Ramsay | Arya

AN: The following takes place two weeks after the previous chapter

Ramsay (The Outskirts of Harrenhal)

It had been some time – quite a long time, in fact – since Ramsay Bolton became the only man in Westeros who had been attacked by a dragon and lived to tell the tale. There were plainly still dragons – or rather, there was at least one dragon – roaming the skies of Westeros and yet somehow their survival was little more than a rumor. And there were rumors, to be sure. The last batch had concerned alleged dragon sightings in Essos, but these whispers were naturally dismissed as the ramblings of madmen and fools. For whatever reason, the surviving dragons had plainly sought to avoid humans when possible and slaughtered any they encountered. Then Dornish cities started getting burnt to a crisp… Of course, news spreads slowly when there are no survivors. Or rather, when there was only one survivor… The bloody lizards couldn't kill me. I've survived everyone else in my House, no reason those scaled beasts should be any different.

As for the last Bolton, he was not foolish enough to stay in The North after The Dreadfort had been reduced to a pile of charred rocks. Instead, he murdered a fisherman, took the fool's boat, smuggled himself into Gulltown. As soon as Ramsay heard tales of the bandits who were roaming The Riverlands and terrorizing the smallfolk with impunity, he knew where he would make his new home. What he hadn't expected was to find himself using the last of his stolen gold dragons to buy his way into the remnants of a sellsword company.

Of course, the so-called Brave Companions were likely planning to murder him in his sleep at first, but he'd managed to impress their leader – who had styled himself Lord Shagwell of Harrenhal and inexplicably decided to wear motley rather than armor – by laughing at a jape the man made about tossing a baby into a large cauldron filled with boiling water because the brat wouldn't stop crying after its parents were killed. Or at least, the last Bolton thought it was a jape. In truth, one couldn't always tell whether Lord Shagwell was japing when he talked about becoming head of the sellsword company by cutting off the head of its previous leader or lamented having not checked to see whether the baby he'd cooked alive had become a half-decent broth.

In truth, it hardly mattered. What did matter was that once Ramsay was welcomed by Lord Shagwell, the rest of the Brave Companions seemed to echo their leader's sentiments, especially a fat, foolish Dothraki named Zollo who was the only one of the last Bolton's newfound companions who believed that a dragon had burned down The Dreadfort. As for the rest, their doubts went up in flames along with the Freys of The Crossing after a dragon attacked The Twins…

And so, the last Bolton spend his days roaming The Riverlands with a sellsword company made up entirely of men after his own heart. In truth, they were not so much sellswords as bandits, rapers, and murderers who took what they wanted whenever they wanted it. Lord Shagwell reigned over the forests around Harrenhal or rather…those not controlled by The Brotherhood Without Banners. Those fools were the only true threat the Brave Companions ever had to concern themselves with and while the members of the so-called Brotherhood were plainly far too craven to show their faces, they would sometimes set traps throughout the forests.

A few days ago, Zollo had been left for dead after falling into a carefully concealed spike pit on the forest floor. And just last night, a Dornish spearman by the name of Timeon never returned after leaving to kill a wolf that had made sleep near impossible with its bloody had howling. Even so, life had been good to the last Bolton of late…given the circumstances. And yet, something was still…wrong. It had been gnawing at his mind like the paws of a mole burrowing through soft, black soil. He wasn't your father to kill, you bloody wolf cunt! I was supposed to kill my father, not you! Dumb bitch! I…I don't have to prove I'm the rightful Lord of The Dreadfort. It doesn't even exist anymore and you're dead besides. You're not even a trueborn Bolton, so you can't…just because you killed father before me doesn't mean…I was still his rightful heir! At least that leech-loving fool got what he deserved.

Bastard. That was what you always called me, father. You always spat on me when any fool could've seen that I'd be ten times the Lord you were; the Starks' skins would've been hanging from The Dreadfort's walls a long time ago. I suppose the old man got around to it eventually, but it wouldn't have taken near as long were I his heir rather than that little shit of son his aged whore of a dead wife popped out of her. I was the rightful heir to House Bolton, but mayhaps it's all for the best. I never would have build that useless escape tunnel under The Dreadfort, but I might not have survived that bloody dragon were it not for Domeric's stupidity.

