Staring at the revolting pile of human skin on the ground in front of him, Robb felt ill. He swallowed deeply as he heard the sound of some of his men retching in bushes and at the bottom of trees nearby. Suppressing a shudder, Robb looked at the fair-haired man who delivered the…gift. "Are you certain?"
"Aye milord," the man replied. "It is a gift from the new Lord of the Dreadfort. Lord Bolton said it used to belong to a young man you once called your brother. I am to also tell you milord that the next gift you'll receive will be the skins of your true brothers." He added hastily, "I'm just the messenger milord."
It used to belong to a young man you once called your brother.
How could that have happened?
Domeric…
"Who is the new Lord of the Dreadfort?" said Robb quietly.
"Ramsay Bolton," said the man promptly.
Robb had never heard of a Ramsay Bolton before. Perhaps Maester Luwin was right all along, assuming it was Lord Roose Bolton's bastard who led the brigands to attack the Hornwood lands. If there was a new Lord of the Dreadfort, it meant that both Roose and Domeric Bolton were dead.
"There's no Ramsay Bolton," said Ecton Cassel, one of Ser Rodrik's cousins. He walked up to Robb, wrinkling his nose as he glanced at the pile of flayed skin. "To my knowledge my lord, there's only Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton. He's no true Bolton lord, my lord."
"He is the last of House Bolton," said the man patiently. "By that right, he is the Lord of the Dreadfort."
"Unless he was legitimised, he is still a bastard," Robb ruled. "No matter now. I name this Ramsay Snow, or Ramsay Bolton, or whatever he calls himself, the one responsible for the havoc in the Hornwood. He will be caught and executed for all his crimes." He turned to his men. "Men! We will march in five minutes!"
"Where to?" inquired Ecton.
Robb hesitated. The Dreadfort or Winterfell? This Ramsay Snow claimed he'd flay Arthur and Rickon. He already killed and flayed his own brother – killing two children would be no issue for him. However, what if Ramsay Snow was lying? If he was holed up in the Dreadfort, it would be a perfect opportunity to head to the Dreadfort and attempt to arrest and execute Ramsay. Robb dismissed the plan at once. Last time the Starks laid siege to the Dreadfort, it lasted two years until the Boltons inside surrendered.
"My lord?" prompted Ecton.
"Winterfell," said Robb swiftly. "We return to Winterfell. Hopefully by the time we arrive, we are able to secure Winterfell's defences."
The speedy journey home was full of sore silence. Robb kept an alert eye on all his surroundings, watchful for any possible bandit attack. His men murmured to each other at times, as they glanced around uneasily. Dealing with the bandits at Hornwood was a success and everyone was looking forward to returning home – to prepare defences for a possible siege though?
Robb glanced at the fair-haired messenger from the Dreadfort. Was he exactly what he said he was? A messenger? Odd that a messenger would remain unfazed when glimpsing the gruesome parcel he was sent to deliver. Robb had seen a few Bolton servants before, but they had always remained silent. What if this servant was not a plain messenger? What if he was a bloodthirsty servant?
"You may return to the Dreadfort," Robb said suddenly. His men stared at him, surprised. "Your master is waiting for a response is he not?"
"Aye," said the messenger uncertainly.
"Tell him…" Robb wracked his mind for something threatening to say. "I want you to tell him that…that winter is coming," he finished lamely.
"Milord, I am but a messenger-"
"Go," ordered Robb. He turned to three men. "Ensure that this man returns to the Dreadfort in one piece."
"Why not keep him as a hostage?" suggested another soldier.
"Ramsay Snow killed and flayed his own brother," said Robb loudly. "He won't care if we kill his messenger. He probably even thinks we will."
"Then we send his body back to Ramsay! It'll show him we are not afraid of his threats!" A few other men nodded in agreement.
Robb gestured for the three men to escort the messenger away. Once they had ridden a short distance away, Robb addressed his men. "We do not even know if Ramsay Snow is at the Dreadfort," he said calmly. "There is no point in killing the messenger and having his body sent to the Dreadfort if Ramsay isn't there. It will be us the fools in that situation. Better to send the messenger there alive. Besides, it will give the three men a chance to survey the Dreadfort and its surroundings if anything unexpected is to happen."
"You do not know the Boltons," said another older soldier darkly. "You are still a green boy. A child of summer. What do you know of war against the Boltons?"
