The Harrenhal troops spent the next few days resting at Winterfell.
Roman didn't waste the ti. He put the soldiers to work patrolling the roads and keeping order in the nearby villages.
At first the n figured it was just easy guard duty. Winterfell was the heart of the North. What could possibly go wrong?
The second day answered that question. Bandits hit a market in broad daylight, grabbed whatever they wanted, and ran.
In Harrenhal those bastards would have been dead before they cleared the first stall. Here the soldiers had to ask Eddard's permission before they gave chase.
Once they had it, Harrenhal's cavalry went to work.
They already knew how to hunt bandits. Now they had Fili's ravens feeding them real-ti information. The northern outlaws had never faced anything like it.
Ravens and scouts worked together. Light cavalry struck fast and hard. In three days every bandit band outside the Wolfswood was gone. The villages around Winterfell finally had peace.
The smallfolk had never seen soldiers like these. They followed orders, paid for what they took, left the brothels alone, and never touched a single coin that wasn't theirs.
When the column finally prepared to leave for the Wall, the people they had helped ca out in force to see them off.
Eddard handed Roman a detailed map of the North.
"Ser Roman, stick to the safer routes. The roads to the Wall are rough."
With local knowledge and Fili's ravens, the march went smoothly until they hit the Wolfswood.
The ancient forest was massive. Even the ravens couldn't see through the canopy. Roman relied on his white-fla sight instead. Life sparks showed through every tree and shadow.
Beasts attacked the column more than once. These northern monsters had no fear of n.
Roman answered with the massive 200-pound recurve bow Maester Tom and the bowyers had built just for him. One shot, one dead animal.
He could have pulled a heavier bow, but the materials had limits. Anything stronger and the bow might snap back and kill him.
The arrows were just as advanced. Other lords used simple socketed heads that shattered on impact. Harrenhal's arrows had long tal tangs driven deep into the shaft and wrapped with special cord. They held together even after punching through plate.
Water-powered lathes let them produce the things by the hundreds.
After days of hard travel they reached Long Lake, a long, narrow stretch of water west of the Lonely Mountain.
While the n rested and refilled their water skins, Roman climbed a rise and scanned the area with his white-fla sight.
Fili suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Lord Roman, there's a woman covered in blood running out of the trees!"
"Bandits?"
Fili shook her head. The ravens only saw her.
Roman didn't hesitate.
"Two troops of cavalry with !"
A hundred light horsen ford up in seconds and thundered toward the spot.
Ten minutes later they crested a hill and saw a pack of hunting dogs tearing into a screaming, blood-soaked woman.
Roman's face went cold. He knew exactly who this belonged to.
"Long Lake… Ramsay Snow's work?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He spurred forward, nocked arrows, and started dropping dogs with precise shots.
One big hound turned and bolted. The soldiers wanted to chase it down.
"Let it run," Roman ordered. "It'll lead us straight to its master. We follow."
"Fili, you and the rest stay here. Treat the woman and get her back to the main column."
Fili and the dics dismounted. Roman took a small squad and rode after the dog.
The terrified animal led them straight into a sheltered hollow.
There they found Ramsay Snow—Roose Bolton's bastard—sitting by a fire with his n, laughing and tearing into roasted at.
One of the n was still talking.
"My lord, that last girl you brought was sweet. Sha she was so weak. Died halfway through the night."
"Pissed myself when I ca back and found her in the dogs' bellies," another laughed.
Ramsay just shrugged. "The one that got away is better. Got so fight in her. Once the dogs drag her back I'll enjoy her properly."
"My lord, if the dogs get her first we won't have much left to play with."
Ramsay grinned, lips wet. "Then she'd better be quick. If she survives the dogs I'll be generous and give her one last ride before I flay her."
The n howled with cruel laughter.
A dragon's roar cut through the trees.
"So you're the one who set the dogs on her?"
Ramsay and his n spun around. Roman sat on a white horse at the top of the ridge, looking down at them like they were insects.
He glanced over the group, confird no one was missing, then rode straight into their camp and dismounted, warhamr already in hand.
Ramsay's soldiers took one look at Roman's size and the massive hamr and stepped back.
"Who the fuck are you?" Ramsay snarled.
"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is your dogs were just killing a woman."
One of Ramsay's n stepped in front of his lord. "Do you know who you're talking to? Lord Ramsay will cut your tongue out!"
Roman's eyes lit up with mock surprise.
"Ramsay?" He pointed with exaggerated delight. "Ohhh… so you're the Bolton bastard."
The soldiers around Ramsay grinned. Everyone in the Dreadfort knew how much their lord hated that word.
Ramsay's fat lips trembled with rage. "I'm going to flay you alive and—"
He never finished.
Harrenhal cavalry burst from every side and surrounded them.
Ramsay's n froze like whipped dogs.
Roman didn't waste words. White fla roared to life around his hands and coated the head of his warhamr.
He stepped forward and swung.
The first man and his shield flew ten feet. The second swing drove another soldier's head down into his chest with a wet crunch.
The rest dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging.
Roman walked through them like they were stray dogs, crushing skulls with short, efficient blows. The last man who tried to fight got launched into a tree.
In seconds Ramsay's entire group was dead except for the bastard himself.
Ramsay finally understood real fear. His mouth opened but no sound ca out.
Roman's fist caught him square on the right side of the face. Teeth and half his jaw shattered. Ramsay dropped like a sack of at.
Roman looked at the unconscious bastard and smiled coldly.
"Watch him," he told his n. "Don't let the little flayer die too easy."
He had plenty of plans for Ramsay Snow.
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