A/N: Thanks for the support.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

12: Domeric

"You're surprised to see me," His father was not one to waste time.

"I am." Domeric had expected a letter in the form of his father's answer if he could go to the capital with Lord Stark, instead he received his father in person with an armed escort of more than twenty men arriving to Winterfell.

After a brief exchange of courtesies between the Lords of Winterfell and Dreadfort, the men brought with Lord Bolton were sent to the hall to enjoy food and drink after their journey. Domeric had escorted his father to his personal chambers.

"I won't be staying long," His father looked around the room. "I thought it was better to speak in person then trust our words to maesters and ravens."

Domeric hid his confusion at his father's vagueness, knowing the meaning would be revealed when his father was ready, and not a moment before.

"You're already packed," His father noted, gesturing to one of Domeric's closed trunks.

"I thought it was prudent."

"Prudent?" A hint of amusement could almost be detected in his father's tone.

"Yes," Domeric answered, "I'm either traveling south to King's Landing or returning to the Dreadfort. Regardless, of your decision, my time in Winterfell is at an end." A pang of melancholy bloomed in his chest at the sad reminder. He cherished his time here these past two years.

"Wise," his colorless eyes looked at Domeric with what he hoped was approval. "I've decided to grant you permission to go south."

A sense of relief washed over Domeric at his father's decision. Pleased, and thankful that he would be allowed to go with Sansa to King's Landing.

"I had already written a letter to Lord Stark to inform him of my decision and of my unannounced visit," his father continued. "I had also asked that he respect my wishes of letting me tell you myself," his father finished as if sensing Domeric's unasked question of why he hadn't been informed earlier.

"The men I brought with me will serve as your armed escort while you're in the capital. They are under the command of Captain Rylen."

Domeric had expected as much when he saw such a large company of men accompany his father to Winterfell. Since he knew his father often traveled and rode with few if any men when he left the Dreadfort.

"There were things I wanted to know that I would not get in a letter."

He tried not to flinch under his father's gaze.

"I was curious with why you'd seek to go south," his father's eyes remained on him; "When I thought your intentions were to come back to the Dreadfort as soon as you were able."

"Something changed."

His father raised an eyebrow at that. "You're concerned."

"I am," Domeric had been concerned ever since he saw Sansa's reaction when she had been told that the Queen had invited her to tend to the Princess. The fear in her eyes, the nervousness of her tone as she accepted it. What kind of man would he be to allow her to go alone?

"Your concern is warranted," his father admitted, "It is true, the king is ruled by his sentiments when it comes to the Starks."

His father voiced the word sentiment with such distaste it was as if he had said the king liked to devour children before supper.

"He is obsessed with joining the stag and the wolf."

"He's already succeeded, father," Domeric pointed out.

"The King's appetites are not so easily sated," Lord Bolton replied coolly. "He wanted a Stark Queen for himself, and now wants one for his son and heir."

Never, Domeric wanted to growl, but he stopped himself. It would due him no good to lose his composure in front of his father. The anger churned in his gut at thinking of his betrothal with Sansa to be broken and set aside so that she would have to marry that monster in the skin of a Crown Prince.

"You care for the girl," the corner of his father's lips curved upwards.

"She is to be my wife," Domeric tried his best to keep his tone flat.

"Don't allow your sentiment for the girl affect your judgment," his father warned him.

That was one of his father's first lessons, Domeric remembered being taught. He had been told feelings were trivial. That he was not expected to love his wife, but to perform his duty insuring the family's legacy lived on in the form of heirs, siring sons and daughters to help advance the family.

A lesson he had failed. He loved Sansa. A revelation that was still new to him. It was in Lord Stark's study when he told them of the Queen's invitation to her did Domeric grasp the depths of his feelings for Sansa Stark. It was that love that gave him strength. That encouraged him to speak up.

His father's attention shifted towards a direwolf that had been etched into the stone above Domeric's hearth. "Too much has been invested in securing our position to lose it on the whims of a man who can't let go of the past."

He spoke of Sansa as a castle that was to be lost, not as a person, a person that Domeric loved. He was use to his father's detachment, but it bothered him when it came to Sansa. She deserved better then to be treated as a thing, as a prize. Yet, he kept silent. Domeric was not brave enough to voice this to his father.

"We are on the precipice of establishing something no Bolton has ever accomplished." His father's hand gently brushed against the direwolf, "Do you know why the walls of Winterfell were built so high, Domeric?"

"Aye, father," Domeric was a bit confused by the sudden question, but he answered his father nonetheless. "To keep their enemies out."

