Chapter 21 Chapter 20 Reek (Theon II)

They gave him a horse and a banner, a soft wool doublet and a warm fur cloak, and let him go.He doesn't stink so much today. "Either you bring the castle back," Dancer Damon helped the trembling Reek onto the horse, "or run away and see how far you can escape. Believe me, the adults will like it." Damon grinned After whipping the horse's ass, the old beast whimpered and ran forward. Reek didn't dare to look back, he was afraid that Damon, Dick Huang, and Gollum would come to hunt him down, he was afraid that all this was a cruel joke of Master Ramsay - give him a mount, set him free, and test it his loyalty.They think I'm going to run away, don't they?They gave him a poor, half-starved pony, which, with its splayed legs, could never have outrun the horses of Lord Ramsay and his hunters.Besides, Master Ramsay is fond of letting girls out to track fresh game.

Even if he could escape, where could he escape?The camps behind him held Dreadfort, Barrowton, and the forces that the Rythwells had raised from the Brooklands.Another large army was approaching Moat Cailin from the south along the causeway. It was the combined army of Bolton and Frey, flying the banner of the Dreadfort.To the east of the Kingsroad lies the barren coast and the icy salty sea, and to the west lies the endless swamp of the Neck, teeming with vipers, lizard lions, and swamp devils with poisoned arrows. He can't run.He can't run. I will dedicate the castle to him.I can do it.I have to do it.

The sky is gray and misty, and the wind blows like a wet kiss from the south.Through wisps of drifting morning mist, the ruins of Moat Calim loomed ahead.His mount walked slowly towards the ruins, and when the horse's hooves broke free from the gray-green mud, they made a faint wet chirping sound. I have walked this path.It was a dangerous thought, one he immediately regretted. "No," he said to himself, "no, that was another man's business, before you knew your name." His name was Reek, and he had to remember that.Reek, Reek, stinky and weak as grass. When another walked this way, with an army behind him, the whole North united under the gray and white banner of House Stark, and marched south; now Reek is alone, with a banner of peace on a pine flagpole in his hand .The other man had gone this way on a swift, vigorous warhorse; now Reek rode a frail, skinny pony, and rode very slowly for fear of falling off.The other was a top rider, and Reek couldn't even sit still on his horse.Time has passed for too long.Now he is not a rider, not even a human being.As Lord Ramsay's pet, his status is lower than that of a dog.To be precise, he is a worm in human skin. "You're going to pretend you're a prince," Lord Ramsay told Reek last night as he soaked himself in a bucket of boiling water, "but we know who you are. You're Reek, always will be, no matter what you smell How sweet it smells. Your nose can lie, so you have to remember your name, remember who you are."

"I'm Reek," he replied, "your Reek." "Help me with this little errand, and I'll let you be my dog, with meat to eat every day." Master Ramsay promised. "Naturally, you want to do something I'm sorry for: run away, rebel, or go to the enemy's camp. No, don't deny it, I don't want to hear those duplicity nonsense. If you lie to me, I'll cut your tongue out. Anyone Everyone in your position will try to resist me, but we know that you are not human, right? Well, if you want to defect, then defect... But before you make a wrong decision, count your fingers and think about the price."

Reek knew the price well.Seven, he thought, seven fingers.Seven fingers can still live.Seven is a sacred number.He vividly remembered the indescribable agony of Master Ramsay ordering the Flayer to peel his ring finger. The air was damp and heavy, and there were shallow pools everywhere, and Reek picked his way carefully, stepping on the logs and planks that Robb Stark's vanguard had laid over the ooze for their march.Where the high walls stood thousands of years ago, now there are only scattered blocks of black basalt stones, each so big that it takes a hundred people to push it.Some of the stones had sunk into the mud of the moor, with only a corner showing; others were falling apart like blocks abandoned by the gods, cracked and crumbled, and covered with moss.Last night's night rain drenched the boulders, and they shone in the morning light as if coated with a layer of fine black oil.

