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[Pre-ADwD Spoilers] "New" POV 1 - Spoilers for ADwD

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[quote name='A wilding' post='1554895' date='Oct 14 2008, 06.41']I will not be at all surprised if they turn on each other in ADwD.[/quote]

This issue had been nagging at the back of my mind throughout a recent re-read. Roose Bolton hardly ever says anything to indicate that he's working with his bastard son-- on the contrary he indicates that he hopes Ramsay Snow gets killed soon, to be replaced by legitimate heirs born of his new wife. Bolton says Ramsay Snow would be a danger to any new half-Frey sons. At the MOST it seems like Roose might be temporarily using Ramsay for managing matters up North while Dad is off South betraying Robb.

How much of what Roose says to others about how he regards Ramsay ought to be taken seriously, I wonder?

Another matter about which I wonder, and for which I was unable to pin down a satisfactory answer despite close attention on reread: WHEN exactly did Bolton decide to turn on Robb in favor of the Frey-Lannister alliance? Before or after the Freys did their dealw ith Tywin? How would Roose have known about it anyway? It seems to me as though Frey and Bolton would have hidden their respective bargaining with Tywin Lannister from one another, at least until both were sure the other was no longer likely to split on them to King Robb. As soon as Tywin was sure of one or the other, he could have used that fact to help persuade whichever of them had not yet committed to the betrayal; but it would have been a dicey piece of news to share with anyone who wasn't absolutely SURE not to ruin the surprise. Has anyone worked out a plausible timeline for when Bolton and Frey started to make their plans based on betraying Robb? It's clearly a decision Bolton had already made by the time he takes over Harrenhal.

And yet a third puzzle. In the pile of decrees Tommen seals distributing the prizes from defeating Stannis, there's a paper LEGITIMIZING Ramsay Snow to Ramsay Bolton??? Who would have requested THAT? Is Roose actually so dependent on or close to or cooperating with his bastard son that he's willing to make him his legitimate heir, and won't the Freys explode when they find out about it? It pre-emptively displaces any offspring Bolton gets from Fat Walda, and wasn't half the point of marriage alliances for the Freys that they want part-Frey descendants inheriting whatever their girls marry into? Not that Roose Bolton will be much discouraged by fear of anything the Freys can come up with. Weasels versus wolverines.

It was a serious shock, after reading Roose Bolton casually dismissing Ramsay as treacherous by nature and hoping he gets killed soon, to suddenly find him willing to legitimize the monster. I suppose the only plausible conclusion is that they are actually hand-in-glove and all Roose's previous disclaimers were smokescreens. In fact he's advising Ramsay to whitewash his reputation by posing as the "savior" of the Winterfell women and children, as a step towards consolidating Bolton control of the north for Roose eventually to hand on to his newly legitimized heir. If so, it will be fascinating watching them plot against one another, because Roose has to know that Ramsay will try to have him killed the moment it's in Ramsay's interests to do so. It's a paradox at least as old as the "Republic": evil men can't hold on to power because they can't trust one another to work together, but will always turn on one another. It's the only thing that counterbalances the fact that evil men have a tactical and strategic advantage over good men insofar as good men are handicapped by their refusal to commit certain acts.
'
Boltons. Shudder.

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[quote name='aspasia' post='1581341' date='Nov 7 2008, 13.01']This issue had been nagging at the back of my mind throughout a recent re-read. Roose Bolton hardly ever says anything to indicate that he's working with his bastard son-- on the contrary he indicates that he hopes Ramsay Snow gets killed soon, to be replaced by legitimate heirs born of his new wife. Bolton says Ramsay Snow would be a danger to any new half-Frey sons. At the MOST it seems like Roose might be temporarily using Ramsay for managing matters up North while Dad is off South betraying Robb.

How much of what Roose says to others about how he regards Ramsay ought to be taken seriously, I wonder?[/quote]

I'd say not that much. Nothing Roose usually says is at face value, and when he says one thing it usually means two. IMO Roose seems quite fond of Ramsey. Now I'm not saying he'd loose sleep over Ramsay's death but he'd probably plot the murder of whoever he deemed killed him in his spare time afterwards.
Look at all he's done for Ramsay raised him, gave him a loyal sevant"Reek",gave him that badass armour, allows him to go around calling himself Ramsay Bolton, gave him command of his garrison in his absence, gave him a wife and large lands.
If we saw an exchage between the two we'd know more of thier dynamic and how much is using and if there's any real loyalty between the two. In any event i doubt either be happy if the other died unless their the one doing the killing.


