Chapter 13- The Journey to Winterfell Part 1
The good weather stayed with them for the best of the morning and Sansa was reminded of the last Northern summer she had experienced. She smiled bittersweetly at the memories of Arya and Jon play sword fighting, Arya always winning and then becoming annoyed at Jon for letting her win. Of her mother forever telling Bran off for climbing too high but always with a smile. Of Robb pestering her to join in with their games. All before her father, Arya and her ventured South for duty and a childish, idealistic notion of love. Had she known what would happen in the South, she never would've left Winterfell. She would've begged her father for them to all stay in the North where they were safe. She had thought she would never see the North again, that she would die in the South just like her father.
"Is something amusing My Lady?" Her husband asked, pulling her from her memories.
"No, I was just reminiscing." Sansa brushed him off.
"About?" He asked, his lip curled up at one side, amused by her vagueness. Roose watched her thought process, watched her debate whether to tell him the truth. Interesting.
"My childhood, I was thinking about the last time I had experienced weather like this in the North…" Something in what she had said caused her eyes to light up slightly.
"Go on…" Now he was very curious. Sansa, however, was hesitant. Would he punish her for talking about her siblings to him? The ground between them was still very shaky and she did not want to ruin what little progress they had made. She took a deep breath before she spoke; he had asked after all.
"About Arya and Jon's pretend sword fights and Bran always climbing places he shouldn't and…" It was the most animated he'd seen her speak. Her eyes were on fire now. He raised on eyebrow and gestured for her to continue. "Robb would try to convince me to play their games, but I would just watch instead. Mother would get annoyed at their silliness but never for long." Roose hadn't wanted to hear about the Starks but when she talked about her family, there was a glow to Sansa, a happiness he had never seen in her and it made him smile one of those smiles that he kept hidden from the world. She was truly beautiful with that smile that although bittersweet reached her eyes, eyes that were sparkling as she regaled the tales from her childhood. And so, he let her continue, let her tell him as much as she wished to about growing up at Winterfell and about the family that was stolen from her. A small pang of guilt plagued him as she continued to reminisce her childhood, but he brushed it aside. Roose Bolton did not feel guilty.
Sometime during Sansa's trip down memory lane, he stopped paying attention to the words she was saying and instead focused on the road ahead. The good weather was holding for now, but he feared a storm was brewing in the West and wanted to reach Winterfell before it hit or at the very least have made camp. He did not want to get caught out in it.
"My Lady…" He cut her off, she turned to face him. "I think we will increase our pace." Sansa swallowed before she nodded. "If you're struggling to keep up, you are not obligated to ride by my side at the front." His words were abrupt causing Sansa to blush in humiliation; she knew she wasn't the strongest rider and of course he knew it too but to voice it was insulting. Well, she was determined to prove him wrong despite the ache that was already taken root in her legs. She had already vowed that she would not be the one to delay their progress and she was prepared to show him how little a burden she was.
Lord Bolton was not exaggerating about increasing the pace and Sansa was trying her hardest to keep up with him but doing so meant concentrating and not talking. Talking was too much energy and slowed her down. Roose had noticed her sudden silence and knew the reason for it. The concentration on her face had given her away and it made him smirk. Gods she was a feisty one. How had she been so submissive in Kings Landing? She was determined to prove him wrong and he admired her for it, but a thought crossed his mind. He wanted to know just how determined she could be.
"Have you lost your voice My Lady?" He teased.
"No, My Lord, I just… ran out of things to say." He smirked at her lie.
"We shall have to find something to discuss." Roose pushed her.
Sansa tilted her head in his direction and narrowed her eyes at him, reading his expression. She noted his smirk; what game was he playing? "What would you like to discuss?"
"Let's discuss you My Lady…" Sansa swallowed. A fear took hold of her, what exactly did he want to know? Studying her reaction was perhaps more interesting than anything she would tell him. She was afraid, what could she possibly be hiding that the mere thought of telling him had her fearful?
"What would My Lord husband desire to know?" That was the crucial question, he would start off with something small.
"You said you never joined in with your siblings' games and it would be safe to presume that you didn't ride often… I'm curious to know what you did for fun growing up."
"When I was very young, I played with dolls as one might expect but as I got older, I was more interested in sewing and my lessons of course. Septa Mordane always said I was a better student than Arya… but my interests somewhat changed after my father's death." Her last words brought with them a silence as Sansa didn't want to discuss any of what had happened in Kings Landing and Roose didn't want to discuss the late Eddard Stark. So instead, they rode in silence for a while before Roose tried again to get to know her.
