Tristan felt glad that he was back in the Riverlands, but also disheartened that, once again, he had provided Robb with failure. Renly had demanded that he come with them to the battle with Stannis, to see what they faced in him if they refused to bend.

They had stayed only a single night at Riverrun. Grandfather still clung to life like a particularly persistent barnacle. His mother was glad to see him, and it seemed that Robb was still winning victory after victory. He had smashed the Lannister host in the Westerlands at Oxcross, taken Ashemark and was paying the Lannisters back in kind for all the harm they had wrought to his own people. Edmure was certain that Tywin would likely march west at this point, he couldn't allow Robb to continue to harry his lands with impugnity. For a man like Tywin Lannister, who relied on fear and an image of strength, allowing Robb to continue to spread damage and destruction over his domains could risk sparking a revolt against him. "You intend to block him at the Trident?" He asked Edmure, who nodded.

"I do," he said. "No Lannister host will march across the Riverlands unblooded again. I have called the banners to me, they will not cross the trident."

Tristan nodded. Good, too long had the Starks bled against the Lannisters and Tywin would not stop Robb from reaping vengeance. "I will ride hard for my host then," he said. "We shall take Harrenhal when Lord Tywin departs the castle. Then, with me to his east and you blocking his way west, Lord Tywin will have to march south." He had seen Renly's host. Let Lord Tywin Lannister and the would be king Renly Baratheon bleed each other there. All the while, Robb could take the wealth of the Westerlands from the Lannisters without interference.

Tristan left the next day. Saying goodbye to his mother and riding hard for the Twins. Thankfully, now invested in the war, Lord Walder made no demands of him in order to cross. Or perhaps it was the four hundred men under Helman Tallhart that made him see things clearly. Either way, he was able to cross the Trident without problems. Lord Bolton had taken the Ruby Ford in his absence, so there would be no Lannister men in this part of the Riverlands, meaning he could ride with speed for his host, eager to do battle once more.

It was all for nought, Lord Bolton had taken Harrenhal three days before he arrived. The flayed man and the Direwolf hung from Harrenhal's towers, as well as the banner of all the other lords present in the camp. He felt his anger surge. Not only had he been sent on a failed mission of peace, he had missed out on another battle to fight.

Shield and Nymeria seemed to share his anger. Shield was seething, his head bowed low to the ground, fangs bared and a low growl in his throat, but Nymeria was being impatient, bounding around, seemingly eager to be off. He may have to let her go and hunt to let the energy out.

Men announced his arrival as he crossed the bridge and entered the great ruined castle. It was an unseemly blight upon the landscape, large and imposing, to be sure, but a garrison large enough to man the entire castle would consume as much food as the host currently manning it. Someone should have torn it down to half size long ago, if not more. House Frey could occupy the castle and have a thousand rooms to spare.

"Prince Tristan has returned!" Someone called as he pulled up to a stop. Men were enjoying the spoils of their victory. The bodies of the Lannister watchmen were hung around the courtyard, the minor garrison left behind seemingly overwhelmed by Roose Bolton's assault. Yet curiously, there didn't seem to be many northman casualties around. The Lannister garrison should have inflicted some losses on the northmen, yet he could see only six.

"Prince Tristan," he turned to see Robett Glover approaching, his guards around him. He bowed as Tristan dismounted. "We did not think to see you so soon."

"I rushed to be in time for the battle," he explained. "But even so I was too late."

"Hardly a battle my prince," Robett consoled him. "Lord Bolton secured the allegiance of Lord Tywin's sellswords, whom he left behind. Lord Bolton wanted to attack with them and overwhelm the enemy, bleeding the sellswords first, but I suggested we use the Sellswords to take Harrenhal from within."

"It's a good plan," Tristan told him, and it was one which he wouldn't have thought of. But there was something he still couldn't work out. "Which Sellswords?" He couldn't remember which ones, but they weren't savoury, he remembered that much.

Robett seemed to grimace. "They call themselves the Brave Companions, though the men more call them the bloody mummers. An unsavoury lot to say the least, and their Qohorik leader, the Goat, we call him, is a vicious bastard."

