12th Month of 299 A.C. Karhold
Arnolf Karstark
Winter was here, the snow on the ground was white, a pale white, so very pale, like death. The death that had befallen the north since the wedding of a southerner to a Frey. He deeply resented the blood that had been shed, resented that Bolton was dead and that his bastard now dared to give orders, as if the bastard himself could bring power. There were Freys coming toward Winterfell, the mere thought angered Arnolf and yet he knew not what to do, and so he called a meeting, his sons and grandsons were here, as were his cousins. He looked about them and saw the same haggardness in their eyes as he felt.
Clearing his throat he spoke. "We all know why we are here. We cannot allow Bolton's bastard to gain anything but the Dreadfort. We will never live that down if we do differently."
"But do we not owe it to the Baratheons to do as they have asked?" his son Cregan asks. "After all they have named Ramsay Snow a Bolton and named him Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North it is for us to do this now, we must continue what we started."
Arnolf looks at his son and sighs. "We cannot go with the bastard. Roose was one thing, his bastard is quite another. The boy has no sense of propriety he will bring us all down to the seven hells if we work with him."
"Then what? We do not have the strength to beat him and the Ryswells and the Dustins. I am sure they will fight for him." Cregan says.
"Don't be a fool Cregan," Arnolf's second son Arthor says. "Dustin hates Bolton's bastard because of what he did to her nephew. And the Ryswells will do whatever Dustin does. You can be certain that the bastard will get no support there."
"Then we become oath breakers for a second time?" Cregan says his voice filled with disgust. "I'd rather not."
"What would you have me do then Cregan?" Arnolf asks contemptuously. "Side with a man who all know to be mad? Or to fight for a man who worships a fire breathing demon? No, I will not do that. I would rather fuck an Arryn than do that."
"Then we would be no better than the Freys or the Boltons father!" his son says. "Surely you can see that?"
"There is another way in which we can keep our position, or perhaps even better it." Arnolf says his eyes gleaming. "Bolton's wife is said to be coming north, or rather his intended. The supposed Arya Stark, we can see whether or not this wins us favours with those who would fight for one of Lord Eddard's children."
"You mean to use a little girl for your plans father?" his eldest son asks incredulously.
"Oh do not look so askance Cregan. You would marry the girl and become Lord of Winterfell, and furthermore, we hold kinship with the Starks through many generations, there are few who would oppose us compared to those who oppose Bolton's bastard." Arnolf replies.
His son looks doubtful. "What of the girl's bastard brother? He would surely come south, especially if Mormont and Glover have their way. We cannot count on them to support us."
"Pah. The bastard is a man of the Night's Watch, he will not be moving anywhere. Furthermore, Glover and Mormont are more than likely dead. Gods alone know what those Freys might have done to them when things were happening at that wedding." Arnolf says dismissively.
Arthor speaks then. "Who would fight alongside us father? Dustin and Ryswell have reason to hate Bolton's bastard, but they have no reason to love us. Cousin Rickard tried to hard to bring the Starks to his side on far too many disputes. The Hornwoods have no lord, Cerwyn is ruled by a lady and the Tallharts, and they are under Ironborn scrutiny. Our list of allies runs thin. Furthermore, we do not even have lordship of Karhold. Harrion is still alive, until he is dead we cannot lay claim to anything."
Arnolf looks at his son, studies him and then says. "You are not wrong, and yet we all know feeling runs strong for Eddard Stark and his son the Young Wolf. We cannot allow such a thing to go to waste. We can find the girl and bring her to our own person, then we can do as we please. I do not think those you have mentioned would dare cross us if we have their precious lord's little girl."
"What of Harrion?" his son persists. "So long as he lives, he is a tool to be used against us."
Arnolf sighs, he finds his son's constant questioning quite tiring. "Stannis Baratheon is coming north, he needs men to fight for him. We shall declare for him and see Harrion executed, and then you shall marry Alys, once that deed is done, then we shall make our move."
"Would that not merely raise more suspicion?" his son asks. "To claim for Stannis and then to betray him? Not all are as thick as the Umbers father, they would see through this ruse of yours with relative ease. We would not be trusted with Arya Stark, if it is indeed Arya Stark."
Arnolf looks at his son and says. "You speak truly son, but you forget one thing. When dealing with a Bolton, especially this Bolton, all will look for a more viable option. They will look for the option that maintains order, for we are a people who like things as they are. The presence of a Stark allows that. Nothing else does. That is where we shall venture forth, as the beacon in the darkness."
His son is silent a moment and then he asks. "When do you plan on doing this?"
Arnolf looks at Arthor for a long moment and then smiling says. "It has already begun Arthor. The plan is in place, now we must make haste. Baratheon shall be here soon enough."
