"I have already chosen your daughter as my bride, have I not?"
"Or does Lord Frey no longer intend to honor his promise of providing a dowry equal to the bride's weight?"
Merrett smiled.
"Of course not. My father simply invites you to personally inspect the dowry... and to discuss matters of the North."
Roose immediately understood.
"In that case, let us go."
The two of them walked one after the other toward the great hall of Harrenhal.
.....
Highgarden, in the rose garden.
Lady Olenna sat in a pavilion, quietly reading a letter from the North.
Across from her, her granddaughter Margaery sat gracefully, playfully lifting a grape to her lips.
Olenna happened to notice.
"Look at my poor granddaughter..."
She tossed the letter onto the stone table and said sharply, "It's fortunate that that unfortunate Renly preferred swallowing swords, otherwise I might truly worry for you."
Margaery, having grown up under Olenna's care, was long used to her tone.
She pouted slightly. "Grandmother..."
There was not the slightest trace of sorrow for Renly on her face.
She glanced at the letter and asked, "What does it say? Don't tell me it's more news about Joffrey?"
Not long ago, Littlefinger had gone to Bitterbridge to negotiate an alliance between House Tyrell and House Lannister.
But after the agreement, rumors about Joffrey had begun spreading everywhere.
That he was cruel, that he was born of incest, and more.
Some of these rumors Olenna dismissed, while others she had investigated carefully.
So when Margaery asked, Olenna shook her head.
"No. It's news from the North."
"The North?" Margaery blinked. "Isn't the Young Wolf still attacking the Westerlands? What could have happened in the North?"
Olenna gestured for her to read.
As Margaery picked up the letter, Olenna spoke leisurely.
"That squid really went all out to avenge his son... But he never expected that even his last heir would fall."
Margaery read the contents—and her eyes widened.
A name, unfamiliar yet filled with legend, etched itself into her mind.
"Galon... Glover?"
"He captured Asha Greyjoy... defeated Euron Greyjoy... and at Hornwood, he killed Victarion Greyjoy?!"
"He alone destroyed all three invading armies of the Iron Islands!"
At first, a trace of caution flashed in Olenna's eyes. But when she considered Glover's standing, she relaxed.
"How interesting. That barren North has produced two capable commanders in succession.
No wonder the Starks would ally themselves with those savages of the wolfswood.
They certainly know how to fight."
She clicked her tongue in mild amusement, though her expression carried faint disdain.
"But this works in our favor. With the squid retreating, it will be the lions' turn to worry.
If they want to marry my dear granddaughter, a mere queen's dowry will not suffice."
Margaery laughed softly.
"Grandmother, do you truly intend to marry me to Joffrey? I've heard his temper isn't exactly pleasant."
Olenna straightened slightly. "Whether it's true or not, we'll see after this war. And if the rumors are true..."
A sharp glint flashed in her eyes.
"Doesn't he have a younger brother?"
Margaery nodded in agreement. "That's true. As long as I become queen, I don't particularly care who the king is."
Olenna laughed, clearly satisfied.
.....
The Westerlands, at Casterly Rock.
The air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke, heavy with the tension of an approaching storm.
Robb Stark lay on a luxurious bed that once belonged to the lord of the castle, his face pale and lips dry.
During the assault on the castle, he had been struck by an arrow. The wound had become infected, and he soon fell into a high fever.
It was Jeyne Westerling, the lord's daughter, who had tended to him carefully, allowing him to gradually recover.
The moment Robb regained consciousness, he learned of Galon's achievements from Riverrun.
The three invading armies of the Iron Islands had all been crushed.
"Haha, excellent!"
"The North is safe!"
"I must have Galon march south to join me. With him, taking King's Landing will be within reach!"
Robb was overjoyed.
The war in the Westerlands had recently fallen into a stalemate, and he deeply missed having Galon by his side.
"I'll return to Riverrun first. Once I join forces with him, we'll launch a full assault and kill Joffrey..."
But as excitement surged, his chest tightened. He began coughing violently.
At that moment, the door opened softly.
Jeyne entered, carrying a bowl of steaming medicine.
Seeing his condition, she panicked slightly, about to call for help. Fortunately, Robb recovered enough to stop her.
"I'm fine. I was just too excited."
"Miss Westerling, there's no need to worry."
She relaxed slightly.
"Your Grace, it's time to take your medicine."
Her voice was gentle, like a feather brushing across his heart.
Her care over the past days had slowly eased the immense pressure he carried, and he had grown fond of her.
Yet the honor instilled in him since childhood held him back.
"Thank you."
Robb struggled to sit up.
Jeyne carefully sat beside him, scooping the medicine, blowing it cool, and bringing it to his lips.
Robb looked at her face—so close, so pure and concerned—and felt something within him shift.
He could smell the faint scent of herbs and her natural fragrance.
"Your Grace, please drink."
When he hesitated, she urged him softly.
Robb felt a sudden nervousness and drank the bitter medicine. Yet his gaze could not leave her lowered lashes and flushed cheeks.
A strange restlessness stirred within him.
"Jeyne..." he murmured hoarsely.
She looked up, meeting his gaze, her face reddening further.
"Your Grace?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he reached out and held her hand.
The bowl trembled slightly, a few drops spilling.
She gasped softly but did not pull away. There was hesitation in her eyes—but also something else.
Robb, unable to distinguish between resistance and acceptance, gave in to impulse and pulled her closer.
The bowl fell onto the carpet with a dull thud.
What followed was brief and restrained, more emotional than anything else, as both were swept up in confusion and closeness.
...
As news of Galon's victory spread across the realm, his name began to rise everywhere.
And at that very moment, far to the North— Galon had already led his army to the Stony Shore.
Preparing for the next step.
Crossing the sea.
__________
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