SER ALEYN

Ser Aleyn furrowed his brow into a frown as the broken plaything of Ramsay's known only as Reek came into his line of sight, looking worse for wear. The young archer was trying not to stare at the boy's nose, but he kept finding his eyes had diverted to it.

One moment, his cold gray eyes were obediently on his rather red-rimmed eyes and then the next they rested on the bloody mess that had been a perfectly ordinary nose only hours ago. So ordinary, in fact, that Aleyn could not at all recall what the wretch's nose looked like before.

"What in seven hells happened to you, boy?" the young archer asked, appalled at the haggard and bloodied state the wretched foul-smelling cretin had shown up in.

The cretin called Reek merely grunted in response, shaking his head.

Frowning, Ser Aleyn nodded, but chose to make no further comment on the matter, crinkling his nose and turning away from Reek's stench. Aleyn made his entrance to his post outside Lord Bolton's chambers late, of which the Warden had summoned Aleyn for some reason. He heard the door of the lord's study, towards front entrance swing open more loudly than usual as Roose made his entrance, his black robes billowing from the harsh winter breeze. The young archer did not turn around to look Reek in the eye. There was no mistaking that contemptuous look in the Warden's gray eyes that perfectly rivaled a pristine polished knight's suit of armor.

"There you are, Aleyn," Lord Bolton drawled lazily. "I've been searching for you; you did not show up for breaking our fast this morning. Where were you."

It was not a question coming from Lord Roose.

The young archer swallowed nervously, hoping his face remained quite impassive and neutral. "Ah, yes, well…something came up. My apologies, Your Honor. It will not happen again; I can guarantee you that. You've my word," Ser Aleyn mumbled, averting his gaze, hoping his expression remained impassive. That 'something' had been one of the girls, Collette, who had used to belong to Ramsay, who had born a surprising resemblance to Sansa Stark, who had gotten that all too familiar glint in her eyes that Ser Aleyn had come to recognize that she wanted to bed him, and Aleyn had relented, but only if she married him first, and so, they married in secret.

It had been that way for the last few months, and during their dalliances, the archer was surprised to learn he had a bastard son.

Lord Roose furrowed his white brows into a frown and scowled heavily. "Ser Aleyn. I am afraid I harbor ill news towards matters surrounding Stannis Baratheon's armies and the readiness of our troops. My son will be leading our next attempts to lay siege to his camps," spat Warden Bolton angrily, bitterness in his tone.

Ser Aleyn's good-natured odd little smile as he recalled the moment in the woods when he had first met Sansa Stark was immediately wiped off his face as the Warden's frown deepened and his brows knitted together in confusion as the Warden continued his relentless pacing of the corridor, his gaze settling upon Reek's pale, ashen face, and his various bruises and cuts. Lord Roose frowned. "What happened to you, boy, if I may ask?"

His baritone voice sounded bored, though if the archer wasn't mistaken, and about these things he usually wasn't, a flicker of intrigue passed through the Warden's gray eyes as he silently regarded young Reek, clasping his spindly fingers together as he waited for an answer.

The one the rest of Winterfell called Reek shuffled in his spot, wincing as he did so. Every move looked like it hurt. "Y—your son, Your Honor, did this to me," he growled, and there was no mistaking the sudden shift in the lieutenant's voice as he grew angry, his face blotched red with color as it flushed in utter malice.

Bolton, who had entered into his study and poured himself a goblet of red wine from a decanter that lay in wait upon his desk, nearly spat out his wine and choked, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "What?" The Warden snarled, baring his teeth as he looked over Theon's wounds, growing angrier at the very idea that Ramsay could have provoked and done such a thing to a former member of the house of Greyjoy. "Speak. I thought I had instructed my son not to lay another hand on you."

When Roose bade you speak, you were instructed to do so freely. Ser Aleyn frowned, and Reek noticed.