[quote name='aspasia' post='1581341' date='Nov 7 2008, 13.01']Another matter about which I wonder, and for which I was unable to pin down a satisfactory answer despite close attention on reread: WHEN exactly did Bolton decide to turn on Robb in favor of the Frey-Lannister alliance? Before or after the Freys did their dealw ith Tywin? How would Roose have known about it anyway? It seems to me as though Frey and Bolton would have hidden their respective bargaining with Tywin Lannister from one another, at least until both were sure the other was no longer likely to split on them to King Robb. As soon as Tywin was sure of one or the other, he could have used that fact to help persuade whichever of them had not yet committed to the betrayal; but it would have been a dicey piece of news to share with anyone who wasn't absolutely SURE not to ruin the surprise. Has anyone worked out a plausible timeline for when Bolton and Frey started to make their plans based on betraying Robb? [b]It's clearly a decision Bolton had already made by the time he takes over Harrenhal.[/b][/quote]

I have a loose timeline sinario that I made awhile back. I'd say it was well after he took Harrenhal though. It when somthing like:
Tywin defeats Stannis.
Roose & Tywin start talking,
Tywin & Lady Westerling start talking,
Tywin & Walder start talking,
Ramsay and Roose talk,
Ramsay sacks Winterfell,
Roose sends Glover and co to Duskendale,
Roose leaves Manderly behind to be captured,
The RW

IMO one of the few honest things Roose says is when he thinks the war is lost after the battle of blackwater and didn't want to back that loosing horse.
It may also be a coincidene, but when Roose left in that one seen to "go hunting for wolfskins." it is likely the exact moment he planed to switch side and was actually going send his letter that he was willing to betray Robb to Tywin. Edited by cybroleach

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[quote name='aspasia' post='1581341' date='Nov 7 2008, 19.01']And yet a third puzzle. In the pile of decrees Tommen seals distributing the prizes from defeating Stannis, there's a paper LEGITIMIZING Ramsay Snow to Ramsay Bolton??? Who would have requested THAT? Is Roose actually so dependent on or close to or cooperating with his bastard son that he's willing to make him his legitimate heir, and won't the Freys explode when they find out about it? It pre-emptively displaces any offspring Bolton gets from Fat Walda, and wasn't half the point of marriage alliances for the Freys that they want part-Frey descendants inheriting whatever their girls marry into? Not that Roose Bolton will be much discouraged by fear of anything the Freys can come up with. Weasels versus wolverines.[/quote]

I always saw this as Roose doublecrosing the Frey's. He, like most of the other Houses, probably feels that the Frey's are lying, cowardly weasels and he don't want a part-Frey ruling after he's gone.

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Roose only married Fat Walda because he got her weight in gold. The important thing for House Frey back then was that Lord Stark would marry a Frey. Initially, Lord Walder would be quite pissed off that Roose chose Fat Walda.

As to Ramsay we must keep in mind that there are to Bolton Lordships now. Ramsay marries 'Arya Stark' and becomes Lord of Winterfell, but the Warden of the North remains Roose Bolton. Also, I think, the Lord Paramount of the North would henceforth be the Lord of the Dreadfort, not the Lord of Winterfell. So Roose could father a trueborn son and give him the Dreadfort.

But then, I actually doubt that Roose Bolton truly intends to share his bed with Fat Walda. She was a tool, nothing less. Roose can be proud of Ramsay: He did everything he was ordered to do and survived. If the North happens to swallow Lord Ramsay of Winterfell, then Roose will not touch his son. If Ramsay's actions come to light, well, then I would not want to be Ramsay.

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[quote name='A wilding' post='1554895' date='Oct 14 2008, 08.41']Agreed. I think that the answer is that Roose, at least in ASoS, still needed Ramsay. Roose was after all still stuck south of The Neck, and his hold over the North was not exactly secure. This makes "Arya", and the legitimisation, bribes to keep Ramsay onside.

Ramsay OTOH now no longer needs Roose, certainly not once he has got his hands on "Arya".

I will not be at all surprised if they turn on each other in ADwD.[/quote]
My money's on Ramsay, easily, any time. But they may turn out to be loyal to one another. I mean-who else do they have?

