Returning to the Dreadfort had been advantageous for Roose and his plans for taking over the North. With Moat Cailin fortified with two thousand frey soldiers, it allowed the new Warden of the North to consolidate his newly-given power, along with knowing who is and is not his allies in the North.
First to pledge their loyalty to Roose had been Ludd Whitehill, the fat and brainless Lord of Highpoint. If him having trouble getting down on a knee hadn't been so pathetic it would have been laughable. Now, he and his cruel son traveled through the eastern half of the north, scaring others into joining the Bolton cause. There were not many things that the fat man could do, but he was adequate when it came to bashing heads together.
When Roose had returned to the North, he had been surprised to find more allies waiting for him, all thanks to the bastard. The boy had turned Arnolf Karstark and Rodrik Ryswell to their cause, adding another five thousand men to Roose's force. Each man had an axe to grind with Stark, and they had jumped at the chance to get their revenge.
Now, Roose's new generals had been spread out across the North, wiping out the rest of the Stark loyalists. First among them was Eagle's Roost, where Bowden Hawker had returned from the waves to protect his home. Rodrik Ryswell, along with the bulk of the Ryswell/Dustin force, had marched west to ensure that the port city was destroyed, eliminating a potentially large thorn in Roose's side. The Hawker brothers, Bowden and Roland, were annoyingly good at war, and extremely loyal to the Starks of Winterfell. The sooner Bowden Hawker and his home were destroyed, the better.
Ramsay, having returned from burning Winterfell to the ground, now led a host of cavalry south, capturing Hornwood, adding yet more men to the cause, and harassing Manderly lands. The fat fools of White Harbor still controlled a strong force of men and, like the Hawkers, were loyal to Robb Stark. Roose hoped that, by putting farms and villages to the sword, Wyman would be pressured to join Roose to protect his people.
Finally, Arnolf Karstark, his small host strengthened by the remaining frey soldiers, were marching north towards Last Hearth. The Greatjon's uncles, Mors and Hother, could potentially become allies, but it was unlikely. They were not ambitious men, their joint-rule of stewardship proving that, but they were not Jon Umber and could turn out to be like Arnolf, men jumping at the chance for more power.
Roose took a sip of watered-wine as he looked out over the map of the North, moving pieces around as his forces moved into position. The Ironborn still ravaged the western shore, Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square still under their control. Roose made a mental note to deal with them when his position was more secure. But for now, they served his purpose of being a thorn in the mind of Robb Stark.
"My lord." Steelshanks Walton said, bowing before entering the room.
Walton, called 'Steelshanks' because of the way he armored his legs, was one of Roose's most capable men. He was a brutal and effective killer, though not cruel. Something that Roose found disappointing. Walton, like many of the men under Roose's command, was dour and near-emotionless.
"What?" Roose asked, his tone giving away the fact that Walton had his attention for a few moments and to not mince words.
"Word from Black Walder," Walton reported, handing a scroll to his lord. "The Crossing has been besieged."
Roose frowned. Black Walder, one of Walder Frey's great-grandchildren, was known to be a stern and temperamental man. He had been put in charge of the Frey host after Stevron Frey had been 'disposed of'. Roose had left the man in charge of the defense of Moat Cailin.
"Northerners?" He asked.
"Riverlanders too." The captain added. "Doesn't look like the Stark boy is leading them."
"Course he isn't." Roose snapped impatiently. "If the lords of the Riverlands are there, then so is the Blackfish." Roose looked over the message, which was just a mess of pleas to send men south to reinforce their home. The Lord of the Dreadfort scowled and tossed the message into the brazier in the corner.
"Damn fools," he muttered. "Don't they know that the Twins can't be taken? Not without massive loss."
"My lord?" Walton said curiously.
Roose waved aside his question. "Forget it," he said. "What else do you have to report?"
"Lord Ryswell has set up camp around Eagle's Roost, but Hawker and his men have hunkered down within Eagle's Roost. Manderly has not replied to any of our messengers, and Karstark is a day away from Last Hearth." Walton said.
"What about the Mountain Clans?" Roose asked.
Walton grimaced and shook his head. "The messenger's horse returned with the man's head in the saddlebag," he replied.
Roose shook his head. "Bloody savages," he muttered. Trying to find allies amongst the clansmen had been a longshot for Roose. The fur-clad barbarians had always been deathly loyal to House Stark for reasons that Roose did not understand.
"Should I assemble the men?" Walton asked.
Roose shook his head. "Don't bother. The mountain clansmen stayed in their holes when Robb Stark went south. We'll deal with them later."
Walton nodded. "Yes, m'lord," he answered.
"How are the prisoners?"
"Lady Stark has been confined to barren chambers, per your orders, and the Grejoy boy has been taken to the dungeons," Walton replied easily.
Roose allowed a ghost of a smile to appear on his lips. Ramsay's capture of the Lady of Winterfell and Theon Greyjoy had been an extreme stroke of luck. That, along with killing off the other two stark boys in the burning of Winterfell, had left Roose with a lot of leverage against Robb Stark and his allies. Roose knew that the boy king would never risk the life of his mother, and would give in to what Roose wanted, so long as he kept the woman in his grasp.
"Is that all?" Roose asked.
Walton nodded. "Yes, my lord."
"Then why are you still here?"
