CHAPTER 179
The Trident crossings.
Robb returned to the main camp with fury burning beneath his calm expression.
He had believed that with the strength of the Northern and Riverlands host behind him, Stannis Baratheon would eventually be forced to compromise.
At the very least, he had expected some willingness to negotiate.
Instead, Stannis had remained completely unyielding.
That confidence left an uneasy feeling in Robb's heart.
Before he had time to fully understand what it meant, another piece of terrible news arrived.
Later that afternoon, Lord Edmure Tully reached the camp with the hastily assembled Riverlands levies.
His armor was covered in dust from hard riding.
The moment he entered Robb's command tent, he delivered news that drove the king's mood even lower.
"The Lannisters."
"Ser Kevan Lannister."
"He has already occupied Harrenhal."
"What?"
Surprise briefly crossed Robb's face before disappearing.
"Uncle."
"How many men?"
Edmure slowly shook his head.
"Our scouts estimate at least seven or eight thousand."
"If we'd discovered them any later..."
"They might already have crossed the Trident."
Standing nearby, Roose Bolton quietly lowered his eyes.
A faint glimmer appeared within them.
"So..."
"Tywin has finally made his move."
"My own plans must move faster as well."
Robb immediately turned toward him.
"Lord Bolton."
"Summon every lord."
"We'll hold a council immediately."
Roose suppressed every trace of his thoughts.
"At once, Your Grace."
Without another word, he left the tent.
Before long, nearly every important Northern and Riverlands lord had gathered.
Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Edmure Tully, Black Walder Frey, Lord Rodrik Harlaw, and many others filled the pavilion.
Once everyone learned that Harrenhal had fallen into Kevan Lannister's hands while Stannis still held Rickon captive, fierce arguments erupted throughout the tent.
"We retake Harrenhal immediately!"
Greatjon's booming voice shook the canvas overhead.
"Before King's Landing can reinforce them, we'll capture Kevan Lannister himself and force Lord Tywin to bargain."
Lord Blackwood immediately disagreed.
"Attack with what?"
"Our men have barely arrived."
"They're exhausted."
"A reckless assault will cost us dearly."
Lord Bracken immediately sneered.
"Our army is tired."
"So is Kevan's."
"If we refuse to strike now..."
"Will you happily wait until the Crown's full strength marches against us?"
"You..."
Blackwood instantly rose to answer him.
The two Riverlords immediately began shouting over one another.
Elsewhere inside the tent, more arguments broke out.
Some believed Stannis should be crushed first.
Others insisted Kevan posed the greater danger.
Every lord defended his own view.
No one wished to yield.
The entire council descended into complete disorder.
As evening gradually settled across the camp, Robb remained seated at the head of the table.
His brow furrowed deeper with every passing moment.
His patience steadily disappeared.
His eyes slowly swept across every man present.
Only Roose Bolton remained silent throughout the entire discussion.
He resembled a carved statue.
Only the occasional movement of his eyes suggested his mind was far from still.
Finally...
"Enough."
Robb slammed both hands against the table.
The tent instantly fell silent.
His authority as King in the North immediately ended every argument.
"We will reclaim Harrenhal."
He looked around at every lord.
"But first..."
"I will rescue Rickon."
"He is my brother."
"He carries the blood of House Stark."
"I'll never abandon him to a fanatic king and his red priestess."
"There will be no further delays."
"Tomorrow morning..."
"The army marches on Saltpans."
"After Rickon is safely returned..."
"We'll march back."
"And drive Ser Kevan from Harrenhal."
His words left the assembled lords silent.
Although many still disagreed inwardly, none openly challenged their king.
At that very moment, Grey Wind suddenly rose from beside Robb's chair.
The direwolf released a deep growl.
Every hair along his neck stood upright.
His golden eyes stared fixedly toward the darkest corner of the pavilion.
Because of the flickering candlelight, the shadows there seemed unusually deep.
"Grey Wind?"
Robb looked toward his companion in confusion.
The next instant...
Grey Wind exploded forward with a furious howl.
At almost the exact same moment...
The darkness itself began to move.
The shadow twisted unnaturally.
Stretching upward, it took the vague shape of a man.
