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In the training yard of the Dreadfort, a line of Winterfell soldiers was
checking the identities of the surrendered soldiers and the other prisoners one
by one.
Once their identities had been confirmed, the captives were assigned to work
crews supervised by Robb's men, who had been put in charge of clearing away the
corpses and the aftermath of the battle.
Robb was sitting in the back of an ox cart that had already been emptied,
while a medic treated the sword wound on his left arm.
Beside him, two other medics were pulling the arrows from Bloodwind's body
and cleaning his wounds, while the direwolf lay lazily on the ground.
The giant wolf, of course, had no desire to let strangers come near and
touch him. If Robb had not been calming him mentally the entire time, the
painful movements as those two men pulled out the arrows would have been more
than enough to turn them into a snack.
"Have they found Roose Bolton yet?"
Watching Edd organize the counting and the cleanup in the yard, Robb turned
his head and asked Smalljon beside him.
"Not yet. We already sent search parties to look for him... Lord Robb, look
over there!"
Wearing his full plate armor, Smalljon's voice came out muffled from inside
his helm. Halfway through his answer, he suddenly pointed to the right.
At those words, Robb immediately followed the direction of his finger.
There, at the base of the right-hand wall, a hidden door swung open.
With his hands bound behind his back and a dagger pressed to his throat,
Roose stepped forward with a dark expression, being forced forward step by step
toward Robb.
And the man holding the dagger was none other than his bastard, Ramsay.
Ramsay wore his usual smile. The moment he noticed Robb's eyes on him, he
lifted his free hand in greeting.
As he drew closer, and as he looked at Robb's face still stained with blood,
the memory of their last meeting passed through his mind.
...
Inside an old, ruined house in Hornwood.
"My respected Young Wolf, your faithful hound offers you his greetings.
May I know what order you wish to give me?"
Inside the room, Robb was wrapped in a hooded cloak that concealed his face.
When he heard Ramsay's affected tone, he pulled the hood back in one sharp
motion and let out a short laugh before saying,
"Heh. Ramsay, I may know you better than your own father does. So stop
putting on an act. Let's speak normally."
"Lord Robb, your hound does not quite understand what you mean by that."
"Lord Roose's eldest son, your brother, Domeric Bolton... you were the one
who poisoned him."
The moment Robb said that so abruptly, the smile on Ramsay's face froze.
The air inside that crumbling house seemed to go still all at once.
The two of them remained silent, staring at each other for a long while.
The smile slowly faded from Ramsay's face. At last, expressionless, he was
the first to speak.
"I do not know where you heard such an absurd rumor. But I would very much
like to know why Lord Robb is paying so much attention to me."
"Mm. If you say it is only a rumor, then it is only a rumor."
Robb shrugged, completely indifferent to Ramsay's denial and making no
effort to answer his question.
"I'll get straight to the point. Let's make a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
Hearing that Robb was finally getting to the real matter, Ramsay stopped
pressing the earlier point and asked directly.
Robb suddenly rose to his feet, braced both hands against the broken wooden
table in front of him, and leaned forward as he spoke in a low voice.
"You help me destroy the bulk of the Dreadfort's army, and you kill Roose
Bolton. In return, I will make you the Lord of the Dreadfort, Ramsay Bolton."
"Hahaha!"
Ramsay burst into laughter.
"I am my father's only son. One day, the Dreadfort will be mine anyway.
Young Wolf, do you take me for a child? You're offering me what is already mine
as the price."
Ramsay did not lash out violently, nor did he immediately reject the parts
about destroying Bolton's army or killing his own father.
What truly bothered him was the reward Robb was offering.
"Is that so?"
Robb smiled and shook his head.
"Lord Roose is still in his prime. Setting aside whether he might live to
seventy or eighty...
Just think about this. What if one fine day he decides, like that old beast
of House Frey, to father eight or ten more sons for you to call brothers?
Are you certain he would truly pass the title on to you?
Mm, Ramsay Snow?"
Those words seemed to strike Ramsay straight in the heart.
He did not answer at once. He fell silent for a while, thinking, before
finally asking,
"House Bolton is the foundation of everything I have. You want me to destroy
the greater part of its army.
After that, once the Dreadfort is in your hands, you could go back on your
word and kill me whenever you pleased. Isn't that right, Lord Robb?"
"Ramsay, do I look like a fool to you?"
At that, Robb threw the question right back at him without hesitation.
"Of course not. In fact, I think you are even more cunning than the rumors
say."
Ramsay was caught off guard by the answer and immediately shook his head.
"Heh. Don't use that word. I'm not especially fond of it."
Robb frowned on instinct, then smiled and continued,
"But back to the matter at hand. If I am not a fool, and if I still intend
to rule the North as its Lord Paramount, then I would never do something like
that.
To break my word and kill a man who had rendered great service to me would
stain the honor my House has carried for thousands of years. My father, Eddard
Stark, would never permit me to do such a thing."
At first, Robb spoke with a smile.
But as he went on, his expression grew more and more serious, until he
finally raised his hand and swore solemnly,
"The moment you betray your own House and your own father, I will become
your only foundation.
If I do not fear your betrayal, and if you are clearly a capable man, then
why would I want to kill you?
I believe the two of us will become closer allies than any others.
I swear it in the name of the old gods and the new."
Perhaps it was the sincerity in Robb's words, or perhaps it was the weight
of Eddard Stark's name and the old gods.
Whatever the reason, after hearing everything, Ramsay smiled, dropped to one
knee, and declared,
"You shall be my sovereign. From this day until my death."
After hearing that oath, Robb stepped around the old wooden table and pulled
him to his feet with a firm motion.
"Then from this day forward, let us be as close as the king and my father
once were. Lord and vassal, but also brothers."
"Yes. May I know what your order is this time?"
"From what I've heard, you have many spies and many unusual channels.
I want you to use those special connections to obtain wildfire and seal it
inside wine barrels. The faster and more discreetly, the better. As for the
gold needed to buy the wildfire, I will have a trusted attendant deliver it to
you."
"That will not be a problem. With enough golden dragons, anything can be
arranged."
"In addition, I want you to inform your father that I intend to loot..."
...
"Ramsay, you did an excellent job! I'll reward you properly."
When Robb saw Ramsay drawing near and noticed that he seemed slightly
distracted, he took the initiative and spoke first, his satisfaction plain to
see.
"Lord Robb, you are too kind. All of this was only possible because of you."
Coming back to himself, Ramsay answered with a respectful expression.
Robb did not argue over who deserved the credit.
He stepped forward, clapped Ramsay on the shoulder in encouragement, and
then turned his gaze toward Roose, who was being held at knifepoint.
Smiling, he said,
"The Seven Kingdoms have always believed that the words of my House, 'Winter
Is Coming,' were nothing more than a warning... or a threat.
But now... winter has come for you, Lord Bolton."
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