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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.
Merry Christmas my lovely readers! As I will not be back until after the holiday, I leave you this chapter in hopes that you enjoy!
Please excuse any errors. I did a quick edit on this chapter to get it out before I left for vacation.
Chapter Seventy: The Lannisters Send Their Regards
Reek
He was at war with himself. Two voices in his head, each of them saying something different, each of them yelling and screaming to be heard over the other. It was hard to sleep. It was hard to think. It was hard to be with the two voices constantly at it in his head. He knew the voices well, knew their cadence, their tone, their words. And each of them scared him for different reasons.
The louder, more forceful of the two voices belonged to Reek. It railed against Lenora. It screamed that she deserved everything Ramsay did to her. That she deserved to be punished for what she did to him on their wedding night. She shouldn't have cut him. And the night after, when he tried again she shouldn't have laughed at him. The master was sensitive, it was not her place as his wife to laugh. She deserved it when he hit her. She deserved it when he ordered the servants to stop bringing her food. She deserved it when he whipped her. She deserved it all, Reek told him. And if he was smart, he would listen to Reek. Reek was safe from Ramsay. Ramsay trusted Reek. Loved him even. As long as Reek did what he was told he would not be hurt.
But there was the second voice. Quieter than the first, but just as forceful. This voice that would whisper to him at night when Reek should have been sleeping. The second voice reminded him of how much Robb Stark had meant to him. It reminded him of how much Lenora had meant to Robb. It reminded him of how he had failed the Starks, how he had allowed his father to manipulate him, how he had killed those two boys and let the world think that it was Bran and Rickon, how he had stood by quietly when Roose Bolton brought Lenora to Winterfell and allowed his son to torment her for months before he forced her to marry him. The second voice whispered about how strong Lenora was, to fight against Ramsay when he wouldn't. It urged him to be just as strong as her, to do what he should have done long ago. To be the man he had been when he rode to battle at Robb Stark's side. This voice belonged to Theon Greyjoy.
He did not act on either of the two voices. He would not ignore Lenora's pain and blame her for her actions as the voice of Reek urged him to do. And he could not fight Ramsay or change the man's mind as Theon's voice wished. All he could do was watch, and wish that he would one day be strong enough to help the poor girl he had once sworn to protect with his life.
And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the rest of the keep was sleeping. He would tip toe to her chambers and bring her some food he had stolen from the kitchen. It was never much, he could not risk anyone noticing. It wasn't nearly as brave an action as Theon wanted from him. But it was enough to make Reek nervous.
If she knew that it was him that brought her the food, Lenora never mentioned it. She had stopped looking at him after that horrible wedding night. He couldn't fault her for it. When she had first seen him she looked to him, hoping to find some comfort, hoping that he would help her, continuing to see the best in him even when he couldn't see it himself. And time and time again he had failed. She wouldn't look at him anymore. She wouldn't talk to him anymore. He wondered, if she ever brought herself to speak to him, would she still call him Theon? Or had she finally realized that he was Reek?
...
She wasn't allowed a handmaiden anymore, not even Myranda who had so loved to verbally torture her. Ramsay wanted her to have as little contact with the outside world as possible. Only he and Reek were able to see her.
Ramsay would go to her every night, after the wedding night, when she had stolen his blade and cut his face he shut the door. He no longer wanted anyone, even Reek to witness what happened inside her chamber. But Reek knew because every night he stood outside the door, quiet as a shadow, listening and waiting. He knew that Ramsay never lay with her, not as a husband should lie with his wife because every night he heard Lenora's mocking words, her laughter; he heard Ramsay's frustrated groan when underneath her scrutiny he was unable to become aroused; he heard Ramsay's threats and insults, he heard every time his fist or his belt landed on Lenora's skin. But he never heard a sound of pain escape the princess. She knew. She understood that Ramsay needed her weak, humiliated, in pain in order to do the deed. And she never gave it to him.
Each morning Ramsay would send Reek in with a bowl of cold water to clean and bandage her new wounds. Each morning when he unlocked and opened the door to her chamber he would find her sitting on the window seat, her spine as straight as a rod as she stared out the window, over the walls and toward the Wolfs Wood. She would turn, her stormy grey eyes looking through him rather than at him. There were always new bruises, new cuts littering her skin. Ramsay held nothing back, and nothing was safe - not even her face.
Each morning, on the stones near the fire place there would be a new tally mark drawn in ash. A stubborn reminder of how long she had survived married to Ramsay Bolton.
...
He paused on the way to her window seat, silently taking in the number of tick marks. Twenty. As of this morning she had survived forty nights untouched by her husband. The bit of Theon Greyjoy that was buried deep within him remembered how Robb had not been able to touch her after their wedding either, he had promised her that he would not be her true husband until she wanted him and he had kept that word, though he had complained to Theon once about it. Ramsay had made the princess no such promise, but it seemed the he too was unable to lay with his bride.
Forty nights.
She turned to him as he moved slowly and quietly toward the window seat. There was a dark bruise on her jawline, coloring the skin below her right ear to her chin a dark, angry purple and black. Her lip was split and swollen and there was dried blood smeared across her forehead from a cut at her hairline. This was the worst he had ever seen her face look after a single night.
"Lenora," he whispered, the word escaping his lips without his notice. For a moment her grey eyes lifted to his face, she looked at him for the first time in forty days, and then her gaze dropped. He moved closer to her, setting the bowl of water on the window seat beside her and pulling a piece of fabric out of his breeches so that he could wash the blood off her face. She flinched away from him as he brought the rag to her lip. "I know it's cold," he whispered in apology.
She shook her head. "Everything in the North is cold," she told him, speaking to him for the first time in forty days. "The water, the days, the nights, the men." Her grey eyes lifted to his face again. "Even the ones you trust."
He shook his head. He could not apologize to her. He shouldn't have even been talking to her. Ramsay would find out. Ramsay would punish him. "He wouldn't beat you if you didn't laugh at him," he told her, half scolding, half warning.
She laughed, a cold, bitter, humorless noise as he moved the wet cloth, already red with her blood to her forehead. "You're a fool, Theon Greyjoy, if you think for one moment that he will be gentle with me if I give him what he wants."
"He wouldn't beat you," Theon argued. "Surely that would be worth it."
"Tell me," Lenora implored. "If you were a girl. Married to a monster such as Ramsay Bolton. Would it be worth it? To let him," she paused, searching for the right word, "to let him fuck you just to save your face?" The word did not sound right on her tongue. When he was Theon Greyjoy he had often heard much worse in the whorehouse in Wintertown. But on Lenora's lips the words sounded crude, harsh, and dirty. Exactly what laying with Ramsay would be like.
He would not speak out against the man. He could not, as terrified as he was that Ramsay might be standing outside the door to the chamber, listening to them at the moment, waiting for him to say something that he could punish him for. Instead he gave her a small, subtle shake of his head. No, it would not be worth it.
She nodded, as if she had expected as much. "I expect eventually he will grow accustomed to my laughter, that it won't be a deterrent any more. Or he'll be able to, get it up, after he beats me, whether I cry out or not. But until then, I will continue to laugh at him. I will continue to belittle him. I will continue to compare him to a true man, to Robb. And I will continue to count the nights."
"What will you do when it doesn't stop him anymore?" he asked, unable to stop himself. She intrigued him, the girl who was able to withstand Ramsay Bolton when Theon had not been able to.