Robb frowned at him. "Houses Stark and Bolton have been at peace for years. I was told that by my father."
"A Bolton is a Bolton. Deceit and lies slither on their skin and treason grows in their black hearts. No Bolton will ever be a true ally to House Stark. It's good that Lord Stark terminated his daughter's marriage to that Bolton. She'd be dead once she birthed a Bolton who'd be used against you."
"Domeric Bolton-"
"All Boltons are the same," the man cut in harshly. "Sly, evil, mad, bloodthirsty. Their servants are no better. That messenger you let go – he probably enjoys the art of flaying alongside the Bastard of Bolton. Don't you recall the butchery in the Hornwood? It was the work of that bastard and his mad friends! I told you and all these men" – he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the other soldiers – "I was laughed at and advised to be quiet."
"My apologies," said Robb, specked with mild annoyance. "If you think that I'd ever forget about the Hornwood, you are mistaken. Do you think I will forget the sight of the mangled bodies of men, women and children in the village? All those deaths – including two dozen or so Hornwood men and Daryn Hornwood."
The older soldier fell silent.
"You did what was right my lord," said Ecton Cassel loyally. "You had all of the brigands we could find rounded up and executed them. Even when they pleaded, you struck their heads off."
Robb would rather not remember that moment. As he resumed the journey to Winterfell, his thoughts wandered back to the Hornwood. It was his first time on a battlefield, even though it was more of a skirmish than an actual battle. As was expected, there were a lot of blood and bodies in their varying stages of decay. In the villages, food was stolen, livestock killed and precious trinkets looted. There were bandits still pillaging the Hornwood when Robb and his men arrived. Some attempted to run; others fought. The majority were captured and dragged to the courtyard of the Hornwood for justice and in the traditional style of House Stark, and many other northern lords, it was Robb who executed them. He'd been more than ready to be merciful, but the sight of the mangled bodies…it sentenced all of the bandits to death.
None of Robb's men objected.
Robb remembered Ecton Cassel and a Hornwood man putting a lump of wood fashioned like an execution block on the ground in front of him. One by one, each prisoner was pushed forward, their heads roughly forced down onto the block of wood. Robb recalled his hands shaking badly when he gripped his sword. He had stabbed brigands earlier that day, but it was his first time executing someone. He could still intensely remember saying in a slightly unstable voice, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Robb of House Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He'd then swing his sword high and strike it down, decapitating the criminal.
At first, it took Robb a few attempts to cleanly behead a bandit; by the time the eighth criminal was brought forward, no excess blood from the brigand would be splattering on Robb's armour. After the hour of executions, Robb had felt sick. He had smiled wanly when Lady Donella Hornwood thanked him for his aid.
There was no glory in executing criminals.
"Where's Barthogan?" said Ecton suddenly.
Who?
"Barthogan Brash-Head," said Ecton, looking around. Robb did not answer. He had already forgotten who Barthogan was. A bad habit he'd planned to remedy a second he arrived at Winterfell. "He said he had to piss."
"Well maybe he's gone to…relieve himself," said Robb uncomfortably. "There's not many trees around and it might take him a while to find one he could…piss at. Maybe a bush." He blushed as a few of his men looked at him. One shrugged. "It is a cold morning," a bald-headed soldier grunted. "Brash-Head is probably taking a while to piss. Nothing to fret about, Cassel. He'll catch up to us."
"He went ahead of us," Robb pointed out. "There are still trees near the winter town. We'll probably meet up with Barthogan eventually." He bit into his apple – probably one of the last pieces of fruit left in his saddlebag – and listened to some of the other soldiers talk amongst each other in lowered voices. In a few minutes, they would continue their march to Winterfell.
"Something on your mind, my lord?" Ecton asked quietly.
"Daryn Hornwood," said Robb honestly. Out of all the men Robb took with him to the Hornwood, he liked Ecton Cassel the best. "He died defending his lands, his home, his mother. His father is fighting the wildlings at the Wall and will be more than devastated at the loss of his only son."
"You do not need to blame yourself my lord. Lord Daryn Hornwood was dead by the time we arrived."
"Lord Karstark will be aggravated too. With Daryn's death, he was robbed of a good-son. What will I tell Lady Alys? Your betrothed is dead?"
"Lady Alys will wish to hear the truth."
