66 The Dreadfort #66
Entering the austere confines of the Lord Commander's office, Gale nodded in greeting to Lord Stark and Lord Mormont, swiftly cutting to the chase. "You summoned me, Lord Stark?" he inquired.
"Aye, I did," Lord Stark confirmed. "I'm to leave for Winterfell in a few days to prepare for King Robert's arrival. I wished to confer with you before departing, considering Lord Mormont holds your counsel in high regard," he continued, inclining his head towards the Lord Commander, who stood with a grave countenance.
An internal sigh echoed within Gale as he sensed the direction of the impending discussion. Despite his foreknowledge, he sought clarification. "King Robert is traveling to Winterfell? May I ask for what purpose?" he queried, a crease forming on his forehead.
Lord Stark nodded gravely. "Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King, has recently passed, and Robert intends for me to assume his position," he elucidated. "Seeing as Ser Barristan's attempts to convince me have failed, Robert chose to do it himself, and knowing the man, he won't accept refusal easily," he concluded with a resigned sigh.
In the solemn ambiance of the Lord Commander's office, Lord Stark elucidated the gravity of the situation. "Under normal circumstances, I would acquiesce and assume the position. King Robert is a dear friend of mine, after all," Lord Stark began. "But considering the current peril north of the Wall, and the undead that threat looms large. I cannot depart for King's Landing with an easy mind."
His words hung heavily in the air, leaving Gale bewildered, exchanging a glance with the Lord Commander, who responded with a knowing smile. Suppressing his impending exasperation, Gale refocused his attention on Lord Stark. "How can I be of assistance, Lord Stark?" he inquired.
Lord Stark's eyes gleamed with a hint of a plan forming. "I've been informed of your proposed strategy by Lord Mormont, the one that involves capturing and caging a wight..." he began.
"With King Robert and all the Northern lords convening at Winterfell, we have an opportune moment to put your plan to use," he explained, causing Gale's eyes to widen in realization.
"In other words, not only can we persuade King Robert to seek another Hand, but also rally the Northern houses to acknowledge the looming threat and the necessity of collaboration with the wildlings if we play our cards right," Gale muttered, almost to himself.
"And if we strike while the iron is hot, we might even broker an alliance or at least establish a truce between the wildlings and the northern houses without delay," he added, the realization dawning on him.
Lord Stark nodded, acknowledging Gale's astuteness. "You catch on swiftly, lad," he commended with a nod. "You are as perceptive as the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon have described," he praised, a smile softening his stern expression.
Gale's mind whirled with acknowledgment of Eddard Stark's strategic capability, a realization that struck him with a hint of amusement. It appeared the Warden of the North wasn't lacking in the art of scheming but rather chose not to engage in political maneuvers, deeming them beneath his honor-bound character.
It was a trait that was both commendable and, as history had shown-- perilous, evidenced by the wretched deaths Eddard Stark and the majority of his family met in the show.
Gale respected such integrity from a distance but had no intention of emulating it, preferring a quieter life after the imminent threat from the undead had passed.
"Very well," Gale affirmed with a determined nod. "I'll ensure a wight is prepared for a demonstration before King Robert's arrival. If I'm fortunate, maybe I can even persuade Mance Rayder to attend to discuss terms with the king," he added, his tone filled with resolve and purpose.
"That would be ideal..." Lord Stark affirmed with a nod. "Now let us discuss the finer details of..."
...
In the somberly adorned study of the Dreadfort, Lord Roose Bolton sat behind his formidable desk, bathed in the dim glow of candles and flickering torches. The foreboding castle held an air of silent dread, a testament to the Bolton reputation. Torture chambers whispered in its dark corners, and rumors of flayed enemies' skins adorned its walls.
Recent events in the North had sparked reflection within Roose Bolton. He contemplated the unfolding chaos and upheaval beyond the Wall, seeing it not just as turmoil but as a potential catalyst for House Bolton's ascension.
Despite his ambition, he remained cautious, perceptive of the delicate balance of power. Acting recklessly could spell doom for his house.
Roose Bolton weighed the possibilities, planning his house's strategic advancement. The rising threat north of the Wall presented an opportunity, but he understood the danger of acting hastily.
Timing and subtlety were imperative for House Bolton to ascend beyond its current standing. His thoughts danced among schemes and ambitions, each move carefully calculated to exploit the shifting tides of power.
The low-lit room bore witness to his silent musings, the shadows playing against the adorned walls. Every step, every decision made within these walls, held the potential to shape the future of House Bolton, and Roose Bolton knew the importance of choosing each one wisely.
Roose Bolton sat in his study, entrenched in contemplation when an unwelcome interruption came as a soft knock on his door. His features tightened in mild irritation, though his demeanor remained composed.
"You may enter," he granted permission, the door swinging open to reveal a figure—pale-skinned, with unkempt dark hair—his bastard son, Ramsay Bolton.
Lord Bolton's expression soured further. Ramsay, with his disheveled appearance and an air of unchecked intensity, was often a source of frustration for his father.
"What business brings you here, Ramsay?" he inquired, his displeasure evident in his tone.
"I bring news from the Wall, Father," Ramsay announced. "There's a growing dissent among a faction of the Night's Watch against the Lord Commander and Lord Stark. Tensions might rise to a violent peak, or so my spy among the stewards reports," he explained.
Roose Bolton's furrowed brow betrayed his thoughts. The prospect of House Stark gaining new enemies intrigued and pleased him. Yet, he dismissed the idea of direct alliances with exiles and outcasts at the Wall; they held little strategic value against the formidable Stark forces.
However, he recognized an opportunity to exploit their grievances. Discontent from this faction could sow seeds of discord among the Northern houses to weaken House Stark's position, and he could always find use for discontent, desperate men.
He pondered this development, considering how this dissent might be strategically utilized to his advantage.
Ramsay's words hinted at a fracture within the unity of the North, and Roose Bolton, always seeking ways to strengthen House Bolton's standing, saw potential leverage in this newfound discord.
Still, Roose Bolton remained stoic and collected, his demeanor akin to a serpent waiting for the right moment to strike. He knew well that his next move required a meticulous understanding of every detail.
"What is this decision you speak of? Is it related to the disturbances north of the Wall??" Roose inquired, his voice a low murmur, carrying the weight of his authority.
"I can't say for sure. The specifics are kept tightly guarded. However, Lord Stark plans to announce it before King Robert and the Northern Lords soon," Ramsay confessed with an air of frustration.
An unmistakable glint of cunning in his gaze, he continued. "With more gold, I could loosen some tongues and get to the heart of the matter," Ramsay proposed, his eyes narrowing in determination.
Lord Bolton nodded thoughtfully. "Granted. You'll have the gold you need," he stated, the gravity of his words unmistakable. "But exercise caution, Ramsay. We are already under suspicion, especially after the incident at Moat Cailin. If you're caught, I cannot protect you," he cautioned, a veiled threat lingering behind his words.
"Don't worry, Father. I won't disappoint you," Ramsay pledged before bowing and departing.
As Roose observed his son's exit, he resumed his contemplation, his thoughts consumed by the shadow of the recent attack on Ser Baristan and his contingent at Moat Cailin.
Accused unjustly, House Bolton bore the brunt of suspicion on the account of their House being the only one capable of orchestrating such an attack under everyone's noses and their past grievances with House Stark.
Yet, Roose knew he hadn't sanctioned such an assault, and no one, not even Ramsay, could mobilize his troops without his knowledge. It was evident someone aimed to besmirch and undermine him or that he was merely suffering the unwitting consequences of someone with no such consideration.
Either way, Roose Bolton was determined to unearth and punish the perpetrators.
