White Sunburst

The room in Harrenhal smelled of old parchment mingled with some faint spice.

Walton stood trembling before the dark red desk, his head bowed so low it almost disappeared into the collar of his mail.

A mud-spattered purse rested on the smooth desktop, its mouth slightly open, the Gold Dragons inside faintly visible.

Roose Bolton did not touch the purse. He did not even look at it.

"You took Vito Corleone's money, yet let the man I wanted dead go."

His voice was soft, yet it made Walton shudder instantly, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Even as terror filled him, his mind raced, trying to work out which of his damned subordinates had dared betray him!

"Don't bother guessing, Walton."

Roose seemed to see through him, his gaze seeming to penetrate everything. "No one can hide anything I wish to know from me."

"Not at the Dreadfort, nor here."

He leaned back slightly in his high-backed chair, his pale fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

Summoning his courage, Walton stole a sidelong glance. His lips quivered as he tried to explain. "My lord... I..."

"Heh."

But the moment he spoke, Roose gave a soft chuckle, as though something amusing had occurred to him.

"Since you took his money and did his bidding, Walton."

"Then go serve him!"

"What?!!"

Walton jerked his head up, disbelief filling his eyes.

He dropped to his knees with a thud, his voice even taking on a tearful edge.

"I've served you for over ten years, and my father served House Bolton his entire life. Please, for the sake of my..."

"I said..."

Once again, before he could finish his tearful plea, Roose Bolton seemed to tire of listening to Walton's babbling. He raised his voice slightly, his tone brooking no argument.

"Go. Serve him!"

"So you really came to serve me?"

Corleone rode a fairly docile packhorse, his unpracticed riding making him bounce a little. He could not resist teasing him.

Along the shore of Gods Eye, autumn sunlight spilled across the shimmering lake, which reflected Walton's utterly serious face. He looked as though he were constipated.

At those words, Walton's face turned livid. Gripping his reins tightly, he answered irritably, "These are Lord Bolton's orders."

"I must protect you all until you return safely to King's Landing, and... collect the payment owed to him."

"Payment?"

At that word, Corleone gave his reins a gentle tug, slowing his horse slightly as a trace of puzzlement flashed through his eyes.

His agreement with Roose Bolton had largely rested on tacit understandings and potential future benefits. It had involved no specific "payment."

"What payment?"

Corleone asked tentatively, but Walton merely shook his head, his brow tightly furrowed. "His lordship didn't specify."

"He only ordered me to go straight to Lord Tywin once we reached King's Landing."

The answer was vague. Corleone narrowed his eyes slightly.

He considered it. Given Walton's character, he was unlikely to lie, which made this move rather intriguing.

What did Roose Bolton mean by this?

Was he sending a trusted man along to keep watch?

Or did he have something else in mind, hoping to establish a more direct connection with Tywin by escorting Jaime back?

There was too little information. For now, he could not work out all the intricacies.

Beside him, Walton ground his teeth and cursed under his breath. "Damn it, if I find out which bastard drank my wine, took my rewards, and still dared stab me in the back by informing on me!"

"When I return to the North, I swear I'll strip him naked and hang him from the Dreadfort's walls so the crows can peck out his eyes!"

Watching his righteous indignation, Corleone merely shook his head lightly, a meaningful smile curling his lips. He said nothing.

Such things were actually easy to deduce. Whoever gained the most from the affair, or eliminated a potential problem, was the likeliest person pulling the strings.

But he had no intention of enlightening Walton.

Let this muscle-brained northerner take his time guessing.

After all, I still have questions of my own to figure out.

"Keep an eye on that fellow, Blood of My Blood!"

Shaking his head, Corleone stopped dwelling on those matters and turned his gaze to the other side, calling out a reminder. "Don't let him actually die!"

"I still need him to open the door for that big deal of mine!"

"Yes, Blood of My Blood!"

Rorge, still unconscious, lay tied crosswise over Yego's horse, bouncing like a sack of goods as the animal moved.

Yego answered in a deep voice and reached out to check Rorge's ropes, preparing to give him some breathing room.

But just then-

"Wooooooo!"

A low, lingering horn blast suddenly sounded from the forest road ahead and to one side!

Then came the rapid, densely packed pounding of hooves, swiftly growing clear as it drew nearer!

"Rumble~~~~"

From the sound, there were many of them. Even the ground seemed to tremble faintly.

"On guard!"

Corleone's pupils contracted. Without time to think, he immediately shouted a sharp warning!

Even without his right hand, Jaime reacted fastest, drawing his longsword in an instant.

Brienne urged her horse forward to shield Corleone's flank ahead. She had long since replaced the ridiculous gown with her own armor, and in mere moments, sword and shield were in her hands. She looked every bit an elite warrior.

Yego abandoned his attempt to loosen Rorge's bonds and likewise drew his longsword, a strange growl rising in his throat.

Even Walton, his face full of ill humor, instinctively drew his weapon and stared tensely toward the sound.

The fellow was reasonably dependable. Despite his seething resentment, he now displayed a veteran's discipline, swiftly forming a simple but effective triangular defensive formation with Brienne and Yego, enclosing Corleone protectively in the middle.

Their swift reactions also proved that, though this makeshift party was small, every one of them was elite.

They watched warily, their eyes fixed on the road.

Only a few breaths later, a troop of cavalry emerged from deep beneath the trees, almost as though appearing out of thin air.

There were twenty or thirty of them. They were not charging at full speed, but they were by no means slow. The distances between riders remained remarkably uniform, making them look equally elite.

Their horses' synchronized strides created an intense sense of pressure as they approached Corleone and the others directly. Clearly, they had already spotted them!

Corleone looked up, completely unable to tell whether these men were friends or foes. He merely reached inside his clothes and squeezed the pass Roose Bolton had issued.

As they drew closer, his pupils abruptly contracted.

At the very front of the troop, a tall banner tore fiercely at the air in the autumn wind, snapping loudly.

Its pitch-black field resembled a bottomless winter night. Embroidered upon it was an exceptionally striking shape that seemed to radiate sharp light...

A white sunburst!