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[quote name='Vendetto' post='1584519' date='Nov 10 2008, 21.54']Is roose bolton the only one that knows of Robb's will that Jon be his heir?[/quote]

Maege mormont and Galbart Glover both know and they parted ways with Robb before the red wedding. Jason Mallister also knows, as does the Greatjon (who's still alive at the twins).
Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, Jason Malister, Edmure Tully, Greatjon Umber and any other lord with Robb at hags mire signed the document.

Robb did not just make Jon his heir, he also legitimized him, so Jon is Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell (as he is the oldest of the Stark sons), but he is also King in the North, except he doesn't know it.

Maybe Lyanna Mormont does know it, though.

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[quote name='KingBeyondTheWall' post='1610935' date='Dec 6 2008, 06.39']Maege mormont and Galbart Glover both know and they parted ways with Robb before the red wedding. Jason Mallister also knows, as does the Greatjon (who's still alive at the twins).
Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, Jason Malister, Edmure Tully, Greatjon Umber and any other lord with Robb at hags mire signed the document.

Robb did not just make Jon his heir, he also legitimized him, so Jon is Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell (as he is the oldest of the Stark sons), but he is also King in the North, except he doesn't know it.

Maybe Lyanna Mormont does know it, though.[/quote]

Actually, we have no idea what the document they signed said. We know that Robb discussed this matter with Catelyn prior to that, but nothing is acutally said about the contents of the document. Robb could have changed his mind in the time between his conversation with his mother and the time he asks his bannermen to sign the document.

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It's true that Robb could have changed his mind, but it would be extremely cheap of a writer to do that, creating a completely pointless dramatic scene for no purpose other than to act as filler, toy with the audience, etc.

So the question for me is: is GRRM that kind of writer? I'd say the answer is no.

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I don't necessarily consider it pointless to make it clear that Robb wanted to make Jon his heir even if it turns out he chose someone else or added some other kind of twist to it that never came up in his discussion with Catelyn.

The fact that the contents of the document is never mentioned and no one asks a single question about the fact that someone sworn to hold no lands or titles is declared heir to the North makes me think there's something more to it than that.

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A quick thought : we know Theon lost three fingers. Apparently the procedure is the same each time, Ramsay skins the finger then it festers and has to be cut. We have read so far of two people recieving "a piece of prince" : Asha and Roose. So there must have been a third person to get one. Lord Balon maybe ? Or maybe we still have to hear of that one yet.

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[quote name='Stratonice' post='1612490' date='Dec 8 2008, 15.24']I don't necessarily consider it pointless to make it clear that Robb wanted to make Jon his heir even if it turns out he chose someone else or added some other kind of twist to it that never came up in his discussion with Catelyn.

The fact that the contents of the document is never mentioned and no one asks a single question about the fact that someone sworn to hold no lands or titles is declared heir to the North makes me think there's something more to it than that.[/quote]

He may be legitimized but he would still be behind the legitimate kids

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[quote name='Branfangd' post='1640087' date='Jan 6 2009, 20.18']He may be legitimized but he would still be behind the legitimate kids[/quote]

Not if Robb specifically states Jon is his heir in that letter.

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REEK

The rat squealed as he bit into it, squirming wildly in his hands. The belly was the softest part. He tore at the sweet meat, the warm blood running over his lips. It was so good that it brought tears to his eyes. His belly rumbled and he swallowed. By the third bite the rat had ceased to struggle, and he was feeling almost content.

Then he heard the sounds of voices outside the dungeon door.

At once he stilled, fearing even to chew. His mouth was full of blood and flesh and hair, but he dared not spit or swallow. He listened in terror to the scuff of boots and the clanking of iron keys. No, he thought, please gods, not now. It had taken him so long to catch the rat. If they catch me with it they will take it away, and then Lord Ramsay will hurt me.

He knew he ought to hide the rat, but he was so hungry. It had been two days since he had eaten, or maybe three. Down here in the dark it was hard to tell. Though his arms and legs were thin as reeds, his belly was swollen and hollow, and ached so much that he found himself remembering Lady Hornwood. After their wedding, Lord Ramsay had locked her away in a tower and starved her to death. In the end she had eaten her own fingers.

He crouched down in a corner of his cell, clutching his prize. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth as he tore at the rat with his teeth, trying to bolt down as much of the warm flesh as he could. The meat was stringy, but so rich he thought he might be sick. He chewed and swallowed, feeling the small bones crunch between his teeth.