Then it struck Tristan. "They were burning the lands of the Trident when I left," he said.

Robett nodded. "Aye, I would sooner put them to the sword as well and be done with it. But they have been uprooting nearby Lannister garrisons in the same manner as Harrenhal, so they do seem to have some uses."

"Some," Tristan replied. "I hope we aren't giving them anything." Robett bit his lip and Tristan sighed. "What have we given them?"

"Lord Bolton granted the Goat Harrenhal."

Tristan did a double take. "He gave Harrenhal to that man!?"

"Let the curse of Harrenhal take him before a northman, he said."

Ah yes, the curse. Tristan would not wish it's fate on any, to be sure. Every house that had ever ruled Harrenhal had come to a grisly end, as had every lord, he was unsurprised that Lord Bolton had passed it off onto another. But still, the Goat? He might petition Robb to have Harrenhal torn down. Half it's stone would be of better use elsewhere anyway. "Well, I suppose I should meet with Lord Bolton. Take me to him."

"Of course," Robett said.

He called out for Elmar to take care of his horse, and Daryn and Domeric to come with him.

They ascended the steps of Harrenhal's main keep into a room where Lord Bolton had set up his command place. Lord Bolton was sat with the other lords of this host, all of whom got to their feet and bowed when he entered. "My Prince," he said in his soft voice. "I had not expected you so soon."

"That's okay," he said. "You have been busy in the time I have been gone. Harrenhal, quite a prize."

"All in our king's name, my prince," Roose replied softly. "Now Lord Tywin is trapped between us here and Ser Edmure at the trident."

"Indeed," he replied, sitting down himself. "He will be halted at the Trident and will only be able to retreat south, leaving Robb free to ravage the west. But we must decide what we are to do here."

His lords nodded. A Frey spoke up, thin and spindly, but the way he spoke was like a soldier. "We have been clearing out Lannister garrisons nearby," he said. "Though they still hold several holdfasts in the area."

"Let the Mummers clear them out," said Robett Glover, taking his seat at the table. "It's all they are useful for."

That met with murmurs of ascent. "Secure the Trident and let Lord Stannis and Lord Tywin battle in the south."

"Lord Stannis?" Tristan asked, confused. "Not Lord Renly?"

Roose Bolton shook his head. "A raven was sent from the capital, it arrived yesterday, they seemed to have hoped to catch Lord Tywin before he departed. The Baratheon brothers met at Storm's End, to talk, not to fight. What happened is... unclear, but Lord Stannis was injured, Lord Renly slain, and his host went over to his brother, almost to a man."

Tristan's fingers curled into a fist. Of course his mission would surmount to nothing at all, gods curse it all. "A Lannister garrison remains at Castle Darry." The Frey brought up. "They are led by Ser Parmen Banefort. The Goat says that the knight never trusted him."

"A wise one, it seems," Tristan replied. He ached to lead the assault himself. But leading such an irrelevant assault had gotten the Kingslayer captured by Robb. He looked around the table. The Frey had brought him the news, he decided, why not let him take the castle. "Forgive me, Ser, it has been a long ride, I fear I have forgotten your name?" Better to be a little courteous to those of his brother's realm.

"I have the honour of being Ser Aenys Frey," he replied.

Tristan nodded. "Then, Ser Aenys, I charge you with the recapture of Castle Darry. Take the soldiers of your house and proceed to claim the castle for the King."

"It will be my honour," the Frey knight replied.

Tristan nodded. There wasn't much else they could do, and it irked him. Lord Tywin was to the west, but they didn't have the strength to march on him, far better to let him batter himself against the Trident. "The rest of us shall wait here," he said, "when we hear news from Riverrun, we act again. That will be all for now," he said. The lord around the table got up and got ready to leave. Domeric embraced his father tightly.

"My lord," Roose said. "There is something I must discuss with you."

Tristan nodded. When all but Daryn, Domeric and Roose had left, he turned to the Lord of the Dreadfort. "What is it?"

"My Prince, have you heard about the North?"

"The North?" Tristan asked. "No one's said anything to me. Why, has something happened?"