Walton bowed and left. Roose had always been short and crisp with his subordinates, mentally abusing them even. Many did not last long in the Dreadfort, but those that did had learned to simply take Roose's clipped tone with a grain of salt.
Roose watched him go for a moment before switching his gaze back to the map. Everything was going to plan. By the time the Crossing was taken, if it was ever taken, he would have the North under his control and would have time to solidify his position. That, along with Catelyn Stark as his prisoner, meant that Roose would have the leverage to gain a lot of power and influence that had been denied his family for so long.
Yes, House Bolton's knives were sharp, and Robb Stark would learn just how sharp they can be if he decided to try and free his mother.
Bowden Hawker
The captain of the Seahawk marched down the battlements, his cutlass and axe held ready in his hands as raiders swarmed over the walls, engaging with the leather and steel-clad men of Eagles Roost.
Bowden Hawker cut a bloody swathe through the invaders as bowmen filled in behind him, firing at the enemy as they tried to get on the walls. The man wasn't a fool. He knew that this wasn't the might of the traitorous force under Lord Ryswell's command. He was testing the defenses, and Bowden was going to show him that it would take more than five thousand other traitors to take Eagle's Roost.
"Push them back!" Bowden bellowed, cutting down one man with his cutlass while he buried his throwing axe in the head of another. "They will not take your homes today!"
The men responded to their lord's voice, fighting with renewed ferocity. They were sea-going men and fought like devils, hurling abuse as their cutlasses and sea-axes went to work. The men of Barrowtown and the Rills tried to match the vigor of their opponents, but it was no use. They were being slaughtered.
Soon, a horn came from the enemy camp and the raiders took their chance to fall back. The men of Eagle's Roost jeered as their enemy retreated, their firsts and boots seeing the enemy off.
"M'lord, they're retreating." A nearby captain said happily.
"Keep the archers firing." Bowden barked.
"They'll be firing at the backs of the enemy" The man questioned.
"They are traitors. I care not how they die." Bowden said dismissively. "Keep the archers firing."
The captain obeyed his order and soon the bases of the ladders brought by the raiders were littered with men, their bodies sundered by arrow shafts. It was not a good way to die, especially since many of them were retreating.
Bowden remained on the battlements, watching as the last of the raiders made it back to the safety of their encampment. He knew what shooting men in the back did to commanders. He wanted to send a message, and now all he had to do was wait for a reply.
"Hawker!" Rodrik Ryswell cried, riding towards the walls, remaining out of the range of Bowden's archers.
"Stand down," Bowden said calmly. "Approach Ryswell. I won't let my archers kill you."
"How can I trust your word?" Ryswell challenged.
"Because I won't allow them to take the pleasure of killing from myself." Bowden snapped.
Ryswell glared at the captain, but approached nonetheless, his eyes glancing constantly from the broad-shouldered warrior to the archers around him. He was a broad, stout man with long, curly brown hair and a bushy beard. His eyes burned like wyldfire with fury as he looked at the defenders of Eagle's Roost. Like most northern warriors, he was dressed in steel and plaited leather, a black tabard with a gold stallion head over his armor.
"I never thought I'd see the day when a Hawker gives up his honor." Ryswell spat. "Dishonoring my men by shooting them in the back is a low not even I would reach."
Bowden shrugged, stepping up onto the battlements so that his entire body was exposed. He crossed his arms across his muscular chest, his bloody cutlass still clearly seen. Bowden had no fear of falling nor of being shot. He had lived most of his life at sea and had braved many sea storms. He had accepted long ago the certainty of death.
"Dishonoring men who have already dishonored themselves." Bowden scowled. "You've always been a fool Rodrik."
"Watch your tone," Ryswell warned. "I will not hesitate to put every man, woman, and child in the city to the sword."
Bowden scoffed. "Your little raiding party barely lasted an hour against my sentries. You'll never make it past the main wall."
"There is still time to surrender….." Ryswell tried, but Bowden didn't let him continue.
"Save it for your love letters to Bolton." He spat. "I will give you a chance to turn your army of traitors around and head home. Refuse and watch as my men and I color the walls red."
The defenders on the wall cheered on their lord. They shared his confidence. They had high walls, plenty of food, and the ranks of the guards had already swelled as men from bakers to fishermen had joined the ranks of the city watch. Bowden had not called upon them yet, but they were trained daily for a couple of hours at first light before being released to go about their usual business.
Of course, Rodrik Ryswell had no idea that there were a few hundred more men inside the city training. It was a surprise that Bowden wanted to launch at the right moment.
"Is your pride worth all this?" Ryswell challenged.
Bowden shrugged. "If you're asking where my pride is, you might want to look for your honor as well. You seemed to have left it somewhere."
"My honor is well intact…."
"Like the blazes it is!" Bowden snapped. "Any man who betrays his lawful king and liege lord has no honor and has no right to call himself a lord of the realm!"
"Robb Stark is not…."
"I was there when you bent the knee to Eddard Stark!" Bowden's voice boomed like thunder, even scaring the horse Ryswell rode. "I heard the words you said. You are an oath-breaker, Rodrik Ryswell, you and your fucking daughter. You will both die a traitor's death, and I promise you this on my honor as Captain of the Seahawk and as a Hawker of Eagle's Roost that I will see you pay for your treachery!"
Rodrik growled and turned his horse to gallop away. "Hundreds will die for your pride!" He called as he rode away.
"And thousands will die for yours!" Bowden shouted after him.