"Did you enjoy your time in the Capital?"
"Not exceptionally." It was abrupt and Roose had the impression that she didn't want to talk about her time in the South, but he wasn't yet ready to draw a line under it. There were things that had happened to her or things she had seen that she was hiding, and it intrigued him to know what. Robb Stark had called his bannermen and marched South in part to rescue her from the horrors she was facing in Kings Landing but he had never been told the details of her treatment. He had seen the scars on her body of course but he was yet to know exactly what she had to endure. There had been times over the last few weeks since their wedding that he had considered asking her, but every time had decided against it. Sansa had been truly frightened that night of him seeing them and the memories they haunted her with. He was certain they were linked to the nightmares she apparently had and suspected they were in fact the cause.
"You don't like Kings Landing? I would've thought a young lady such as yourself would've longed for the warmth of the South, the handsome knights and the excitement of court."
"I did once, when I was stupid and naïve but its not as warm as you would expect. The weather is but the people are not." Roose smirked at her cryptic answer.
"You do not miss it then?"
"No, My Lord. I'm glad to be back in the North. I would be happy to never return South."
"Then you will be pleased to know that I have no intention to go South." Sansa smiled. Well at least there was that. If she never saw Kings Landing again, never saw the King or the Lannisters, she would spend her life grateful to the gods.
Sansa was in agony when they finally made camp that night. Roose had insisted they would make camp at the foot of the Lonely Hills and the day had been filled with heavy riding. She had spent most of the morning riding alongside Roose at the head of the host but as the day had worn on, she had grown tired and fallen behind. To her surprise, he hadn't minded when she had left his side, hadn't minded when he looked back to see her engaged in conversation with her maid, Lyra (she had finally learnt her name) or with some of Roose's men riding alongside her. Now every muscle in her body ached. Most of the tents had already been set up before she even attempted to get down from her horse. When she did finally attempt it, her legs were too sore to move. Noticing her pain, her maid when in search of Lord Bolton. It took some time to find him; he was in conference with Ser Banefort discussing the plans for the journey.
"My Lady…" Roose said as he approached her, a smirk on his face. Sansa refused to look at him but kept her head high, she already appeared weak to him, she didn't need any more humiliation. "Do you need help?" For a moment, she considered rejecting his help.
"Very well My Lady… you can sit there all night." He turned away from her and took several slow steps.
"No… wait…" Sansa called out; her pride abandoned. Roose kept walking, his pace slow. "Please." He turned back to her, a smirk on his face as he walked to her and placed a hand either side of her waist; Sansa blushed slightly at the contact noting how his hands felt right. He lifted her off the animal. Then he placed her on the ground, but his hands didn't leave her body. Roose leaned his face into her, his breath against her as he whispered.
"I do like it when you beg me." No sooner had the words left his mouth than a scarlet blush raced up Sansa's face. Roose chuckled. She wasn't quite where he wanted her, but she would be before long.
"I suggest you freshen up before dinner." He said before sauntering off. Sansa stood there for a few more moments questioning what had just happened before finally following him in the direction of their tent. Roose entered one of the largest and Sansa was about to do the same but was stopped by the voices inside.
"Moat Cailin is a possibility My Lord but it will need fortified and some of the damage from your attack on the Ironborn will need repaired."
"Or there's the Green Folk, the border with the Riverlands…. But Walder Frey could be a problem…"
"Indeed. Banefort, how many men would it take to fortify Moat Cailin?"
"Successfully against an attack from the South? Two hundred ideally, I could do it with less, but I would need one hundred at least."
Sansa's heart dropped. Why would Lord Bolton be considering fortifying Moat Cailin? He had pledged his loyalty to Tywin Lannister, had he not? Isn't that why they had given her to him? Why would he be preparing for an attack from the South? The war was over, it ended the day he had murdered her brother. Stannis Baratheon was the only Lannister enemy in open rebellion left and he had scurried back to Dragonstone after the Battle of Blackwater Bay. What was he planning?
"And if I decided upon the Neck's border with the Twins?"
"Hard to say My Lord, there's no fortification to man."
At this, Sansa pulled back the door of the tent, she was Lady Bolton now, she was not going to skulk in the shadows and listen in doorways. Four men and her husband were stood around a map of Westeros. Roose turned in the direction of the noise before turning back to the men gathered around him.
