Chapter 18: Oathbreaker

Ramsay is quiet for a minute, having absorbed Smalljon Umber's screed against the wildlings and the threat they pose to Winterfell. He leans back in his chair, savoring what's to come.

"Pledge your banners to House Bolton. Swear loyalty to me as Warden of the North, and we will fight together to destroy the bastard and all his wildling friends."

Smalljon smirks. "Just yanking your rusty, shit-stained chain, young Bolton. I know you. We'll fight, we'll take wildling heads, and you'll cut me down just as you did your cunt of a father, or maybe you'll throw me to the dogs to join Fat Walda and her welp in their stomachs. No. I cannot put my life in your hands. Today ends one way, bastard, and only one way. With your blood staining the bottom of that table you're squatting in front of."

Ramsay leans forward. "Oh? And how do you suppose that will happen?" Smalljon takes a step back as his eyes roll. He clears his throat, then lets out a long, piercing whistle.

Before Ramsay can blink, the great direwolf Shaggydog barrels through the door, leaps across the table, and sinks his mighty teeth into the putrid face of the so-called Warden of the North.

The force of the leap allows Shaggydog to push Ramsay to the ground, and Smalljon watches impassively as the great beast chews his face off and his neck open. He turns around to see Rickon at the door.

"I hope you know this changes nothing between you, me, and you bastard brother." Rickon forces a nod. "But this was a sight you and I have waited to behold, no?"

Smalljon shrugs. "True enough."