Arya
Fear is a curious thing. When Lord Bolton was asleep – if he ever was truly asleep in the first place – Arya's hand shook, she had a loose grim on Vengeance's handle, and bit her lip hard enough leave clear bite marks. And yet for all her doubts, there was no question that had he opened his eyes two seconds later, the Lord of the Dreadfort would've been gasping for his last few breaths as blood seeped from a large wound in his throat.
However, that all changed the moment Lord Bolton opened his pale, blue eyes and began silently staring at the Lone Wolf. Arya's face hardened, her grip on Vengeance tightened, and she pressed the blade of her flaying knife firmly against the Lord of the Dreadfort's throat. A single twitch would've ended Lord Bolton's life and yet no matter how hard the Lone Wolf tried to hide it, in that moment she found herself unable to end the life of the monster who had already taken so much from her. If Lord Bolton realized that his visitor had lost her nerve – at least for the moment – he showed no sign.
Does he know that I don't want to do it? No, that's not true...not really. I just...wish I didn't have to do kill him is all. But I want...I mean...Lord Bolton deserves to die! I hate him! He tried to make me think my mother didn't love me and then he killed her. And he keeps trying to force his stupid son to rape me besides. I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! Stupid Bolton. Why can't I move my stupid hand? Neither Lord Bolton nor the Lone Wolf moved so much as a single inch nor did either of them break eye contact for even half a second. Instead, they both silently stared at each other for what felt like an eternity...even if it was really just a few minutes, most like.
Stop looking at me like that; I don't like it! I'm not going to look away first, stupid. You told me at Harrenhal that whoever looks away first is afraid. And the man who fears losing has already lost besides. But what if...NO! If...if he tries to move then I'll kill him or... Arya forced herself not to start chewing her lip again, but the fear was still there all the same.
I can't kill him yet...not really. If I do, then how will I ever know whether he really meant any of the things he said about me? It...it doesn't matter...not really. I...I don't care what Lord Bolton thinks about me, it's just that...but I...I mean...it can't all have been a lie. Lord Bolton, he...he always cared about me at least a little bit; he has too! I mean...it...it doesn't matter what he thinks, I just...need to know is all. What if...what if it was all a lie and he always hated me just like everyone else? What if he...I mean...I...I can't...fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords!
After what felt like an eternity, the Lord of the Dreadfort briefly broke eye contact just long enough to take a quick glance at the hand pressing Vengeance's blade against his throat. Finally! I can talk to him now that he looked away. It doesn't matter how long he broke eye contact...not really; all that matters is that he did it first, Arya decided.
"Arya, put down your knife," commanded a voice that was somehow both as soft as silk and as loud as thunder's roar. Lord Bolton sounded neither angry nor frightened; if anything, he sounded more than a little bit bored. One could've been forgiven for thinking his present circumstances were a nightly occurrence, but Arya knew better. Lord Bolton might not be afraid, but even if he was, he wouldn't act like it. He can't fool me! He already taught me how to hide fear by staring at people and making stupid old grumpy faces...
"No."
"You would make me repeat myself?"
"Sorry, my Lord, I...I just...I mean...NO! The only reason you're not already punishing Bran and me is that I could kill you right now if I wanted to; you'd be dead before you even had time to try and stop me, so...so you...umm...you'd better stop trying to make me put Vengeance away!"
"As you say. In truth, you were always a clever child. What I would have given for a child with even half your wits..." The Lone Wolf wanted to smile at that, but she forced herself to scowl at the Lord of the Dreadfort instead.
"Thank you, my Lord...I think."
"I must confess that your manners are better than I would have expected given the circumstances. Mayhaps Domeric has made more progress with you than I have given him credit for; were it not for this unfortunate incident I fear I would've been forced to give the fool one more chance. Pity."
"Adjustments? But I...I don't understand?"
"It's really quite simple. Any boy can make adjustments to the behavior of a person in his power provided he is truly willing to do whatever is necessary, but it takes a rare sort of man to do while still managing to keep his motives hidden...especially with such a stubborn individual as yourself. In truth, it matters not at all. Had my son Domeric been successful, we would not be having our present conversation during the hour of the wolf." Wait a minute...
"YOU!"
"I fear I must needs insist that you remain calm. I would not serve for you to accidentally open my throat by jerking your left hand in the wrong direction while foolishly over-reacting to some trivial matter."
