A light shower of rain sprinkled down on Roose as he strode out the Great Hall and towards the Guest House. As he crossed the courtyard, his fingers curled into fists. The corner of his mouth twitched in anger.

He, Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, had been humiliated greatly. By Robb Stark, the honourable Lord Eddard Stark, by all of them damned Starks! He took a deep breath. Never had Roose been so furious before – he had no reason to be. It must've been a mistake, Lord Stark's letter. Yes, it was a mistake. Lord Ned Stark would never have consented to break the Lady Lyarra's betrothal to Domeric for anyone – not even the king. By the old gods and new, their betrothal had been set in stone since before Lady Lyarra was even born! All those years ago when Roose received Lord Stark's letter regarding Domeric's fostering at Winterfell, he knew at once that Lord Stark wanted a more permanent peace between their Houses. It wasn't hard to suspect that at the end of Domeric's fostering, he would return to the Dreadfort with a Stark bride at his side.

I will not forget this slight. Thanks to Robb's utter stupidity, Roose had lost his future Stark good-daughter and Domeric his prospective bride. If it was Domeric who had married a bastard girl, Roose would've slowly flayed the girl, leaving his son a widower. Afterwards Domeric would marry the intended girl and all would be as planned. Alas, Lord Stark didn't have the heart for flaying…

Roose entered his chambers, dismissing his servant with a wave of his hand. It was still early in the morning and a perfect time to return to the Dreadfort. Roose had no desire to leave…yet.

All the northern lords were here at Winterfell – what better time than to forge a new alliance or two? A pity I have only the one son, thought Roose, disgruntled. I should've remarried a few months after Bethany's death. It was not too late though. He wasn't old and House Bolton was one of the most ancient and noble Houses in the North. Instead of waiting for grandchildren to use as pawns, he could father a son or two, or even a daughter. Roose's choice of wife returned to Jonelle Cerwyn, Lord Medger Cerwyn's daughter. It wasn't the first time Roose considered Jonelle Cerwyn as wife – the third or fourth actually.

There were many benefits in marrying Lady Jonelle. For one, the Cerwyns live only half a day's ride from Winterfell. Very useful if the highly unlike chance of an uprising was to occur. Lady Jonelle's late mother – Lord Cerwyn's first wife – was a Tallhart and a relationship with the Tallharts, albeit a distance one, was always valuable. It was about time House Bolton started hunting for fresh allies. Roose's first wife was a Flint; his mother also a Flint; his grandmother a Hornwood; and a great grandmother no doubt, a Flint. Perhaps she was a Harclay.

No matter, no matter. Whatever the case, House Bolton seriously needed a few, new allies and House Cerwyn was a good start.

Roose's heart hardened with annoyance. Now he had to find Domeric another suitable bride. What a nuisance! Domeric was twenty years old! He should've had a son or two already! He would've if Lady Lyarra flowered earlier. His mood only soured when he thought of all the time Domeric wasted fostering at Winterfell. It was an honour, but what use was it? Before Lord Stark sent the raven, Roose had considered having Domeric fostered somewhere in the Vale after a few years as a page in Lady Dustin's household, perhaps with the Redforts. Roose had met Lord Horton Redfort a few times during the king's rebellion and thought him quite the ruthless fighter. He was an experienced soldier and slaughtered many Targaryen loyalists without mercy. Maybe I should have sent Domeric to squire for him.

"Lord Bolton." Roose glanced at the door and dipped his head curtly as he saw his former good-sister Lady Dustin linger there. "Lady Dustin," he greeted.

"A shock is it not?" Lady Dustin settled herself down on the spare chair. "Lord Stark breaking Domeric's betrothal to his daughter. The honourable Lord Stark."

"Are you here to gloat, my lady? It is unlike you."

"Oh, to gloat yes. Not to gloat at you though my lord. You're my good-brother-"

"Former good-brother Lady Dustin."

Lady Dustin rolled her eyes. "Former good-brother then, my lord. Regardless, I still consider you family, Lord Bolton."

How kind of you Lady Dustin. "What do you want my lady?"

"How many men did you send to aid the Night's Watch my lord?"

Roose darkened. "More than I should've. When I received Lord Stark's raven, I sent men straight to Castle Black. A sign of loyalty to Lord Stark."

"A mistake, Lord Bolton. I didn't send more than I needed to. I did warn you all those years ago not to trust the Starks, my lord. Do you remember? I said it was a mistake to trust Lord Stark's offer of fostering Domeric at Winterfell. At that time, you thought it would lead to a Stark-Bolton marriage. The first of hopefully many. I told you it was too good to be true. Even when Domeric was affianced to Lyarra Stark, I did not believe it. A betrothal was to trick you into loyalty, naught more. I hope you believe me now."

