In Westeros, maesters were trained at the Citadel, and upon completing their studies, they would serve lords in their castles.
Qyburn was an anomaly among maesters. Because his research into "vivisection" was forbidden by the Faith of the Seven, he was expelled from the Citadel. Not only was he barred from serving lords, but his maester's chain was also revoked.
As a former maester, Qyburn had no other livelihood skills. Coupled with his obsession with human anatomy and physiology, he joined a mercenary company.
Here, he could make a living with his skills in treating trauma and frequently obtain fresh "specimens."
At this moment, Qyburn looked at the approaching banners. In the center was the scarlet Flayed Man. Flanking it were two similar black banners: one embroidered with a smiling sun, the other with a white direwolf.
And atop the staff of the black direwolf banner was impaled a massive head with its mouth slightly agape.
That must be The Mountain's head, Qyburn thought, looking at the grey, decayed head with a twinge of regret. If The Mountain were still alive, perhaps he could have studied the secrets of his strength.
However, when he saw a distinctively young commander, his eyes lit up again.
Riding a grey mare, accompanied by a nearly pure-white direwolf.
Black, slightly curly hair tied back, the trademark long Stark face, bright grey eyes, a grey cloak over polished silver armor. His figure was proportionate and athletic, giving an impression of agility.
Jon Snow, Qyburn intoned silently. He had heard rumors that Jon personally killed The Mountain. He knew such rumors must be exaggerated, but if there were no exaggeration at all, then Jon would be even more valuable to study than The Mountain.
He was especially surprised to see the direwolf standing nearly as tall at the shoulder as the horse's legs.
"Qyburn." Just as Qyburn was lost in thought, Commander Vargo Hoat signaled him to keep up.
Vargo Hoat wasn't tall but always looked sinister, especially with the goatee reaching his chest and his inverted-triangle face, making him look like a goat that had just transformed into a human.
Before deciding to accept the North's bribe, they had already made up their minds to curry favor with Roose Bolton.
Unless there was no other choice, who wanted to live a life licking blood off a blade? If they could secure a title and land through this war, it would be ideal.
Although Jon had illustrious military achievements, as a bastard who opposed his brother's claim to kingship, his influence wouldn't be too high. He might gain a fiefdom in the future, but unlikely achieve great heights.
But they wouldn't trouble Jon either; at most, they would keep a respectful distance.
Soon, the officers of the Brave Companions arrived before the Northern lords. Qyburn and Vargo Hoat dismounted and bowed to Roose Bolton in the center.
"My Lord, Harrenhal now belongs to King Robb," Vargo Hoat said with a smile to Roose Bolton. Qyburn took the opportunity to observe Jon, only to find Jon looking back at him.
Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know me? Qyburn felt a pinch in his chest. Jon's gaze held curiosity, identical to the look Qyburn gave his dissection subjects.
This gave Qyburn a creepy feeling.
"It is gratifying that Ser Vargo Hoat can become a friend of the North and stand on the side of justice in time. We are allies now; no need for formalities," Roose Bolton said smugly, then looked at Bolin beside him.
Bolin led a large number of Dreadfort soldiers into Harrenhal first to relieve the Brave Companions.
After some pleasantries, Vargo Hoat led everyone into the largest castle in Westeros.
"Damn, this place is a ghost town. Why didn't the Dragon King burn it cleaner back then?" Harrion grumbled as soon as he entered.
The vast castle was sparsely populated. Five dark, gloomy towers stood like five giant tombstones.
Thin mist permeated the surroundings, and not a wisp of smoke from human activity could be seen.
Generally, entering a man-made structure brings a false sense of warmth due to increased security.
But the lords entering Harrenhal felt only gloom.
At this point, Qyburn, acting as maester, explained to the group: "Harrenhal is indeed no blessed place. Setting aside Black Harren, the Dragon Kings granted this place to three houses successively, and all three lines went extinct. Moreover, the Tower of Dread bears Prince Daemon's curse."
"Curse?" Harrion's eyes widened, as if startled.
