Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me.

-X-X-X-

Success is a song of the heart, not a song of your bed ~ The Paper Kites

Chapter One: Guilty

Ask her, and no, not once had she mistreated her prisoners. Jaime Lannister deserved a beheading too, worse even. But that arrogant man, in his polished armor with those bright green eyes and that chiseled jaw, a disgusting sight because underneath that attraction hide an oathbreaker and a kingslayer, received her clemency. So why now were the gods making her suffer in this wretched prison?

Because your mother let him go.

Her throat constricted tightly. The image of the woman who nurtured Robb, was now a phantom in her memory.

The tears clung to the corner of her eyes, never quite falling as the reality of her mother's absence continued to tear through her unrelentingly. Robb looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of the chains securing her wrists, wafting a smell stronger than iron. The taste of blood lingered on her teeth when she licked her lips.

In the far reaches of the dungeons untouched by torchlight, sounds of small scurrying across the black stone spurred a morbid thought from her: she could die here in the company of rodents, her carcass a home for maggots. The smell of mold and mice was strong in her nose and the thought manifested closer to reality. Strangely, the way death lingered in the air made her extremely reminiscent of Talisa, that woman so accomplished and quick witted - that woman with blood caked from her fingers to her elbows whenever the young wolf approached.

Talisa the receiver, a name coined by others. But, Robb would only ever remember her as Talisa Maegyr. The men she had tended to either lived or died by her hand; when the damage was too great to recover from and milk from the poppy was in short supply, Talisa readied a thin knife, thinner than a dagger, and pierced it through the base of a man's skull. It was all so morbidly fascinating, but Robb never admitted it. The woman called it mercy killing. And Robb found that the words "mercy" and "killing" never settled so well with her until it came out of the healer's mouth.

"Lady Stark," a guard interrupted her recollections, voice gruff through the bars as he stood outside the cell.

"What?"

"You are being summoned." His cowl obscured his face in shadows. It reminded her of the frightening ambiguity that most soldiers of this House carried. This man was sworn to the Boltons. She cursed the lineage a thousand times in her head and knew nothing would come out of her hatred while she was still in chains.

She had sat on the floor for so long, her legs numbed at a stand- she required a few silent minutes to find them. The guard unlocked the door and promptly led her out of the dungeons. She studied the sword at his side. Yet, her hands remained terribly still.

As more of the fortress revealed itself in the flickering glow of the torches mounted on the walls, horrific tales of the Dreadfort burrowed deep in her memory resurfaced. Angry faces made from shadows glared down at her from the vaulted ceiling. Even with the sound of their footsteps echoed, the castle was still - subdued in such a way Robb wondered if it was on purpose. Those of house Bolton lived in a rather depressing establishment; she heard her old nan say it was a tainted castle where the tears of men transformed into the wine on which they would become drunk on violence.

They stopped before a room and the guard opened the door. Inside, the hearth burned low and the stone floor glowed an amber hue of a distorted puddle of blood.

The guard stopped and turned to her. "M'Lord is waiting for you."

She grimaced as her feet shuffled forward. When she half expected the guard to impale her from behind, she wondered at the same time if that was a better alternative than whatever the man waiting before her had planned.

Lord Roose Bolton was seated at the head of the long table. He was a human made from stone, where emotion neither pinched his cheeks nor colored his eyes, a man never seen without his jaw clenched or his hands balled, a rat who could care less whose body he nested. He was as rumors always described: cold and hard. Not even in a century would the warmth from the sun reach the Lord of the Dreadfort.

"There is much that has occurred these past weeks. I can imagine you have amassed many grievances within that period."

Lord Bolton was courteous at length when he spoke, his sympathies well hidden under his hawkish gaze. That is, if he had any. "Your campaign has dispersed, and your bannermen have returned to their homelands. Winterfell is in ruin and your family is no more. You have suffered a great loss, Lady Stark."

Lady Stark. A title that had once belonged to her mother. Now hers to bear.

Robb glowered at him.

He hadn't invited her to sit, nevertheless she would not stand, partly because she sensed her buckle under her weight - she was so tired- thus she struggled into a chair with her bound hands while he scrutinized her from the expanse of the table. For a moment several barbed insults were drawn on the tip of her tongue and she swallowed them with difficulty.

"Naturally, I would have you delivered to King's Landing so that you may be exposed for your treason against the Crown." He said. "But the Frey soldiers concluded that your body has sunk to the bottom of Green Fork. All of Westeros believes you dead, while you sit here and breathe." Lord Bolton paused and stared at her, hard. "It must be vexing listening to a traitor."

Her mouth gave a twist and she had to release her jaw. "It is, my lord."

"In truth, my marriage to Walda Frey spared my life." She felt his mockery across the distance.

Good for you.

"Had you warned us this would not have happened." The ire in her voice could not be withheld. At the man's pointed glare she added with bitter reluctance, "My Lord."

"It was not my decision to offend Walder Frey, Lady Stark. You were doomed the moment you waltzed into the Twins demanding that its Lord bend the knee for you and proposed the Tully in your stead. You executed the Lord of one your banner men in order to uphold your cumbersome honor, and still you have managed the gall to attribute your failures unto me. Whatever losses you are currently suffering it would do you well to remember that you brought these tragedies upon yourself."

Robb stared at the iron clasps binding her. What was it about honesty that made it so unbearable to hear? She was no more a traitor to her country than Lord Bolton was to her. She should not have been surprised by his betrayal. There was a point where man realized continued aggression became an exercise in futility, useless toil. Roose Bolton arrived to that conclusion long before Robb could think him capable of doing so. Was that why he had betrayed her?