Roose snorted. "Your hatred towards the Starks is marred by your own past. I know you were infatuated by Lord Stark's late brother Brandon when you were a young woman. You even gave him your maidenhead." His thin lips curved into an eerie, ghostly smile. Lady Dustin's cheeks tinged with pink. "Did you truly think a wild man like Brandon Stark would marry you?"

"He would have if it was not for those grey rats!" spat Lady Dustin. "He had no desire to marry Catelyn Tully, Lord Bolton!"

"And Lady Catelyn is queen." And you are a widow. "And Lady Lyarra Stark will be the future queen."

"Do you truly think the honourable Lord Stark would keep Lyarra betrothed to Domeric when he had the chance to have her married to the crown prince? Mark my words, Lord Bolton. Lord Stark is no different to all those lords of the south. It may be hard to believe, but with the chance for his daughter to be the next queen, even the honourable Lord Stark cannot resist."

"His southron wife is to blame for this."

"Both of them, Lord Bolton. Both are to blame. I blame all the Starks."

"Even Lady Lyarra, Lady Arya, Bran, Arthur, Lady Gwenysse and Rickon? They have done naught in this. I watched Lady Lyarra interact with Domeric numerous times and I cannot imagine her playing a part in attaining queenship. She had not spoken to Robb in days. I suspect she had been aware of his marriage for days – I think even weeks – but was ordered to remain silent."

"I thought Lady Lyarra was devoted to Domeric."

"Devoted, but still a Stark. Her loyalties and devotion would be to House Stark till the day Domeric cloaks her. Obviously that will not happen now."

"The Umbers and Karstarks are displeased with the Starks too. After you left, I heard the Greatjon Umber bellowing that House Umber will never swear fealty to Robb or any of his descendants sired from his baseborn wife."

"Greatjon Umber never fears speaking his mind." Roose tapped a couple of his fingers on the table. "He has a daughter doesn't he? An unmarried one? His elder daughter is married to Lord Karstark's heir from what I remember. The Greatjon Umber's younger daughter is a woman too. There'll be no waiting period."

"Why not a Karstark good-daughter?"

"Lady Alys Karstark is betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. I am not the type of man who breaks another's betrothal for my own benefit."

"I see."

"I will also take a new wife, Lady Jonelle Cerwyn perhaps. House Bolton needs new allies. The Starks have shown their true colours; liars, all of them."

Lady Dustin smiled. "You have House Dustin's support, my lord Bolton. Maybe even House Ryswell's. My late father was always fond of Domeric as are my three brothers. I can assure you that my brother Roger, now Lord of the Rills, wishes to remain firm allies with House Bolton."

Roose nodded expressionlessly. "I too hope our Houses will remain allies for a good number of years in the future."


Lunch was a dreary and dismal affair. Some of the lords – mostly the mountain clans – had left in the morning in a huff, offended. The Flints both left three hours earlier as did Lords Hornwood, Karstark and Lord Locke's heir. Surprisingly Lord Umber remained, though he glowered more. The only jolly face in the stream of a dozen or more northerners belonged to Lord Wyman Manderly. Why he was in a cheerful mood remained a mystery.

Roose glanced at Domeric, who picked listlessly at his venison stew. He looked outright miserable. Roose never remembered a time when Domeric was so upset. Not even when Lady Bethany died. "Where's Lady Lyarra?" Roose asked softly. "I thought she would dine with you today."

Domeric shook his head. "She is in her chambers."

"Weeping I suppose?"

Domeric's lips tightened. "Confined, according to Theon. Apparently Arya tried to convince Meera to take her to Greywater Watch or somewhere else instead of going to King's Landing. Robb found out and had her confined in her rooms. He'd decided to do the same with Lyarra. He thought she might elope with me to avoid going south and marrying the crown prince. Only a desperate man would confine those he love to save his own hide." His fingers tightened around his spoon. "You told me that Father." Roose nodded. "Theon hinted that Arya and Lyarra will stay in their chambers till they are sent south," said Domeric bitterly.

"A harsh move."

Before Domeric could respond, Roose found Lord Umber sitting beside him. "I heard you lost your betrothed," Lord Umber said to Domeric sympathetically. "It is a shame. Lady Lyarra's a beautiful young woman."

"Beauty isn't everything my lord Umber," muttered Domeric. Roose nodded at Lord Umber. "I'm astonished you are still here my lord," Roose murmured. "After what happened in the morning, I thought you would be gone by now."