She turned away from him, toward the open window. Her dark hair had been braided and thrown over her right shoulder, he could see on the back of her dress, long, wet marks, crisscrossing their way across her back. Ramsay had hit her the night before with his belt. She would fight him when he suggested untying the laces of her dress, opening it up so that he could clean the cuts and welts on her back. But if they were bleeding so badly that they soaked through her dress, he needed to. "I don't plan on being here when that happens," she told him, her voice quiet and resolute.
"You can't escape, Nora," he told her. "He'll catch you again."
Her gaze was still on the open window. Her voice was hard and resigned. "There is more than one way to escape," she whispered.
...
There was trouble in Wintertown. A series of raids. Horses and weapons stolen, grains and food taken from storage and left to rot. Bolton men traveling to the brothel and not returning. Ramsay had asked Lenora what she knew of it. And she had laughed at him, continued to laugh even after he had slapped her across the face, she called him stupid, for thinking that she would know anything about what was happening in Wintertown when he had her chained up in her chamber day in and day out. She told him if the weapons had not gone missing that she would have guessed it was the work of the direwolf. "As it is," she told him, still taunting him, "It would seem House Bolton isn't as feared up here as your father wished. This would never have happened if the Starks still held Winterfell."
Ramsay had hit her again. But she kept smiling.
For eight days Lord Bolton sent guards into Wintertown to try to catch the culprit. And for eight days not a single one returned. On the ninth day Lord Bolton resolved to go himself, with the largest retinue of guards he could afford, what with the training the Master-at-Arms was putting them through in preparation for Stannis' oncoming attack on the North.
The Bolton spies had them a half a week's march from Winterfell. Lord Bolton could not afford to lose any more men, or horses, or weapons. Whoever was raiding Wintertown needed to be apprehended now. When he left in the morning, he told Ramsay that he would sit in his stead as Lord of Winterfell until he returned.
For most of the morning there was nothing for Ramsay to do. Still, he sat in the High Lord's chair in the great hall, with the newest Lord Karstark sitting to his left, making plans for the upcoming battle and no doubt praying that someone would need to be punished before his father returned. Reek stood in the corner at the back of the hall, waiting. Waiting for Ramsay to tell him what to do. Waiting for an order. Waiting for evening when Ramsay would go to visit Lenora and she would laugh at him again for the forty-ninth night in a row.
Shortly before midday the maester announced that Ramsay had a visitor. Lord Ludd Whitehill of Highpoint. A lesser House in the North, just on the edge of the House Forrester's ironwood. Lord Ludd barely waited for the maester to finish announcing his presence before he barged into the hall, moving with a confidence that Theon Greyjoy would have found ridiculous on a man from such a small, often forgotten House. Behind him he pulled two figures, each chained with a bag over their head. One was standing, the other sitting in a sort of sled, their legs covered in furs. A large brown sack at his feet.
Ramsay arched an eyebrow at the scene. "Lord Ludd," he sneered, smirking at the name. "I don't believe I have ever had the pleasure of meeting you. Have you come to pledge your loyalty to House Bolton?"
Lord Karstark scoffed from his seat to Ramsay's left. "House Whitehill is loyal to the Starks," he informed Ramsay.
"It was not that long ago that House Karstark was loyal to the Starks as well," Lord Ludd argued, glaring at Karstark. Your people share blood with the Starks, don't they?" he asked. "And yet here we are, times change."
Ramsay smirked, he seemed to be enjoying the animosity between the two men. "Why have you come to Winterfell, Lord Ludd?" he asked the man.
Ludd told a story that Reek was familiar with. About how his family had once had an ironwood as large as the Forresters. About how they cut it all down and now they had nothing. They were a poor House, left alone north of the Wolfs wood. They had few men and little money to arm them with. And there were Wildlings, more than there should have been. An army of them that Jon Snow had let through the Wall. They were raiding and stealing and Whitehall could not hold them back for much longer.
"And you've come to ask for our help?" Ramsay sneered.
"We need to help each other," Lord Ludd explained to him. "The colder it gets the further south those goat fuckers will roam. It won't take them long to get here."
"You think a hoard of Wildlings could take Winterfell?" Lord Karstark asked.
"With Jon Snow leading them?" Ludd countered. "Maybe. He knows this place better than we ever will. He knows the people."
Ramsay nodded, "Pledge your House to House Bolton," he ordered. "Swear loyalty to my father as Warden of the North and we will help you destroy the bastard and all of his Wildling friends."
Lord Ludd shook his head, "The North is done with oaths," he told Ramsay. "We swore our oaths to Robb Stark and your father killed him. We won't do it again. I don't have pledges and oaths for you, but I've got a gift." He turned and nodded toward the two figures behind him. With a tug on their chain he pulled them forward until they were directly in front of Ramsay's table. Then one by one he pulled the bags off of their heads.
Even from behind them, Theon recognized them. They were older, taller, dirtier, thinner. But he had spent so much of his life following those two boys, watching over them, teasing them. The Gods help him, it was Bran and Rickon. Ramsay raised an eyebrow, "Who are they?" he asked.
"The Stark boys," Lord Ludd told him. "Bran and Rickon."
That surprised him, his eyes widened. He leaned forward in his seat, studying the boys. "And how do I know that this is really Bran and Rickon Stark?" he asked. The boys were terrified, Rickon turned toward Bran, silently asking his brother what he should do. Bran gave his brother a tiny, almost unnoticeable shake of the head.
Lord Ludd turned, his gaze falling on Reek. "I hear this pitiful creature used to be Theon Greyjoy," he mused. "And you're married to the woman who would have been their sister. Either one of them could confirm it for you." He bent, picking up the sack out of Bran's lap and throwing it across the hall toward Ramsay's table. "But perhaps this will help," he added as the sack rolled.
It was open, one of the objects tumbled out of it. A mess of blood and matted dark fur. Wide angry eyes and teeth that seemed frozen in a permanent snarl. Shaggy Dog. The sack wasn't empty, Reek had a feeling that Summer's head was in there as well.
Ramsay stood from his seat and moved around the table, bending to inspect the wolf's head. Then he lifted his gaze, his pale blue eyes sparkling as he grinned at the two boys. "Welcome home, little lords," he greeted them. His gaze remained on them for a long moment before he turned it on Reek. "Bring the youngest down to the cells," he ordered. Rickon whimpered and lunged toward Bran, wrapping his arms around his older brother and crying. Ramsay ignored him and turned to Karstark, "Pick up the wolves' heads. I want them stuffed as a trophy. We'll hang them in the hall." He turned back to Reek who had just started to separate the two brothers. "Once your done with the boy, go get my lady wife. Tell her I have a surprise for her."
...
She was suspicious the moment he told her that Ramsay wanted her in the hall. She hadn't been allowed out of her chambers since their wedding night. It was suspicious that he wanted her in the hall now. She did not ask him why Ramsay wanted her. She did not speak to him at all. She quietly stood, her spine straight and her shoulders tense, preparing for whatever torture Ramsay had planned for her.
But there was no preparing for what he had in store. Even in his darkest thoughts, Reek never would have guessed that Ramsay would be so cruel.
He sat in his chair, and when he heard them enter he turned, grinning at her, his pale eyes dancing over the bruises that colored her skin. He turned slowly, deliberately, his gaze falling on Bran. Lenora's gaze followed, her eyes widening when she recognized the boy. "Bran," she whispered, stepping away from Reek so that she could approach the boy.