Reek quickly nodded eagerly, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so, evidently relieved that the Warden had, for the time being, taken his side. Reek spluttered, his face paling in anger as he struggled to think of a retort. Fuming, clenching his jaw, he pointed towards his blackened eye. "Is this not enough of an answer for you, Ser Aleyn?" he bellowed, striding forward, albeit with great difficulty, until the tip of his nose almost touched the archer's. "I am a soldier betrayed, milord. Your bastard husband cut off my fucking cock, took a few of my fingers, and my dignity. For that I seek vengeance. Winterfell is meant to be a place of prosperity in the North, a place of hope and peace, and for violence to occur within her walls, by your own son's hand, nonetheless, is an egregious crime that must be answered for, and you know as well as I do, milord, that you know this to be true."

Bolton's frown deepened, if such a thing was even possible. The former Greyjoy standing in front of him did have a point.

However, Ser Aleyn was right. Ever since the bastard's wedding to Lady Stark, Ramsay was much changed, and not necessarily in a way that was for the better, and then there was the simple matter of his own growing desires for the little winter rose, that she-wolf with the hair like winter fire, and his own bastard son's life to end in days to come. Roose stifled a growl and slammed down the flagon of wine on his desk, nearly spilling wine in the process.

"Very well," he said at last, sounding resigned. "But you must bring me proof of Ramsay's misdeeds and you will bring the Stark girl to me this very evening. You do this for me, and you shall bear the name of Theon Greyjoy once more. No more Reek."

Reek mutely nodded, and Aleyn, who had perfected his look of 'casual indifference,' though internally, his mind was screaming at him to take his horse and head for the godswoods to warn the girl of the danger he had played a part in placing her in the path of. This was not good at all.

With Bolton's attentions turned towards her, the girl was going to have to be careful. He did not know exactly what had happened in the woods with Sansa and Reek, when Ramsay and his hounds had been hunting them all, the words exchanged between the two, but there was more to this than Reek was letting on. But perhaps the girl will talk to me later. It was worth a try. He owed her that much, at the very least.

"You will bring the Stark girl to my quarters at once following my bloody fool son's departure, Ser Aleyn," Bolton ordered, no warmth in his tone as he turned towards the fire roaring in the hearth. "Make no mistake. I want her alive."

There was something about that little prickly redheaded girl that set his blood boiling. Heathen witches, all women were, no matter how kind they were. It mattered not any longer if the child was one of the last of the great Stark family. All it took was one wrong turn on the trail for your path to be set in stone, and the young woman had chosen her path a long time ago, whether Sansa Stark knew the truth yet or not. His teeth gritted in anger, he turned back towards Aleyn.

Ser Aleyn, it did not escape the Warden's attention, had paled considerably and one hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. He doubted the Greyjoy boy's words. "Milord Bolton, I would gladly take off this cretin's tongue, for I think it must be hung in the middle so it can wag at both ends," spat Ser Aleyn.

He did not know for sure what happened between the fair Sansa and Theon, but whatever it was, he knew the lieutenant was lying. He'd never been particularly good at hiding it. At least, not from Theon during the short time of knowing the younger man, but it was especially troubling that the Warden believed Reek's words. Bolton was more silent than ever despite a tensing body. It sickened Aleyn, how Reek could look the man square in the eye like this and not bat an eyelid out of nervousness.

Bolton lazily dismissed Aleyn's claims. "And what good would that do us, archer? I am inclined to believe Theon here is telling the truth. If what he says is true, then I am…most displeased with my son's actions and I must pay the boy a visit to rectify said behavior before he leaves on the morrow. I can assure, it shan't happen again."

Reek nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, milord. The girl shall be brought to you. I swear it."

"See to it." Roose chortled, chuckling at the boy's abrasiveness as he poured himself another glass of red wine. "Might I ask you a question, archer?" When Aleyn nodded, pursing his lips into a thin line, he continued, taking a seat in his armchair and turning it so it faced the fire in the hearth, and though the flames danced and flickered in various shades of oranges and reds across the man's still smooth and taut features, it did nothing to warm the ice-cold stare Aleyn found himself almost immediately subjected to as the Warden shifted in his chair to face him.

"You may, sir," Ser Aleyn replied graciously, bowing his head.

"I cannot allow my own son to get away with what he has done," here, Roose spat the word as if it were poison that had settled on his tongue. "He beat one of your own kind, for Theon Greyjoy was a soldier once, Ser Aleyn, much like you are now."