"We'll continue this later." The men bowed their heads and then left the tent, nodding at Sansa as they passed her. She remained where she stood, frozen to the spot unsure if she should ask what they were discussing or if she should pretend, she was ignorant. Roose raised an eyebrow.
"You said I should freshen up before dinner… I didn't know…"
"How much of that did you hear?" He didn't wait for an answer. She would know it all in time and the little she did know was irrelevant, there was very few people for her to tell. "No matter." Roose said, moving away from the map table and stopping in front of her; he placed a hand on the small of her back and pushed her gently in the direction of the tent's inner room. Her maid was already there pouring water into a hand basin.
"I'll see you at dinner My Lady. Have one of the guards escort you, I don't want you getting lost." And with that, he was gone. Quickly, Sansa washed her face and ordered the maid to find her a change of clothes, her current clothes were a state from the dust and dirt of a day spent riding and she down right refused to go to dinner in such a mess. No, she had to change. Most of her dresses were packed and stored with the rest of the luggage and so her maid returned with the one dress she least wanted to wear: her House Bolton dress. In truth she didn't dislike the dress, she just didn't want to be on show as much as it forced her to be and she certainly didn't want to freeze. But as there was little choice in the matter, she dressed in the garment, wrapped herself in the thickest fur cloak she could find in the tent and went in search of her husband escorted by the two guards who were stationed outside of said tent.
It was a short walk to find her husband, who was situated in the tent in which dinner would be served. Many of his man had also gathered in it. He was already seated and in deep conversation with a man Sansa did not recognise but he stood when he saw her. An amused look formed on his face as his gaze fell on the dress she was wearing; she was wrapped up in what appeared to be his spare cloak, but he would recognise that dress anywhere.
"My Lady…" He spoke, pulling the chair out for her. Hesitantly, Sansa walked towards him and sat down in the chair provided. Roose sat down beside her.
"Interesting choice of dress."
"It's my maid's fault."
"Forgive me Sansa, I am not complaining… on the contrary in fact." He placed a hand on the small of her back and turned back to the man he'd previously been engaged in conversation with. Sansa tried to listen to what they were talking about, but it was of no interest to her and she kept zoning out. Instead she watched the people around her, the men sworn to serve House Bolton, the men sworn to serve her now. They seemed carefree as though they hadn't been fighting in a war only weeks earlier, as though their lord hadn't committed regicide and killed their king. She had been promised that the North remembered that betrayal but looking around her now, she questioned whether that was true. These people didn't "remember" or if they did, they didn't care, and it hadn't taken long for her father and brother's bannermen had pledged allegiance to her traitorous husband. The North did not remember, not that it mattered now, she was a Bolton and the North belonged to the Boltons. Sansa was so deep in thought that she did not notice that her husband had finished his conversation or that the food, game and vegetables, had been served.
"Aren't you hungry My Lady?" Sansa was aware he had spoken but hadn't heard the words.
"My Lord…" She asked turning to face him.
"You're not eating." He gestured to the plate in front of her. "Is something amiss?"
"Not at all, My Lord. I was just daydreaming."
"Indeed, how intriguing." He smirked. "About what?"
Panic crossed her features. Now that was certainly interesting. "Home… Winterfell." She lied. Lord Baelish had once told her she was the worst liar, but her husband seemed to believe her, for now at least.
"My dear, I'm afraid you will find it some what changed from what you remember." It was the first time he'd used a term of endearment and the words sounded strange coming out of his mouth, but she smiled regardless. Perhaps they could have a marriage somewhat reminiscent of her parents. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she discarded it, this was Roose Bolton after all.
He moved his hand from the small of her back and placed it on her thigh as he placed a kiss to her forehead before learning into her ear.
"This dress… don't ever wear it for dinner again… I want nothing more right now than to remove it from you." His voice sent a shiver down her spine. "There is something I will need to tend to after dinner. However, I fully intend to remove it later when we're alone." He whispered.
There was a chill in the air as Roose walked back to his tent that night; he hadn't intended to be in conversation with Ser Banefort as long as he had been, but they'd had much to discuss and still weren't finished. Roose however, was constantly reminded of his wife and certain things he wanted to do to her, and it was making it difficult to concentrate. This was something he needed if they were to finish piecing together their plan and so he'd called for an adjournment to their talk and decided to return to his tent and to Sansa. There was an issue he'd wanted to discuss with her for some time now, but he had been waiting for the opportune moment to address it and he believed tonight was going to be just that.