Roose nodded. "Aye, we have been betrayed. It seems his grace's embassy to the Iron Islands has failed. Balon Greyjoy calls himself king again, and has attacked the North."

"What?!" He got to his feet so fast his chair bounced off the floor. Why had no one sought fit to tell him this?

"Aye, my Prince," Roose said. "They have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square, and they ravage the western coast."

He slammed his fist on the table. He had only been at Riverrun a night, but why had his mother not seen fit to tell him this?

But this was his chance for battle and glory. Tywin Lannister would retreat south to battle the Baratheon brothers. That meant that the tedious business of cleaning up would begin here. He felt a smile grace his features. There was a chance for battle in the North. If he couldn't spill Lannister blood in the south, then he would spill the blood of Krakens in the North. Then a thought struck him. "What of Theon?"

Roose Bolton shook his head. "We have heard nothing of Theon Greyjoy. It may be his father ignored him, persuaded him to embrace his Ironborn heritage, or slit his throat."

"His own son?" Daryn asked. "Would he do that, surely Kinslaying would be beyond the Ironmen?"

"I would put nothing past Balon Greyjoy," Roose replied simply.

"I will go," Tristan said. He had made his mind up. Robb clearly didn't need him to win the war in the south. But he could still aid his twin in the north. "Lord Bolton, you can maintain defences here. Don't advance too close to King's Landing, but hold the Trident. I will return to the north and drive the Ironmen off."

"Gladly, my Prince," he replied. "My son will accompany you in this endeavour."

"Thank you, Lord Bolton," he said, glad that Domeric would be accompanying him. "What about you Daryn. I would welcome you at my side, but the men of House Hornwood need a leader, and you are the Lord of that House now."

"They do," he replied, earnestly. "But you cannot return to the North alone. With your leave I will take my men back with us."

Tristan turned to Lord Bolton. What with their losses at the Green Fork, did he want to deprive Lord Bolton of more soldiers. But he didn't seem concerned. "Lord Hornwood's soldiers have fought valiantly in his absence," Lord Bolton said, "they helped drive Lannister men from Maidenpool and Saltpans and elsewhere. Unfortunately they were ambushed by the Mountain several weeks ago and are now down and suffered losses. There are still a thousand of them left, but they will be an acceptable loss, and won't affect my fighting strength too much."

"A thousand," Daryn muttered. "My father brought two thousand foot with us, along with three hundred horse."

"I can't speak for the horse," Lord Bolton commented. "They may still be at full strength."

"Robb won't squander them," he assured his friend. "They are in good hands." That seemed to comfort Daryn somewhat. "Very well, I shall collect them up, and we shall march north soon."

That made three, and if they found Cley up there, the four of them could be together again, fighting as one in war for the first time. "Lord Bolton," Tristan asked. "You said that Moat Cailin has been taken?"

He nodded. "It appears to be the main thrust of the Ironborn, to cut us off."

"Well it won't work," Tristan declared. "The Neck may be impassable to them, but not the men of the Crannogs of House Reed. I'll send some riders ahead to draw the attention of the Crannogmen, we can arrange to sneak behind Moat Cailin."

"Moat Cailin is no longer unprotected on the Northern side," Daryn reminded him. "If that was the main thrust, we'll face substantial opposition from them."

"We can gather more men from the Rills and Barrowton, I believe Domeric knows people there. And White Harbour is not far either. They'll all have men to spare."

Daryn nodded. "True, but we can help them." Tristan raised an eyebrow. "If I march up the neck I can draw their attention from the south while you attack from the North. A combined offensive should overwhelm them."

Tristan saw the merit in that plan, but a strong garrison could still decimate them. If they could be persuaded to somehow vacate Moat Cailin in the majority... "The Ironmen love ships more than anything. And they must have landed somewhere."

"The Saltspear," Domeric said. "And I believe there is a river that flows into the Saltspear from the east, the Ironmen are likely to have landed their ships there.

"Then a raid on those ships should draw out the garrison, leaving it free to retake with that combined assault," Tristan concluded.