But Ramsay and Karstark were faster. With a flick of his eyes Ramsay glanced at Karstark, "Kill the cripple," he ordered, his voice a practiced deadpan.
The boy screamed. Lenora screamed, loosing her footing as she watched Karstark's knife rip its way through Bran's small throat, blood spurted and dripped, soaking the boy's cloak and Karstark's hand as the small, crippled boy choked on his own blood.
Bran's scream disappeared. But Lenora's continued, one unending, broken sound. It was the kind of scream that made a man's blood run cold. Red. It ignited something in his head, some primal pathway that he had long forgotten, awakening something that he had buried deep inside of him. He could feel it, thrumming in his veins. Fight or flight, stand or run, be a hero or a coward.
His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms, drawing blood.
In that moment he decided.
His name was Theon Greyjoy. He was a coward no longer. He had failed Robb, but he would not fail Lenora. He would save her.
-.-.-.-.-
Jaime
He had hated the North the first time he had been dragged there by Robert Baratheon. Even in the summer it had been a cold, grey place. His first day at Winterfell, as he bore the judgmental stares of the Starks he had thought that he would rather run himself through with his own sword rather than spend any more time in the harsh, godforsaken land then he had to.
And that was before Roose Bolton was named Warden of the North.
He could say a great deal against the Starks. They too honorable, they were stubborn, harsh and cold. They were unable to look past the imagined faults in others to see that they were also capable of making mistakes. But they had been good to their people. The Northmen were loyal to a fault, as he had traveled north he had heard many of them grumbling and speaking out against the Boltons in a way they never would have done to the Starks. They felt betrayed, they were angry, and even though all the Starks were dead or scattered across the Seven Kingdoms, the North remembered. They feared the Boltons, but they still loved the Starks.
And many still loved Lenora.
He heard their whispers in inns and whorehouses, hiding his golden hair behind a hood to keep from being recognized. They whispered about their poor queen, how she had suffered so much. How she had seen her husband killed before her very eyes, how she had been captured by Lord Bolton, a man she had trusted, how she had been taken to Winterfell and not seen again. The smallfolk whispered that the lords and ladies of some of the Houses in the North that had pledged their loyalty to House Bolton had seen her, but that she hadn't been seen in Wintertown. They whispered that they heard she had been married again, perhaps forced to marry Bolton's son Ramsay. In their love for her none of them were willing to believe she had remarried willingly.
He smirked when he heard that. These smallfolk did not know his niece as well as Jaime did, but they were right about that. He had seen it in her eyes before Lady Catelyn released him from Riverrun; Lenora loved Robb Stark, in spite of all of his faults, if she had really seen Robb murdered in front of her it would have broken her. Destroyed her. Left her reeling in a grief that she would be forced to carry alone.
She would not have remarried anyone willingly, let alone the bastard son of the man who had murdered her husband. She only would have done it if she thought she had no other choice, if she were threatened, or forced. She would be frightened and heartbroken and entirely alone.
And that was why, when he finally reached Wintertown he was happy. Lenora might not have realized that he was there, she might not have known that she was no longer alone. But she would soon. He wouldn't be able to bring her husband back, but when he rescued her he would be able to bring her home, to her family, where she belonged.
...
Bronn sighed, leaning away from Jaime to spit on the ground. "I never much raiding," the sellsword told him. "Even when I was able to keep the shit we stole."
Jaime smirked, "You'll like it soon enough when we draw Bolton out of Winterfell," he told the sellsword. "Then we stop raiding and start killing."
Bronn chuckled and shook his head, "Seems to me that the only one who's going to be doing any killing is you. This is your revenge mission after all." He shook his head again, his gaze dropping to the ground, playfully lamenting. "And a stupid one at that."
"You're getting paid," Jaime reminded him. Bronn had spent too much time with the Lannister brothers, when Jaime had asked him to travel north with him he had not asked where they were going or why. He had asked how much he would get paid. Jaime had promised him riches, though not a great deal.
"Not enough if we fail," Bronn told him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the middle of Wintertown where there was a flayed man in the middle of the square for all to see. A living version of the Bolton's ghastly banner. "You know what the Boltons do to their enemies now that the Starks aren't here to tell them no."
"No amount of gold would save you if we fail," Jaime argued, rolling his eyes. "It would only make you a rich dead man."
"Easy for you to say," Bronn continued. "I'm fairly certain that Lannister amounts of gold would be enough to save you."
Jaime shook his head, "Not this time," he assured his argumentative companion. "Lannister gold and fear of my father saved me from Roose Bolton once. It won't work again, especially with the Bolton's holding Moat Cailin. Even if he was afraid of King Tommen and my sister, he knows that their army can't get past the moat. I'm no safer than you."
"So this is a suicide mission?" Bronn deadpanned. "You might have told me that before we set out."
Jaime turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised, "Would you have come if you had known?" He asked the question jokingly, mockingly, but the answer mattered. He was trusting Bronn with not only his life, but Lenora's as well. He should have asked this question at the beginning of their journey.
Bronn chuckled, low and dark, and nodded. "Yes," he told Jaime, surprising him. "It was too good to pass up. A one handed, old as fuck knight, and a sellsword off to save a princess. The only thing that would have made it better is if we had brought the dwarf along with us."
Jaime smiled ruefully at the reminder of his brother. "When I set Tyrion free it was my understanding that he was going to head north. But after he killed Father, I don't know where he headed. The ship he was supposed to take made port in the Free Cities -"
Bronn cut him off before he continued, "I didn't seriously want the imp along," he told Jaime. "You're useless enough in a fight, I'd hate to have to save both of your Lannister asses."
"I haven't been useless as of late," Jaime defended himself.
"Aye," Bronn agreed. "You can hold your own against villagers, drunk soldiers, and men at arms with their cocks out and their breeches around their ankles. Is that the sort of thing that got you named to the Kingsguard all those years ago, old man?"
There would have been a time, not that long ago when Jaime would have bristled at those comments. When he would have been insulted and challenged Bronn to a fight over them. But he had been traveling with Bronn for too long, he was too used to them now. So instead of bristling he smirked, and instead of fighting he joked back. "You're not that young either," he reminded the sellsword.
"I'm not," Bronn agreed before he held up both of his hands and waved them in Jaime's face. "But I've still got two hands."
Jaime rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Why did I bring you?" he asked.
"Because you want Lenora taken care of," Bronn told him matter-of-factly. "Even if you die on this ridiculous suicide mission. You want her taken care of. And you know that I will. She and I can get married and buy a castle with all the gold she'll inherit from her rich, dead uncle."
Jaime's jaw clenched for a moment before he reminded himself that Bronn was joking. "She won't marry you," he told Bronn. "Drunk old men aren't her type."
"I'd wager young, sadistic bastards aren't either," Bronn argued, alluding to Ramsay Bolton. He shook his head, "She may be a princess, but this will be her third marriage. Perhaps she'd be willing to try a sellsword."
"And you would have a long road back to the capitol," Jaime supplied, playing along now. "Plenty of time for you to grow on her."
Bronn nodded, "Worked on you," he told Jaime with a chuckle.
Jaime smiled in spite of himself and their situation. "Well, let's rescue her before you start planning your marriage," he told him, nodding toward the road they were watching through a thin line of trees. A small group of riders under the Bolton banner were riding down the road from Winterfell. His eyes narrowed, squinting as he tried to make out the faces of the men.
