AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! The feedback was really encouraging and stronger than I expected. Hopefully this one won't disappoint.
Every Loyalty
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Chapter II:
House of the Flayed Man
The new lord of Winterfell was gracious. He bid the small party of knights and attendants that had escorted the Lannister siblings to stay and rest a fortnight before the majority of them traveled back south. At the evening meal, Larisa studied their host.
"The fever came on suddenly," Lord Ramsay said. "Our maester tried everything within his power, but it wouldn't break."
"I am sorry for your loss, my lord," Larisa nodded her head respectfully.
"Aw, no. He went peacefully, in his sleep!" he said with a grin. "I'm sure he'd rather have gone down covered in the blood of his enemies, but..."
He shrugged one shoulder lightly. "Not everyone gets a glorious death."
Larisa hesitated. She didn't trust the casual way he spoke. There was curiously little grief in his eyes. All she could offer in reply was, "As you say."
She glanced to her left and noticed her brother Willem carving up his steak and potatoes with vigor. Butter sauce dribbled down his chin.
Discreetly, she reached under the table and pinched his thigh until he winced. He threw her a private glare. She gestured to the cloth beside his hand with her eyes, to which he rolled his own. But he got the message and wiped his face.
When Larisa returned her attention to their host, she found him watching her with some amusement.
"Are you enjoying the meal, my friend?" Ramsay asked. Willem raised his head, blinking owlishly. He smiled sheepishly.
"Yes, my lord," he nodded. And then, belatedly, "Thank you, my lord."
Ramsay winked. "Good lad."
Larisa silently steeled herself. "My lord, please forgive my presumption, but may I ask when Lady Sansa will be joining us?"
Ramsay paused with his fork poised at his mouth. He set it down as his expression fell.
"Ah, yes. Just before my father fell ill, one of my servants conspired against me," he admitted. "He stole Lady Bolton in the night, and has delivered her to Castle Black, to her bastard brother Jon Snow."
He nodded to himself, clearly determined.
"I aim to get her back."
"Of course, my lord. How tragic," Larisa said, affecting concern. "I pray for her safe return."
She studied the young man's face, searched for any hidden pockets behind his words. He seemed sincere, but the timing…
He hadn't spoken of Walda Frey's death. It had to be the start of all this, whether it was incidental or not. She had not known Roose Bolton. His poor health could very well have been incidental as well. But for Lady Sansa to have been "stolen away," as it were, just before the former Lord Bolton took ill? Tragic indeed.
A glance down the table confirmed that the news didn't appear to sit well with Ser Thane either. The man ate his food in silence, until he met her gaze seemingly by chance.
Larisa turned back to Ramsay. "I had heard glorious tales about your father's prowess in battle, and of his proud, auspicious house. I had looked forward to our match."
"Yes, it was a great honor House Lannister gave us. But although your presence here has lightened the darkness in my halls since Lady Bolton's disappearance, I'm afraid your ladyship would be wasted here," he said. "I already have a wife."
Larisa let out a small breath of relief that brought warmth and feeling back into her limbs. She would be able to return home.
But…
Larisa paused, glancing to the boy sat beside her. He looked up at her, and then at their host with wide eyes. "And what of my brother, Willem?"
"Oh!" Ramsay said. He crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. "Well, I suppose I'll have him squire for me instead."
As soon as it was socially acceptable to retire from the meal, she found Ser Thane and had him send two ravens: one to Casterly Rock, and one to her father at King's Landing.
This was his fault.
It was no secret that Kevan Lannister had always stood in the shadow of Tywin Lannister. Larisa feared her father had stood there so long that he was no longer himself. And now, taking up his brother's place as head of House Lannister and Hand of the King, he was finally able to measure up to the example her uncle had left behind.
He would, and had, sacrificed his family for good of house and legacy. And to keep Lannister control of Westeros.
That night she couldn't sleep, both because of the thoughts that kept her awake and for the frigid cold that seeped into her bones, no matter how many furs she piled on.
The next morning it disconcerted her, that she didn't find her brother at breakfast. She wandered the great halls of Winterfell, well lit with torches. It was a grand place, she could admit; the inner walls had been rebuilt since the ironborn Greyjoys had set fire to it months ago. She almost wished she could have seen it in its original state, when the infamous Ned Stark ruled here.
