I awoke to the sound of horse hooves and the faint hum of idle chatter. My eyes gave no aid to the confusion that consumed me as I could see nothing but a pitch black glow all around, though the tiniest peek of light cracked through the bottom of the apparent blindfold. I assumed I had been wearing it for quite some time, the fabric chafing against the already sore skin on my temples. The dull ache on my forehead was nothing compared to the rest of my body, though I didn't feel the need to break out into a hail of screams and cries anymore. Thankfully. I realized my body was not as cooperative as it had once been, the movements heavy and full of the same fog that had clouded my brain that night I had woken in the presence of Jon Snow. I removed the blindfold then, tossing it aside and letting the dull light of the dusk creep into the back of what seemed to be a small wagon. The struggle I had endured moving may also have been due to the piles and piles of rags and coats that buried me alive in the back of this sordid little wagon. Whether it was to hide my body or keep me warm it did not matter. Every sight and smell that greeted me were unfamiliar and did nothing to ease my nerves. The deep musk of other men and all the scents that came with them filled my nostrils, each rag and coat that covered my body all belonging to a different suitor it seemed. I could not find comfort in the warmth that the clothes provided - only the anxious thought of who had dressed me in them. The coat that wrapped around my body was clearly made for a man triple my size, it engulfed my frame and fought off the cold as well as the fur coats that the Lord used to wear on a days hunt. Ramsey.
A flurry of questions flooded in too fast for me to catch a word of them; I shook my head and hoped that some memory of that dreadful night would come back to me. It didn't. All that flashed before my eyes was last thing I always saw before I was knocked unconscious. Him. Both angry and dripping with lust for blood as the massacre began and came to an end.
An ache spread across my chest as I remembered Jon and his Maester speaking about my condition. Beaten to near death and left in the kennels to be torn apart by the hounds. I had watched it done to a million other women and men - I had fooled myself into thinking I meant more to the Lord than the gutterwhores he strung up for the thrill of it; much like a delusional child caught up in a fairytale. I had been nothing more than a toy on the shelf he forgot to rid himself of. Perhaps the dogs had not mauled me to death because I was so past my expiry date. Or perhaps they had grown so used to my company they no longer saw me as a promising meal. That same ache settled over my chest in what I assumed was a new wave of sadness - the weight of it growing heavier with each passing realization until my breathing became labored and I had to drag myself out of the pity that had consumed me.
"You're awake." Jon Snow stood at the foot of the wagon with a hand readied on the handle of his sword. Perhaps he expected me to dive across the mountain of coats and attack him for saving my life? The thought were more tempting than the sarcasm gave way to - death would have been simpler.
"Where am I?"
"Nearly 100 leagues away from the man that tried to kill you."
"Distance only makes for a more entertaining hunt, my King. If Ramsey knows I live, the chase will have only just begun."
"There will be no hunt. Unless those hounds normally leave scraps of bone to prove they finished a meal. Ramsey has no knowledge of your escape. "
"Did I escape, Sir? Or was I removed from the Castle by the likes of you and your men?" I know Ramsey will see no difference between the two options when he eventually caught me, but it was worth getting the story straight now. Perhaps it would spare me another beating before he strung me up and slit my throat. I noticed Jon had been growing increasingly concerned with each passing word I spoke. I suppose you expect a damsel to be a little more grateful about her life being handed back to her - Gods, even I wanted to shake myself out of this awful stupor, but the fear that had wrapped around my body and mind did nothing to help the dried up gratitude that caught in my throat.
"I owed you this kindness. It were my fault you ended up in those cellars." A noble King with a noble cause. As tragic as the tales told.
"Were it not your kindness that confirmed my death the first time, my King?"
A pause. "Yes." Another long silence stretched out tiny wagon as it rocked along the beaten path. "I intend to make sure that doesn't happen this time around, if you would allow me to do so. And please - stop calling me King. Jon will do just fine." It was then that Jon Snow offered out that same leatherbound hand across the heap of fabric. I didn't see much of the choice I had, if there were one, but Jon did not glare down at me when I hesitated or lunge for a handful of hair when I didn't rush to my feet. So cautiously, when I had looked around every corner of the wagon in case some sort of cruel trap were to be set upon me, I outstretched an arm and let his fingers wrap around my own. Instead of being dragged to my feet or forced to my knees I was allowed to rise slowly before him - every bone in my body screaming in protest for respite already. I merely winced and Jon's other arm shot out beside me to catch the weight of a potential fall. The sudden movement wrecked my nerves and I snatched my hand away from him, all wide eyed with my hackles raised as I waited for the first strike.
I stared in disbelief as instead of two fists forming at his side, Jon Snow raised both hands with open palm and waited for my next move. Kind eyes and kind words did nothing to salvage the former faith I had in the human race. I had seen Ramsey charm woman after woman tirelessly time and time again - even when the warnings and awful tales of the menace of Winterfell poured out amongst the townfolk... Not a single woman listened, or perhaps they believed they would be different. I would not make the same mistake.
I did not know Jon Snow. I did not trust him or the gentle nature that he seemed to possess. In fact, I didn't trust anyone at all.
