Standing at the edge of a small grove half a mile from Last Hearth, Roose Bolton stared at the distant castle shrouded in falling snow, his face grim.

He was not pleased. Not at all.

To facilitate the transport of supplies for the war against the White Walkers and ensure rapid troop movement in case of battle, the King’s Road along the Wall and the Gift had been cleared of snow by special teams, even during the harshest blizzards after Winter’s arrival. However, while that applied to the front lines, the rear was another matter entirely. The entire North was buried under snow so deep a man could hide in it by simply crouching down. Outside the castles and Winter Town, the vast white fields showed no trace of road or river to the naked eye.

The reason the North did not clear all roads like in the Gift was not because the Northerners were lazy, but because of limited resources and the unpredictable nature of Winter. Grain harvested and stored with difficulty was finite, and the length of the season impossible to predict. With additional resources needing to be allocated to support the Wall and fight the Ironborn, conserving food was paramount.

Clearing snow from every road in such a vast territory would require immense labor, and labor consumed energy, which in turn required food. The best way to conserve grain was to sleep more and move less. Other than nobles, servants within castles, and a small number of soldiers defending Winter Town, no one was permitted to do anything unrelated to surviving the Winter. As in generations past, the Northmen stockpiled food for a year or two, took their families to the nearest Winter Town, and entered a state resembling hibernation—spending most of the season indoors, asleep or idle.

With no one clearing snow, transportation was anything but convenient. Even for a native Northerner riding ponies fitted with snow pads that allowed them to travel the snow as if on flat ground, the journey from the Dreadfort to Last Hearth—skirting the Lonely Hills, crossing the White Knife, and traversing endless snowfields—left Roose Bolton, now advanced in years, utterly exhausted.

Of course, this was idle grumbling. The true reason for his fury had nothing to do with fatigue. He was angry because he shouldn’t have had to make the trip in the first place.

After more than a decade, the last surviving Targaryen had returned to the North with Dragons and Unsullied. Realizing it was a perfect opportunity to replace House Stark, Roose Bolton began training his troops and preparing for war, while also sending his trusted agent, Corley Snow, to the Queen’s temporary stronghold to report on the Starks’ “Dragon-killing plot.”

However, when the agent, disguised as the leader of a merchant caravan, arrived, he was stopped at the gates by the garrison placed there by Aegor and was never allowed an audience with the Queen. After exhausting all options to get through and failing, the man resorted to the backup plan. Part of the group would continue north to Crown Town to seek out the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, while the others would return and report what had happened to Roose Bolton.

According to the backup plan, once they reached Crown Town, they were to send ravens bearing coded messages every day to report on the status of the mission. But at the Dreadfort, the only message Roose received with the agreed-upon code was the first. All others only reported safety, lacking the vital marks they had planned.

If the failed meeting at Last Hearth could be explained as the Queen’s guard tightening security, then Corley Snow going silent in Crown Town and appearing to be under control hinted at something worse. It suggested Aegor West intended to preserve House Stark and maintain the North’s political balance, while overstepping bounds to interfere in the internal conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms.

Whether out of naivety or emotional entanglement, it was a betrayal of Roose Bolton’s plans. That cold-blooded bastard had not only broken free from Robb Stark’s influence, but had also rendered all the goodwill and support the Dreadfort had shown to the Night’s Watch meaningless.

The ally he had painstakingly cultivated had turned on him. Roose was so enraged he could grind his teeth to dust. But that betrayal could be dealt with later. The opportunity to win over the Queen was slipping through his fingers and demanded immediate action. Realizing Aegor might attempt to act independently and exclude him from the game, Roose took the risk of revealing his intent too early and decided to go in person. Jarman Buckwell might have been able to quietly send away a minor figure like Corley Snow, but he could never deny an audience to a powerful Lord who arrived in person.

This was a meeting that would decide the fate of House Bolton. In the vast North, only one between Stark and Bolton could survive to see the rise of the new dynasty.

…

As he approached Last Hearth, news arrived from various channels. The good news was that the former seat of House Umber was now defended by the Unsullied under Daenerys. Roose did not need to fear a military clash with the Night’s Watch under Aegor. The bad news was that Varys and Petyr Baelish were both here. With those two present, persuading the Queen to unleash her Dragon on Winterfell would be much harder.

Even so, he had no choice but to press forward and prepare for the worst. Confronting the whole North would not be easy, even with Dragons.

Over half an hour after sending word of his arrival, the distant castle gates creaked open, and a small party emerged, moving across the snow toward them.

Narrowing his eyes to study the approaching figures, Roose Bolton breathed a sigh of relief. The one in front was broad and stout. Though his face was hidden beneath a hood, his build made it clear he was not the famously small and lean Littlefinger. It was likely the eunuch, Varys.

That was good news. Roose had not forgotten that Petyr Baelish had once been fostered at Riverrun and had close ties with the women of House Tully, including Robb Stark’s mother and aunt. In a sense, Littlefinger was “friendly” with House Stark. Reporting the Starks to him would be like asking a lion to guard the sheep. Roose did not believe Baelish would be loyal to anyone, but he had a feeling that the price to buy him would be too steep.

