The Dreadfort
Waking up in this dreary castle is not my idea of a good time. However, I still need to find the torture chambers that the Bolton family must surely have in this grimdark castle. Ordering my insects to check every nook and cranny inside, I also began the next part of my plan: injecting the maester with a slow-acting disease carried by some of my more dangerous insects.
I injected him with methylmercury, obtained from consuming the biomass of infected fish, to develop this neurotoxin that causes symptoms like cognitive impairment, tremors, and eventually paralysis.
This neurotoxin is ideal for this operation because it doesn't spread from one infected person to another. In this case, it will ensure that only the maester develops the symptoms. With this covert assassination, I intend to prevent the Boltons from gaining allies. Since the deaths of his heir and wife, I aim to utterly destroy House Bolton.
Everyone who supported Roose Bolton will meet their end once I convince my father.
Leaving my insects to their task, I completed my morning routine and headed to the courtyard, where most of my party was training with their swords alongside some of the Dreadfort guards. I quickened my pace upon noticing a problem: Ramsay had managed to strike up a conversation with Jon.
Jon Snow
I don't trust this Ramsay, and honestly, I don't know why. He feels so slimy trying to befriend me immediately, using our 'bastard' status as common ground.
I should be glad someone overlooks my bastard status to befriend me, but something feels off. Maybe his smile doesn't feel genuine, or his eyes lack warmth, showing only amusement at having achieved something.
"We're different, you know. We should stick together and go on adventures," Ramsay said, attempting to get closer to me.
"We don't have the same ties to our families. We could travel, see the world without constraints," he continued, staying in place as I instinctively stepped back when he got closer.
"I have my duties to House Stark, heir Bolton," I said firmly.
"But they'll discard you when you're no longer useful. That's how it is for bastards like us," he stated matter-of-factly.
"I've been forgotten since birth. It wasn't until Domeric died that my father acknowledged me. We're just disposable pawns to our families," he said with that unsettling smile.
I frowned at him. If this conversation had happened before I knew about my heritage and the discussion with my uncle, Robb, and me, I would have listened to him. But now, I know I'm loved by the Starks, aside from Lady Catelyn, whom I can forgive since she doesn't know any better.
"The Starks aren't like that," I said firmly before adding, "I'll stay with
them until my dying breath."
As we heard footsteps approaching, we both turned and saw Robb.
Robb Stark
"Well said, brother. You're important to us, and the whole family is waiting for our return," Robb said, giving Jon a half-hug.
"I'm sorry, Bolton, but Jon has to stay with us. We're family," he told Ramsay with a dangerous smile.
"Now, come on, brother. We need to ensure everything is ready for our departure," Robb finished, pulling me along.
Controlling some insects to inject Ramsay with neurotoxins that would make him feel lethargic and depressed, I didn't want him going on any hunts while I made my way back to Winterfell. Deciding to do the same with Roose Bolton, my party and I bid farewell to our hosts.
I noticed Ramsay lingering in the background, moving lethargic. I was pleased to cause inconvenience for him and his father, who didn't even come out to see us off, claiming he "wasn't feeling well."
With a laugh, my party and I began our journey to Winterfell.
Ten Days Later
Winterfell.
As the sun set, casting the last light of the day over Winterfell's walls, Ser Rodrik Cassel stood atop the battlements, scanning the lands beyond. Beside him, two younger guards, Jonas and Harwin, leaned against the tower wall.
"Report!" Ser Rodrik called out.
Jonas grunted, adjusting his fur cloak. "Quiet as the crypts, Ser," he
replied gruffly. "No sign of trouble for a while."
"Every bandit in the North is keeping their heads down since Lord Robb started his hunts," Harwin added, marveling at the abilities displayed by their future lord.
"He is a true wolf," confirmed Jonas.
A distant clatter of hooves reached their ears, growing louder.
Jonas straightened, squinting into the darkness.
"Riders approaching," he announced with a hint of excitement.
As the riders drew nearer, their torchlights illuminated their faces, revealing a small group led by two figures clad in Stark colors. Ser Rodrik peered intently, recognizing the familiar silhouette before the riders came into view.
"Seven hells," Harwin muttered, a grin spreading across his face. "It's the ghost of the North himself, returning from his months-long journey."
