THE BLOODS OF BOLTON | GAME OF THRONES

CHAPTER 16

TODAY, THE DREADFORT felt like a graveyard.

While Drucilla took her morning ride along the Weeping Water, she remembered how it had looked during her brother's tourney, with all the pavilions raised and emblazoned banners of all colors whipping back and forth in the wind. It was like something out of the songs, full of action, drama, and romance. What remained now was but a shadow of that day. Beside the river, the tilt and counter tilt were still standing, but the builders had already started tearing down the gallery, plank by plank. Drucilla walked up and down the empty tilt yard as they worked. She could still hear the thunderous hooves of charging horses, the cracking and smashing of wood on steel, and the applause ... most of all the applause. In the dirt she found a piece of splintered wood from one of the lances, and she thought of how Benfred Tallhart's face had smashed into the ground and came up a bloody, broken mess. It was a moment she would never forget. And neither would he.

The Tallharts were among the first of the noble families to leave, along with the Hornwoods, the Karstarks, and the Umbers. Drucilla was glad to see the Umbers go, after the fit the Greatjon had thrown at supper the night before their departure.

Drucilla was spooning warm barley stew into her mouth when she heard the Greatjon's deep voice break through the usual table chatter. Suddenly he climbed to his feet, this enormous and powerful giant of a man, with a pewter tankard overflowing with ale clutched in his hand. Drucilla might've mistaken it for a greatsword from the way he swung it around.

Swaying and staggering in a drunken haze, he demanded that his sister's remains be returned to the Last Hearth so that she could be buried with the rest of her family. It was the same demand he'd been making for years. And again, Lord Bolton refused him. He said Marilynn Umber was a Bolton by marriage and would remain in the Dreadfort crypts where she belonged.

Cursing, the Greatjon threw down his tankard and kicked over the table, sending cups, flagons, and trenchers bouncing, soups, salads, meat, and mead spilling and splashing on the floor. His sons jumped up to join him, Jarron staggering to his feet. For a moment, Drucilla thought there was about to be a brawl in the great hall. The Greatjon accused Lord Bolton of lying about his sister's death, declared it loudly for all to hear, and then he cursed the Bolton house and all its sons and daughters and shouldered his way out of the great hall. The Smalljon smashed his tankard on the floor and followed him out. His brothers weren't far behind.

The following morning, Drucilla was the only Bolton there to see the Umbers off. She took it upon herself to bid them farewell and safe journey on her lord father's behalf.

The Greatjon grumbled back his thanks and apologized for his ungentlemanly behavior. "A man ought not raise his voice in the presence of women and children," he said in a gruff voice. "Begging your pardons, my lady." Then he seized the reins firmly in his hands and rode through the open gate.

His eldest sons left too, astride strong-bodied brown trotters, but Jarron stayed behind long enough to say goodbye. He wore a heavy bearskin cloak upon his broad, sturdy shoulders, over a wool doublet and leather jerkin. He kept his blond hair short and his beard neatly trimmed. His face was long, with a strong jaw that had likely taken a few punches from his brothers.

"My family thanks you for your hospitality, my lady," he said in a voice much too gentle to belong to an Umber, but it was deep as a drum, with a slight rasp. It was the kind of voice that commanded attention despite its infrequent use. As soon as Drucilla heard it, no other sound could sway her from him, and yet he offered nothing more. Jarron Umber left her with a courteous dip of his head and then galloped off to join his family.

As she watched him go, Drucilla remembered what Tansy had said at the tourney. Jarron Umber never smiles and he seldom speaks, but he has kind eyes. Kind eyes mean a kind soul, and kind souls make for kind husbands. Drucilla stepped back and retreated from the yard. Perhaps Tansy was right.