Thanks to Urswyck, the carriage remained stuck in the mud until sundown.
When night fell, the group had no choice but to set up camp along the muddy main road of the Riverlands.
The bonfire crackled sharply. The air carried the smell of cheap ale, burnt meat, and sweat.
Vargo leaned crookedly against a tree a little way from the fire, wrapped in a stolen woollen blanket. His face showed a sickly red hue under the flickering light.
His cloudy eyes swept over his noisy subordinates, pausing briefly on Urswyck's face.
The bastard was still wearing that fake smile, and Vargo wished he could just pick up his sword and cut his head off. But he doubted he could even do that now, given his current condition. He had never felt this powerless in his entire life.
Then his gaze shifted to Iggo, who stood by his side, silently guarding him.
"Have you informed everyone?" he asked in a low voice.
"I already told Zollo and the other two. As soon as they hear the shout 'Long live the Brave Companions!', they are to strike immediately and kill Urswyck and his men."
Iggo nodded, then answered in a steady, simple tone. "I didn't tell the others, though. They can't be trusted."
Seeing how thorough he was, Vargo smiled with satisfaction. "You're still the most dependable, Iggo."
"Don't worry. Once we take care of this mess on the road and return to Harrenhal, you'll be second-in-command. Everything I have, you'll have too."
However, even after making this grand promise, all he received in return was Iggo's silence, which immediately left him feeling awkward.
This Dothraki subordinate was reliable in every way except that he never flattered him. Having such a man at his side was reassuring, but Vargo always felt something was lacking.
Take Urswyck, for example. If Vargo had told him such a thing, the man would have started flattering him endlessly—saying things like, "Boss, my respect for you is as endless as the Blackwater River," or, "It's like the Green Fork overflowing, unstoppable."
But then again, if Iggo acted like that, Vargo wouldn't have trusted him half as much.
Maybe everything really did have its downsides, even when it looked good on the surface.
'How insightful', Vargo thought as he licked his lips. Could it be that his hidden scholarly talent was finally awakening in the face of adversity?
The noise around the bonfire grew louder. The atmosphere felt cheerful and lively. All the Brave Companions were drinking and laughing.
Urswyck seemed particularly happy; his laugh was the loudest. He clinked his cup with the man beside him, smiling from ear to ear, but from the corner of his eye he kept stealing glances toward Vargo.
When he saw Vargo and Iggo conversing in low voices, his expression changed slightly. Although he couldn't hear their words, something in his chest tightened for no reason.
No. He couldn't wait any longer.
He took a small sip of his wine, then stealthily spat it back into the mug when no one was watching. Keeping his expression the same, he gave a subtle nod to Rorge, who was standing at the edge of the crowd.
Rorge seemed to understand. He staggered forward, pretending to be drunk, and made his way to Ronin, who was idly leaning against a tree in one corner, clearly not invited to the feast.
As he walked, Rorge unbuckled his belt as if preparing to relieve himself. When he brushed past Ronin, he intentionally bumped into him.
"Watch where you're going, you peasant!" Rorge shouted furiously, his face twisted with anger. But from an angle no one else could see, he discreetly slipped a short dagger into Ronin's hand.
"Take this."
He leaned close to Ronin's ear, his voice suddenly devoid of any intoxication. "When you hear someone shout 'Long live the Brave Companions!', get yourself close to that Dothraki savage and kill him."
Feeling the cold metal in his palm, Ronin froze for a moment, unsure if he had heard correctly.
*Long live the Brave Companions?* The leader and deputy leader of this bandit group really did have an understanding, didn't they?
Outwardly, his expression remained calm. He swiftly slid the dagger into the wide cuff of his worn jacket and forced a slightly nervous smile.
"When the time comes, Lord Rorge, please look out for me. I doubt I can kill that man…"
"The Seven will watch over you, boy."
Rorge's lips curled into a mocking smile. Perhaps because Ronin was now considered expendable, he treated him more harshly than usual.
Pretending to pat Ronin's shoulder, he slipped back into his drunken act and wandered off into the crowd.
The bonfire burned brighter. The alcohol seemed to be taking effect; the singing grew more chaotic and the jokes more lewd.
But the core members of both factions had barely drunk anything. They watched one another closely, masking their real intentions. The air was heavy with forced cheer.
