Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #94

I surveyed the brigands, brushing off my hands as I observed them sprawled across the snowy ground, writhing in agony. It was a harsh world, and I had no inclination to end the lives of this group of scruffy bandits. 

They might have been driven by desperation to provide for their families; at least, that was the perspective I attempted to adopt. Therefore, I chose to be lenient, only leaving them with a few bruises as a lesson.

Then, a pouch overflowing with gold spilled from one of the bandits, scattering its riches across the ground. With a single glance, I could discern that the amount of gold could sustain an entire village. 

It dawned on me—they were nothing more than a pack of greedy brigands. In that moment, any notion of leniency vanished from my thoughts, replaced by a resolve to mete out a punishment fitting for their avarice.

I proceeded to administer a thrashing they wouldn't soon forget. However, I decided to leave them with half the gold—I couldn't be certain of their circumstances, despite their greed. 

Nonetheless, it was time for me to resume my quest for a resting place. Tomorrow, my journey would continue.

...

The Bolton soldier, a regular man whose pride lay in avoiding trouble, stood vigilant atop the walls of the Dreadfort. He had a knack for keeping himself out of bad situations. 

It was by an *unfortunate accident* that he injured his arm, rendering him unfit to join Lord Bolton's pursuit of a group of criminals sullying House Bolton's reputation. Consequently, he found himself reassigned to the comfortable, risk-free guard duty due to his injury.

However, as the days passed, an unsettling pattern emerged. Some guards mysteriously vanished from their posts, only to reappear later with subtle alterations in their demeanor. 

The soldier, observant despite his desire to stay out of trouble, noted the peculiar changes in those guards and their shared characteristic of being solitary and detached from their comrades before their disappearance.

Recognizing this unsettling trend, the soldier strategically ingratiated himself with the other guards, intentionally spending more time in their company. He avoided solitary ventures unless absolutely necessary, thus saving himself again. 

When a commotion erupted in Lord Bolton's quarters, he remained resolutely uninvolved, watching as some guards rushed to investigate, never to return.

His sense of pride in steering clear of trouble remained intact. However, he knew his luck might soon run out.

Despite his resolve to avoid trouble, the soldier's concern grew as the Dreadfort became increasingly tumultuous. Strange mercenaries, led by a mysterious masked woman, arrived, adding an air of intrigue to the already unsettling atmosphere. 

Adding to the suspicious events, Lord Bolton's sudden absence and the increased prominence of his bastard son in commanding House Bolton's forces and managing the lands only deepened the soldier's unease. Thoughts of departing the Dreadfort and seeking livelihood elsewhere began to germinate in his mind.

Lost in contemplation about deserting his post, his musings abruptly halted as a cold, sharp object pressed against his back. His heart raced, and he nervously pivoted to confront the source, only to be met with a pair of chillingly glowing blue eyes. Before he could register more, a forceful blow to his face sent him reeling, turning his head away from the mysterious assailant.

Dazed and disoriented, the soldier struggled to regain his bearings as he fought against the instinct to retaliate or flee. The unexpected attack had shattered his sense of security and forced him into a precarious situation he had desperately tried to avoid.

Gale, the man wielding the knife, applied pressure against the soldier's back, his voice chillingly composed as he issued his commands. "Turn around again, you're dead. Make any sound without my permission, you're dead. Lie to me, you're dead..." Each word dripped with lethal certainty.

 "Do as I say, answer my questions, don't waste my time, and you just might get to walk away with your life and limbs intact... nod if you understand..." Gale instructed, and the soldier nodded nervously, his breaths shallow with fear.

"Good man," Gale acknowledged. "Lord Bolton, Roose—do you know where I can find him?" he inquired, his tone remaining steady.

The guard nodded once more. "Go ahead, tell me where..." Gale prompted, his grip tightening on the knife.

Taking a deep breath, the soldier began to speak, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You can find him in his private chambers... ever since the masked woman arrived with those mercenaries, he rarely leaves it..." He divulged the information, hoping it might earn him some mercy.

"Masked woman? What masked woman?" Gale queried, a furrow creasing his brow in puzzlement.

"I... I don't know... she just showed up one day with Lord Bolton's bastard son and a group of mercenaries," the soldier stammered, desperation evident in his voice. 

"All I know is that they seem very important. They've been receiving the best treatment Lord Bolton has ever given to anyone, especially the woman..." His words conveyed both uncertainty and a hint of fear about the mysterious newcomers.

Gale paused for a moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He couldn't recall anything about a masked woman accompanying Bolton Roose or Ramsay Snow in the show he remembered watching.

His thoughts danced between the possibilities—was she a hidden mastermind orchestrating events, an unseen character from the final season, or perhaps an entirely new addition to the storyline?

Recollections of his friend's summary of the last season surfaced, and he knew such a prominent figure would have been mentioned by his Game of Thrones-obsessed friend. 

Contemplating the intricacies, he arrived at two plausible conclusions: she was either a disguised character from the show or an entirely fresh entity introduced into this world, one outside the realm of the show's known narrative. 

He couldn't shake off the feeling that her appearance was somehow entwined with his presence in this world, a product of the butterfly effect initiated by his arrival. 

The actualization left him unsettled, realizing that the narrative of this world might be reshaping itself due to his very existence even beyond the boundaries of the frozen wastes north of the Wall. 

Noticing Gale's prolonged silence, the soldier's anxiety heightened, fearing he might have uttered something fatal. Suppressing his instinctive fear, he summoned the courage to speak. 

"L-look, man... I don't want trouble... I'm just a soldier. I don't want to die for some highborn like Roose Bolton..." His words poured out, a mix of apprehension and desperation evident in his voice, snapping Gale out of his contemplation.

"If you're after him, I can help... I can tell you the best way to reach him quickly," the soldier nervously offered, hoping to bargain for his life. However, Gale's response was immediate and cutting.

"I thought I made it clear—no speaking unless I permit it," Gale's voice turned colder, his demeanor unforgiving. The soldier audibly gulped, understanding the perilous position he had put himself in.

"I'll grant you this one chance to explain yourself, considering your cooperation so far," Gale relented slightly, nodding in approval at the soldier's compliance. "Start talking."

The soldier, now cautious with his words, began to divulge information. "Lord Bolton's chamber boasts a balcony... it's elevated and nearly impossible to access from the outside. But if you've managed to scale the walls undetected, then maybe you stand a chance..."

Gale quirked an eyebrow in surprise. "And what makes you assume I scaled the walls?" he inquired, intrigued by the soldier's deductions.

"It's evident... this section of the wall faces the King's Road-- I'm guessing you came from there..." the soldier explained calmly. "Moreover, we're quite a distance from the main entrances. If you snuck past the guards there, you wouldn't need to come this far just to interrogate me...."

Taking a deep breath, the soldier completed his deduction. "You'd have kept watch near the entrances and sought out a guard there to ask your questions," he concluded, his reasoning sound.

Gale couldn't suppress a chuckle at the soldier's astuteness. "You're quite sharp for a Bolton soldier... where do you hail from?" he asked, genuinely curious about the soldier's background.

"I'm not entirely certain, ser. I grew up in an orphanage in White Harbor... fled when I was young, took to soldiering for a living, and ended up here," the soldier revealed, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his voice as he recounted his past.

"Well, that matters little now," Gale nodded, his curiosity sated. "Now tell me about that balcony you mentioned...." he instructed, redirecting the conversation back to the crucial details they needed to discuss.