It was dusk by the time they reached Winterfell. The lanterns had been lit as the sun set over the moors and mountains, making the great grey castle appear almost warm and welcoming. It would've been home to Ross whatever it looked like. King's Landing was grand and impressive, but it never, ever felt like home; it had a dark history, had seen far too much pain over the years. As had the Dreadfort. She had been its lady for fourteen years, but there were certain places she went, sometimes, when she was alone, that just made her uneasy. A prickle on her neck, a shiver up her spine, like she shouldn't be there. No matter how long she stayed in that castle, Winterfell would always be where her heart lay.
She rode alongside Ren as they passed through the gates into the courtyard. She scanned the assembled crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her younger three children; the girls should have been in Winterfell a week already, and her son had been fostered there since he was nine. Sure enough, Edrick was stood to the right of the Starks, Aileen beside him, now a good inch or so shorter than her brother where they'd once been the same height. Of all her children, Aileen was the most like her, rather shrewd and reserved, though far more studious and eager to learn than Ross had ever been. And she looked most definitely like a Bolton. Edrick looked most like Ross of all of them, yet took after her brother Brandon in temperament, wild, hot-tempered and brazen, with more than a drop of wolfblood to him. Morganna, who was stood on her brother's other side, appeared a perfect young lady, but her mischievous grey eyes said otherwise, as did her ever-present amused grin. Oh hells, she looked too much like Princess Myrcella... Jaime at least would notice, if nothing else. Gods, she should have told him far earlier than this. Even she hadn't been completely sure herself, given how small she was when she was born, until the girl had started to grow to be a beauty. Since then, well. She hadn't been able to tell him. It was safer.
The King was greeted first, of course, impatient as ever but glad to see Ned. Then the queen - Ross had bitten back a smirk when the enormous wheelhouse couldn't fit through the gates so the occupants had to walk - and the three royal children, thirteen year old Joffrey and Myrcella, then eleven year old Tommen. Robert took noticeably greater pride in introducing Loreon after, who looked so much more like him than the queen's children, and the look in Cersei Lannister's eyes was murderous. And then it was their turn.
"Ross," Ned smiled at her as she approached him, having handed her horse over to an anxious-looking stable boy. She wasn't expecting a big show of a greeting from her brother, nor did she want one. She and Ned had always had the same self contained, reserved manner that often came across as cold to others.
"Ned," She smiled the same smile and went to embrace him, briefly but tightly. After they broke apart, Ross turned her attention to the three standing at the end of the line of Stark children. Whilst Ned greeted Ren, who was now taller than he was, she raised an eyebrow at her children, and Morganna didn't hesitate before rushing forward to meet her in a crushing hug. Edrick followed but didn't hug her, Aileen calm at his side as Ned was pulled away to the crypts by an impatient Robert, despite the queen's obvious displeasure. Cersei swept inside with her children, casting a characteristically disdainful look over everything, and everyone else began organising the party, leaving them in peace. Ross saw Jaime follow his sister, but glance their way, cool green eyes glancing over the girl he never even knew was his, before the second was over and he was gone. There would be time later, she told herself, ignoring the nasty feeling writhing in her stomach.
"I missed you," Morganna murmured against her chest. She wouldn't say it in anyone else's hearing. Robb and Edrick would surely tease her for it.
"And I you," Ross stroked her dark hair for a moment before releasing her, and returning her son's grin with a faint smile, mirrored by Aileen. "You look like you've got in trouble already," She said dryly, but put a hand on his shoulder briefly, knowing he wouldn't appreciate being fussed by his mother in front of people, giving Aileen a short, one-armed embrace.
"Never," He swore, and Aileen scoffed quietly.
"How long have you been in Winterfell?" Ross asked her daughter.
