Chapter 182: The Seven Kingdoms' Most Wanted List

If there was one place the House Stark despised the most, it had to be the Inn at the Crossroads, located in the Riverlands between Riverrun and Lord Harroway's Town.

This was the very spot where, three hundred years ago, Torrhen Stark, King in the North, bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. Later, an inn was built on this historic site, with its front door facing the Kingsroad to the north and its back against the Trident River. Being situated at such a crucial crossroads, the inn was always bustling with nobles, merchants, and travelers from both the North and the South.

But what made it particularly infuriating for the Starks was the signboard hanging above its entrance—a painting of a king kneeling, offering his crown. A constant reminder of Northern submission. Catelyn Tully would rather travel further than spend a single night here.

The inside of the inn was lively as ever. Some were dining, others drinking, and among them were prostitutes, pickpockets, mercenaries, and travelers of uncertain origin. Other than carnal pleasures, the most popular form of entertainment in such a place was storytelling—whether by wandering troupes or traveling bards.

That night, a bard sat in the center of the inn, strumming a harp and vividly recounting some rather scandalous tales about Lysa Tully.

"Boring! We've heard this a thousand times already."

"Exactly! We Riverlanders know more about Lysa than you do. Give us something new, or no coin for you!"

"Tell us about someone truly infamous!"

The bard chuckled. "Alright, I'll tell you a tale about a real legend—Wright Baratheon and his dragon... and, of course, his many women."

A chorus of groans and boos filled the hall.

"Mate, are you new to this?"

"You think we need you to tell us about Wright? I could tell a better story than that!"

The bard awkwardly wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was new to the trade. "Alright, alright! How about I tell you about the three most wanted fugitives in Westeros?"

"Now that's more like it!"

"If you tell it well, drinks are on me!"

The bard straightened up, relieved—as long as people were willing to listen, he wouldn't go hungry tonight.

"In the beginning, when the Old Gods shaped the world—"

Before he could finish, a dozen wooden tankards flew at him from all directions.

"Cut the crap and get to the point!"

The bard flinched and quickly got back on track. "Alright, alright! Third place goes to Ramsay Snow!"

"Never heard of him."

"I have! He's that bastard from the Dreadfort. A real piece of work."

Now the audience was interested. Conversations around the room died down as everyone turned toward the bard. Even a grimy-faced man in roughspun clothes, lurking in the shadows of the second-floor balcony, stopped sweeping and leaned in to listen. Petyr Baelish, better known as Littlefinger, had taken an interest.

The bard continued, "This Ramsay Snow is around eighteen years old and is the illegitimate son of Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort. He was raised outside the castle, with no proper guidance, and grew into a truly monstrous person. If not for Robb Stark exposing his crimes, I doubt any of you would believe such a depraved man existed."

"What exactly did he do?" someone asked.

The bard took a deep breath. "A few years ago, a brutal murder occurred near the Dreadfort. A young common girl was stripped naked and forced to run through the woods. She was then hunted down, had her hands and feet hacked off, was assaulted, and then killed."

"That's not right!" A literate patron interrupted. "I've seen the official bounty notice from the North. That bastard killed her first—and then desecrated her corpse."

A roar of exclamations filled the hall—this was truly a savage tale, one worthy of attention.

The bard continued, "Heh, this case was originally a mystery. When the Northern army marched south to join the Seven Kingdoms in the campaign against the Stepstones, the bastard continued his crimes, taking advantage of the North's weakened defenses. One after another, women were found brutally murdered near the Dreadfort. Even Domeric Bolton, son of Roose Bolton, was injured, causing widespread panic. The Lord of Winterfell then ordered his eldest son, Robb Stark, to lead a force north to investigate."

"Most people might have struggled to solve the case, but Robb Stark is no ordinary man. He was trained by Wright Baratheon himself and is a powerful mage, capable of using all manner of strange magic. When he started digging, he uncovered horrors beyond imagination. Fifteen women and four boys had vanished near the Dreadfort. Robb Stark found all their mutilated corpses. In Ramsay Snow's home, he discovered eight human skins from women and three 'dried treasures' taken from men."

The bard's voice grew darker. "The worst case was the miller's daughter. The evidence was undeniable. Her intestines had been pulled out and tied to two separate tree trunks. Robb Stark followed the blood trail and caught a man in the act of defiling her corpse. He was captured on the spot.

"When put on trial at the Dreadfort, the man lied through his teeth, but fortunately, Robb Stark was there. Using magic, he forced the man to confess the truth. It turned out that all these crimes had been committed by two men working together—and the real Ramsay Snow had already fled south."

"Hells, what kind of demon is this?!"

"This bastard isn't even human!"

The bard raised his voice. "Winterfell has put out a 1,000-gold-dragon bounty, the Dreadfort another 500 gold dragons, making it 1,500 in total! Ramsay Snow has escaped capture time and time again. Robb Stark pursued him from the North all the way to the Riverlands, but he's still at large. That's why he ranks third among the Seven Kingdoms' most wanted criminals!"

Many of the patrons were illiterate and had never heard of this before. They marveled at how elusive this madman was.

"Tch! All that and he's only worth 1,500 gold dragons? Pathetic."

Up on the second floor, Littlefinger scoffed in disdain. He held no respect for such senseless, brutish cruelty and regarded Ramsay as nothing more than a mindless animal.

The bard moved on. "Now, the second name on the list—you all know him, so I'll keep it brief. Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish. The King has set a 2,000-gold-dragon bounty, the Eyrie another 2,000, and Riverrun 1,000—a total of 5,000 gold dragons, making him the second most wanted man in the Seven Kingdoms!"

A smirk flickered across Littlefinger's shadowed face.

"Five thousand gold dragons! Damn shame I don't know what he looks like."

"Hah! Littlefinger was once a high-ranking official in King's Landing. You think a mere pig butcher like you would've had the chance to meet him?"

"I'll have you know, Lord Wright once clapped me on the shoulder! I even personally fed pigs to his dragon—my experiences are beyond your imagination." The man chuckled smugly.

As the laughter died down, the bard continued, "Now, for the most wanted criminals in the Seven Kingdoms—a tie between two people. A pair of siblings.

"On the eve of the final battle in the Stepstones, in broad daylight, just outside the council hall where the King and nobles were meeting, they murdered Ser Harras Harlaw of the Iron Islands and stole his Valyrian steel sword, Nightfall. The King put out a 2,000-gold-dragon bounty, and House Harlaw offered 5,000 gold dragons for the return of Nightfall.

"The number-one fugitives in Westeros are Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy!"

"The first two were scum who deserved to die, but the Greyjoy siblings are true warriors."

"I heard from a sailor in the royal fleet that Nightfall originally belonged to House Greyjoy. The siblings tried to negotiate for its return, but when that failed, they took it back by force. Gotta admit, that takes guts. I actually respect them."

"They were just foolish. Who starts a blood feud on the eve of war? Of course they were going to be declared outlaws."

"Doesn't matter now. They fled to Essos, and no one's heard from them since. They might spend the rest of their lives hiding across the Narrow Sea."