Robb was silent. Lady Alys was pleasant and well-mannered as expected and a affable guest at Winterfell, but how would she react to the news? He polished off his apple and announced. "We march on!" He couldn't wait to return home. Dany would be there, eager to greet him, and Arthur and Rickon would be very excited to hear his Hornwood tale.
As the thoughts of hope and comfort surged in Robb's heart, he rode his horse at the head of his host of soldiers, confident to return home in an hour. He sniffed the air, expecting the familiar scent of cooking food that wafted over from winter town. Instead, Robb smelled smoke.
A lot of smoke.
"Something's wrong," Robb murmured, pulling his horse into a steady halt. It was normal smelling smoke from winter town, but not to such an extent. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he slowly dismounted his horse. Ecton Cassel and a few other men followed suit, glancing at each other in the process.
Robb wrapped his fingers around the pommel of his sword as he carefully and silently walked towards winter town. His purple eyes fixed on the trees and walls near winter town, Robb stumbled and caught himself before he could fall. With a soft sigh of relief, he crouched down to remove the fallen tree branch that he had tripped over. As Robb looked down, he jumped back.
It was a body.
"My lord?" In a flash, Ecton was at Robb's side. The Cassel man gasped. "That's Barthogan Brash-Head my lord!" Robb's stomach turned. The sight of Domeric's rotting flayed skin flickered in Robb's mind. He had almost tripped over a body – the corpse of one of his soldiers to be precise. Robb closed his eyes for a moment. Barthogan had been stabbed multiple times in the back and…and his hands were stone cold, still clutching his manhood.
What remained of his manhood.
Someone had been sadistic enough to chop off Barthogan's cock when he was probably pissing in front of a tree.
"My lord." Ecton's urgent tone dragged Robb from his thoughts. "I believe that the Bastard of Bolton is already here."
Winter town was a place of ruins, an open graveyard for the violently killed. It was a horrible sight.
Sword in hand, Robb roamed the deserted streets with his men. In the warm, blistering summers, the streets would be muddy; it was quite muddy now from a mix of dirt, blood and rain. Everywhere Robb looked, he saw bodies. Upon closer examination, he noticed that many of their blood-splattered faces had froze in an expression of terror and fear. When Robb set foot in the market square, the smell of smoke overwhelmed him. He covered his nose with a gloved hand and looked around. The wooden stalls that had held produce and goods were no more. Some had wooden limbs ripped out; the majority were used as kindling.
"Any survivors?" Robb asked, glancing at one of the captains he'd sent to look at the rows of small and neat houses.
"No milord," the captain replied, pain clearly visible in his brown eyes. "All the inhabitants in this town are dead or have escaped to nearby villages seeking help or sanctuary." He swallowed. "My family…I left them here for their own safety. It was safer than the mountains…" His lips tightened. "With winter coming and all, I thought they would be safer here…" He shuddered. "They may have escaped to a neighbouring village," said Robb sympathetically. "We must always have hope. It is essential to have hope in war and winter." He patted the captain's arm. "Have a moment alone if you wish."
"No!" Pain had made way for anger in the captain's eyes. "I want that bastard's head! I want justice! Not just for my family, but for all the innocent lives here!"
"Ramsay Snow will die," said Robb firmly.
"How? The bastard has your castle!"
Robb waited for the captain to calm down before saying coolly, "Ramsay Snow most likely has all his men holed up in Winterfell. He has no more men. We have enough men to rid the north of the Bolton men once and for all. I swear to you by the old gods Captain, that not one Bolton man will escape justice." His heart was pounding twice as fast with worry underneath his calm exterior. If the Bastard of Bolton had infiltrated Winterfell as the captain had said, where was Dany and his siblings and the other guests at Winterfell? Lady Alys and Lady Lyanna travelled to Winterfell for their safety, not to be slaughtered by a murderous maniac. Robb almost winced. If Alys Karstark and Lyanna Mormont were both raped, tortured and killed, House Karstark would never forgive Robb and even House Mormont – a noble House still utterly loyal to the Starks – would withdraw support. Ramsay would be the murderer yes, but as Robb assured no harm would come to the two ladies, it would also be him Lord Karstark and Lady Mormont will blame.
"Do you have a plan milord?" said the captain doubtfully.
Not a great one. Then again, any plan was better than the Hornwood plan. "We can try and lure the Bolton men out," said Robb uncertainly.
The captain shook his head. "No fool would send all his men out."
