Chapter 266 - Ramsay Bolton's Letter

The next morning, a knight stood in the snow outside Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

He rode a gray-black warhorse. His left hand held a shield painted with the flayed man of House Bolton.

His right hand held a white peace banner. The corner twisted in the wind, snapping flat against the pole, then whipping free again.

The brothers on the gatehouse watched him for a moment. Someone shouted down. A man cracked the side gate open.

The knight dismounted, handed over the letter, said nothing, remounted, and turned back the way he had come. His hoofbeats faded across the empty snow until they dissolved into the gray-white skyline.

Jon Snow was eating breakfast at the long table.

A few bowls of thin porridge. Half a loaf of black bread. A small dish of salt meat.

Rickon Stark sat beside him, chewing on a strip of the meat, then frowned, spat it onto the edge of the table, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dolorous Edd sat across from them. He glanced at the discarded meat and said in a flat voice, "Sorry the food's poor, little prince."

Jon's hand tightened slightly around his spoon.

He didn't look up. Those two words — little prince — hung in his ear for a beat before settling.

He glanced at Rickon. The boy was dipping a piece of bread into his porridge broth and pushing it into his mouth, no reaction at all to being called little prince. As if he'd long since gotten used to it. Or as if he hadn't been listening.

Jon looked away.

Robb had been King in the North. Rickon was Robb's brother. Edd calling him that wasn't wrong. Still, the word prince always sat strangely in Jon's ears.

Lady Stoneheart was watching him. "Where is your direwolf?"

He hadn't expected that.

Jon set down his spoon and looked at Catelyn's gray, ruined face. A breath passed before he answered. "I left Ghost locked up at Castle Black."

"There's a skinchanger among the free folk. His boar is the size of a calf. If I let Ghost loose, he'd go straight for it."

A brother of the Night's Watch came through the door, boots striking the floorboards in a sharp crack. He stopped beside Jon and held out a letter.

"For you, Lord Commander."

Jon took it and broke the seal. The handwriting was rough but forceful, the ink thick and dark. The letter opened without greeting:

Traitor and bastard Jon Snow.

Jon's eyes rested on those words for a moment. Then he read on.

You let thousands of wildlings through the Wall. You betrayed your own people. You betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard.

Hand over your brother Rickon, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling friends.

Refuse, and I will march north and slaughter everything in my path.

Every wildling under your protection, man, woman, or child. I will flay them alive before your eyes.

I will make you watch my soldiers rape your foster mother.

I will make you watch my dogs eat your little brother.

Then I will gouge out your eyes, and leave the rest for my dogs.

Ramsay Bolton.

Jon finished reading.

He set the letter flat on the table. His fingers stayed pressed to its edge.

Tormund's fist came down on the table. Bowls and spoons jumped. Ale lurched over the rim of his cup and spread a dark, wet ring across the wood.

Jon pulled his eyes from Tormund's face. "If the Umbers knew Sansa was the wife of Khal Drogo, would they still betray the Starks? The Khal has already taken King's Landing."

Lady Stoneheart's gray-white eyes lifted.

"Few people know that." She paused. "They only know Sansa married Tyrion." Another pause. "You said Drogo has taken King's Landing. When did this happen?"

"I only found out yesterday," Jon said.

Harwin asked, "How did you come to know Lady Sansa married the Khal?"

"She sent a letter. Asked me to go to Last Hearth and rescue Rickon. She mentioned her husband in it."

"We're in serious trouble," Edd said, his voice as flat as always. "They haven't come with goodwill. We have barely 200 men in the Night's Watch. We cannot hold."

Tormund's voice came in hard. "How many soldiers does he have?"

Harwin leaned back in his chair, sifting through everything he'd heard on the road north from the Riverlands.

"King Robb marched south with 20,000 men. Most of those who came back were Bolton men. After Ramsay defeated Stannis, he still had at least 5,000 troops."

5,000.

The number dropped onto the table like a stone into water. The hall went quiet for several breaths.

Jon turned to Tormund. "How many can you field?"

Tormund considered. "Those who can march and fight — around 2,000. A hundred giants. Thirty-three mammoths that can join a battle. The rest are children and elders."

"But our gear is too poor. No armor. No horses."

"King Stannis's cavalry cut through us easily. Giants and mammoths look impressive until knights ride at them. Then they're just slow targets."

2,000 wildlings and a hundred giants against 5,000 Bolton soldiers. When the numbers sat side by side, the gap was larger than anyone at the table wanted to say aloud.

Lady Stoneheart's voice cut through the silence. Hoarse. Certain. "Send a raven to King's Landing. Have the Khal ride his dragon here."

Every eye in the room went to her.

Jon didn't answer immediately.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping slowly against his knee.

How long for a raven to reach King's Landing? How long for a dragon to fly back? How long had Ramsay Bolton given them?

3 timelines stacked on top of each other in his mind. He sat with them for a few breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice came out steadier than he'd expected.

"A raven from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to King's Landing takes 3 days at minimum. Once the Khal has the letter, flying here on dragonback is roughly a day."

"The problem," he said, glancing at Tormund, then at the letter on the table, "is that Ramsay Bolton won't give us 4 days."

Tormund pressed both palms flat on the table and leaned forward.

"4 days. If the Khal can reach us in 4 days, we hold. If he can't..."

He left it there. The silence finished the sentence for him.

Jon pressed his fingers to the edge of the letter.

"I'll write to Khal Drogo. Tell him Bolton's men have reached the Wall."

"And arrange a ship for Rickon. Get him out of here. Send him to King's Landing. To Sansa."

Lady Stoneheart nodded.

➤ Next: The Dragons Must Be Hatched