He met his "cheap old man" again in the reception hall of the administrative building.
Lord Roose looked like he'd been on the road all day—dusty, travel-worn—yet there wasn't a trace of fatigue on his face. Only his eyes were shot through with blood.
"Father."
When Domeric stepped into the hall, Roose was gently wiping down a longsword with a silk cloth.
The blade had followed Roose for many years. More than a decade ago, during Robert's Rebellion, he had used this very sword to cut down countless foes on the battlefield.
Roose slid it back into its scabbard with deliberate care and set it on the rack beside him. Only then did he turn to face his son.
His gaze was deep. Then, without warning, he asked, "Domeric—do you remember House Bolton's words?"
"My blade is still sharp," Domeric answered without hesitation.2
"Good. I hope you never forget it.
"But I didn't come here for nostalgia. I came to tell you something."
"What is it?" Domeric's eyelid twitched—then his expression smoothed over again.
"Don't be so tense." Roose let out a soft sigh. "This should count as good news.
"It's about your marriage."
"Hm?"
Domeric already knew the Manderlys and Lady Catelyn both wanted an alliance by marriage—but he had no interest in deciding so early.
With the canon timeline about to start, the future of every house was a fog of knives. If he married into the wrong one and got dragged down with them, that would be a very stupid way to die.
Now Roose was bringing it up again… which meant something had changed.
"I originally intended to keep it quiet," Roose continued. "I didn't want to force you into a choice so soon.
"But a few days ago, your business partner—White Harbor's honey-tongued, dagger-hearted lord, that fat old man Wyman—somehow got word that Lady Catelyn meant to make you her son-by-law. She wants to marry her eldest daughter to you.
"So Wyman went to Winterfell in person to 'beg pardon'—declaring House Manderly's eternal loyalty to the Lord of Winterfell, and swearing the Manderlys would never 'compete' with House Stark for a son-in-law.
"Worse, he made it a spectacle. Now every house in the North knows."
"…What?" Domeric was almost speechless. "Father, I don't understand."
"You're wondering why Wyman would abase himself like that—why he'd grovel so shamelessly to House Stark?"
Roose seemed to read the confusion straight off Domeric's face.
Truthfully, it was baffling. White Harbor's prosperity depended on the iron trade tied to the Lonely Mountain. Wyman had no reason to abandon a Bolton marriage so quickly—certainly no reason to ride to Winterfell and humiliate himself, throwing his house's pride into the mud.
Yes, the Manderlys were Stark bannermen—but not to that extent.
And in Westeros, noble marriages were not supposed to be regulated like a tax code. A liege had no proper right to dictate a bannerman's match.
"…Is it because of my campaign beyond the Wall?" Domeric thought it through, eliminating everything else.
Roose's eyes warmed with a flicker of approval. "Your political instincts are sharp, Domeric.
"To be honest, I was shocked myself. I assumed your expedition was just you helping the Night's Watch clear out wildlings—making a show of it, collecting a little glory among the nobles.
"But you didn't just beat the King-Beyond-the-Wall—you captured nearly a hundred thousand wildlings alive.
"Gods… sometimes I wonder if the gods truly favored me, to give me an heir like you—one who is not only a merchant's genius, but an undefeated commander."
"It seems I overdid it," Domeric muttered, rubbing his face. He hadn't fully accounted for how much shock—and quiet fear—"captured the King-Beyond-the-Wall" would ignite in the minds of northern lords.
Roose went on. "Before, the Lonely Mountain was 'that little holding that makes money.' Now everyone knows you can raise ten thousand men without even sweating."
"So the old balance of power in the North is broken," Domeric said.
"Exactly." Roose's expression turned severe. "Lonely Mountain plus the Dreadfort now has the strength to face Winterfell head-on. Anyone with eyes can see that. So they start asking themselves whether House Bolton intends to fight for the North again."
Roose's voice cooled. "That old man Wyman likely sees it too. He fears White Harbor being dragged into a Bolton–Stark struggle—so he's trying to crawl out early, in a posture that borders on pathetic."
"But we don't want to be enemies of House Stark."3
"Domeric." Roose's tone sharpened slightly. "This world is cruel. For nobles, it's rarely a question of what you want. It's a question of what you can.
"The lords of the North don't care whether House Bolton wants Winterfell's seat. They care whether House Bolton can take it."
