Thanks to Urswyck, the wagon stuck in the mud wasn't freed even after the sun went down.
As night fell, the Brave Companions had no choice but to make camp alongside the muddy River Road.
The bonfire crackled and popped. The smells of cheap ale, burnt meat, and sweat mingled in the air.
Vargo Hoat leaned crookedly against a gnarled tree a little distance from the fire, sitting on a plundered blanket. His face appeared somewhat sickly flushed in the flickering firelight.
His cloudy eyes scanned his rowdy subordinates, lingering for a moment on Urswyck's face, which was plastered with a hypocritical smile, then passing over to Iggo, who stood silently guarding his side.
"Did you tell them all?"
"I already told Zollo and the other two. As soon as they hear the shout 'Long live the Brave Companions,' they are to act immediately and kill Urswyck and all his men."
Iggo nodded first, then answered frankly, "I didn't tell the others. They aren't trustworthy."
Seeing him handle things so thoroughly, Vargo couldn't help but smile with relief. "You are still the most trustworthy."
"Don't worry. Once we deal with the trouble on this road and return to Harrenhal, you will be the Deputy Commander. By then, whatever I have, you will have too!"
After painting this big picture, all he got was silence from Iggo.
Vargo instantly felt a bit awkward.
This Dothraki was good at everything except flattery. Although having such a subordinate was very trustworthy, it always felt like something was missing.
Take Urswyck, for example. If Vargo said something like that to him, the guy would definitely spout a stream of phrases like "Boss, my respect for you flows like the Blackwater Rush" or "surges uncontrollably like the Green Fork in flood."
But then again, if Iggo were really like that, Vargo wouldn't trust him so much.
You win some, you lose some.
...
The clamor by the bonfire seemed to grow louder. A bunch of Brave Companions were happily eating and drinking. Some fringe members, already drunk, started singing.
Urswyck laughed loudly as he clinked cups with the person next to him, but his peripheral vision kept monitoring Vargo's direction.
Seeing Vargo and Iggo whispering, although he couldn't hear what they were saying, his heart skipped a beat, instinctively sensing something.
Can't wait any longer!
He took a small sip of the wine looted from the farm, then quietly spat it out when no one was looking.
Then, calmly, he signaled Rorge at the edge of the crowd with his eyes.
Rorge understood. He staggered through the crowd, heading straight for the corner where Corleone, a fringe member of the group unqualified to join the party, was leaning against a tree trunk, seemingly doing nothing.
Unbuckling his belt as he walked, appearing as if he needed to relieve himself, Rorge deliberately bumped into Corleone as he passed.
"Blind fool, watch where you're going!"
Rorge shouted gruffly, his steps faltering as if he were heavily drunk.
However, in the instant their bodies made contact, he extremely covertly slipped a short dagger into Corleone's hand.
"Hold it!"
He leaned close to Corleone's ear, his originally drunken tone instantly becoming clear. "Later, as soon as you hear someone shout 'Long live the Brave Companions,' find a chance to get close to that Dothraki savage immediately and kill him!"
Feeling the cold metal touch against his palm, Corleone was visibly stunned, even doubting if his ears had heard wrong.
Long live the Brave Companions?
Your Commander and Deputy Commander sure have some tacit understanding, huh?
However, he kept his composure, quickly sliding the dagger into the wide sleeve of his worn coat to hide it, and squeezed out a slightly fearful smile.
"At that time, please pay more attention to my side, Lord Rorge. I might not be that guy's match..."
"The Seven will bless you, kid."
Rorge snorted coldly. Perhaps because Corleone was already considered a disposable pawn, his attitude was much worse than before.
Pretending to pat Corleone on the shoulder, he resumed his drunkard's posture, staggering away to blend back into the noisy crowd.
The bonfire burned brighter. The alcohol began to take effect. The singing became absurd and grotesque, and crude jokes rose one after another.
Neither faction's main force drank much. Each harbored sinister designs, carefully observing the expressions of others. The air was filled with a false sense of cheer.
Vargo felt the strength in his body being drained away bit by bit by the high fever. He decided to make a final attempt.
"Urswyck!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it attracted everyone's attention.
Urswyck's laughter stopped abruptly. He turned his head, meeting Vargo's gaze. The hypocritical smile on his face froze for a second, then became even brighter.
Putting down his wine cup and waving his hand to signal his men to continue, he slowly got up, his palm resting seemingly casually on the hilt of the sword at his waist, and walked over.
"Boss, what are your orders?"
Seeing the other party was already very guarded, Vargo didn't blame him. He just pointed to a bare old oak tree on the periphery.
"Let's talk over there. It's quiet."
Hearing this, Urswyck's eyes flickered. He first glanced at Iggo, then swept over the noisy but faintly divided crowd, and finally nodded. "Sure thing, Boss."