She'd never met the man, but she often saw him about the palace when he served as King Robert's Hand. He seemed to measure up to every story she'd ever heard, the honorable Ned Stark.
She had watched from a nearby balcony when Joffrey gave the order, but averted her eyes when the man's head had fallen and rolled a trail of blood from its body. When she next looked up, Sansa Stark had lost consciousness in the arms of a Golden Cloak, and Larisa's stomach had turned violently as the cheers grew.
How barbaric, she remembered of that day. And little else.
"Lara!" Willem called to her from the courtyard just outside the keep. Larisa hadn't noticed her path had taken her to the walkways that formed the outer perimeter of the castle. She could see her brother waving up at her a story below, on the ground, with Lord Ramsay Bolton.
Larisa tensed at seeing the bow and arrow in the man's hands. "Will, what are you doing?"
"Lord Ramsay's showing me how to shoot," Willem said, brimming with excitement. He stood in front of a strawman that was only a bit wider than the boy himself. "He's brilliant! Just watch!"
Ramsay shot her a wink and knocked the arrow. "Not to worry, my Lady. I work best under pressure."
Larisa panicked. "Willem, move this instant!"
"I wouldn't," Ramsay smirked. He let the arrow fly.
Larisa's heart seized as she gripped the stone ledge.
The arrowhead pierced the straw figure, a breath beside Willem's right eye. Even as far up as she was, Larisa could tell no blood was drawn. That didn't mean she hastened any less down the stairs to examine her brother fully.
It had taken her entire will (and biting her tongue until it bled) to keep herself from releasing her full wrath at Lord Ramsay. But clearly the man was a well-trained marksman.
Somehow that didn't ease her anxiety any less.
In fact, she spent most of her day avoiding him in case she lost her temper. She couldn't afford to misstep here; she did not know this lord or his people, and she wasn't about to press her luck.
Martha, her handmaiden, drew her a hot bath that evening. She depended on the warmth now, which was very new for her. She found the freezing cold bitter and unpleasant, among other things. But as far as that list went, her chattering teeth ranked lowest.
Larisa sighed in relief as the scalding water thawed her. She closed her eyes, held her nose and dunked her head below.
She soon surfaced and opened her eyes.
And then she gasped, gripping the edge of the basin.
Instead of her handmaiden, Lord Bolton stood in front of the closed door.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted, abandoning all notions of politeness for his abandonment of propriety.
Ramsay grinned mildly and made a small step forward. She immediately crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned back against the basin, glaring fiercely at him. She restrained herself from glancing to the nearby stool, where she had laid her mother's pendant.
"A raven returned from King's Landing," Ramsay said pleasantly, and retrieved the note from his pocket. He held it up for her to see but folded it again before she could catch any of the writing.
"When you're presentable I'd love to share it with you."
Larisa also restrained herself from launching a bar of soap at the back of his retreating head.
She had half a mind to call on Ser Thane. But it was a particular kind of game that Lord Bolton was playing, and Larisa was just starting to piece it together.
"I'm so sorry, my lady," Martha fretted as she helped Larisa into clean underclothes, and then into a dress and furs.
"You obey my orders, not his," Larisa whispered severely. "Is this why you accompanied me to the North? To have me exposed like a whore before these savages?"
Martha's fingers trembled as she fastened buttons and tied laces. "No, my lady."
"Oh, do stop sniveling," Larisa huffed. She batted the girl's hands away and finished the rest herself. "Get the door."
Martha did as she was told and opened the chamber door to Lord Bolton. Larisa wanted to tear the smile from his face as he entered and sat himself at her writing desk. He glanced at her stationary and other trappings there, while Larisa remained standing. She gave him an expectant look.
"I have some…very disturbing news from the capital," he said eventually. "You may want to sit."
"If it is all the same," she said tersely, and bade him go on. He inclined his head and sighed.
"It's not what you were hoping for I'm afraid," he said.
"And what would that be?"
"Permission to return to Casterly Rock, of course." Ramsay said. His eyes held hers directly in a way that only continued to make her uncomfortable, as trepidation began to rise in her chest.