…
Without noticing, dusk deepened. Servants came in to light the oil lamps.
Father and son stood by the window, looking out at a night so dark it felt bottomless. The lamplight barely dented it.
"Domeric," Roose said after a long pause, "you're well-read. You know the history between House Bolton and House Stark."
Domeric nodded.
House Stark liked to boast of "eight thousand years of Kings in the North," but in truth, they had clawed their way up through blood and rivals.
In those ancient days, House Bolton—under the title of the Red Kings—ruled all the lands east of the White Knife, far stronger than the early Starks.
The ironborn ravaged the Sunset Sea, holding the western shore and Bear Island. The Starks couldn't dream of sea trade; even walking a beach could get you killed.
By contrast, the Narrow Sea coast was steadier. The Boltons could trade more freely with the richer southern world across the sea.
Worse still: Stark strength on land was choked. The Neck, the gateway in and out of the North, was held by the independent Marsh Kings. The kingsroad didn't yet exist. The Starks' growth was boxed in on every side.
Between House Stark and the Marsh Kings stood yet another realm—the Barrow Kings. Rumor said the Barrow Kings were the true power of the North, their Barrowton the richest town before White Harbor was ever founded.
Even the Wolfswood belonged to other kings then. And no—Winterfell did not yet exist.
There were, by some counts, seven or eight other petty kingdoms as well.
So the Starks began with land that was not only small, but poorly positioned—hardly fertile ground for power.
In the end, the Starks rose by overthrowing the Barrow Kings.
Only around six thousand years ago—under the crushing pressure of Andal invasions—the Red Kings of House Bolton, attacked from multiple sides, bent the knee to House Stark.4
By that arithmetic, it took House Stark nearly two thousand years to establish a true advantage over House Bolton.
In the wars of the two kings, the Boltons destroyed Winterfell twice. In return, the Starks never once took the Dreadfort.
When the Andal threat receded, the Boltons raised their banners again—joining with House Greystark of the Wolf's Den in a brutal war. In the end, the Greystarks were wiped out.
Then, a little over three hundred years ago, the Stark "Wolf King" Harlon Stark besieged the Dreadfort for two years, until the defenders ran out of food and surrendered.
After that, House Bolton ceded a vast swath of land north of the White Knife. House Karstark was born—Karhold, as it would later be known.
Through further elevations and transfers of lesser holdings, House Bolton lost more than half its lands. Its power shrank.
In Stark eyes, it became manageable—no longer an existential threat.
And while the North looked like a quiet place to grow old, its geopolitics were poisonous:
Two long coasts that drew raiders and pirates;
Wildlings beyond the Wall who climbed and sailed south to raid;
Andals and southern adventurers dreaming of carving out new crowns.
So who, in freezing hell, wanted civil war for fun?
From then on, House Bolton had been careful—loyal, useful, a central pillar of northern stability.
Especially Roose himself: competent at home, and outwardly dutiful—fighting beside Eddard Stark in Robert's Rebellion; later, in the canon timeline, following Robb Stark south into the War of the Five Kings.
Domeric, as a boy, had been fostered with Lady Barbrey Dustin as a cupbearer. He had even been shaped—deliberately—to suit Eddard Stark's tastes: a knight who spoke of honor.
…
"Father—what do we do now?" Domeric asked.
"To be honest, I haven't decided." Roose's voice was flat. "You made the wildling war look too easy. You revealed House Bolton's strength early. But we can't undo it.
"There is only one thing you must do now."
"What?"
"Marry." Roose's answer was immediate. "Take House Stark's eldest daughter—Sansa."
At Domeric's expression, Roose explained, "If Lady Catelyn truly means to make you her son-by-law, then in a moment like this—when the balance is delicate—refusing House Stark's hand will only make people suspect House Bolton has other intentions.
"If you marry her, House Bolton and House Stark will at least gain a honeymoon—time where suspicion eases, and the North settles.
"As for what comes after… we'll deal with that after."
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GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT 🩸🏰
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📢 DARK SECRETS RISE IN THE NORTH! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐺🩸
Beneath the Dreadfort, old horrors stir.
Power, bloodlines, betrayal, northern cruelty, and buried secrets wait beneath one of the most feared castles in Westeros.
❄️ The North remembers.🏰 The Dreadfort hides.🩸 And some secrets should have stayed buried.
Uncover what lies beneath before anyone else does.
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