Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire

Rush from Winterfell to Moat Cailin, marching without wisdom. Theon marched with Bolton's infantry at the end of the central army. He met many familiar faces among their officers, but there was no warmth or coldness in their eyes when they looked at him, as if they only regarded Theon as an object.

"Reek!" A familiar voice came over, Theon lowered his head and hunched over. Yes, they didn't regard him as an object, he was a stinker, and the bastard's army regarded him as a stinker.

Bones Ben, the breeder who took care of the hounds for his master, was grinning, and only a few teeth could be seen in his mouth.

"Hurry to the front army! Lord Ramsay asked you to go quickly, otherwise I don't mind opening a gap between you and the hound tonight!" Bones Ben roared loudly. He would only speak softly in front of his master. Theon saw that his few remaining teeth were even shaking.

When he heard the word hound, his body shivered unconsciously. He was already familiar with the climate in the north, so he naturally would not shiver because of the cold weather.

The hideous grinning face of the hound raised by the master appeared in his mind, and fear suddenly filled Theon's heart.

He couldn't help nodding, and was kicked to the ground when he passed Bones. The mud pit on the ground made his face dirty, and the mud was all over his body.

"The master will be angry! No! The master doesn't want to see the dirty stinker!" Theon shouted loudly, struggling to climb out of the mud pit.

"Hahaha!" Bones' laughter filled the marching square, causing a group of soldiers to turn their heads and look here.

"You're already stinky enough, stinker! Get up!" Bones grabbed Theon's collar and pulled it up, and suddenly let it go. Theon's overall center of gravity has not yet adjusted, and it collapsed into the mud pit like a wooden bridge without support.

The mud entered Theon's eye sockets, mixed with a strange pain. Theon's hands dug in the mud pit, pushed the mud inside to both sides, and tried to splash his eyes with the mud water that looked clearer.

"Hurry up!" Bones kicked again, but Theon was prepared and stood up straight without being kicked down.

Theon barely opened his eyes, and the gap in his vision widened a little. He shivered twice, climbed out of the mud pit, stumbled to his feet, and ran forward in panic.

The ridicule of the Bolton infantry echoed in his ears, but Theon put it all behind his mind. He wanted to find his master, to find his master.

The "clack" of horse hooves was close at hand as he crossed the infantry square of the central army. The mud and water were splashed by the sturdy northern war horses, and the scarlet flayed flags fluttered in the tent.

"Father assembled the army in the Dreadfort, and almost all the northern families responded. There was no reason for the iron races entrenched in the Bay of Cailin not to flee by boat. In the north, the northerners still have the final say." The master's big worm-like pink lips stirred, and he played with the dagger he often carried, saying in a mocking tone.

Ramsay Snow stared at the map, his eyes full of amusement.

His finger pointed to the city of Severn, which was closest to Winterfell. "Even the hypocritical bitch Jolie sent her people to the Dreadfort to respond to my father's call. Tsk, I feel itchy when I think of her delicate skin."

"The bitch's army was willing to set off only after we passed Severn for dozens of miles. Hypocritical loyalty, scared and scared, hahaha!"

Seeing Ramsay laughing, the people around him also responded, but Theon noticed that the personal guard of Lord Bolton sent from the Dreadfort, Walton, known as "Iron Legs", did not laugh, but looked at his master angrily.

He lowered his eyes and looked over. "Iron Legs" Walton had iron greaves tied tightly on his long legs, which made his long legs tight and straight.

"I guess Lady Jolie Severn still hates you for killing her brother, so she is unwilling to come." Walton's voice was a little low, he was not afraid of Ramsay, the illegitimate son.

Theon approached the tent, and Lord Ramsay squinted at him, his prying eyes made his back feel like it was covered with thorns.

He crawled on the ground, moved his legs, and approached Ramsay.

"Her brother? Let me think, oh! It was that poor Clay Severn, the fourteen-year-old warrior with a sword. Who killed him? Who?" Ramsay Snow circled the tent, the dagger in his hand constantly shifting between his fingers, swinging the sword in the air.

He seemed to be asking a question. The bastards and confidants surrounding Ramsay were very familiar with his appearance. Theon could see that most of them were fearful.