Further in the distance are the fortress towers. The Drunkard's Tower leans so far that it looks like it might collapse at any moment--and it has done so for five hundred years; , the largest of the three towers, was covered with moss, and a twisted tree squeezed out from the gap in the stone wall to the north of it.The Karstarks took the Drunkard's Tower, the Umbers took the Children of the Forest Tower, he remembered, and Robb's camp was in the Gate Tower. He closed his eyes, and the hunting banners of various princes appeared in his mind, waving heroically in the refreshing north wind.All are gone, all have fallen.The south wind was blowing on his cheek now, and the only thing flying over the ruins of Moat Cailin was the golden Kraken banner on a black background.

Someone was watching him, and he felt himself the center of attention.He looked up and caught sight of pale faces peering between the crenellations of the Gate Tower and the broken battlements of the Sons of the Forest Tower.Legend has it that the children of the forest summoned a monstrous flood from the tower of the children of the forest, splitting the land of Westeros in two. The only dry road through the Neck was the causeway, and the towers of Moat Cailin blocked the northern exit of the causeway like a cork on a bottle.The causeway was narrow, and the fortress so strategically placed that any enemy approaching from the south had to pass under it.If an intruder wants to attack any tower, they will be exposed to the arrows of the other two towers. Strips of slimy white ghost grass hang down from the damp stone wall, making it extremely difficult to climb.The swamp around the causeway was impassable, filled with potholes, quicksand, and shiny green turf—easy to see for a firm foothold if one wasn't careful, but to put one's foot on it and instantly sink into the water.Countless poisonous snakes, poisonous flowers and giant lizards with sharp teeth like daggers also bred in the swamp.The people of the swamp are the most dangerous people in the world—these clay figurines, swamp ghosts, and frog eaters are always lurking in corners that decent people can hardly detect. Weird last names like Ray, Quigg, Green Marsh, and Blackpool.The ironmen collectively called them the "Swamp Devils".

Reek passed the rotting carcass of a horse that had been shot in the neck with an arrow.As he approached, a long white snake crawled out of the horse's empty eye socket to meet him.The rider's body—or what was left of it—was lying behind the horse's carcass, and crows had pecked the flesh off faces, and dogs had bitten through mail mail and dragged out their entrails.A little further away, there was another body buried deep in the mud, with only its face and fingers exposed. The closer you get to the tower, the more corpses line the road.Bleeding kiss flowers grew from the wounds of the corpse, the flowers were pale, plump and moist, like a woman's lips.

There's no way the guards would recognize me.Some might remember the boy who didn't know his name, but Reek was a total stranger to them.Even though he hasn't looked in the mirror in ages, he knows how old he looks.His gray hair had fallen out badly, and what was left was as dry as straw.The life in the dark cell had made him weaker than an old woman. He was as thin as a pole, and he might be blown down by a strong wind. His hands... Master Ramsay had given him good black leather gloves, soft and comfortable, stuffed with wool to hide the missing fingers - but if you looked closely, you could see that three of his fingers could not be bent.

"Stop!" someone shouted, "what do you want?" "I'll negotiate," he urged his horse forward, waving the peace flag for the other side to see. "I did not carry a weapon." Chengtou did not answer.He knew that the ironborn inside the wall were discussing whether to accept him or to shoot at him.no problem.A happy death is a hundred times better than failing to complete the mission and returning to Master Ramsay with his tail between his legs. The city gate suddenly opened. "Quick!" Reek just turned his head when a flying arrow shot at him.The arrow had been fired from the rubble heap that had been the curtain wall of the fort, half submerged in the marsh on the right.The arrow pierced the peace flag and wrapped itself around the pole, within a foot of his face.He was so frightened that he threw away the flag and rolled off the horse.