"You were the one who told Domeric to try to make me act like some boring old Lady! I bet that's why he was always obsessed with my stupid manners! You...you told him to change me and...and..."
"Change you? You wound me. I do not deny having done a great many things to you and I fear I must needs confess to being as hard a man as circumstances required, but I have never tried to change you."
"Do you promise that you never told Domeric to try to change me into some boring old Lady? Swear it by all the old Gods and the new!"
"Very well. I swear by the old Gods and the new that I never told Domeric to make you behave like a Lady. I suppose I should be flattered that you'd take me at my word," muttered the Lord of the Dreadfort, rolling his eyes.
"What? You were telling the truth, weren't you?"
"Yes, yes, yes. In truth, it matters not at all. Tell me, since you are such a sharp little thing, what were you planning to do after killing me?"
"I'm going to free Bran and then we're finally going to escape from this stupid castle. Domeric won't look for us either; he helped me escape. He hates you or...I think he does. He said he's going to take the black too! That means there will be no more Boltons left." He shouldn't need me to tell him that! Stupid Bolton. No, Lord Bolton's not stupid. He's just trying to trick me into putting down Vengeance, most like.
The Lord of the Dreadfort frowned and for a few seconds, his mask fell away to revel the malice and bitter hatred that it had been covering. Lord Bolton, he...he's not mad at me! He'd never hate me...not really. He's just...angry at his stupid son is all. Arya bit her lip.
"By killing me, you will also be killing my son Domeric. In truth, I fear it will take my Lord Snow less than a day to kill my trueborn son and forge the fool's signature on some fabricated document disinheriting you, legitimizing the bastard, and naming him as Domeric's heir."
"But Domeric is your son; you should care what happens to him and...and...umm...I mean...so what? I...I don't care what your stupid bastard does to some other stupid old Bolton. I hate them!" Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a thin smile and the Lone Wolf thought she saw a flicker of amusement creep across his face, but it was impossible to say for sure. What? Stop looking at me like that; I wasn't telling some stupid jape. I really do hate Domeric; I just...feel a little bit sorry for him sometimes is all. Just because I feel bad about how Lord Bolton treats his stupid son doesn't mean I don't hate him, Arya decided.
"So the question you should be asking yourself is 'what do will Lord Bolton's bastard do next?'"
"I don't care as long as he leaves me and my family alone."
"Does Lord Snow strike you as the sort of man to forgive and forget? In truth, even if he didn't hate you more than anyone else in Westeros; he'd never give up your brother Brandon. The boy is plainly his type, I think."
"His type? I don't under –"
"It was merely jape; in truth, it matters not at all. What does matter is that my bastard will send his best hunters after the two of you. Mayhaps he will even join them... When his hunting party returns to the Dreadfort with two wolf pups – which I assure you, they most certainly will – my bastard will kill you and finish turning your brother Brandon into another Reek. I suppose Lord Snow may rape you first if he thinks it will make the experience more painful for you, but...well...I fear he enjoys your brother far more. You're missing some of his favorite parts, I think." What does that even mean? Stupid Bolton.
"Maybe he'd catch us...maybe, but you'd still be dead. I could kill you right now and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it." Lord Bolton studied the Lone Wolf with all of the patience of a crocodile lying in wait just beneath the surface of some murky river. Then the Lord of the Dreadfort did something Arya did not expect: He smiled at her.
Lord Bolton had smiled at her before, but this was different. It was the kind of a smile a father might give his son the first time the boy walked all by himself or that a mother might give her daughter the first time the girl said the word "mama." There was real pride in the Lord of the Dreadfort's pale, blue eyes and twisted smile, that much was certain. For a moment, the Lone Wolf forgot what she was doing and gave the blue-eyed monster her widest smile. In truth, Arya was practically beaming by the time she caught herself. That was stupid! It's just some Bolton lie, most like. I can't let him distract me like that again! He's just trying to make me think about other things so that he can take Vengeance from me. He can't fool me, not again! I won't let him! Never!
"As you say. You could've killed me with a mere flick of your wrist before I even opened my eyes and yet you haven't, not even after all I've done to you and your former House. Every second we spend talking makes it that much more likely that you'll be caught by some guard and yet I haven't so much as a single scratch upon my neck. Why is that, I wonder..."
"Why is...wait...do you mean that you...you want me to kill you?"
"I don't want to die, if that's what you're asking and yet...how can I put this...I suppose I would derive a certain satisfaction from seeing you prove yourself worthy of the Bolton name. After all, I never would've become a Lord had I not killed my father. In truth, there is nothing stopping you from succeeding where my...children have failed if you would see me dead."
