Game of Thrones: Knight's Honor-Chapter 345: Full of Contradictions

In the council chamber of Summerhall Castle, while the two girls were steadily unraveling the oddities behind Roose Bolton's recent actions, far away in the study of the Lord of Duskendale, two Lannisters were engaged in a conversation about the very same man.

"That's everything that happened." Though he'd undergone treatment and had time to rest, Daven Lannister was still not in good condition. During the ambush against the Brave Companions, he had taken a blow to the head. It hadn't seemed serious at the time, but on the way to Duskendale, he lost consciousness and only recently woke up. Now, barely recovered, he'd come to report the events of the Battle of Harrenhal to Kevan.

After hearing him out, Kevan couldn't help but grumble. "I said those mercenaries couldn't be trusted, but Tywin insisted they'd make good cannon fodder. And now look—finally something's gone wrong." He turned to Daven, who was bowing his head. "Stand up. This isn't your fault. You did well. Given the situation, bringing back that many men was no small feat."

Encouraged by the praise, Daven hesitated for a moment, as if wanting to say something, then stopped.

Kevan noticed. "What is it? You've got something to say?"

Daven thought for a second and then said, "I have a feeling Roose Bolton meant to let us go."

Kevan blinked in surprise. "Why do you think that?"

"When Roose Bolton entered the castle, we hadn't even had time to organize a defense. But he didn't strike immediately. Instead, he assembled his army first, and only sent a force of less than a thousand men to probe our defenses. That allowed us to completely wipe out that unit and kill their commander—Tallhart, I think his name was," Daven explained seriously. "And it was exactly because we wiped out Tallhart that the northern army hesitated, which bought us time to retreat.

"And during the retreat, Roose Bolton didn't attack us—he didn't even pursue us. Only the Brave Companions came after us. At first, I thought maybe he'd seen through my plan and realized I was setting an ambush. But the more I think about it, the more it seems like he never intended to pursue us at all. He just let us go."

Kevan frowned. If what Daven said was true—if Roose Bolton had indeed allowed them to escape—then it was deeply suspicious. He couldn't immediately understand what Bolton's objective might be.

Then Daven suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right! I think I saw Jaime."

Kevan's expression changed instantly. "What? You saw Jaime? Where?"

"At Harrenhal. Beside Roose Bolton," Daven recalled. "When I was retreating, I saw Jaime standing next to him. It was almost like Bolton wanted me to see him—he had Jaime standing right at the front of the formation, with someone holding a torch right beside him."

Kevan's face grew thoughtful. Daven's words seemed to spark something in his mind.

Daven stood silently nearby, not daring to interrupt as Kevan fell into deep contemplation.

After a long pause, Kevan finally spoke slowly. "I remember Tywin once mentioned that we had a hidden ally in the North. Could it be... Roose Bolton?"

"An ally?" Daven was startled. His face showed clear doubt. "If Roose Bolton really is an ally, then why did he attack Harrenhal?"

Kevan didn't have an answer. No matter how he looked at it, Bolton's actions didn't seem like those of an ally.

The best way to confirm it would be to ask Tywin directly—but with Tywin's current situation so precarious, sending messengers or ravens was too risky. If any message fell into enemy hands, their hidden ally could be exposed, which would ruin Tywin's entire strategy. For now, they could only speculate.

Still, their discussion of Roose Bolton didn't last long, as something more pressing had arrived: a war report from King's Landing had just been delivered to them.

"Now that our forces have joined, we have enough strength to march south and support King's Landing." Kevan passed the battle report from King's Landing to Daven. "They're nearly at their limit."

Daven glanced over the report and asked, "Lord Kevan, how many men are we sending? Who will lead them?"

Kevan thought for a moment, then said, "You'll stay and hold Duskendale. I'll go to King's Landing."

Daven frowned. "With Duskendale's defenses, if Roose Bolton and those from the Crab Claw Peninsula attack at the same time..."

"Impossible," Kevan interrupted with a shake of his head. "After Robb Stark declared himself King in the North, Stannis would never work with him—not unless the men from Crab Claw Point are acting on their own."

Daven nodded in agreement. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew how inflexible and unyielding Stannis was.

"In that case, I'll begin preparations to take over the castle's defense." Daven turned to leave, but paused and added, "Lord Kevan, you should take the Mountain with you this time. With his help..."

Kevan cut him off with a nod. "I know. I'll take care of him. You don't need to worry." Then he added with a heavy tone, "The Mountain may be brutal, but he's a useful dog. You'll need to deal with more men like him in the future. If you can't handle that, you'll never take my place."

"My lord, are you..." Daven looked at Kevan in surprise.

Kevan waved a hand, speaking like an elder, "Sooner or later, I'll have to step down. Among the younger generation of House Lannister, you're the most capable—and the most likely to succeed me. So from now on, you need to start thinking from a higher vantage point. Stop seeing things like a common knight."

Daven didn't respond. He bowed respectfully and turned to leave.

...

The next day, Kevan led tens of thousands of troops south toward King's Landing, with the Mountain at the vanguard. He made no effort to conceal his march—on the contrary, he made it loud and clear that reinforcements were on their way. It was a signal meant for Stannis, forcing him to split his focus rather than throw everything at the capital.

At the same time, in Riverrun, tensions flared. The Riverlands lords and Northern lords, once allies working side by side, now stood on opposite ends of the hall, glaring at each other like sworn enemies. Some even had their hands on their sword hilts, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.

"Enough! All of you, calm down!" Robb Stark, freshly returned to Riverrun, stepped between the two sides and shouted them down. He turned to Greatjon Umber, who had already drawn his blade halfway, and snapped, "Jon Umber, what do you think you're doing? Drawing steel against your own allies?"