"Come in," cried the voice again, "come in, fool, come in!" Reek scrambled up the steps as another arrow flew past his head.Someone grabbed him and dragged him in, and he heard the door slam shut.Then he was picked up and pushed roughly against the wall with a dagger at his throat.A bearded face was so close he could even count the other's nose hairs. "Who are you? What is the purpose of coming here? Answer quickly, or he will end up being a role model." The guard turned his head, allowing him to see the rotten and green body covered with maggots on the ground by the door. "Me too," Reek lied.The boy who didn't know his name was indeed an Ironborn, but Reek was born in the dark cells of the Dreadfort. "Look at me. I am the son of King Balon, Your Royal Highness." He could have said his name, but those two words stuck in his throat and he couldn't come out.Reek, I'm Reek, notorious, sound like a baby.He had to forget his name for a while, though.No one, no matter how desperate the situation, would surrender to something like Reek.He had to act like a prince for a while. His captor stared at his face, squinting, lips pursed suspiciously.His teeth were yellow and his breath stank of ale and onions. "King Balon's sons have been killed." "My two brothers are dead, but I am not. Lord Ramsay has captured me at Winterfell, and now he has sent me to negotiate with you. Are you in charge here?" "Me?" The other party lowered the dagger, took a step back, and almost tripped over the corpse. "I am not, my lord." His mail mail was rusty, his leather armor was rotting, and a sore on the back of one hand was still bleeding. "Laffer Kenning is the commander appointed by the Commander, and I'm just a gatekeeper." "Who is this?" Reek kicked the corpse by the door. The guard looked at the corpse, as if seeing it for the first time. "He... he drank the water here. I had to cut his throat to stop him from screaming. The water here will make people sick to the stomach, so we can't drink it. We only drink ale." The guard rubbed his face, His eyes were red and inflamed. "In the past, we would drag the corpses into the cellar, and the cellar was connected to the underground river. Now everyone is too lazy to bother, and just put the fallen body wherever it is." "The cellars are better. Leave them to the water, to the Drowned God." The other party laughed, "There are no gods in the cellar, my lord, only rats and water snakes. The white snakes are as thick as human legs, and sometimes they even climb up the steps and bite you while you are sleeping." Reek remembered well the rats in the dungeon below the Dreadfort, the rats squirming between his teeth, and the taste of blood on the tip of his tongue.If I fail, Master Ramsay will send me back to the dungeon, and have my other finger skinned off. "How many guards are left?" "Not many," answered the ironborn. "I don't know the exact number. The loss was heavy anyway. I think there are still people in the Drunkard's Tower, but the Children of the Forest Tower is empty. Dagon Coulder just went in to check it out a few days ago. However, he said only two of them survived, and they both ate their corpses for a living. He killed them both, if you will believe it." Moat Moat is beyond hold, Reek realizes, but there's just no one to help them out.He rubbed his mouth to cover his missing teeth, and said, "I have to talk to the commander." "Talk to Kenning?" The guard was a little confused. "He can't talk about anything anymore, he's dying, he's dead. I haven't seen him in days... Last time was..." "Where is he? Take me to him." "Then who will guard the gate?" "Just him," Reek kicked the corpse. This action made the other party laugh again, "Yeah, why not? Then come with me." He pulled out a torch from the stand on the wall, and swung it vigorously a few times until the flame was burning and emitting light. "This way." The guard led him through a door and up the spiral staircase.The light of the torches flickered dimly on the black stone walls as they went upstairs. The dark room at the end of the stairs was smoky and stuffy.Tattered hides hung from the narrow windows to keep out the damp, and a mass of peat smoldered in a brazier.The smell in the room was terrible, a mix of mold, urine and