"It appears that the Queen," he said, "has been very, very angry about her imprisonment."
"Queen Margaery?" Larisa feigned confusion, though she knew the true answer.
"Cersei was to stand trial before the High Sparrow at the High Sept of Baelor, along with Loris Tyrell. The entirety of the Faith Militant were in attendance, including your brother, Lancel. As were Queen Margaery and her brother, the accused," Ramsay said as he inspected his fingernails. "Also in attendance were several lords and ladies of the court, and the entirety of the small council, including your father, the Hand of the King."
Larisa felt dread claw its way past her chest and into her throat. Ramsay flicked his gaze back up to her.
"Please, my lord. Do get to the point," she said, but without the strength she had hoped for. He grinned.
"The Great Sept was destroyed by wildfire," Ramsay stood with a dramatic flourish, as if painting the scene with his hands. "Heartbroken by the loss of his queen, King Tommen threw himself from the Red Keep! And Cersei, clever girl, has been made our new queen."
Larisa shuddered a halting breath.
She would have crumpled to her knees, if not for Martha who supported her. As long as she lived, she did not think she would forget the smile Ramsay Bolton wore as he took strides out of her chambers.
"Be more careful here, Will." Larisa held her brother close, drying his tears as they came. For the first time since he was a much smaller boy, he hid his face in her skirts and let her run her fingers through his soft golden hair.
After a while, he sniffed and peeked up at her.
"Father…he told me something," he said, "before we left."
She swept more of his tears away. Despite her better judgement, she asked him what that was.
"He said…he said I was coming because I needed to learn things. How to be leader," he said. "But he said I was coming with you to do it…so we wouldn't be alone."
Even with this, Larisa didn't break down like her brother had. It was the shock of it, she told herself. It wasn't that she didn't…feel.
Perhaps something was wrong with her.
Yes, she thought. Very wrong.
Yet after all, her father had not quite become Tywin Lannister.
Lord Bolton was all too cheerful the following morning. Strangely, he had all but ignored the Lannisters, though he'd had the audacity to wink at Larisa before he stepped out into the courtyard. She didn't dignify it with an outward reaction, but she imagined the scalding hot bowl of soup in her hands, pouring it over his genitals.
As oddly satisfying as the thought was, it was cut short by the sound of horses entering the gates. She pulled Willem closer by the arm when he tried to run ahead of her to see the commotion, keeping him at her side.
Larisa only recognized the sigils of their banners from illustrations in texts she had read, but if she wasn't mistaken, four silver chains linked by a central ring on a blood red banner was for House Umber, just south of the Wall.
They escorted two hooded figures into the halls of Winterfell, where Ramsay and a man Larisa now knew to be Harald Karstark led them into a larger room, closing the doors behind them.
Larisa shared a glance with her brother, discreetly bidding him with her eyes to follow her outside. She knew where there were tall glass windows that didn't just offer light into that room.
"What if they catch us?" Willem whispered as they stood shivering in the snow.
"Don't make a sound, or they will," she threatened.
Thankfully Lord Umber's voice carried, and they were more or less able to hear.
The men of House Umber had caught something in the woods. Something they would trade for Ramsay's support against Wildlings that had been led over the Wall by Jon Snow, Commander of the Night's Watch.
Larisa knew the name Jon Snow. He had to be Ned Stark's bastard that had taken the Black. But this was the first she'd heard of him being made Commander of the Night's Watch. How could a boy his age have accomplished such a thing?
"How do I know that's Rickon Stark?" she heard Ramsay ask.
And the name cut Larisa out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened.
One of the Stark boys survived?
Larisa waited until all the candles were blown out that night. Until the sky was dark as pitch. At her request, Ser Thane led her to the stables, with an order to Ser Thomas, his right hand, to remain guarding her chambers as if she was still sleeping.
"This is a tricky thing we're doing, my lady," he warned. She didn't answer, merely holding tighter to the basket she held. But they snuck past the stables to a tower beside the main keep.
"Curious, that no one guards the door," Larisa said, keeping her voice low.
"'Dangerous' is more the word, my lady."
"Why's that?"
"It may seem Lord Bolton is not preoccupied with having his prisoner guarded," said the knight. "Either he's stupid, which is unlikely, or he's setting a trap."