Gods he wanted her. She was wearing only a thin shift, nestled in all his furs and waiting in bed for him. The maid, Lyra, was busy collecting Sansa's discarded clothing from around the tent. Roose caught her eye and gestured for her to leave them.
"Will that be everything My Lady?"
"Yes… thank you…" With those words, the maid left. Sansa remained where she was, her eyes focused on him laced with… was that lust? Every fibre of his being wanted to ravish her right there, but he couldn't, there were matters he needed to address.
"How are your legs, My Lady?"
She frowned before answering. "Fine, My Lord."
Roose narrowed his eyes. "I do not appreciate being lied to."
Sansa opened her mouth to call him out on his hypocrisy but decided against it and snapped her mouth shut, pausing before responding in the way he expected. "Extremely sore." She mumbled but he heard it. He nodded in acknowledgement and Sansa watched as a thought was mulled over in his mind.
"The maester has a salve. I'll have your maid fetch it but first we need to discuss your blatant disobedience whilst I was at Moat Cailin." Sansa rolled her eyes. How many more of these talks would they have? How many more times would he warn her against something before he actually carried through with the consequences?
"I seem to remember giving you very specific instructions…" His voice low as he walked toward her. Sansa sat up straighter, the furs falling away from her body.
"I believe I told you to spend an hour everyday riding." He was standing at the foot of the bed now. Sansa swallowed unsure of where this was going.
"Did you?" She didn't reply. "I thought not." He walked around to the side of the bed and sat down in front of her. Roose narrowed his eyes deciding how best to proceed.
"Sansa, Sansa, Sansa…" he placed a hand on her thigh; she flinched at the shock of his touch before leaning into it.
"I should punish you for this disobedience…" his hand moved up her body to nestle at her waist. Heat pooled at her core and she gasped at the contact. Roose smirked at his wanton, little wife. Perhaps there were other ways to punish her. He moved his hand up and then down caressing her softly. The touch sent sparks through her body. It was confusing her, why if he was going to punish her "disobedience" was he doing this to her? This confusion quickly turned to desire.
"My Lord…"
"Sssh Sansa…" He whispered against her ear before placing his lips to her neck, sucking the exposed skin. She moaned and he smiled against her flesh in response. His mouth travelled to down her neck to her shoulder as his hands rested on her thighs, pulling them apart. She's already wet as her places two fingers inside her in a v shape. Sansa leaned into the touch; a needy gasp escaped her lips.
"My Lord!" Her tone was laced with desire and want.
"This is your punishment for disobeying me." Roose said matter of factly as he climbed off the bed, leaving Sansa a wanton, frustrated mess. He smirked. There were indeed other ways to punish her.
It was late when Roose returned to the tent, Sansa appeared to be asleep. What a shame to wake her up, he mused. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't: leaving her sexually frustrated was certainly satisfying but it had also left him frustrated and plotting with his most trusted men had left him frustrated in the other sense. Now he craved a release that only his young wife could give. A smirk formed on his lips; he knew just how he would wake her up.
Sansa's eyes shot open, Roose Bolton's fingers were inside of her, his lips on her shoulder blade. She turned over to face him as a moan escaped her lip and he raised his eyebrow. In response, she smirked and then nodded. She wanted this. She wanted him. Roose quickly pulled her shift over her head and threw it on the floor somewhere. His mouth travelled down her body leaving goose bumps in its wake as he pressed butterfly kisses to her exposed skin. It rapidly replaced his fingers and he darted his tongue back and forth over the bundle of nerves. Sansa moaned.
"Please… Roo… Roose… please." She ran her hands through his hair, pushing his head closer to her core. He continued his oral assault and before long she was riding a wave of pleasure as her first orgasm came quickened by how frustrated he'd left her earlier. He had planned to go slow, to draw this out as long as he could but her throaty moans were making it impossible to do so. Roose quickly unlaced his britches discarding them in the same way as her dress and entered her.
"My Lord…" The tent door opened to reveal Maester Rhodry and the cold air rushed in. Sansa shivered and pulled the furs around her to hide her nakedness.
"Apologies My Lady."
"What is it Rhodry?"
"There's a raven from King's Landing." At last, Roose thought as he reached for the parchment. But the scroll did not contain the words he was expecting. He turned to Sansa.
"The King is dead."