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Winterfell, the Lord's Solar.
The fire in the hearth was blazing.
Reek knelt on the floor, using a soft piece of deerskin to polish the leather boots on Lynn's feet, over and over again.
He polished carefully, forcefully.
As if it were the holiest task in the world.
His head hung low, long greasy hair hiding his face, obscuring his expression.
The room was quiet.
Only the shhh-shhh of deerskin on leather and the crack-pop of burning logs filled the air.
Lynn leaned back in the comfortable armchair, eyes closed, seemingly dozing.
To his left, Myranda was focused on trimming his nails.
She used small silver scissors to carefully clip away the excess.
Then, a tiny file to smooth the edges.
Her movements were gentle, as if sculpting a perfect piece of art.
Her breathing was light, afraid to disturb the resting man.
To Lynn's right, Roslin stood holding a silver tray with a goblet of wine.
She stood quietly.
But her gaze drifted uncontrollably from Myranda's focused profile to the figure groveling on the floor like dust.
A complex mix of emotions churned within her.
She looked at Myranda.
This woman, in just a few days, had perfectly integrated into the role of "handmaiden," doing it even better, more... naturally than Roslin.
The wildness of the huntress was perfectly wrapped in a carefully crafted meekness and charm.
Every move, every smile, seemed practiced a thousand times, stepping precisely on a man's desires.
Like a vine that knows exactly how to wind around a great tree, using the softest posture to bind herself firmly to the strong.
Roslin even felt that Lynn's interest in Myranda exceeded his interest in her.
An inexplicable sense of crisis rose quietly in her heart.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
"Enter."
Lynn didn't open his eyes, just spat out the word.
A guard pushed the door open.
"Lord Ned wishes to discuss matters with you."
"Alright, I'm coming."
...
Shortly after.
"Lynn."
"The ravens have been sent."
Ned said.
"Thank you for your hard work, Lord Ned."
Ned walked to the map, his gaze landing on the lonely castle in the northeast corner of the North.
The Dreadfort.
"Do you really think Roose Bolton will come?"
Ned's tone carried a hint of doubt.
"He will come."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"The main Northern army is currently in the Riverlands, guarding against the South."
Ned looked at Lynn.
"We can't spare enough troops right now to besiege the Dreadfort."
"Roose Bolton isn't a fool; he must see this."
"Why would he walk into a trap?"
"Because he has no choice."
Lynn walked to Ned's side.
His gaze also fell on the sand table model representing the Dreadfort.
"You are right. conventionally speaking, we don't have the manpower for a protracted siege."
"The Dreadfort's walls are high and strong. Even Robb would pay a heavy price to take it."
"But..."
Lynn smiled.
"I don't need troops."
"I only need Winter."
Ned's pupils contracted sharply.
The dragon.
Right, Lynn still held the trump card that could overturn the balance of power in all Westeros!
At the Eyrie, Lynn had served the terror of being ruled back onto everyone's dinner table.
He forced the lords of Westeros to swallow it.
They now clearly understood the power of a dragon.
"Roose Bolton is a smart man."
"He knows the walls of the Dreadfort can't stop dragonfire."
"He knows that since I could wash the Twins in blood, I can wipe the Dreadfort off the map too."
"But I didn't send Winter immediately to burn his castle to the ground."
"Because Roose Bolton, that cunning old fox, will inevitably herd commoners into the Dreadfort."
"If I attack with the dragon, innocent civilians will die, which does my reputation no good."
"So, I gave him a choice. Come to Winterfell and surrender."
"Kick the problem back to him. Trade Roose Bolton's personal honor for the survival of the Dreadfort's soldiers and civilians."
"That is the choice I gave him."
"If he doesn't come, I will destroy him with the dragon."
"If civilians die then, I can claim I tried my best to avoid casualties. The blame will fall on Roose Bolton's stubborn resistance, not on me."
Lynn reached out and flicked the model of the Dreadfort.
"Besides, a castle managed for centuries, wealth accumulated through hard work, tens of thousands of subjects..."
"Burning it all seems like such a waste, don't you think?"
"Not just a loss for him, but for me as well."
"Trust me. Roose Bolton will come under the pressure."
"He will swim obediently into my net like a shark smelling blood."
"In Westeros, rebellion and stubborn resistance shouldn't be forgiven. But as long as Roose Bolton swears fealty to you again, we lose our reason to act."
"However, as long as he comes."
A smile impossible to read appeared on Lynn's face.
"We can detain Roose Bolton."
"Once he's in our hands, what he says doesn't matter; what we say does."
"We can invent a few crimes, execute him, and win this war without shedding a drop of our own blood!"
Ned fell silent.
True, the North was militarily empty right now, with most forces in the Riverlands.
They couldn't split forces to attack the Dreadfort; they had to rely on Lynn's dragon.