Greatjon's face flushed with anger, but he swallowed it down and shoved his sword back into its sheath.

Wylis Manderly, standing beside him, stepped forward with a grim expression. "Your Grace, we saw these men as allies. We risked our lives, saved some of them from the Westerlands' armies, even helped them reclaim lands lost to the enemy. And this is what we get? Accusations that we've done more harm than Tywin Lannister? That we're worse than the invaders themselves? Are people like that truly allies?"

His words struck a nerve. Many Riverlands lords, especially those with lands north and west of the Red Fork, knew they owed the Northern army for their reclaimed territories. Calling the Northerners anything less than saviors would be unfair.

But then Lord Tomard Smallwood of Acorn Hall stepped forward, his tone full of resentment. "Are we wrong to say it? Look at what Roose Bolton has done. His destruction of our lands makes the Westerlands army look merciful in comparison. The West merely occupied our homes—we could still take them back, the land still intact. But Bolton? He didn't just seize land—he destroyed it. Even if we recover it, what's left? Swamped fields, ruined homes. Nothing can grow. No one can live there. Are we expected to survive like you Northerners, in swamps and wilderness?"

As Smallwood's words rang out, the simmering anger among the Riverlands lords flared again. Even those who had felt gratitude toward the North now wore colder expressions.

He had a point. Roose Bolton's flood had devastated the heart of the Riverlands—its richest, most fertile farmland. Even if the dykes were repaired and the waters receded, recovery would take years. Famine loomed. Prosperity was a generation away—if that.

In contrast, the Westerlands army, though brutal in its own way—pillaging, killing peasants—had left the land itself relatively unscathed. As long as the territory remained, their losses were bearable.

But Bolton had ripped out the roots. The Riverlands lords had lost more than crops and coin. Their future had been drowned. It was no wonder their rage boiled over, and that they turned their anger toward the North.

Edmure Tully could only stand by, helpless. He had only just inherited the title of Lord of Riverrun and Warden of the Riverlands, and he lacked the authority of his late father. He simply couldn't keep the nobles under control.

What's more, deep down he didn't even want to suppress their anger—because he, too, felt the Northerners had gone too far this time. If he'd known Roose Bolton would use such an extreme method to cross the river, he would never have agreed to the plan to ambush Harrenhal. In his eyes, Bolton's flooding of the Riverlands made him partially responsible, which only made it harder to stand up and calm the fury of the Riverlands lords and nobles.

As for Robb, caught in the middle of the confrontation, he was feeling more miserable than anyone. When he first received news that Roose Bolton had captured Harrenhal, cutting off the connection between the two Westerlands forces and trapping Tywin Lannister's army in a double envelopment, he had been overjoyed—he could already see the dawn of victory in this war.

So much so that he completely overlooked the means by which Bolton had taken the castle. It wasn't until the Riverlands lords turned on the Northern army that Robb finally realized just how serious the situation had become.

Even then, he still didn't believe Bolton had done anything wrong. On the contrary, he thought the Riverlands lords were overreacting. Their true enemy was Tywin. Defeating him should be the top priority. Everything else—damaged lands, ruined fields—could be dealt with later. They could take it back from the Westerlands. Why be so aggressive about it?

Though he was deeply frustrated with the Riverlands lords, Robb knew he couldn't show it. All he could do was try to calm them down.

"This has already happened. Talking about it now won't change anything. War is cruel—and to win, sacrifices must be made. If blame is needed, blame me. Lord Roose Bolton acted on my orders. But I hope you understand that right now, we must stand united against Tywin. Once we've dealt with him at the Inn of the Kneeling Man, I'll give up my share of the spoils to compensate the lords whose lands were harmed. What do you say to that?"

"Your Grace!" The Northerners were visibly moved by Robb's willingness to take responsibility and wanted to speak up.

"Enough! Do as I say." Robb snapped. He knew that if his men spoke now, their words would only worsen the situation, so he silenced them with a sharp rebuke.

The Riverlands nobles looked stunned, and then their faces darkened. Robb had admitted fault, yes—but his so-called "compensation" was like pouring a cup of water onto a burning house. It was meaningless. In their eyes, it would've been better if he'd offered nothing at all, so they could continue to blame the North with moral authority.

Seeing their expressions, Edmure thought they were dissatisfied with the size of the offer. Following Robb's lead, he stepped forward and said, "If Robb's share isn't enough, I'll add mine. What matters now is that we stay united against the Westerlands. Minor internal conflicts should be set aside for the greater good."

His words left many Riverlands nobles speechless. In their minds, Edmure—lord of the Riverlands—was the one most devastated by the flooding. He should have been the one leading the charge to hold the North accountable. Instead, he was backing them completely and trying to shut down their complaints. For a moment, no one knew what to say.

But with even the Warden of the Riverlands taking the North's side, what more could they do? They had no choice but to lower their heads and swallow the bitter pill.

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Just as the atmosphere in the hall finally began to settle, a Riverrun officer burst through the doors in a rush. He didn't even stop to bow before Robb or Edmure and blurted out, "Your Grace! Lord Edmure! There's been an incident in the dungeons. Lord Rickard Karstark of the North forced his way in. He killed Ser Aemon Rowel, who was guarding the cells—and then he slaughtered every prisoner inside. That includes the Lannister captives from the Westerlands... and the nobles who had surrendered to the Westerlands and were being held temporarily!"

Robb froze on the spot. Then his expression darkened, and fury burned in his eyes.