"Your master has a lot of nerve sending you here," Roose said quietly, crossing his arms as he glared at the man. Standing across from him was Ser Harys Swyft, the Knight of Cornfield.
"What's to stop me from killing here and now and sending your head back to Tywin?"
Ser Harys did not look like a normal knight. Most of the time, the man wore yellow steel-plate decorated with the blue rooster of his House. Now, he wore black leather clothes and a dull yellow cloak. They were not even the man's finest leathers, but of course, the man wasn't trying to be noticed. As of now, he looked more like a common messenger than the Master of Cornfield.
He almost succeeded too, but he held himself like he always had; as a knight, with the stereotypical arrogance that came with the title.
Roose and his modest host of seven thousand men were currently camped at Moat Cailin as he sent ravens to the Ryswells and Dustins. The Leech Lord was also planning on how he was going to sweep the ironborn back into the sea. From what he knew, Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte were still under ironborn control, and Bowden Hawker had yet to get past Flint's Finger.
Men were rallying at Winterfell as well, as commanded by Lady Catelyn. Roose's bastard, Ramsay Snow, was also rallying what men he could at the Dreadfort to bring to Winterfell.
Roose had been surprised when Ser Harys had arrived at the ruined northern stronghold, although he did not show it. Roose did not know the man personally, only that he fled south to Tywin after the Battle of the Camps.
The knight shrugged. "I go where I am commanded," he answered simply.
Roose raised an eyebrow. "From a knight to a mere messenger, how tragic a punishment for fleeing the battlefield. Tell me what Lord Lannister wants then leave. I am already committing treason just by speaking with you."
Swyft ignored the insult and pulled a message from his belt and handed it to Bolton, who took it. "Lord Tywin only requires your answer."
Roose broke the red wax seal and unrolled the scroll, taking a moment to read it. The message was simple. He was asking Roose to switch his loyalties and help Tywin take down Robb Stark. As a reward, Roose would become Warden of the North and the Boltons would become the prominent house in the North. The Old Lion had also promised to legitimize Roose's bastard, giving him a true heir.
Tywin also outlined who else had already agreed. A man whose host of four thousand strong was already among Roose's own force. The Freys had agreed to turn their cloaks on the Starks in exchange for a few marriages from Tywin's cousins and the promise that two of the Kingsguard would have a Frey squire. Finally, Tywin promised that the Freys would be named Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands since Edmure Tully and his uncle would not survive the war.
"Do you know what this says?" Roose asked carefully.
Swyft nodded. "I do," he replied easily. "A man by the name of Lothar Frey has arrived with me to take care of some matters with his family. Black Walder is now the leader of the Frey host."
Roose frowned. "Bold of you to assume that I had already agreed to Tywin's terms."
Harys shrugged again. "Why would you not? Robb Stark has put aside many of his northern bannermen in favor of his new southern allies. He also is set to marry a southern girl. Do you think he gives a shit about his northern bannermen? He is the reason why the North is now under attack. He let the Greyjoy boy go home to his father. Robb Stark will lead you all to ruin, Lord Bolton. Are you prepared to follow him?"
Roose had to admit, the knight had a point. Stark was the reason why half of the North was infested by ironborn. The Leech Lord wasn't even sure if the boy knew what had happened. If Robb Stark truly cared about his homeland, he would have never trusted a Greyjoy, even one that had grown up with him. A severe lack of judgment on the young man's part.
If Robb Stark was also truly betrothed to a southern girl, then it would be the first time in a very long time that the lord of Winterfell had not married a northern girl. Something that would surely disappoint many other northern lords.
"Stark's new southern allies have a mighty host," Roose commented. "How does Tywin plan to deal with them?"
Harys waved aside Bolton's question. "The Tyrell's have always been a greedy family. When Robb Stark dies, and Lord Tywin will ensure that he does, Mace Tyrell and his family will join the winning side, as they have always done."
"That is the reachmen. My countrymen will never give in to the Lannisters." Roose countered. "The Starks are beloved. Even the great Tywin Lannister must acknowledge that."
Harys smirked. "Why not? Their king will be dead, and who better to follow then the man who saved the North from the ironborn invaders, invaders who unfortunately killed Robb Stark's siblings and mother."
Roose was beginning to see what Tywin wanted. There was still one thing that worried him. "Tywin has what? Twenty thousand men. Nothing against the might of the Reach, Stormlands, Riverlands, and the North. All of Which Stark has allied sworn to the crown he wears on his head."
Harys folded his hands behind his back. "If you think Lord Tywin is devoid of allies. You are badly mistaken," he said. "The lords of the Blackwater have realized who their lawful king is and are joining their fellow crownlanders at Duskendale. Lord Tywin has also reached agreements with the Vale and Dorne."
Roose raised an eyebrow. "The Vale and Dorne? You truly want me to believe that Tywin Lannister has allied with men who watched Ned Stark grow up and the Martells who have a grudge against the Lannisters?" He argued. "Has Tywin also enlisted the aid of the Warrior as well? What of the Faith Militant? I assume they shall be at the battle as well."
Harys shook his head. "Not a word I said was false. Lord Petyr Baelish, King Joffrey's Master of Coin, is set to marry Lady Lysa Arryn very soon. He will then take over as Lord Protector of the Vale and the Knights of the Vale will march to Lord Tywin's aid."