The Greatjon grunted and drained his cup of ale. "Aye," he agreed. "I would've left at once if Lord Stark had not put me in charge of the wildling situation before he departed." His brown eyes travelled to the high table and darkened. At Robb's side was the Dornish bastard. Lady Daenerys Stark now. Though she was raised a northerner, Roose never saw her anything but a bastard of House Dayne. "Umber girls had sat there in the past," grumbled Lord Umber, "as well as other nobles. It is wrong to allow a bastard girl to sit there. I fucked bastards but never married a bastard. No Umber had married a bastard."

Roose nodded slightly. "A disgrace," he said softly. "An utter disgrace."

"Your son is in need of a new bride, eh Lord Bolton? I've been thinking – I have an unmarried daughter and you have a son. They're both around the same age as well." A beam spread on Lord Umber's ruddy face. "A good match don't you think Lord Bolton? Our lands are close" He leant down and lowered his voice "and with House Karstark bound to mine through marriage, those Starks will learn that the North will not sit idly by and obey orders while they are off in the south wedding bastards and licking the southron king's boots."

"Lady Lyarra will be queen. You are not pleased a northerner will be crowned queen consort when the time comes?"

"I am not pleased Robb Stark married a bastard and got away with it."

"No one but Robb is at that, Lord Umber."

Lord Umber grunted in agreement. "So what do you say, Lord Bolton? Uniting our Houses? You won't have to wait more than a month. If you agree, I can send a raven to my son Jon and he will have Arrana sent to the Dreadfort. She is a sweet girl, my Arrana." He looked at Domeric who didn't seem very interested. "She is a beauty, my daughter," Lord Umber promised. "You will like her, Domeric. She can play the flute and sings like a lark. When Arrana was ten, she spent a few months at White Harbour. My wife's idea," he added as he saw Roose arch an eyebrow. "I usually don't send my children to White Harbour."

"She sings like a lark," mused Roose quietly. When he was a boy, the Dreadfort was often silent. There were no singers; screamers certainly. "What do you think, Domeric?" He smiled icily as Domeric did not respond. Even if Domeric despised, loathed, hated the idea of marrying an Umber girl, he would not dare disobey his orders. The Starks have shown their true colours as wild, liars and oathbreakers, and there would be no Stark bride for Domeric. An Umber bride must do.

"I look forward to having Lady Arrana as my good-daughter," said Roose with a small, polite smile. Lord Umber grinned at him. Roose glanced at the dais. Robb and his baseborn wife were both looking at him and Lord Greatjon Umber. A cold smile slowly augmented on Roose's pale face. He raised his cup of hippocras. "To a prosperous union between Houses Bolton and Umber." He clinked goblets with Lord Umber, a little bit of wine splashing from Lord Umber's cup and onto one of his hands. Roose and his new ally drank deeply.

"You will stay a few days more, Lord Bolton?" Lord Umber inquired.

Roose shook his head. "I cannot forget the insult, Lord Umber. I'll be returning to the Dreadfort tomorrow morning."

Lord Umber nodded understandingly. He stood up. "I have letters to write," he muttered. "Forgive me for my ah, abrupt leave Lord Bolton. Domeric." He nodded at Roose and Domeric. Roose tilted his head and nodded slowly.

"You will leave for the Dreadfort tomorrow?" questioned Domeric.

"Yes. You will stay here until I send you a raven."

"Why? I thought the Starks are no longer our allies."

"Misery does not suit you, Domeric. You have lived here for years, training and eating with Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy and other Starks. The Starks all consider you family. You would be if Lady Lyarra was still your betrothed…"

"You want me to spy on them." Domeric's tone was heavy and resigned.

Roose frowned. What use was a subdued son whose mind was captured by the stream of memories of his lost betrothed playing over and over again? "Your own presence here will unsettle the Starks," he said quietly. "Especially Robb. Stay for a few more days, perhaps a week. Wait for my raven. You don't need to do a thing, Domeric. Sitting and watching the Starks will disturb them already. Look at Robb and his bastard wife. Go on Domeric, look."

Domeric lifted his head and stared almost blankly at the dais. Roose noted that Domeric's eyes met Robb's. Robb broke his gaze first. "You will not need to come back here ever again," Roose murmured. "All you must do is unnerve the Starks a little longer, and then you will come home and wed Lady Arrana Umber."

"I thought him my brother," muttered Domeric. "Robb was a brother to me."

"Brothers can betray and kill each other too. Must I retell the story of my great, great granduncle's children? A bloody story that one, Domeric."