He only recognized one - Roose Bolton.
Bronn moved so quietly that Jaime did not notice him at first when the sellsword moved to stand beside him. "Ten riders," he whispered. "Any of them our man?"
Jaime nodded, "The one at the front," he told him. "Lord Roose Bolton."
Bronn nodded, "If it were a smaller group I would be happy to take on the men while you went after the lord. But I can't handle nine of them on my own." He turned, studying Jaime for a moment. "And I'd wager my fee that you don't want to risk splitting them and having the leech lord realize what was happening and ride back to Winterfell."
Jaime shook his head. For nine days he and Bronn had been raiding Wintertown, killing Bolton men, and waiting to draw Roose or Ramsay Bolton out from behind Winterfell's thick walls. This would be their only chance. If Roose realized that the raids weren't simply rebellious northmen making trouble, but rather a calculated trap for him, he would run back to Winterfell and not leave it again until he had a large retinue of men with him.
They had succeeded in getting him out of the keep, and they would have to succeed in killing him now. They had no choice.
"We'll separate him," Jaime told Bronn. "I doubt Roose Bolton will be doing much searching. He'll send his men looking for trouble. And he'll stay safely out of harm's way."
Bronn grinned, "So you want me to make trouble?" he asked.
Jaime nodded with a smirk, "As much as you can."
...
Bronn had truly taken his order to heart. After he had left Jaime in the woods on the outskirts of Wintertown, Jaime had wondered for a moment how he would know when it was time for him to make his move. He needn't have worried. He could hear the shouts from the woods. A moment later he could see the flames. Bronn had set something on fire.
He circled around, following the path Roose's men had taken, a hood thrown over his face to hide his blonde hair. This disguise would not have worked in King's Landing, it would have looked suspicious and drawn more attention to him rather than less. But here in the bitter, cold North, he looked like everyone else. No one paid him any mind.
Not even Roose Bolton as he jumped off his horse and ordered two of his men to enter the building that was on fire to look for anyone left inside and what could have started it. He was not suspicious yet, a fire was nothing new.
But a moment later when another building, across the square from the first, went up in flames his pale blue eyes widened when he realized what was happening. He had set out from Winterfell to find whoever was raiding Wintertown, and it appeared to him that he had. He ordered all of his men to start searching the square. He spread them thin in an attempt to catch his culprit, all the while never realizing that he was not the one setting the trap.
He was the one caught in it.
Jaime waited until his men had dispersed and were otherwise occupied. He waited until Bronn had set another building to the torch. And then when Roose's back was turned to him, the man turning a slow circle to survey the entire square for a new face, one that did not belong. Jaime made his move. Quietly sneaking up on the man, unsheathing his sword and hitting Roose on the back of the head with the pommel.
When Roose fell unconscious at his feet Jaime reached down with his left hand and roughly pulled the lord to his own horse. He threw Roose over the saddle and climbed up behind him before he rode quickly and unnoticed out of the square.
...
Roose was unconscious for less than a quarter of an hour. But it was enough time for Jaime to get him well into the Wolfs Wood, to take off his armor, and to hobble the horse so that it could not run away and give up their location.
Her was surprised at first, his pale blue eyes darting around the abandoned wood around them, looking for his attacker before they landed on Jaime. There was still a look of surprise in his eyes as he stared at Jaime, but it was tinged with something else. Something that Jaime did not like - amusement.
Very deliberately Roose's eyes dropped from Jaime's face to the gold hand that concealed his stump. They lingered there for a moment before they rose to his face again, this time with a smirk. "This is beneath you, Ser Jaime." He shook his head, "You were once the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Now you would knock a man unconscious, drag him to the woods, and kill him while he's down?"
Jaime shrugged his right shoulder, playing as unconcerned as possible, "The red wedding was beneath you, Lord Bolton," he shot back. "You were sworn to Robb Stark. One of his trusted advisors. He trusted you and you conspired with my father to kill him."
Bolton watched him, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, even now he did not believe that Jaime would succeed at killing him. Perhaps he thought that if he stalled long enough his men would find them. Perhaps he thought that the sword that hung off Jaime's right hip was useless now. Perhaps he thought he could overpower Jaime.
But he was wrong on all counts. Bronn was happily keeping Bolton's men busy in the village. Jaime still wasn't where he used to be with his left hand, but he had practiced enough that even Bronn would grudgingly admit that he was decent. And now that Jaime was this close to his niece, there was no way that he was going to let anyone stand in the way of getting to her.
Roose Bolton would die in these woods.
"You were the one who gave me the idea, Ser Jaime," Roose told him, speaking of the red wedding. "When we met at Harrenhal and you assured me that a Lannister friendship would be much more beneficial to House Bolton than one with the Young Wolf."
Jaime bristled at that, he did not like to think that he was responsible for Lenora's suffering. "I did not suggest that you kill my niece's husband in front of her eyes," he told Roose, his voice hard and cold. "I did not suggest that you kill the boy at all. I suggested that you let me go."
Roose seemed to wave off his anger, "It was unfortunate that your niece was there in the hall," he told Jaime. "I would have thought that Stark's men would have had the common sense to remove her once the fighting started. But it seemed that she refused to leave. She even asked for a sword."
In spite of their situation Jaime smirked, Lenora was stubborn. She always had been. "And so you killed her husband in front of her and then dragged her back to the keep she would have lived in with him. That was a nice touch, Lord Bolton."
"My friendship with the Lannisters had been profitable," Roose told him. "But I had no way of ensuring that it would continue to be so. She was my assurance. With her under my control I knew that your House would do nothing to risk me harming her. And the northmen still loyal to Robb Stark's cause would not risk his widow either."
Jaime nodded, he had suspected as much when he had first heard that Roose Bolton had captured Lenora and taken her north instead of sending her south as he was supposed to. It was an incredibly predictable plan and anger burned red in his chest when he though that his father should have thought of it himself. Perhaps he had and had carried through with the Red Wedding anyway. Perhaps Lenora had been a price that Tywin Lannister was willing to pay to be rid of the Stark boy.
She was not a price Jaime would ever be willing to pay though.
He nodded at Roose, "Stand up, Lord Bolton," he ordered the man as he unsheathed his sword. "I tire of hearing your voice."
Roose smirked as he stood. "No sword for me?" he asked after reaching for his own only to find that Jaime had taken it from him when he was unconscious. "You have no honor," he paused, his pale eyes watching Jaime closely. "Though, I suppose you never did. Remind me of how you killed the Mad King? A sword in the back wasn't it?"
He was baiting Jaime, trying to make him angry so that he would be easier to beat. What he didn't realize was that ever since the day he had killed Aerys, Jaime was always angry. And instead of making mistakes he used that anger to make him stronger.
He threw Bolton his sword, "It was," he agreed. "Though for you it will be through the stomach. I want to look in your eyes and watch the life leave them."
Roose stared down at the sword in his hands for a moment before he looked back up at Jaime. He was debating how best to attack the knight. Jaime held his sword in his left hand, poised on the balls of his feet, ready for the attack. But it never came. Roose dropped the sword on the ground and turned his back on Jaime, running from him just as the Mad King had once done.
And just as the Mad King he did not get far. Though in the woods it was not Jaime's blade that stopped him, but a growl sounding from behind the trees. The lord stopped, his shoulders tight as his head darted side to side, looking for the wolf.
