Three days later, Winterfell.
The Northern wind was as biting as ever, whipping up snow and slamming it against the castle walls.
A troop of a hundred cavalry, clad in black mail and pointed helms, appeared silently on the horizon.
They flew no banners.
But the cold, murderous aura seeping from their bones declared their identity louder than any sigil.
Leading them was a lean, plain-faced middle-aged man.
He wore simple black leather armor under a pale pink cloak devoid of any decoration.
Roose Bolton.
His eyes, so pale they were almost colorless, gazed calmly at the majestic grey castle ahead.
Winterfell, the seat of House Stark, the heart of the North.
Here, he had once sworn fealty to Rickard Stark.
Here, he had sworn fealty again to Eddard Stark.
And today, he would face a monster capable of overturning the entire North, perhaps even all of Westeros.
The gates opened slowly.
No welcoming horns, no lined-up soldiers.
Only a young man in black robes standing quietly in the shadow of the gatehouse.
Beside him stood a handmaiden with an alluring figure and charming face.
And at their feet knelt a ragged figure reeking of filth.
Roose Bolton's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly the moment he saw that figure.
He dismounted, tossed the reins to a knight behind him, and walked slowly toward the gate alone.
"Lord Bolton, a hard journey."
Lynn wore his usual gentle smile, as if greeting an old friend from afar, as if no bad blood existed between them.
Roose Bolton didn't respond to the greeting.
His gaze bypassed Lynn, fixing dead on the kneeling figure.
Feeling the gaze, the figure shuddered violently, then slowly raised his head.
A face once handsome, now written with abject humility and terror, was exposed to the cold Northern air.
It was Ramsay.
No, now it was Reek.
"Fa... Father..."
Ramsay's lips moved, emitting a dry, hope-filled sound.
He thought his father's arrival was his salvation.
Even if Roose was always harsh.
Even if his father would be angry, would scold him.
Blood ties couldn't be severed.
He was a bastard, yes!
But he was still Bolton blood!
However, Roose Bolton just looked at him quietly.
In those pale eyes, there was no anger, no pity, not even a flicker of emotion.
Like looking at a stone by the road, or a pile of dirty dog shit.
"I have no son."
Roose's voice was soft, flat, yet it stabbed into Ramsay's heart like a knife.
"House Bolton has no need for a waste who kneels and begs like a dog."
"You shame me."
"From today on, you are unworthy of the Bolton name."
"You are just... a dog."
BOOM—!!!
Ramsay's mind went blank.
All hope, all expectation, all fantasy were crushed instantly by Roose Bolton's own words.
Ramsay stared blankly at the man who spoke.
The father he had spent his life trying to please, to imitate, whose approval he craved.
It turned out everything he did was just a joke.
It turned out this dog had been abandoned by its master long ago.
"Heh... hehe..."
A desperate, hoarse laugh squeezed out of Ramsay's throat.
He laughed.
Laughing until tears streamed down his face.
He looked down at his hands, filthy from cleaning kennels.
What on earth... had he been doing?
Lynn watched this drama of father-son estrangement with interest.
He reached out and patted Roose Bolton's shoulder lightly.
"Lord Bolton, don't say that."
"Your son is now my most loyal servant."
"Look how shiny he made my boots."
"By the way, he didn't know his place before and tried to touch my woman."
"I had him physically castrated."
"See how merciful I am? Even after that, I let him live."
"Though, it's a pity. I gave the executioner the sharpest knife, but the fool didn't know how to use it. Cut here, cut there... your son suffered quite a bit. Took all afternoon to cut it all clean."
Roose Bolton ignored Lynn's mockery, simply turning sideways to avoid Lynn's hand.
"Lord Lynn, what does this have to do with me? Ramsay is not my son."
"Enough idle talk. My men and horses need settling."
Roose's tone remained elegant.
As if the person he just disowned wasn't his flesh and blood, but an irrelevant stranger.
"Of course."
Lynn smiled and waved behind him.
"Myranda."
"Here, Master."
Myranda, standing quietly beside Lynn, stepped forward and curtsied to Roose.
"Lord Bolton, please follow me."
Her voice was soft, her posture respectful, her smile flawless.
Roose's gaze swept over Myranda's face.
He recognized this woman, of course.
The kennelmaster's daughter, Ramsay's favorite plaything.
And now, she was Lynn's handmaiden.
This young man had not only gelded his son but taken his woman.
Using the most direct and brutal way to show who the master was here.
Ramsay is truly useless!
Roose hated him internally but said nothing, silently following Myranda into the castle.
From start to finish, he didn't look at Ramsay again.
As if that figure groveling in the dust had truly vanished from his world.
...
Night.
The Great Hall of Winterfell wasn't fully lit.
The massive space felt somewhat empty and cold.
At the long table sat only a few people.
Lynn, and Roose Bolton.
The key figures of this negotiation were seated.
Ned Stark excused himself due to illness. He really didn't want to be in the same room as this cold-blooded creature.
Simple food was on the table.
Roast chicken, black bread, and a pitcher of fine Arbor Red.
