Two Years Later

Winterfell

The shrill scream of a young child echoed into the cold air, gaining the attention of passersby.

"All is well, sweetling," Mya hushed the toddler. "Please stop crying."

She stood overlooking the courtyard, hoping the babe would be soothed by the sight and sound of his parents sparring.

However, he continued to throw a tantrum.

"Halt!"

Below, Bellegere blocked a hard blow from her husband and pushed him back with a grin.

"Covenient stoppage," the tall man huffed in annoyance. "I almost had you."

"Your son is driving Lady Mya mad."

"Our son, you mean," Brynden chuckled lightly.

"It's your own fault. You got him attached to your wolf and now he won't do anything without her."

She rolled her eye, but was unable to rebuke his statement. It was only right that her son became acclimated to her wolf early on.

If she met an untimely end, he would still have a part of her left behind to protect him.

"Runa, come!"

When her wolf bounded up to her, Brynden watched with a small smile on his bearded face.

At first he feared her, but once she accepted him, he came to adore her.

"Where've you been, my girl? Terrorizing the horses again?"

Bellegere wrapped her arms around the black beast, and carefully dodged a series of licks aimed at her cheek.

"Go to Cregan, please," she said. "We will spend time together later. I promise."

After several more licks, Runa's tail whipped to and fro as she took off to find her human brother.

"Back to it, then."

Brynden raised his sword, locking eyes with his smirking wife. Her brows rose when he began to circle her slowly.

"I have a challenge for you, my lady," he said, twirling his sword. "Whoever loses this match has to brush our horses for a fortnight."

Bellegere laughed, shaking her head.

"We have stable boys for that. How about whoever loses has to give the other foot massages for a fortnight?"

Brynden hummed, furrowing his brows.

"Is that a punishment or a reward?"

His wife shrugged, failing to contain a grin.

"Come now, Lord Blackwood," Bellegere said, pointing her blade towards him.

"Take this beating so we can get on with our day."

Above them, Mya Stone watched.

Her jaw clenched tightly as she focused on the smile that adorned her lady's face. It was beautiful and bright, but so familiar that it hurt.

She clutched the babe in her arms as he reached out to touch Runa. The wolf sat beside her sniffing at the child's small hands.

Mya smiled faintly and rubbed the boy's back.

Although she held a special disdain for baby Cregan's father, she loved him dearly.

He looked like Brynden already, with his pitch black hair, but his Stark gray eyes reminded her of Bellegere through and through.

Cregan was needy and cried anytime his was absent from his mother or her loyal wolf.

He was a handful for even the most experienced nannies.

Yet, she would do anything for him.

Even watch his mother and father fall deeper in love before her very eyes.

The Lady of Winterfell twisted the ring on her finger as she listened to her council.

"If House Stark vacates Winterfell, the Warden of the North shall spare their lives," Maester Luwin read slowly.

"However, if House Stark chooses to take up arms, Lord Ramsay Bolton shall execute them, and any who stand with them, for high treason and insubordination."

Bellegere's jaw flexed.

"Those are the terms," she asked incredulously. "Vacate my home or die?"

"There is more, but I fear it is much too offensive to speak aloud."

Bellegere frowned, furrowing her brows.

"Let us hear it."

Luwin proceeded begrudgingly.

"He also says...that he will keep the 'crippled wench' and take her as his wife. A merciful punishment for the treason she committed against the crown."

Bellegere's hands balled into fists beneath the table, and she fought to keep herself calm.

"When I am cold in my grave," Lord Brynden muttered under his breath.

She glanced at her husband.

His face was reddened and his jaw clenched tightly.

All of the people around the table shared his anger at this ridiculous statement as well.

In the past year, both King Joffrey Baratheon and Lord Roose Bolton had died.

When she recieved the news, she hoped that their vendetta against her house would be buried along with them.

However, it lived on.

Upon the decree of the Dowager Queen, Cersei Lannister, House Bolton was given permission to take Winterfell as their own.