Jaime smirked, about to tease the man for his fear when the beast stepped out from the trees. The laughter died in Jaime's throat as he stared at the large wolf.
The wolf was lean, muscular and strong. But it was larger than any normal wolf that Jaime had ever seen. He recognized it. The smoke grey fur that he had once thought matched his niece's eyes. The sharp, narrowed, yellow eyes. These eyes did not belong to a common wolf, they were intelligent, angry, they whispered of a strong connection the beast had once held with a man. This was no ordinary wolf. It was a direwolf.
Robb Stark's direwolf.
Jaime shook his head, "I had heard that your men decapitated the beast. Their brags of sewing its head onto Stark's body were heard as far south as King's Landing," he told Roose, his voice a whisper so as not to upset the wolf.
The animal had hated Jaime when he was held captive at Riverrun. It had snapped at him, growled, Jaime had always been under the impression that the only reason the beast did not kill him was because Robb Stark was too honorable for that. But now the beast barely noticed him, his golden eyes were locked on Roose Bolton as the upper lip lifted and pulled back, revealing a row of sharp pointed teeth.
"They did," Roose told him, his voice shaking slightly.
Jaime chuckled, low and dark like the wolf's growl, "You spent more time with the beast than I did, Lord Bolton," he chided. "And even I know, without any doubt, that this wolf belonged to Robb Stark." He paused for a moment, watching the wolf and waiting for it to make its move.
The beast did not lunge at Roose, he did not attack. His golden eyes swept over Roose before landing, very deliberately for an animal, on Jaime. He was once again struck by the realization that the Stark's direwolves, all of them, had been so different from normal animals. They had connected with and understood their masters. Which made him wonder why Robb Stark's wolf was here now. He watched it carefully, not worrying that Bolton would try to run, he stood no chance against the wolf.
"Lenora," he whispered, his eyes still on the wolf. "You're here for Lenora."
He half expected the wolf to nod. It didn't. But he knew that he was right. Somehow the wolf had escaped the Red Wedding and had followed Lenora north to Winterfell, trying to protect her just as Robb Stark would have if he were alive.
Thank the Gods for this bloody wolf.
He moved forward quickly now and dropped his golden hand on Roose's shoulders, spinning the man around to face him. He hadn't lied when he told Roose that he would give him a sword through the stomach. He pulled Roos close to him, as he readied his blade in his left hand. "What was it you said to Robb Stark before you killed him?" he whispered in the man's ear. He nodded, not waiting for an answer, "The Lannisters send their regards."
It had been many years since he had stabbed a man in the stomach. He had forgotten how easy it was. The blade slid through Roose Bolton's skin easily. The man's blood spilled over Jaime's arm and blade, hot and angry as it dripped onto the snow at their feet. Jaime jerked the sword up, before slowly dragging it down, cutting Roose open from sternum to below his navel, tearing at the internal organs and ensuring that the man would be dead in a matter of minutes.
Then he dropped the sword, bringing his bloody left hand up to Roose's other shoulder and holding him up as he bled out, waiting until the last spark of life had left the man's unnaturally pale blue eyes before he let go of him and allowed the body to drop to the ground at his feet. The blood melting the snow around him.
He glanced up, expecting the wolf to move in now. Either to devour Roose Bolton's body or to attack Jaime himself. The beast did neither. It stood for a moment, gold eyes glaring down at Bolton's body and then, without a look back at Jaime it turned and disappeared into the woods.
He heard a low whistle behind him and he turned to see Bronn standing near Bolton's stolen horse. "What was that?" the sellsword asked, his eyes still on the place where the wolf had disappeared.
Jaime thought about it for a moment, trying to remember the wolf's name. "Grey Wind," he told his companion.
"It has a name does it?" Bronn questioned. "That was the largest, strangest wolf I have ever seen."
Jaime smirked, "Because it's a direwolf," he told him. "Robb Stark's direwolf."
Bronn raised his eyebrows at that, "Seems your niece wasn't as alone as you thought."
Jaime nodded as he turned back toward where the wolf had been. "No," he agreed. "She isn't."
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
Ramsay had sent her back to her chambers soon after he had Bran murdered in front of her. It seemed that he enjoyed having a pet princess to torture in front of his cronies, but when that princess launched herself at him, her fingernails digging into the skin on his face as she screamed that he was a murderer - he did not enjoy that.
He put an end to her attack with one swift and strong backhand. She flew away from him, tripping over the chains at her ankles and fell to the floor at his feet. He smirked down at her, no doubt enjoying the view of her on the ground in front of him before his pale gaze lifted to Theon. "Reek," he called out, his voice causing the man in question to stand up a bit straighter, waiting for a command. "My lady wife is tired, please return her to her chambers."
Theon nodded as he moved quickly in his strange jerky steps toward Lenora. Without saying a word, without even looking at her he bent down to pull her to her feet. She stumbled a bit, falling into Theon her eyes automatically turning toward Bran's body where it still lay in his makeshift sled, the blood warm and wet as it covered his throat, his stomach, and the ground. She could smell it in the air, thick and metallic.
"Bran," she whispered, still leaning against Theon for the support.
"Don't," Theon whispered in warning, so quiet that Lenora had to strain to hear it.
Ramsay was smirking at her, enjoying how weak she was, enjoying her reaction to Bran's death. "Ease your mind, dear one," he told her. "I will see you this evening."
His voice was soft, a whisper. On anyone else the words would have sounded kind. Though Lenora heard them for what they truly were. A promise. A threat. She swallowed, her throat tight, as her gaze dragged slowly from Bran's body to Ramsay. He was smirking at her, a sparkle in his eyes that she had not seen since the wedding night.
Her chest tightened, her heart beating rapidly against her ribs. She had survived forty-eight nights untouched by Ramsay. Since the night in the godswood she had managed to keep him at bay with laughter and taunts and he had paid her back with bruises and welts from his belt. But so far no amount of beating her, no amount of embarrassment had been enough for him to get it up.
He looked at her now, in a way he had not ever looked at her and she knew.
This was it, the final act. He had finally seen her weak. He had finally seen her broken. After forty-eight nights he had finally seen her shattered.
When he arrived in her chambers that evening, it would not be the same. Her laughter would not deter him, not when he had seen her tears. Her taunts would not stop him, not when he had heard her scream. He would not beat her out of anger, but as a strange sort of twisted foreplay. And when he was done, he would have his way with her.
She had planned on having more time.
But her father had once told her that time and tide waited for no man. And she had just run out.
She allowed Theon to steer her from the hall. Only turning to him once they were out of earshot. Her thoughts were flying through her head so quickly that she could barely hold onto one for more than a moment. "Rickon," she whispered, her eyes locking onto Theon's face. "Where is Rickon?"
Something crossed over the man's eyes, something that she did not understand. He looked away from her for a moment before his gaze returned to her face. "Lord Ludd only brought Bran with him, Lenora," he told her. "They have not yet found Rickon."
She shook her head, "The boys wouldn't have separated," she told him. "They wouldn't have."
Theon shook his head, "Rickon is not here, Your Grace."
It was his last two words that caught her attention. It had been some time since anyone had called her Your Grace, and much longer since Theon had addressed her in anything more than a whisper. She stumbled to a stop, almost tripping when Theon continued to walk before he realized that she had stopped moving. For a moment she was caught in an almost fall - awkwardly leaning forward, her upper body still leaning into Theon for support, while her feet remained planted on the floor.
