Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Bolton Trial

Roose Bolton, 278AC, Dreadfort

Deep within the Dreadfort, the ancient home of House Bolton, two men sat across from one another at an oaken table. The room was decorated by ancient skeletal hands grasping torches to cast light on the occupants within. A younger man sat in amusement as he folded his hands, patiently waiting as an older man with gray hair clutched a letter in his hand as he read it closely, his face turning the same shade as the colored tunic of his house colors.

"Stark…" Spat Ryden Bolton as he glared down at the letter in his hand from Rickard Stark. His father was ever jealous of the Starks, always with an eye on unseating them and carrying the Bolton's to victory over their ancient enemies. Much of his father's life had been consumed by his shadow war against the Starks, one that he lost, to Roose's amusement and his father's anger. A letter arrived not long ago, demanding that the Boltons travel to Winterfell for the Harvest Festival, where Roose would face trial due to the raping of a miller's wife and the killing of her husband.

"You were not wise to plot so openly against the Starks, not when they were in a position of strength." Roose said in a soft tone, eager to see the reaction from his father. He enjoyed playing these games of baiting with his father, enjoyed seeing the reactions it caused from the man whenever the mention of Stark was brought up. If it was one thing that could cause the man visible distress, it was the mention of his failures in bringing down Rickard or his father before him.

"You were not wise to rape a miller's wife and kill her husband!" His father growled back in response.

"You would accuse your own son of such a thing?" Roose queried as Ryden snorted.

"Don't play your games with me Roose or I may change my mind about having you flayed and put on the wall. It certainly would be the most memorable thing about you to keep around." His father threatened. "The guards were wise enough to inform me of the validity of the Stark claims." He added as he scratched his chin in thought. So his father still had a few informants in Roose's personal guard, intriguing information to rectify at a future date. He thought he had managed to root them all out.

"You would lose your only son over such a trivial matter? With your problem in bed, well…" Roose said taking joy in his father's stern look. It was a well-kept secret that his father had issues producing offspring. Whores and small folk from across the Bolton lands had taken his seed to no avail. It was little wonder that Roose himself had been born. Perhaps it had to do with his age though? It was a thought for another time to ponder and perhaps dangle in front of his father.

"Despite your folly, the Starks have no proof but the word of a Miller's wife and perhaps a peasant or two, hardly enough to stand up in trial. This will just be another way to muddy our name." The Dreadlord analyzed. "We will go to the Harvest Festival and grit out teeth, our time will come." He predicted, sipping another drink of wine in thought.

"My folly?" Roose inquired with a raised brow. "The Wolf's eyes would have never been on us if it weren't for your antics in stirring up supporters during the time when the Starks were popular. Now thanks to your failure's, he has found reason and support to openly prosecute us for actions he knows full well takes place in other parts of the realm." He disagreed.

"My actions were to see to the fall of House Stark, while yours were for your own games." Ryden denounced firmly. His father never enjoyed the finer art of toying with a person like Roose did. He was certainly willing to go through great lengths, but he never enjoyed such an action in the process. Roose felt the most alive when he could toy with a person, to see how they reacted when you held the upper hand. Call it what you will, but Roose found it most intriguing.

"When we go to Winterfell, he will openly denounce us, though we must not let it derail us from the future. With your last wife passing, you will be in need of another. I will see about a match while we are there." His father planned as Roose listened. It was unfortunate his last wife had passed; she was a rather young noble lady with high ideals that Roose enjoyed prying apart piece by piece. She however, proved to be an ill fit for the cold north, passing away from sickness.

"Perhaps a Karstark or a Manderly? Both are powerful houses bordering our own. They will also fetch high dowry's to help pay recoup some of those taxes you lost to the Starks." Roose suggested with a hum as his father twitched again. How Roose lived for the simple pleasures in life.

"I have been in talks with Lord Ryswell. You should hope you haven't botched our chances. Having House Dustin and House Ryswell in our relations would serve us well in the future." Ryden envisioned.

"The Starks are popular enough that none would rise against them in open warfare. The only way we could see to their end would be to wipe them out, root and stem, with the exception of perhaps a daughter to allow us to lay a blood claim on Winterfell. Only then could we hope to defeat them." The heir of the Red Kings suggested.

"Do you think I haven't tried to wipe them out? Lord Stark is no fool to trust us to move into a position to put his house at risk." Ryden snapped at him impatiently.

"Then we wait, bide our time and an enemy will rise up and do it for us. Had our house struck after the rebellion of Skagos or the last King Beyond the Wall, we would have perhaps been successful." Roose reasoned.

"I haven't the time to wait." Ryden said with a sigh, one Roose savored.

"The mortal coils of time, our last enemy. You know I have read that an old type of leeching is known to forestall such ravages of time in the passages of more… instructive texts." Roose suggested to his father with a slim smile.

"Leave me, gather your things for the trip and alert the castle to be ready in case of the worst." Ryden ordered his heir out of his solar with the wave of his hand.