"We got here four days ago," Aileen gave a small smile. "Father's not coming anymore. He said to tell you,"
"Such a shame," Morganna's grin said otherwise. Roose Bolton was more often than not irritated with the girl he believed his daughter. She was Lady Margaret's favourite bar Aileen, and could be the picture of courtesy and charm when she wanted, but she had a sharp tongue on her, and tended to rile people against her more often than not with her irreverence. Much like her father. She was also... tricksy. That seemed the only word for it. She was a good liar, and enjoyed making things up for fun. Ross had learned to see through her, but everyone from her nursemaids to the guards at the Dreadfort and Winterfell had fallen victim to her tall tales, delivered with wide, innocent eyes.
"I didn't think he'd miss a chance to greet the king," Ross was nothing short of delighted at the fact that her husband wouldn't be there to see Morganna next to the Lannisters. It would've been doable, but difficult, to ensure his suspicions weren't aroused. Of course, it was harder to see if you weren't looking for similarities as she was, but any less chance of him seeing them together was nothing short of a blessing. He was a scarily intelligent man, Lord Bolton. That unsettling feeling she got in certain parts of the Dreadfort... she occasionally got that around her husband too. But in the end, he was only a man. He couldn't see straight through her, no matter that that was how it often seemed. She'd be dead if he could.
It was then that Ren returned from where he'd been seeing to his and Jaime's horses. Morganna immediately rushed forward and flung her arms around him too, and though he seemed initially startled, he soon smiled and hugged her back, before doing the same to Aileen and clapping Edrick on the back. Ross watched their reunion for a moment before turning to the rest of the family.
"Catelyn. You look well," Ned's wife looked the perfect lady, austere and composed, but Ross saw the strain in her face where others wouldn't.
"And you," Catelyn smiled tightly. Ross supposed she had somewhat of a friend in Catelyn now. Somewhat. They had been cold to each other at first, but over the years had grown to get along, at least. Friends were something Ross rarely had, let alone female ones. Her only close female companion had been dead for over fourteen years. "I must say I'm glad you're back. Overseeing a royal visit with just a month in advance was rather... tiring,"
"I can imagine," Ross noticed her goodsister's eyes darting to the side. "Go," She smiled slightly. "I know you've got things to do," Catelyn looked relieved.
"We'll talk later," She agreed. "Children, make your aunt welcome," No mention of their cousin, but that would also explain why Jon Snow wasn't here to greet them. Catelyn Tully made no secret her disdain for bastard children, and for that reason her and Ross would never be close. The woman was dutiful, ladylike and proper to a fault. Sometimes, when she was being particularly irritating, Ross had the urge to snap at her how she had planned to kill her unborn child when she thought it was of Targaryen blood, how she had tried to kill her husband the night before the wedding, how she had fucked the Kingslayer in a crowded castle and actively enjoyed breaking her marriage vows, how she had passed her bastard daughter off as her husband's. She never would say any of that aloud, of course, least of all to Catelyn, but it was amusing to imagine the expression on the woman's face if she ever did.
As Catelyn swept away, barking instructions at a serving boy manhandling an expensive-looking trunk, Ross turned to her nieces and nephews. So much had changed even in four short months. Robb was looking almost a man. Sansa, still a girl but growing to be a beautiful young lady. Arya had changed the least; still a wild little girl, who worried Ned by acting so much like their sister. Bran, sweet and gentle but an inch or so taller. Little Rickon, who had grown the most. Jon, of course, wasn't there. Robb stepped forward, grinning at Ren.
"Gods, you are tall now," He sounded a little envious, and Ren smirked, looking sideways at her.
"No idea where I get it from," Ross raised an eyebrow at him, but that just made him look more amused. She shook her head - there was a time not so long ago when that look would've made his eyes wide and his lips start spilling hasty apologies - but had to smile. She was fairly tall for a woman, but she clearly wasn't where Ren had gotten his height from.
"Look at you, riding with princes and knights," Robb grinned. "Do I call you Ser Snow now, or my Lord?"
"Give it a few months," There was a wicked glint to Ren's eye. "Lord Stark," Robb punched his arm good-naturedly and he laughed.
"Could you beat father in a fight now?" Bran asked eagerly. "Have you slain any villain knights yet?" The boy had always longed to be a knight, and would most likely become a squire himself in the near future with Catelyn's connections in the south.