Theon turned, watching her for a moment, his gaze darting over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching them before he moved back to her so that she was able to stand up straight again. "Nora," he whispered, using the name that Robb had given her early on in her days at Winterfell. A name Theon had never used before. "We must keep walking."
He was no longer stuttering. His voice was strong and hard. It was still missing the self confident tone that she had always known the young man to use. But he was no longer speaking in the tone she had heard from Reek. "Theon?" she whispered, watching him closely, waiting for the wince and the quiet correction.
It never came. He never begged her to call him by the ridiculous name Ramsay had given him. He didn't hide from his past. He kept his eyes on her, bright and intense, and inclined his head once. A nod.
"Theon?" she asked again, still a whisper. She had to be certain. "Is it truly you?"
It was such a stupid question to ask. He had always been Theon, even when he had been whimpering and answering to Reek, she had still always believed that buried deep inside somewhere was the young man she had watched ride beside Robb for so long.
He nodded again, his gaze once again drifting over her shoulder behind her. "We need to keep moving, Nora," he whispered to her again. "The keep has eyes."
She did not nod, but he must have felt her silent acceptance, her surrender in her body, because a moment later he was leading her down the corridor again. She leaned closer to him, not for support, but so that she could whisper to him without fear of being heard. "The boys?" she whispered desperately. "If Bran, and possibly Rickon, have been alive this whole time -" she shook her head, "The boys? Who did you burn?"
Theon shook his head, his eyes distant, "Two orphans," he whispered to her. "No one. Dressed as the boys and burned beyond recognition." He turned to look at her, "I could never hurt the boys," he told her emphatically. "No matter what."
She looked away from him, her chest tightening. "You betrayed Robb," she whispered to him, pausing when she felt him wince at her words. She continued on anyway, "I never thought you would do that and you did."
She expected him to disappear again, to go inside of himself and turn into Reek. He did not hide. He did not disappear. He swallowed thickly. "I betrayed Robb," he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face. "That is something I can never undo, something I can never be forgiven for." He shook his head, "I failed my king," he told her, his voice ragged with regret as he glanced down at the floor. "I was weak and afraid, and I failed him." He looked up at her again, "I will not fail you, Nora."
"But why?" Lenora asked him, her voice quiet. "Why are you going to help me now? When I begged you for help so many times before and you were too afraid?" She shook her head, she wanted to trust him, but he had stood by for months while Ramsay had taunted, humiliated, and tortured her. He had stood by and let Ramsay do it. "Why now?" she whispered when Theon did not answer straight away.
He paused for a moment in the empty hallway outside of her chamber, turning to look at her. "I know, Nora," he told her, his voice a quiet, desperate whisper. "I know. Believe me, it was one of the most difficult things I ever endured." Lenora shook her head, her eyes closed, she didn't want to hear of Theon's struggles.
She pulled away from him, turning toward her chamber door. He reached out to her, wrapping his hand around her wrist, something he never would have done when he was pretending to be Reek. "It hurt me as much as it hurt you -"
"No!" The word exploded out of her lips with so much force that Lenora flinched. "No," she repeated again, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp and turning toward her chamber door. She threw it open. She walked through the door, turning once she was in the chamber. "Do not tell me about your pain."
She shook her head, her hands reaching for the laces at the sides of her dress, clumsily untying them. Tears prickled in her eyes, threatening to slip over her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, blinking back the tears, she refused to let him see her cry. She heard him take a step closer to her and she shook her head again, turning so that her back was facing him. She loosened her dress enough to shrug out of it, to reveal her back to him.
She knew what he would see. Welts and bruises, cuts, and burns. Scars. The marks Ramsay had given to her in his frustration and anger. The stories of the pain she had endured in the months that Theon had stood by and watched, one of the most painful things he had ever endured.
She turned her head, watching him over her shoulder, his gaze was on the floor, steadfastly keeping his eyes off of her back. "Look at them," she ordered him. "Theon. Look."
She watched him, his blue eyes slowly moving up her back, taking in each mark, the ones that would slowly heal and the ones that would mark her back forever. The marks that he had stood by and allowed Ramsay to give her.
He took a step closer, "Lenora," he whispered. In all the days he had taken care of her since the wedding night, she had never allowed him to see the extent of her injuries.
She began to pull her dress back up, retying the laces on her sides. Once they were tied, she looked back up at him. "Now, Theon," she whispered, her voice hard and cold. "Tell me about your pain."
He couldn't, she could see it on his face, the defeat. He looked down, away from her. She knew that he had suffered since Ramsay and the Boltons had taken Winterfell, she would not deny that. But she would not hear him tell her that watching Ramsay hurt her had been one of the most painful things he had ever done. Not about her.
Theon Greyjoy had so much to regret; betraying Robb, killing two innocent boys and leaving the country to believe he had killed Bran and Rickon. She would not be his greatest regret. "Please," she whispered. "Please leave me alone, Theon." She shook her head, "I fear this evening will be my last -" she stopped, unsure of how to finish her sentence.
Her last evening alone? Her last evening untouched by Ramsay? Her gaze shifted toward her window. Her last evening alive?
Theon must have read her thoughts. He shook his head, moving toward her quickly, reaching out for her wrist. "I'll get you out, Lenora," he promised her, his voice unwavering. "Don't do anything rash, I will get your out."
Lenora shook her head, "Nine days ago you told me there was no escape. Nine days, Theon, what has changed in those days?"
"I have," Theon assured her. He glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor to ensure that no one was listening to him. "I will come for you," he told her. "Tonight. Before Ramsay."
She could feel it, hope rising in her throat like a bubble. She shook her head, forcing it down. She could not afford to hope, not now. "We'll never get out of the castle," she whispered. "Not with all the soldiers quartered here to fight Stannis. How will we get out?"
Theon grinned at her, a fleeting shadow of his former self, "When Robb gave you the tour of Winterfell, he skipped some of the best parts," he told her. "There are ways out, ways that Ramsay does not know. I will show you. I will get you away from here. I promise you."
...
She was pacing her chamber when he finally came back for her. It was well past dark and much too close to the time that Ramsay would visit her for her comfort. When the key rattled in its lock, for a moment she thought it was Ramsay. Her heart was racing as she moved as quickly, quietly as she could, hiding from him.
The door opened and he walked in, quiet as a shadow, pausing just inside the door. "Nora?" he whispered.
And in an instant she knew him. "Theon," she whispered, her voice little more than a breath. She rushed out of her corner, wrapping her hand around his wrist. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you I would come for you," Theon told her.
She shook her head, quick and nervous, "He'll see you," she whispered to him. "Why didn't you come earlier?"
"He won't come tonight," Theon told her, even in the dark she could see his teeth flash as he smiled.
"He won't?" she asked him, her mind struggling to keep up with what Theon was telling her. "Why not?" She still had her hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing so tightly that she was sure that she was hurting him. But he did not ask her to let go of him, in fact he seemed to appreciate it.
"His father," he whispered to her. "Lord Bolton traveled to Wintertown to see to the raids. He was killed this afternoon. Ramsay believes it was Stannis' men." Lenora opened her mouth, about to tell him that Stannis was still a few days ride away. He shook his head, silently interrupting her, "An advanced scout, he believes. He's taking the soldiers out tonight, he means to catch Stannis by surprise."
"Tonight?" she breathed. She let go of his arm, turning from him so that she could begin to pack. "We'll leave after him. We'll have to be careful. I'd wait until tomorrow, but it's safer to leave by night."