Varys was another matter. Roose did not believe the Spider was loyal to anyone but himself. If the offer was sincere and the political benefit tempting enough, he would gladly stir the pot and plant his roots in the North, a region where his influence was still thin.

With that in mind, Roose forced a smile and stepped forward.

“Oh, my. Lord Bolton. I have long heard of the legendary Flaying family. To see the Lord of the Dreadfort in person is quite the delight,” Varys said first, voice cheerful as he rubbed his hands together in the cold. “What brings you so far through such dreadful weather to seek an audience with the Queen?”

“You are too kind, Lord Varys.” Roose secretly envied the man’s ability to feign warmth so convincingly. “I come to warn Her Grace. House Stark is plotting against the Queen and her Dragons. I urge caution and immediate measures to prevent danger.”

Looking to win new allies, or rather political partners, Roose did not beat around the bush. He laid out the full tale he had prepared in advance, repeating the same narrative sent earlier to Aegor: House Stark had conspired with the Northern Lords, feigning loyalty while using the Night’s Watch’s campaign Beyond the Wall as a cover to seize control of the Gift. They were secretly building Dragon-hunting ballistas and planning to eliminate the Queen and her Dragons in one swift stroke.

Though the message was simple in concept, telling it face to face with convincing detail took effort. Roose pressed on, delivering it thoroughly.

Varys, however, having spent a lifetime navigating political waters, had already guessed the truth before the story even ended.

This Lord of House Bolton wanted to use the Queen’s arrival to replace House Stark as rulers of the North.

He saw the flaws in the tale, and Roose likely knew he did. Normally, Varys would welcome such a bold visitor, invite him inside, and negotiate quietly, carefully gauging how useful this new “friend” might be, what rewards to offer, what cost to accept, and what gain to expect when it came time to betray him.

House Stark was old and hard to control. Supporting House Bolton’s rise would require significant help, and help always came at a cost. With proper handling, the North could become the final piece in Varys’s network of influence.

But right now, Varys had other priorities.

He wanted the Queen to return south as soon as possible, to break the siege of King’s Landing, overthrow House Baratheon, and join forces with Prince Aegor and the Golden Company. Whether they ruled together or fought for dominance, two major factions would be removed from the game. That would significantly reduce the resistance Varys might face in the future.

This took precedence over everything, including Roose Bolton’s ambition.

He would not jeopardize his plan by bringing Bolton’s tale to the Queen and risk having her delay her departure to deal with the North first.

“Lord Bolton, on behalf of the Queen, I thank you for coming all this way to deliver your warning,” Varys said with a smile. “But you may rest assured. Her Grace will be leaving the North in a few days. House Stark will not have the opportunity to harm her.”

“What?” Roose’s eyes widened. “But the Night’s Watch has sworn loyalty to Her Grace. Is she abandoning the Gift and her loyal subjects?”

“Certainly not. Regarding the Night’s Watch, I will immediately inform Lord Commander Aegor and arrange for Unsullied reinforcements to support Crown Town. Her Grace will not stand by while the North threatens her faithful allies and defenders of the realm,” Varys said with a placating smile. “As for you, my Lord…”

He stepped closer, perfume wafting from his robes, and glanced at the men Roose had brought. “Are your men trustworthy?”

Roose fought the instinct to glance back. “They are loyal men of the Dreadfort. Absolutely trustworthy.”

“Then I will speak plainly. The Queen’s itinerary is set and will not be altered. If I were you, my Lord, I would return to the Dreadfort immediately and act as if this visit never occurred. Endure this Winter quietly. When Her Grace holds the South and turns her attention to the North, I will reach out. Together, we can open the gates from within and crush the resistance in a single stroke. That will truly showcase your value and win you the Queen’s favor. When the rewards are handed out, House Bolton will have the Warden’s title without even asking. What do you think?”

Roose Bolton’s heart went cold.

What did he think?

The eunuch’s words were polite, but the meaning was clear. He would not be brought into the city. He would not see the Queen. The plan sounded nice, but Roose was no fool. Plans often failed. He had already taken the risk, made his preparations, even come in person. And now he was being told to go home and wait?

There was no such thing as an unbreachable wall. But if he drew his sword only to sheathe it again and wait, would he live to see it through?

Still, he had no choice. If Varys would not let him enter the city, he could not fight his way through Unsullied guards and burst in to deliver false information. That would only make matters worse.

Maintaining a composed expression, Roose opened his mouth to reply. But the words caught in his throat. He stared past Varys, eyes lifting higher.

Over the eunuch’s shoulder, a massive green Dragon rose from behind the castle walls. With a few powerful beats of its wings, it soared above the city and roared, then flew westward into the snow.

Even having seen a Dragon before, witnessing such a creature in daylight left a far deeper impression than a glimpse in the dark during the Long Lake battle.

Varys turned as well, frowning. The roar had unsettled him. Dragons hated the cold. Since being brought to Last Hearth for recovery, Drogon had remained grounded. Rhaegal, though less injured, had also been quiet. What, or who, had stirred it now?

Without another word, Varys beckoned an Unsullied.

“You. Return to the castle. Find out if Her Grace left on the Green Dragon. If not, have Ser Bookwell send his cavalry after it. We must know where Rhaegal went.”

(To be continued.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep