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Chapter 58 Return to the North

The thud of hooves echoed along the Kingsroad. After more than a year of campaigning abroad, the Northern soldiers marched onward, braving wind and snow.

"We'll reach Moat Cailin soon," Robb said, sitting tall on his horse. The Northern wind stung his cheeks, yet it filled him with a familiar comfort. "Tell the men we'll camp there tonight—rest up, then continue tomorrow."

Not long after Robb gave the order, the Northern army arrived at Moat Cailin. They set up camp once more in the same spot they'd used before marching south. Inside Robb's command tent, lords gathered, drinking ale around a fire.

"Where's Ser Owen?" Robb glanced around, noticing his absence.

"Ser Owen went hunting with his men," Greatjon said, holding up his tankard with a grin. "Lord Wyman spotted a herd of deer earlier—said he's tired of salted meat and craving venison stew. Ser Owen took his men out to fetch it."

Robb turned to Lord Wyman, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I'll let you in on a secret," Rickard Karstark chimed in, chuckling. "Lord Wyman's got his eye on Ser Owen—wants to marry his granddaughter to him. Ser Owen agreed, so the old man's using the stew as an excuse to butter him up."

The tent erupted in laughter.

"Lord Wyman," Robb said, sipping his ale, "you have two granddaughters, don't you? Which one do you plan to betroth to Ser Owen?"

"My second granddaughter, Vera," Lord Wyman replied, no longer hiding his intentions. She's eighteen—old enough for marriage. I'll seal the betrothal first, then send supplies to Ramsgate to build a castle. Once it's done, they'll wed." His face flushed with satisfaction.

"That's wonderful news," Robb said. "When we return to Winterfell, Father will surely reward Ser Owen further. The castle at Ramsgate will be built in no time."

In a forest outside Moat Cailin, Owen led Strong, Frank, and twenty hunters from Ramsgate in rounding up a herd of deer. They surrounded the deer on horseback, forming a circle in a clearing. Without needing Owen's command, everyone nocked arrows. In one volley, over twenty deer fell, struck by shafts.

The hunters dismounted and hurried to dress the game—enough venison to let the lords and knights in camp taste fresh meat. Owen remained on his horse, watching his men work. As a noble now, he no longer needed to handle such tasks himself.

"Ser! We found something!" Strong called out suddenly.

Owen rode over to see a cold campfire amid the deer corpses, with faint water stains nearby.

"The ashes are still warm," Strong said, pointing to the ground. "Looks like two people were here."

"Search the area," Owen ordered, studying the tracks. "They're hiding for a reason—find them."

"Yes, ser." Strong gestured for a few hunters to mount up, and they followed the tracks into the woods.

Moments later, one hunter raced back. "Ser! We found them—a man and a woman. They're acting suspicious, and the man's armed. Strong's got them surrounded."

"Take me there." Owen spurred his horse, following the hunter back the way he'd come.

When he arrived, he saw Strong and the others standing with bows drawn, facing a tall man and a cloaked girl. The man—nearly seven feet tall—held a sword, shielding the girl, whose hood covered her face.

"Lower your bows," Owen said, dismounting. He stepped forward, a faint smile on his face. "Sandor Clegane. I'm surprised you dare draw a sword to me."

At the sound of Owen's voice, the Hound dropped his sword, standing still as if waiting for death.