"Ren could win against any southron flower," Edrick snorted. "What about the Kingslayer?"
"No villain knights," Ren said to Bran, then turned to his brother. "And I haven't beaten Ser Jaime yet, but I could definitely beat a skinny little thing like you," He grinned as the others laughed, and Edrick opened his mouth in outrage; for all Ren joked, his half-brother was not a skinny boy, nor small for his age, big where Ren was lean. The others laughed, all but Sansa, who sniffed. Clearly her fantasies of dashing knights in shining armour were not being lived up to by her bastard cousin.
"Don't be cocky," Ross cut in lightly. "I know you learn from the best, but do try to be selective in what you pick up from Ser Jaime," Gods, good thing Edrick had been the twin...
"I can't believe your the Kingslayer's squire," Bran said enviously.
"Father doesn't like him," Robb reminded her.
"Not many do," Ross said, and Ren gave her an amused look.
"Can you show me how to fight, Ren?" Arya glared at her brother. "I want to learn like the boys, but father says no, and no one else will teach me," Ross knew exactly why Ned said no. Arya was already enough like their sister, though at least she didn't seem to be the secret romantic at heart that Lya had been.
"Could you even lift a sword?" Sansa asked, wrinkling her nose.
"I could lift a bigger one than you," That was probably true.
"With those skinny arms?" Edrick teased.
"I'm strong!"
"Whatever you say, Twiggy,"
"Then I'll have a small sword, stupid,"
"Stop it," Sansa hissed, eyeing the courtyard nervously. "People are looking," Anyone important had all gone inside. Morganna laughed - though they were the same age, her and Sansa had never really got along well (when they were younger, their encounters often ended in Sansa running off to her septa or Lady Catelyn in tears) - whilst Arya pulled a face.
"No they're not," She stopped arguing anyway when Aileen put a hand on her shoulder.
"I've missed this," Ren looked amused. "It's not like this in King's Landing. Fewer wolves," He looked pointedly down at the wolf pups sat at each of the children's feet. Ross had been meaning to ask about them too.
"Yes, where did they all come from?"
"They're direwolves," Arya said proudly. "Robb and Jon found them in the Wolfswood," That was a story in itself, direwolves south of the Wall, in summer too. She must ask Ned about that.
"Their mother was dead," Robb said. "So we took them back. One each,"
"We didn't get one," Morganna didn't sound too concerned. "There's a spare, but it didn't seem to like any of us,"
"Yes, come and see," Ren didn't protest as Arya dragged him away towards the kennels, Bran and Edrick hurrying after them, leaving Ross with Sansa, Morganna and Aileen. Three young ladies, all with Stark blood, but all so very different.
"I must get ready for the feast," Sansa explained herself not going after the others. "Apologies, Auntie," She gave a polite curtsey that even the prissiest southron lady would be proud of and hurried away. Sansa always seemed slightly nervous of her aunt, perhaps because the inane chirping the septa and her mother had drilled into her had never worked on Ross. At times, Ross had had to stop herself disillusioning the girl in all her fantasies of songs and stories; Sansa deserved a childhood, and though Ross didn't agree that keeping her ignorant was a good idea, she was not her mother. As far as Sansa was concerned, Ross had just been a hostage in King's Landing during the rebellion, perhaps sitting sadly in a tower, untouched and lonely like a lady in a song. It didn't even occur to her that anything else might have happened. In real life, ladies like that never stayed untouched.
"Do you need hours to get ready?" She asked her own daughters slightly sardonically. Morganna laughed, showing perfect white teeth, and Aileen smiled slightly.
In the bedchamber she'd slept in since she was a child, Ross looked at her reflection critically in the looking glass on her dressing table. She wasn't a high maintenance woman, and had never been a beauty like the ones of song; that role had gone to her sister, who had been truly stunning, with a daring boldness that caused many to admire her. Ross on the other hand was quieter, and fairly plain - not ugly, but not wildly beautiful like her sister, who had taken after their mother and Brandon - with a sharp chin, long face, long pointed nose and dull steel grey eyes, as well as her tall and flat frame. This used to bother her when she was younger. The plainer Stark daughter by far, as Aerys had liked to say. But now Ross was glad she wasn't beautiful. Her sister had been, and she had taken after the beauties of legend in more than looks; she had the tragic tale, too.
