Dreadfort Castle
POV of Tyrion Lannister
"For being the center of attention of the whole of Westeros. This place is certainly very peaceful." Tyrion commented as he went past shelves after shelves of books from Lord Bolton's own private library.
It had been a week since he arrived in Dreadfort. Since then, he had walked with giants, talked with Children of the Forest, ridden on the back of a direwolf, played with the children of smallfolk, and done an innumerable number of things that he would have once thought to be impossible.
And even if he had yet to meet Lord Bolton himself, he had still found a great many things about Dreadfort and Lundenhold City. Things that made him want to stay in this place rather than go back to the shithole known as King's Landing.
"I did not know that we were the center of attention of the whole of Westeros." Mance Rayder replied as he sat on a comfortable sofa and read a book on the history of the North and the Long Night.
A grim book if Tyrion said so himself.
"Making glass. Producing enough food to feed the whole North and some of the Vale. Producing enough steel weapons to arm a few armies of your own. Making roads that could challenge the Valyrian roads of the old and put the Royal Road to shame. Having the greatest warrior of the realm. Producing books is three times cheaper than those produced by Citadel and the Faith. Are you really that surprised that the Bolton lands are the topic of almost every conversation in Red Keep these days?" Tyrion asked. He finally found the book he had been searching for and sat down on the sofa opposite Mance.
In the past week, he and Mance had developed a steady friendship of sorts. And though Mance had still not told Tyrion anything about his own past, he still trusted Mance almost as much as he trusted his brother Jamie.
And hadn't that been a surprise? After living in King's Landing for so long, he was surprised to realize that he still had a sense of trust in others.
"If you put it that way, then I suppose I shouldn't." Mance said while turning the page of his book, "If you live here in Dreadfort for a long time, you forget that the outside world is stagnant and resistant to change compared to here. But then again, I suppose that is one of the charms of this place."
"One of the charms indeed." He said with a smile, signaling the end of their conversation, as they both fell quiet and began reading their books.
At least they did until a stable boy came running into the library and informed them that Lord Bolton had arrived at the castle.
Tyrion quickly walked out of the room, following the servant at a fast pace while Mance limped behind at a leisurely pace.
The servant led him down the stairs, and they crossed a corridor, coming out into the back courtyard, where the sound of clashing swords could be heard.
When they reached the courtyard, he could see a vast crowd, comprising guards, scholars, maids, and guests, forming a large circle around someone whom he couldn't see due to his height.
"Move aside. Let me in." He said as he pushed people out of the way and forced his way into the circle.
The people gave him an irritated glance, but he paid them no mind and finally pushed his way to the front of the crowd, where the sight in front of him took his breath away.
Because in front of him, Varko was clashing blades against a youth who could be none other than Lord Bolton himself if the cheering around him was to be believed.
"Is that Lord Bolton?" He asked the maid beside him who was looking at the youth with unconcealed lust.
Oh, he might have been able to fuck the maids in the castle by showering them with gold, but he doubted that he would ever win their hearts like this.
He was not tall enough. Not beautiful enough. Not strong enough.
And he was definitely not a swordsman who could dance circles around Varko, the greatest warrior of the 7 kingdoms.
Because that's exactly what Lord Bolton was doing right now.
A single look at the spar and you could tell that Varko was at the backfoot and struggling to keep up with his lord, who was as fast as the wind itself and as nimble on his feet as a cat with the reflexes to match.
Varko was breathing heavily, and beads of sweat were flowing down his chin.
It was hard for him to believe that this was the same Varko who had fought and bested his own brother twice in the past few years.
But with how fast Lord Bolton was on his feet, it was not really that hard to believe.
The two swordsmen disengaged from each other, and while Varko was left panting, struggling to catch his breath, Lord Bolton walked around his opponent, sizing up his prey.
His steps were easy on the ground. His pose was perfect. And the ease with which he carries and twirls the blunted metal sword may cause you to mistake it for a thin wooden sword.
The whole thing was strange because even to his untrained eye, he could tell that Lord Bolton was even more skilled than Varko, who had perfect control over his twin blades. It was as if he were dancing with a sword instead of fighting it.
At this moment, Lord Bolton looked more like an artist than a fighter as he crossed swords with the most powerful warrior in Westeros. But how old would Lord Bolton be now? Was it possible for someone to improve his technique so much at his age?
And what's even more absurd was his high speed, his unnatural strength, his nimble footing, and his inhuman reflexes, which enabled him to dodge and fend off any counter-attack from the greatest swordsman in Westeros.
How could someone his age be stronger than an adult? And the adult in question was Varko. Could Lord Bolton really have been blessed by the Old Gods?
There was a lull of silence as everyone in the courtyard fell silent. The wind blew his hair. And then both the swordsmen charged back into a fray of metal and steel. So fast that he was having trouble comprehending the battle.
Tyrion, along with the entire mesmerized crowd, watched as Varko and Lord Bolton fought for what seemed like hours when in reality it lasted only a few minutes. And finally, Varko became so exhausted that he put up his guard just a moment too late.
That was all Lord Bolton needed, and with a resounding thud, Varko fell to the floor and lay there, panting like a man starved for breath.
The silence was deafening.
And then Varko spoke the two words.
"I yield."
And the castle erupted into cheers.
---------------
Author's Note: You folks can also read up to +50 chapters on my P@treon Page as an early access privilege.
You can also read "+2 Free Chapter" and see some pictures as aFree Member.
www.patreon.com/vanguard_v
P@treon Page Name: V For Vanguard
Next Chapters' Name:
Ch.128: Let's Play a Game
Ch.129: Unpleasant Facts