Rage was such a difficult emotion to define at times. Sometimes it was like a slow burn. Gaining power as it grew, engulfing you as it blocked out every rational thought and every rational feeling. Until all you could think about was revenge. All you could see was red. Red the color of the blood of your enemies. Red the color of vengeance.
And other times, it was like this great explosion of emotions, uncontrollable, overwhelming. Consuming everything in its wake, until all you are left with were ashes. The ashes of your enemies, the ashes of those that dare to oppose you. And even at times the ashes of your friends and family.
For Arya Stark, it was the first kind of rage that consumed her as she stood at the foot of the hospital bed watching as Theon Greyjoy, her foster brother, lay unmoving, hooked up to the numerous tubes and wires that were attached to him for him to survive the night.
Robb had found him, dumped at the door of the apartment he shared with Theon and Jon. A pile of broken bones and a bloody mess. A note stapled – fucking stapled – to his body, with just four words.
With love, from RB.
RB. Ramsey fucking Bolton. The deranged fuckwit who tormented Theon ever since he came out and refused to leave him alone. The demented fuckwit who's sly comments and snide remarks had her wanting to punch him in the face on a daily basis.
Calm as a summer breeze. Unmoving like a rock. She could hear her martial arts sensei, Syrio Forrel, accented voice in her ear as she strove for control. Calm as a summer breeze, unmoving like a rock.
Earlier than evening Robb's frantic call to the family had everyone dropping what they were doing and racing to the hospital.
What they found sickened them all. The man that lay in that hospital bed was not the man they grew up with.
Not the cocky son of a bitch that had been in her life ever since she could remember. Not the man that would cover for Robb when he would spend the weekend holed up with his longtime girlfriend Jeyne Westerling at the family summer cottage. Not the man who would tease and mock Jon one minute then would punch anyone in the face for daring to do the same the next. Not the man who drove Sansa to pulling her hair out in frustration but would drive her anywhere and everywhere she wanted to go. Not the man who would embrace Arya's wild side, and would sneak her a bottle of Jack or two ever since she was 14. Not the man who when Bran lost use of his legs looked into the best possible chair for their brother. Not the man who would lie for Rickon just to get him off punishment. This was not her brother. This was not their Theon.
This man that lay in this bed, was broken. Emotionally, physically. Broken.
And Arya wanted to bring the world down around Ramsey fucking Bolton's head so that he would be buried beneath her rage.
The man had to suffer. He had to pay. He had to die.
Arya breathed in deeply blinking at the image of her brother in the hospital bed, trying to ignore the clawing need to go out, find Ramsey Bolton and put a knife through his heart.
She wanted to appease the wolf snarling inside of her, begging to be let out. Begging to satisfy the bloodlust she could taste on her tongue.
Calm as a summer breeze. Unmoving like a rock.
"Where is Bolton?" Robb asked harshly, barely looking at their father, his eyes focused on his best friend in the hospital bed. Arya could see her eldest brother's rage simmering just beneath the surface, causing his eyes to flash with blue fire, his body tense ready to strike at any moment.
"The police released Ramsey a few hours ago." Her father replied his voice emotionless. "Not enough evidence."
"Not enough fucking evidence!?" Rickon sneered, eyes wild with his own rage. His rage swirled around him like a tornado, barely leashed, barely contained. Barely 15 and already her youngest brother was already a` force of nature. "He left a fucking note!"
"Rickon!" Her mother reprimanded weakly, seated beside Theon she had one hand in hers, her face drawn and tired. "Language."
"Fuck my language mother." Rickon sneered again. "Theon lays in that bed barely surviving and you want me to watch my fucking language!?"
"Rickon." Ned warned, shooting her youngest brother a look.
"Fuc –"
"Rickon." She interrupted, turning her gaze from Theon to her little brother, knowing out of all of them, for some odd reason, she was the only one Rickon listened to. Even more than their parents.
Maybe it was because Arya understood him. Truly understood him. His wildness, his rage. Out of all her siblings she was closest to Jon and to Rickon. Jon because he understood her and didn't try to change her, and Rickon because they were very much alike. Wild, untamed. Starks.
