Kings Landing
I blinked into the flickering candle light, my ears searching the silence for any stirring guards outside the chamber door. Realizing the useless lumps were most likely unconscious on the floor, licker burning through their veins, I relaxed. My eyes fluttered closed, and I guided the quill towards the ink jar. My breathing was shallow, and the shadows cast by the candle were dancing across the brick, frightening me with every sudden leap. I let the quill swim in the jar for a moment, before drawing it back towards the parchment.
I hesitated.
I found myself staring at the blank page, the emptiness swirling in sight. I had so much to write, so many thoughts to recount, but none were clearly put. I didn't know how to do it, or if I wanted to do it at all. Maybe these thoughts, these questions and suggestions shouldn't be said at all. Maybe they should stay in the chaotic darkness of my mind, where they can rot and ruin with the rest of my worries. Maybe I should let Jon go without ever knowing, maybe Arya doesn't need rescuing, and maybe Sansa is happy without the trouble of her lost sister…
Jumbling together in a tangle of regrets and frustrations, an ache pressed against my temples. My vision blurred for a moment, and focused again on a small droplet forming on the end of the quill. The black ink weighted heavily on the light feather, and the quill drooped under the pull. I frowned, my fingers trembling.
The drop of ink fell from the quill and stained the blank parchment. I found myself realizing the parchment was no longer blank at all. It was stained. It was stained with the worries and fears of a young and troubled Finley Stark. It was stained with the things I should have said, but never did. Never less, it was strained and as I drew the quill away and set it down on the wooden table, I decided that there was nothing I could do to remove the stain. There was nothing that could be done to mend what was already ruined.
With one more glance towards the shadows on the wall, I reached forward and suffocated the flame. The candle blinked out, the room fell into darkness and my eyes adjusted to the faint glow of an icy moon.
Many moons past
Dreadfort
"Yes, my Lord" I droned, my tone was flat and dull. I stared out the window, gaze falling over the fields rolling out below us. Dreadfort was a dark and dank, the banks of the Weeping Water let loose to a current of black river. I blinked into the cloudy mid afternoon, the unavoidable dreariness settling into my bones. No matter how many nights I'd spent wandering the halls of this great fortress, it never seemed quite liveable.
Roose stood over the long wooden table, his back to me. He was patiently studying a large map of the North; his gaze was focused and cunning. He had a plotting look in his eye, the same look I had seen many times before. Those cold, moon eyes which never failed to put a room in silence, and that low, serious voice which made skin crawl. Roose Bolton was a very unlikeable man, though I found myself liking him very much.
"We will ride out tonight before dusk. The men of the Brave Companions will be awaiting our arrival at Harrenhal. You will accompany them on their hunt" Roose explained, never looking up from his work. His mouth barely moved as he spoke, but his words were clear and cold. I nodded, resentfully, setting my jaw. The conversation dropped there, but his words hung in the air between us.
The Brave Companions were brave, yes, but they were also cruel and merciless. They raped, they tortured, they murdered for fun. They were not a group I was excited to accompany. Even so, none were worse than the likes of Ramsey Snow, Roose's bastard son. He was the most despicable creature I had ever laid eyes on. Not only hideous to look at, but his actions spoke louder than every ugly feature on his face. His pig eyes and deformed nose were nothing compared to the way he tortured, the games he played with his enemies, the pain he has inflicted on the innocent. I hate Ramsey Snow, and I hope he rots in hell.
It scares me to know Ramsey is Roose Bolton's son; it scares me to know Ramsey's merciless ways were passed on by the man sitting behind me. It scares me to know the mild mannered, calculating man who I have pledge my allegiance is capable of such cruelty. I should be far more wary of Roose Bolton than I am; I suppose I overestimate his faithfulness. To me, Roose Bolton is the father figure I need, he plays the part perfectly, but I also know, if it comes down to it, he would flay me alive without hesitation.
I looked over my shoulder, at the pale, ageless man sitting at the table. I frowned, wondering what murderous plot he was stirring up behind those quiet eyes. "Yes, Lord Bolton" I said, finally, "I will make sure they do not fail you…" I whispered.
For a moment, I thought Bolton might ignore me and continue with his work. I saw a hesitation in the way his eyes moved along the map, it was as if I could see his thoughts breaking and shifting in just the way he tensed and twitched. He paused, not yet turning to face me. "And what, might I ask, would you do if they did betray me, Lady Aralyn?"
This question was not difficult, and I did not search for a lie to answer with. Without hesitation, I answered with complete honesty, "I would kill them, Lord Bolton." I said.
There was a pause, before he finalized the conversation with "I know you would, my lady" and for a moment, I thought I might have seen his lip curl into a cold smile. I didn't know whether that should put me at ease, or send a rattle through my bones.
