Alrighty then, after hours of writing and scrapping and tweaking and reworking, I am finally ready to post this chapter. :) I anxiously await your thoughts!
Sansa gave his fingers a light squeeze as she inclined her head and nodded towards the chair next to the fire, raising an eyebrow. His gray eyes, cold and sharp as ever, narrowed as he regarded her before slowly striding over and reclining into the chair. She bit her lip, glancing around until she felt his hand lightly tug hers. Her eyes shot back up to his, and she felt her own narrowing gaze answering him in kind as she pursed her lips in thought. "My lord, need I fear you in this moment?" She asked him quietly, still gently holding his hand in hers.
The skin around his eyes crinkled as he considered her question before a heavy sigh left him. "Do not lie to me, my lady. As long as you never lie, you need not fear me." His soft spoken words were laced with a vein of steel, and she fought back a shiver as she nodded firmly in agreement. His lips twitching almost so slightly as to not be noticed, he gave her hand a gentle tug. As her feet followed her arm's direction, she quickly found herself curled up in his lap, bottom resting between his thighs, legs and skirts gathered up and thrown over the arm of the chair while her back rested against the other, her hand still holding his while his other arm wrapped firmly over her legs, resting against the top of her thighs.
"How do you propose we proceed, my lady?" The silken tenor was easing through her mind like a caress, softening her fears and smoothing her feathers until she felt her body relaxing into her husband's embrace.
Sansa sighed, frowning as she raised her eyes to study his once more. "Roose?" Her voice came out soft, fragile as a bird's, and she cleared her throat as he trained his eyes on hers, granting her his full attention. "Roose," she began again, firmer this time. "I do not expect you to spill all your deepest darkest secrets, nor do I intend to grant you mine in return." He frowned, his eyes narrowing to slits, as he quirked a brow for her to continue. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she pressed on before she forgot her nerve. "Do not lie to me either, Roose. Please."
She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and while her heart fluttered and her eyes darted over his face she did not waver, and after a long pause he nodded in agreement. "Say it," she whispered, eyes boring into his lips now as she watched them with fascination. "Tell me you will not lie to me."
His shrewd gaze was unreadable, and after a slow blink he raised their twined fingers to press them gently to his chest. "I will not lie to you, Sansa. I will not always answer, but when I do, know my words are for true. Even if it may pain you, even if you beg and plead one day, I will not lie to you."
She pressed her lips into a firm line, blinking back the tears that pricked as she nodded firmly and gently pulled their hands away from his chest to press them into hers, raising her eyes back to his. "I will not lie to you, Roose. I will not always answer, but when I do, know my words are for true."
And while her husband's face was as sharp and unyielding as ever, his eyes had slowly softened, a bit of the warmth seeping back in, and he nodded in response.
She was a queer one, his little wife. Meek as a mouse yet fierce as a wolf. She had somehow slipped in past his guard, somehow found a little sliver in the coldness he showed the world, stabbing it with a pick until the sliver widened to a crack, and as she cradled his hand to her chest he felt her picking that crack once more as he fought desperately to keep it from splitting open wide and baring his soul.
And though he should hate her for it, despise her with his very being, he found with no small sense of bewilderment he truly felt the very opposite. He felt a sense of respect, a regard, a feeling that perhaps he was now looking at someone who could one day be an equal, rather than a pawn. Gods help him, but here he was, caught in the act of treason, and yet his pretty little wife was sprawled on his lap, her expression fierce as she bit her lip and prepared to attempt to coax his transgressions from him.
His lips twitched as he realized not with a small amount of amusement that he had intended this exact purpose as well, though it never occurred to him he would be the target.
He heard her sigh, felt her cool breath fan his neck, and with an admonishment to himself that he should stem the tide of his budding arousal at the amount of strength and control his little wolf showed at the moment, he gave her his rapt attention.
"I know that correspondence is to you from Lord Frey, and I know that with respect to my brother's camp and host, it is nothing good," she started, carefully studying his face.
He was impassive, made of stone, not a muscle twitched, not a brow flickered, not even a glimmer in one eye.
"Was that a question, my lady?" He drawled coldly, the bored tone indicating he was already less than impressed with her ability to play whatever game they were playing.
She breathed in heavily before exhaling through her nose, pressing her lips into a firm line. As she opened her mouth to begin again, he cut her off coldly. "You may choose one question regarding the letter, Sansa, and I will answer it." A smile flickered over her face before his jaw clenched firmly. "Only one, Sansa. Choose wisely."
