t was late into the night, and the cold breeze that swept through Winterfell was unkind, biting through even the thickest cloaks. The streets were deserted, the once vibrant shadows of the lamps in the tiny houses long gone. The entire place seemed to be in a deep slumber, awaiting the dawn's light.
Androw remained outside the forge, seated on the door frame, his breath visible in the frosty air. Beside him, a single lamp flickered weakly, providing just enough light to cast long shadows across the empty courtyard. He was waiting—patient, unmoving. is sword rested against the door, within arm's reach.
Soon, a shadow emerged from the direction of Winterfell Castle. The figure moved with purpose, a lamp in hand, its light flickering and bouncing as he approached. As the man drew nearer, Androw's grip tightened around his sword, though he didn't draw it.
"Here you are, Ser Joffrey," Androw said with a smirk, cold vapor escaping his mouth as he spoke.
Ser Joffrey "Red Dog" Doggett smiled back, his usual ugly grin twisting his face as he closed the distance between them. "Were you expecting me?" he asked, his voice casual but with an edge of curiosity.
Androw didn't miss a beat, his tone carrying a hint of disdain as he replied, "I know the King's men don't do things the usual way.".
The words landed, and though Red Dog's grin didn't falter, there was a brief flash of insult in his eyes. He took another step closer, the two of them now standing few feets apart. The wind howled softly through the empty streets.
"Careful, Lord Consort," Red Dog said in a low voice, the smile never fully reaching his eyes. "Insults to the King's men have a way of finding their way back to court."
Androw didn't flinch. "I'm sure they do," he replied, his hand still resting on his sword. He knew better than to trust a man like Ser Joffrey. King's men—especially loyal hounds like Red Dog—might always come with hidden agendas.
"You wanted to talk, so talk," Androw said, his voice calm but his actions sharp as he drew his sword. The sound of steel against scabbard echoed.
Red Dog's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift. His hand instinctively tightened around his own sword, but his expression quickly hardened. "This is a total left turn, what's the explanation?" he asked, his voice low and sharp, eyes locked on Androw.
Androw chuckled with a humorless sound. "There's no fun, Ser Joffrey, if we were to simply talk." He twirled the blade lightly in his hand, the lamp light glinting off the steel. "How about we cross swords and talk?".
For a moment, Ser Joffrey hesitated, his mind racing. He knew he wasn't in King's Landing anymore, and he was the one who had approached Androw this late at night. Many would have seen him, and if things went wrong, his mission would be a failure. Worse, he could be cast out of the North, unable to complete the King's orders. Reluctantly, Red Dog loosened his grip on his sword, trying to deescalate. "I don't want to," he said, his voice controlled, but unease crossed his face.
What he didn't expect was Androw's sudden swing toward him, forcing him to draw his sword and evade the strike in the same breath. Metal hissed through the air as Red Dog barely managed to block. His voice tight with anger, he growled, "You're crossing a line."
Androw circled him slowly, with cold amusement. "Am I?" he asked, his tone light but his steps predatory. Without waiting for a reply, he charged again, closing the distance between them in an instant. Their swords clashed, the sound ringing out into the quiet night. Red Dog staggered back, barely holding his ground under the onslaught.
Each of Androw's strikes was heavy, precise, as if hammering sword. Red Dog, despite his experience, was caught off guard by the raw power behind each swing. The weight behind Androw's blows was unrelenting, and before he could adjust his stance, a final strike came down hard, snapping his blade in two with a sharp crack.
Red Dog's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backward, the useless hilt still clenched in his hand. He hadn't realized that Androw had been carefully targeting the same spot on his sword, wearing it down with each blow until it shattered.
Androw stepped back, almost leisurely, his eyes with disappointment. "It's getting boring already. Did I expect too much from the King's red... dog?" His voice dripped with disdain, as if mocking the famed loyalty and strength of the King's Guard.
Ser Joffrey cursed under his breath, rage flashing in his eyes. He tossed aside the broken sword and reached for the knife at his side.
But Androw didn't seem impressed. His stance remained relaxed, as if the fight had already been decided. "Boot licker using his last resort. But before that, just answer me. What was your King's message for me?" He stepped closer.
Ser Joffrey's grip tightened on the knife, "The King is wrong," Joffrey growled through clenched teeth. "You're someone who shouldn't be alive.".
Seizing what he believed to be his moment, Red Dog lunged at Androw, aiming for his heart. The blade struck home, but not where he had intended. Though he missed Androw's heart, the knife still sank deep into his side, drawing blood.
Joffrey's smirk of satisfaction was short-lived.
Before he could savor the moment, cold steel slid effortlessly through his throat. His eyes widened in shock, his hands flying to his neck as blood poured out, his strength fading rapidly. Androw stood over him, a smile on his lips as he slowly pulled the dagger on his chest.
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