"We cannot lay siege to Winterfell – it would take too long." He didn't add that laying siege to his own home was foolish. "Our best chances are either luring the men out, or sneaking in."
"My lord?" Ecton walked up to them. "This will sound quite strange. The main gates of the castle are open."
Robb stared at him. "What?"
"It's a trap," said the captain at once. "Bastards are sly and are born without a shred of honour. We cannot go through the main gates! That bastard Ramsay will have his archers shoot us once we set foot in the courtyard. Milord, we will all be slaughtered if we fall into that trap."
"There are other gates of entry," said Robb thoughtfully. "Ramsay Snow might have already suspected we are here already so we lose the element of surprise." He bit his lip worriedly. What if his plan failed? He would've sent hundreds of his men to their deaths.
"Wouldn't there be Bolton men posted there?" asked another soldier.
"They might not be aware of those entries. Not many people use the Hunter's Gate or the East Gate unless they live at Winterfell. I know not all of us can sneak into Winterfell through those gates, but perhaps a select number can."
"What of the rest, milord?"
Robb thought for a moment. "Wait here," he decided. "A little closer to the gate though. When you see fighting, advance." It wasn't the best plan, but it was better than no plan at all.
Once Ecton and the captain chose the men appropriate for the infiltration plan, Robb joined them, earning a raised eyebrow from one of the more experienced of soldiers. "I'll be coming too," he said boldly. "Winterfell is my home and I will not be waiting around for the Boltons to be eliminated." He waited for complaints to be made, but to his surprise, there weren't any. A few concerned glances, but that was all. Robb looked at Ecton. "I put you in charge of the men here." Instead of an exclamation of annoyance, Ecton Cassel only nodded.
The moment the chosen men were assembled, Robb led half of them out of the deserted winter town and towards Hunter's Gate. The gate was located near the kennels and the kitchens and was very convenient for hunting parties as it opens directly onto open fields and the wolfswood. His heart almost sank as he spotted more dead bodies thrown sloppily into a pile.
"It's not too late to turn back," a soldier whispered tentatively. "Milord, I don't think your lord father will want to see you dead-"
"He won't want to see Winterfell in the hands of a Bolton bastard," Robb cut in sharply. "Come on." He edged closer to Hunter's Gate and caught sight of three to four men with Bolton badges. They were all drinking.
Robb couldn't believe his luck. Drunk soldiers? Hope soared in him. If luck was on his side, he would be able to take Winterfell back from Ramsay Snow before it was night time. Robb glanced calculatingly at his men. Who are the best here? He pointed at a small number of men he knew were excellent warriors. "Knock them out," he said promptly. "We don't want them raising an alarm." One of the chosen soldiers hesitated. "Would it not be better if we kill them, milord? They are guilty of rebelling against you milord and need to face justice." Most of the others there nodded in agreement.
I cannot afford to alienate these men, Robb thought. They wanted blood; blood they'd get. Before Robb could change his mind, he nodded, not believing what he had agreed to. What is wrong with me? In permitting his men to butcher the men loyal to Ramsay Snow, he was no better than Ramsay himself.
Before Robb could say anything else, the chosen soldiers had already begun to sneak towards the Bolton men positioned near Hunter's Gate, with their swords and their eyes gleaming with a craving for blood. Feebly, Robb watched in horror as his chosen men crept up to the drunk Bolton soldiers and one by one, killed all four of them. The closest Bolton man was stabbed twice in the back and then his throat was slit; the second lost his head; the third had a dagger stuck in the back of his bald head; and the last was stabbed in the belly.
One of the soldiers turned to Robb. "This gate is already open milord."
Hope vanished in a flash. This is a trap too. Robb took a deep breath. "Let's go," he said at last. His fingers tightened around his sword's pommel. He prayed that he and his men weren't heading into a trap. Without a dot of hesitation, Robb led his soldiers towards Hunter's Gate. He prayed that Daenerys, Arthur, Rickon and Gwenysse, Lady Lyanna, Lady Alys and the Reeds were safe. I will see them soon, Robb promised himself. Once Ramsay Snow and his Bolton men are dead.
I read the reviews and the majority of you said that a part of the last chapter felt clunky and the Reach lords should've been arrested on the spot. I was confused and I read the chapter and was horrified to discover that I had uploaded the old version, not the edited one. No one (except the plotters) are supposed to know the Reachmen are working with the Dornishmen. The previous chapter should be edited now :)