"My Lord, I know about this." Because of his connection to Jon, Old York, though only a knight, could now speak among the lords. As a dragon enthusiast, he knew Targaryen history well. "Back then, Prince Daemon on Caraxes and Aemond on Vhagar perished together over the God's Eye.
"Before that battle, Prince Daemon lived in the Tower of Dread. There are scratch marks he left on the tower. It is said that every rainy season, those marks bleed."
"Oh, is that so? Then I must see it," Harrion said with great interest.
Qyburn took all this in. A knight by Jon's side engaging in conversation with a great lord like Harrion was unusual. It showed Jon's prestige in the Northern army was significant.
He subconsciously looked at Jon, only to find Jon still looking at him!
Why does he keep looking at me? Qyburn was baffled. He quickly turned his head away, then thought better of it and gave Jon a less-than-pleasing smile.
The small interlude passed quickly. The group was led to the Kingpyre Tower, the tallest of Harrenhal's five towers, offering a view of the entire castle.
No one knew the tower's original name; perhaps its first master, Black Harren, hadn't had time to name it.
But because he was burned to death in this tower by Aegon the Conqueror riding Balerion, it became known as the Kingpyre Tower.
Led by Vargo Hoat, they entered the Kingpyre Tower. The spiral staircase was incredibly wide, allowing seven or eight people to walk abreast.
This didn't make it easy to attack; on the contrary, there were murder holes and concealed arrow slits on both sides of the walls.
When Black Harren built this castle, he truly spared no expense, intending to make Harrenhal a great, historic castle like Winterfell, the Eyrie, or Casterly Rock.
Soon, they arrived at the council hall of the Kingpyre Tower—the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. In Westeros, castles relied mainly on fireplaces for warmth.
Most rooms or halls needed only three to five, at most a dozen fireplaces to stay warm. Even the Great Hall of Winterfell had fewer than ten.
This theater-sized hall required over a hundred fireplaces to warm it.
In reality, there were only thirty or forty, but that was still astounding.
The footsteps and conversation of the group echoed in the hall, making it feel empty and noisy.
Taking the opportunity, Qyburn explained again: "During the reign of Jaehaerys I, the Targaryen king convened a 'Great Council' to determine a new heir. Nobles from most of Westeros came to this hall.
"Unexpectedly, the Hall of the Hundred Hearths accommodated all those nobles with room to spare." Qyburn pointed to the main seat in the center, wider than a bed. "Tywin was quite fond of sitting there. Lord Bolton, that will be your seat from now on."
Hearing Qyburn's flattery, a smile appeared on Bolton's lips. Besides the dozen or so lords, there were about a hundred Dreadfort soldiers in the hall.
Roose Bolton completely controlled this hall; he was the most qualified to sit there.
But just as he stepped forward, someone in the crowd let out a disdainful snort.
Roose Bolton ignored it, and the lords found their seats.
Jon sat in the center of the first row, with Old York and Martyn flanking him.
Harrion and Medger Cerwyn also led their men to sit around Jon.
Qyburn glanced at Vargo Hoat, signaling whether they should re-evaluate the value of Jon versus Roose Bolton.
The fawning smile hadn't faded from Vargo Hoat's face, but his eyes showed calculation.
Once everyone was seated, Roose Bolton shifted slightly, adopting a posture more befitting the throne beneath him.
But what truly gave him a sense of security were the dozens of fully armed Dreadfort guards stationed in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths.
He had thought Catelyn could take military command from Jon, but she failed. In other words, his blatant "sowing of discord" that day had further deteriorated his relationship with Jon.
In the future, whenever Jon was present, he had to protect himself at all costs.
Roose Bolton cleared his throat, but the Northern lords below continued talking among themselves.
Vargo Hoat watched coldly, the scales in his mind seemingly tipping.
Suddenly, Jon stood up and said, "Silence, everyone. Lord Roose Bolton has something to say."
As soon as Jon spoke, the entire hall fell silent, save for the occasional scraping of a chair and light coughs.
The gazes directed at Roose Bolton weren't respectful but looked like an audience watching a performance.
Roose Bolton took a shallow breath, accepted a letter from his squire, and said, "My lords, I have received news from Riverrun. King Robb has made contact with the Iron Islands. Balon will join our alliance.