"And…" Ser Aleyn hesitated, not sure if he wanted an answer to his question, though seeing no other choice but to ask it regardless. "What would you have us do about it, sir? And what of Lady Stark? What are…your intentions?"

Roose chuckled darkly, studying the dark-haired archer over the rim of his goblet of wine as he drank heavily. "What do you do with a bone after all the meat is gone? Why, you feed it to the hounds, of course, my dear boy. That's all this is, son."

Aleyn blanched, feeling like he needed a moment to compose himself. This was definitely not good. Sansa Stark was in danger. His wife, Collette, he wasn't concerned with. His wife could handle herself. He could arrange for her and the child to flee Winterfell underground using the crypts, if only as a temporary means of keeping them safe, though it might mean being away from them for however long it would take for Warden Bolton's ire to quell.

Aleyn frowned. "You would mean to watch your own die, milord? But what of the king's order?"

At his captain's questioning, the Warden airily brushed away the man's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Let me deal with our king, Aleyn. I would flay the girl if it please you, Ser Aleyn, for what my son has done to your colleague over there," Bolton remarked coldly, jerking his head towards Theon Greyjoy's silhouette, where the injured man faithfully stood at attention guarding the door. "Only death may pay for life. And as for the matter of your own life… A life which was very nearly stolen from you in the godswoods, was it not," Roose growled angrily, seething, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "This Stark girl has very clearly somehow managed to inflame my son's thoughts of lust and malice, of which I have done my absolute hardest to quell over the years as I raised him, but…I can see that it is not enough. While she has managed to tame the beast within, I fear Stark has made my son too soft. I have a feeling the gods has put this girl in my son's path, to test Ramsay's resilience and patience. It would seem that, despite my best efforts, somehow, the boy has failed. He is grown in body, but he still in so many ways has the mind of a child. He is naïve, and for him to already possess those darkening thoughts and urges, is something that I simply cannot allow, Aleyn. No matter what."

Soon, Warden Roose Bolton asked a question of Aleyn, which made the archer furrow his brows in confusion. "It would be a pity, Captain, for your precious little tavern bitch …to befall an…accident, shall we say? Oh, yes," he added, a wicked sneer forming at the edges of his mouth as he took another swig of wine. "I know all about your unnatural union with that accursed little tavern wench, boy. But unfortunately, the new regulations put into place by our king prevents me from interfering in a way that he deems 'unnecessary. Truly, it is a pity."

"What….?" Aleyn was floored. How? How could Bolton have known about Collette? He had thought they'd been careful. Not careful enough, he thought venomously, grinding his teeth in anger until his jaw was rooted shut. "Milord, I don't—"

"SILENCE!" Bolton bellowed, curling his hand into a fist, and slamming it down on his armchair, the noise of which seemed to reverberate off the walls of his massive study as his shout echoed. His icy glower felt like a thousand arrows in Aleyn's chest. He threw back his head and let out a short, bark-like laugh that was cruel. "Did you really think that I did not know? I am no fool, Ser Aleyn. I have known about your little…union, now, for months. Imagine my surprise when I ran into a little boy at the stables one morning that bore a striking resemblance to you. You fucked that girl and got her pregnant, and now…you've responsibilities, my boy. But your bastard son has the wench's eyes. There is no mistaking that color, archer. It was then I knew that you have betrayed my trust. I am a kind man, and I am a patient man, ser, you ought to know this better than most guards in my service, and I have decided to give you another chance to repent for what you have done. Consider this your atonement, Aleyn. I have eyes and ears everywhere. This estate," he breathed, his gray eyes becoming more and more unhinged as the moments passed, "is mine, and I will not allow it to continue to be overrun by hordes of filthy vermin. If you should mean to save your wife and bastard child, then you will tread down this path by assisting me in the…disposing of my son. It would be most unfortunate if my bastard son were to…befall a tragic accident. I have reason to believe at his own hands, Lady Walda and my newborn son were murdered," Roose growled. "Hear me, Ser Aleyn. I am a man of my word. I can be an incredible friend to you, but I can also be a terrible enemy. Choose wisely. I swear as God as my witness that your entire family shall go free. Aid me in this crusade to free the North of these wretched fucking Baratheon armies, beginning with my own son, and I could give you what it is you wish. You seek a better life for yourself and wife. Your wife and child will survive. However, if you seek to continue to conspire against me, Ser Aleyn, then I will not take it against you personally. But know this: either way, I could hang you for treason. It is your choice. You make the call," he said dryly.