Her smile faltered as a thousand questions raced through her mind, and at her huff of annoyance she saw the skin around her husband's eyes crinkle ever so slightly. Only one? How on earth was she going to gather enough information to make up her mind, all from one question? Should she ask him what the hour of the wolf meant- what was intended? Should she ask who Lord Frey's partner was, as they letter clearly implied there was one? Should she dare ask if he'd responded? But then she would still not know what he had responded, and quite clearly at that stage that was far more important.
Her mind spun in a circle, thoughts swirling round and round, until his low growl of impatience had her blurting out what immediately came to mind. "Why?"
That brought him up short, and she watched a tiny little crack fissure into his carefully composed demeanor before the coldness returned in full force. "Specifics, my lady. Why, what?"
Her nostrils flared as her mind raced, and she internally berated herself for such a stupid question to begin with. Why? That was what she wasted her one question on? Why?! What in the seven hells did it matter why?!
The air left her in a rush as a calculated gleam slipped into her eye, and she flickered her gaze to look at her husband beneath her lashes. If there's one thing she learned during her painful time at court, you could learn a lot about a man, and you could predict a vast majority of his behaviors, if you understood why it was he was acting in the first place. Why was perhaps the most insightful question she had in her arsenal. "Why would you participate, if you were to accept?"
He hummed, tilting his head back to the side to rest it against the back of the chair as he looked over her face. There was something there in the corner of his eyes, and she was vain enough to admit she fervently hoped he was secretly pleased. "If I were to accept, it would be because the situation held enough promise to advance House Bolton."
Greed. It was so basic, so simple, she was surprised she hadn't known it immediately. Her husband's loyalties were not fickle like her mother suspected, not cryptic or hidden or easily bought or bartered, not when you got right down to it. Her husband was loyal to himself, above all others, and himself only. And he would act in whatever way stood to benefit him most.
Swallowing, an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach, Sansa gracefully inclined her head. "It is your turn, my lord."
He hummed again, his sharp eyes never leaving hers, watching her carefully as he deliberated briefly. "What did your mother want from you as you walked the camp the other day."
Sansa paled, no doubt in her mind that her husband had noticed, and she fought to control the shake beginning to tremble in her limbs. The thumb grazing circles over her knuckles brought her back with a jolt, and the trembling ceased as she remembered his promised and held her head high.
Well, Roose was brief to the point of vagueness, direct to the point of confusion, so perhaps she could give it a try. Honesty was honesty, certainly, no matter how many words were used or truths were spilled. One question.
"She wished me to spy on you, my lord."
Roose was clinging to every ounce of self control as he fought against the urge to grab his wife roughly and demand she spill each and every last word from her conversation with her mother.
He was positive his mounting fury was written all over his worn face, and positive he did not care a wit. Gods damn Catelyn Stark and her incessant meddling. Gods damn that bitch put herself between him and his wife.
The trembling began once again on his lap, and with a withering glare towards the fire his thumb began to stroke along his wife's knuckles once more. It was certainly not her fault her dim-witted mother came to her and begged her to spy.
That thought brought him up short. Was she?
"I believe you've earned yourself a second question, my lady," he said coldly, keeping his hard eyes trained on the flames. Best she not see how close he was to breaking altogether.
"You first, Roose," she whispered softly, and with a frown and a flicker of his eyes he quickly realized how close his wife was to breaking, as well.
This would not do at all.
"Perhaps a change in venue for the second round, my lady?"
Her lips pursed into a frown, and with a jolt he realized he wanted nothing more than to kiss that pretty frown right off of her pretty face. While his breeches began to tighten in a most uncomfortable manner, he watched his wife's brow crease in concern. "Where do you wish to go, my lord?"
Tightening to the point of pain, he allowed a lascivious smile to tug at his lips, his eyes gleaming by the light of the fire. "Why, my lady," he said softly, a spark racing through him as he saw her eyes darken and felt the shiver race across her shoulders. "I thought perhaps we might continue our discussion amongst our furs."
Her pretty blue eyes rapidly flitting from his warm gray ones, he growled in satisfaction as a blush bloomed on her cheeks and her teeth came down to halt the spread of a slow smile. "As you wish, my lord."
Rising with a speed he was sure would do his younger self proud, he cradled his wife in his arms and tossed her just a little roughly onto their bed of pillows and furs.