The forge door creaked loudly as Androw shoved it open, dragging Ser Joffery's limp body by the leg across the stone floor. With a grunt, Androw lifted the body and laid it over the gathered wood near the furnace, its flames flickering dimly in the forge's faint light. For a moment, Androw stood still, catching his breath, his gaze briefly drifting to the sack stuffed with all the supplies he had managed to gather throughout the day. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
Behind the forge, the bull he had bought with his remaining savings snorted softly, tied to a post. Horses were too expensive, but a bull was enough. His gamble had paid off, but now he has to be far from Winterfell by dawn.
His eyes drawn back to Red Dog's lifeless body, slumped in the corner where it had fallen. The stillness of the dead man's figure didn't shake him. He took a deep breath, steadying his mind, and stood up. Walking outside, Androw picked up the oil lamp that Red Dog had brought. The oil sloshed inside—there was still enough left. Without hesitation, he hurled the lamp towards the wood piled around Red Dog's body. The the oil-fed flames began to lick at the dry wood, spreading quickly as the fire consuming everything in its path.
The forge was old and dry, and the fire would take hold fast. Already, the flames were crawling up the walls. Satisfied, Androw hefted the sack onto his shoulder and strode towards the bull. He untied the animal and led it away from the forge, walking towards the small hut where Jon was staying with the old granny who had taken them in. The night was quiet, save for the distant crackling of the growing fire behind him.
The door to the old woman's hut wasn't locked—she had left it open, expecting Androw to return and rest here. Quietly, Androw pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight through the only window. Jon lay on the ground, his tiny form wrapped in blankets. Androw moved carefully, trying not to wake the old woman as he leaned over Jon, gently shaking him awake. The boy stirred but refused to wake fully, his small hands gripping the blanket tighter in his sleep.
With a sigh, Androw had no choice but to scoop Jon up into his arms. The boy barely stirred, his head lolling against Androw's shoulder as he carried him out of the hut. But as Androw reached the doorway, he heard the old woman's voice behind him.
"Androw?" she called, her voice filled with tired concern.
Androw paused, but he didn't turn around. "Goodbye, Granny," he said, his voice quiet. He stepped out into the cold night, Jon in his arms, and the door closed behind him.
Jon stirred as they reached the bull, rubbing his eyes in confusion. By the time Androw secured him to the bull's back, the boy was awake, blinking groggily as he looked around. "Master?" Jon murmured, trying to make sense of the situation. He looked down, realizing he was tied to the bull so he wouldn't fall off.
"Shh, stay quiet," Androw said, holding the rope that led the bull forward. Jon remained silent, but his gaze wandered as he saw the orange glow of the fire brightening the sky behind them. The forge was now a raging inferno, flames devouring the structure's near it as guards and townsfolk rushed toward it, their shouts carrying on the wind.
The fire was a perfect distraction, drawing all attention away from them. With the chaos behind them, Androw led the bull toward the Wolfswood, where his friend was waiting.
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While in the Winterfell castle, Rhaena didn't notice how long she had slept. The days had felt long during the journey from King's Landing to Winterfell, but now they seemed too short. Yet the regrets she had carried for months were slowly starting to ease. "I owe him," she thought, lying still with her eyes closed. Her mind wandered back to the day she returned from Storm's End.
Distrust towards her own brother, her unwillingness to bend the knee, betrayal, the loss of someone dear... "All I had was pride and stubbornness, nothing else," she thought bitterly. "And what remained with me started to slip away." Her fist clenched as her thoughts circled back to her brother. She sat up abruptly, the very idea of him making her mood shift.
Then Elissa came to her mind. Rhaena wondered whether Elissa had found what she wanted. If they had traveled together, things might have been different—nothing would have led her to this end. In the end, she was the cause. If only she hadn't stolen the eggs.
Seeking the cold air, she walked to the window. The breeze soothed her as she gazed in the direction of Androw's forge. She was surprised by how much Androw had changed yet again. Her expression dimmed as she realized: "He was happy." She began to question whether forcing him to leave with her had been the right choice.
Just then, something unusual caught her eye—smoke rising from the direction of the forge. Confused, she quickly stood up, deciding to investigate.
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