"You told it to me before, when I was a child. Lord Rogar Bolton had two failed marriages and sired only one weak daughter. He trusted his younger brother, my great, great grandfather Redmond, with everything and even named him his heir. The night Lord Rogar named Redmond as heir, Redmond betrayed him and killed him. Well, he first flayed his niece, making Rogar watch and then he killed him in cold blood. He didn't enjoy being the Lord of the Dreadfort for long though. Rylla the Red, his sister, and widow of three husbands, went into his chambers one day and stabbed him to death. Some people said she bathed in his blood."

Roose smiled eerily. "An excellent story. It teaches you that one must never be as foolish as Lord Rogar Bolton."

"Thankfully I have no siblings to put my trust in."

Roose stood up. "I believe your time at Winterfell is almost up, Domeric. It will not be long now before I myself will teach you more about duties you'll face soon when you succeed me as Lord of the Dreadfort."


The journey back to the Dreadfort took around three days and was uneventful – as usual. Normally it would take three days or less to return home; it took quite a bit longer this time as Roose caught a thief dragging a dead deer from a part of Bolton forests. It didn't take Roose too long to hang him.

Oddly enough, Roose was in a better mood than he'd expected. Strange as he'd been humiliated at Winterfell and the trip home should be foul. If I am furious, I'd have flayed that thief, Roose pondered, urging his horse to resume a canter. A trot was too slow for his taste. Much too slow.

When Roose entered the courtyard, he was surprised to see Maester Tybald at the great doors waiting for him. "Maester," said Roose, dismounting his horse. "It is astonishing, seeing you here. I didn't expect to speak to you so soon. Tonight or tomorrow morning perhaps."

"There have been strange occurrences my lord," said the nervous maester. "I'd have written but the ravens…"

"The ravens are not my concern, Maester. They are yours I believe."

"The ravens have been killed, my lord. All of them. Strangled! My lord, I did not know what to do!"

"All of them?"

"All of them!"

Reek was responsible for it, no doubt. Why? "A raven will be arriving in a day," Roose said calmly, "perhaps two. We can use that one for a while. Meanwhile, I'll investigate all these…deaths. You will find a way to fetch more ravens. We will be stranded here without ravens. Horses can take us to many places, but what if we are still without ravens when winter strikes?"

"I will try my…my best Lord Bolton."

"No…" Roose stared at Maester Tybald coldly. "You'll ensure the Dreadfort has enough ravens for the winter. If you don't, you'll find the dungeons your new and permanent home. I'll have the Citadel send me another, more capable maester. It was said that the Citadel is littered with maesters like the dungeons and cells are full of rats. You'll find that your new home won't be as comfortable." His pale, icy eyes fell upon the bearskin pelt the maester had wrapped over his grey robes. "It won't be as warm either," he added threateningly. Giving Maester Tybald one last warning glare, Roose headed inside the castle. How inconvenient that the ravens were all strangled…

That was most certainly Reek's work.

But why?

Roose dismissed the raven problem. Maester Tybald would sort it all out or he would find himself in the dungeons in a matter of seconds. Besides, Lord Umber's raven would be here soon, and Reek wouldn't be so foolish to attempt to strangle another raven with Roose himself in the castle. Frightening a cowardly, spineless maester was one thing, but trying to terrify the Lord of the Dreadfort? No. Only a mad, angry dog would be foolish enough to do that. The maddest of mad dogs too. Roose's lips tightened.

All mad dogs must be put down, contemplated Roose as he reached his solar. It is the way of the world. Putting Reek down wouldn't be easy – Reek unfortunately knew how to use a sword and other weapons at his disposal. Maybe I should have had him killed when he was a squalling babe.

Roose was a man of little to no regrets, but the only regret he carried was that he was merciful enough to keep his bastard alive. He pushed open the door of his solar and was hit with the stench of blood. Roose's icy pale eyes immediately fell on the corpse lying spread-eagle on the floor in front of him.

Mydea.

Closing the door behind him, Roose stared at Mydea's body emotionlessly. Her death was inevitable; if not by his hand, it'd be by Reek's. So soon though…

Roose stepped over the body and sat down in front of his table as he would on any day. He would have the servants remove Mydea's corpse later. He dipped his quill into the inkpot. Even though all of the Dreadfort ravens were strangled, said by the maester, Roose still had letters to write.

Many letters to write.


This chapter was quite interesting to write. The ending was a little difficult though, had to change it a few times until I was satisfied. Chapter uploads will be slower now as family friends from China have arrived and I'll be entertaining them and showing them the sights. Furthermore, I will be starting a new job next week so less time writing sadly.

Clary Sage, I'm so sorry I'm still not done with your oneshot. I haven't forgotten it. I'll try and finish it ASAP :)