Oh well! All that really matters is that I'm alive and the rest of those dumb cunts in my House are rotting in the ground where they belong. Let's see you try calling me a bastard now, father. Oh right, you can't because I fed you to my hounds after you let a little girl slit your throat while you slept…and not just any little girl either. No, that would hardly be a fitting death for a man as feared as the great Roose Bolton. You just had to make sure you died without even a shred of dignity, didn't you, father? You actually let a Stark bitch kill you. Of course, she's lying dead in a ditch somewhere, most like. She'd better be…

Not that Domeric fared any better. The last Bolton spat at the dead innkeeper lying at his feet. Father may have tried to give that hairless weasel the life that I deserved, but The Dreadfort ended up in the hands of his rightful heir all the same. Domeric didn't deserve to be Lord of The Dreadfort anymore than this fool deserved the silver stags he was hiding.

*ARRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO* *ARRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*

Seven Hells! I couldn't even get five minutes of sleep last night because of that bloody howling. *ARRROOOOOOO* *ARRRROOOOOOO* *ARRRROOOOO* I'm going to kill that slobbering shit of a cloak. I killed my brother with one hand; how much harder could a dumb beast really be to kill? Lord Shagwell and Iggo don't need me to keep watch. None of the smallfolk are dumb enough to interfere with anything we do. And even if they were, they'd just end up like that useless innkeeper and then we'd go right back to looting his inn. And if they do, then that's their bloody problem.

*ARRRROOOOO* *ARRRROOO* *ARROOOOO* *ARRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOO* Good dog! Keep howling, you're only making yourself easier to track. It's been too long since I went on a hunt. Of course, people make for much more enjoyable games than animals, but I suppose we all have to work with what we have from time to time. Oh well!

*AAARRRRROOOOOOO* *ARRRRROOOOOO* *ARROOOO* *ARRROOOOOOO* Seven Hells, how hard can it possibly be to find one bloody wolf, the last Bolton silently seethed. In truth, it had only been half-an-hour since Ramsay began making his way deeper and deeper into the forest surrounding the inn he'd been looting with Lord Shagwell and Iggo in search of the beast that had been the bane of his sleepless nights. In truth, the last Bolton knew he would finally be able to see his prey soon. The howls drew closer the deeper he ventured into the forest…even if they seemed to occasionally come from different parts of the forest. Suddenly, Ramsay froze and for the first time since he was nearly incinerated by a dragon's fiery breath, he feared for his life. A thin layer of trees were all that stood between him and a clearing where six large wolves were resting near Timeon's limbless, blood-soaked corpse.

Suddenly, each wolf swiftly lifted its head off the ground – their ears plainly listening for even the slightest sound – and began staring directly at the last Bolton with hungry, yellow eyes as their mouthes opened to reveal sharp fangs crusted with dried blood. As Ramsay quietly took a step back, he heard at least ten more growls coming from both sides. And so, the last Bolton did the only thing he could do: he ran. However, after less than twenty steps, he crashed into a grey wolf of monstrous size. At least three times the size of any of the wolves that had been chasing the last Bolton. The beast snarled as it bore its teeth at the last Bolton and yet he did not feel fear alone…there was also a strange sort of recognition. When the last Bolton looked into the creature's hungry golden eyes, he couldn't help but think of a very different sort of enemy…one surely lying dead in a ditch after starving to death in a forest near what used to be The Dreadfort.

In the end, it mattered not at all. The last Bolton died screaming for help that would never come as the beast tore him to pieces while her pack silently watched. And the late Lord of The Dreadfort – if such a title could be said to exist anymore – was wrong, his most hated foe not related to him by blood was not lying dead in a ditch. In fact, she was alive and while not what one would call "well," still far better than she had been when Ramsay last saw her. At the precise moment of the last Bolton's death, Arya Stark of Winterfell was sound asleep on a featherbed in The Eyrie…clawing at the air as she enjoyed the rare peace that came with a pleasant dream during a quiet afternoon nap. And though he did not know how – as he watched the beast rip his intestines out from his belly and his life flashed before his eyes – the last Bolton became aware of this cruel twist of fate. It was the last thing he did before accidentally biting out his own tongue and then the world went black…

….

Arya (The Eyrie)

"There you are, cousin Arya," exclaimed Robin. I knew I should've found a better place to hide than this stupid closet. "You weren't hiding from me were you?" Of course I was, I knew you'd look for me yourself and that means you're away from Sansa. It's her nameday, so I know you're going to do something horrid to her.

