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As Roose, bound in chains, and Robb, mounted atop the enormous direwolf, advanced slowly forward, the soldiers of Winterfell positioned at the camp's south gate turned in unison and began accompanying them toward the raised platform.
When Robb and the others arrived before it, the northern nobles felt even more deeply the oppressive presence Bloodwind gave off.
A tall, sturdy warhorse and a giant direwolf the size of one were two entirely different things.
There at the foot of the platform, Bloodwind kept his eyes cold, as if they held an insatiable desire to slaughter whatever stood before him. His entire body radiated the wild aura of a predator, as though an invisible net had wrapped itself tightly around everyone present.
At that moment, no one even dared open their mouths to speak. Even their breathing became lighter, as if a single heavier breath might draw that beast's attack.
Seated upon his broad back, Robb saw that he had achieved the effect he wanted, and then sent the direwolf a mental command.
As the wolf gradually drew back his beastly aura, his fur ceased bristling and settled once more in soft waves against his body. The murderous look in his eyes also returned to their usual sharp and lively intelligence.
Huff! Huff!
As if they had all been thawed at the same instant, the first thing the people in the stands did was suck in deep breaths.
Feeling his heart hammering wildly in his chest, Lord Wyman finally had time to turn and glance at his old friend. He saw that Lord Rickard was also breathing hard.
After all, the Bloodwind he usually saw was always beside Robb in his docile state. This version, a dangerous predator, was something entirely different. It could be said that this was the first time he had truly seen the other side of that beast.
Smalljon and the other five led Roose up the side stairs and onto the platform.
As for the giant direwolf, who stood taller than the platform itself, he simply came to its edge, and Robb stepped down from his back and onto the dais in a single motion.
With his task done, Bloodwind simply lay down lazily in the snow at the foot of the platform, utterly unconcerned with the cold.
Seeing that Robb was already in place, Theon gave him a slight nod and then stepped back to stand silently at his side.
On the platform, Roose was forced to kneel at the center by Edd and Torrhen, facing the formations of Winterfell's army below, with the stands full of northern nobles behind him.
Theon and the other three stood in silence at the four corners of the platform. Robb, meanwhile, stood in front of everyone, facing both Roose and the nobles.
"To all the leaders of the North loyal to House Stark, I thank you for your presence. As this camp was only hastily completed yesterday, I was unable to return in time to dine with you last night. For that, I offer my apologies."
Robb began with the usual formalities in a clear voice, then shifted his tone and went straight to the true purpose of that day.
"I invited you here today, first, to witness the military review. And second, to witness this warriors' mausoleum."
Following the direction Robb indicated, the northern nobles immediately saw once more, within the camp, the bluish stone structure shaped like a short dagger.
"Everyone in the North knows that within Winterfell stands the crypt of House Stark. There rest all the Kings in the North and the lords of House Stark.
From this day forward, this warriors' mausoleum will serve to honor all those who die fighting for our home. The names of every one of them will be carved upon its surface."
At those words, a small portion of the northern nobles shook their heads discreetly, while the majority began whispering among themselves in low voices.
Lord Wyman was among the few who shook their heads.
To him, building a mausoleum for dead soldiers was too much effort for too little return.
In his view, those golden dragons would have been far better spent giving greater compensation to the families of the dead.
The crypt of House Stark existed to honor the family's ancestors, to preserve the memory of the line's ancient glory.
As for the other soldiers, aside from the wolf guard, most of them were commoners from the lowest ranks of society. Once they died, perhaps even their own families would not take long to forget them.
Seeing the nobles whispering among themselves, Robb paid it no mind and continued speaking in a steady voice:
"All soldiers whose names are carved into the warriors' mausoleum, in addition to compensation for death in battle, their families will also receive additional support.
If his widow has no means of support, Winterfell will give her suitable work.
If his parents are elderly and no longer able to labor, we will provide them with a monthly pension.
If his children are still young and have no one to care for them, Winterfell will establish a Warriors' Orphanage to raise them until they come of age."
When those striking words from Robb had finished echoing, the northern nobles were already mentally calculating how many golden dragons such promises would cost, but the soldiers below reacted even more violently, erupting into discussion as though oil had been thrown onto a fire.
Some of those farther back, who had not heard clearly, urgently asked the men in front what had just been said.
"Lord Robb! Long may he live!"
"It's worth dying for House Stark!"
"Robb! Robb!"
"Stark! Stark!"
"Robb Stark!"
No one knew exactly who had been the first among the more than two thousand soldiers to shout in excitement.
But that cry, like a spark cast into a dry field, set everything ablaze in an instant.
The entire camp filled with shouts of excitement until, at last, only one powerful, unified chant remained: Robb's name.
Roose, forced to remain kneeling on the platform, had kept his head lowered in silence from the very beginning, as though he were already a corpse.
But when Robb loudly announced the extra benefits tied to the warriors' mausoleum, he suddenly lifted his head, and his eyes met Robb's.
When he saw that look of complete command on Robb's face, he sighed inwardly.
Then he lowered his head again, drained of strength, his dim eyes fixed on the floor of the dais.
From this point on, Winterfell's warriors would fight without worrying over what they left behind. And the common folk of the North would begin rushing to enlist in the army.
Unless House Stark itself dug its own grave and destroyed that promise tied to the warriors' mausoleum, they would rule the North forever.
Looking at the broken Roose and at the northern nobles, whose expressions had now become complicated, and feeling the soldiers' fervent response to his words, Robb raised his right arm behind him and clenched all five fingers into a fist, a clear signal for silence.
The soldiers in the front rank saw the gesture and passed the order back. In a very short time, the cries that had moments ago rolled like wave after wave came to a stop, and even the air itself seemed to fall silent.
"The third matter of today shall be this: I, Robb Stark, lord regent of Winterfell and House Stark, now open the trial of Roose Bolton of House Bolton."
When the ranks behind him had fallen completely silent, Robb lowered his arm toward Roose, who still knelt with his head bowed, and declared in a loud voice:
"I shall be the first judge. Lord Rickard Karstark shall be the second judge. And Lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth shall be the third judge."
At the words that he was to be judged, Roose, broken and wretched in appearance, lifted his head to look at Robb and let out a loud laugh:
"Hahaha, I know very well. You decided my crimes long ago.
Once this farce of a trial is over, the honorable Robb Stark will condemn me, whether to the noose or the axe.
So I do not accept this unjust trial.
As Lord of House Bolton, I call the old gods to witness and demand a trial by combat!"
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