Lucas Fisher, 278AC, Winterfell

He hailed from a house that was once King's along the Stoney Shore. They, like many others, have been conquered and brought under the rule of the Stark's in ancient times. According to his house lore, they were a well off house with a fleet to defend their shores from the Iron Born and to fish the waters. That all ended when Brandon the Burner set the Western fleets aflame after the loss of his father. In the following years, their house declined considerably to what it was today.

Lucas' family ruled upon a number of fishing villages along the coast of the Stoney Shore where he had grown up. Life was hard for the people that lived under them, his family had long bled themselves defending the lands. Ironborn raiders were no stranger to his people and they did the best they could to fend them away from their homes when they arrived. Many over the years had sought safety inland and north amongst the Wolfswood clans, continuing the decline of their house.

The Stony Shore was difficult to farm, having rough soil and mountainous lands. It was better suited for grazing, though with the looming threat of Ironborn, it was made nearly impossible to do. Their people instead survived on the rich fishing grounds that their ancestors had relied on for generations and that once fueled their house at its height. In recent years, that had all began to change for the better.

Quellon Greyjoy now ruled the Iron Isles, and while raids weren't unknown to happen, they had significantly declined under his rule. Additionally, the booming ice trade from Beyond the Wall had created a significant trade route along the Western Coast of the North, bringing trade ships and security in the process. Finally, a trader had come through town some years ago bearing a plow and a harness for what horses they did have, that made tilling the soil for farming easier. They purchased what they could and even reproduced a great many, every farmer seeing the gain from such tools. This allowed them to prosper in the years following the last winter.

Lucas was a young lad as this was all happening, born in 260AC. As he grew up, things began to get better for House Fisher, and his father even accrued enough wealth to send him off to Barrowton to stay with a minor noble family and become educated beyond what many of his kin and even father ever managed, thanks to the state of their house and need to defend the lands. At ten, he arrived in Barrowton and worked hard to learn and even met Brandon Stark a number of times. The boy was kind enough, if not a bit wild and free hearted, often inviting Lucas out on his hunts and adventures. Lucas dutifully tagged along when invited, though he didn't exchange many words, preferring to remain quiet. He very well knew that his family barely passed as being noble, while Brandon's ruled the entirety of the North.

"Who goes there?" A guard shouted down at him from the vast walls of Winterfell. He have ridden from Norhook hall, the seat of their family, intent on attending the Harvest Festival. It had been quite sometime since a Fisher had even come to attend it at Winterfell. The journey was long and often times they couldn't very well be spared from their lands to do so.

"Lucas Fisher of House Fisher." Lucas called back from atop his horse as the guard shouted out for the doors to be open. Riding into Winterfell, he eyed the vast castle with his own eyes, taking in the many different sights of what a true Northern castle looked like. This was the ancient seat of the Stark Kings, and it was a glorious sight indeed. Horses filled the horse stalls, dogs within the kennels and the courtyard was busy with servants moving about attending their duties.

"Lucas!" Brandon yelled out as he walked out of Winterfell with a grin. Lucas hopped down from his horse and gave Brandon a tight bow as the younger man laughed. "No need to bow, save that for the King." He informed him as he motioned for a servant to take his steed to a stall.

"Lord Brandon." Lucas spoke as the boy arrived. He looked well, his normal mischievous look in his eyes that told Lucas he had something of entertainment on his mind. He had found out early that Brandon lived for excitement and pleasures, often adventuring through the Rills and Barrowlands, dragging whomever he could find with him. The boy was certainly born in the saddle.

"Lucas, you've come just in time to see the trial." Brandon informed him brightly.

"Trial?" Lucas wondered curiously.

"The Bolton heir, caught murdering and raping." Brandon informed him. "Come, let me show you to the great hall and fill you in." He said, yanking Lucas along. Lucas walked as Brandon told him all the details of what had happened as he remained listening. He had enough problems without getting involved in any trial between the likes of the Boltons and Starks. He certainly wanted nothing to do with a spat between the Wolves and the Flayed men.

Henry Dustin, 278AC, Winterfell

"Roose Bolton, you have been accused of violating the laws of the realm, practicing the outlawed act of first night. What have you to say in your defense?" Lord Rickard spoke from his throne as the trial commenced. His nephew seated below seemed to have an eerie calm about him as he stared up at Lord Stark with no fear present in his eyes, despite the tense situation around the room.

Henry was normally a more light hearted man and talkative, but given the circumstances, he remained as passive as possible since his arrival. This whole affair was bad business for House Dustin. His sister, Alaina was married to the Lord of the Dreadfort, and his own nephew was now on trial for a crime that many in the North knew full well went on in many places. Henry himself didn't practice such a thing, but he had heard tales of other houses doing so, though raping a woman under the body of her husband was an alarming one at that.