"Robin, I…" Arya bit her lip. "Actually, there's no point lying. You'd just figure it out anyway, most like." The Lord of The Eyrie's smile turned to a frown and Arya knew she'd given the right answer.

"No fair! You were supposed to…fiiiiiiiiiiine. See, that sort of thing is why you've lasted so much longer than all of my old best friends who decided to be bad by doing things I didn't like. That's why I had to make them fly. I can't fly though which is strange because my name is Robin, but I'm not a bird. Mother should've been a bird, I bet she'd have been able to fly more betterer if she had wings instead of arms. What do you think, cousin Arya? Would it have been better if my mother was a bird and I hatched from a giant egg so she couldn't talk so much?"

"I…wait…what?"

"I've been looking everywhere for you and…well…actually, that's not really true. I've actually been just been standing out here all by my lonesome doing nothing except staring at this closet for a whole hour ever since I figured out you were hiding from me in there."

"Did you…you've been out there for a whole hour." Arya shuddered.

"Hahahahaha! You should see the look on your face. I was just making a funny…probably. Anywho, I know why you're hiding."

"You do?"

"You think that I'm going to hurt your sister because it's her nameday, but that's silly. If I was going to hurt her; it'd be because of the time you slapped me in the face. Of course, that wouldn't be very good revenge since I just told you about it. Don't worry, cousin Arya; I'm not going to hurt cousin Sansa today. It's her nameday and hurting people on their nameday is very mean. Could you please stop hiding and help entertain me so that I don't do anything mean out of boredom? I'd really appreciate it."

"Robin, why are you talking like that," asked the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, cautiously exiting the closet in which she had been hiding all morning. Arya bit her lip and hoped she didn't look as frightened of her younger cousin as she felt. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. In truth, hearing Robin speaking in a deferential manner was far worse than when he spoke with his usual childish faux obliviousness to the implications of whatever he had said. There was something unwholesome about Robin Arryn speaking politely…even if it was near impossible to put it into words. It would be like seeing Walder Frey give a comforting smile; it was just…wrong.

"Like what? I'm simply trying to be polite? Does that bother you? I certainly wouldn't want to be rude, cousin Arya. Good manners are really important, didn't your parents ever teach you that?" Stop doing that! You're reminding me of Domeric… "Oh right, I forgot to mention that I noticed how you seem to get a little bit uncomfortable when people talk using fancy five dragon words. I think someone hurt you really badly once upon a long time ago in a land far, far away land. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you things like whether you appreciate my present manner of speech or would find it to be a suitable alternative if I regressed to my ordinary method of communication. Is that how the person who hurt you talked, cousin Arya? It was Roose the Moose, wasn't it? Did he scare you the way my father scares cousin Sansa?"

"No, Lord Bolton, he…he never…he never did anything like that," mumbled Arya. He tried to make his son do it for him… In that moment, Arya felt her thoughts drift away to fears half-buried in the dark, distant reaches of her mind yet perpetually reemerging like weights rising from their grave as they clawed their way towards the ranks of those thoughts which were so oft first and foremost in her mind. In truth, Arya knew her cousin was just trying to throw her off-balance before doing something horrid. I have to protect Sansa from Robin. I will protect her from him. I couldn't save our parents, our brothers, or anyone else I tried to help…but I can still save her. Mother and Robb will forgive me then because they'll see that I never meant to fail our House. I didn't want to be a Bolton either! I don't even think Domeric wanted to be one…not really.

Even if Sansa doesn't know that the Red Wedding was my fault, she…she still promised that she forgave me for whatever I'd done after I escaped from King's Landing. She can't know though. If she ever found out… She'd forgive me, most like. I can tell her…someday. But I…I have to do something to prove that I still deserve to be a Stark first. Until then, no one else can know… Maybe I could –

"I said 'ARE YOU SURE Rooster Trollton never did anything like that to you,'" shouted the Lord of The Eyrie. "It's not good to make Robins ask more than once. It makes me think you're ignoring me and I hate when people ignore me. You don't want to do things I hate. Nope, nope, nopity, nope! If you did, I'd have to make you fly. If I made you fly then you'd be a yucky splatopus on the rocks in the part of The Vale that isn't impregnantable and I'd have to find a new bestest friend to make funnys with when I get bored. Also, ignoring me means you think I'm too dumb and not at all smart to notice. Just because my name is Robin, doesn't mean that I have a tiny, useless bird brain that always makes me go chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp. I am a human being. I am not an banananimal. I did eat a worm once though. Okay, I ate two, but the second one was just because I thought the first one might've been yucky tasting because I ate the wrong flavored worm. Or maybe I didn't. I can be whatever anyone wants me to be, so you might as well believe whichever version of me you like better. ANYWAY, did Lord Lightning Bolton do anything to you like what my father did to your sister?"

