The twin towers of the Twins cast long shadows in the yellow evening sunlight. The great arched bridge spanning the Green Fork connected its northern and southern banks-and the northern army to the road home...
Yet that road lay within sight and beyond reach.
The northern army had made camp outside the castle on the southern bank. Its banners still flew, but the mood in the camp was as oppressive as the cold mist rising from the river.
Soldiers often gathered along the riverbank, gazing anxiously at the northern lands across the water.
They could see the woods on the far bank and smell the crisp chill carried on the wind, that distinctive scent of the North before winter came. It seemed they needed only to take a single step to begin their journey home.
Yet the tightly shut gates of the Twins and the vigilant House Frey archers atop its walls kept them firmly pinned to the southern bank.
News of the Ironborn ravaging the lands north of Moat Cailin had already swept through the entire camp like a freezing wind laden with shards of ice.
Deepwood Motte was in peril, Torrhen's Square was besieged, and the Stony Shore was burning. Refugees described the horrors of Cerwyn's fall as hell itself...
Every northern soldier's heart was gripped with anguish. Their homes, their loved ones, and their fields were being plundered and ravaged.
They longed desperately to go home, yet could not advance a single step.
There was only one reason, and it lay with their king, Robb Stark.
When they had first marched south, Robb had personally pledged to marry one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters in exchange for House Frey's troops and the vital right to cross the bridge.
During the fighting in the Westerlands, however, the young