Robb and Sansa were Tully's through and through even though they had the Stark name. Charming, and charismatic, Robb and Sansa we the ones in the family who excelled in a public setting, able to talk to royalty without insulting them – unlike her or Rickon – and able to not embarrassed their mother while out in public.
Jon, who was actually their cousin and not their brother but was treated as such, was usually the mediator in their large, boisterous, argumentative family.
Bran was a perfect mix of Tully and Stark. The Stark passion with the Tully charm.
But her and Rickon. They were Starks. Rage and all.
She watched as Rickon's jaw clenched, as his hands closed into tight fists, before he took a deep breath, very much like how Arya took one earlier, and visibly calmed down.
Her mother shot her a grateful look.
"How is he?" Sansa asked softly, reaching out to touch Theon's chest lightly. Arya's eyes shot to her sister, wondering if she too was remembering. Remembering a time when it was her in that bed. When it was her that was broken. Her that was hurt.
Again Arya had to force back the rage that threatened to break through.
Their mother sighed, sitting back.
"Four broken ribs, a shattered jaw, two broken fingers." She recounted. "Extensive internal damage, they had to go in to do some emergency surgery and –"she paused, her eyes finding Robb's. "– he was –"she paused again.
"Violated." Robb rasped staring at his best friend. Jeyne Westerling, Robb's longtime girlfriend, squeezed his hand, kissing his shoulder in support.
"Son of a bitch." Jon whispered, stunned.
They all stared at Theon's unmoving figure, a range of emotions moving over each and every Stark. Disbelief, pain, helplessness and of course the rage.
"Will he survive?" Sansa asked, timidly, drawing their mother's worried gaze. Arya knew their mother wanted to bundle Sansa up and make her leave the hospital room. She shouldn't be here, was the expression on her mother's face. She shouldn't have to see this.
But what their mother did not know or refused to see, was that Sansa had this incredible inner strength that kept her going. That her core was made of Valerian Steel. And it made her more than a survivor. It made her a victor.
"He'll survive." Bran answered for their mother. So calm, so controlled her brother, but his rage was easily seen by the clenching of his jaw and the wildness of his eyes. "He's too strong not to."
"Bran –"their mother replied, probably worried about them getting their hopes up. The doctors had told them not to, that the next 24 hours would be the most telling whether or not Theon would survive or not. But those doctors did not know her brother.
"He'll survive." Arya repeated firmly, looking at her mother dead in the eye. "It's Theon. He'll survive."
"Okay." She breathed her eyes meeting Arya's. Arya saw the worry her mother tried to hide from them. Theon may not have come from her body, but Catelyn Stark loved him just the same as any of her other siblings.
"Robb, Jon I want you to let the police handle this." Their father stated, staring at the two eldest boys. Both her older brothers stared at their father, stunned.
"Like how they handled it now?" Robb asked sarcastically. "By setting Ramsey free."
Arya blinked, cocking her head to one side as she studied her father who was pointedly ignoring her look.
It wasn't her two brother's Ramsey should worry about. And the whole family knew it.
"Yes." He told them. "No retaliation you two." He warned pointing at both boys. "Rickon the same with you. You are to leave this to the police." Her father stated firmly, those gray eyes staring from one brother to the other and then lastly on Rickon.
"You have to be fucking kidding me." Rickon muttered, throwing his hands up in the air.
"This is not something I want you three boys dealing with." Ned told them firmly.
Jon caught on sooner than the other two, his eyes meeting Arya's. Their eyes clashed, Arya's expressionless, Jon's apprehensive.
"I can't let this go, dad. I can't not do nothing! "Robb snapped, glaring at his father.
"You will do as I tell you." Her father growled, gray eyes flashing a warning at his eldest son. "Ramsey Bolton will get his, but it won't be from you three."
Arya watched as her mother's eyes jerked up to meet her father's, a strange look in her eyes as she glanced at Arya.
"Ned –"
"Enough." Her father insisted, those gray eyes finally meeting hers. There was a resigned approval in her father's eyes as he stared at her. "Justice will come to Ramsey Bolton. I guarantee it."