Therefore, Bellegere's rage was divided between Ramsay Bolton and the queen.

The new Warden of the North was the first to proclaim his desire for the ancestral seat of the Kings of Winter and every known Warden of the North.

However, Cersei was the one to grant him the opportunity to take it.

"House Bolton has amassed allies among the northern folk, my lady," Ser Rodrik Cassel said, glancing down at the table.

"Houses Karstark and Umber have proclaimed their support to the Boltons, as well as houses Dustin and Manderly. I suspect their combined army of seven thousand will arrive within the next four months."

Lord Brynden watched his wife's emotions flicker across her face. She was silent and stoic, but the flaring of her nostrils spoke volumes to him.

He knew she felt angry and betrayed by the houses that swore their loyalty to her own and, yet, broke faith so easily.

There were a handful of offenses that enraged her, and the breaking of an oath was on the top of that list.

"He either means to gode us into war," she said clasping her hands together.

"Or he assumes I don't have the audacity to call my banners. Because I'm a 'crippled' woman, a wife, and a new mother. He thinks I am weak."

"I believe that would explain his nonchalance, my lady," Ser Rodrik said, frowning.

Bellegere swallowed thickly.

The weight of the decision she was about to make was heavy on her shoulders.

She sighed and glanced around the room full of men who were loyal to her. She held their fates, as well as that of her family, in her hands.

She turned to her sweet husband, who looked as if he was prepared to march on the Dreadfort by himself.

Bellegere took a deep breath, knowing that her decision was already made.

"But, I am not weak," Bellegere said, lifting her chin. "I do not cower at the prospect of defending my family and my people."

How could she be weak when her life was guided by a higher purpose and the blessings of the Old Gods?

"It wounds me that I must endanger them by indulging in this mummer's farce, but I will not allow the home my forefather built to be taken by House Bolton. Crippled, I may be, but I would never bend the knee. Especially not to some glorified bastard."

As her voice reverberated in the room, all eyes focused on her. All ears listened intently.

Melisandre watched as well.

She smiled faintly as her mistress displayed the qualities that enraptured her to begin with.

There was war in her eye.

This was a queen masquerading as a lady.

Not for long, she mused.

"House Stark has dwelled within the walls of Winterfell for over eight millenia," Bellegere stated, sitting upright in her chair.

"And we will remain within these walls until the last stone turns to dust, and my ancestors awaken in the crypts below."

The atmosphere of the room was no longer somber. The faces of her advisors were wrought with determination and pride.

"Now...what allies do we have?"

Ser Rodrik Cassel grinned and leaned forward as if he'd been waiting for this question all day.

"Houses Mormont, Cerwyn, Reed, and Glover. As well as houses Tully and Blackwood of the riverlands, my lady."

She nodded.

"How many men?"

"Alone we have four thousand, but our bannermen would provide approximately four thousand more."

Bellegere shared a proud glance with her husband across the table.

Amidst the haze of falling in love with him, she nearly forgot the reason she married him.

This information reminded her.

Their allies in the riverlands gave her the edge that she would need against the Bolton army.

"The odds are in our favor," she said, stroking her chin. "Surely, they know this. Could they have allies we aren't aware of?"

"It is a possibility."

The Mistress of Whispers caught her lady's eye.

"I will gather intelligence at your behest, my lady," Melisandre said dutifully.

Bellegere gave her a small nod.

"Do so. I don't wish to be surprised," she said, pursing her lips.

"I also want intelligence on the locations of my siblings, Rickon, Brandon, and Arya, and the well being of my sister, Sansa, in King's Landing. Maester Luwin, send a raven to my brother at the wall. If we are to go to war, our enemies cannot have leverage over us in any way."

Melisandre bowed her head obediently.

"My lady, a raven came from the wall just yesterday," Master Luwin said smiling faintly.

"Your half brother, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, has expressed his desire to return home. With a thousand wildlings, no less."

Bellegere smiled, reigning in the overwhelming emotions this news evoked within her. Of course her brother would come home when she needed him most.