The sounds were growing louder. Please gods, he isn’t coming for me. There were other cells, other prisoners. Sometimes he heard them screaming, even through the thick stone walls. The women always scream the loudest. He sucked at the raw meat and tried to spit out the leg bone, but it only dribbled over his lower lip and tangled in his beard. Go away, he prayed, go away, pass me by, please, please.

But the footsteps stopped just when they were loudest, and the keys clattered right outside the door. The rat fell from his fingers. His heels scrabbled at the straw as he tried to push himself into the corner.

The sound of the lock turning was the most terrible of all. When the light hit him full in the face, he let out a shriek.

“That’s not him,” said a boy’s voice. “Look at him. We’ve got the wrong cell.”

“Last cell on the left,” another boy replied. “This is the last cell on the left, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” A pause. “What’s he saying?”

“I don’t think he likes the light.”

“Would you, if you looked like that?” The boy hawked and spat. “And the stench of him. I’m like to choke.”

“He’s been eating rats,” said the second boy. “Look.”

The first boy laughed. “He has. That’s funny.”

I had to, he thought. The rats bit him when he slept, gnawing at his fingers and his toes, even at his face, so when he got his hands on one he did not hesitate. Eat or be eaten, those were the only choices. “I did it,” he mumbled, “I did, I did, I ate him, they do the same to me, please...”

The boys moved closer, the straw crunching softly under their feet. “Talk to me,” said one of them. He was the smaller of the two, a thin boy, but clever. “Tell me your name.”

My name. A scream caught in his throat. They had taught him his name, they had, but it had been so long that he’d forgotten. If I say it was wrong he’ll take another finger, or worse, he’ll... “Please,” he squeaked, his voice thin and weak. He sounded a hundred years old. Perhaps he was. How long have I been in here?

“Reek,” said the larger of the boys. “Your name is Reek. Remember?” He was the one with the torch. The smaller boy had the ring of iron keys.

Reek? Tears ran down his cheeks. “I remember. I do.” His mouth opened and closed. “My name is Reek. It rhymes with bleak.” In the dark he did not need a name, so it was easy to forget. Reek, Reek, my name is Reek. He had not been born with that name. In another life he had been someone else, but here and now, his name was Reek. He remembered.

He remembered the boys as well. They were clad in matching lambswool doublets, silver-grey with dark blue trim. Both were squires, both were eight, and both were Walder Frey. Big Walder and Little Walder, yes. Only the big one was Little, and the little one was Big, which amused the boys and confused the rest of the world. “I know you,” he whispered, through cracked lips. “I know your names.”

“You’re to come with us,” said Little Walder.

“His lordship has need of you,” said Big Walder.

Fear went through him like a knife. They are only children, he thought. Two boys of eight. He could overcome two boys of eight, surely. Even as weak as he was, he could take the torch, take the keys, take the dagger sheathed on Little Walder’s hip, escape. No, it is too easy. It is a trap. If I run, he will take another finger from me, he will take more of my teeth.

Serve and obey and remember who you are, and no more harm will come to you. He promised, his lordship promised. Even if he had wanted to resist, he did not have the strength. It had been scourged from him, starved from him, flayed from him. When Big Walder pulled him up and Little Walder waved the torch at him to herd him from the cell, he went along as docile as a dog. If he had a tail, he would have tucked it down between his legs.

Out in the yard, night was settling over the Dreadfort and a full moon was rising over the castle’s eastern walls. Its pale light cast the shadows of the tall triangular merlons across the frozen ground, a line of sharp black teeth. The air was cold and damp and full of half-forgotten smells. The world, Reek told himself, this is what the world smells like. He did not know how long he had been down there in the dungeons, but it had to have been half a year at least. What if it had been five years, or ten, or twenty? Would I even know? What if I went mad down there, and half my life is gone? But no, that was folly. The boys were still boys. If it had been ten years, they would have grown into men. He had to remember that. I must not let him drive me mad. He can take my fingers and my toes, he can put out my eyes and slice my ears off, but he cannot take my wits unless I let him.

Little Walder led the way with torch in hand. Reek followed meekly, with Big Walder just behind him. The dogs in the kennels barked as they went by. Wind swirled through the yard, cutting through the thin cloth of the filthy rags he wore and raising gooseprickles on his skin. The night air was cold and damp, but he saw no sign of snow, though surely winter was close at hand. Reek wondered if he would be alive to see the snows come. How many fingers will I have? How many toes? When he raised a hand, he was shocked to see how white it was, how fleshless. I have an old man’s hands. Could he have been wrong about the boys? What if they were not Little Walder and Big Walder after all, but the sons of the boys he’d known?

