Autumn in the Riverlands was always muddy.
Even though the sun had dispersed the thick morning fog, slushy mud still covered the River Road, making every step heavy for the horses.
The sun had just reached its zenith when the wheel of a wagon, laden with plundered goods, sank deep into a mire. The entire procession was forced to halt once again.
Taking this opportunity, Corleone, under the watchful eyes of two Brave Companions, began to change Vargo Hoat's bandages.
Vargo sat slumped between two trees. One was an oak, and the other was also an oak.
Why mention them separately? Because that way, one can pad the word count a little.
The mood of the group turned somber in the afternoon.
Down the road, Urswyck was loudly shouting at his subordinates, trying to lift the sunken wheel out of the mud. Their chants sounded somewhat feeble in the damp air.
Hearing this noise, Vargo suddenly shivered. The feeling of dizziness grew stronger.
More clearly than ever before, he felt something inside his body slipping away uncontrollably like quicksand through his fingers.
This sense of powerlessness frightened him even more than facing swords and blades.
"Zollo!" Vargo growled hoarsely at his trusted aide.
"Tell them to move faster! Don't act like whores with weak legs after taking twenty customers in a row!!"
He instinctively yearned to return behind the sturdy walls of Harrenhal as soon as possible. Only under Qyburn's treatment could he feel a shred of safety.
The fat man named Zollo left to carry out the order, leaving only Iggo and Corleone by Vargo's side.
Vargo's bloodshot eyes stared straight at Corleone. Lowering his voice as much as possible, he spoke with suppressed irritability: "Why do I feel worse? How is my wound, Doctor?"
"Healing very poorly, my lord."
Corleone deftly undid the bandages; their edges were already stained with a layer of yellow-green filth.
But he didn't hide anything. Instead, he answered very professionally and honestly, "Severe infection symptoms have already appeared, more ferocious than expected."
"You quack!"
Vargo flew into a rage, leaning forward in agitation and grabbing Corleone by the collar. "Did you treat me properly or not!"
Hearing this, Corleone's face showed just the right amount of fatigue and a hint of grievance. "My lord, I swear by the Seven, I have done my best."
"But you forcibly pressed the necrotic tissue back on and drank alcohol while running a high fever. This is an act of actively embracing the Stranger."
"All I can do now is delay the infection process for you."
"Delay? You swore you could cure me back then!"
Vargo sneered, murderous intent instantly replacing his doubt.
He pointed sharply at Corleone and roared at Iggo, "I've had enough!"
"Kill this quack! Now!"
Silent Iggo didn't hesitate in the slightest. He deftly drew the longsword Vargo had gifted him and took a step forward, subtly positioning his body between Corleone and Vargo.
"Boss!!!"
Just then, Urswyck's voice rang out in time.
He had been observing the commotion here. Seeing Vargo draw a sword, he immediately abandoned his companions pushing the cart and walked over quickly, a hypocritical smile of concern plastered on his face.
"How do you feel?"
"You look terrible. Do you need to rest a bit longer?"
However, Vargo ignored his greeting completely and simply repeated the order: "Kill him, Iggo!"
Iggo raised his arm, but Urswyck actively stepped forward again, blocking the way between him and Corleone. He earnestly dissuaded, "Don't, Boss!"
"Your injury still needs a doctor's treatment. Even if this guy's skills aren't great, he's much better than us laymen. If you kill him now, what if your condition worsens on the road?"
Saying this, he leaned close to Vargo and whispered in his ear, pretending to be discreet, "If you ask me, why not wait until we reach Harrenhal? After Maester Qyburn takes over, it won't be too late to flay him then."
Urswyck spoke with great sincerity, as if he were truly thinking of Commander Vargo's best interests at every turn.
However, these words immediately aroused Vargo's suspicion. His gaze darted uncertainly between Corleone and Urswyck.
Since when did the notoriously cruel Urswyck actively and eagerly defend this quack?
Accompanied by the dizziness of high fever, a surge of rage at betrayal instantly rushed to his head!
"The wagon... how much longer?"
Suppressing the urge to kill, Vargo gritted his teeth and asked in a low voice.
Hearing this, Urswyck looked troubled and shook his head. "Sigh, it's stuck too deep!"
"The mud is sucking the wheel tighter than that old maid of Tarth. I reckon it'll take a while longer. I'm afraid before dark..."
"Then why the fuck... are you still standing here!"
Vargo interrupted sharply, scolding mercilessly, "Go help them! Do you want us to spend the winter in this damn forest?"
These words stunned Urswyck for a moment. His right hand tightened on his sword hilt, but then he grinned. "I'm going, Boss!"
unable to linger any longer, he turned resentfully to leave, casting a deep, veiled glance at Corleone—a look mixed with a meaning of "you're on your own."
Corleone nodded slightly and imperceptibly, but this action was "just happened" to be clearly seen by Vargo.
He became certain instantly.
This damn quack must have colluded with Urswyck!
What are they planning?
Vargo narrowed his eyes slightly, a cold arc appearing at the corner of his mouth, as if what just happened was merely a misunderstanding.
"So, Doctor."
His voice was low as he asked Corleone again, "In my current condition, what do you think is the best course of action?"
"My suggestion, my lord."
However, Corleone showed no fear. He met Vargo's gaze sincerely and gave an answer Vargo didn't expect.
"You'd best leave the heavy main force behind. Take only me and Iggo, and ride hard back to Harrenhal."
"The infection and fever are progressing too fast. We must make haste. Perhaps we can get more professional treatment to control it before the situation completely deteriorates."
Hearing this, Vargo didn't speak immediately. Instead, he sized up Corleone with cold eyes.
He thought the other party would echo Urswyck's suggestion to continue stalling for time, but he didn't expect...
Is he trying to separate me?
And then split the loot plundered along the way with Urswyck?
Heh...
Truly a bunch of shortsighted fools.
Vargo snorted disdainfully in his heart. They don't even have the courage to launch a rebellion, only thinking of immediate petty gains?
He became increasingly convinced this was a conspiracy.
However, he couldn't just chop Corleone down directly. That would be tantamount to immediately tearing off the mask with Urswyck. If he forced the opponent into a corner, the risk would be very high.
A thought gradually formed in Vargo's mind.
He stopped looking at Corleone, as if the man were already dead. He just waved his hand and said coldly, "Your medical skills seem to end here."
"Get lost. Don't hover in front of my eyes."
Saying this, Vargo pointed in the direction of the two prisoners. "Maybe you can use your mediocre skills to check on that Kingslayer's injury. Of course, if you treat him to death... Hah!"
Hearing this, Corleone silently packed up his medical tools and stood up. He looked hesitant, as if wanting to say something but stopped.
But he didn't speak again. Under Iggo's wary gaze, he turned and walked toward Jaime and Brienne. The shadow of the leaves obscured half his face, hiding his expression, and preventing anyone from seeing the slightly upturned corner of his mouth.
Hard words can't save a damned ghost.
As a professional doctor, he had given Vargo Hoat the best advice. However, if the patient didn't listen, there was nothing he could do.
After all, doctor-patient relationships had always been very difficult to handle, even in Westeros.
Under the oak tree, staring at Corleone's retreating back, a cold light flashed in Vargo's eyes.
After thinking for a moment, he turned to Iggo, signaled for him to lean down, and whispered, "Keep a close eye on that quack. And..."
"Quietly notify Zollo, Timeon, and Pyg. Tonight, find a chance to directly take out Urswyck and those three newcomers!"