As the Lady of Winterfell stood from her chair, the entire room followed respectfully.

"If Ramsay Snow desires the ancestral seat of House Stark, we will give it to him. In all of it's glory and might," she said, casting her one-eyed gaze over everyone in the room.

After a long pause, she spoke in a calm tone.

"Call the fucking banners."

The next day, when Bellegere visited her young son in the nursery, Mya was holding him as he slept.

"How is my little lord," she asked, smiling softly.

"Are you still spoiling him rotten?"

Her friend chuckled lightly.

"He deserves such treatment, my lady," Mya murmured, rocking back and forth in her chair.

"He has no right to be so adorable."

Bellegere helped her friend as she stood up, and carefully took her son into her arms.

She glanced down at him tenderly.

In his face, Bellegere saw her father, her brother, and even her mother who died birthing her. She hoped her mother was smiling down at her proudly.

"I agree," Bellegere muttered. "I never thought I could love another person the way I love him. He is everything."

The sight of her friend holding her peacefully sleeping baby warmed Mya's heart. She never imagined her as a mother, but she was taking on the role as if she were made for it.

The pregnancy and birthing process had been surprisingly easy for her. She took the pain in stride and did not complain once throughout the entire journey.

Mya hoped her own pregancy would be just as effortless.

"You grow more and more each day."

Bellegere hesitantly reached out to place a hand on the swell of her stomach and she blushed crimson.

"Soon, you will feel as I do," she said, smiling widely. "You only have a few months left, yes?"

Mya nodded, grimacing as the baby kicked.

Her discomfort did not go unnoticed.

"When did you last visit the Maesters," Bellegere asked, glancing up at her with a serious expression.

She smiled, rubbing her friend's hand softly.

It seemed, every day, Bellegere asked her the same question without fail.

"Just yesterday," she said quietly. "They believe the babe and I are progressing healthily, and I am not surprised. What with my lady providing us the finest food and hospitality the north can muster."

Bellegere nodded, releasing a tightly held breath.

"And Ser Royce. Is he still overjoyed that you are carrying his child? I trust that he is treating you with the respect you require in your delicate state."

"He is," she said. "Although we disagree on the babes' sex. He believes it will be a boy, of course, and I am loathe to agree."

Bellegere glanced down at her belly with a rare, soft smile. One she only saw during private moments.

And...when her lady was in the presence of her husband.

"The babe will be loved either way," she said adamantly. "Not to mention, rigorously protected."

A silver eye locked with her own, filled with promises and oaths solely reserved for her unborn child.

"I have no doubt, my lady," Mya said, looking down. "Thank you."

She was not fooled by the smile on her face.

For, she knew her far too well.

Ser Royce was Bellegere's sworn protector and most trusted confidant, but if she were to learn that he treated Mya with anything but love and adoration, he would soon regret it.

Thankfully, he was a good, loyal man, and he loved her almost as much as Bellegere did.

Or, used to.

It seemed all the love they once shared was being directed toward the growing child in her belly now.

"I know your husband has informed you of the battle that is brewing and that it will likely result in a war against the crown."

She nodded solemnly.

"I...gave him the option not to fight," Bellegere whispered. "He refused, of course."

"Why?"

Mya frowned in confusion.

"He is your sworn protector. Fighting beside you in battle is the epitome of what he swore to do," she said. "It is an insult to ask him not to."

Bellegere lifted her chin.

"He is a dear friend to me," she said, matter of factly. "Not only that, you are carrying his child. I would rather free him from his oath than leave you widowed and your child without a father."

When Bellegere removed her hand from Mya's stomach it was grasped tightly, keeping her from moving away.

"Will you be fighting, too," Mya asked accusatorily.

Memories of Bellegere running off with King Robb to fight battle after battle replayed in her mind.

Having been forbidden to join them, she was sent back to the Vale for her own safety. Every night was filled with worry, and nightmares chased away any form of rest she sought.