And a dragon doesn't care if you're a commoner or a knight; in its eyes, all are equal to ash.
Moreover, killing a surrendered Roose Bolton would mean no one else would ever lay down arms again.
Lynn's seemingly superfluous actions were paving the road for the future.
Ned looked at the young man before him.
He found he could read him less and less.
Every step Lynn took was like a move in a chess game.
Calm, precise, and full of lethal calculation.
He calculated not just enemies, but human hearts.
An old fox like Roose Bolton, in front of him, was probably just a slightly bigger grasshopper.
"I hope... everything goes smoothly."
In the end, Ned could only agree.
After all, they held the initiative.
Even if Roose Bolton refused, they had a second plan, a third plan.
...
The Dreadfort.
The wind here seemed colder than anywhere else, cutting the face like knives.
The castle walls were black, covered in frost, radiating an ominous aura under the gloomy sky.
Roose Bolton.
The Lord of the Dreadfort.
He sat in his spacious, gloomy solar. Through the window, he could see commoners being herded into the castle as hostages.
Roose stood on the balcony for a while, then went back inside.
No fire burned here. Only a few candles burned quietly in the corners, casting flickering shadows.
Roose Bolton liked the cold.
Because cold kept his mind clear forever.
But now, even the cold couldn't suppress his racing thoughts.
Before him lay a letter just arrived from Winterfell.
Written on fine parchment.
The handwriting was bold and powerful.
He recognized it; it was Ned Stark's hand.
The content was simple.
He was ordered to come to Winterfell immediately to pay homage to the Warden of the North.
At the bottom was the direwolf seal of House Stark.
Everything seemed reasonable.
But in Roose Bolton's eyes—eyes so pale they were almost colorless—there was only cold indifference.
He knew who the true author of this letter was.
"Heh."
"Lynn. Good move."
"Kicking the problem back to me?"
A very faint sneer escaped Roose's throat.
He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the grey sky.
Go, or not go?
Go, and he walked into a trap, his life no longer in his control.
That young man Lynn was ruthless; he wiped out House Frey on a whim.
Roose might not get any benefits from him.
Not go?
Roose's gaze drifted down to the vast lands below the castle.
His territory, his subjects, the foundation he spent half his life building.
And this... the Dreadfort, standing for eight thousand years.
He had no doubt that if he refused, within three days, a massive shadow would cover the Dreadfort.
Then, Lynn would logically burn everything here to ash with dragonfire.
He could run.
But where?
To King's Landing to join the Lannisters?
Tywin, that old lion, wouldn't take in a stray dog who lost his territory, especially since Lynn was nominally his ally.
To Essos?
He was old, without the energy to start over in a foreign land. Besides, Lynn had influence in Essos too; getting caught meant death.
His life was tied to this cold land.
His roots were here.
It seemed he truly had no choice.
That young man had blocked all his retreats.
Like a master hunter, he set a net and waited patiently for the prey to walk in.
And he, Roose Bolton, was the prey cornered.
"My Lord."
A knight wearing the flayed man sigil entered and knelt on one knee.
"Everything is ready."
"Mm."
Roose Bolton turned around.
His face returned to its eternal cold calm.
"Pass my order."
"Saddle the horses."
"We go to Winterfell."
The knight looked up sharply, disbelief in his eyes.
"My Lord! Winterfell is a dragon's den right now! You..."
"That is an order."
Roose cut him off, his tone brooking no refusal.
The knight opened his mouth, but eventually lowered his head.
"As you command."
A glint flashed in Roose's eyes.
"Also, bring my Blood Guards."
"This time, they ride with me to Winterfell!"
Fear flashed in the knight's eyes. He nodded tremblingly, his attitude becoming even more respectful.
"Yes, My Lord."
Watching the knight leave, Roose turned his gaze back to the window.
Even a leech of House Bolton, when cornered, will take a vicious bite before being swallowed.
Since he couldn't fight militarily, he would execute a decapitation strike.
He was not a vegetarian either!
...
Three days later.
A raven from the Dreadfort landed on the tower of Winterfell.
In the solar.
Lynn unrolled the parchment.
Only a few words.
"Arriving in three days."
Signed by Roose Bolton, with the seal of House Bolton.
"He's coming."
Lynn tossed the parchment into the fire, watching it curl and turn to ash.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face.
Everything under control.
He turned to the figure still kneeling on the floor, humble as dust.
"Reek."
"Here... Master..."
Reek's body jerked, responding in a voice full of fear and fawning.
"Go clean the deepest cell in the dungeon."
Lynn's voice carried an unquestionable command.
"Remember, very clean."
"I need it to host a distinguished guest."
Lynn's gaze swept over Reek's trembling back, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"Don't guess."
"Your father is coming."
"I prepared this specially for him."
"I think he will very much want to see his... obedient son."