Larisa gave him a sidelong look. Who had cause to set a trap within their own walls?
"For who?"
"I don't know, my lady."
"I don't care," she dismissed. "He can play his boorish games, but he can't touch me or Will. Else sever his alliance with all Lannisters."
Ser Thane took one of the torches from the wall and lit their way down a flight of damp stairs that led to a darker and colder place.
Rickon Stark, sat in an iron cell against the far wall. He raised his head when he heard them coming, but when he saw them, Larisa could see his confusion, as well as his fear. He was just a boy, with bedraggled hair and dirty, threadbare clothes.
"Hello, Rickon," Larisa greeted softly. "I'm Larisa."
"Who are you?" his voice was small, but his doe brown eyes were full of mistrust.
"I was sent here to wed Roose Bolton. The man is dead, and now his son rules Winterfell. I believe you've met him."
"What does that mean for you then?"
Larisa smiled slightly. "I don't know yet."
She knelt down in front of his cell. From this close, she could see the small cuts and bruises that littered the boy's hands and face, likely from the Umbers giving chase to catch him.
She set down her basket beside her and took out a bowl of water and some cloth. "I know it's not much, but would you like your face clean, at least?"
She watched Rickon openly judge her appearance, trying to tell if she was what she seemed, or if she was tricking him in some way. She also saw the moment he decided an unarmed woman with a bowl of water wasn't a threat.
Larisa reached out her hand to him. After a little more hesitation, he placed his hand in hers. She dabbed the rag in the water and began wiping the dirt from his hands, gently over his cuts and scrapes.
"They took Osha," he eventually whispered.
"The Wildling traveling with you?" she asked.
"She's not so wild," he said, and bit his lip as he looked down at their hands. "She's my friend."
"How did she come to be your friend?"
"My family took her in."
Larisa hummed. "That's very gracious of them."
More gracious than her own family would have been to a Wildling.
After a beat of silence, Rickon raised his head. "Why are you here?"
"I told you why—"
"No," he said. He took his hands back from her once they were clean. "Why are you…being nice to me? I thought Lannisters hated us."
Larisa blinked in confusion. How the hell did he know—
Rickon glanced down at the pendant that hung from her neck. "I've only seen Lannisters wear gold."
She looked down as well, and she smiled again. I told Mother this would be an eyesore.
"Well, it's a simple thing really," Larisa told him.
"And just when I thought good fortune would never visit me again!" Ramsay had raised his ale and his men had raised their mugs and drunk with him.
"That little brat will be the key to ending Jon Snow and his pack of savages," he'd said, "And then I'll rescue Lady Bolton."
"He's just a boy, my lord," Larisa had implored him. "Surely—"
"I'm sure he's happy to be home," Ramsay grinned. "Where he belongs."
Larisa took the cloth again and began wiping the grime from his cheek.
"I suppose you remind me of my brother," she said. "He and Martyn, his second brother, often played too rough when they were younger. They came to me and my mother with scrapes and bumps, and once Martyn shaved a part of his head with his training sword."
She looked at the boy's face, his brown eyes and hair, and saw a rare innocence for how much he had likely already seen. She may not be able to truly help him, but if she could, she would bring him back with her to Casterly Rock. She planned to leave as soon as she received word from Queen Cersei.
It put bile in her throat to ask anything from the woman who had murdered her father and brother, but the last message from the capital said Ser Jaime had returned to King's Landing. Surely he wouldn't allow her to leave their only remaining kin stranded in the North. Not when neither Cersei or Jaime wanted to leave the Iron Throne to sit at Casterly Rock.
And when they rode south again, Larisa didn't care if she had to steal the boy away. She would not leave an innocent with this Ramsay Bolton. Rickon may never be happy in the south, but at least he would live.
Or perhaps she should send him north, to Jon Snow and his sister Sansa.
Yes, she thought, getting up to her feet. That would be best.
That would be right, house loyalty be damned.
"Will you come back," Rickon asked. His voice was small again. Larisa hesitated.
"If I can."
Ser Thane only parted ways with her once they reached her chambers. He shared a nod with Ser Thomas, who nodded stiffly back. Larisa entered the room. She would've asked Ser Thomas if there was any trouble on his watch, but he closed the door firmly.