"Kill me and be done with it." The words slipped out of her mouth and her heart clenched because she knew not where that suggestion had spurned from, and she feared Roose Bolton would take her words literally. She didn't want to die.

His face betrayed no emotion, naturally, no hint of his scowl, or satisfaction. He merely gave her silence, gave her the pretense that he did not understand her request or even grant it. She found that ignorance did not befit a man whose cunning brought down her entire army.

"The Lannisters and Freys will flood into the Dreadfort and they will not spare you their mercies. Finish me, coward." She spat. It hurt to say it, and the tears were well felt in her eyes.

"Your death serves me nothing." Lord Bolton said and his response gave her much to ponder.

Robb did not like the implications of that.

-X-X-X-

She was accustomed to the cold but recent nights have tested everyone's resilience. Winter was coming. And so too was her mother as Robb half turned to the shuffling of boots and the sound of fabric swaying into the tent, approaching her.

"Robbeth…"her mother said. "Some days I must wonder how you still function without rest. At this rate, by the time of the Frey's wedding, you will have lamed."

"Do not ask me to rest while others fight on my behalf, mother." Robb replied in a tone too stern to invite further discussion of her nightly habit that has deprived her of sleep for the past two months. She circled the painted table, unwilling to look at the disappointment forever etched in Lady Stark's face whenever their gazes would meet.

"Our home…" her mother then said, looking at the map where the name of the Stark stronghold was inked on the thin yellow parchment. The young wolf had witnessed Lady Stark weep earlier that day. Robb was unwilling to join her for she was elsewhere at the time, cursing the old gods and the new, cursing the blasphemy of the situation, cursing the war. Cursing betrayal, and cursing trust and then cursing herself for allowing it to play her for a fool.

Her mother was of a pallid countenance like faded stone, like old bones. The war seemed to have stolen many days from her. Days better spent in the embrace of her Lord husband, in Winterfell, with her family. Not here.

Robb slammed her hand flat on the table and the pieces trembled from the impact. At the gasp of her startled mother, her anger unfolded, she drew her hand back. Robb was somber again and it left misery in the air. "I want his head." she murmured. "For what he had done. For my brothers. For your sons. I trusted him."

"I never liked that boy." Lady Stark shook her head.

Theon Greyjoy. The son of Balon Greyjoy. Her father's ward. Robb's unexpected companion.

Theon Greyjoy. Her brothers' murderer. Her home's terrorizer. The traitor of the North.

Robb bristled with hatred. How could a name could ignite her wrath so easily? Even more, she dreaded the hurt that followed.

"My daughter," the warmth from the woman's palm was on Robb's cheek as she willed her daughter to listen, her voice warded the anxiety that festered in the young wolf's mind. It was shared, their grief, but of the two, her mother proved stronger in that moment. Lady Catelyn weeped, but Robb was still too much a coward to give into self pity. "If only you were born a man, you would have made an excellent King. Your father would have been proud. I wonder, would you have been fair? Firm?"

"I would have been all of father's strengths and none of his weaknesses, mother." Robb answered.

Her father was dead. And it had changed nothing. The war still persisted. With Robb remaining yet in the south. When will the losses be overshadowed by victories?

"As king, I would ride into battle on horseback, annihilating every man who wishes to cause our family harm." Removing Lady Stark's still hand from her face, she stepped away to stare at the fire, she wanted her enemies burning in them. "I would bombard King's Landing and bring back Sansa with Joffrey's head in her lap. As queen, I will."

"Your ambition is often unnerving." her mother said.

"There are others worthy of greater concern," Robb drawled.

She sensed something odd at the sudden silence and she knew her mother went sullen. "Lord Bolton had informed me that the survivors were escorted to the Dreadfort by his son...Why do the gods allow such a man to exist?"

"We should be thankful a man like that is on our side."

"But crimes as atrocious as his? Murderous rampages, torture. Men like that are unpredictable." Her mother supplied. "Animals. How long before he seeks to have us in his maw?"

"Then what do you suggest we do, mother? Order Lord Roose to kill him?" Robb asked dryly.

"Yes, if no offense was taken." Her mother was steadfast and Robb understood where she may have acquired her adamancy. "Cersei Lannister deserves to hear the same."

"If the Queen harms Sansa… " Robb looked into the emblazoned hearth and its dying embers. "... I will ensure her and her lover brother are naked, burned to the stake, and impaled on spikes for all of Westeros to see."

Her mother grimaced. "You wouldn't."

Robb looked at the Lady of Winterfell and relented. "You're right."

There was a brief pause.

"Sometimes violent men are needed. They accomplish what we ourselves are too afraid to do." Robb turned to her and wondered what warmth and what comfort she would find there if she collapsed into her mother's arms.

"You'll let him continue to thrive like the monster he is by torturing your enemies? "

Come mother, tell me it brought you some joy knowing that this monster is committing great atrocities against your sons' murderer. Robb thought back to Roose Bolton when he presented her mother Theon Greyjoy's shred of flesh. The sight, while grisly, satisfied her if not a little.

"It is not the king's duty to dirty his hands." Robb said. "Nor will it be mine. Only their heads I care for, when I remove it from their shoulders."

"I hope he may never meet you."

"No." Robb disagreed. "Lord Bolton informed us that Ramsay Snow is cruel but he is fearless. And fearless men are stupid. They oft follow blindly without regards to their own safety. If that does not kill him, then I will see to it myself."

This time her mother did not question the weight of Robb's words.

-X-X-X-

AN: The dialogue regarding Ramsay Bolton alludes to the conversation Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark had with Roose Bolton in Storm of Swords. Also, to previous readers I did change the name, because since this is a work in progress, it shouldn't be a surprise that things are subject to change