"Please." Again I was brought back to reality by the sound of Jon's voice, as gentle as the rest of him as he offered me a hand once more. I bit back the pain that engulfed my body and stepped toward him, taking his hand and steadying myself on the back of the wagon.
"Now that you're awake I'll get the men to stop at the next Inn we come across. You can have a hot meal and a bath when we arrive. I didn't let them stop at the last one in case the wagon were robbed with you asleep in it." I think he wanted to crack a smile then, but he composed himself with all the dignity of any Lord or Lady.
"Thank you, my King."
"Jon." He corrected.
"Yes. Thank you, Jon." I think I meant it.
The next Inn we came across was a quaint, quiet little place with no more than ten punters at the bar demanding ale - six of which were Jon's men. The decor on the walls had began to peel away and reveal years worth of vinework and mould seeping just below the surface, ruining the otherwise rather convincing mirage that this was a wellkept establishment. No one could blame the plump Innkeeper that bustled around readily after every man that took shelter in her rent-a-room home; it were near impossible to keep the drought out of old brickwork like this and she did a remarkable job of making the dusty little corners with mismatched tables and chairs look almost inviting.
"It's an honor to have you here, My Lords." She was near on glowing by the time she reached the table Jon and closest advisors were situated on. "I've got your rooms ready for the night and the girls will run a hot basin in whichever you like, sirs."
"Just the Lady's, please. The men have the washroom outside." Jon smiled with the first bit of warmth I had seen touch his face since meeting him - It stretched out his worn features and lit them up, ironing out some of the lines he had clearly acquired from all the time he spent frowning.
We didn't stay at the table for long, as the evening went on many more travelers began to come in from their journey's, weary eyes skeptical of the bulk of men in what I assumed were their local Keep. As the party all went upstairs I stuck close to the only man I knew, trying to muster up the courage to ask for some privacy if I had to wash. It turns out I didn't need to.
"Your room is to the left. I'll be in the one neighboring it if you need anything."
"The room is mine alone?" I did nothing to mask the disbelief in my tone, staring at the door to the left with narrowed eyes. If my luck was anything to go by there were twenty men already situated in there.
"Yes. Is that alright?" Jon frowned once again, a hand raising to massage a crick at the back of his neck. It was only then I realised how tired he looked. How long had he made his men ride for before this long awaited respite? Why would he push himself to such limits for the sake of a nearly dead girl? I didn't know how to answer him without seemingly completely disrespectful. Every man had his limits. I did not intend to test Jon Snow's.
"You promise no one is in there, sir?"
"Jon."
"Jon." I echoed.
No answer came to my question, he simply opened the door and guided me inside with a gentle hand at the small of my back. I didn't resist, though the bile in my stomach threatened to rise as he closed the door behind us. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have taken the otherwise empty room without saying a fucking word and had a bath like I was told.
"I didn't mean to question you, my Lord. I only meant that-" I stumbled, not knowing how to save what I had already ruined. I stepped away from him and turned around quickly, both hands tucking deep into the pockets of the winter coat, wrapping it tighter around me in hopes it would stay there like glue if he tried to remove it.
"I am not Ramsey." The King in the North was calm as he walked over to the bath that had been drawn, checking the temperature and gesturing to the room around him. "I promise there is no one hiding in this room. I promise no one will come in to this room while you are here and I promise I did not take you from Winterfell to treat you in the same way he treated you. So please, sit down and speak with me."
So I did as the man asked. I sat with him in the room, albeit on the opposite side, and waited for him to talk. It did not take him long to find his voice. Jon Snow had many questions about Ramsey and how I came to know a man so cruel. He also wished to know what Ramsey really did to his victims; and what really happened to his sister during her relatively short stay with the Lord. I answered as honestly as I could, though I would only speak in hushed tones in fear Ramsey would hear my treachery all the way in Winterfell. Jon did not urge me to tell him things I couldn't get past my lips and he did not threaten to beat the answers out of me when I had nothing left to say to him. As the minutes turned to hours I found my own voice. Eventually I told the Lord things I hadn't dared whispered in the confines of the castle in fear of Ramsey catching wind of them. With the same naivety of the child I once was, I made Jon Snow make promises to me that I knew he could not vow to keep. I told him Ramsey would find me, eventually. In the same way his Direwolf would hunt the deer in the Godswood. It was merely nature and there was nothing he or I could do to stop it - despite his strong protest that Ramsey was powerless now. It was his fault that I would now be tortured to death, and so my only wish was that Jon Snow be the one to kill me when Ramsey got a rope around my neck. To spare me a single moment in the company of the man that were a monster.
The King agreed on one condition.
I was to call him Jon.
I don't remember falling asleep.
Howls broke out with all the ferocity of the wolves of the wood as I broke free from my slumber; jolting me into a high state of alert as horse hooves trampled outside of the window. The all too familiar sound of the bloodhounds sent a shock wave of dread up my spine, paralyzing me into position as reality slapped me good morn.
I shouldn't have looked out of that window. I didn't need to confirm my suspicions. I didn't need to see a pack of 20 men and 40 dogs all surrounding the crumbling Innkeep and I didn't need to see him mounted on his steed with a smile that could raise the Seven Hell's. Ramsey.