Final Preperations #76

As Gale stepped out of the cavern, the blinding sun rays forced him to squint, his face twisting in discomfort from the sudden brightness. 

He was about to call out to the archers, intending to tell them to stand down since no immediate pursuit followed him, but his words froze in his throat at the sound of a whooshing arrow headed his way.

Reacting with swift instinct, Gale's hand moved at lightning speed, deftly catching the arrow before it whisked past his head. His countenance darkened as he clenched the arrow, snapping it in his hand, poised to confront the fool who fired it, possibly beat him to an inch of his life.

However, as Gale readied himself to face the perpetrator, his vexation shifted to exasperation at the sight of Edd emerging from the forest's edge, a mischievous grin adorning his face, a bow in hand.

"You're back already?" Gale asked, arching an eyebrow in bemusement.

"Aye. Brought along a hundred riders, as well, just like you specified," Edd replied casually, shrugging off his presence. "They're setting up camp nearby. Thorne and his lot made it pretty clear they wanted to stay far from the wildlings," he added, a chuckle escaping his lips.

Gale glanced down at his blood-smeared armor, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "It's a relief they won't have to put up with the wildlings much longer," he muttered darkly, weariness lacing his tone, causing Edd's grin to fade instantly.

Edd understood Gale's intentions all too well, and while a sense of unease nagged at him, he also realized there was little he could do to dissuade Gale's plans. 

Moreover, a part of him wasn't entirely inclined to intervene, knowing the complexity of the situation and Gale's deep, grim resolve.

...

Within the newly established camp, tension crackled inside the command tent. Ser Alliser Thorne scowled fiercely at Benjen Stark, his voice a thunderous growl. "You may be the first ranger, but you hold no sway here, Ser Stark! You were sent here to assist that stray mutt of yours with his lunacy!" 

His hand slammed onto the table, emphasizing his point. "I am the most experienced ranger among the forces the Lord Commander dispatched to aid these wildling savages!" 

His fury was palpable, his objections to Benjen's plans ringing loud in the tense air. "The only reason I even chose to come here was to--" His rant paused abruptly as Gale strode into the tent.

"You're here because you had no other choice. Lord Mormont gave the order, and that's the end of that," Gale stated flatly, his gaze icy as he glared at Ser Thorne. "While you're here, you'll keep your bloody trap shut and follow orders, or I'll have you executed for mutiny on the spot." His words cut through the air like a blade, the chill emanating from his body causing Ser Thorne to flinch and retreat.

"Is that perfectly clear?" Gale asked, his hand subtly gripping the handle of the iceblade hanging from his back. Ser Thorne's frustration was evident, but the cold menace radiating from Gale's eyes stifled any retort the senior ranger might have been brewing.

"Crystal clear," Ser Thorne grumbled through clenched teeth, his gaze seething with suppressed anger.

"Good. Now, get out of my sight and find something useful to occupy yourself with," Gale sneered, releasing his grip on the iceblade. He watched as the senior ranger left the tent in a huff. 

His departure met with a weary smile from Gale as he turned to Benjen. "Seriously, does that man get off on being a thorn in everyone's behinds?" The young man quipped, a trace of weariness evident in his voice.

Benjen's chuckle was bitter. "Thorne... he's a stubborn one. But he's got his own sense of duty and honor," he remarked, trying to shed a sympathetic light on the senior ranger's behavior.

Gale waved a dismissive hand. "His intentions don't matter," he retorted, shaking his head in frustration. "What matters is that he and others like him pose a threat, a threat that could lead to unnecessary death and sorrow if they're given free rein," he scoffed, his tone resolute. 

"I won't allow them that opportunity," he concluded, striding toward the tent's exit. Benjen followed behind, his expression tinged with a sense of resignation.

"So, apart from the obvious, what's our plan?" Benjen inquired as they strolled through the tents.

"Bloodshed, and then more bloodshed. The cave dwellers and the Weeping Man need to be dealt with swiftly," Gale replied coldly. "After that, we can focus on locating a wight and capturing it," he continued.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Benjen asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.

"Harma has sent word for Rayder, and I've heard that Tormund is hot on the Weeper's trail," Gale explained. "Once we have our reinforcements and the Weeping Man's location, we'll take out all the troublemakers in one fell swoop," he concluded, his voice carrying an air of determination.

...

In the ruins west of the Deadfort within the Lonely Hills, Ramsay observed with fascination as the masked woman performed her mystical act. 

It was a display that left him in awe as the mercenary before him underwent a transformation, assuming the appearance of one of the Dreadfort's guards with a simple touch from the mysterious masked woman.

"That's some convenient sorcery you have there... Glamor was it?" Ramsay's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the possibilities such power could provide.

"Indeed... it's ancient magic, as old as the gods themselves," the masked woman replied, turning to face Ramsay as the transformation concluded. 

"It has its limitations, but for our purposes, it will suffice," she added, slowly making her way to the throne at the rear of the room and taking a seat. 

"With this, we'll be able to infiltrate the Dreadfort effortlessly... it is time for you to claim your lordship, dear boy," she concluded, a smile lingering beneath her mask.

"What?!" Ramsay exclaimed in surprise. "No, no! We will do no such thing, not so hastily!" He vehemently objected.

"And why not, young lord? Aren't you tired of your father's tyranny, his neglect?" The masked woman questioned. 

"Isn't it time for you to embrace your destiny and take what rightfully belongs to you?" Her tone carried a beguiling allure, akin to a siren's song tempting an avaricious sailor amidst a raging storm.

In a dimly lit chamber within the ruins west of the Deadfort in the Lonely Hills, Ramsay's determination clashed with the masked woman's composed demeanor.

"My father will face his reckoning when the time is right!" Ramsay's voice carried an undercurrent of frustration. "But until he legitimizes and names his heir, no harm must befall him. All of this would be pointless otherwise..." His words held a firm resolve.

"What use do we have for your father?" The masked woman inquired, her tone eerily calm. "You've earned his favor by ferreting out and hunting down those renegades causing chaos in his lands, haven't you?" Her question dripped with mockery. "He's already drafted the letter seeking your legitimization, hasn't he?" She concluded with a chuckle.

Ramsay's countenance wavered momentarily, but he forcefully pushed aside the doubt. "That letter is nothing but a means for him to toy with me, a lure to goad me into furthering his cause," Ramsay spat angrily. "If he suspects anything, that letter will vanish into flames, leaving me with nothing!" He declared, gesturing decisively.

"Then we must act swiftly, leaving no room for suspicion," the masked woman replied, rising from her seat and approaching a nearby mercenary. Her chanting began, and as her incantation continued, the mercenary's visage transformed, resembling Lord Roose Bolton himself.

"Lord Bolton will deliver the letter to King's Landing personally, and then..." The masked woman's words trailed off, punctuated by a chuckle. "And once his task is completed... something tells me, he won't be returning," she concluded cryptically.