Chapter 56

The freezing wind howled across the barren plains as the ugly, sharp silhouette of the Dreadfort clawed its way over the horizon. I dug my claws into the frozen mud and stopped, letting out a low, slow breath that instantly turned to a thick cloud of steam.

Behind me, the rhythmic thud of the two hundred warhorses slowed.

"Steady! Steady, you beasts!" a voice roared over the wind.

A dozen riders flying the pink banners of House Bolton had galloped out to meet us, but they were no longer advancing. Their warhorses were rearing wildly, kicking at the air and fighting their bit. The men cursed, wrestling with the reins, but the animals refused to take a single step closer to the towering, heat-radiating beast standing in the middle of the road.

The lead rider wrestled his horse under control, its forelegs pawing wildly at the air.

"My lord!" he shouted. "Can you call your beast aside? The horses dare not come any closer."

Robb spurred his horse forward a few paces.

"Red."

I dipped my head, letting out a short huff that ruffled the frost on the ground, and bounded off the main road.

I pushed through the sparse, dead pines to the left, taking a seat on my haunches in the shadows. Grey Wind let out a sharp bark and immediately broke his trot, abandoning the road to sit faithfully by my side.

The horses finally calmed noticing my absence , and the riders escorted the Young Wolf into the stone walls of the Dreadfort.

…

The Great Hall was drafty and dark, lit by sputtering torches that cast long shadows.

"My lord father regrets he could not greet you himself," Ramsay Snow said as he filled Robb's cup. "The Kingsroad keeps him from home more often than he'd like. Until he returns, the Dreadfort is yours."

"You have my thanks," Robb replied. "The men will be glad for warm food and a roof."

Ramsay smiled, his eyes drifted past Robb and settled on me.

"So this is the beast." His smile widened a fraction. "I've heard tales though seeing it in person."

"He has a name," Robb interrupted. "Red."

"Aye?" Ramsay's pale eyes lingered on me. "A pity. Beasts are simpler without names."

"He is no beast"

Ramsay turned his gaze from me and continued.

"And here's young Greyjoy." He regarded Theon with mild amusement. "Does the North suit you? I'd have thought a kraken would miss the sea."

Theon snorted. "I've seen enough salt for one lifetime."

"Have you?" Ramsay asked pleasantly. "Some men never escape where they were born."

Theon's hand settled on his dagger and remarked "You've got a loose tongue for a bastard."

Robb took hold of Theon's wrist and spoke "Enough."

Ramsay nodded his head and replied "As you say, my lord."

But before he turned away, his eyes wondered onto me again.

...

That night, the vanguard camped in the outer courtyard. The halls of the keep offered no comfort, the men preferred the freezing air to the watchful eyes of the Boltons.

I lay near the main gates while Grey Wind was curled tightly against my side, fast asleep. The camp was dead quiet, the fires burned down to glowing embers.

Crunch. Crunch.

I cracked one amber eye open.

Ramsay Snow walked across the frosted cobblestones alone. He held a heavy, iron cleaver loosely in his right hand, twirling it idly by the handle.

He stopped five paces away, his pale eyes wandered slowly over my scars.

"So." 

A thin smile touched his lips."You're the beast."

His head tilted slightly."They've been telling strange tales."

He weighed the cleaver in his hand."I've never cared much for tales."

He lifted the blade."Let's see."

Ramsay drew his arm back to throw the heavy blade.

He took me for a hound in his pen well he thought wrong. I unchained my presence and slammed [Empathic Link] directly into his mind.

I projected the raw, crushing scale of my existence straight into his consciousness. I showed him the blinding, white-hot sun that had melted Kevan Lannister's armor, made him feel the terror without getting a smoke.

The temperature in the courtyard plummeted as the air itself seemed to freeze. A deafening silence crashed down on the yard.

Ramsay's manic smile was wiped away. His pale eyes bulged, rolling back slightly in his skull. His face was drained of all color.

He saw his own absolute insignificance in this hound he had looked down on. He saw a power so immense that all his torture, all his flaying knives, and all his cruel games were nothing but the buzzing of a fly before fire.

Clang.

The meat cleaver slipped from his trembling, lifeless fingers and hit the cobblestone.

Ramsay staggered backward, his boots slipping on the frost. He gasped violently for air, his hands flying to his throat as if he were drowning in the crushing pressure of the silence. His legs gave out.

He collapsed to his knees. His shoulders hunched forward, his whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors. He stared at me, his mouth open to scream, yet unable to.

I held the pressure for one more agonizing second to ensure the lesson was burned permanently into his mind.

Then, I severed the link.

The wind returned, howling through the courtyard. Ramsay remained on his knees, weeping silently into the frozen mud, too terrified to even crawl away.

I let out a soft huff, sending a wisp of smoke into the cold air. I laid my head back down beside Grey Wind and closed my eyes. This particular variable was erased, and Ramsay Snow would never dare look my way again.

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