When Larisa turned, she could barely stifle a gasp.
Ramsay sat there, on her bed. "I've been pretty bored, waiting on you."
"What are you—"
"What did you," he stood smoothly and started toward her slowly, "speak with Rickon about?"
Larisa was locked in the direct stare of his pale blue eyes. They were predator's eyes.
"He's scared," she said, and hated her voice for barely rising above a whisper.
"He should be," Ramsay smiled. Larisa stepped to the right for every one of his in the opposite direction, pushing her further into the room.
"You were married before, weren't you?"
An odd question, but she humored him. "Yes."
"Harden Lefford, you were married three years," he said, "'til he got shivved at the Battle of Blackwater."
She tensed, and her lips pursed. It would've only taken a few minutes' questioning her handmaiden to have gotten that information, but she supposed such an invasion of her privacy was nothing to this man. "He was slain honorably in battle."
"Honorable," Ramsay laughed, "'Harden the chinless,' they said behind his back? Though I'm sure if they'd said it to his front, he wouldn't a' had much to say either."
"He was prouder than you, my lord, which was only the stem of his many virtues," Larisa drawled, but Ramsay was on his next question before she could ask why this was at all important.
"Three years. That's a long time to be married without children. I assume you love the little buggers," he remarked knowingly. "But why were you at Blackwater?"
"I wasn't at Blackwater, I was at the capital," she snapped.
"But shouldn't you have been at Golden Tooth, where House Lefford sits?" Ramsay asked. "It made sense for your husband to be there. I mean, his father, Leo Lefford. I assume he part of Lord Tywin's forces that stamped out ole' Stannis. But why were you there?"
Her mouth went dry, but she answered, "I was attending a wedding."
"Really?" Ramsay said. His hand brushed over her writing desk. "They had to know Stannis Baratheon was closing in. Why have a summer wedding just before a siege?"
"We tried to leave the capital, but it was too late by then," Larisa said. "Why are you so interested in my first marriage, Lord Bolton?"
In two strides, Ramsay was breathing her air. He only stood a couple of inches taller than her, but she knew she had to be shaking.
"I think you gave your husband a reason to join his father into battle," he smirked. "And pride cometh before the fall, after all."
It was a moment before Larisa could speak. But when she was able to loosen her tongue, she said, "In the morning, I will be leaving for Casterly Rock."
Ramsay raised a brow. "Oh?"
They both knew very well she was not authorized to leave the north. Larisa no longer cared.
"I will take every knight and handmaiden in my company, and all I've brought with me to Winterfell," she said, "including my brother. You had better not stop me."
She pushed at his chest firmly with her hand, but Ramsay held to it tightly, keeping her in place.
"I can see in your eyes that you're very good at keeping secrets," he said, and rotated her wrist experimentally. She tried not to let it show that he was hurting her as she tried to extricate herself from his grip. He grinned down at her.
"I'm better at it than you."
Then, he released her.
He left without turning back, and Larisa was left trembling with both anger and fear.
It was difficult to sleep for what remained of that night.
But somehow she woke when the sun greeted her through the chamber window. Larisa yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
And then the lifeless ones of Ser Thane peered up at her from his severed head, which spilled thick, coagulated blood down her mattress and over her own body.
The entirety of the keep at Winterfell heard her terrible scream.
Jon Snow stared hard at the dull brownish liquid in his mug. Sansa Stark sat down beside him before the fire. Castle Black was a rather bleak and dark place, but she had seen darker.
"Searching for secrets in the ale," she teased. He offered her a wan smile.
"Hasn't failed me yet."
Though really, he didn't drink much. Hadn't had much of the time, as of late.
As of late, he'd been dead.
Somehow he was supposed to believe in fairytales. In blood magic that supposedly brought him back. He didn't know anything for sure. But he was alive, and now he would throw it to chance once again.
"This isn't going to be easy. You know that don't you?"
Sansa looped her arm with his.
"Of course, I know," she said. But neither of them were willing to leave Rickon in the hands of a monster. Now that they knew their brother was alive, Jon could no longer avoid it.
"I believe in us," said Sansa. And Jon nodded.
They had to take back their home.
