Errok expected nothing good from the dwarf, yet still asked coldly, "What is it that I don't understand?"
The dwarf lifted his chin at a forty-five-degree angle toward the drifting white clouds and spoke softly. "Family."
Family?
Errok's expression changed.
Tyrion sighed deeply and continued, "When the Dragon Queen swore her oath, His Majesty Aegon was still hiding his identity.
"The Dragon Queen built a great foundation in Slaver's Bay. His Majesty Aegon, as the late king's eldest and only legitimate son, held the senior claim to the Iron Throne.
"They are aunt and nephew by blood, yet both are rulers. Two monarchs cannot walk the same path and are destined to branch into different lines.
"The way of a king begins with independence of will.
"His Majesty Aegon had no obligation to abide by his aunt's oath, but out of regard for their family bond, he chose to leave Slaver's Bay quietly without saying goodbye.
"He even abandoned the ancestral Targaryen sigil, declaring their house divided into two branches.
"From that moment on, his actions represented only himself and had nothing to do with the Queen.
"The Dragon Queen has kept her oath, but she is no cold, unfeeling wooden statue. Out of familial affection, and without breaking her vow, she silently let go of her most relied-upon minister."
He jabbed a thumb against his own chest.
"Alas, two monarchs—one a kind aunt, the other a dutiful nephew. Their bond runs deep. How could someone who would slaughter brothers for a throne understand such affection?"
"What are you implying?" Errok snarled, his teeth grinding.
"Everyone knows how Renly died. Times have changed. Back then, no one understood magic and thought Renly's death inexplicable. Now, people see the one at your side…"
Tyrion glanced at the red-robed woman radiating waves of heat and felt a sudden weakness in his voice.
This woman was truly extraordinary. Though the sky was clear, Winterfell lay beneath a blanket of white snow, frozen solid. The northern wind cut like nails driven into bone.
Even wrapped in furs like a ball, Tyrion still felt cold.
Yet the woman wore a thin, flowing red robe, most of her pale, swaying chest exposed. Not only did she feel no cold, but the warmth around her spread to everyone near her.
It seemed even the Dragon Queen could not match that.
No wonder they called her half-god.
And Errok truly was a fool. Neither at the Battle of the Blackwater nor in this southern march against Winterfell had he brought her.
"You kinslaying villain—father, uncle, nephew—you dare accuse me of murdering kin?"
Errok's teeth snapped like cracking ice, pulling Tyrion back to his senses.
Seeing the man's murderous expression, the dwarf stole another look at the red priestess.
"Calm down. I killed my father too. We're about the same. I'm not looking down on you."
Hearing that only made Errok more agitated. His body trembled as he growled, "Little Imp, are you trying to start a war?"
"If it's a duel, I don't mind," Tyrion lifted a brow.
"You?" Errok grasped the red sword at his waist.
Jon glanced at the blade—half drawn—and saw the red glow and heat were long gone.
Right. Errok hadn't replenished its magic in a very long time.
"A knightly duel. You ride a horse, I ride a dragon," Tyrion said with a grin.
"You—" Errok's gaunt, sallow face suddenly flushed purple.
"Your Majesty," the red-robed woman said gently, her voice like a lover's whisper, "since this knight dares challenge the Prince That Was Promised, why not grant him his wish?"
Tyrion caught a glimpse of the red gemstone at her throat glowing faintly, and a shiver ran down his spine as sweat gathered on his back.
"Haha, don't be so serious. I'm only joking. A little dwarf like me has no right to challenge a king.
"It's freezing out here. Why don't we help the Warden of the North take Winterfell first, then sit by a warm hearth, share wine, and reminisce?"
Jon had no interest in watching his allies quarrel further. He invited all the commanders into his tent to discuss strategy.
Looking at the map Jon provided, Tyrion saw detailed markings of every watchtower and building in Winterfell. Even Bolton troop deployments, scorpion placements, and the exact locations of Ramsay's quarters and command room were point-for-point accurate.
Clearly, this would be another battle of information asymmetry.
He sighed. "We can be soaking in the hot springs tonight. Earl Manderly knows the terrain. Have him lead a thousand cavalry to wait outside.
"I'll open the gates. Everyone else charges in and kills every flayed man inside.
"If anyone escapes, Manderly can pursue them. How does that sound?"
Jon nodded. As long as the dwarf blew open the gate quickly, the rest would be simple.
"Your Majesty Stannis, what do you think?" he asked, looking at Errok's dark expression.
"Where is Roose Bolton?" Errok asked.
The map had no mark for the elder flayer.
Lord Eel stroked his greasy chin and muttered, "Ramsay married Lady Arya. Winterfell belongs to him now.
"After the bastard beat you, the Leech Lord left Winterfell. He said he'd been away from the Dreadfort too many years and missed home."
"That's not my sister. The Iron Throne used Jeyne Poole to impersonate Arya," Jon said quickly.
Errok tapped the map twice with his bony fingers. "I don't care about the others, but Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay Bolton are mine. Their crimes are beyond count. They must face the king's judgment."
Tyrion sneered. "Burning them for the Red God? What law of any realm allows that?"
"Since His Majesty Aegon is not here, King Stannis holds the highest rank," Davos reminded them.
"Theon…" Jon's expression twisted. "Theon didn't kill Rickon and Bran. His crimes don't merit death. And now… he has already suffered enough. Maybe we should let him go."
Erlu turned his head and glared at Jon. "He broke his oath and launched a sneak attack on Winterfell. That was the spark that set off everything that followed and indirectly destroyed your family. How could you possibly forgive him so easily?"