shit, and sickness mixed in with the smoke.The floor was covered with dirty rushes, and a great pile of straw in the corner made the bed. Laffer Kenning curled up under the hill-high fur and swayed.His equipment was piled beside him—longsword, axe, full mail mail, and steel battlehelm.His shield is engraved with the cloudy hand of the Storm God, whose fingertips shot thunderbolts into the raging sea.However, the ornamentation has faded and peeled off, and the underlying wood is rotting. Laffer himself is rotting.He was naked under the fur, but he was burning badly, and his pale, puffy skin was covered with festering sores and mange.His head was uneven, and one cheek was swollen high.His neck swelled with blood, growing larger than his face.The arm on the side of the swollen cheek was as thick as a log, and it was covered with white maggots.It seems that no one has bathed or shaved him for many days.One of his eyes was bleeding pus, and his beard was full of dried vomit. "How did he look like this?" Reek asked. "He ate the swamp devil's arrow on the battlements. It was just a bruise, but...the devils put poison on the arrow and smeared it with their own shit and worse. We washed his wound with boiling wine, But it doesn't matter." I can't negotiate with him. "Kill him," Reek ordered the guards. "He's done. He's covered in gore and maggots." The other party stared at him dumbfounded, "But the commander appointed him as the commander." "Useless horses must be killed." "Horse? Where did I get the horse?" i have horses.Memories flooded in suddenly.The comedian screamed like a living person, his temples were on fire, his hind legs stood on end, and he stretched out his hooves and kicked in all directions in excruciating pain.No, no, that's not my horse, Reek never had a horse. "I'll do it for you." Reek picked up the longsword that Laffer Kenning was resting on his shield—he still had enough fingers to hold it—and swung the blade to slice through the creature lying on the straw. Thick black blood and yellow pus gushed from beneath the skin in his swollen throat.Kenning twitched violently, then froze, and an indescribable stench spread.Reek quickly rushed to the stairs. Although the air here was cold and damp, it was much fresher than inside the house.The ironborn also stumbled after him, his face turning pale, trying to hold back his retching.Reek grabbed his arm. "Who's the second in command? Where are the others?" "At the top of the city or in the hall, those who don't sleep drink. If you want, I will take you there." "Lead the way," Ramsay gave him only one day. The hall was made of black stone and had a high ceiling, and although it was spacious and airy, it was still smoky.Huge patches of white moss dotted the stone walls, and a single piece of peat now burned low in the hearth, blackened by years of fire.A large centuries-old carved stone table occupies the main space of the hall.I sat there, he remembered, with Robb at the head, with Greatjon on his right and Roose Bolton on his left.The Glovers were next to Herman Tallhart, and Karstark and his sons were opposite. Now there were twenty or so ironborn drinking at the table, only a few of them watched him enter the door with indifferent eyes, most of them showed no interest in him.He didn't recognize these people.Some of them had their cloaks fastened with silver cod-shaped buckles—House Cawdor was not a high place in the Iron Islands, and the men were considered thieves and cowards, and the women were whores who slept with their fathers and brothers.When the Iron Fleet returned to the division, he was not surprised that his uncle left these people behind.It also made my task a lot easier. "Ralph Kenning is dead," he announced. "Who's in charge now?" The drunkards looked at him blankly.Some even laughed out loud.Another man spat.Finally, a Cowd interjected, "Who are you?" "I'm the son of King Balon." Reek, I'm Reek, notorious and unscrupulous. "I have come by the order of Lord Hornwood and heir of the Dreadfort, Ramsay Bolton. He captured me at Winterfell, and now he and his father have surrounded Moat Cailin from north and south. But La Lord Mus is merciful and has decided to give you a chance, as long as you dedicate the city before the sun goes down." He