An icy tingle sent the hairs on my arms to a stand.
Minutes later, I was still perched on the window sill, twisting a gold embellished dagger between my fingers. Roose grunted with a numb frustration, beginning to roll up his map and pack his things before we set out. I blinked idly, tucking my blade into the sheath on my belt before dragging myself to a stand. The unspoken words between Roose and I were loud enough, it was time to go, no more minutes to waste sitting around Dreadfort.
The wooden doors flew open.
The sound echoed through the large meeting room and my muscles tensed all over. My head whipped around to face the intruder, and my fingers curled around the golden handle of my weapon. An overreaction I am not proud of. Roose, on the other hand, took it far more carelessly, as he slowly raised his gaze full of dull interest.
It didn't take long to recognize the large, ugly creature standing in the door way. With his small, beady black eyes, greasy slivers of dark hair and a crooked set of teeth. Ramsey's dreadfully annoying laughter filled the quiet. I set my jaw. Roose couldn't have looked more bored. My grasp clung loosely to the dagger, and I found my shoulders drooping with disappointment. I frowned.
"Father," He managed through loud, obnoxious laughs, "You wouldn't believe what I have in this box!" Ramsey raised a small, wooden box proudly above his head. It wasn't a very impressive object, plain wood with an iron clasp, though Ramsey seemed to believe it was rather exciting. I turned to see Roose bite down a snarl; he arched a bored eyebrow to hide is annoyance.
"What is in the box, Ramsey?" Roose questioned, flatly.
Ramsey smiled a chaotic smile, "Guess!" He howled, but Roose was quick to shut him down with a cold glare. Roose Bolton had no time to play games. I leaned into the shadows, surveying the situation with narrowed eyes.
"Fine, yes, well, I suppose I'll just show you" With a quick few strides, Ramsey was standing before his father. He set the box on the table, and flipped open the lid without a moment's suspense.
There was silence.
Ramsey's toothy smile made my stomach churn, almost as much as the look of shock that washed over Roose's face. I saw disgust light up in Bolton's eyes and his lips press together to hold down the bile. As quick as his expression had changed, Roose hid his horror with a frozen glare. He looked away from the box.
I leaned forward, stretching my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse of what horrors lay inside the wooden casket. I gave up, retreating back into the shadows, my shoulders slumping over in defeat. Ramsey turned to his father with a hopeful look. Roose cleared his throat.
"What do you plan to do with that?" Lord Bolton asked, sternly.
Ramsey didn't hesitate, "Send it to his father, of course!" He laughed like a hyena, "Imagine Greyjoy's face when he finds out his heir has been castrated! A cock in a box! Such brilliance!"
My stomach rose into my throat, my eyes widened in horror and I found myself gagging aloud. Theon was Ramsey's most recent hostage, a little trinket the bastard boy had picked up when raiding Winterfell. I didn't let myself imagine what horrible things were being done to the Iron Island Heir until now, when I realized Ramsey had collected his manhood in a box. It was absolutely vile. Nausea burned from my stomach to the back of my throat, and I found myself biting back a gasp.
Ramsey turned to me, his smile suddenly disappearing.
My heart sunk.
The hideous boy did not take his eyes off of me while he pried the box from the table; he kept the lid flipped up as he closed the distance between us, taking three short strides and stopping dangerously close to me. He held the box out, his pig eyed gaze biting into my own. "What do you think?" He asked.
I refused to look down, I kept my gaze level with his, no matter how horrid the sight. Nothing was worse than what I would find lying in that damn box.
What did I think? I think it is the most disgusting thing I'd ever witnessed.
"Creative" I said, dryly. Roose shot me a sad look, almost an apologetic gesture.
Ramsey seemed pleased. His thin lips curled into an ugly grin and he turned to his father. "Creative, I am. You here that father, Aralyn thinks I'm creative. I wonder what she will think of me after we're wed, I'm sure I can be creative in bed as well!" He was lucky I was an expert had holding down my bile, because if not, he would be covered in my half digested breakfast.
"That is enough, Ramsey; she is not yours as of now." Bolton said sternly, "Now close that damn thing and get out. You have a prisoner to entertain and we have matters of actual importance to see" The lid of the wooden box flung shut with a snap, and I found myself taking a sharp intake of air. Ramsey stepped away, shooting his father a gruff look before scurrying towards the exit.
He was muttering quietly as the door swung shut behind him.
Roose turned to me, "He is lucky I am a patient man"
I shrugged, "There are times I wish you were not so patient"
The same coldness shivered through the fault lines of the room, and I found myself cowering under Roose's clever smile. He finished rolling up the map, curling his fingers around the burnt parchment and turning his back to me. "Be careful what you wish for, Aralyn Snow"
A shiver ran down my spine.