Roose rolled his eyes. "If Lord Tywin truly believes that then his reputation falls well short of the mark. Eddard Stark grew up in the Vale. It was the first region to rise against the Targaryens in defense of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. If he believes that Joffrey's banker can convince them to fight against the very men they fought with in the past two wars then you are all fools."
Harys' eyes narrowed. "The Tarbecks and Reynes called Lord Tywin a fool and now there is a song about how they are extinct."
Roose sighed in annoyance and boredom. "What of Dorne? If my memory serves me right, Gregor Clegane and Armory Lorch butchered Elia Martell and her children. What did Tywin give up for their help? Casterly Rock itself?"
"Princess Myrcella has been promised to Prince Doran's son. The Red Viper is rallying his countrymen as we speak." Harys said. "Sixty thousand men from the south and east. Another twenty thousand at Duskendale and a full host at Harrenhal. All under the command of Tywin Lannister, who has never lost a war."
"Robb Stark has not lost a battle yet." Roose pointed out.
Harys scoffed. "Robb Stark has danced a pretty dance, but the music is done playing and soon the boy's world will crumble around him as Tywin shows him why he is the most dangerous man in Westeros." The knight of Cornfield nodded at the message in Roose's hand. "Lord Tywin will win this war, of that there is no doubt. He is offering you a chance to join the winner's table. I advise that you take it."
Roose tapped the table thoughtfully. If what the man said was true, then Roose could easily take the North while Robb Stark was destroyed in the Riverlands by Tywin and his new allies. Bolton could then blame the deaths of Catelyn Tully and her children on the ironborn. Then, like snow in the sun, House Stark would be extinct, leaving House Bolton as the dominant house in the North.
As they should have been.
Roose would also be seen as the savior of the North if he repelled the ironborn, which would be easy enough. They were terrible fighters when not on their ships.
"Lord Bolton, why are we wasting time before you acknowledge that you have already accepted Lord Lannister's terms?" Swyft asked.
Roose nodded. "I accept Tywin's terms," he said, throwing the letter into a burning brazier. "This will stay between us, of course."
Harys nodded. "Wise decision, my lord. King Joffrey will make his official decree making your house rulers of the North as soon as I return to Harrenhal."
Roose waved his hand, gesturing for the man to leave. "You can leave now," he ordered.
Swyft bowed and left, leaving the Leech Lord alone to bask quietly in satisfaction. His house will now be in its rightful place as rulers of the North, and no one is there to stop him from destroying the remaining Starks.
Line Break
Ramsay
The man known as the Bastard of the Dreadfort smiled giddily as he read his father's letter. It was more than he had ever dreamed since he had set his plan in motion to become his father's heir. First, he had killed that naive fool Domeric, taking his rightful place as his father's heir. Since then, he had been looking for a way to legitimize himself.
Now, his answer was held in his hands.
"What are you giggling like a girl about?" Arnolf Karstark barked as he entered the dining hall, his cane marking his every step.
The castellan of Karhold was a gaunt, crooked man with uneven shoulders, squinty eyes, a scrawny neck, and a ragged beard. To Ramsey, who was young and strong, Arnolf was a pathetic excuse of a man. The same went for the man's two sons; Cregan and Arthor.
"House Stark is in quite the perilous place, my lord," Ramsay responded happily.
Arnolf eyed the younger man carefully. "That sounds close to treason, boy."
Ramsay raised an eyebrow and got up from his seat, walking over to the stooped man. Ramsay was large-boned and had the same cold, pale eyes as his father, making him far more intimidating than the crooked castellan of Karhold. At his side was a dagger, the hilt made of yellow bone. Ramsay's hand fell to it now.
There was no smile on his face.
"King Joffrey has named House Bolton lord paramount of the North," Ramsay said. "House Stark will soon be extinct."
Arnolf's eyes went wide as the bastard spoke. "Well….but…."
"Do you have something you want to say, my lord?" Ramsay asked, his voice just barely above a whisper, the unveiled threat hanging in the air.
Arnolf bowed his head slightly. "No." He answered quietly.
Ramsay nodded, smiling once more. "Perfect!" He cried, clapping his hands on the old man's shoulders. "Now, we have much to do."
"What's that?" Arnolf asked.
"Why, we have to kill the rest of the Starks," Ramsay said, talking to the man like one would talk about the weather. "Now, would you be so kind as to go assemble the men? We leave at midday."
Arnolf nodded and left, his cane clacking a little quicker with his departure. Ramsay watched him go, the smile still plastered to his face until the old man was gone. Then the smile was gone.
"Reek!" Ramsay barked.
The old, sickly-looking man was instantly at Ramsay's side. His stench made the man unbearable to be around, but Ramsay had lived with the man for the majority of his life. There was no one Ramsay trusted more.
"Yes, master?" Reek wheezed.
"Watch the fucker." Ramsay growled, still staring at the door Arnolf had left through. "If you see him trying to get word to Winterfell, kill him."
"Yes, master," Reek said, leaving.
"Reek," Ramsay called after his servant.
"Yes, master?"
"Don't kill him. Bring him to the room." Ramsay said, a cruel, gleeful smile coming over his face again. "If any of his men or his sons get in the way, kill them."
Reek laughed harshly. "Yes, master." He responded before leaving.