took out the letter handed to him and threw it on the table where the drunkards were drinking. Someone picked up the letter, turned it in his hand, and touched the pink sealing wax on the letter.After a while, the man said, "What's the use of a piece of parchment? We want cheese and meat." "We want weapons," said the gray-bearded old man next to the man.The old man's left arm has been amputated, leaving a stump. "Swords and axes. Ah, and bows, a hundred new bows. And give us more men." "The Ironborn do not surrender," said a third. "Tell my father that. Everyone knows that Lord Balon knelt down and begged for mercy when Robert took Pyke—or he would have died. And so have you." He gestured at the parchment. "Open the sealing wax and read it carefully. This is an official document, written by Lord Ramsay himself. You just need to put down your weapons and follow me out of the city, and the Lord will feed you and send you safely to the Rocky Coast, there Find a boat to go home. If you don’t agree, you will die.” "Are you threatening?" One of Cowd stood up.He was a large man, with protruding eyes, a wide mouth, and a complexion as pale as death.His countenance made one think his father had bred him with a fish, but he wore a long sword. "Dagon Cauld surrenders to no one." No, please, listen to me.Thinking of the consequences of failing the mission and going back to see Master Ramsay with his tail between his hands and his hands empty, he almost peed his pants on the spot.Reek, Reek, shit. "Is this your answer?" He felt his voice was too weak, "Can Codd represent all of you?" The guard who let him in was less sure. "Victarion ordered us to hold this place. It was the commander's order. I heard it with my own ears. He told Kenning to 'hold Moat Cailin until I return.'" "Yes," said the one-armed old man, "that's what he said. He went back to participate in the king's election, but he swore that he would return with a crown of driftwood and lead a thousand warrior kings." "My uncle isn't coming back," Reek told them all. "The Kingsmoot chose his brother Euron, and the Crow's Eye has a different goal. Besides, do you think my uncle values ​​you? After all, he You're worthless in his eyes, that's why you're left as a scapegoat. He shakes you off like mud off your boots on the beach." These words hit the target.He could see it in their eyes, in the way they looked at each other, or frowned down at their glasses.They all feared being abandoned, and now I'm speaking out about their fears.After all, they were not relatives of famous chiefs, nor were they descended from prominent families in the Iron Islands, but descendants of slave laborers and salt concubines. "Surrender, so you can leave freely?" the one-armed old man asked, "Is this written on this piece of paper?" He touched the parchment lightly, and the sealing wax on it was still intact. "You'll know it when you read it, and I'm telling you exactly what I'm saying," he replied, knowing that none of the gang could read. "Lord Ramsay treats well-behaved captives with courtesy." Yes, yes, the lord could have cut off my tongue, or stripped me from heel to thigh, but he just took My fingers, toes, and something else... "Give up the sword and surrender, and you will live." "Bewitching words!" Dagon Cowd drew out his long sword, "You are a famous chameleon, why should we trust you?" He was drunk, Reek realized, and the alcohol was talking. "Believe it or not, I'm just here to help Lord Ramsay deliver the letter. Now I should go back, and I will have a feast of wild boar and radish in the evening, washed down with strong red wine. Those who are willing to come with me can share the feast; stay Those who follow can only live for a day at most. The Duke of Dreadfort will lead the knights northward along the causeway, and his son will support from the north with the elite soldiers he left behind. Once the battle is fought, there will be no room for forgiveness. Death in battle is counted If you are lucky, if you are captured, you will most likely be thrown to the swamp devils to take care of them." "Enough," roared Dagon Coulder, "you think empty talk can scare the ironborn? Go away, go back to your master, or I'll disembowel you and rip your guts out for you to eat." Eat