She finished arranging her hair into a northern style - no intricate braids in sight, with most of her long hair remaining down, a small plait running down the back - and put in a pair of elegant jet earrings, matching her necklace. That night her bodice was black, fairly high necked as always, and her skirts were a dark forest green. The lacing was at the back, but she was used to lacing up her own clothes so managed it easily enough. There were plenty of handmaids that could assist her in dressing, but that just reminded her of all the times Aerys had her dress up like a doll, all in purple, only to rip her clothes off later.
"Does the spare wolf have a name?" Ross asked Morganna, sat next on the edge of the bed swinging her legs, dressed in a fine blue and silver gown and with her hair done like Ross'. Her youngest daughter was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful, almost as much as a young Cersei Lannister. She'd have to keep her away from the queen and Myrcella tonight.
"I call him Crow," The girl shrugged. Ross smiled. "Arya said the name was stupid. She's called her wolf Nymeria so I don't know what she's laughing about. But Crow's stuck now, the kennel boys won't call him anything else,"
"Nymeria's the name of a warrior queen," Aileen was brushing her long black hair, and gave her sister a flat look. Her gown was simple, in Bolton pink and Stark grey, but pretty nonetheless. She was a little less skinny than Ross had been at that age, shorter too, and the majority of her features came from the Boltons, aside from her nose, which unfortunately was Ross'. "Crow is named after a bird,"
"It's not as bad as Shaggydog, though," Morganna grinned, and Aileen had to smile. "Rickon's wolf," She explained to Ross. There was a short pause, then Morganna's grinned bared a few more of her teeth. "Lizzie Lewis was looking forward to seeing Ren again,"
"I'm sure," Ross murmured. She hadn't even thought about that girl. Lizzie Lewis was the daughter of one of the washerwomen in the castle laundry, and Ren had been close friends with her since he had visited Winterfell when they were young children. The girl was fifteen now, but was already growing a reputation, many muttering that she would surely end up in a whorehouse. Ross disliked talk like that, but she couldn't deny that the rumours had some weight to them; the girl was pretty - with curly brown hair, ice blue eyes and high cheekbones - and vivacious, but was the biggest flirt Ross had ever seen, and certainly dressed to best show off her growing woman's figure. Gods, knowing what Ren and Loreon were like in King's Landing - the two were both handsome, could be very charming when they wanted and didn't usually have to visit a brothel to find a girl (her son thought she didn't know of his activities; as if, she just ignored them) - she didn't need to imagine where he'd be spending the night.
Ross and her daughters made it to the feast in good time. Ross entered after the King and his family had been escorted in by Ned and his trueborn children; Joffrey with Sansa, poor blessedly ignorant girl, Myrcella with Robb, Arya with Tommen then Bran and Rickon, who lingered at the lower tables and had to be ushered on by Jon Snow. Ross had to smile as Tyrion Lannister was escorted in on the arm of Morganna, who looked fascinated by the dwarf; she was glad to see Tyrion was conversing with her daughter with amusement and good humour, but slightly wary of him figuring out the resemblance between the girl and his elder brother. Aileen entered with Edrick. As for Ross, Jaime was the only one left - it would've been absurd to have her walk with Tyrion, she was five foot eight - and was waiting for her, offering his arm and a polite greeting, though he smirked at her as they followed the others into the great hall.
Ren was sat down with Jon Snow and Loreon Storm, amongst the rest. Of course Lizzie Lewis was a serving maid that night, laughing and busying herself with filling Ren's glass as he smirked at something she said. Ross let go of Jaime and took her own place at the high table next to Catelyn; on her goodsister's other side sat the queen, smiling coldly as ever, stoically ignoring her husband.