"I'm not a stupid Bolton, so you better stop acting like I am!"
"Arya Bolton. Whether you like it or not, that is and shall always be your name by all the laws of Gods and men. In truth, while you may have been born a Stark, sooner or later, you shall even become a Bolton in the more abstract sense of the word..."
"If you call me 'Arya Bolton' ever again, I...I'll kill you!" Why does he keep trying to make me angry? Maybe he really does want me to kill him...maybe. But if...if he was like a father to...I mean...but would...would that be like kinslaying? And Domeric is my...he's my...I had to marry Lord Bolton's stupid son. That means Lord Bolton's my good-father too unless...does it even matter that the stupid marriage was never consummated? If I kill him just like he killed his father, does that mean I really am a Bolton? Arya bit her lip.
"You'd kill an unarmed, innocent old man who has done you no harm simply because you deemed it in your interest to do so? Mayhaps you already are a Bolton..."
"HEY! I said I'm not a stupid Bolton! And you're not innocent besides. You...you murdered my mother!" That...that's not true; it can't be! I'm a Stark, not a Bolton; he'll see! I'm a dire...I'm a...I mean...I just...what if I really am just some...some stupid leech and not a wolf at all? Maybe I don't even deserve to have a family anymore after I got mother and Robb killed...maybe. NO! Mother, she wouldn't want me to think that way! She...she wouldn't want...
"I did. In truth, I killed Lady Catelyn with my bare hands. Right before I choked your mother to death, she begged me to ask the Freys to kill you and spare your brother Robb. That was her dying wish; did you know that? As I recall, she said that it didn't matter what the Freys did to you because...well...you could never be a real Stark anyway, at least so far as she was concerned. Mayhaps she blamed you for her death and was merely speaking out of anger."
"LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! My mother, she loved me! She wouldn't...she wouldn't say that! I...I don't believe you!"
"Believe what you want to believe. Catelyn Stark is dead, so I suppose we'll never know for sure, will we? It matters not at all, I think."
"It does so matter!"
"And why is that?"
"SHE WAS MY MOTHER!"
"And? I never cared for my mother."
"Well I loved mine! And my mother, she...she always loved me too..."
"Even if you would persist in dwelling upon the past, I fear I must needs remind you that a wise man is always looking to the future. My son will still give you at least two children of your own. You'll love them regardless of the circumstances under which they were born, I think. In truth, you traded a brother and your mother for two sons; it's an equal trade."
"That's not how it works! And you were going to force your stupid son to rape me besides. How is that not doing someone harm? Wait...why am I even arguing with you about this? I hate you!"
"Do you? Is that why I'm still alive and well? Because you hate me?"
"NO! I mean...umm...stop trying to confuse me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"You're doing it again!"
"Am I?"
"Yes and you'd better stop it! I do so hate you or...I mean...I...I think I do. I want to, but I'm not always sure...not really," Arya admitted. It was plainly her voice speaking the words and yet the Lone Wolf felt as though they were coming from someone else's mouth...almost as though she were just a puppet dancing on a string in some Mummer's farce.
"You do not hate me, I think. And I would no more harm you than I would my children."
"But you hurt Ramsay all the time."
"And I fear some of my actions have hurt you. Tell me, have I not always done everything within my power to protect you from the Freys, the Bloody Mummers, and my bastard Ramsay?"
"Yes, but –"
"When I said I oft thought of you as my own child, I was not lying. You could have been my son...with a few minor adjustments."
"You mean like the ones Domeric's always crying about?"
"Something like that, yes. You say he's been crying? Pity. It would appear that my past efforts to address that problem were inadequate; I fear he shall require several sharp lessons after all that has happened this evening. Tell me, how did you find out about my son's adjustments?"
"Domeric was always scared you'd decide he could be fixed no matter how many stupid adjustments he got."
"He was right to be afraid, I think."
"He also told me some story about you killing his mother and feeding her to him."
"And did you believe him?"
"No...it's just...Domeric, he...umm...he was lying, wasn't he?"
"Tell me, if I killed your mother –"
"You did kill my mother."
"As you say; I fear I'd already forgotten. In truth, your mother matters no more in death than she did in life which is to say that she matters not at all."
"My mother matters! Stop trying to pretend she doesn't!"
"Very well. Now then –"
"But did...I mean...did you really do that to Domeric?"