it!" He was waiting to say more, but his eyes suddenly opened wide——with a muffled sound of "chi", a throwing ax was nailed to the center of his forehead.Coulder let go of his sword, struggled a few times like a fish on a hook, and fell face down on the table. It was the one-armed old man who threw the axe.He stood up with the other throwing ax in hand. "Who still wants to die?" He asked the other drinkers, "If you are impatient to live, just talk, I will satisfy you." Several red streams flowed from Dagon Could's head, spreading along the cracks of the stone table. "I want to live, I don't want to just sit in this damn place and rot." Someone took a long swig of ale, and someone else washed the blood away from the side of his seat with the wine in the glass.No one spoke.When the one-armed old man slid the throwing ax back into his belt, Theon knew he had won.He was almost human again, for he had done what Master Ramsay had told him to do. He tore down the sea monster flag with his own hands.The missing fingers were a bit of a hindrance, but fortunately Master Ramsay had left him with more fingers.The ironmen prepared for most of the afternoon before they left the city and surrendered.There were more of them than he had imagined—forty-seven in the Gate Tower, eighteen in the Drunkard's Tower.Of these, two were on the verge of death, and five were too weak to walk, but fifty-eight were still capable of fighting.Although they were in dire straits, if Master Ramsay attacked by force, they might lose three times as many soldiers.It was a very clever plan for the master to send me here.Reek thought as he scrambled back onto the pony to lead the ragtag party across the swamp back to the northerners' camp. "Leave your weapons," he told the captives. "Swords, bows, and daggers are forbidden. Whoever bears them will be killed on the spot." The return took three times as long as Reek had come alone, for the ironborn had made four crude stretchers for those who couldn't walk, and the fifth was carried by his son.The ironborn walked slowly for their companions, and all the way they walked with fear lest the swamp devil should shoot a deadly arrow.It doesn't matter if you die, it's over.Reek just hoped it was a good archer who shot him and that he died cleanly.Die like a man and don't suffer like Laffer Kenning. Limping at the head of the line was a one-armed old man who called himself Adak Hambury, who had a rock wife and three salt wives on Great Wyk. "Three of my four women had big bellies when we set sail," he boasted, "and our Humbleys have always been famous for having twins. The first thing I'll do when I get back is count how many sons I've had. Maybe I'll name a boy after you, sir." Yeah?Just call him Reek, he thought, and if he doesn't behave any day, you can cut off his toes and make him eat rats.He turned his head and spat, thinking that maybe Laffer Kenning's ending would be better. When Lord Ramsay's camp appeared ahead, the slate-grey sky began to rain lightly.A sentry watched silently as they passed, the air filled with the damp smoke of campfires that had been doused by the rain.A young nobleman led a troop of cavalry outflanking the ironmen's retreat. The nobleman had a horse's head on his shield.The Lathwells, Reek realized, Roger or Rickard.He couldn't tell the two apart. "Is that all?" the young nobleman asked on his sorrel horse. "The others are dead, my lord." "I thought they were many. Three times we attacked Moat Cailin, and three times they drove us back." Because we are the Ironborn, he suddenly felt a strong sense of pride, and he seemed to be a prince again, the son of King Balon, and the heir of Pyke Island.However, just having this idea is too dangerous.He must remember his name.Reek, I'm Reek, I'm notorious, I'm begging for mercy. When they came to the gate of the camp, the barking of the hounds heralded that Master Ramsay would personally greet him.He took whore nightmare and six or seven cronies, including the skinner, acid Erin, dancer Damon, big and small Walder and so on.The dogs swarmed around, grinning and growling at the stranger.Bastard bitches.Reek thought, but he knew never, never, never said that description around Master Ramsay. Reek rolled off his horse and dropped to