The feast was... a feast. The usual. Lots of food, lots of drinking, lots of talking, lots of laughter. Ross never particularly enjoyed feasts much, and would rather have spent more time with her children, Ned or Jaime. That wasn't possible, however. She spoke with Catelyn for the most part, and Cersei a little as well, although the queen spent much of the time pretending things were fine as Robert blatantly groped several different serving girls. As the hours wore on, she talked with Benjen, who was visiting from the Wall; her younger brother had been at there since he was fifteen, and she had seen him only a handful of times since. He definitely acted older than when she had last seen him. The slightly reserved but essentially good humoured man he was now was far from the eager little boy trailing after his siblings who he had once been.
Late into the feast, she saw Jon leave the hall looking angry and red faced amidst a small gale of laughter from where he'd been sat. She was glad to see that Ren - a dark direwolf pup darting around his ankles - got up to follow him outside; the two boys understood each other more than the other children, who couldn't know what it was like to be a bastard. Catelyn treated Jon terribly; though Ross had little say in that, she had made it very clear that Ren was not to be treated as such in her family home. At the Dreadfort, and particularly in King's Landing, things were worse. Ren had had to grow a thick skin to deal with the sorry excuses for people there. Loreon was somewhat helpful in that regard as, even if he wasn't the King's son, they dared not say anything to his face simply because he had always been large and muscular boy, where her son had been as tall and thin as a beanpole. Although even since her last visit, Ross had noticed people start to take care not to insult Ren to his face too, especially after the memorable occasion she herself had caught him forcing another squire's head into the wall, twisting his arm behind his back and threatening him rather too well for it to have been his first time. She had raised an eyebrow and asked what Ren thought was doing; apparently the boy had been laughing about the fact that any number of Targaryen guardsmen could be Ren's father. The little sympathy she had for him vanished on the spot, and she had left her son to it.
She cast a look down the table. Jaime was sat beside his nephew, Joffrey. Jaime and Cersei both looked glad not to sit together. The golden Lannister twins had getting more and more cold to one another ever since the rebellion, arguing several months before the Riverrun tourney eleven years ago and then separating permanently some time last year for a reason Jaime still hadn't told her. Ross wasn't sorry for her loss. Jaime was better off without Cersei hissing in his ear, trying to control him. It went without saying that he was also better off without his sister warming his bed, no matter how beautiful said sister was.
She saw Jaime watching Morganna laughing with her brother (who had returned several minutes ago to find his brother and sisters come down from the high table) and Loreon, a faint smile on his face as he saw her sneak a gulp of Jon's leftover drink, which Ren caught her at and rightly moved away. Ross felt a stab of panic in her stomach at the attention Jaime was giving her, but then felt like groaning as she watched Ren grin wickedly and pull a laughing Lizzie Lewis into his lap whilst ignoring hoots from Loreon, Edrick (who had made his way down from the high table) and others around them. Jaime turned to Ross, smirking and catching her eye briefly with a look she knew, before looking away. Ross waited a minute or so then politely made her excuses to Catelyn and the disinterested queen, saying that she was exhausted from weeks of travel and needed to retire for the night, not having any wish to watch a washerwoman's daughter drape herself over her son. She bade goodnight to Ned, asked Robert for leave, which he granted with a drunken wave of his hand, before slipping out of the hall and back to her room. Jaime would follow, after some time. He knew the way; she'd told him in detail.
Ross waited for twenty minutes, stood by the open window looking out at the night. When she heard the door open, she didn't look around right away. She felt strong hands on shoulders, but they trailed down to her waist to begin to slowly undo the laces of her dress. As the material gaped open, he turned her around to face him and kissed her deeply, slipping a hand into the open back of her gown and drawing her close. The room was dimly lit by the few candles that remained burning, dark enough for them to be invisible to anyone who might be outside but enough light to be able to faintly see each other.
Having spent three weeks on the road, with very limited opportunities to be this intimate, both of them more than made the most of the time they had. After, Ross pulled on her nightclothes, which Jaime protested at until he realised how cold it was outside the bed with the window open and redressed himself. They both stood side by side facing the window, his arm round her waist, the candles blown out and practically the whole castle asleep.
