The din of a battle floated above the chill waters of the Trident and hung beneath the moisture laden January clouds low flying in the sky. Lohgun's sharp ears had picked up the clamor first, but within the last ten minutes even the deafest of Robb's advance party began to hear the distinct call of man's greatest symphony; the trumpets of war and the clash of arms. They increased the pace of their tired mounts, anxious to join the tumult. Early the previous day these four hundred riders had left the predominantly northern force of four thousand cavalry traveling east on the River Road, for the young Lord of Winterfell was eager to lay eyes on his pike, sword, bow, and pole arm toting bannermen whom he'd last seen a score of days ago. That very morning they'd left the road and cut cross country, instead of following it all the way to the Kingsroad before turning north, to make better time to the Ruby Ford.

Frustratingly the flat, rich flood plains made by the merging of the Green, Blue, and Red Forks offered no vantage point, so they kept pounding hard through the trampled and burned grain fields of lordlings, crofters, and smallfolks holding allegiance to the juvenile remnant of House Darry currently ensconced at Riverrun. Four hundred heads immediately snapped to the source of a horn blowing, a sound followed by the unveiling a half dozen riders scrabbling out of an unseen gully a quarter mile away. Robb's companions quickly formed a wedge about their liege. A small, ragged banner fluttered beneath a spear carried by the lead mount of the oncoming riders.

"A flayed man!" Dacey Mormont cried above the thunder of hooves.

"Boltons!" shouted Eddard Karstark, riding beside his betrothed.

"Slow," Robb commanded.

A small opening was made in the wedge of riders for a polecat lean man with lank, greasy brown hair poking out from beneath his leather cap to weave his mount back and forth until he arrived in front of Robb. He knuckled a finger to his brow. "I'm Gerrit, milord," he muttered gutturally.

"What is the word?" the young lord asked with surprising calm.

The dirty man smile, red stained teeth showing his love of sourleaf, "Old Lannister's scouts is seeing if they can stampeded the fear into us, damned fools. Milord didn't want ta waste any arrows, so he let'em cross the Ford, unchallenged like." Then, with a horse rider's natural superiority, the man Gerrit added, "It'll do the walkers good ta get a first blood their blades, and that from right up close."

"How many then?"

"Oh, less'en a thousand, should say. Milord sent me and a few other groups out on the sides ta see if they me'nts ta be sly like. But naw, Tridents all quiet, no hint o' trickier or nothin'."

"Then kindly show us to your Lord, eh?" Robb commanded.

The man nodded and turned his lean northern horse back east.

Robb had not wanted to interview Lord Roose in his tent, but while walking with his companions on the earthen rampart constructed over the last three and half days by the increasing numbers who had arrived at the ford by boat from Fairmarket. From the slain men and horses spread in front of the position, the Bolton scout's scornful attitude toward the limited Lannister assault had been accurate. On the far shore, a hundred or so sporting Lannister red stood watch while the rest pitched tents, started fires, and tended to their injured comrades.

"A fine fieldwork you've constructed here," Robb proclaimed, looking up and down the long four foot high slope periodically marked with sharpened stakes.

"The men worked diligently, Lord Stark," responded softly, as was his usual want; only the merest hint of a knowing smile marring his placed visage.

"If I may be so bold to ask, Lord Roose. You've left near a hundred yards of open space from ford's edge to here. And, uhm, might the berm be raised higher still?"

Two chill, pale eyes slowly blinked once before the Lord of the Dreadfort quietly revealed the cold calculation of his decision. "To win, and revenge ourselves upon the Lannisters, we must crush their army. Were our wall stouter yet, and there not enough room for the Westerlanders to believe their knights could mount a charge, then Tywin Lannister is too clever to force an attack."

"Then he would starve," Wendel Manderly chortled, belly jiggling.

"But not soon," Roose Bolton responded dispassionately. "And given time, I fear what mischief the Old Lion's brains and gold might concoct."

"Treachery, a Braavosi rescue fleet, an alliance … with someone," said Brynden Tully before shrugging his shoulders to emphasize the limitless possibilities. "No one ever won many coins betting against Tywin Lannister's smarts."

An eyebrow raised on Bolton's plain, pale face. "Exactly," he agreed mildly.

"And I'll bet the ground closest to the water is soft and yielding, difficult turf to kick your mount into a gallop from," the Badger added.

"Our counter charges would likely have some advantage," Lord Roose stated plainly, without showing any sign of a smirk or satisfaction.

Robb quickly glanced at his two top advisors faces for assurance. Then, "You've done amazingly well here Lord Roose. Bringing the army intact down the Blue Fork, preparing the battleground, readying the men; you have my deepest thanks."

The Leech Lord simply bobbed his bloodless, pale head in acknowledgement of Robb's words.

