THERE was darkness. And Sansa could briefly make out the rasping of the sound of her own breaths. Images and flashes flitted through her mind, all experiences that had come to her before.
Her mind's eye showed her an image of a handsome stranger that bore a remarkable resemblance to her bastard husband.
The phantom sensation of his arms around her, and despite her revulsion, she remembered feeling…safe. Something that was almost alien to her.
Something she had not felt since her parents were both still alive and she had almost forgotten what it had felt like. The ball of shame burgeoned within her belly that despite her hatred for the man who had put it there, she could not help but love it. It was the thought of her babe that roused Sansa out of her uneasy and fitful sleep and returned her to full wakefulness.
Sansa's eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself in an unfamiliar place, on a bed that did not feel like anything she had ever laid on before. The room was shrouded in shadows, and the only light in the room was that which emanated from the minuscule blaze in the hearth.
The fire's light cast odd jittery shadows along the opposite wall. The blankets were pulled up around her snugly. The curtains at the window were pulled tightly, blocking out the harsh rays of the sunlight or moonlight or whatever might be out there right now. She had no idea of the time.
For a long moment, Sansa was terribly disoriented. She looked for the man who bore a resemblance to her husband to her left and right, but the stranger who had spoken to her was nowhere to be seen.
There was a few horrible moments of panic. The concern flaring to life in her heart took hold of the feeble quivering muscle within her chest and it fluttered painfully, pounding hard against her cracked rib cage. A pained gasp escaped her barely cracked lips as she slowly sat up, wincing at the pain.
A hand shot to her side and she forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose until the giddiness in her eyes danced away and her vision slowly but surely cleared.
Slowly, the darkness of whatever room she found herself in began to solidify into shapes Sansa recognized. The bed she lay on was soft, easily the softest mattress she had ever lain on.
There was a small wardrobe shoved precariously against the opposite wall, a chest of drawers at the foot of the bed, a desk for writing placed neatly near the window, and a washbasin rested at a small side table. Other than the necessities, there was little else that occupied the room. Whoever normally occupied this room owned very little, it seemed. She could appreciate that much.
No sooner than her eyes adjusted to the simple room than did a snakelike voice that sat at the back of her mind his words in her brain that she never wanted to hear again.
The voice was Ramsay's and stuffed chills down her throat.
I'm a part of you now, Lady Sansa, you and our heir are mine, and mine alone.
She shivered and ground her teeth, squeezing her eyes tightly shut at the still-fresh memory of Ramsay visiting her in his cell shortly after learning that she carried his heir before he had left for the hunt. His words rang in her eardrums.
You're mine now. Over and over again, like a mantra that she couldn't be rid of. Fear threatened to take hold of her heart as it continued to pound almost painfully hard against her bruised ribcage from where Ramsay had gotten entirely too rough with her the last time he had claimed her.
She exhaled slowly through her nose and slowly swung her legs over the bed and got to her feet, resting a hand on her stomach. Perhaps there was a way for her to put the past behind her and never think of her lord husband again.
Yet even as the naïve and hopeful thought flitted across Sansa's mind, she recognized how foolish it sounded. The babe burgeoning in her womb was Ramsay's, as much as she would like to pretend otherwise that the babe's father had been a man who was kind to her, she knew that deep down, she could not.
She ducked away from the unpleasant memories. Sansa was not ready to think about him and yet, as she rested her hand over her belly, she knew she would never fully be able to erase her baby's father from her mind completely, as much as she might wish for that.
"Hello?" Sansa whispered into a hoarse voice and was met with nothing but silence.
She gingerly groped her way through the darkness, keeping her hands on the cold stones of the walls, and inched her way towards the chamber door, which had been left cracked open.
As she walked, there was a strange growling sound in the distance, but what was it? Sansa exhaled a shaky breath and paused in the doorway as she tried to get a grip on her bearings.
It took her a moment and then she realized. That throaty sound was the sea she heard.
A good strong sound that resonated in her eardrums. Even the shipwreck she had barely survived could do nothing to take away the pleasure of the sound of the sea's waves. The cold stones of the floor felt frigid cold beneath her bare feet, and her injured shoulder throbbed, though she ignored the pain.
Though each step she took out in the dimly lit corridor sent a wave of nausea through her, she did not let it stop her. She was stricken with an overwhelming need to have her questions answered.
Unsteady and feeling uneasy, she made her way down the hallway until she came to a room, just to her left. A faint amber light flickered from within, the light of a small fire undoubtedly caused by a lit candle prong if she had to guess. Sansa stood stock-still for a moment, like a deer frozen and caught in the sights of an arrow, amazed that she had survived the horrible shipwreck.
But what of the man who had saved her life?
What of the man who looked like her husband? Was there a chance he was a distant Bolton relation, or worse, one of the feared and reviled Faceless Men that she'd heard so many tales of? Had he perhaps somehow changed his face to resemble her husband to torment her, was that it?