Roslin stood quietly behind Lynn, pouring wine.
And Reek knelt at Roose's feet like a true servant, ready to serve.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
"Lord Bolton, try this."
Lynn broke the silence, pointing to a covered silver dish in the center of the table.
Roslin stepped forward and lifted the cover.
A strange meaty aroma wafted out instantly.
On the platter lay a piece of meat, roasted golden and dripping with fat.
The shape was peculiar. Small, but... distinctive.
Roose Bolton's gaze landed on the meat.
On his eternally frozen face, a muscle near his eye twitched imperceptibly.
He knew what this was.
He could even imagine where it came from.
Lynn, you demon!
He actually...
"I prepared this specially for you, My Lord."
Lynn still wore that gentle smile.
"Northern tradition is to treat the most honored guest with the most precious ingredients."
"Clearly, Lord Bolton is fully qualified to enjoy this."
"This is... one of the most precious things in all of Winterfell."
"I thought, having you taste it personally would be... returning it to its original owner."
You could hear a pin drop in the hall.
Reek, kneeling on the floor, shook like a sieve.
He looked up at his father with eyes full of terror and pleading.
Roose Bolton's chest heaved violently.
Unprecedented humiliation and rage churned inside him like magma.
He wanted to flip the table!
He wanted to draw his dagger and stab it into this young man's smiling eyes!!
But he couldn't.
He knew if he made any move, the soldiers ambushing all around would rush in and chop him into meat paste.
Eat, or not eat?
Eat, and he swallows this ultimate humiliation.
His dignity, his pride, eight thousand years of House Bolton glory, chewed to bits by his own teeth!
Not eat?
Not eat is open defiance, disrespecting the new master Lynn.
Lynn would have countless reasons to execute him legitimately, then march on the Dreadfort.
Roose closed his eyes slowly.
To solve this peacefully, to not expose his trump card...
Endure!
Endure it!
When Roose opened his eyes again, they were calm pools, unreadable.
Roose picked up his knife and fork.
Elegant, composed.
As if tasting a delicacy from the Red Keep.
Scrape—
The knife grated against the silver plate.
He cut a small piece.
Then, under Lynn's slightly surprised gaze, he put the meat in his mouth.
He chewed slowly.
No expression on his face.
As if eating ordinary roast meat.
He swallowed.
Then cut a second piece.
A third.
...
He ate slowly, but resolutely.
Until the plate was clean.
He put down the cutlery and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Then he looked up at Lynn.
"The taste... was not bad."
Roose's voice remained flat.
"Thank you for the hospitality, Lord Lynn."
He made his choice.
He chose humiliation to survive.
He believed that as long as he showed enough submission, this young man might spare him to stabilize the North, and he wouldn't need to expose those secrets...
However.
Lynn looked at him and suddenly laughed.
Not a gentle laugh, nor a mocking one.
But a laugh full of pleasure and cruelty.
"Heh... hehe..."
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
Lynn's laughter echoed in the empty hall, piercing and eerie.
Roose's heart sank.
An ominous feeling enveloped him.
"Lord Bolton, you really... opened my eyes."
Lynn stopped laughing, leaning forward slightly.
His black eyes, like two bottomless pools, stared dead at Roose.
"I told you to eat it, and you really dared?"
"That was your son's flesh!"
"Even a tiger doesn't eat its cubs, but you, Roose Bolton, are more vicious than a tiger!"
"Someone so cold-blooded and heartless, who can eat his own son... leaving you alive would be a plague upon the world, wouldn't it?"
Lynn's voice grew colder and more menacing with every sentence!
The little color left in Roose's face drained away instantly!
He finally understood.
This wasn't a test!
It was a death trap from start to finish!
Whether he ate or not, only death awaited him!
Even if he stepped out with his left foot first, Lynn would execute him for disrespecting the hall by trying to leave too quickly!
Motherfucker, this demon!
Lynn never intended to solve this peacefully; he never planned to let him go!
"Guards!"
Lynn slammed the table, roaring!
"Roose Bolton is heartless and cruel, daring to eat his own son's flesh!"
"When the Northern army was ambushed in the Vale, he turned his coat and fled."
"Such a beast, despised by the world, what use is there in keeping him!"
"I order all soldiers to seize Roose Bolton immediately!"
With Lynn smashing his cup as the signal.
BANG—!!!
The hall doors were burst open from the outside!
Countless heavily armored Northern soldiers poured in, surrounding the lonely table!
Bright blades reflected cold light, pointing in unison at the ashen-faced man in the chair.
Roose looked at the array of steel, at the young man still smiling cruelly.
He knew he had lost.
He spent his life calculating others, manipulating hearts.
But in the end, he was played like a fiddle by a boy decades younger.
How ironic.
How... pathetic.
Roose slowly closed his eyes, but a strange smile curled on his lips.
He lost.
But he hadn't lost completely!
He still had his Blood Guards!
This was his final trump card!
And the reason he dared to come to Winterfell!
"Hehehe, Lynn."
"As you wish. You forced my hand!"