The smile dropped off his lips as he watched her, "Lenora you can't pack," he told her urgently. "Ramsay will be gone, but there will still be people in the keep. You cannot simply walk out the main gate with a trunk and a bag."
Lenora nodded, it made sense. "We'll wear as many clothes as we can then," she told him. "Three sets, to keep warm, and so that we will have a change of clothes when we get where we're going." He shook his head again, his gaze dropping down toward his feet. "Seven Hells," she cursed in a whisper. "What has you shaking your head now? What is it?"
"I can't come with you, Nora," he told her. "It'll be too suspicious. You'll leave tonight, but when you do you must go alone."
"Alone?" Lenora whispered, her voice shaking. She had tried to run on her own before and she had been caught within an hour. She shook her head, "I can't" she told him. "I can't -"
"You can, Nora," he told her, his voice soft like velvet, but hard like steel. Snow falling on ice. "You are so strong, Your Grace," he told her. He smiled ruefully and shook his head, "It used to drive Robb to insanity. You were so headstrong, so stubborn, you didn't need him the way he thought a wife should need her husband. And you don't need me. You will do this on your own and you will do it like you have done everything else in your life."
Lenora scoffed, "I'll make a mess of it?" she asked him.
He shook his head, smiling gently at her, "You will survive. You will succeed. And you will do it all with a grace that your mother would be envious of."
She was certain that he was saying this to give her confidence. She doubted he believed it, even for a moment, but she appreciated it. Tears prickled in her eyes as she moved toward him quickly, throwing her arms around him so that she could give him a hug. "I'll come back for you," she promised him. "I will not leave you here to him."
Theon shook his head, pulling away from her enough that he could brush some of the hair out of her eyes, taking care to tuck it behind her ear. "Don't you worry about me, Nora," he told her. "And don't you dare risk yourself for the likes of me. I owed you a debt for what I did to Robb. Thank you for allowing me to repay it."
Hurried footsteps in the corridor had them jumping apart, Theon walking quietly toward a dark, shadowy corner of the chamber, hoping to hide from whoever was about to arrive. Ramsay was in such a hurry to enter that he did not even pause to wonder at her chamber door being unlocked. He grinned at her when he entered, the heavy wooden door banging against the stone wall behind him. "Good evening, Lenora," he told her, his grin widening.
Lenora kept her gaze on him, willing herself not to look toward the corner where Theon stood, hiding in the near darkness. For a moment she thought of returning his greeting, she was so happy that her freedom was so near. But that would only raise his suspicions. She forced a smirk onto her lips when she wanted to smile. "I can hear the soldiers rallying from my window," she told him, pointing toward the window on the opposite side of the room from Theon. "Have you come to ask me for my assistance?"
Ramsay smiled at her and shook his head, moving closer to the window so that he could look down on the soldiers in the courtyard. Lenora turned, following him with her gaze. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Theon sneak from the room. Ramsay turned back, only a moment too late to catch the traitor. "And tell me, Lenora, what business would you have on a battlefield?" he asked her.
"A fair share more than you," Lenora told him, her voice disdainful as she purposefully reached up, and ran her thumb across her face. A silent, taunting reminder of the scar she had given him for a wedding gift.
He was angry. She could see it burning in his eyes, tinged a hatred she suspected he held for all women, the reason he needed to beat them in order to fuck them. He moved toward her quickly, his right hand closing around her throat before she could move away from him, he pushed her against the wall behind her, lifting her up so that her feet were no longer touching the floor. Her hands flew to his, her nails digging into his skin and drawing blood as she tried to free herself from his grasp, but nothing worked. She was screaming, but no sound came out as his fingers continued to curl around her neck, pressing, closing. Too tight.
He leaned closer to her, his tongue flicking out to lick the outer shell of her ear. She could not summon the energy to be disgusted, all she could think about was air. His breath was warm, dancing over her skin as he whispered. "I was going to wait," he told her as his left hand dropped from her shoulders\ down over her stomach to her skirts. He started to pull them up, his nails scratching against the skin on the top of her thighs as they raked over her skin. "I was going to wait until after I had killed your uncle. "I was going to have you with the blade that had killed your uncle pressed against your throat."
He chuckled, low and dark, as he brushed his nose against her jaw line. Smelling her skin, tasting her fear, as he continued to cut off her breath. "But now I think I want you now. Here. Against the wall while you struggle, trying to breathe, trying to scream, trying to fight. You won't succeed, just as you did not succeed when I killed Bran. Just as you did not succeed when my father killed your precious Robb."
Her vision was greying, tunneling. She could only focus on his face, and just barely at that. Her leg felt sluggish as it lifted. But even if it felt as if she were moving it through water it must have carried more force than she thought. When it slammed into the soft space between his legs he called out, a strangled pain-filled sound.
He let go of her, the air rushing back into her lungs with a ferocity that hurt almost as much as when she had been deprived of it. "You little," his wheezed out, pulling his right hand back and slapping her across the face.
Her lip split open, but she smiled. No matter how angry he was, no matter how much the thought of her crying and screaming when he had Bran killed in front of her, he was in pain. He wouldn't be able to do it now.
He walked toward her, pushing her down onto her hands and knees. "Perhaps I will wait," he told her, unable to admit defeat. "Perhaps I'll have you on the table in the great hall, in front of the entire castle."
He swept past her, kicking her in the stomach as he passed.
And still, she smiled. None of it mattered. When he returned, if Stannis did not beat him, ready to fuck her on a table in front of the entire castle, she would be long gone.
And the next time he saw her, she would be there to take his head.
Author's Note:
I hope you guys could tell how much I enjoyed writing this chapter. Before the author's note it was 11,000 words long. That happens when my mind and imagination get away from me and I look up and realize that I typed more than I originally intended.
That definitely happened to this chapter.
Shout out to: DatMatt for their wonderful idea of what to do with Roose Bolton in this chapter. I had a completely different idea and while I don't like straying from my plot outline or being swayed by reviews. DatMatt had this idea almost ten chapters ago and I couldn't get it out of my head. And here it is. So, HUGE thank you for that plot bunny, my friend.
I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter. And as always, I thank you for your support. For favoriting this story, for adding it to your alerts lists and communities. And for your kind reviews. Even on hard days, your reviews make me smile.
bellaphant: I hope that this chapter did not disappoint you my friend! Help is still very much on the way for Lenora, and for Christmas for you guys ... I gave her hope!
G1234: Aww! You are so sweet! I'm so thrilled that you enjoy each chapter more than the last and I hope that trend continued with this chapter. And thank you for no longer reviewing as simple "Guest" those do get confusing!
Lulu14168: That's good! I'm glad I had you anxious and freaking out! That was the goal. As for the kids that Ramsay threw over the wall, Grey Wind wouldn't have attacked them. But given the cold and the height of Winterfell's walls, it's a safe assumption that they're all dead now.
RHatch89: Hahaha! I love the pun! No she is definitely not taking Ramsay lying down!
HPuni101: You wanted more Lenora and I delivered more Lenora! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And don't worry, Myranda is definitely still getting pushed from the wall. I'm really looking forward to that part. Thank you so much for your review!
Guest (1): I'm glad you're enjoying the story, in spite of my taking the time to answer reviews. I won't stop because the majority of my readers really seem to appreciate it. They not only read my responses to their reviews, but others as well. I figure that if someone takes the time to write a review, I can take the time to answer it. Besides, my author's notes are rarely more than 2000 words. Which means they're not taking up more than the story. They're a small fraction of it. (I did the math.)