"You seem to have a plan then," Lord Bolton said, a small, very small, hint of pride in his voice.

He nodded. "Indeed," he said. "We'll rest here for a day or two, then march for the North with the Hornwood men."

"I shall have quarters prepared," Lord Bolton said. There was a knock at the door. "Ah," he said. "Those will be my leeches, will you join me, my Prince."

Tristan had leeched once before. He didn't much like it. Not only did it feel very peculiar, but it required him to lie still for far too long. "I'll leave you to it, Lord Bolton," he said.

The door opened and a small boy with scruffy brown hair entered, the badge of the Dreadfort on his breast. "I have the leeches, m'lord," he said in a familiar voice. He shook his head, he had been in the south so long, voices and accents were likely blurring.

"Good," Lord Bolton said, moving to strip out of his clothes. A sight Tristan did not need to see. He turned to see the boy staring at him, open mouthed.

"Tristan!"

"No," he breathed. He did know that voice. He'd know it anywhere. "Impossible," he rushed over and knelt to the boy's level, seizing his face. Those grey eyes, the same ones he had. "Arya?"

He saw tears form in her eyes and she nodded, dropping the jar which cracked on the ground, and rolled towards the fire. He pulled her in for a fierce hug, squeezing her tightly. "You little bitch," he whispered. "You little horsefaced bitch. What in the seven southern hells are you doing here?"

"I... I was captured," she said. "Lord Tywin's men thought me a peasant boy, so brought me in to work."

"She helped us capture the castle," Roose Bolton explained. "She helped free Robett Glover and his men. My prince, who is this?"

"This is my little sister," he said, letting her go and she gasped for breath. "This is Arya."

After Lord Bolton had apologised for not realising and Daryn and Domeric had greeted Arya in turn, kneeling to their princess, they had to decide what to do. He felt his anger rise at that moment, for he remembered something his mother had told him at Riverrun. "Queen Regent Cersei Lannister swore in open court that she would return Sansa and Arya for Jaime Lannister. How could she make that oath when she didn't have Arya?!"

"Because she never thought it would be accepted," Domeric said at once. She just wanted her brother back."

"Or her lover," Daryn said.

"We can use this," Lord Bolton said. "Do not let the secret out, and we can try and find some way to use this knowledge to our advantage."

"How?" Tristan asked, intrigued.

"I don't know yet," Lord Bolton said. "But keep this under wraps for now. I will ensure no-one finds out here."

"I have to tell mother," he said. "I"ll send a raven, and prepare to send you to her." He said to Arya. He also knew another person who would be glad that Arya was found. His squire, and her betrothed. But he didn"t want to sully their reunion with that. He would tell mother to inform her at Riverrun.

Surprisingly, she didn't object. "It will be good to see her again," she said.

"And Nymeria will, of course go with you," he said.

"Nymeria!?"

"Aye, she's here," he said, smiling and ruffling her rough and uneven hair. "I wonder if her near insistence on coming south was because she knew we would find you again?" She'll come to the chambers, with Shield, you can be re-united with them there."

He escorted Arya to his chambers and called Shield and Nymeria to him. "Watch over her," he told Shield, as Nymeria and Arya began rolling around on the floor, like a child with a new pup. "I'll be right back." He rushed off to the ravenry to pen a letter to mother. He wished he could be there to see her face as she read it, and learned that one of her daughters was safe and sound.

When he came back he had Arya tell him all she could of her journey. She recounted that a Black Brother called Yoren had tried to save her, take her North. How they had been captured by Ser Amory Lorch, who had been fed to the bears. How she had been forced to work in the kitchens, and how a man with two coloured hair had granted her three deaths. His joy at her appearance more than offset his anger at her not using the three names for Tywin Lannister, Joffrey and the Queen. But one couldn't win everything, and she was still a child.

Some clean clothes were provided for her that were a little too large, but soft and a bath in which the muck of the south was scrubbed from her bones. When darkness fell, he pulled her into bed with him, wrapping his right arm around her protectively.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Keeping you here," he said. "I just found you. I am not losing you. Now don"t complain, and go to sleep."

She didn't, and she did.