To imagine enduring that again was hell.

"You have a child now, too," Mya whispered harshly. "If you were to be injured...or worse I couldn't-"

"Lady Stone."

The expression on her face told Mya that she was about to cross a line.

Remembering herself, she held her tongue.

"All will be fine," Bellegere said, licking her dry lips.

"We have several months to prepare. All you need to focus on is readying yourself for the birthing process. Worry will only endanger you and your babe."

"Yes, my lady."

"Which is why I am relieving you of your duties," Bellegere continued. "I know you insist on tending to Cregan, but you are much too far along to handle the stress he causes."

Mya exhaled shakily, absolutely devasted.

Cregan was like her own child, in a way.

The thought of someone else caring for him irked her to no end.

No one would love him like she did.

All of the tenderness she held for Bellegere had been shoved into the darkest corners of her heart. But, when she cared for Cregan, she could allow herself to feel it again.

Even though Bellegere was acting in her best interest, it felt like a punishment.

"As you wish, my lady," Mya said quietly.

Bellegere ignored the urge to comfort her.

Instead, she placed her son in his bed and kissed his forehead softly.

"You may finish out the week as normal," she said, her back still turned. "But, after that, you must rest. I will ensure that you are catered to and compensated until you give birth."

Mya curtsied to her as she exited the room.

"Thank you, my lady."

When she was finally alone, her tears flowed freely.

That night, Bellegere lazily sat before the hearth with her husband.

As he massaged her aching feet, her brain remained fixated on the battle to come.

There was so much to lose, and for what?

All because Ramsay Bolton coveted Winterfell for himself. She wouldn't let him destroy the tentative happiness she'd achieved.

"An absent mind is forbidden in our bedchamber," Brynden said, cocking his head at his wife.

"Remember?"

Bellegere heaved a laugh.

She recalled the day when she forbade them both from bringing the stresses of the outside world into their private space.

"That rule was meant for you, husband," she said softly. "I know how to worry without weighing you down as well."

"You think you do. But, trust me. It weighs on me, too."

He sat beside her and took her hand in his own.

As he carressed it with his thumb, his eyes focused on the large, slightly raised scar on the back of it.

He'd noticed it many times.

"That was a mistake on my part," Bellegere muttered, lost in a memory.

"During the battle to reclaim Winterfell from the Ironborn, I underestimated an opponent. A Greyjoy who I once called a brother. I hesitated and he took his chance."

"Did you kill him?"

"No," she said, sighing deeply. "A mistake I won't repeat in the future. In battle, there is no space for love or tenderness."

Brynden locked eyes with her, frowning when he noticed her solemn expression.

He knew that look.

It was the look she gave him when they first married. One of trepidation.

"If it is me you worry about, you have no need, beloved," he said, sitting forward in his chair.

"I don't know battle, but I've been training for it since I was a boy. I am not a novice when it comes to fighting."

"But, you are a novice as it pertains to killing," she said boldly.

"Do you know what it means to watch the light leave a man's eyes? To see all of his fear and regret and pain on his face as he breathes his last breath? Do you even know the smell of death?"

Brynden clenched his jaw, looking away.

"I do not."

Bellegere closed her eye, blocking out the horrific memories that resurfaced.

"You will stay within the castle walls when the battle begins," she said sternly, hoping he would listen.

"I don't care how long you've trained, or how well you can fight. I need you to live. For me and for Cregan."

"For our son," Brynden asked incredulously. "He needs his mother more than anything. Do you think yourself so indispensable that you would risk your life without a second thought?"

Bellegere kissed his hand firmly, holding back the waterfall of tears in her eyes.

"Bryn..."

Becoming a wife and mother changed her.

It made her more protective and volatile towards threats to her family. She didn't know what she would do if her husband was harmed or met his end while fighting for her.

She never wanted to find out.

Within her lurked the blackest darkness, and the capacity for the most heinous crimes. If Brynden were to be killed, she feared the horrors she was capable of.