The Twins
Robb Stark
The throne of the Twins was comfortable, it seemed the Freys had a habit of indulging in comfort. He was glad of that now, for his back was aching something fierce. The throne and its cushions allowed for some comfort, and for something to distract his mind from the grief that threatened to come pouring forward. Grief for his mother, and for those slain during this war, he could not allow it to come pouring forward, for to allow that would to allow his grasp on power to fall. He needed to continue as is, otherwise another Jeyne would come forward to destroy him.
"Word has come from Harrenhal has it not?" he asks.
"It has Your Grace." Dacey Mormont a trusted companion says.
"What word does our Black weasel have for us?" he asks.
There is a moment's silence and then. "It seems Petyr Baelish is making no move whatsoever to come to claim his seat Your Grace. He is content to allow Gregor Clegane and the Brave Companions to rule the roost there for him."
Robb snorts. "The man it seems acquires power and then squanders the very symbols of that power. More fool him. He is in the Vale is he not? Hoping to wed my whore of an aunt?"
"Yes Your Grace. It seems that he has been sent there to prevent any involvement whatsoever from the Vale." Dacey replies.
Robb snorts once more. "Well he is not like to find it hard. From what my uncle told me, the woman was always after that man. more fool her, when we are done here, I am like to have a fair few words with her." he pauses a moment and then a thought of his mother comes to mind, the grief is crushing but he shakes his head and suppresses it. Turning to look at Dacey he says. "What word has there been from our uncle in Riverrun?"
"It seems Your Grace, that Emmon Frey and his wife are coming to formally recognise the surrender of Riverrun, and its return to the Tullys. Tyrion Lannister shall be attending the ceremony as well." Dacey says.
There is a long pause then, Robb considers this a moment and looks about the hall, to see expectant faces. "Will his wife be with him?" he asks.
"It seems not. Black Walder writes that the Lady Sansa is to remain behind." Dacey replies, and then she seems to hesitate a moment.
"Go on my lady, it seems you have more to say. I would hear it." he replies.
"Your Grace, Black Walder writes that Prince Tommen and Lady Sansa seem to be very close, overly so." Dacey responds.
Robb looks at the woman who has become a friend, a companion in arms, and mulls this over. "How close?" he asks.
"Very, there are rumours about them at court. They claim they are like Robert Baratheon and Lady Lyanna come again." Dacey says.
"Let us see how close they can get." Robb replies. He pauses a moment and then says. "I trust Ser Walder, that you remember your part in this plan?"
Walder Rivers, who had aided in the wedding, speaks then. "Of course Your Grace. I know the role I am to play when these fools come."
"Good," Robb responds. "I want you to leave within the week, head toward Riverrun with all haste. Be there before your brother gets there, and make sure he does not leave alive."
"Yes Your Grace." Walder Rivers replies before he turns and walks out of the hall.
Robb then turns his attention back to Dacey. "Now tell me, what word has there been from the north?"
"There has Your Grace. It seems Ramsay Snow continues to flounder without much support. The Ryswells and the Dustins ignore his pleas for aid, and are instead content to remain within their own lands. The Umbers and the Mountain Clans are preparing to march south to fight Snow and finish him once and for all. The Karstarks, now they are plotting one thing or another. It seems they have declared for Stannis Baratheon, and are preparing march on the Dreadfort as well." Mormont says.
"Baratheon is in the north?" Robb asks.
"It seems he is heading there. It seems the Night's Watch is asking for aid against a threat from beyond the wall, and with the north being in chaos, the man thinks he can be that aid." Mormont replies.
"Baratheon will never make it to the north. Not in time anyway." Robb says.
"Should we not go and aid them Your Grace?" Dacey asks tentatively.
"No. let the north fester for some time, let them fight and weaken themselves. When the time is right, only then shall we move from here, not before." Robb responds firmly.
"Your Grace is wise to do so." Ser Wendel Manderly says. "It is not yet the right time for the return of our gracious king. Let His Grace's enemies kill one another with winter here, soon enough they shall all realise that a Stark is needed to hold the north. Not any Stark, but a male Stark. The King in the North."
Cheers go up at this, and are like to go on, but Robb is in no mood for that today. He holds up a hand and the hall falls silent. Turning to look at one of his men he asks. "The girl you captured, who was she?"
"She…she claims to be Princess Arya Your Grace, but Harwin did say that she could not be. That she was not Princess Arya, because she did not hold herself as the princess would have done." The man responds.
Robb looks at Harwin then and asks. "Who do you think the girl is Harwin?"
"I…I could not place her at first Your Grace, but, but now I believe I do know her." Harwin responds.
"Who?" Robb asks his patience beginning to wane.
"Jeyne Poole Your Grace. Princess Sansa's companion." Harwin responds.