He pretended to stagger as he followed Vargo toward that darkness-shrouded corner. Iggo wanted to follow but was stopped by Vargo raising his hand.
Away from the noise of the bonfire, the cold night wind made Vargo shiver again. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, looking somewhat decrepit.
He leaned against the rough bark of the bare tree trunk, panting. Urswyck stopped a few steps in front of him, arms crossed, wearing that nauseatingly concerned smile, but his eyes were very playful.
He seemed to be calculating the probability of success if he killed Vargo right now.
After thinking about it, he didn't dare to act.
To be the leader of the Brave Companions for over a decade, leading this group of heinous villains, Vargo Hoat's swordsmanship was recognized by everyone as strong.
Even if the opponent was somewhat weak now, Urswyck still wasn't confident he could win in a one-on-one duel.
"Urswyck..."
After resting for a while, Vargo finally spoke.
His voice was hoarse and tired, but sounded very sincere. "Remember when we were in the Stepstones, we hit a storm and almost fed the sharks? Later in Qohor, to grab that ship of silk, you took an arrow for me and almost died."
Hearing this, the smile on Urswyck's face faded slightly, seeming to recall some distant memories.
But he didn't speak, just listened quietly.
"We fought our way here from Essos together, my brother."
Vargo's voice dropped lower, carrying a hint of sentimentality. "For what?"
"Wasn't it to gain a foothold in Westeros, to have a place to settle down and live?"
"And now we finally have it... Harrenhal. Although Roose Bolton appointed me as the Earl, I never considered it mine alone. That is the result of everyone's concerted efforts."
Saying this, Vargo paused briefly, observing Urswyck's reaction.
"Boss! You actually remember all that!"
The other party was silent at first, then immediately took a half-step forward, habitually beginning to perform his loyalty.
"Taking an arrow for you was my duty. Without your leadership, us brothers would have rotted in the stinking gutters of the Free Cities long ago!"
"To tell the truth, Boss, my respect for you flows like the Blackwater Rush, surging uncontrollably like the Green Fork in flood..."
"Cut the crap."
Looking at his exaggerated manner, it was Vargo's turn to be speechless.
Seeing this guy still acting in front of him, he took a deep breath and said in a deep voice, "The King in the North wins battle after battle. Now more than half of the Riverlands is in his hands. The scales of war have tipped toward the North. Our choice was not wrong."
"But Roose Bolton, that flayed man... do you really think he will sincerely let us sit securely in Harrenhal as lords?"
"I discovered long ago that guy has close ties with Tywin Lannister. If I die..."
He stared fixedly at Urswyck and questioned, "How long do you think the Brave Companions can exist? I'm afraid Bolton will immediately push you out to appease Lannister's anger!"
As Vargo spoke, Urswyck's brow furrowed.
He had to admit, Vargo saw things quite clearly.
In that case, would his only option be to use the Kingslayer as a token of allegiance to defect to Tywin Lannister?
Just as Corleone said, it was Vargo Hoat who cut off the Kingslayer's right hand. What did it have to do with him, Urswyck?
But then again.
If the King in the North really won the war, would the title of Lord of Harrenhal still fall on his head?
Crazily calculating everything in his heart, weighing the pros and cons, Urswyck's originally firm intention to act tonight was unknowingly shaken slightly.
Vargo keenly caught the change in his expression and immediately threw out the final bait: "Don't be foolish... my old friend."
"As long as I can return to Harrenhal, that damn castle is still ours. Money, women, power—whatever I have, you have!"
"Harrenhal..."
Urswyck murmured the word, greedy light flickering wildly in his eyes.
That was the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind one wouldn't trade even for a dukedom!
After thinking for a long time, the smile returned to his face.
Vargo was right. Even if Urswyck killed Vargo on the road, Roose Bolton wouldn't give the Earl's position to him.
As for defecting to Tywin...
He couldn't be sure if the one-handed Kingslayer would talk nonsense in front of his Duke father after returning to King's Landing.
He didn't dare to gamble.
After thinking for a long time, a smile piled up on Urswyck's face again.
"Just as I said."
"Boss, my respect for you flows like the Blackwater Rush. How can the Brave Companions succeed without your leadership?"
He spoke very sincerely and extended an arm to Vargo.
Seeing this, Vargo also breathed a sigh of relief and smiled happily.
Being able to settle an impending rebellion without using force, minimizing potential losses to the lowest.
He, the Commander, was truly wise!
Vargo reached out and firmly grasped Urswyck's arm, symbolizing the reconciliation of the Commander and Deputy Commander of the Brave Companions.
But just as he was about to pat Urswyck's shoulder and suggest returning to the bonfire to drink together.
From the crowd not far away, a heart-rending shout suddenly erupted.
...
"Long live the Brave Companions!!!!"