenger to Lord Karstark's men with a request to join forces on the road tomorrow. My men will be setting camp shortly… and I expect Lord Glover's men to do the same," said Helman after a brief pause.

"Is that all?"

"Yes. Now deliver the message," said Talhart, waving the messenger off.

The Kingsroad was swollen with mires of water and mud. The men drew their cloaks taut, faces set grimly as heavy rain pattered upon their sagging shoulders. Horses thrashed in the swampy ground, hooves stuck under several inches of mud. Villages that may have provided them respite were reduced to smoldering heaps of ash. Harrion Karstark took a swig of rainwater from his helmet, frowning. He had little trouble thinking about who had burnt them down. Robett Glover and Helman Talhart's men. He grumbled curses under his breath in the vague direction he thought they were in. He was glad there were no Lannister soldiers in the area. Supposedly. Something in the back of his mind told him otherwise. The paltry scout force he had with him was hardly enough to tell for certain.

It was fortunate they were catching up to the main force, even considering the problems the army had caused to his men. Any reasonably strong Lannister party would crush his army like a mountain crashing down upon their heads. Stannis's assault on King's Landing had been rumored to be successful. The whispers were probably true now that he thought of the grim silence of the land. But he could not suppress the burning ember of fear embedded deep within his mind. His fiery Karstark heart told him something was coming. And he had no idea what it was.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I will not say what my plans for the plot are, as they are still forming, but I hope you will enjoy future chapters. As usual, reviews are appreciated! This is only my second fan fiction, and I really want constructive criticism of my work. Do not feel afraid to inform me of what I did wrong. I wrote this after I got a little burned out from working on my other story. I doubt I will be able to release another chapter soon, but it really depends on if I have the motivation for it.