Henry had originally come hoping to find a wife for his son William, and an influential one at that. His father made a mistake marrying into the Bolton's that was clear now to him. Thankfully, Lord Stark had fostered his son Brandon at Barrowhall, alleviating the potential fallout this had. It was well known through the realm that Rickard Stark and Ryden Bolton disliked each other and it was even whispered that the Lord of Winterfell have found evidence of his good brother plotting against the Stark rule of the North, something that had caused Henry to distance his house as much as possible in recent years from the Bolton's as they fell from grace.

"I have done no such thing, despite what some peasants might plead. Are the Starks so desperate to discredit my house that they sling such accusations?" Roose questioned him in a soft tone as the crowd seemed to murmur in agreement.

"Very well, bring out the witnesses." Lord Stark ordered as five men began walking out dressed in the garb of house Targaryen as whispers spread throughout the room. Roose seemed suddenly uncomfortable as well if his tightening of his posture was any indication.

"Do you know who these men are?" Lord Stark asked, motioning towards the Justicars. Roose remained silent as he watched the Lord of Winterfell. "Introduce yourselves." Lord Stark ordered.

"I am Ser Herston of the Stormlands and Justicar for his grace, King Aerys." The man introduced as murmurs went through the hall.

"Ser Herston, please report to the courts of the incident you saw." Lord Stark directed as his grey eyes never left Roose.

The court listened as the man retold the tale of how they had spotted Roose Bolton on their way through the Bolton lands while in attendance of their duties. He recounted of his tale of Roose raping the woman and hanging of her husband from a tree, clearly condemning information coming from a Justicar. The crowd grew silent as Roose looked to his father who had turned an interesting shade of pink. Why his father ever let his sister marry off to such a house was beyond him. That his sister produced a son like this didn't look good on his house either.

"This trial is a farce, you all know this. The Starks have ever plotted to bring down the Bolton's." Roose claimed, looking around the hall. It was a desperate attempt that much was obvious. The Starks have served the North well in recent years and many owed them favor, including House Dustin. For the first time, a Stark was on the King's own council and trade was booming, although his lands were far less directly affected.

"A farce?" A voice boomed from the sidelines. "Your father plotted on Skagos to cause an uprising and you know it."

Henry eyed the enormous figure of the man that had spoken up. He recognized him immediately as Lord Crowl. He had grown into quite the warrior from when he had first laid eyes on him in the Stepstones. It was well known in the North that few, if any could match the Skagosi man in battle and that he united Skagos with an iron fist. He had done well for the North, though many had been cautious at his quick rise to fame and position of trust by Rickard Stark. The Lord of Winterfell had done well to ease their concerns, showing favor by awarding men positions under him in Kings Landing and easing their minds on Skagos with assurances and hostages.

It was said that Baldur was a mere figure head, the true ruler was his uncle, a man from the rough isles that was truly responsible for bringing the land to peace with the North after it had been united. None could however, dispute the giant man's effectiveness as a warrior, for he was a well-known name in the Seven Kingdoms and the most famous amongst the North. Already young boys spoke of wanting to fight at his side and he certainly wasn't shy about sharing the stories of his many battles.

"Silence." Lord Rickard directed. "Your concern has been heard. I shall convene with the other houses to determine your fate." He spoke as Roose stared back.

"I demand trial by combat." Roose called out as the crowd of onlookers shouted out in cheers, some at the idea of seeing a fight, others at seeing the Bolton down fall.

"Name your champion." Rickard spoke as the cheering died down.

"I shall stand for my house… though I do wonder…" Roose mused staring up at him as his eyes flicked towards Baldur. "Will you send your pet savage to fight me, or will you fight me yourself? I have heard you have grown a coward in Kings Landing." Roose challenged as Rickard's eyes flashed angrily.

"Name your best fighter!" The Crowl Lord shouted as he stepped towards the center of the hall, looming over Roose. "If you have the balls, you, your father and your best sword will meet me in the Godswood. Three against one is certainly a fair fight, even for a tiny dicked coward like you." The Crowl Lord challenged as the Skagosi men howled out in laughter, along with more than a fair number of Northern Lords.

"I shall fight him in the name of House Stark." A voice cut over as Brandon Stark strode out, eying Roose from head to toe. "We can do it right here if you'd like, no need to wait." The young man taunted as Roose looked on impassively as a number of other men howled out challenges towards the Dreadfort lord.

"Be seated!" Ser Grant ordered over the noise, silencing the gathered men within the room. The aged master at arms of Winterfell was still sharp.

"You shall have your fight." Rickard agreed as he glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "I shall stand for House Stark. Come morning, a Trial of Combat will be held in the Godswood. Until such a time, you shall be confined to the Winterfell cells." Lord Stark ordered through the quiet hall before turning and departing the room.

It was quite brave of Roose to challenge Lord Rickard. The man was a formidable and seasoned warrior. Though aged he may be, he hadn't gone soft over the years where Roose himself had never been in a conflict in all of his years. With a Valyrian steel sword on Lord Stark's side, he would surely be hard pressed to defeat the Lord of Winterfell.