Its face bore an eerie resemblance to Stannis Baratheon.
Within its hands rested a longsword forged entirely from living darkness.
Without making the slightest sound...
It lunged directly toward Robb.
Everything happened in an instant.
Before anyone could react...
Grey Wind threw himself between the assassin and his king.
The shadow sword pierced straight through the direwolf's chest.
Blood burst across the floor.
Grey Wind collapsed heavily.
Painful whimpers escaped him.
"Grey Wind!"
Robb cried out in anguish.
That desperate cry finally awakened everyone from their shock.
"A monster!"
Greatjon Umber roared first.
Drawing his massive sword, he charged toward the shadow.
Every other lord followed immediately.
Steel flashed from every direction.
Although ordinary blades passed through the assassin's body as though cutting smoke, each strike scattered wisps of black mist.
The shadow gradually became unstable beneath the relentless assault.
Finally...
With a muffled burst...
The assassin shattered into countless fragments of darkness before disappearing completely.
The tent fell silent except for heavy breathing.
Every man stared at the blood pooling around Grey Wind.
The great direwolf drew several final breaths before becoming still.
The smell of blood filled the pavilion.
"Was..."
"Was that truly a shadow assassin?"
One young lord asked with a trembling voice.
Greatjon spat angrily upon the ground.
"Curse Stannis."
"I'll tear that coward apart with my own hands."
Robb knelt beside Grey Wind.
His trembling hand gently stroked the wolf's cooling fur.
His eyes burned with grief and fury.
"Stannis..."
"I'll make you pay."
At that very moment...
Just as everyone believed the danger had passed...
Just as every man finally allowed himself to breathe...
Another shadow silently formed beneath Robb's feet.
Flat against the ground like spilled ink...
It suddenly surged upward.
A second shadow assassin emerged.
Holding a black dagger formed entirely from darkness...
It struck upward from beneath Robb's guard.
The blade pierced directly through the gap in his breastplate.
Straight into his heart.
Time itself seemed to stop.
Robb's entire body froze.
Slowly...
He lowered his head.
His eyes widened in disbelief as the dark blade protruded from his chest.
Almost immediately, the dagger dissolved into smoke.
The shadow itself disappeared.
Its work had already been done.
"Ugh..."
Robb instinctively clutched at his chest.
Blood poured through his fingers.
His face rapidly turned pale.
His knees weakened.
He began falling backward.
Roose Bolton stepped forward and caught him.
"Your Grace!"
"Robb!"
Panicked cries erupted throughout the pavilion.
Robb could already feel life slipping away.
His vision slowly blurred.
The anxious faces surrounding him gradually became indistinct.
Countless memories passed before his eyes.
Winterfell.
His father.
His mother.
His brothers.
Then...
Only three faces remained clear.
"Rickon..."
"Bran..."
"Sansa..."
"Rickon is captive..."
"Bran cannot inherit..."
"Only Sansa..."
Even with death closing around him, Robb's thoughts suddenly became crystal clear.
His mind settled upon only one answer.
"No..."
"I can't leave everything unfinished."
Gathering every remaining ounce of strength, he forced himself to focus.
The voices around him gradually returned.
His hand suddenly seized Roose Bolton's wrist with surprising strength.
"Listen..."
Every word was accompanied by blood.
"My heir..."
"Sansa..."
"Sansa Stark..."
"The North..."
"The armies..."
"All..."
"To..."
"Garon..."
"Garon Glover..."
"Let him..."
"Avenge me..."
"And lead..."
"Our people..."
"Home..."
The final words barely escaped his lips.
The light slowly faded from the blue eyes of Robb Stark.
The King in the North was dead.
For a long moment...
The pavilion remained completely silent.
Then grief erupted like a storm.
Cries of disbelief and mourning echoed throughout the camp.
Roose Bolton lowered his head.
He looked at the lifeless hand still gripping his arm.
For the first time, genuine conflict appeared within his pale eyes.
His carefully laid plans had been completely overturned.
Yet beneath that frustration...
Another emotion slowly surfaced.
A fierce excitement.
He understood immediately.
His opportunity had finally arrived.
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