"We've seen the Old Lion's scouts," the Blackfish proclaimed, waiving a hand toward the other side of the ford. "He musn't be too far behind. Any word of him, or Willam and his lure?"

"Since Fairmarket, we've had no ability to receive Lord Dustin's ravens," said Bolton calmly, identifying the obvious. "But we've … interrogated a few survivors of today's futile display. The Lannister van might make it here in the evening. The entire army has been pushing south hard for a week. It will likely take several days for them to array their entire might."

"What of Willam?!" the Badger snapped, taking a menacing step toward Bolton.

Undisturbed by the threat, the seemingly bloodless continued. "The deception was revealed to the Lannisters when Lord Dustin's modest host was trapped against the Green Fork on the edge of Frey lands. Addam Marbrand, Lyle Crakehall, and Gregor Clegane led a charge that rolled over them. A few, I was told, escaped over the river to safety," Lord Roose explained evenly.

"Seven hells!" Lohgun swore angrily.

"Bloody bastards!" the Blackfish raged.

The Stark mask slid down Robb's face so he could hide his disquiet at the news of his father's longtime friend.

Ignoring the other men's angst, Bolton started asking questions of his own. "Our horse force will arrive tomorrow, yes, milord?"

The Lord of Winterfell nodded curtly.

"Will Riverrun provide any further support beyond those knights and mounted banners that may already be riding with your banners?"

Tytos Blackwood replied for the Riverlands' honor. "Lord Edmure is bringing a few thousand by boat down the Red Fork. The fastest craft should start arriving tomorrow as well. And Lord Edmure brings a nasty surprise for Tywin Lannister too," he finished with evil glee.

Lord Bolton merely stared back at the man blankly.

"The Kingslayer," ground out Lord Blackwood, ill taken by the pale, placid man's non-responsiveness. "We mean to show the Old Lion his handless son."

A pleasant smile creased the Lord of Dreadfort's face. "That will prove useful," he declared.

Noise carried across the water all night long. Daylight revealed several thousands gathered under various Lannister allied houses on the north bank of the Trident. A light rain through the morning did little to slow the steady influx of horses and men into the disorganized camp beginning to sprawl on the other side of the Ruby Ford. Near noon, the drizzle finally ended and an hour later when a hint of sun and sky peaked through the clouds, a river galley flying the trout banner of the Tully's rowed into view, making for the southern shore.

Robb and his companions trotted a quarter mile to the west along the Trident's bank. "Welcome," he shouted out to his uncle, who stood on the prow directing the hundred fully armed men-at-arms disembarking into the mud.

"Not too late I take it!" he yelled back in greeting.

"No! They've been patiently awaiting your arrival!" Robb returned loudly with a grin.

"Very sporting of them, for I intend to pay them back for their previous hospitality to me. Careful!" he suddenly bellowed. "That's precious cargo. Use a plank for Gods' sake."

Quickly a wide board was lain from the edge of the boat to the muddy shoreline, and two large men led an equally large, but disheveled figure, who constantly spat "Hellfire, Hellfire," off the galley.

"He was bloody tiresome," Edmure laughed at the Kingslayer. "Praise the Seven we had plenty of dreamwine to dose him with or no one would have ever slept at night. Is the madman's father here yet? I can't wait to see his face when he takes a gawk at his golden boy."

"The overlarge Red Lion banner has yet to float above their camp. And glad of his absence I am," Robb proclaimed. "There's five or six thousand of his horse gathered. And while my foot could likely handle the charge, my cavalry is not yet come."

"Aye, it's reassuring to have that mailed fist ready to hit back with," Edmure agreed, punching the air with a fist. "An hour ago, our lookout thought he saw movement in the distance. Probably your lads, I'm sure they'll arrive shortly. More of my own boats should start landing soon enough too, fifteen hundred ready to share the shield wall!"

Two hours later thirty five hundred tired riders trotted into the back of the fortifications Lord Bolton had constructed. And while Robb was greeting the Lords Umber, Karstark, Mallister, Cerwyn, and others, a messenger ran back to interrupt him with the news that Lord Tywin Lannister had arrived with another thousand mounted knights and armored banners. Yet still no sign of any foemen come on foot. Before too long, a red cloaked herald trotted to the middle of the ford carrying the plain white banner of parley. Robb sent his own emissary out, who quickly came back to announce that the Lord of Casterly Rock wish to have words with the Lord of Winterfell. A few more trips to and fro by both sides eventually settled on each lord being granted six companions to the negotiation in the middle of the river.