"I can't stay," He reminded her. She leaned her head to rest against his shoulder.
"I know,"
He stayed anyway, for better or worse. Once they were lying together in the bed she'd had since she was a child, he turned onto his side to face her.
"Who's the girl Ren was with?" He sounded amused.
"A washerwoman's daughter," Ross sighed. "They've been friends since they were children. And haven't seen each other in two years, so don't expect him early tomorrow," Jaime chuckled.
"I can't decide whether Giana's boy is the bad influence on him or if it's the other way around,"
"I think they're both as bad as each other,"
"Ah, it's not a problem," Jaime shifted onto his back, drawing her close with an arm. "He's young, let him enjoy himself," The fact that he was years younger than Ren when he'd started sleeping with Cersei went unsaid. "Now here's a frightening thought. We met when we were his age,"
"Don't," Ross shook her head, as he smirked. "What a pair we were. The arrogant young knight with a pretty face - "
"Pretty," He said scornfully. She gave a small laugh, moving in his arms.
"I remember you at fifteen," A smile played at her lips. "With blonde hair to your shoulders and wide green eyes that hadn't seen the world yet,"
"And what of you?" She could hear the smirk in his tone. "All spindly arms and legs like a colt, wearing the stoniest expression I ever saw outside a statue,"
"That never changed," She lay her head on his chest, looking up at him, and he laughed. "And you never did cut your hair," She ran her fingers through the golden mane, her tone mocking. "Those curls wouldn't look out of place on a blushing maiden fair," She couldn't keep a straight face; the thought was laughable.
"Does that make you the bear?" Jaime asked innocently, and she hit his chest indignantly. He laughed. "No, I suppose not. You hit like a maiden fair,"
"If it's a bear you want, that can be arranged,"
"A she-wolf is quite enough, my lady, trust me,"
Shuffling away from him - she didn't like sleeping in anyone's arms, she got too hot - and blowing out the last flickering candle, closing her eyes.
Drip... Drip... Drip... Hands, she must clean her hands. Dripping, they were, with dark, thick blood, into the cold basin, staining everything it touched. More blood flowed through her fingers, a never-ending, immovable stream, down her wrists, staining the white sleeves of her nightdress. But he was going to take her away from her child, her handsome boy, take her and use her and force her, like the Mad King. Aerys! Aerys, Aerys, here... No, he was dead. She'd stood over the body. Kicked it. Opened its eyes just for the satisfaction. But he was here. It was undoubtedly the Targaryen, bearing down upon her with a skeleton's grinning teeth, purple eyes glowing, silver hair hanging in long rats tails, his frightful face leering, getting closer, six inch nails scratching down her skin, tearing at her flesh, no matter how she screamed inside. He laughed and laughed, high and cackling, she plunged a dagger into his chest again and again and he laughed harder, the shade of the Mad King melting into becoming her husband on his back, her suddenly over him now, with staring pale eyes the colour of her dress, ghostly and accusing, dead lips softly whispering promises of fire and blood, as his own spilled over her hands. She looked up, saw her reflection in the mirror. Drip. Drip. Drip. Blood in the basin. She looked like a corpse again but worse hollow black eye sockets, cold white skin, her dress stained red, hands slick from the dagger. Then it changed, and it was Ren, dead in the mirror, Aileen, Edrick, Morganna, Ned, Benjen, Jaime next to him, all grinning ghoulishly, hideously, dead. Golden hair matted red. Shades appeared behind her and she spun around, three dark figures, Brandon, Father, Lya, flat stares accusing, judging, reaching out towards her with grasping fingers. Her lips parted in an anguished scream, everything melted to black -
Ross awoke with a slight gasp, sweating. She breathed heavily, taking a few moments to convince herself it was a dream. But some of it had been real. The memories of Aerys definitely were. It was still late, still night. On the other side of the bed, facing away, Jaime didn't stir. She didn't want to close her eyes again. She hadn't had a dream like that in months. They had become less frequent over the years, but never stopped entirely.
She stayed awake, staring at the dark window until the sun rose hours later.