Too many questions were swirling around in her tired and throbbing head that pounded. She stood there, cold and rooted to her spot for a moment as she tried to decide if she should search for the man who had brought her here, thank him properly. But at that moment, she spotted her first proper look at the man as she caught movement coming within the room.
The dark-haired man stood with his back paraded to her, his spine stiff and rigid as he stood in front of the fire blazing to life in the hearth.
Her first impulse was to run away and hide, but then Sansa chided herself for such cowardly behavior.
Wolves did not run from that which they feared, and neither would she. And more to the point besides, surely, he didn't see her.
His hair was a rich shadow raven black and curled slightly at the ends, falling to just past his chin, much like her lord husband's tended to do so whenever it was in dire need of a trim.
There was something about the way this stranger was standing that confused Sansa.
It caught at her and vexed her but she did not understand why. The man kept his shoulders hunched inwards as if it were cool, but it wasn't cold. Of course, the corridor was cool, but he was in the relative warmth of his private solar and in front of the fire. He should have no reason to stand as he was.
There was a perfect stillness about him she wasn't sure what to make of. As if the man were immovable and carved of the finest marble stone. It was eerie. He never moved.
Sansa did not know how long she stood in the corridor watching him, if he sensed her.
She turned on her heels and was about to leave, though before she could, a quiet and mild-mannered but still hoarse-sounding voice rent through the air behind her.
"What are you doing out here?" a man's voice demanded, almost sounding angry with her.
Sansa whirled around and found herself staring face-to-face with the handsome stranger who had spoken to her earlier. A jolt went down her spine at how much he resembled Ramsay, even at this close range.
The stranger's accusatory tone had her immediately on edge and Sansa nervously peered over her shoulder, eyeing the path back down towards the room she had come from before looking back to the man.
"I—I was…I—I was just…" she stammered, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth as she craned her neck up to look at him.
The man cautiously approached her, his chiseled features looking almost guarded. Her voice trailed off and Sansa felt her resolve nearly falter her, and she almost turned on her heels to flee, but she managed to hold her ground despite her anxiety and held herself tall, straight, and proudly.
She squirmed uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny of those catlike green eyes of his as the man came to stand a few inches in front of her and folded his arms across his chest.
"Trying to run away?" he asked.
Sansa stared, her mouth going slightly slack in surprise as she realized just how bitter the man's soft and tenor-like tones sounded now.
She did not understand why this was the case, as despite how much he resembled her feared and revile husband physically at least, he had given no indication that he had intended to do her any harm.
"N-No, I...I wasn't. I swear that I wasn't." Her voice was soft and meek, and barely above a whisper.
The dark-haired stranger quirked an eyebrow at her comment, though thankfully, he chose not to press her, for which she was grateful.
"You should probably go back, my lady. The maester of the keep will want to look at you to ensure your overall health and well-being. Both of you, I might add," he announced in a voice that almost sounded flat and lifeless in nature.
Those piercing green eyes of his drifted down and settled on the flat of her stomach.
Sansa was barely able to stifle the reflexive gasp as her hand instinctively came to rest over her stomach, which had not yet started to swell with child, though she knew it would only be a matter of time before she would start showing and her garments would need to be loosened.
A fiery heat seeped into her cheeks and Sansa nodded, suddenly too shy to speak. She looked to the icy-cold grey stones beneath her bare feet for a moment and wriggled her toes while she thought over what to say now.
Only one thing came to mind, only one thing she could think to say.
"Thank you, for...saving me. You—you could have left me alone to die on that beach." The furrow of confusion between her brows deepened. "Why? Why did you save my life?" she asked, her words blunt as she blurted them out.
Sansa ducked her head and played with the cuticle of her thumb as locks of her hair fell forward and shielded whatever expression she wore from this man like a curtain, preventing him from seeing it.
Though Sansa was forced to lift her gaze as she heard the stranger speak.
"You are a curious little siren from the sea, aren't you?" He almost sounded angry with her, though she could not be sure. "You're asking questions?" he scoffed as he made a noise of dissent through his nose.
He cocked his head to the side and looked at her just as Sansa lifted her gaze and looked up at him, her mouth going slightly slack in surprise.
Whatever she had been expecting him to say, that was…not it.
"And as for saving you, my lady, I only did what any other man in their right mind would have done. I could not let a half-drowned pregnant woman die on the beach this morning," he replied, looking her up and down from head to toe slowly, those catlike green eyes of his sharp, questioning. "I had to do something. So I…brought you back. The maester and the lady Tallanda treated you. I am sure that you will meet the two of them soon enough, once you head back to your rooms."
He shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner and kept his arms folded across his chest as if it were no important matter.
Sansa shivered.
"Well, thank you for making sure my death did not happen," she whispered and bit down on her bottom lip and cast her gaze to the floor, suddenly too timid to look Ramsay Bolton's doppelganger in his eyes.
She felt the burn of the handsome man's gaze threatening to burn a hole through her skull as all he did was stare at her as though she were some wild and unstable creature he had caught and was now entrapped in a cage and not at all sure what to do with it.