"Do you truly believe I would do such a thing to my wife and son?"
"I mean...I don't think so. No, you wouldn't do that...not really."
"Very well. It sounds as though you have answered your own question."
"I guess so... Lord Bolton, why did...why did you kill mother and Robb? If you didn't hate me then were...were all the other things you said about me true too? Please, I...I need –"
"Put down the knife and I shall tell you."
"How stupid do you think I am?"
"Put down the knife; we both know you're not going to use it." How does he know? I mean...I could use Vengeance, I just...don't want to right now is all.
"NO! You have to tell me now, else you might punish me by refusing to ever tell me whether any of what you said about me at Harrenhal was true."
"As you say. I fear you'll never know until you put down the knife."
"But that...that's not fair! You can't...I mean...I have to know! Please, I...I need –"
"Arya Bolton, put the knife down...now. I fear you are letting your emotions get the better of you and I am already very disappointed in your behavior this evening besides. Why do you insist on making your present circumstances worse that they already are? Is this about your mother? I assure you that her death was no more your fault than it was mine."
"It was...your...fault," the Lone Wolf growled through clenched teeth.
"We both know you're far too smart to believe such nonsense. In truth, the fool had only herself to blame, I think. You were lost in what may well be the strangest poppy dream anyone has ever had and I was merely doing what was necessary. Your mother knew that I meant her House harm and she didn't think you'd be safe around me, yet she was unwilling to stick a knife in my throat to keep me away from you. I imagine any mother would kill in a second to protect her children, but...well...mayhaps they only do that for the ones they care about..."
"SHUT UP!" Suddenly, an uncontrollable rage filled the Lone Wolf. It was as though the moment the Lord of the Dreadfort said the name "Arya Bolton," all she could think about was everything – and everyone – he had stolen from her. For a moment, Arya could've sworn she saw her mother on gasping for air. The Lone Wolf could even hear her mother's dying breaths as the poor, frightened woman begged her youngest daughter to save her...somehow. That wasn't the last thing Catelyn Stark said before she died, most like, but it didn't matter...not really. Arya bit her lip and nearly dropped Vengeance, but fortunately both her hands clenched into fists right before the handle slipped out her left hand. After that, her grip on Vengeance was stronger than it had ever been before. I...I'm sorry, mother. I know you forgive me, but I didn't mean to get you killed. I'd have saved you if I was awake...somehow; I really would have! I didn't know! Please, you have to believe me! I...I just...
"Mind your tongue."
"You mind your stupid tongue."
"You're only make this worse for yourself; you do know that, don't you? And we both know that you'd never hurt me besides. Mayhaps if you put away the knife and end this madness immediately, I could see my way to only taking one of your brother's fingers. Come now, that's more than reasonable, I think."
"My name is not Arya Bolton," Arya seethed. "My name is Arya Stark. And I will always be a Stark of Winterfell."
"You are a Bolton whether you like it or not, I think."
"No. I will always be a Stark whether you like it or not. But that won't matter to you...not really," the Lone Wolf replied in a flat, emotionless voice.
"And why is that?"
"Because you're not a Stark or a Bolton...not really."
"No?"
"Not anymore. You're not even Lord of the Dreadfort. You were the Lord of the Dreadfort, but soon you'll be nothing. Dead men have no titles." Lord Bolton's right arm darted forward, but by the time it reached Arya's neck, she had already opened the blue-eyed monster's throat. For a few seconds, Lord Bolton tried to choke his attacker, but the Lone Wolf drove Vengeance into his throat a second time, and the former Lord of the Dreadfort's hands quickly fell toward the ground. Even after Lord Bolton had died, Arya kept stabbing him with Vengeance over and over again until she collapsed on the cold stone floor in exhaustion.
As the Lone Wolf began panting like a dog that had spent hours racing through some field on a hot summer day, she realized that her face, hands, and clothes were covered in a thick coat that was as wet as it was red. The tears, sweat, and blood all mixed together on Arya's face like long, thin streaks of some sort of strange warpaint. That was...stupid! Now I...now I have to...have to...hurry! Can't be...caught like...caught looking like...like this.
...
The Lone Wolf eventually forced herself up off the ground and staggered out of the room, making sure to tie Vengeance to her left leg beneath her britches. Arya had almost reached the dungeons when she suddenly walked right into some stupid guard.
"Apologies, m'Lady." Not again! It's that stupid undergaoler...
"I'm not a –" *THUD*