[Chapter Size: 1400 Words.]
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The Dreadfort stood east of Winterfell, almost in a straight line.
By the time Theon reached its gates, the fortress was already surrounded.
The lords who had once sworn loyalty to the Boltons now kept silent, as though they had no knowledge of the siege. They had never truly desired to serve House Bolton, but proximity to the Dreadfort had forced their allegiance.
As for the petty lords who merely wavered on the walls, waiting to "follow the stronger dragon," they no longer believed the Boltons had any hope of victory.
When Theon entered his war tent, several generals were waiting.
"Your Grace," said Grutan, "Roose Bolton seems determined to defend the Dreadfort to the death. Shall we storm the fortress?"
The Dreadfort was the second-largest stronghold in the North, rivaled only by Winterfell. The freezing climate gave Roose reason to hold fast, hoping to outlast Theon. If Ramsay succeeded in his schemes, Theon might be forced to withdraw. That was the gamble Roose had staked his life upon.
It was not in his nature to take reckless risks, he was cunning, cautious. But he knew Theon would never let him live. Theon had every reason to kill him: eliminating a traitor, proving his strength to the Northern lords, and securing his rule.
Thus Roose resisted, clinging to a desperate chance that Ramsay's capture of Selena would give him leverage.
Theon, meanwhile, had begun preparations for the siege. His engineers had developed a massive cannon powered by solid wildfire granules. The force released by such an explosion rivaled gunpowder, though far more devastating.
Years earlier, Theon had encouraged the study of gunpowder, but its energy was too weak to meet his needs. Progress was slow. Wildfire, however, had advanced quickly. By a strange accident, a method of producing solid wildfire had been discovered, far more stable than the liquid version, and vastly more explosive in equal measure.
Through relentless trial and error, the Machinery Bureau finally produced granular wildfire, and the siege cannon, nicknamed Tsunami, was its first true application.
Before the stunned eyes of the Dreadfort's defenders, three strange war machines were assembled by the Riverlands host. A scatter bomb was loaded, the fuse lit, and a thunderous roar split the air.
Under the soldiers' expectant gaze, the scatter bomb and two solid shot rounds smashed into the Dreadfort's wooden gates.
The gate was obliterated instantly. Splinters and iron fragments tore through guards who had no time to react.
Even Theon was astonished. Its reload time was long, its barrel short-lived, but its destructive power was undeniable.
Yet technology was still limited. Great cannons like the Tsunami could be forged, but finer weapons, muskets or flintlocks, remained beyond reach. Theon recalled their structures, but after countless failed trials and explosions, he knew the crude steel of this age could not produce the precision parts required.
Even the Tsunami itself carried danger. After twenty shots, its barrel risked bursting. To test its durability, condemned prisoners in Riverrun had been executed by its fire.
The rule was set: any cannon fired more than twenty times would be sold to the Free Cities of Essos for a fortune.
Each Tsunami cost six hundred gold dragons to build. In Essos, they could be sold for thirty thousand, without ammunition. Truly, as the saying went, a single shot was worth a fortune. Arms trade was, as always, the most lucrative of businesses.
While Theon's camp rejoiced, the Dreadfort descended into panic. None within knew what weapon had unleashed the thunder, but they saw the shattered gate and the corpses strewn across it.
When Theon ordered the assault, his soldiers advanced in disciplined formation toward the breach. A thin volley of arrows rained from the walls, but resistance was already faltering.
Most of the garrison had fled. With the gates destroyed and tens of thousands of armored men pouring in, defeat was inevitable.
No one wished to die.
As the defenders scattered, the Dreadfort's lines collapsed. Theon's men surged through the breach.
Yet the townsfolk soon noticed something remarkable: the soldiers of the Riverlands kept strict discipline. None burned, looted, or raped. No innocent was harmed.
Braver citizens even dared to peer from their doors, watching in awe at this strange and orderly host.
For the soldiers of Riverrun, looting civilians brought little profit, often less than their daily wages, and anyone caught would be tried by a military tribunal. It was simply a waste of money.
As for women, that was even less likely. The soldiers were notoriously picky. Even in Riverrun's city of Seagard, with all its beauties, they were choosy. To them, the rough women of the northern frontier held no appeal.
Many young soldiers, with no families and plenty of coin from their high pay, spent their free time in Seagard, frequenting bathhouses.
Long ago, Theon had purchased Riverrun's largest brothel, renaming it Snow Moon City. With modern business practices introduced, it became a luxurious and respectable establishment. Many nobles and officers were proud to hold membership there.
…
At the Dreadfort, when the castle gates fell, Theon stepped into the cold, damp hall.
"Marquess Bolton… ah, no, Lord Bolton… wait, that doesn't sound right either. Oh, I remember now, Your Majesty Bolton. Ha!" Theon's mocking tone echoed.
"Tell me, Lord Bolton, King in the North, why are the hearths in your castle unlit? Have you run out of firewood? Someone, quickly, light a fire for Lord Bolton, before he freezes to death!"
His words were sharp, yet his voice carried the false weight of concern.
"Theon Greyjoy, I hear your wife is with child?" Roose Bolton replied, unmoved by the mockery.
Theon froze. It was no secret that Selena was pregnant, almost everyone knew. But why would Roose bring it up now? Was he gloating?
"Indeed, my wife is with child. Would you care to offer your blessings, Lord Bolton?" Theon asked casually.
Roose poured himself a cup of wine, speaking with feigned confidence. "My son Ramsay has already led Dreadfort's finest killers to the Iron Islands. Dishonorable, perhaps, as dishonorable as your capture of Moat Cailin. But your wife, and your unborn child, are in my hands now. I have received Ramsay's letter. He succeeded."
Theon's expression twisted in fury. "You vile wretch, you are unworthy of the name 'lord'!" he roared.
Relief washed over Roose as he saw Theon rattled. He sneered, "Lord Theon, was your taking of White Harbor and Moat Cailin any more honorable?"
But Theon's face suddenly calmed, his voice level. "Fort Pyke is guarded by the finest men in my service. Your fool of a son could never sneak inside."
Roose's heart clenched. This sea-spawned devil is not so easily deceived. Yet he doubled down, rambling about Ramsay's cruelty, how his son had slipped into castles and butchered defiant lords.
Feigning unease, Theon asked, "What is it you want?"
Believing he had won, Roose laid out his terms: two million gold dragons, twenty thousand suits of armor and weapons, vast stores of food. He promised to yield Moat Cailin and White Harbor, and swore never to invade the North again.
"When you withdraw to the Riverlands and return those keeps, I shall write to Ramsay and command him to release your wife," Roose finished.
"Very well. I agree to your terms," Theon replied.
Elated, Roose immediately summoned parchment, demanding Theon's seal and handprint.
Theon took up the quill, but a sudden, almost friendly smile spread across his face.
"Bind Roose Bolton," he ordered, "and take him to Winterfell!"
Roose's face blanched. "Theon! Will you truly gamble with your wife's life? If your vassals hear of this, what will they think of you?"
But Theon only laughed. "Roose, if you told me Ramsay had slipped into the Red Keep and forced himself upon Cersei Lannister, perhaps I would believe you."
He dismissed Bolton's threats without hesitation. He knew Fort Pykr's defenses too well. Selena and Myrcella were safe, guarded beyond measure.
Not to mention Apollo in the caves, and even Max, roaming free in the gardens, was a terror in his own right. On all fours, his height reached 2.2 meters.
As Theon had predicted, Ramsay's reckless charge met disaster. He and his riders pushed themselves to exhaustion, riding day and night, only to be struck down at the very first obstacle.
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