Tywin had temporarily commandeered the study at the Gates of the Moon.
Several maps lay spread across the desk, their edges weighed down by candlesticks.
The ink bottle stood open, a quill resting beside it with its nib dried out.
Tywin sat behind the desk, his fingers pressed against a scroll, his knuckles white. Kevan stood to one side, holding a stack of documents and checking something.
Footsteps echoed through the flagstone corridor outside. They stopped at the door, followed by the sound of knuckles rapping on wood.
Tywin did not look up. Kevan called for the visitor to enter.
An attendant pushed open the door, approached the desk, and bowed.
"My lord, the northern army has entered the designated camp. The scouts report no fewer than a hundred thousand men. Lord Roose Bolton is on his way to the Gates of the Moon with his guards."
Tywin nodded, his eyes still on the map. "Understood."
The attendant withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Kevan raised his head.
"Brother, aren't you going to greet him?"
"He hasn't earned the privilege of having me come out to greet him." Tywin opened another scroll, glanced at the figures on it, then closed it again.
Silence settled over the room for a while. Logs crackled in the fireplace, and firelight flickered across the walls.
After a time, footsteps sounded outside again. The attendant pushed open the door once more.
"My lord, Lord Roose Bolton has arrived at the Gates of the Moon."
Tywin still did not rise. He set the documents aside, took a sip from the wine cup on his desk, and put it down.
"Bring him here."
Roose Bolton stood outside the study door, on the flagstones of the main corridor at the Gates of the Moon.
He wore a dark