The great hall was dim and smoky. Rows of torches burned to the left and right, grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls. High overhead were wooden rafters black from smoke, and a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. The air was heavy with the smells of wine and ale and roasted meat. Reek’s stomach rumbled noisily at the scents, and his mouth began to water.

Little Walder pushed him stumbling past the long tables where the men of the garrison were eating. He could feel their eyes upon him. The best places, up near the dais, were occupied by Ramsay’s favorites. But there were strangers too, faces he did not know. Some wrinkled their noses as he passed, whilst others laughed at the sight of him.

At the high table the Bastard of Bolton sat in his lord father’s seat, drinking from his father’s cup. Two old men shared the high table with him, and Reek knew at a glance that both were lords. One was gaunt, with flinty eyes, a long white beard, and a face as hard as a winter frost. His jerkin was a ragged bearskin, worn and greasy. Underneath he wore a ringmail byrnie, even here at table. The second lord was thin as well, but twisted where the first was straight. One of his shoulders was much higher than the other, and he stooped over his trencher like a vulture over carrion. His eyes were grey and greedy, his teeth yellow, his forked beard a tangle of snow and silver. Only a few wisps of white hair still clung to his spotted skull, but the cloak he wore was soft and fine, grey wool trimmed with clack sable and fastened at the shoulder with a starburst wrought in beaten silver.

Ramsay was clad in black and pink; black boots, black belt and scabbard, black leather jerkin over a pink velvet doublet slashed with dark red satin. In his right ear gleamed a garnet cut in the shape of a drop of blood. Yet for all the splendor of his garb, he remained an ugly man, big-boned and slope-shouldered, with a fleshiness to him that suggested that in later life he would run to fat. His skin was pink and blotchy, his nose broad, his mouth small, his hair long and dark and dry. His lips were wide and meaty, but the thing men noticed first about him were his eyes. He had his lord father’s eyes; small, close-set, queerly pale. Ghost grey, some men called the shade, but in truth his eyes were all but colorless, like two chips of dirty ice.

At the sight of Reek, he smiled. “There he is. My sour old friend.” To the men beside him he said, “Reek has been with me since I was a boy. My lord father gave him to me, as a token of his love.”

The two lords exchanged a look. “I had heard your serving man was dead,” said the one with the stooped shoulder. “Slain by the Starks, they said.”

Lord Ramsay chuckled. “The ironmen will tell you that what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. Like Reek. He smells of the grave, though, I grant you that.”

“He smells of nightsoil and stale vomit.” The stoop-shouldered old lord tossed aside the bone that he’d been gnawing on and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth. “Is there some reason you must needs inflict him upon us whilst we’re eating?”

The straight-backed old man in the mail byrnie studied Reek with flinty eyes. “Look again,” he urged the other lord. “His hair’s gone white and he is three stone thinner, but this is no serving man. Have you forgotten?”

The crookback lord looked again and gave a sudden snort. “Him? Can it be? Stark’s ward. Smiling, always smiling.”

“He smiles less often now,” Lord Ramsay confessed. “I may have broken some of his pretty white teeth.”

“You would have done better to slit his throat,” said the lord in mail. “A dog who turns against his master is fit for naught but skinning.”

“Oh, he’s been skinned, here and there,” said Ramsay.

“Yes, my lord. I was bad, my lord. Insolent and...” He licked his lip, trying to think of what else he had done. Serve and obey, he told himself, and he’ll let you live, and keep the parts that you still have. Serve and obey and remember your name. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek.

“There’s blood on your mouth,” Ramsay observed. “Have you been chewing on your fingers again, Reek?”

“No. No, my lord, I swear.” Reek had tried to bite his own ring finger off once, to stop it hurting after they had stripped the skin from it. Lord Ramsay would never simply cut off a man’s finger. He preferred to flay it, and let the exposed flesh dry and crack and fester. Reek had been whipped and racked and cut, but there was no pain half so excruciating as the pain that followed flaying. It was the sort of pain that drove men mad, and it could not be endured for long. Sooner or later the victim would scream, “Please, no more, stop it hurting, cut it off,” and Lord Ramsay would oblige. It was a game they played. Reek had learned the rules well, but the one time he had forgotten and tried to end the pain himself with his teeth, Ramsay had not been pleased, and the offense had cost Reek another toe. “I ate a rat,” he mumbled.

