Isabelle's anger only turned to frustration as she heard yells and shouts from outside the wooden door. She took a few steps back and moved with haste towards the bed, one of her hands holding onto the wooden frame tightly as the door burst open and Jon Snow appeared. Isabelle felt like screaming at the sight of blood trickling down his face, his sword gripped in his hand as he rushed over to her.

"We have no time," he spoke gruffly, his right eye slightly swollen and his lip cut.

"Where's Robb?" she worried back, his hand taking hers without a wisp of permission. He pulled her over to the door as she dragged her heels, refusing to go anywhere without Robb. "Jon!"

She yelled his name as they came to the walkway overlooking the courtyard, a great battle ensuing as men sliced at each other, blood sprayed from their bodies and corpses lay on the ground.

"He did not want peace," Jon continued to drag Isabelle from the sight, his free arm now around her waist as he forced her to move. "I don't know where Robb is...he fought...but he fled...I told him I would see you to safety. He was outrunning Stannis's men and fighting for his life, or he would have come back."

"No," Isabelle shook her head as Jon did his best not to tip her over his shoulder and rush out with her. "He can't have...not Robb..."

"He's a good swordsman," Jon promised her, leading her under an archway. "He could have escaped. I have faith in him."

"Where is Stannis?"

"That is no way to speak of your King." A new voice joined the conversation as Jon and Isabelle turned the corner and bumped into a congregation of ten men, a woman clad in red stood at the front, her hand delicately resting on a tall man's arm. Jon pushed Isabelle behind him, holding his sword high to defend himself.

"Give me the girl," the tall man said and Isabelle assumed he was Stannis. He had little hair on top of his head; a stag on fire occupied his armour. His face was stern and weathered; his eyes narrow and his lips plump. "Give me the girl and I will leave the rest of your men alone, Jon."

"A man of the Night's Watch has vows," Jon reminded Stannis. "I cannot let you take her. You do not need her. She is invaluable to you."

"I need her if I am to secure my alliance with House Frey and House Bolton. Only then can I truly march South and take the Iron Throne," Stannis responded and Isabelle tried to push past Jon, falling miserably as he grabbed her waist again and hauled her back to his side.

"What did you do to Robb?" she demanded from him. "Where is he?"

"Dead in the snow somewhere, I imagine," Stannis drawled out. "He ran with his tail between his legs as my men hunted him down. He didn't once think to come looking for you."

"He was willing to help you!" Isabelle roared. "He was willing to stop this madness from continuing!"

"He took away the North from my kingdom," Stannis spat back. "He has less numbers than House Frey and House Bolton. The side with the most numbers wins. That is not this side. I cannot trust a man would threaten to defy me."

"He never wanted to be King in the North."

"And I never wanted the Iron Throne, but it is my duty to take it, much like it was your duty to stand by your husband's side instead of becoming some whore for the Young Wolf," Stannis snarled back to her and Isabelle shook her head, tiring of hearing of what should become her duty.

"You have no idea what he did to me," Isabelle snarled. "None of you have any idea."

"And we do not care," Stannis concluded. "Now, move out of the way, Snow. I don't want to kill you. You have been a good ally to me."

"I will not fight you," Jon responded, "but I will not let you take her either."

"Then what do you intend to do?" Stannis wondered.

"Run," Jon whispered.

It was then when he grabbed Isabelle's hand and began to rush back down the way they had already come. He pulled her behind him as she lagged behind, doing her best not to trip over her skirts. The yells and footsteps from the men chasing them soon ensured as Jon entered the courtyard, taking the wooden steps down to it with haste. Isabelle felt herself loose breath as she remembered her dreams. It was just like them. She was being hunted. She was always being hunted and she wondered when it would end. It had to end soon.

"Duck!" Jon yelled to Isabelle and she did as he did, ducking as arrows came flying past her head.

They made it to the main gate and only then realised there was no escape. The wooden door was down and Stannis's men stood in front of it. The men pursuing them stood behind as Jon backed Isabelle against the side wall, pressing her back flat against it. She whimpered for breath and closed her eyes as Stannis came to stand in front of them.

"It's over, Snow," he warned Jon.

And even Jon knew he was right. He could not outwit all of these men, nor could he lie to himself and believe he could. He threw a look over his shoulder to Isabelle and her palms rested flat on the wall behind her as she felt her body shake with fear. Jon felt guilt wrack through him. He had not been able to do the one thing Robb had asked of him. He had failed his brother.

...

It was a triumphant moment for Ramsay Snow. He had never felt such joy as soon as he saw his wife being pushed into his tent, her hands in irons behind her back. She wore a simple red riding dress on her body, the end of it muddied and some parts covered in dirt marks. A cloak fell from her shoulders haphazardly and her boots were scuffed. Her face was also dirtied, her hair a mess around her head and her eyes were glaring right at him.

"Thank you," Ramsay dismissed the men who had walked into his tent.

They left, only to be replaced by Roose and Stannis. But Ramsay had eyes for only one in that tent. He stood from the chair which had occupied him, making his way, agonisingly slowly, over to Isabelle to stand in front of her.

He reached his hand out to her cheek, only to see her pull away from him. Unappreciatively, Ramsay grabbed hold of her chin and forced her to look him in the eye, his leather gloves cold against her skin. Her eyes were defiant, but he could soon break her again. Her defiance wouldn't last long now.

"She fought most of the way here," Stannis informed Roose and Ramsay. "You'll have your handful with that one."

"Oh, I know that," Ramsay said, a small smirk on his face.