Jon frowned and remained silent.
If Theon had not betrayed Robb, Winterfell would not have fallen. The Little Bastard would not have survived. At the time, the Little Bastard had been arrested as Reek and thrown into Winterfell's dungeons; the best outcome for him would have been taking the black. Theon released him. And if not for that, Moat Cailin would not have fallen to the ironborn, Robb would not have needed to rush back to the North, and everything that followed would have been different.
This differs from the corresponding plot in Game of Thrones. Although Littlefinger enjoyed sending "gifts," the combined strength of Ramsay and the flayers was nothing to him.
Between a battered and divided North and the fertile, intact Vale, which would you choose?
Anyone with a functioning mind would choose the Vale, then reclaim Winterfell with the army of the Vale.
That is why Sansa held greater value as a betrothal candidate for "Heir Harry," stabilizing Littlefinger's control over the Vale.
Of course, the sudden appearance of Aegon, rider of the Black Death, made him even more valuable than Harry.
Regardless, the Little Bastard could never marry Sansa. Yet ruling the North required the Stark name.
Thus Tywin used Sansa's handmaid Jeyne Poole to assume the identity of the "missing person" Arya. Roose Bolton naturally arranged for his bastard son to marry the false princess.
Before becoming "Arya," Jeyne had even spent some time "training" in Littlefinger's chain of establishments for fallen women.
The Little Bastard not only married a handmaid, but that handmaid had worked as a prostitute for more than half a year. There is no better word for it than pitiful.
Jon's ravens had returned to Winterfell several times, and he knew the true identity of "Arya." He did not send Mance Rayder on the long mission to rescue his "sister," so Theon remained in Winterfell.
Tyrion furrowed his brow. "You may put Ramsay and Theon on trial, but you cannot hold a private tribunal. By tradition, at minimum you must invite witnesses from both the nobility and the common folk."
He didn't care about Ramsay or Theon's fate, but the fact that Erlu specifically named the two meant their false royal blood had power. Theon was, after all, the son of King Balon, and Ramsay styled himself King in the North.
"That is only proper."
"It's perfectly reasonable."
"Even the whore queen would invite witnesses."
Lord Eel narrowed his tiny eyes and expressed his agreement first. Then the northern and riverland knights joined in support.
With consensus reached, the battle began immediately.
A three-hundred-kilogram oil-filled firebomb plummeted from four hundred meters in the air. The gatehouse was instantly engulfed in flames. When the gate finally collapsed, Jon was the first to charge in, riding a towering, buffalo-sized long-haired unicorn. Leading five hundred unicorn cavalry, he stormed into Winterfell, then—
In truth, Ramsay Bolton's forces were not weak. The flayers had three thousand men; the northern houses that sided with the Boltons—such as Barrowton and Hornwood—numbered around five thousand; and the Freys contributed two thousand more.
Ten thousand men defending the castle were more than enough to resist an army ten times their size. Combined with the frigid northern climate, the defenders held every advantage.
Without Tyrion's "airborne bombardment" cheat, Jon and the Little Bastard—the "fated Snows"—might have ended up evenly matched, fighting for a year or more.
Given Ramsay's cunning and cruelty, Jon might not have won in the end.
Even with the wyvern providing air support, Tyrion still couldn't sleep in a comfortable stone castle that night.
The battle was fierce. Because Ramsay's right leg had earlier been bitten off by Jon, he did not charge into the fray but instead directed the battle from inside the castle. Jon's direwolf and Tyrion's wyvern couldn't take off his head.
As long as the command structure held, the battle kept going—from noon until dusk.
Some northern nobles who had sided with the Boltons even nearly escaped under cover of darkness. The struggle continued until the early morning of the next day, when the bloody flayed man banners of House Bolton finally vanished from Winterfell.
Winterfell's training yard.
The once smooth, pristine snow was now stained with black wet mud churned up by horses and men, mixed with the dark red blood sprayed by torn corpses.
It looked like a new white Myrish wool carpet tossed into a latrine and rinsed through filth.
At the center of the yard, more than a dozen knights in disordered armor and utter despair were tied to stakes, surrounded by tall piles of firewood.
Lord Eel wore an expression of joyous vengeance, his polished high riding boots making crisp, satisfied squelching sounds in the filthy snow.
He stopped in front of a bald man with a short chin and watery red eyes, grinning maliciously. "Walder Frey, did you enjoy my meat pies?"
"What?" The short-chinned man blinked his moist red eyes in confusion, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the barrel-like, bloated fat man.
Gradually, he came to his senses and cursed, "Traitor! You swore to the Iron Throne and pledged loyalty to the Bolton duke. You broke your oaths. Retribution will fall upon you."
"My liege has always been only one: the King in the North, Stark." Lord Eel sneered repeatedly. "As for you and your Freys, retribution has already come."
"Hurry up. Everyone is waiting!"
Not far away, Ser Gaudy Farring, standing beside Erlu, urged impatiently.
Yes, Erlu had brought a large group of red believers to conduct their noon prayer. The more than a dozen nobles bound inside the firewood piles were the sacrifices.
(PS: In A Song of Ice and Fire, Jon truly believed Arya had married Ramsay and sent Mance to rescue her, which led to the scene of Theon pulling Jeyne Poole over the castle walls. In the show Game of Thrones, Jeyne was replaced with Sansa.
Without Mance Rayder and the help of many wildlings, Theon would never have been able to escape the main keep with Jeyne.)
(End of chapter)
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