They arrived at the Dreadfort as soon as the sun began to set. Garreth, hands tied behind his back, watched silently as the massive fortress became closer and closer. Bugger me with an axe, it's ugly. It looked as if a drunkard had carved it from a singular block of stone, not even caring about the end result. It was a far cry from the beautiful castles of his homeland. And it's supposed to be home to a great lord! These northmen have shitty tastes.
One of the soldiers riding on his left blew a horn he was carrying, and was promptly answered by someone from inside the castle. Soon after the massive gates opened, and Garreth and his captors entered the Dreadfort.
The main courtyard wasn't much to look at. In fact, it wasn't that different from the outside. Servants went back and forth to see to the tasks they had been given, guards in Bolton colors walked and talked. A few people fell silent and stopped for a moment as they saw Garreth, only to return to whatever they had been doing.
The horses stopped in their tracks at a signal from the commander of the small party escorting Garreth. The soldiers dismounted, and one of them helped Garreth do the same.
"Don't expect any favors in return, man." he japed, hoping to somewhat lighten the atmosphere, only to be punched in the gut by the soldier. The blow sent him tumbling ass first on the muddy ground.
"Silence, southron dog!" hissed the other man.
Garreth decided to not answer. Another soldier arrived and helped him get on his feet, and then they brought him to a door which he supposed led inside the castle.
He was right. It was a long corridor, seemingly empty. Here and there he could see portraits of richly dressed men, with pale skin and eyes that seemed to follow him as he walked. The ancestors of the current lord? Garreth didn't like their look. He didn't like that place. There was something grim about it, something unsettling. What did you expect, you idiot? This isn't a whorehouse! You're going to be executed, for fuck's sake! He found himself regretting leaving Castle Black.
"Better enjoy your last moments." said the soldier who had previously hit him. "You won't like what's going to happen."
Garreth was no craven. At least, he didn't consider himself one. However, those words made him feel actual fear for the first time since the Bolton men had caught him. He had more or less accepted that he was going to die. Everyone had to, sooner or later, especially those like him who had broken a few laws. He would be beheaded, and then he would go to meet the Seven. If what the septons had always preached was true, that is.
But those words...he had heard of the Boltons and how they dispensed justice in their lands. Just the thought of that happening to him almost made him soil his breeches. He would much rather a nice, clean beheading. He hoped the Bolton lord, or whoever was going to kill him, would opt for that.
They arrived at the end of the corridor and turned on the left, and then they stopped. There was a big door with strange carvings. Some kind of language? Garreth wondered whether they meant something.
One of the soldiers made a few steps forward and knocked at the door. "The prisoner is here, my lord." Garreth's heart began to beat furiously in his chest. Lord. He was going to meet the Bolton lord. Was he going to execute Garreth? Or...perhaps he would just take a look at him and then threw him in the dungeons, only to execute him the next day at the first light of dawn.
"Bring him in." said a strange voice from the other side of the door. "Then leave." It was a cold, deep voice. Garreth didn't like it.
The soldiers opened the door and then, without warning, violently pushed Garreth inside.
He fell on his knees as the door closed behind his back. He managed to ignore the pain and keep his balance enough to not fall face first.
"You will have to forgive my men. They can be quite...energetic."
Garreth raised his head and took in his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, and it smelled like...he couldn't quite name it. He only knew it made his skin crawl. There were irons and chains on a wall. Is this a torture chamber?
"Now..." The man, dressed in red and black from head to toe, was standing at the center of the room, near a big chair and a desk with a goblet and a scroll on it. He was tall and thin, almost gaunt, with short raven black hair and grey eyes. And, as he noticed almost immediately, an uncanny resemblance with the portraits in the corridor.
"Are you...Lord Bolton?" he said.
The other man nodded. "And you are...no, wait. Knowing your name would be pointless." Garreth felt somehow insulted at that. Lord Bolton narrowed his eyes. "You are from the Reach."
"How did you..."
"I recognized the accent. Now, let's not waste any more time. As I am sure you have already guessed, you have been brought here to be executed."
Garreth gritted his teeth. "Just get on with it. You are going to do it by yourself, aren't you? That's how you northmen do things. And you are going to do it here and now."
"Indeed. Usually I would let you sleep in the dungeons for a night, to give you a chance to think of your crimes before meeting the gods, but this time I am compelled by the law to make an exception. Not only you are a deserter from the Night's Watch, you also killed and ate a direwolf. That is an even worse crime."
"So what?" he spat. He had been hungry and cold, and that damn wolf had arrived just at the right time.
"It seems you have learned nothing in your time here. Don't you know that the direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, ruler of the North since the Long Night? It is a holy animal. Only the king and his trueborn son and heir may kill one. For a stranger to do so...would mean death."
Garreth cursed. Just what I needed. "Well, what's done is done. If you are going to flay me alive, just do it." He wasn't looking forward to that, but struggling against it wouldn't accomplish anything.
Lord Bolton chuckled. "That is what I would usually do. However, that is not what is going to happen."
Garreth held his breath. Wait, what? Is he...is he going to spare me? He dared feel a slight pang of hope.
"You see, it has been a while since I had a chance to taste foreign blood."
"What..." Before he could even complete that sentence, something happened. Lord Bolton fully opened his mouth, showing his teeth. Garreth noticed that two of them were longer than the rest, and pointy like daggers.
"Seven above!"
Lord Bolton jumped on him with unnatural speed and grabbed his shoulders. Such was the strength in his grip that Garreth's feeble attempts to move failed. And then, Lord Bolton sank his teeth into Garreth's neck. An excruciating pain followed.
Garreth could only scream as Lord Bolton slowly drained him of blood.