She felt another shudder run down her back and black spots began to creep in at the edges of her vision and she suddenly felt sick as bile rose in her throat.
She swallowed it back down, though if she did not step outside, she thought she would be sick.
She reached out a hand to steady herself against the bricked wall and pressed her cheek against the cold hard stone, relishing the soothing cooling feeling against her burning cheek which was turning clammy and hot. She nearly crawled out of her skin as he spoke, not expecting how calm he sounded.
"My lady, are you…well? You have gone pale. Are you growing sick? Shall I fetch Maester Banal?"
His smooth tenor-like tones sounded concerned, though it made her all the sicker still.
Sansa did not turn to face the man, though she felt his presence as he came to stand behind her, his sudden unexpected closeness was unwanted and caused the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on end in protest.
Sansa almost snapped at him before some small semblance of reason came back to her. She exhaled a shaky breath and kept her eyes closed.
"Air," she whispered in a hoarse, meek voice. She was surprised at how timid and almost childlike she sounded now.
She kept her face turned away from him and tried to breathe deeply but could only let out a moan as her stomach began to cramp.
It took only a fraction of a second for the dark-haired stranger to reach her side. He hovered behind her, seeming desperate to want to help her but not knowing how.
Without thinking of how untoward and forward this would seem, Domeric stretched out a hand and rested his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he intended to pull her away from the wall, to convince her to come away with him, outside for air.
In the middle of whatever agony Sansa was currently experiencing, she tensed and turned around, and pressed her back sharply against the wall.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed shrilly in terror, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head sharply to the side. She refused to look upon him.
Domeric jumped, pulling his hand back as though just her touch had burned him.
He was more than upset at himself and angry at whatever could have placed such doubt and fear in this young woman's heart.
In the split second it took for him to return his eyes to the girl's stricken and pale face, he realized with a heavy heart that his brother had been one of the ones who had hurt this poor soul.
All he could do was watch as the redhead's discomfort grew steadily worse.
She moved one hand from the wall to grasp at her stomach and used the stones of the wall as a support brace for her back as she slid to the floor, breathing heavily.
For reasons that Domeric could not explain, he began to wish that it was his hand for which this girl had reached. He did not understand this odd notion and shook it away promptly, watching in abject horror as her eyelids flickered open and shut, barely perceptively.
He knelt into a crouch in front of her, careful to keep a respectful enough distance, though he could see with a practiced eye the girl was on the brink.
"Nononononno, don't go to sleep, do you hear me?" he warned, a twinge of panic laced throughout his voice as she again shut her eyes.
He knew the dangers sleeping in her condition could expose her to.
She would need to stay awake and talking to him, for at least a few minutes more until he could get her back to her rooms and fetch Maester Banal once more. Dread wormed its way up to his heart as she rested her head back against the wall and did not respond to hm. He ground his teeth in utter vexation.
"Y-your name, Lady, can you tell me your name?" he urged, wracking his brain as he fought to think of something—anything—that would keep her awake and talking.
He hesitated as he stretched out a hand to lift her to her feet and escort her back, though stopped, unsure if the young woman would allow it.
After a minute, she peeked open one eye and looked at him with such mistrust and suspicion that Domeric began to hate his brother, thinking that surely, Ramsay had placed this fear in the girl's heart.
It seemed to take her an eternity to summon enough strength in her throat to manage an answer.
"Cate—ah, I mean, Catelyn," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "M-my name is…Catelyn," she voiced her name all the while her body started to tremble. "...Yours?" she questioned him after an awkward silence.
He rose his brows so far up onto his forehead that they almost receded into his hairline as he heard the nervousness in her voice.
Her skittishness and how she could barely look him in the eyes made him question whether or not this woman was telling the truth.
Though for the moment, he had no reason to not believe her.
Domeric hesitated, chewing on the inner wall of his mouth as he contemplated whether or not to answer her truthfully, considering how horribly she must have suffered at the hands of his brother.
There was no telling how she would react to learning Ramsay and he were brothers; therefore, he would be cautious for now, and only reveal his first name. His surname he thought he would divulge when she was of a better sound mental state to properly converse with him and had the ability to listen to him.
"It suits you." He let out a nervous chuckle, though thanks to his nerves, it sounded more like a fitful sigh. "And my name is Domeric, my lady. I am simply called Domeric, nothing more and nothing less than that, Lady Catelyn," he said softly, hoping his tone sounded soothing as the faint ghost of a smile flitted across her features and a pink blush speckled along her cheeks.
And then, her smile widened, despite how sick she felt. She wished she could tell him that she thought the name suited him and return the compliment, though she lacked the strength to answer. She felt dizzy. Her ears began to buzz until the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears drowned out all other sounds. She saw spots.
The man called Domeric did not catch her as she fell to the ground in an ungainly heap, no longer able to sit upright even against the wall for support, and the last thing she heard was the sound of her skull smacking against the cold hard stone floor of the corridor.