one knee. "My lord, Moat Cailin is yours. These are the remnants of the defenders." "There aren't many. Such a tough opponent, I really want to take in more of them." Ramsay's pale eyes flashed, "You must be starving. Damon, Erin, go take care of them. Get wine, ale and Anything edible. Flayed man, send the wounded to the maester." "Yes, my lord." After a few ironborn thanked in a low voice, they shuffled to rest beside the campfire in the middle of the camp.One of the Cowds even tried to kiss Lord Ramsay's ring, but the Hounds chased him off before he could get close, and Alison tore off half of his ear.Even though the blood was pouring down his neck, the man still nodded and bowed like smashing garlic, praising the lord's compassion. When the ironborn were all gone, Ramsay Bolton turned to Reek and smiled.He patted Reek on the back of the head, pulled Reek's face closer for a kiss, and whispered, "My old friend Reek, do they really think you're a prince? Ironborn, ironborn, you can't help me." Idiots, even the gods are laughing." "They just want to go home, sir." "Then what do you want, my dear Reek?" Ramsay leaned into his ear, whispering softly like a lover.His breath was sweet with mulled wine and cloves. "Such heroism should be rewarded. I can't make you grow fingers and toes again, but I can certainly do something for you. Shall I set you free? Release you from your obligations to me? Do you want to talk to them? Go back, return to the island where no birds lay eggs in the cold gray sea and continue to be your prince? Or would you rather stay and be my faithful servant?" A cold sharp knife was running up his back.Be careful, he told himself, be very, very careful.The master's smile, the master's twinkling eyes, and the glistening saliva at the corner of his mouth all made him vigilant.He had seen the master show such an expression.You are not a prince.You're Reek, just Reek, Reek, Reek, messed up.Quickly say the answer he wants. "Sir," so he said, "I'll stay here, stay with you, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm your Reek, and I just want to serve you wholeheartedly. As for what I want... a bag of wine is enough ...red wine, the strongest kind, can be intoxicating..." Master Ramsay laughed loudly, "You are not a human being, Reek, but my pet. But I will comply with your request, Walder, and give him a drink. Don't be afraid, I swear on my honor as Bolton , won't throw you into a dark cell anymore. Now we make you a dog and have meat every day, and I'll leave you with enough teeth to eat meat. You just sleep next to my girls .Ben, can I get him a collar?" "No problem, my lord," said the old bone. The old man was very kind to him, not only put a collar on him, but also brought him a tattered blanket and half a chicken.Reek had fought the Hounds over the chicken, but it was the best thing he had eaten since Winterfell. And the wine... the wine was cloudy and sour, but it was strong enough.Reek squatted among the hounds and drank until he was dizzy.He opened his mouth to vomit, wiped his mouth after vomiting, and continued to drink.After finishing his drink, he closed his eyes and lay down.He awoke to a dog licking the filth from his beard, and a sickle crescent pierced thick black clouds. There were screams in the night. He pushed the dog away, turned over and went back to sleep. Early the next morning, Lord Ramsay sent three riders down the causeway to inform his lord father that he had cleared the way.On the gate tower, where Reek had torn down Pyke's golden Kraken banner yesterday, now the Bolton's flayed banner was raised.In the swamp on either side of the rotting boardwalk, many wooden poles were driven deep, on which bloody red corpses were rotting.There were sixty-three people in all, and Reek knew that there were sixty-three people, not a lot.One of them was missing an arm, and another had a piece of parchment stuffed in his mouth with the sealing wax on it. Three days later, the vanguard of Roose Bolton's army began to creep across the ruins and be saluted by these fearsome sentries—the vanguard consisted of four hundred Frey horsemen in blue and gray, and when the sun broke through the clouds, , the spear points of the cavalry will reflect a dazzling light.The forward was