While Ramsay was unconscious, Roman and his n followed the survivor's directions to a small cabin.
The place reeked. Flayed corpses hung from the rafters. Tables were covered in strips of human skin still glistening with dark red fluid because the victims had been skinned alive.
Most of the bodies were won. No one needed to guess what Ramsay had done to them first.
Roman ordered the corpses and the skins collected and carried back to the main column.
At Long Lake a public platform had already been built. Ramsay stood bound on it while Roman displayed the evidence one piece at a ti.
Soldiers turned away and vomited. Fili's face went white and she kept spitting bile.
The surviving woman took one look at the skins and broke down completely. She described exactly how Ramsay and his n had tortured and murdered the others.
The verdict was imdiate. Death.
Roman spoke quietly to the executioners. They grinned and bowed. "Don't worry, my lord. We'll make sure this animal feels every bit of what his victims felt."
Ramsay was still screaming threats about Roose Bolton skinning Roman alive as they dragged him away.
Roman snorted. If Roose actually cared about his bastard he wouldn't have saddled him with that stinking servant. The man had already been run through by Harrenhal spears. Even regular fire couldn't burn the stench away completely. They'd needed white fla to finish the job.
The executioners tied a rope to Ramsay's wrists, lashed the other end to a warhorse, and sent the animal galloping toward the Wolfswood.
Ramsay bounced and scraped across rocks and frozen ground for a long stretch. His clothes shredded. Skin peeled off his chest and back in bloody strips. His screams scared birds out of the trees, but the soldiers only nodded in approval.
While Ramsay howled, the column held a proper funeral for the victims. White dragonfla consud the bodies and burned away any lingering spirits.
When the executioners judged the horse-dragging had gone on long enough, they hauled Ramsay into the woods, far from ravens and witnesses.
They lashed him to a tree.
"Lord Roman said you're not a man anymore," one executioner told him cheerfully. "We're supposed to treat you like an animal. He said we could get creative."
The n started pulling tools from their packs.
"Hamr? Boring."
"Saw? Too plain."
"Needles? What the hell would we even do with those?"
They were getting impatient when the lead executioner finally found what he wanted.
"Got it!"
He held up a massive pair of iron pliers. The others laughed and helped strip Ramsay's trousers.
"You can't do this!" Ramsay shrieked. "My father will kill every last one of you!"
"Can't?" The executioner opened the pliers wide. "You didn't think about what your victims felt while you were hurting them. Too late now."
He lined up the jaws.
"Hey Ramsay… say goodbye to your little brother."
Crunch.
The sound was wet and final. Blood and other fluids sprayed across the snow. The executioner twisted the pliers, then yanked. Ramsay's genitals ca away in a mangled clump.
Ramsay had already passed out.
"Damn. I wanted to hear him beg. Guess he's done."
They cut off his head, burned the body with white fla, and packed the head along with the flayed skins.
Everything would go to Winterfell. Eddard could decide how to use it against Roose Bolton.
Ramsay's cris had violated every law in the North. Roose would have to answer for his son. If the lord tried to retaliate against Roman, there would be plenty of evidence to bury him with.
So things you just didn't put on the scales. Once you did, the weight crushed you.
Roman felt better than he had in weeks. He patted his horse.
"Ramsay Snow is dead. Let's move. The Night's Watch needs these supplies."
A few minutes later he asked the executioners how they'd finished Ramsay.
They told him in detail.
Roman's face went through several interesting colors. He decided he never wanted to know what book they had been reading.
The column left Long Lake and made good ti. After crossing the Last River they finally broke out of the Wolfswood.
A few days later the supply train reached the Wall.
Even the veterans who had seen it before fell silent. The new n simply stared.
A vast plain of ice rose like a mountain range across the horizon. Brandon the Builder had been sothing else.
"Damn," Roman muttered. "Why the hell didn't they spread this building magic around? If I had it I'd give every family in Harrenhal a new house by next winter."
His soldiers heard him and felt the sa quiet pride they always did. This was why they followed him. House Whent treated them like people.
The cold hit hard. Veterans helped everyone into proper winter gear. Fili bundled herself until she looked like a walking sheep and still tried to wrap more wool around Roman.
"My lord, it's freezing. You need more layers."
Roman sighed. He was already sweating under his current clothes and had to vent excess heat with white fla so he wouldn't freeze once the sweat dried. He settled for gently rubbing Fili's head and explaining.
She was like an oversized golden retriever—constantly fussing over him, sotis a little too enthusiastically. But without her and the others, he never would have made it this far.
He reached over and pinched her cheek.
"Mmm—my lord, what are you doing?"
"Nothing. You're just too cute. I couldn't help myself."
"My face is going to stretch!"
Once everyone was ready they rode the final stretch to Castle Black.
The journey had been long. Robert had supposedly taken months to travel from Winterfell to King's Landing. Roman had no idea how the man survived it.
At the gates of Castle Black, Jeor Mormont—the Old Bear and 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch—stood waiting.
He watched the massive Harrenhal column approach with a deeply unsettled expression.
He had no idea why House Whent had sent so many ard n.
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