Ramsay Bolton laughed wildly on the back of his galloping horse.
The wind and snow lashed his face, but it could not cool the burning ecstasy in his heart.
Behind him, three thousand soldiers from The Dreadfort followed closely.
They ran very fast, with almost no casualties.
For Ramsay Bolton, this was good news.
The horse hooves crushed the snow, and also crushed their last reverence for House Stark.
Running away?
No, this was not running away.
This was a triumph!
It was a gamble, staking the future of the entire North!
"My Lord! Are we... are we really going back to The Dreadfort?"
A loyal knight caught up, his voice tinged with unease.
"Back to The Dreadfort?"
Rams reined in his horse, looking at his subordinate with an idiotic gaze.
"What for?"
"Waiting for House Stark to settle scores in autumn?"
He stuck out his tongue, licked his chapped lips, and a morbid glint flickered in his pale eyes.
Since he chose to do this, it was already a life-or-death situation, with no other option.
"That fool Robb, he's probably surrounded by the Vale army now, unable to fend for himself."
"And that self-proclaimed clever Lynn, does he think he's infallible?"
"He's currently leading his monsters to smash themselves against The Bloody Gate's walls!"
"The entire North, all its main forces, all its lords, are all in the South!"
Rams's voice grew high-pitched, filled with an enchanting magic.
"Do you know what this means?"
Rams suddenly pointed North.
"It means! Winterfell! Is now an undefended brothel!"
"And inside, live some of the most noble women in all of Westeros!"
His gaze swept over the face of every soldier, watching the greedy flames gradually ignite in their eyes.
"Catelyn! Ned's wife, the daughter of House Tully!"
"And Myrcella! Of House Baratheon, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms! Lynn's newlywed wife!"
"As long as we capture them, tell me, will Ned Stark and that Lynn choose to continue dying in the South, or will they return shamefully, humbly kneeling to lick my boots?"
The soldiers burst into crude laughter.
They understood.
Their young master was not fleeing the battlefield at all.
He intended to use the Vale and The Riverlands to tie down the North, and then, taking advantage of the North's internal emptiness, execute a 'magpie takes over the cuckoo's nest' maneuver!
This was simply a brilliant plan!
"When I become the king in the north,"
Rams's face revealed a chilling smile.
"Each of you will get land and women!"
"And now, return to Winterfell!"
"As long as I can take Winterfell, Catelyn and Myrcella, after I've had my fill, will be yours to do with as you please!"
"Roar—!"
The Dreadfort soldiers let out a roar like a mountain collapsing and a sea raging, their morale unprecedentedly high.
Rams watched all this with satisfaction.
He felt like he was the chosen one, the true king destined to rule the North.
He still remembered seeing Eddard Stark with his own eyes in the army marching South.
That stern old stubborn man, as if the whole world owed him money, was walking side-by-side with his son Robb.
What did this mean?
It meant Winterfell had no one in charge now!
It was simply a godsend opportunity!
"We must act quickly."
"We must seize Winterfell before anyone can react!"
Rams spurred his horse and galloped once again towards that grey castle, which held all his ambitions... Two days later.
The majestic silhouette of Winterfell finally appeared on the vast, white snowfield.
It seemed so quiet, and... so vulnerable.
Rams's breathing became rapid.
An empty Winterfell... he could almost hear the screams of the women in the city, could smell the noble fragrance of Princess Myrcella.
She was too beautiful.
Why did Lynn deserve such a woman?
He wanted to possess her.
Then let all his soldiers have her, and finally, he himself would personally skin her to make the most magnificent cloak.
He would force Catelyn to watch her son's and husband's heads impaled on flagpoles, and then make her sing praises to him all night long.
"All troops, prepare!"
Rams drew the scimitar from his waist, its blade glinting with a bloodthirsty chill under the grey sky.
"Charge in!"
"Everyone who resists, give them to me..."
His words caught in his throat.
Because, Winterfell's heavy gate, at this moment, let out a massive 'creak' and slowly opened outwards.
Rams's heart suddenly leaped.
Surrendered?
So fast?
However, what emerged from the city gate was not a butler holding keys, nor weeping women.
But rows of soldiers clad in heavy armor, holding long spears!
Their armor was polished brightly, their steps were uniform, their eyes were cold as iron!
