In the dungeon.
More than a dozen chieftains of the mountain clans were bound to the floor with iron chains.
The cell door suddenly opened, and someone walked in.
…
"Roy Riddle—what are you doing?!"
Several chieftains seemed to sense impending disaster. Each one shouted loudly, bravado masking fear.
Thk!
A longsword slid into one chieftain's chest as if nothing resisted it. Blood erupted, splashing Roy from head to toe.
"Roy! Do you even know what you're doing?!"
Thk!
Roy answered with action—killing another chieftain in the blink of an eye.
The dungeon instantly boiled over. The remaining chieftains cursed him, struggling violently against their chains.
Roy did not react. He simply stepped to the next chieftain.
"Wait! Brother Roy—I'll surrender! I'll submit—"
Thk!
Roy swung again, slaughtering him like a dead dog.
"You madman! You traitor to the mountain men! We already surrendered—why are you still killing us?!"
Thk!
"Our clansmen will avenge me—" Thk!
…
The stench of blood spread through the sealed dungeon, churning and thickening.
Damp rot, heavy sweat, and the sharp reek of fear—filth spilling uncontrolled—mixed into a suffocating miasma.
It was like a slaughterhouse—no, like some earthly hell.
And the architect of that "hell," Roy Riddle, was drenched in blood like a wraith crawled up from the underworld.
As chieftain after chieftain fell, the dungeon gradually quieted.
Only one remained—
The chieftain of the Riddle Clan: Roy's own brother, Riddle.
Riddle was strangely calm. No rage, no fear—nothing showed on his face.
He looked at his younger brother standing before him and asked in a flat voice:
"Tell me. Why?"
The silent Roy finally spoke.
He shook his head slowly. "Brother, don't blame me. I was forced."
Riddle closed his eyes in pain. His body trembled slightly. Only after a long moment did he rein in his emotions and say:
"Let us out—now. We still have a chance. We can go out and rally the other mountain clans. As long as they don't want to be enslaved by House Bolton, they'll unite with us and resist—"
"Brother." Roy cut him off. "We've already lost."
Riddle glared at him and snapped, "What? One defeat and you've lost your nerve? We still have countless people. The mountains and forests are full of kin we can rely on!"
Roy met his brother's eyes without flinching. "I haven't lost my nerve.
Brother—you fought in this battle too. Don't you understand where the gap truly lies?
Were the mountain clans less brave than them?
No. What we lack isn't courage. What we lack is well-made armor—swords that can cut through anything—flames that can burn the world itself!
Without those, even if we gather ten times as many mountain men, we will never defeat those nobles!"
"Cough—cough—cough…"
Riddle erupted into violent coughing, clearly furious at his brother's words. He cursed, "Then what do you want?! To surrender to the nobles?"
"You… you bastard. Coward. I misjudged you."
After a long while—when Riddle had finally cursed himself hoarse—
Roy tugged at the corner of his mouth. His expression turned strange.
"Brother, don't blame me… blame your wife for being too irresistible."
Riddle froze. The instant he thought of his wife, his complexion changed drastically.
"You wouldn't…?" he blurted.
Roy stepped forward. The blood-red sword in his hand punched through Riddle's chest as Roy shouted:
"Don't blame me—!"
Riddle roared, thick blood spilling from his mouth.
Yet there was little hatred in his eyes—only unbearable grief.
"This… is not tolerated by the gods… you… you… why… would you do… such a thing… despised by the gods…"
Roy stared at his brother's labored suffering, expressionless, and said evenly:
"She seduced me first."
Riddle seemed to struggle to say more—but his shattered heart could no longer hold up his body. Blood poured out.
His head finally lolled to one side, and he went still.
Roy stared at his brother's corpse for a long time, as though he did not know what he was thinking.
Then he slowly turned, went to the door, and unbarred the locked cell.
Whoosh—
A razor North wind rushed in, but it could not move the cold mask on Roy's face—nor the soul already congealed by blood.
"Roy—where is Lord Riddle?"
"And our chieftains—where are they?!"
…
"They're dead."
Roy's face remained blank as he answered the prisoners' frantic questions.
"What?"
"Didn't you hear me?
They're all dead. I'm your chieftain now."
The moment they realized their leaders had been killed, the clansmen's expressions twisted. They glared, cursed, and some even tried to rush Roy and kill him.
The guards posted at the dungeon hurried to block them. They even cut down a few of the worst agitators before the prisoner riot could take shape.
At that moment, Domeric—surrounded by soldiers—walked into the dungeon.
The captives gradually fell silent, turning their eyes toward the noble who would decide their fate.
Under their gazes—some hopeful, some terrified—Domeric announced loudly:
"Anyone willing to submit, I will pardon for the capital crime of rebellion."
The prisoners went still. Then, led by their new chieftain Roy Riddle, they dropped to their knees.
Cheers erupted:
"Thank the merciful lord for forgiving our sins!"
"We will submit forever!"
"We will serve for life!"
…
A cramped, chaotic wooden house—absurdly—was the only place in all of Greatwood Town fit to lodge anyone.
Wendel directed a few soldiers to clear a space in the center of the room, laying down thick cushions and setting a small low table.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of milk being sipped and dried meat being chewed.
The mountain-clan rebellion was finally resolved. Domeric used this rare lull to rest and eat.
Jorah Mormont cleared his throat and spoke first.
"My lord Domeric—these savage mountain men are unruly, hard to control. I fear their submission isn't sincere," Jorah said, worry on his face.
"They're immensely strong. Put them in heavy armor and they'll make excellent heavy infantry. As for loyalty—loyalty can be cultivated."
Domeric understood the logic of "carrot in one hand, stick in the other."
And with those "traitors" who had no road back, he had planted seeds of distrust inside their own ranks—everything firmly within his grasp.
Three days later, Domeric led his army back to the Lonely Mountain.
The mountain clans across the region swore oaths of fealty.
Thus, the rebellion came to an end.
-
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
📢 Dark Secrets Await in the North! 📢
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