Tywin broke his fast in the Great Hall that morning, surrounded by the assorted nobility of the North, quite a few of whom were rather worse for wear and who seemed quite subdued.
Not that he was ungrateful for this; he preferred his own company, or that of his brother Kevan to nearly everyone else's. The food was as usual plentiful, if rather lacking in sophistication, the sweet cakes and pastries that were such a favourite of his to break his fast were absent, replaced by bacon, sausages, eggs , fired and hashed potatoes.
'Good northern fare' he had heard one of the Umber's growl as he had been handed a plate by a serving wench.
Tywin sat alone, a Red Cloak standing behind him, he did not think that anything would happen, seeing as how all were under 'guest right', but one could never be too careful, especially seeing the sort of violence that had broken out last night. Apparently this sort of thing was completely natural and 'all good fun' as a minor Lord sworn to House Dustin had mentioned to him late last night as they had retired. Fisticuffs had broken out shortly after Lord Stark and Cersei had retired for the night, the Umber's starting it of course, some words were exchanged with House Glover and it had rapidly escalated from there.
He did begin to wonder just what had he gotten Cersei into, his daughter was a refined southron Lady, maybe, maybe this had not been such a good idea after all, she was his blood and he paled to think of what she might experience in this, this place...
"Lord Tywin" a voice whispered beside him.
He turned to see Lord Roose Bolton standing behind him "may I join you to break my fast?" asked the Lord of the Dreadfort.
Tywin made a few lightening calculations in his head before answering "Lord Bolton, please join me."
The pale eyed Lord sat down and began eating a sparse meal, one sausage, one piece of bacon and one fried egg.
"A fine wedding ceremony last night my Lord" Roose said in a low and unemotional voice.
"Indeed" he replied.
"A good thing, a wedding, after a war, helps to bind up the wounds, as it were."
Tywin only nodded in response, his well attuned sense for politics springing to attention.
"Too many wakes were held these last few years in the North, there will be few enough weddings for a while now."
"War takes from us those whom we love I'm afraid" Tywin responded neutrally.
"Fine words Lord Tywin, but will they feed the orphans, or clothe the widows? Fields all across the land lie fallow, the menfolk who worked them dead in the south."
Ah, so that was it, rumour had it that Lord Stark was notuniversally acclaimedin the North due to his sometimes reckless ways during the war, for sure his tactics had ended the war quickly, but the cost to the Rebels, and especially the North, had been high. The Bolton's had been badly mauled on several occasions, their feared heavy cavalry used by Lord Stark to smash the enemy on more than one occasion. And as such the Bolton's had suffered their fair share of casualties, and Lord Roose was, well unhappy, from the looks of things.
Tywin had studied the history and politics of the North before meeting the young Stark in Kings Landing after the war, and he knew all about the long and strained history between the Starks and the Bolton's. He would not have suffered them to live, he would have done to them what he did to the Reyne's and the Tarbeck's, and without a moments' hesitation.
"My Lord Stark has a great many plans for the North, or so I hear, he has bade us stay to listen to them, and many expect that you will pay for these plans with the gold of Casterly Rock."
Tywin said nothing, only looking at the man, his eyes never leaving the pale orbs of the Lord of the Dreadfort.
"Such plans has our young Lord, plans to transform the North, for Lannister gold to be flung out like seed to grow in the earth of the North, sprouting new mines, new industry, where before there was nothing. But Lannister gold comes at a price, and not just the price of your daughter's hand, and half Lannister's to be the next Starks of Winterfell. Every time the North sends its menfolk south to fight in the wars of the Andals less and less return, and the North grows slowly weaker. And now we will be showered with Lannister gold? And what will follow that gold eh? Southrons will follow, with their Septs and Septons, their foreign ways...Many will resent this, many resent it even now Lord Tywin."
Interesting, so Roose Bolton saw himself as the head of a faction opposing Lord Stark, he wondered how big this faction actually was and how deep and broad was its support. His new goodson was about to step into his own northern version of the Great Game, he smiled inside, now we will see what Lord Stark is really made of.
He had finished eating so he said "Thank you for your company and conversation Lord Bolton, but I must take my leave of you, good morning to you."
"My Lord" responded the Bolton, his head dipping by just the required amount to defer to Tywin's station as a Lord Paramount.
He left the Great Hall, the Red Cloak trailing behind him, he was deep in thought, it appeared the unity that the North liked to portray to outsiders was as fragile as the unity of any of the Realms, fraught with disputes and grievances, old and new.
There would be a meeting of all the Northern Lords, called by Lord Stark, having them all in Winterfell for his wedding was just too good of an opportunity to pass up for this sort of thing Tywin knew.
He was invited of course, as goodfather to the Lord Stark and as the man who would potentially paying for much of the changes that were about to happen, he was entitled to attend, despite some opposition already from various parties.
He strolled through the Great Courtyard, noticing that there was a white cloth displayed from a certain window in the laundry building.
Casually he turned and strolled towards the north and the First Keep, the Red Claok following two paces behind, he passed numerous Stark Men at Arms training and he passed through a gate in the interior wall to enter the section of that contained the First Keep. Off to his left a ruined tower was being enfolded with scaffolding, rotten stone was being removed and the tower was obviously being partially demolished. The tower was not made of the huge stones that characterised the walls and most of the towers, this one was made of much smaller stones, so it was obviously built after the 'Bran the Builder' phase of the castles construction. Tywin mused how much knowledge must have been lost over the millennia to go from being able to build with the giant blocks that made up most of Winterfell to the, by comparison, tiny stones that they had to use today.
Entering the First Keep he ascended to his rooms, the largest set in the First Keep and benefitting his station. He walked into his bedchambers and shut the door behind him; walking to his bed he pushed up the blanket and furs at the side and reached under the mattress, his hand touching cool parchment.
He pulled out the folded paper and read it, before consigning the message to the flames.