"And House Bolton, our family were their greatest enemies," A touch of pride could be heard in his father's voice. "Twice our ancestors led armies to this castle, and successfully raided and burned it to the ground. The seat of the Stark family." His hand closed into a fist when it reached the head of the stone etching of the direwolf. "What you see before you, what we stand in now, is that reminder that this castle was built on the bones of their failures in their attempts to repel us."

Domeric knew these stories well. He was told of them constantly growing up in the Dreadfort by his maester. Of the greatness of his ancestors, and of the bitter rivalry that had formed between Winterfell and Dreadfort, of an animosity that stretched for centuries, stained with blood that was shed on both sides for the struggle of northern dominance, which only ended when Domeric's ancestors were defeated and finally bent the knee to House Stark.

"And yet, here we are, welcomed guests of House Stark and soon our two families will be entwined through marriage." His father turned away from the direwolf. "The North hasn't seen a union like this before, the binding of its two most powerful houses," His pale eyes now rested on Domeric. "We will not allow a southern king's ambitions thwart it now."

"I understand, father," Domeric said softly, still mulling over his father's words on their family's history and his plans for their future.

"Your stay in the south will not be long." His father revealed. "A few months in the capital should be all that is needed to fulfill the Queen's invitation." His father brought his hands behind his back.

"Then I will request Lord Stark to honor the terms of the betrothal agreement. The Lady Sansa Stark has already flowered and the Starks will feel obligated to accept. The King and Queen would be unwise to refuse. We have waited enough for this union to be sealed."

We? Domeric didn't like that. There was no we, if it included his father. This union was between Domeric and Sansa. It was for them and them alone. It may have been his father's idea, but Domeric wasn't going to allow that to control the marriage between him and Sansa.

"You two will be wedded at Winterfell, the seat of the Warden of the North and now Hand of the King then you two are to depart to the Dreadfort," his father pressed on, oblivious to Domeric's discomfort with his use of the term we.

"She will learn to run the household while you will be taught to rule the Dreadfort."

"A peaceful land, a quiet people," Domeric recited.

Lord Bolton inclined his head. "It's good to see you have remembered your lessons."

"I won't disappoint you, father."

"We'll see."

"Bran," Sansa scolded in an exasperated tone. "You'll never be ready to leave at this rate."

"I'm too excited to pack!" was Bran's happy reply.

"If you do not pack, you do not go," Sansa reminded her brother, a trace of amusement in her tone.

Domeric couldn't help but smile as he heard the exchange between brother and sister. He had reached Bran's chambers where he had been told by a Stark servant that was where he would find Sansa. His meeting with his father over, he wanted to tell his betrothed the news of his permission of being allowed to go to the capital.

Instead of entering Bran's room, Domeric found himself lingering just outside of it, hesitant to intrude on the playful interactions between siblings. Glancing into the chambers to see Bran's trunk was open, with several clothes spewing out of it, including a pair of breeches that hung on the bottom lip of the trunk resembling a brown tongue.

An excited Bran was moving throughout the room, pretending to wield a sword, dashing left and right in some mock duel. Arya was standing before him, his opponent, blocking his invisible sword before attacking him with her own, the brother and sister, laughing and shouting as their pretended battle heated up.

Domeric spotted Sansa bustling around the chambers picking up Bran's discarded clothes before dropping them onto his bed where Nymeria and Bran's direwolf watched their respected master in combat with alert eyes and swishing tails.

"Can you believe it?" Bran exclaimed. "I'm going to the capital!" He spun away from Arya's attack with a laugh. "I'm going to see real knights!"

"So what," Arya replied, unimpressed, "I'll be at Bear Island," she declared proudly, "and will learn how to fight!"

Bran looked at his sister with a wide smile. "Then we'll have to test our skills next time we meet."

Arya matched her brother's smile. "I'll win."

Bran shook his head, smile intact, "I'll be taught by Barristan the Bold! The best swordsman in the seven kingdoms."

"I'll beat him too!" Arya didn't seem the least bit bothered by the challenge.

"Brandon Stark," Sansa cut through the sibling's banter, "You're not going anywhere until you pack and fold your clothes properly." She had her hands on her hips when she faced Bran with an intimidating stare that she had clearly inherited from their mother. Lady was sitting by her mistress' feet looking to try to resemble the stare Sansa was currently giving them.

Bran sheepishly bowed his head, "Of course," he said quickly, "I was just taking a break."