Robb rode out with his uncle Edmure, Lord Blackwood, Lord Karstark, Lord Bolton, the Blackfish, and Lohgun to meet Tywin Lannister and his closest advisors whom Edmure named in whispers to Robb: Kevan Lannister, Lord Lefford, Lord Lydden, Lord Serret, Ser Addam Marbrand, and Ser Lyle Crakehall. "Have you come to surrender?" the Lord of Winterfell asked stiffly, concealing his hate at being so close to the root cause of the ever present pain he felt at the loss of his father.

The Lord of Casterly Rock said nothing for a long minute, simply staring intently at his opponent, taking his measure, perhaps hoping to disturb him enough into making a mistake. At last, "My condolences for your father, the Lord Eddard. His death was ill done, not of my choosing. It benefitted no one."

Robb's lips pursed, salt rubbed into the raw wound of his father's memory, yet he held his tongue, waiting for the angry, passionate, headstrong words to pass.

"And what of the Riverlands," snapped a red faced Edmure. "You've burnt out my lords, driven the smallfolk from the fields, raped our daughters! Was that not ill done too? I see not how it benefitted you, yet you certainly choose the deed. What useless condolences do I receive?!"

Tywin Lannister's eyes narrowed and shifted to gaze upon the Heir of House Tully. He regarded him like a non-entity, a truculent child. "None," he announced coldly. "Your sister, within the Riverlands, called upon your lords' banners to kidnap my son Tyrion, which they freely did do. And then they fled to refuge with your other sister, Lysa Arryn. My son has now been returned to me. A Lannister always pays his debts. Consider your debt paid, and be glad it was not more dear."

"Fuck …"

"Uncle," Robb barked, reining Edmure back. Convinced there would be no further outbursts, he continued. "Your son, conspired to kill my brother. My lady mother sought to bring him to justice."

"A flimsy charge, based only on an accusation of that jumped up money changer, Lord Baelish," the Old Lion sneered. "A charge proven baseless through my son's triumph in a Trial by Combat. Now kindly move your army out of the way, Lord Winterfell, and I shall return to the Westerlands, peaceably."

"There is the matter of justice for my father."

"A traitor, denying the right of my grandson to sit on the Iron Throne. His actions freely witnessed before the entire court, of this there is no doubt. His death is a regrettable … complication. I would have granted him the Wall had my council been available in King's Landing. Alas it was not, and for it your father suffered a harsher justice, but the King's justice nonetheless."

"No, there is more to it than that," Robb insisted. "And I intend to go to King's Landing and discover the truth. Joffrey Baratheon will be held personally accountable for any miscarriages that happened. Alas, before I move south, I must deal with you. It would not do to have a Lion pounce on my turned back."

Tywin Lannister nodded slowly, thoughtfully for a moment. "You are welcome to try me. But I am in no rush to cross. And lest you forget, the King is still betrothed to your sister Sansa, a sweet girl I am told. And she is kept company in the Red Keep by your other sister, Arya. Do not make this any uglier, young lord."

Robb smiled viciously. "If you would allow me, old lord, I would like to bring out two more … notables to our conversation. Sight of them may … illuminate your decision."

Tywin Lannister glanced quickly at his brother Kevan who returned a worried look. "Very well," the Old Lion agreed warily.

Robb raised a hand, and almost immediately two horses broke through the pack of onlookers gathered at the shore. The first mount barely held the giant sized Greatjon. The other precariously carried the handless Jaime Lannister.

"My son," the Old Lion gasped when he recognized his son, but his iron control quickly reasserted itself. "Yes, this is not a surprise. For you to have come here with an army and the boy Edmure, you would have had to have defeated Jaime outside Riverrun. Perhaps the King would be willing to exchange your sisters for his uncle."

Robb shook his head no. "Not good enough. If you do not battle me on the morrow, Lord Lannister, I'll execute the Kingslayer in front of your whole army."

Most of the Lannister parley party gasped or muttered curses at Robb's bald threat, but not the imperturbable Old Lion. "Kevan," Tywin Lannister said quietly, and his well-trained brother turned to wave at the north side of the ford. Quickly, five horses emerged out of the jumbled mass of horseman on the bank and trotted their way into the water. Two men rode with bags over their heads. A seeming half sized man came out on one end of the short line mounted inside a high backed and fronted saddle. A fourth man with black lank hair and a stubbly beard rode in the middle, holding the reins of the hooded men's horses. The last man was the largest creature anyone born south of the Wall had ever seen, making the Greatjon appear slight by comparison.

Tyrion and the fighter who held the other two's reins stopped short of the parley by thirty yards. The huge man kept riding forward and forced his way into the middle of the Westerland lords. His giant helmet slowly turned so that he might stare a moment through the narrow eye slits at each his enemies. At last apparently satisfied with their insignificance, the massive man looked straight at Robb and bellowed, "I'm the Mountain, bitch!"