commanded by the two sons of the old Marquess of Ward.One of them was very strong, with a huge pointed jaw and muscles in his arms; the other had a pair of eyes that were set close together, and there was a look of hunger in the eyeballs.He also has a pointed nose, a bald head, and a thin, brown beard that doesn't hide a chin full of soft flesh.Hosting and Innis.He knew them before he knew his name.Hosting was a bull, slow to anger but relentless when provoked.He was the fiercest warrior of Lord Walder's children; Aenys was older, crueler and more cunning—more of a commander than a mere swordsman.Both are seasoned. The northerners followed closely behind the vanguard, their tattered flags fluttering in the wind.Reek watched them pass, and saw that they were mostly infantry, and that there were too few of them.He still remembered the unprecedented grandeur of the army united under the banner of the direwolf in Winterfell and marching south with the young wolf lord.Nearly twenty thousand men with swords and guns had gone out with Robb, and now only one-fifth of them are back, and most of them are men from the Dreadfort. In the center of the line, where the crowds were most dense, rode a man in black-gray plate armor over a blood-red leather padded tunic.The man's armnails were forged into the shape of a human head, which opened its mouth to howl in pain.The man wore a pink wool cloak embroidered with countless blood spots over his shoulders, and a tuft of long red silk tassels crowned the tightly closed helmet.Roose Bolton's poisoned arrows from the marshmen couldn't hurt Roose Bolton, Reek thought the first time he saw him.A closed carriage groaned behind him, drawn by six strong pack horses, guarded by crossbowmen at the front and rear.The dark blue velvet curtain on the carriage blocked the sight of outsiders. At the end of the procession came the baggage trains—rickety wagons laden with provisions and spoils, and others carrying the wounded and maimed.The rear guard was also Frey's, at least a thousand men, perhaps more, including archers, spearmen, peasants with scythes and sharpened clubs, freeriders, mounted archers, and a hundred knights. Master Ramsay strode to meet his father, and Reek, in his collar and chain, back in his tattered clothes, followed him with the other dogs.But when the black knight opened his helmet, Reek didn't recognize the face.Master Ramsay's smile froze immediately, and then his face was full of anger, "What is this for? Are you kidding me?" "It's just to be on the safe side," Roose Bolton said softly, and walked out after pulling aside the curtain of the carriage. The Lord of the Dreadfort looked nothing like his bastard son.He was clean-shaven, smooth-skinned, and ordinary-looking, neither handsome nor ugly.The long years of military service left no scars on him. Although he was in his forties, there were not a few wrinkles on his face, and there were few traces of the years.His lips were so thin that they almost formed a line when they were pressed together.All in all, Roose Bolton's face has a kind of city and calm that is not affected by time, whether angry or happy, the face expresses it in the same way.The only thing he resembled Ramsay was their eyes.His eyes are like ice.Reek wondered if Roose Bolton had ever cried in his life, and if so, was it ice? The boy, Theon Greyjoy, liked to tease Bolton at Robb Stark's war councils, laughing at his soft-spoken manner, and making jokes about leeches.That boy must be mad, the Lord of the Dreadfort is not one to entertain.You had only to look at him to see that there was more cruelty in any one of his pink toes than all the Freys put together. "Father," said Lord Ramsay, kneeling before his master. Lord Bolton stared at him for a moment. "Get up," he turned and helped the two young ladies off the carriage. 头一个女孩是个矮子，非常肥胖，生了张红彤彤的圆脸，三重下巴在黑貂皮兜帽下颤巍巍地晃。“这是我的新夫人。”卢斯·波顿宣布，“瓦妲夫人，这是我的庶出子。亲吻你继母的手，拉姆斯。”拉姆斯老爷照办。“接下来，我想你应该还记得艾莉亚小姐，你的未婚妻。” 第二个女孩十分苗条，比他记忆中要高——这当然不足为奇，女孩在这个年纪总是长得很快——身穿白缎子镶边的灰羊毛裙服，外披白貂皮斗篷，并用银制狼头搭扣别住。她的暗褐色秀发一直垂下半个后背，她的眼睛…… 她不可能是艾德大人的女儿。 艾莉亚继承了她父亲的眼睛，史塔克家族的灰眼睛。随着年龄的增长，女孩儿头发可以留长，个子可以长高，奶子可以更丰满，但决不可能改变眼睛的颜色。这一位是珊莎的小伙伴，总管的女儿。珍妮，是了，她是珍妮·普尔。 “拉姆斯大人，”女孩在拉姆斯老爷面前行了个屈膝礼。这也不对。真正的艾莉亚·史塔克会当面吐他口水。“我渴望做您的好妻子，为您生下许多强壮的儿子。” “你会的，”拉姆斯老爷保证，“很快就会了。”