Sansa's serious façade crumbled in an instant to show her smiling and shaking her head, "I know," she moved to stand in front of him, "but it's important that you're ready to leave. You wouldn't want to have father and the king waiting, would you?"

He sheathed his fake sword with a flourish. "No," Bran moved to pick up one of the many shirts that still lingered on the floor.

"Nymeria can help you," Arya offered.

"Arya," Sansa sounded tired, like the sisters had had this conversation before.

"She can!" Arya protested.

Not for the first time did Domeric feel a stab of envy in his chest at seeing the Stark siblings together, laughing and playing. And having him wonder what it'd be like to experience just a fraction of the obvious joy and love they had for each other with siblings of his own. The melancholy lasted only for a few heartbeats before it passed, knowing how much the Starks had endeared themselves to him, and how much fun he's had with them these past two years just as with the Redforts before them. They were not bound by blood like siblings, but it didn't make their bond any weaker.

It was in these thoughts that he was spotted by Lady, who quickly left her mistress' side to greet Domeric. Her happy yipping, broke him from his introspection, as he bent down to greet the direwolf pup.

"Dom," Sansa's voice had a tinge of unease in it, "You're done speaking with Lord Bolton."

"I am," he stood up to see Sansa's blue eyes were looking at him. He saw the apprehension lurking beneath them and how her body went still and stiff. Fear, he knew at once. That she'd be alone in the south surrounded by lions. He hated to see her in such a way. So was quick to alleviate it when he added, "He's given me permission to go to King's Landing."

The happiness in Sansa's eyes made them shimmer, a dazzling smile followed as she cut the distance between them to embrace him.

He held her, soothing her with a kiss to her head, while his hands moved up and down her back, he felt a tremble beneath his fingers confirming his thoughts about how afraid she was of going to the capital alone.

"I'm not going to leave you," he murmured in her ear, "Not now, not ever.".

Those words got Sansa to pull away and look at him. Without speaking, she moved and kissed his cheek.

"That's wonderful, Dom!" Bran was next to congratulate him, dropping the shirt he was trying to fold onto the ground. "We can go riding along the Blackwater!" The boy's excitement was palpable, since he was oblivious to his sister's previous discomfort.

Domeric favored the young Stark with a smile. "I'd like that."

"You're still not gonna beat him, Bran," Arya was sitting on Bran's bed, petting Nymeria, whose head was on her lap.

"I could," Bran insisted, "One day, I will. Robb too."

Domeric chuckled, "That is possible." Always amused at the interactions between Bran and Arya, the two so close in age, and would often see them playing together whenever they could. At times, they seemed inseparable to Domeric. He wondered how difficult it would be for the two finally being separated and both away from home, Bran to the capital, and Arya to Bear Island.

Arya didn't seem too impressed. "Doesn't matter, because then I'll beat you."

"Nah-uh," Bran threw back.

"Uh-huh."

"Bran, pack!" Sansa cut in before the playful argument could go further.

Bran groaned, but didn't argue, retrieving his discarded shirt and putting it in his trunk, unfolded, before moving to grab a pair of slacks that his direwolf was sleeping on. A struggle that lasted several seconds as the direwolf pup seemed too comfortable to want to relinquish its position. It didn't help that it didn't have a name to respond to. Bran's direwolf was the only one of the Stark children still without a name.

"Any luck with a name, Bran?" Domeric asked, Bran was the only Stark who hadn't named his direwolf yet. Even the youngest Stark, Rickon had thought up a name for his, Shaggydog.

"No," Bran answered after successfully winning his slacks from his direwolf. "I'm still thinking."

"You better hurry," Arya told him, "You wait too long and someone else will name him!" Arya smiled, clearly liking the idea, "Maybe, I'll start calling him-"

"Don't," Bran warned her.

Arya only laughed.

Domeric shook his head before glancing over at Sansa who was watching her siblings with a smile tugging at her lips, but there were hints of exasperation creeping into her expression. He moved his hand to hold hers, to get her attention.

It worked, she turned to him, and he was pleased when he was the center of that smile, feeling his heartbeat quicken at such a beautiful sight. Sadly, he was pulled from his thoughts all too quickly when he heard voices being directed at him.

"Erh, what?" Domeric hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation that Bran and Arya had continued to have, as he had been distracted. He noticed Sansa's smile had turned mischievous, she raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes gleamed with mirth. He turned to see Arya and Bran were looking at him expectantly.

"Are you going on the hunt tomorrow?" Arya asked, emphasizing each word to make sure he'd heard the question. Her theatrics earned a laugh from Bran and a giggle from Sansa.