It was then when Isabelle gathered up the courage to spit in his face. Ramsay looked at her threateningly for a few moments, only to raise his hand and slap her across the face, hearing her grunt in pain as she fell to the floor. He moved the back of his hand to wipe away her spit before giving a smile to his father and Stannis.

"I will have fun taming her," he promised them. "And I thank you for returning her to me, my King."

"Yes," Stannis said gruffly. He had never raised a hand to his wife before, nor would he ever. The sight of the girl currently on the floor, her hands chained together and her body unmoving made him wonder if he had done the right thing. "I trust your men are ready to march South, Lord Bolton?"

"Aye," Roose said, moving his glare from his son. "I shall be coming with you, but Ramsay is acting Lord of the Dreadfort whilst I am gone. He and Lady Eleanor shall secure that holdfast and keep an eye on any Northern Lords who threaten to turn against you."

"As you say," Stannis mumbled and then left.

"You do not hit her in public," Roose hissed to his son once Stannis's figure had gone. "What you do with her in private is your own business, but you do not act like that when people are here."

Ramsay didn't bother to heed his father's words; he simply stared at him with his wide eyes and looked to the man he called his father before whispering dangerously;

"Then perhaps you had best leave. You won't like what is going to happen next," Ramsay warned him and Roose looked to Isabelle, the girl now curled on the floor.

"Leave for the Dreadfort as soon as you have finished dealing with her," Roose said. "And keep her in irons until you arrive home. I don't want to hear she has escaped again."

"She won't be going anywhere," Ramsay said, kneeling by her side and grabbing her hair to haul her to sit up. "Will you, my love?"

Roose bowed his head and then left them alone. It was then when Isabelle felt fear. Ramsay moved to stand, grabbing her by the elbow to do the same. He took a few moments to run his eyes up and down her body, taking in every curve of her as he moved to slide the cloak from her figure, his nose pressing against her neck as his hand held the small of her back to keep her rooted against him.

"You don't know how long I have waited for this," he whispered to her. "I thought I had you that night...and then you knight showed up...saving you from me...but he can't save you now, Eleanor. No one can save you, not now that Robb Stark has died."

"He hasn't," Isabelle replied and Ramsay gave her another wet smile before he pressed his lips firmly against hers, his hand roughly holding the back of her neck as he dominated her mouth and she remained mute, doing her best to pull back from him but failing miserably.

"He has," Ramsay responded, wandering over to his desk and picking up a piece of parchment. "This raven flew in this morning. His cold rotting body was found in the snow."

Ramsay had to admit that it had been a nice touch. He had ordered for one of his literate men to write the letter so Isabelle did not suspect it was his handwriting. He held the letter up for her to read and saw her begin to shed tears. Yes, her believing Robb Stark was dead was a very nice touch.

"No," Isabelle whispered.

"Oh yes," Ramsay spoke. "So you see; there really is no one to rescue you. You are mine now."

"I would rather die than live with you!" Isabelle snapped.

"You tried death, twice in fact," Ramsay drawled. "It didn't work out for you."

But Isabelle would do whatever she could to escape. She rushed to the flap of the tent, her chained hands restricting her from running fast. Ramsay grabbed her by the waist with ease, hauling her back flush against his chest as he heard her yell and scream for him to let her go.

"Now, now," he whispered, dropping her to the bed, her stomach pressing against the furs as he collapsed on top of her to stop her from thrashing. Her protests grew weak and her cheek rested flat against the bed, tears spilling from her eyes as Ramsay reached for the laces at the front of her dress, trying to pull them loose.

"There really is nothing more, Eleanor," he promised her, pushing her hair from her face as he lowered his forehead against hers, straining to kiss her cheek. "Robb Stark is dead and you are here now. This war is over for you."

It was as Ramsay continued to tug her dress from her body when she closed her eyes and remembered the Wall. She remembered how easy it would have been to jump from it. Perhaps death was easier. Perhaps death would take her back to Robb and away from Ramsay. Perhaps it was worth it.

...

The small boy had been out riding with his father, both of them doing their best to keep their modest home afloat along with their business of selling oats to the Night's Watch. It was difficult, especially when Winter was coming. But there had to be a way to keep going. Men before had survived the frost and the snow, surely they could too.

It was only when they crossed the bridge did the little boy scream for his father.

"Papa!" He yelled out, pointing underneath the bridge to a figure clad in armour, his body on the embankment by the small stream.

The father climbed down from his horse and rushed down the embankment, human instinct telling him that this man was no threat. He knelt by the body and rolled it over; looking onto the man's dirtied and bruised face. His hair was a mop of flat curls over his head, his armour disfigured and his lips parted as he gasped for breath. He was clearly dehydrated and in need of food. How long had he been there? Obviously there were some broken bones in his body, due to the unnatural position by which he rested.

"Colin, go to your mother and get the cart!" the man demanded and his son did as was told.

It was only when the bruised man opened his lips did he speak, the name wrangled and difficult to hear.

"Isabelle."

"Not quite, lad," the man replied. "Boris, but hang in there and we'll get you some help. No need to fret."

The man closed his eyes again and Boris looked at him, wondering what had happened to him and whether or not he could save him in time.

...

A/N: I wouldn't really kill Robb off! It was bad enough when he died in the show. Anyway, I see a lot of people are reading, but not many are reviewing. It would be awesome if you could let me know what you think! It really would mean a lot. But thanks to Lizzete, xxxRena and CLTex for reviewing the previous chapter!