The pale light of dawn draped the whole courtyard. A tall oak swayed in the wind, its branches rustling.
Beneath it, a wolf pup lay on its belly, happily gnawing on half a roast chicken.
At the same time, a black bitch with huge yellow eyes caught the scent of meat and squeezed in, clearly hoping to steal a share.
She circled the pup a few times, wagged her rear, and shoved herself so close her rump was nearly in the pup's face.
The pup didn't even blink. It simply shifted position and kept tearing into the chicken.
When seduction failed, the bitch grew embarrassed and angry.
She bared her fangs, a low growl rumbling in her throat, ready to snatch it by force.
The pup lifted its head in silence and fixed her with a cold stare—eyes red as blood.
In the end, the bitch tucked her tail and slunk away. As she left, she still managed a haughty "woof," as if to salvage what little pride she had left.
"So good!" Arya said with a triumphant grin. She reached out and petted the pup's fluffy white coat. The pup looked up at her, gently nipped her hand, then lowered its head and resumed eating with gusto.
"That's the famous direwolf?" a familiar voice asked beside her.
"Ser Domeric! You're here!" Arya looked up, delighted.
Domeric set a hand on her head and ruffled her hair the same way she'd been ruffling the wolf's fur.
"Is it yours?"
"Yes. Her name's Nymeria." Arya's smile was bright and innocent.
Nymeria—the legendary Rhoynish queen from over a thousand years ago, who had joined with Mors Martell to unite Dorne and become ancestress to its ruling line.
"That's… a great name." Domeric forced an awkward laugh. He wasn't sure how Queen Nymeria would feel, hearing her name given to a wolf.
He watched the pup with genuine interest. "She's lively."
"Of course!" Arya said, grinning. "A pet takes after its owner.
Sansa has one too—she named it Lady. It's quiet, just like her…"
"Lady," Domeric echoed.
That was exactly the sort of name "sweet little Sansa" would choose.
"Ser Domeric," Arya blurted suddenly, "will you teach me swordplay?"
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're the North's greatest swordsman!" Her eyes glittered with worship.
Domeric patted her head. "I mean—why do you want to learn?"
"Because Joffrey is awful. He looks down on everyone like he's better than them.
I want to teach him a lesson, but I'm scared I won't be able to beat him… so…" Arya explained.
Domeric smiled. That reason was almost impossible to refuse.
"If you're interested, I'll teach you a couple of moves to protect yourself." After a moment, Domeric raised one finger. "But first I need to see if you've got talent. Without it, even hard work only goes so far."
"Okay! So do I?" Arya asked eagerly.
"Close your eyes."
Arya obediently shut them. Domeric lightly plucked a single hair.
The Secret-Excavation System triggered!
A row of blocky text appeared in front of Domeric's eyes:
Arya Stark
Identity: Second daughter of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Duke of Winterfell
Titles: "Horseface" Arya, "Troublemaker" Arya
Strength: 15
Agility: 18
Spirit: 23
Combat Index: 56
Note: The target is not in fear; you cannot窥探 her inner secrets.
Combat Index 56. A grown man in Westeros was only around 30; a well-trained knight was about 60. Yet Arya, at her age, was already at 56—an astonishing natural gift.
There was no doubt about it.
She was exceptionally talented.
"Your aptitude is decent," Domeric said with a small smile. "You have a rare instinct for strength itself. Now watch closely. Learn properly."
He took a slender sword from Arya's hands—folded steel, the kind Domeric had once given her as a gift.
He raised it and delivered a plain, unadorned cut at a wooden stake as thick as a man's arm.
One light stroke.
The stake split cleanly in two.
Nothing flashy. Nothing theatrical.
If a woodcutter saw it, he'd probably nod in approval.
The strike was like an experienced logger chopping firewood: the center of force landed exactly where it needed to. The weight of the blade did the rest—no more power than necessary, no less.
Angle. Point of impact. Force.
Everything was precise.
"Wouldn't an axe be easier?" Arya asked, puzzled. "Why a thin sword?"
"This is called lifting heavy as if it were light," Domeric said. "If you can split a stake with a slender sword, then with an axe you'll split stone."
He set another stake in place and continued, demonstrating as he spoke.
"When strength moves through your palm, don't force it. Don't 'drag' it.
Keep your mind on the point you want to break. Focus your intent there, and it will naturally—"
"Really?" Arya looked half-lost, half-curious. She took the sword and copied his motion, cutting through the air.
A faint sound—like wind and distant thunder—seemed to pulse through the swing.
"At the beginning, the wind will sound louder," Domeric said. "But once your strength and technique are refined, the wind grows quieter—because your power is more concentrated."
Then he formed his hand into a blade and, with nothing but raw physical force, chopped a fist-sized stone clean in half.
Arya stared. "That's insane!"
"If you train hard, you can reach that level too."
"How long will it take?" Arya asked, eyes shining.
"That depends on your understanding," Domeric said. "A few months, if you grasp it quickly. Or years. Ten years. Or maybe your whole life, and you still won't reach it.
Because swordplay isn't only about having strength. Control matters just as much.
With control you can break technique with force, or use weakness to defeat strength.
When you truly understand strength itself, you'll naturally use it perfectly…"
He paused, voice steady.
"That's the true meaning of strength."
…
Leaving Arya to practice, Domeric walked deeper into the trees. He drew the long blade at his waist and delivered a single, brutal cut.
A thick tree—wide enough that a man could barely wrap his arms around it—sheared cleanly in two.
The cross-section was smooth as polished glass.
The Secret-Excavation System triggered!
Blocky text appeared:
Domeric Bolton
Identity: Lord of Lonely Hill, legitimate son of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort;
Lord served by Wendel Manderly, Jorah Mormont, Benita Antaryon, Jon Snow, Roy Reed…;
"The North's greatest swordsman" and favored goodson in Eddard Stark's eyes;
Robb Stark's trusted brother-in-arms and future goodbrother;
Sansa Stark's first love, betrothed, the man she loves most;
The man Arya Stark admires, whose footsteps she'll chase all her life;
The one Wyrrfyde Manderly cannot forget;
The "Hell-devil" and "my lord" to the mountain clans and the wildlings…
Title: "Little Flayer," North's greatest swordsman, social adept
Strength: 86
Agility: 91
Spirit: 95
Combat Index: 272
Note: You already know your own secrets. Why ask this system?
After the mountain clan suppression, the campaign Beyond the Wall, and the wave of assassination attempts, Domeric's strength had surged. In less than half a year, his Combat Index had risen from 225 to 272.
So it was true—unusual experiences were the best catalyst for growth.
If he'd stayed tucked safely inside his lands, there was no way he would have advanced this quickly.
Now Domeric urgently wanted a worthy opponent—someone he could measure himself against.
Someone like the man who joined the Kingsguard at fifteen, the youngest in its history—who slew Aerys II in Robert's Rebellion.
Jaime Lannister.
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GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT 🩸🏰
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📢 DARK SECRETS RISE IN THE NORTH! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐺🩸
Beneath the Dreadfort, old horrors stir.
Power, bloodlines, betrayal, northern cruelty, and buried secrets wait beneath one of the most feared castles in Westeros.
❄️ The North remembers.🏰 The Dreadfort hides.🩸 And some secrets should have stayed buried.
Uncover what lies beneath before anyone else does.
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