Guest (2): You'll find out next chapter! Lenora is going to do something. And I think you will be pretty excited about it! Thank you so much for your review!
Janaoliver: I'm glad I got the tension right between Lenora/Ramsay and I hope that continued in this chapter as well. Don't worry, Ramsay will definitely get what's coming to him. And fingers crossed, I would be thrilled if it was half as good as in the show, anything more is just extra!
Littledot: I'm glad you're loving the story. It might not have felt like it in this chapter, but things are definitely going to star looking up for Lenora. And, relatively speaking, her reunion with Robb is just around the corner. There are only thirteen chapters left in this story after all.
darkwolf76: You're more than welcome for the Stark reunion! It was high time that happened, especially because of what I did to one of the Starks in this chapter ... it's my bad, but this is GoT and not everyone can survive and I saved Robb, so another Stark had to go. And I refused to let it be either of the girls. I hope your finals went well! I do not miss those days in college!
You were right, it was Jaime. I was probably a bit too obvious with that hint, but I hope that the lack of surprise did not detract from his part of the story. Oh my god! Jaime and Shrek's prince charming, they're pretty much the same person when you look at their pictures.
I'm still good at writing creepy Boltons! Yes! I'm doing a bit of a happy dance here! I'm glad I handled that section well. It was difficult, because Ramsay is a monster who would not balk at the thought of raping a woman with an audience, but I have trouble using rape as a plot device, something that's a bit of a struggle when writing GoT or any period story because the mistreatment of women seems to be something that was very common. But I don't like using it, so navigating Lenora out of that was a bit of a struggle, but I'm glad it worked out!
Don't worry about the broken record. I still get nervous every time I see Jon in my plot outline. I'm getting more comfortable with his voice, but I'm still not there yet, so it's actually very nice that you keep telling me I'm good at it. As far as Jon I don't have a pairing for him in mind (especially because Ygritte is dead and Dany isn't in this story) but I do have an OC story planned for him in the future.
I did have a fantastic Thanksgiving and Christmas has been going well so far. I took off work next week to drag the husband to Cleveland to see my parents. We're going to watch the Cavs play the Bulls next Thursday with my dad. As for LeBron things for Christmas... I have a Cavs ornament on my tree and a garland of little tiny hand knit LeBron jerseys that hang over my fireplace. My mom knit them for me a few years ago and the husband groans every year when I take them out.
Oh and they're playing the Warriors on Christmas, so "All I want for Christmas is a win!" Any special plans for you?
StarkTeller: Don't worry dear I wouldn't stop answering the reviews even if ten guests told me not to do it! If you guys are going to take the time to review then I am going to take the time to answer. It's only fair.
I'm glad you enjoyed the Stark sister reunion. We're going to go more in depth with that in the next chapter. And I laughed out loud when I read your question about Bran and Rickon because the part with Bran in this chapter has been planned forever so your timing with asking where they were was ironically perfect. Here they are!
I've seen a couple episodes of OUAT, never in order though. I did like their take on the Mad Hatter (calling him Jefferson was a nice touch) and Sebastian Stan in eyeliner is great, and I'm in love with Hook. He's fantastic. I should probably watch the entire series at some point.
Thank you for your kind words about Jon. I'm glad I know his voice. It'll be coming back in the next chapter ... for a bit.
By the way, your fan videos inspired me to check out Reign. I was curious about the girl. And now I'm not only fangirling, but binge watching the entire series.
Also I love when you leave multiple reviews! It means the story sticks with you, even when you're not reading it and that makes me so happy!
As for elements from season six. There will be some. Especially Jon being named KiTN. And perhaps it will echo the way Lenora acted when Robb was named KiTN, I like when things come full circle like that so there's a pretty good chance.
Count down to BoTB ... four chapters.
Guest1995: I've actually really been enjoying your AU ideas. When I sit down to write a chapter I start with one of those to get my GoT neurons firing. I wrote a stand alone piece between Lenora and Olenna because I think those two badass ladies would get along very well. And then the more I wrote the more I realized that there was a spot that I could fit it in this story instead of as a stand alone AU. So after some tweaking, it'll show up.
I'm glad you enjoyed Lenora fighting back. She's not the type that would have willingly let Ramsay do what he wished with her! As for the children: Winterfell's walls are high and it's bitterly cold. If any survived the fall, they would have frozen to death. Though Grey Wind trying to keep them warm is a funny thought.
Gamemaster77: I'm glad that you enjoyed Lenora in the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed her in this chapter too! As for Myranda ... one of the two are going to kill her. And either way, Len's going to be happy about it. You do not have your stories confused, Theon walked her to Robb and then came full circle and walked her to Ramsay. There was a reason I had him escort her in her first wedding, I've had the wedding scene to Ramsay planned for ever. Your wish about Reek is my command. The timing of your request was very good. I'm glad you enjoyed her laughing after she cut Ramsay, it was kind of a moment of hysterical relief and joy and I'm happy you appreciated it. Jaime riding Grey Wind, that's an idea. I don't know if they'll ever get to that point, but perhaps they will travel together.
How dare I! Don't worry, there will be more Stark sisters in the next chapter. I have to make up for what I did to Bran in this chapter after all. I promise Arya won't be running off. I want Stark reunions as much as you guys do! Pod and Sansa is a nice thought! If I weren't so weirdly into the idea of Tyrion and Sansa (because I think it really shows growth for both of their characters) I might toy around with that!
Merry Christmas to you as well, my friend!
Bji: Thank you so much! Enjoy!
Falcon Lair: I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thank you!
Danaren Reid: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! We're going to see Arya and Lenora interacting soon and it's going to be fantastic. A mix of Arya being a bit in awe of Lenora for everything she's survived and Lenora kind of taking Arya under her wing and making her a less sociopathic version of the little killer on the show. Mushy and bit a violent - very much like both of the girls.
You were right about Jaime. He's coming to the rescue!
As for who will meet Robb? It might be Gendry. The kid is traveling with Tyrion after all. And I do appreciate bringing weird characters together. Which is how Gendry showed up in this story to begin with.
Thank you for adding me story to your community! I do a little happy dance every time I see things like that.
CharlieSamantha: Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!
Sean Mulligan: I'm glad that you find the story interesting and I hope that you continue to do so. As for the divergence from canon. I wanted a Baratheon princess who did not make drastic changes to the plot. Because she wouldn't have in real life. Westeros had never been ruled by a woman, so men wouldn't instantly rally behind her even if she was the only trueborn heir like I have seen happen in some stories. And if you look at the time period, it's not that women weren't able to have impact on the world, but they're usually quiet and slow burning. So that's what I wanted for this story.
As for the Red Wedding, that would have always happened, even without Robb's betrayal. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton would have always betrayed Robb if a better offer came along. And to save his family's legacy Tywin Lannister would have always offered. Especially if there was a chance of getting his granddaughter back.
JR: Thank you so much for your review! I hope you continue to love the story!
TINABELCHERISMYSPIRITANIMAL: Yes. She will find out that Cersei killed Robert. And she's going to find out that Cersei tried to kill her. She's not going to be such a fan of her mother by the end of this story. I can tell you that.
And that's all I've got for now!
Happy holidays friends! I'll be back soon!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.