Banners emblazoned with Direwolves, silver running fish, and giants unfurled on the city walls, flapping in the wind!
Stark!
Manderly!
Umber!
Didn't they say all the armies had gone South?
This... where the hell did this army come from?!
Rams's smile froze on his face.
He saw a person slowly emerge from that army.
That person wore familiar Direwolf sigil armor, draped in a wolfskin cloak, his grey eyes showing no emotion.
When he removed his helmet, revealing a weathered yet resolute face, Rams felt his blood instantly freeze.
Ned Stark?
Fuck!
How could it be?!
How in the hell could this be?!
"You... you weren't... weren't you supposed to be on the Kingsroad?!"
"I saw you fighting with the Vale cavalry with my own eyes!"
"How could you have returned to Winterfell before me?"
Rams shrieked, a sound not quite human, pointing at Ned as if he had seen a ghost.
The three thousand Dreadfort soldiers behind him were all stunned.
They all clearly remembered seeing the Warden of the North with their own eyes in the southern expedition army.
"Me?"
Ned Stark's voice was very calm, a calmness that inspired fear.
"I have never left Winterfell."
He looked at Rams's face, twisted by extreme shock, and a hint of pity flickered in his eyes.
"The blood of House Bolton always flows with the venom of betrayal."
"Lynn reminded me of this on his first day back in the North."
"He said, a snake is always a snake."
"You can't expect it to behave in winter; give it even a little warmth, and it will surely bite you back."
Ned's gaze passed over Rams, looking at the restless soldiers behind him.
"He gave me a few interesting gifts."
"Perhaps seeing this will clear all your doubts."
Ned turned sideways, and a guard behind him walked forward, holding something in both hands.
It was a mask.
A lifelike human skin mask made of some unknown material.
That face was all too familiar to Rams.
It was his own face!
Every detail, every wrinkle, was imitated with uncanny realism!
"The 'me' you saw,"
Ned's voice struck Rams's heart like hammer blows.
"Was merely Lynn in disguise."
"I have always been here."
"Right here in Winterfell, waiting for you, this venomous snake, to crawl into the cage I had already prepared for you."
"Boom—!"
Rams's mind went blank.
He felt as if he had been pushed off a ten-thousand-foot cliff, plunging into an endless, icy abyss.
Bait.
Robb was bait.
This time, it was bait again!
This damn... even the undefended Winterfell was Lynn's bait!
That Lynn... that king-beyond-the-wall whom he considered an impulsive brute... he had calculated everything from the very beginning!
He had not only anticipated Lysa Arryn's every reaction.
He had even pre-empted his own family's betrayal, turning it into a deadly trap to lure him in!
He thought he was the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.
But little did he know, from beginning to end, he was merely the jumping, self-proclaimed clever mantis!
And Lynn was the hunter, standing at the highest point, coldly observing everything!
"No... no!!!"
Rams let out a desperate roar.
His proud intelligence, his brilliant conspiracy, at this moment, seemed like a complete joke.
"Lynn!!!"
He roared to the sky, his voice filled with endless malice and unwillingness.
However, his only response was Ned Stark's cold, merciless judgment.
"Soldiers of The Dreadfort!"
Ned's voice was like thunder, resounding across the snowfield.
"Rams has betrayed the North, betrayed honor!"
"Now, lay down your weapons, and I can pardon your crimes!"
"Otherwise..."
Ned slowly put on his helmet and drew out his valyrian steel greatsword named "Ice."
"Kill!"
The cold blade pointed directly at The Dreadfort's army formation, which had completely fallen into chaos and fear.
"For the North!"
Ned's voice carried long-suppressed fury.
"Crush them!"
"Kill—!"
Below Winterfell, thousands of well-rested Northern soldiers let out earth-shattering roars.
They swept like a released flood towards the rebel army, which had lost all will to fight!
Ramsay Bolton sat blankly on his horse, watching the iron tide surging towards him.
He knew everything was over.
He had no retreat.
To the South was Robb's army.
To the North was Ned's trap.
He was like a mouse completely cornered in its hole, with no way out.
But he was Ramsay Bolton!
He had not yet become the heir of The Dreadfort!
He could not die yet!
"Kill! Kill them all for me!"
A hysterical madness appeared on Rams's face.
Waving his scimitar, he was the first to charge into that iron tide!
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