Aleyn froze, his mind feeling like it was reeling a thousand miles a minute as it struggled to process all of the information that he had just been fed. He did not like the direction this conversation was headed one archer and knight prided himself on being a man of valor, of honor, and what the Warden was suggesting he aid him with entirely went against that code of honor. To betray Ramsay, who had become like something akin of a brother figure to him over the last two years, and all for the sake of capturing one woman who, it would seem, from what limited information he had on her, had fallen in love with the Bastard of Bolton and changed the man?

Ser Aleyn bit his bottom lip, curling his gloved hand in a fist to prevent himself from lashing out and striking at something in pure anger. The Warden bade for the captain to take a seat in the chair opposite him. Reluctantly, Aleyn obliged, easing into the chair as well as he could.

A bit of a difficult task in a full suit of armor, not to mention his cloak.

"What promise could I possibly give to you that would be of any value to you, milord?"

"I had your position reinstated, did I not? Ramsay was set to flay you, but I talked him out of that. Following the…incident a few months ago with your new precious little wife, I was content to let you rot for the remainder in your days in our dungeons below, but given that you are the best archer in my company of men, I think that I can offer you a second chance to redeem yourself, Ser Aleyn."

Roose offered a morose little smirk and chuckled at the bewildered expression on the young archer's face. "Pledge to me your will, Ser Aleyn, help my son find the peace in death that he cannot find in life, and I can assure you that your family will have safe passage out of the North if they value their lives. That, I think, should be reason and will enough for you to cooperate, would it not?" he added coyly, pouring himself a goblet of wine.

Aleyn felt a strange enveloping of cold wash over his entire body, as though he had been doused in ice water. He could not understand whether it was through pure adrenaline or fear that had begun to well deep within the pit of his stomach, but he knew as he looked at the Warden, that he wanted this. The beauty of vengeance. Make Ramsay pay. If killing Lord Roose Bolton's bastard son and enduring Ramsay's wrath temporarily until he was dead meant, however, that his new wife would be safe, then it would seem that the captain had no other choice but to obey.

Once more, Aleyn's lord had asked for his cooperation, however much of a wicked man Bolton might be, a stupid man, he was not, and the Warden would know if he were being deceived. So, for now, at least, Aleyn would have to go along with it.

Aleyn finally gave the curtest of nods with his head, a lock of his golden hair falling over his eyes, effectively shielding his face from the Warden's view. Roose was soon on his feet as he nodded at the captain, who had all but touched Ser Aleyn on his shoulder to indicate that their conversation was now at its conclusion and that he was free to go. The archer slowly rose from his chair and made to follow Theon Greyjoy out in the hallway, but before he passed through the study's entryway, Bolton called out.

"Ser Aleyn. A moment. They say that love is the death of a man's duty. What say you on this matter, Aleyn?" Roose Bolton's voice was cold and sounded thoroughly unmoved.

Aleyn felt like his heart was pounding against its cage, threatening to escape like one of those black ravens that sometimes delivered messages from other parts of Westeros to the Boltons. The Warden was throwing the captain a strange knowing little smirk that Aleyn was not quite sure what to make of just yet.

Hating himself for what he was about to say, Aleyn ground his teeth in anger, clenching his eyes shut and turning his head away. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and he whisper-hissed his next words to Roose. "I have no regard for the man who tortured Theon Greyjoy, milord, and countless others."

Lies, his conscience was screaming at him. A lie, and you know it. Serving the Bolton family is all that you and your family has known in life. If you betray Ramsay Bolton, you will die.

Aleyn could tell just by one look that the Warden did not quite believe him, so he elaborated for further effect.

"I would see your bastard son hang or burn for his crimes, Warden."

"Very good." Roose still had not smiled, unimpressed. Lord Bolton gladly watched with a blissful satisfaction as his head archer of the guard's face fell instantly.

"And what of Sansa Stark, Ser Aleyn? What are your feelings on my son's wife?"