Even Domeric couldn't fight the smile that came to him at Arya's teasing. "No, I'm not."

"What?" Bran's eyes widened, "Why wouldn't you go?"

"Yeah," Arya was looking at him as she'd never seen him before. "You always go on the hunts. You love riding."

Domeric noticed that Sansa too looked surprised by his decision. "I think there are better ways to spend my last days in Winterfell then on a hunt." His eyes never left Sansa's.

Arya caught on first, her attention shifting from Domeric to Sansa, and then back. She rolled her eyes and pretended to gag. "Gross!"

"Arya," Sansa chastised her sister.

The younger sister didn't look the least bit apologetic. "I'd rather ride!"

"Even when you're older?" Domeric couldn't help but ask.

"Especially when I'm older!" Arya looked insulted at the mere suggestion.

"Me too!" Bran happily agreed, blissfully unaware of the topic that Arya was hinting at.

"Of course, you would," Sansa handed her brother one of his shirts. "Then you'd never have to pack."

Bran took the shirt with a sheepish look before letting out a nervous chuckle. "I haven't forgotten."

"I know you haven't," Sansa told him, "That's why you're not leaving this room until its done."

Bran groaned.

"Think of it this way, Bran," Domeric tried a different approach, "The quicker you finish here the more likely you are to go riding tonight before supper."

Bran's eyes lit up at that offer. His pace immediately quickened, moving throughout the room with unexpected speed grabbing shirts, slacks, socks, and other garments and putting them into his trunk.

"I want to ride too!" Arya put in, making sure her objections were heard and that they weren't ignored.

"That can be arranged," Domeric chuckled.

Satisfied, Arya quickly came to the realization that the sooner her brother packed, the sooner they could go riding. She then matched her brother's speed and energy in getting his things together for their trip south.

"Bribery, Dom?" Sansa's voice was to his ear, careful that her siblings didn't hear, as she and him stood off watching the two blur around Bran's room with their direwolves lounging on the beds.

"Not exactly," Domeric tried to defend himself, turning to see a stare that resembled Lady Stark being directed at him.

"Then what would you call it?"

He gave a light cough while trying not to squirm under that intimidating look. "I'll let you know when I think of a good name."

"You didn't have to stay you know," Sansa told him. "You could've gone on the hunt."

The following morning King Robert, Lord Stark, and a large party went out on a hunt to celebrate Lord Stark's acceptance as Hand to the King. Domeric had been one of the few able bodied men who decided to pass on the hunt. Instead of riding and hunting with southern strangers, Domeric was with his betrothed in the Godswood enjoying a small picnic, both wanting to enjoy their remaining time at Winterfell with the Royal Party and Lord Stark's party planning on leaving in the morning.

The two had settled into a nice peaceful silence, the weirwood tree looking down at their picnic, Lady lay between them, the direwolf pup growing at a remarkable pace.

"I'd rather spend the time with you," he reached over and took her hand. "Besides if I had gone on the hunt, the Prince may have met some sort of terribly tragic hunting accident."

"Dom," Sansa chastised him but there was no conviction in her tone.

"What?" He feigned innocence, "I said maybe."

She rolled her eyes and said nothing more on the matter.

His eyes remained on her. She looked stunning, wearing a blue dress in the northern style that made her eyes shimmer. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Some had claimed that title belonged to the Queen, but upon seeing her, Domeric couldn't agree.

The Queen's green eyes seemed hooded with contempt to all those they met. They didn't sparkle the way Sansa's tended to. Sansa's lips were always quick to a smile that would brighten any room. Not the Queen's, hers remained a thin, displeasing line. Sansa's laughter was music that could warm his heart, the Queen's didn't even sound natural the few times he had heard it. It was forced.

"You're beautiful."

She blushed. "You're too kind."

"Just honest," he grinned. He leaned in and captured her lips with his for a kiss that had his heart hammering against his chest. When he pulled away, he brushed his hand across her cheek.

"Oh Dom," she murmured, her eyes still half closed from their brief, but pleasing kiss. She rewarded his honesty with a second kiss that Domeric enjoyed just as much as the first before the two broke apart.

Still smiling, Domeric went back to his food, looking to see Sansa was picking at hers, but her attention didn't seem to be there. "Sansa?" His lips dipped into a thin line, pensive at his betrothed's shift in behavior.

She looked up at her name being called. "I was just thinking if Jon will accept your offer or not."

Said offer that that she was referring to was one he had made to Jon that would have him come back to the Dreadfort with them. In the hope that one day Jon would serve as the castle's master-at-arms. Domeric couldn't think of a better candidate to lead the castle's defense, oversee the training of the guards, and one day to teach his and Sansa's children swordplay.