After gorging on grief for so many years, she could not fathom losing another loved one.

"He needs his father, most of all. Without you, how is he supposed to become a man," she said quietly.

"I breastfeed him and I give him all the love that a mother can, but his father must show him what it means to be a man. And, eventually, a lord."

Brynden kissed the scar on her hand.

"I understand the emotions you feel, Bellegere," he said, grinning despite himself.

"I will consider hiding in Winterfell, like a fair maiden, while my wife finds glory and valor on the battlefield."

Bellegere descended into raucous laughter, and he happily joined her.

It was the way Brynden wooed her, after all.

She was a hard woman, weened on the harsh realities of Stark sensibilities and the stoic, northern ways of life.

She rarely had time for mirth until him.

When their laughter eventually waned, she gave him a look that he knew well. One that was probably responsible for the conception of their child.

"Our son sleeps peacefully," Bellegere said, glancing at the crib beside their bed.

Brynden nodded slowly, pretending not to know what she was going to say.

"Is there any way I can persuade you to obey my command," she asked, tilting her head. "Could you be the fair maiden that I never was?"

Brynden's face still flushed even though he was not embarrassed by her bold flirtation anymore.

"In truth, no, but I won't begrudge you for trying."

Bellegere straddled him confidently.

"Is that so?"

Her hands traveled up his bare chest and grasped his neck. She pulled him closer until their lips brushed against each other ever so slightly.

Her beauty still astounded him.

He questioned if he ever truly knew desire.

"Then try I will, my husband."

That night, when Bellegere mounted her husband as she did her steed, she pondered how she came to adore him so powerfully.

Perhaps, it was his integrity.

The way he stood by everything he said and kept every oath he made.

Even when he was so ill that he could barely stand, he still found the strength to go outside and spar.

All in the name of preparing himself to protect their family, as he promised her.

"Belle," Brynden panted, gripping her hips firmly.

Maybe it was the way he respected her.

The way he allowed her to lead without feeling insecure in his manhood.

Or, his tradition of praying with her, and for her.

Over her and their child, beneath the all-seeing eyes of the Old Gods.

"Yes, my love?"

Her eye focused on his face, relishing in the way his thick lips pulled into a snarl.

It was simply his essence that attracted her.

Brynden kept her on her feet. Happily excited by his scent, his hands, his smile. His intelligence and his humor.

"Tell me," she whispered hoarsely. "Say it."

It was the way he loved her.

Forever wooing and courting her.

Most of all, Brynden looked at her the way she needed to be looked at. As if the world could disintegrate and he wouldn't blink.

The same way he was looking at her now, as she gave him pleasure that only she could.

The pleasure he deserved.

"I love you," Brynden whispered.

And it was true.

Bellegere recognized it in his eyes, and felt it in his frantic thrusts. She only hoped that he could see the same passion within her.

She was never one for public displays of affection. She considered it a sign of weakness.

However, when they were alone, she allowed herself to show him how she felt. Every aching sinew of devotion laid bare. All of her emotions on full display.

Because Brynden was her's.

And she, his.

When they both came down from the high of their climax, she kissed him so deeply that he couldn't breathe.

All he could do was look up into her mismatched eyes, filled with oaths and promises only reserved for him, and their small family that he hoped would grow.

"As I love you, my husband," Bellegere said reverently, holding his bearded face in her hands.

Just as the gods foretold, she came to need him, want him, and miss him more than she ever imagined.

Their brand of bonding was foreign.

Love had always been maroon to her. The color of dried blood. The feeling of isolation.

A slowly healing wound.

Yet, there's was not the searing wildfire she was accustomed to.

It was a calming coolness that lulled her into relaxation. An oasis of hope in a desert of grief.

Because she chose to love him, every single day.

Even when he annoyed her to no end or pissed her off to the high heavens.

So, even though Brynden insisted on putting himself in danger, Bellegere respected his willingness to protect their family.

She would fight ferociously at his side, daring anyone to come and tear them apart.

At their own bloody peril.