"Who was it?" Ramsay's dagger was close to Theon's chest, "Tell them, Reek, who killed poor young Clay Severn?"

The cold touch made Theon's body tremble uncontrollably. He swallowed his throat and looked up at his master.

After Theon took Winterfell, Sir Rodrik, knowing that he had fallen into a trap, came to his senses and summoned the troops stationed in the castles of the various families in the North to return to Winterfell, surrounding the castle which was only guarded by a dozen ironmen.

Clay Severn was one of them.

He remembered Clay's appearance, fourteen years old, with a tender face, a body that was not thin among his peers but definitely not tall, and the look of disbelief when he was killed.

"Theon Greyjoy, the ironborn, he killed Clay Severn, he killed Sir Rodrik, he killed Lambad Tallhar!" Theon's voice gradually became harsh, from peaceful to howling, and the painful screams echoed throughout the tent.

Iron Legs Walton looked at him mockingly, and Ramsay's eyes were actually a little surprised. The bastard's confidants around him blinked and looked at the howling Theon.

"What happened to your Reek, Ramsay?" Worton asked, not knowing Theon Greyjoy at all.

Ramsay squinted his eyes again, and Theon recognized this look, like a devil's look, and he knew that a certain piece of skin on his fingers was about to be peeled off again.

"No! No! Master, master! My fault! No!" Theon hurriedly crawled forward, but Wharton's long legs had already stepped on his neck.

"Stay away, Reek."

Xion felt as if there was a heavy stone on his neck, pressing his face firmly to the ground.

Ramsay's worm-like plump lips came to his ear, and he seemed to sniff the scent.

"You stink, Reek," said Ramsay, "give it a good wash and we'll have some fun tonight."

"No! No! No! Please!~" Xion's tears couldn't stop flowing down. The bastard's guards dragged him out, and the master's figure became farther and farther away from him.

"Please! Master! Please, she is just a child! Please!"

The farmer's pitiful pleas surrounded Roose Bolton's ears, which added to his enjoyment.

The guards of the Bolton family held down the farmer's daughter's limbs. Roose Bolton untied his sleeves and whispered in the girl's ear, "For thousands of years, the lords of the North have enjoyed the right of first night for the people under their rule. , the laws implemented by the Stark family after surrendering to Targaryen have become invalid under the rule of the Dreadfort. You must get used to it. I am the Warden of the North and the Duke of the Dreadfort."

There was only howling and crying in the house.

After a while, the sounds in the room disappeared without a trace. Luce arranged his clothes and asked his attendants to help him put on his light armor.

"They are too noisy," Luce said to the attendants. "The people of the North must learn to be quiet. This land has always been known for its bitter cold. The enemies are waiting for opportunities. We can only stay silent and unite. In the past Stark, now we are, the ancient Red King Bolton."

The attendant nodded believingly. He had become accustomed to Master Bolton's habits in recent days.

"Dong dong!" There was a knock on the door.

The attendant turned around and looked over. It was Najib, Master Bolton's bodyguard.

Nagy walked in, holding a woman's head in his hands, blood covering his hands.

"I originally just wanted to cut off this tongue-tied woman's tongue, Master Bolton, but I didn't expect that," Najib said.

Roose Bolton just glanced briefly, "What did she say, Naji? Killing people at will is against the laws of the North."

"She said how good the Stark family was. She said that under Duke Eddard, there had never been any lords killing people at will. She said that the northern girls at that time even dared to walk at night."

Luce paused slightly, "Stark has ruled the North for thousands of years. His surname alone can call upon all the Northerners. They rely on this to rule, but Bolton is different." He approached Najib and looked down at the bloody 's head, "We rule by people's fear, from the Red King to the Seven Kingdoms era, consistently."

He turned to look at the attendant, "I trust your sword skills. I will peel off the skins of these three civilians and hang them on a wooden pillar in the village for seven days."

The attendant lowered his head and said softly.

Luce breathed a sigh of relief, "We'll talk about controlling the northern territory later. Let's take the Kaline Bay first."

Master Burton strode away, and the attendant turned to look inside the house, where the bodies of the farmer and his daughter lay quietly.

At least they'll die together, the squire thought.