"I don't think he will," Domeric admitted, "He sees it as charity."

"But it's not," she was clearly upset with her brother's choice to join the Night's Watch.

"I know," he assured her, "And I tried to tell him," he shook his head, "But he's set on this path."

"He's being stubborn."

"That's a common trait for you Starks," Domeric joked.

"Is that so?" she challenged.

"An endearing one," he amended quickly after finding himself the target of her unyielding blue stare.

A stare that quickly melted, looking at him with an amused look before she laughed. She affectionately ran her fingers through his hair. "Mayhaps, I'll have a talk with him." She sounded determined, "If he knew how important it was for us to have him with us maybe he would change his mind."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, but he wasn't sure they could change his mind.

Lady suddenly perked up from where she lay. Her amber eyes were looking out into the Godswood. She sniffed the air, but remained where she lay. Domeric followed the direwolf's eyes but saw nothing in the woods.

"What do you see?" He patted Lady's head.

Soon the moment ended and Lady turned back to him and gently nuzzled her head against his hand which had Domeric smiling as he petted her some more and was rewarded with a few licks from her rough tongue.

"It's probably one of the others," Sansa pointed out. "I haven't seen Bran or Arya since the hunt left."

"Probably," Domeric remembered how disappointed they had been when they weren't allowed to go on the hunt.

"Dom, about King's Landing," Sansa's voice was soft and unsure. "I don't like the Queen. I don't trust her."

He snorted, "I'd be disappointed if you did, my lady."

"What are we going to do?"

"Rely on each other," He squeezed her hand. "If we can do that then we can overcome anything the capital throws at us."

"You're right," she placed her hand on top of his. She looked around them, "I'm going to miss this. All of it."

"I know," Domeric understood, "Me too."

"This is my home," she whispered, "and I'm not sure I'll be coming back. Everything is changing." She ducked her head, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he put his finger on her chin so that he could see her beautiful eyes, "Don't ever apologize to me for speaking your mind."

She nodded, "thank you, Dom." Hesitance pulled at her features before she took a deep breath and continued, "It's just that after our stay in King's Landing, we will probably be married and I'm nervous about going somewhere new."

"The Dreadfort," he finished for her.

"Yes," she admitted shyly.

"I can understand that." Domeric was aware of the reputation his family and home had gotten for its bloody past. They did little to endear people to his family's seat; especially with a name like the Dreadfort. "You know it's not much of my home either."

Sansa furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"I've spent less than a month there in the past six years," Domeric explained, "And that doesn't include my three years in Barrowton," he added, "I've spent more time away from the Dreadfort then I have there in my life."

It was then that he remembered something. He moved to go for his bag, rummaging around in it before finding what he was looking for. He pulled out a jug of Arbor Gold.

"Where did you get that?" Sansa was surprised by its sudden appearance.

"From Lord Tyrion," Domeric answered casually.

"I will never understand your newfound friendship with the Imp," Sansa said incredulously.

Domeric could only smile. "He's quite brilliant you know," he got out two cups that he had stashed in his bag. "We had a great talk on Ayrmidon's Engines of War the other night," Domeric opened the jug of Arbor Gold. Said Arbor Gold had been a parting present from Lord Tyrion when it was announced he and Sansa would be going to the capital.

"Here," he handed Sansa her glass. He only poured a little into both of their cups.

"Thank you," she was looking down at the contents of her glass.

"What I was trying to say," he continued before he had been distracted, "Is that together we can make the Dreadfort our home."

"I would like that," she smiled.

"Good," he was pleased. "And we will still visit Winterfell."

"Thank you, Dom." She kissed his cheek.

"To our future," he held his glass.

She repeated the words and they drank from their glasses to their toast on their future together. The sweetness of the wine brought with it a pleasant taste to Domeric's palate. He still preferred the stronger northern ales, but in terms of a southern drink it wasn't too bad.

The sudden howling of a wolf caused Domeric and Sansa to freeze in their spots. Lady sat up at once before shooting her head back and returning the mournful noise before she darted off out of the Godswood.

"Lady!" Sansa called after her direwolf, immediately getting to her feet. "Something's wrong," Sansa's eyes had a certain glaze to them. "I can't explain it," tears swelled in her eyes. "But I have this feeling."

Before Domeric could ask or press for more details, the wolf howled again.

"That's Bran's wolf," Sansa declared, and without another word, she left with Domeric trying to keep up.