As Vargo felt his strength fading with each passing moment, he made one last attempt.
"Urswyck!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise immediately.
Urswyck turned and met Vargo's eyes. His fake smile stiffened for a moment before stretching even wider.
He set his mug down, signalled his men to keep drinking, then slowly stood up. His hand rested casually on the hilt at his waist as he walked over to Vargo's side.
"Boss, what do you need?"
Seeing how alert he was, Vargo didn't blame him. He simply raised his hand and pointed to an old, bare oak at the edge of the camp.
"Let's talk over there. Just you and me."
Urswyck's eyes flickered. He glanced at Iggo, then at the subtly divided crowd, before nodding. "Alright, Boss."
He pretended to sway slightly as he followed Vargo into the dark corner. Iggo tried to follow, but Vargo waved his hand, signalling him to stop.
Away from the bonfire, the cold night wind made Vargo tremble. He tightened his cloak around him, looking worn and weak.
He leaned against the rough bark of the tree, breathing heavily. Urswyck stopped a few steps away, arms crossed. There was a concerned smile on his face, but a subtle amusement flickered in his eyes.
He was calculating whether he could kill Vargo right then. But after thinking it through, he didn't dare.
Vargo Hoat had led the Brave Companions for over a decade and was known for his swordsmanship. Even weakened, he wasn't someone Urswyck wanted to face alone.
"Urswyck…"
After resting for a moment, Vargo finally spoke.
His voice was hoarse and tired, but deeply sincere. "Do you remember? On the Stepstones, when the storm almost threw us to the sharks? And later in Qohor, when you took an arrow for me while we stole that silk ship?"
Urswyck's smile faded slightly, stirred by the memory. He didn't speak, only listened.
"We came all the way from Essos together, my brother."
Vargo's voice deepened, heavy with emotion. "What was it all for?"
"Wasn't it so we could finally plant our feet in Westeros and settle somewhere?"
"And now we have it… Harrenhal. Roose Bolton gave me the title of lord, but I never thought of it as mine alone. It belongs to all of us."
He paused to watch Urswyck's reaction.
"Boss! You still remember all that!"
After a brief silence, Urswyck stepped half a pace forward, slipping back into his usual performance.
"Taking that arrow was nothing! Without your leadership, we would've rotted in the alleys of the Free Cities long ago!"
"To be honest, Boss, my respect for you is as endless as the Blackwater River, and the Green Fork—"
"Enough!" Vargo stared at his exaggerated act, speechless.
With a long breath, he lowered his voice. "The King in the North keeps winning. Most of the Riverlands is already his. The war is turning in his favour, and we weren't wrong to side with him."
"But Roose Bolton—that flayer—do you really believe he'll let us stay comfortable as lords in Harrenhal?"
"I've noticed he keeps close contact with Tywin Lannister. If I die…"
Vargo looked at him sharply. "How long do you think the Brave Companions will last? Bolton will hand all of you over to the Lannisters the moment trouble comes."
Urswyck frowned. He couldn't deny it. Vargo did have a point.
If he wanted to survive, was delivering the Kingslayer to Tywin Lannister in exchange for protection the only option? But then again—if the King in the North won, would Urswyck still get Harrenhal?
He weighed everything carefully. Without realising it, his resolve to act tonight began to loosen.
Vargo instantly noticed the shift and played his final card. "Don't be stupid… old friend. As long as I return to Harrenhal, that castle is still ours. Money, women, power—everything I have, you'll have."
"Harrenhal…"
Urswyck repeated, a greedy light flashing in his eyes. After a long moment, a smile slowly returned to his face.
Vargo was right. Even if he killed him now, Bolton wouldn't make him the lord. And if he defected to Tywin… who knew what the Kingslayer would say when he reached King's Landing?
He couldn't risk it.
After thinking it through, Urswyck smiled again.
"Just as I said earlier, Boss—my respect for you is as endless as the Blackwater River. The Brave Companions can only thrive under your leadership," he said sincerely and extended his arm.
Vargo let out a relieved sigh and smiled faintly. Settling this without bloodshed and saving his men—he really was a clever leader.
He reached out and clasped Urswyck's arm, sealing their reconciliation. He was just about to pat Urswyck's shoulder and suggest returning to the fire for a drink—
When a piercing shout erupted from the crowd not far away.
"Long live the Brave Companions!!!"