Ser Rodrik nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Aye, and look how he's grown in these months away from us," he observed quietly. "Not a boy anymore, but a young lord in his own right."
The riders approached the gates, where guards stood ready to lower the drawbridge. Robb reined in his horse, a broad smile lighting up his face. Beside him, Jon appeared more serious, though relieved to be back in Winterfell. Robb glanced up at the guards, meeting Ser Rodrik's gaze for a brief moment before nodding.
"Open the gates!" Ser Rodrik called down to the guards below. "The heir has returned home."
"Send someone to inform Lord Stark quickly," he continued.
As the gates creaked open and Robb and his companions entered
Winterfell, the guards exchanged glances, anticipating the renewed vitality their return would bring.
Lord Eddard Stark
Waiting for Robb and his party to arrive in the courtyard, I watched as the rest of the family gathered to welcome them back.
As they approached, I noticed the weariness in their exchanged glances, wondering what preoccupied them.
"Welcome back home, sons," I greeted them, waiting for them to draw near enough for me to embrace them. "We've missed you all. Winterfell isn't the same without you," I told Robb and the others.
"I'm glad we're back safe and sound, Father, but I'm afraid I bring bad news," Robb said, his usual warmth absent from his face.
His companions frowned collectively, clearly displeased with the topic.
"I think we should eat together in the Great Hall. Afterward, Jon and I should speak with you in your solar, Father," he continued.
"Let's go and eat then. Now, go greet the rest of the family," I instructed him before heading toward the castle.
I noted the tension among Robb and his group inside the Great Hall.
Nevertheless, he engaged with his brothers and sisters, kissing Sansa on the cheek and giving her a fabric gift for her studies, lifting Arya into the air and embracing her while presenting her with a wooden sword. He greeted Bran and Rickon equally enthusiastically, offering them trinkets he had brought from his travels.
The last person he greeted was his mother, kissing her cheek and presenting her with a handmade totem of a Seven Pointed Star from her
religion.
Lord Stark's Solar
Inside the solar, the most important people in Winterfell were gathered:
Maester Luwin, Lord Stark, Ser Rodrik Cassel, Jon, and Robb. They
discussed their travels and adventures before delving into the crucial
topic of the discussion.
"So, Robb, tell me what's been troubling you," Lord Stark prompted.
"There's no easy way to say this, Father," Robb began, his brow furrowing.
"The Boltons need to disappear from the North."
Maester Luwin's face registered shock while Ser Rodrik frowned deeply in thought.
"Why, son? What have they done to deserve such a fate?" Lord Stark questioned.
"Treason, Father. Let me explain," said Robb, pausing to gather his thoughts.
"When we were in Lord Hornwood's territory, we heard disturbing rumors about peasants migrating from the Dreadfort, people talking about disappearances in Lord Bolton's lands. The best course of action was to investigate the castle. There, I discovered, and you know how, Father, that Lord Bolton has been attempting to sell the vodka-making process to the Redwynes and the Lannisters.
Besides that, he and his bastard son have been flaying their subjects. They never ceased, even after it was outlawed by us after their last rebellion. I found three separate torture chambers and Lord Bolton's diary where he detailed all his plans," Robb recounted in one breath.
Ser Rodrik's brows furrowed deeply. "Flaying? Again? This cannot go unpunished," he muttered sternly.
Maester Luwin, usually composed, seemed visibly shaken. "The selling of Northern secrets and the perpetuation of such atrocities... This is grave news indeed."
Lord Eddard Stark's expression remained impassive.
"Robb, what you have found is deeply troubling. The violation of our laws and the betrayal of our trust cannot be tolerated. We must gather all the evidence you have brought and prepare to present it to the Northern lords. The Boltons must answer for these crimes."
Robb nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes, Father. I have detailed notes and drawings from the torture chambers, as well as copies of Lord Bolton's correspondence. We should act swiftly before they can cover their tracks."
Ser Rodrik stepped forward, his voice steady with determination. "We'll need to prepare for any resistance from the Dreadfort. They won't surrender easily."
Maester Luwin interjected, "And we must consider the implications of their dealings with the Redwynes and the Lannisters. This could escalate beyond the North."
Lord Stark nodded solemnly. "Prepare a raven to summon the bannermen. We must convene a council at Winterfell immediately. Robb, you've done well in bringing this to our attention. Now, let us see justice served."