“A rat?” Ramsay’s pale eyes glittered in the torchlight. “All the rats in the Dreadfort belong to my lord father. How dare you make a meal of one without my leave?”

Reek did not know what to say, so he said nothing. One wrong word could cost him another toe, even a finger. Thus far he had lost two fingers off his left hand and the pinky off his right, but only the little toe off his right foot against three from his left. Sometimes Ramsay would make japes about balancing him out. He does not want to hurt me, he told me so, he only does it when I give him cause. His lord was merciful and kind. He might have flayed his face off for some of the things Reek had said, before he learned his true name and proper place.

Lord Ramsay filled his cup with ale. “Reek, I have glad tidings for you. I am to be wed. My lord father is bringing me a Stark girl. Lord Eddard’s daughter, Arya. You remember little Arya, don’t you?”

Arya Underfoot, he almost said. Arya Horseface. Robb’s younger sister, brown-haired, long-faced, skinny as a stick, always dirty. Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child’s fancy. Arya, though... “I remember her. Arya.”

“She shall be the Lady of Winterfell, and me her lord.”

She is only a girl. “Yes, my lord. Congratulations.”

“Will you attend me at my wedding, Reek?”

He hesitated. “If you wish it, my lord.”

“Oh, I do.”

He hesitated again, wondering if this was some cruel trap. “Yes, my lord. If it please you. I would be honored.”

“We must take you out of that vile dungeon, then. Scrub you pink again, get you some clean clothes, some food to eat. I have a little task for you, and you’ll need your strength back if you are to serve me. You do want to serve me, I know.”

“Yes, my lord. More than anything.” A shiver went through him. “I’m your Reek. Please let me serve you. Please.”

“Since you ask so nicely, how can I deny you?” Ramsay Bolton smiled. “I ride to war, Reek. And you will be coming with me, to help me fetch home my virgin bride.”

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Is this a spoiler chapter?

It was pretty interesting, no matter what it was. Although, i don't think GRRM approves of such goings-on.

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One thing I hope to learn from Theon's PoV- the identity of Ramsay's mother. He lived with her until a few years before the books, iirc, and he didn't turn into a sociopath overnight (I would assume), so... who was she? Probably minor nobility; I doubt Roose would bother to groom the son of some random peasant woman. And what was she like? :stunned:

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Disturbing development to say the least.

My problem with this Ramsay guy and the Dreadfort/Boltons in general:

Come, sit. Visit with Uncle Grim as he babbles and gripes. No fidgeting!

I call it the Terry Goodkind treatment. What is that, you ask? In Goodkind's books every time the reader thinks things couldn't possibly get any more disturbing or horrific...they do. Someone worse shows up and something worse happens.

The Boltons aren't new. The flayed man sigil is not new, right? And yet Eddard Stark doesn't even think of them during GoT does he? And now it's like the Dreadfort and the Boltons were something spit straight out of Hell and weren't there yesterday. No one noticed this house of horrors operating, business as usual this whole time? Ned Stark will NOT tolerate oathbreakers, beware men of the Night's Watch. But go ahead Mr. Bannerman, flay people.

Originally this was going to be a trilogy. If you keep that in mind you can see how GoT reads like the first book in a trilogy. How much of a part would the Boltons have had if it had remained a trilogy?

I love Martin and I love the story he's telling but I don't need to be increasingly horrified with each volume. It makes it hard to reread it. I don't reread Goodkind books. We need to get a move on. The dragons need to grow up, the kids need to grow up. I'm starting to think he shoulda stuck to the five year gap plan.

It's getting to the point where the bastion of honor, this domain of down-to-earth and hearty folks up in the North that we were first introduced to has become a cesspit of disgusting people and I'll end up rooting for the Others to tear down the Wall and march over them, obliterating them. Cold justice.

That's not a good thing.

If the Others don't get the job done I sure as shit hope Dany melts the Dreadfort, Harrenhal style.

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Tears of Lys, GRRM has released three of them (Reek, Jon, and Dany) for anyone who wishes to peek.

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Tears of Lys, GRRM has released three of them (Reek, Jon, and Dany) for anyone who wishes to peek.

I know I've seen/read the Reek & Jon chapters...what/where is the Dany?

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