"No," Arya calmly replied, looking her cousin directly in the eye as she forced herself to resist the urge to slap him again.

"Really? That's stupid. I wouldn't do it because your face is to ugly to be a good mommy face and you don't look like you'd give as much special mommy milk as cousin Sansa will once I've wedded her instead of just being betrothled like right now…but story times are boring if nothing like that happens to anyone." Aunt Lysa's dead, so if I punched him in the face now…no, it's still a bad idea, most like. Wait a minute…

"Robin, what did you mean when you said 'story time?'"

"Weeeeeeeeell, since you don't seem to want me to do anything fun with your sister today and you are my bestest cousin friend in Westeros who is going to play with me forever and ever and evers, you can play with me today instead. I want to know every single teeny tiny little detail about every bad thing that happened to you ever since you first meeted Goose Bolton. And I'll know if you're leaving things out, but you're not stupid enough to try to trick me like that…not really. You just…need a little bit of reminding every once in a while is all," added Robin, drooling as he spoke.

"No," blurted Arya.

"What did…that's a very bad bestest cousin friend! Bad! Are you allowed to tell me 'no?'"

"I said 'no!' You –"

"Good. I'm glad you know you're not allowed to tell me know, else I was going to maybe have to make you fly. I know! I can ask you questions so it will be more easier for you tell me funny stories about what happened at The Dadfort. I bet I know why you don't want to talk about it! You got someone hurt who you cared about lots and lots, didn't you? Mayhaps you even got them killed. Is that it? Did you get someone in your family killed? You did, didn't you? Were you being bad, cousin Arya? Who did you accidentally kill dead as new? Was it your dada? Was it a brother? It was your fake bastard pretend brother, wasn't it? No? It probably wasn't a Bolton. Was it maybe your mommy who is now gone forevers all because of –" Suddenly, something snapped and the next thing Arya knew, she had grabbed her terrified cousin by the throat and slammed his rail-thin body against the stone wall. The Lord of The Eyrie's eyes were wide with fear and his spindly limbs began flailing about like an animal caught in a trap that could smell the scent of its rapidly approaching demise in the air. Seven Hells, I didn't even mean to lay a hand on that bloody…now what am I going to do?

"I'm going to tell my mother on –"

"Aunt Lysa is dead, Robin. YOU killed your mother when you pushed her out the moon door, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about…wait…I mean…I…I'm sorry, cousin Arya. I…I…umm…I don't like this story time at all. I…I should have given you more time before I…I mean…I…umm…I only asked because…because…talking about it might make you feel better. See? I…I was trying to help so you can let me go now and not hurt be at all because we're bestest cousin friends. Remember, cousin Arya? We're bestest cousin friends, so it would be kinslaying to kill me. I…I promise not to kill you or your sister if you let me go. I…I swear by The Old Gods and The New that I've been working on reuniting you with your brother Rickon and was planning to tell you today as part of a surprise nameday gift for your sister." Even though she knew her cousin's words were nothing more than a trap in the form of a cruel jape, Arya found that she couldn't ignore the chance – remote as it was – of her youngest brother being brought to The Eyrie where she could protect him from people like the Boltons.

"How," growled Arya, releasing her cousin even as every corner of her mind internally screamed that she was making a terrible mistake. For his part, Robin scampered to the opposite end of the room, but did not leave. Instead, he smiled and shouted three words…

"We're ready, Bronn," shouted Robin and the door swung open.

"But…but…how? Why?"

"You slapped me once upon a time and that made me mad. Also, my…my…mommy promised him things and stuff for bringing you here, but I don't want you anymore so I decided to do a backsies and pay him even more to take you to live with your dumb baby brother at Whitefish Harbor."

"What? I don't under…but what about San–"

"You mind," grunted Bronn.

"Nope, hit her with whatever you need to as long as you don't kill her. I don't want to play war with him. That would take time and this has already gotten too boring. Don't worry, cousin Arya. Your sister's nameday surprise present is that she never gets to see you ever again and didn't even get to say goodbye. So…umm…goodbye."

"Wait…not again, I –" *THUD*