"Soon, His Grace will lead his army into the Westerlands. Before long, we can avenge Lord Eddard, and no one will dare offend the dignity of the North again!"
"Good!"
"Excellent!"
"Long live King Robb! Long live the North!"
The Northern lords below cheered upon hearing the news, as if victory were within reach.
After campaigning for over half a year, they finally saw the dawn of victory.
As Roose Bolton announced this, his retainers and close aides looked at Jon with gloating eyes.
As if saying: See, the one King Robb trusts most is still our Lord.
This was exactly the effect Roose Bolton wanted—to demonstrate his power and status through Robb.
Vargo Hoat noticed this too and stopped wavering.
Jon, sitting nearby, knew that without external interference, Robb was about to sleep with the nurse. He had to speed up his actions to avoid complications.
Then Roose Bolton spoke again: "My lords, now that Renly is dead, Stannis will likely need some effort to take Storm's End. For the next two or three months, or even longer, we shouldn't have any major battles.
"During this time, please rest and reorganize your troops, remaining ready to answer King Robb's summons at any moment. I will assign the towers of Harrenhal for everyone to garrison."
Hearing this, relaxed expressions appeared on the faces of the Northern nobles.
The long expedition had exhausted their initial ambition; the nobles had long wanted to return to a comfortable life.
What they didn't know was that Stannis had already taken Storm's End.
The Battle of the Blackwater would begin in at most a month. Plus, Stannis had a fleet; once he integrated the forces of Storm's End, he could transport his army to King's Landing very quickly.
But Jon didn't have a fleet, and Harrenhal was no closer to King's Landing than Storm's End.
Moreover, the Northern army was entirely infantry. Calculating the time, Jon needed to persuade or find another way to move the Northern army south within twenty days to make it in time for the Battle of the Blackwater.
But looking at the attitude of the lords, they all seemed to want a good rest; few were willing to fight.
They didn't realize that once Stannis failed to take King's Landing, the Lannisters would merge with the Reach army.
Then, the exhausted North and Riverlands would be dragged into an even longer war, not counting the traitor Bolton.
"Ser Harrion Karstark."
Hearing his name, Harrion grunted lightly and stood up nonchalantly.
"You will garrison the Wailing Tower."
"Mm."
Harrion acknowledged and sat back down.
Next was Medger Cerwyn, assigned to the Tower of Ghosts along with House Frey.
House Manderly was assigned to the Widow's Tower.
Finally, it was Jon's turn. Hearing his name, Jon stood up.
"Jon Snow, your army is the largest. You alone will garrison the Tower of Dread."
Jon quickly recalled the layout of Harrenhal's five towers.
The main body of Harrenhal consisted of five towers nearly a hundred feet high. East, South, West, North, and Center corresponded to the Widow's Tower, Wailing Tower, Tower of Ghosts, Tower of Dread, and the central Kingpyre Tower.
Since he was assigned to the Tower of Dread, Roose Bolton would definitely choose the remaining Kingpyre Tower.
The Kingpyre Tower was in the center, convenient for him to monitor the other nobles' armies. If Jon wanted to seize Roose Bolton's military command, it would take some effort.
"Yes, my Lord." Jon stood up and accepted the arrangement.
Seeing no objections to his arrangements, Roose Bolton unconsciously leaned back. A faint smile appeared on his bloodless face as he tasted power once again.
This is what being the Commander-in-Chief feels like!
This time, Roose Bolton glanced at Vargo Hoat and the others from the Brave Companions. Their eyes were noticeably clearer.
It seemed they also understood who the real "shot-caller" of the Northern army was. Roose Bolton felt it necessary to "build a relationship" with this mercenary group.
Jon's current strength was simply too great, so great that Bolton felt no sense of security.
And this mercenary group had two thousand troops! A force not to be underestimated. He could win them over with some promises.
Just as Roose Bolton was pondering, a Dreadfort soldier rushed to his side and whispered in his ear.
After hearing the soldier's report clearly, Roose Bolton said:
"What? The Brotherhood Without Banners?"