<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">Roose Bolton was an efficient, practical man with little care for sentiments and mercy. The young King of the North seemed to have an abundance of both and Roose had determined as the war progressed that it would be the Young Wolf's undoing, and as such, his own undoing. Selfish wasn't something that could be said of the Lord of House Bolton, however, cunning preservation and methodical advancement was. He'd answered the the King of the North's call, served him well, and found his veteran tutelage disregarded again and again by the young Stark until he found himself wondering if he he was quickly spiraling down the drain with a fruitless rebellion. <br/>
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Stark's brash decision of the heart to wed the Volantis girl Talisa and break his agreement with the Frey's brought into clear light that to continue with Stark would be foolish and an inevitable defeat. Defeat wasn't an option Lord Bolton would entertain, and with Frey disrespected and unhinged, it was easy to bring the foul lord to the table to discuss 'other options'. Together they had carried out one of the bloodiest and cruel wartime massacres the kingdoms had ever seen and had been duly awarded for it in Lannister coin and prestige.<br/>
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The Lord of the Dreadfort had thought that was to be the end of it. He'd made out well enough. His coffers were full again and he'd received a decent enough bride from Frey's stable of grandchildren. She was nothing to speak of in terms of beauty or elegance, but she was sturdy, young, and perfectly capable of giving him what he wanted; an heir. He was surprised when the raven arrived with the Lannister seal and even more surprised when he read the proclamation that he was to be made Warden of the North. After a moment's discerning thought, he found the reward to be just and earned, nothing so surprising after all. What followed, however, was an invitation to the capital for a celebration to be held in his honor.<br/>
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Roose wasn't one for merriment, it just wasn't in his seemingly always understated, placid demeanor, and the thought an event held in his honor was disagreeable as well as suspicious to his nature. However, penned by the hand of Tywin Lannister, himself, it wasn't an invitation to be ignored or denied. The little tyrant King Joffrey might have been wearing the crown of Seven Kingdoms, but everyone knew who pulled the strings. The elder Lannister was no fool and Bolton surmised quickly that the event was rooted more in sizing up the new Warden rather than to celebrate him. Fair enough; Roose could understand and respect a calculated move like that. That was what politics and parties were all about, were they not? <br/>
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The best and quickest route to King's Landing was by sea. It was preferable to the longer journey over land, but no more agreeable over all. Aside from the crew that took them there, he brought the typical number of guards and attendants befitting his status; all of them plainly, but impeccably dressed in the garb of their station adorned with the grim sigil of House Bolton. For himself, for the event, he'd reluctantly commissioned new regalia for himself though, over all, it was only a slightly more upgraded version of his usual dress that was as dreary and plain as the lands he came from.<br/>
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The event itself was more than Roose could have adequately imagined. He'd never seen such a display of wealth and frivolity and while he remained perfectly respectable, just beneath his skin he was hardly at ease. Few of the attendants offered conversation and only slightly more offered their congratulation. He expected as much. People would want to leave a favorable impression, but not necessarily cozy up to him for conversation. It was well enough for him; he was a man of few words.<br/>
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Tywin Lannister sat with a regal air in the Iron Throne, a testament, Roose thought to himself, to the reality of whom truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Roose watched as lord after lord, with their ostentatiously bejeweled ladies, stopped to lavish the elder Lannister with their social graces and gushing sentiments; and he thought as they did so, that he could see the faintest hint of well hidden disgust and boredom behind the Lord of Casterly Rock's sharp blue eyes.<br/>
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The newly appointed Warden of the North didn't divert his gaze from the man as he stood and closed the distance between them with a graceful stride. Instead, he took in the visage of him, looking him coolly over until they stood face to face, Roose meeting him eye to eye with an almost imperceptible smile. Lord Tywin stood a fair few inches taller than him but less so broad with Bolton's years of hands on warfare making a noticeable difference in his hardiness. <br/>
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Still, Roose held the older man's gaze with the respect due to his station and replied accordingly even if it was hardly true, "<b>My Lord, very much so. I was surprised, but most honored to receive your invitation. The pleasure of this meeting is all mine."</b> Formalities and graces were essential grease to the wheels of status and Roose delivered them seamlessly if perhaps a bit blandly. </span>