It's been a few days since the incident, and apart from a stern lecture that was witnessed by a very amused Robb, Blaire was not punished for her actions, and the coward has been sentenced to the Wall for his attempt. It wasn't what Blaire wanted, she would have preferred his head on a spike for what he tried to do, but it was enough to make her relent and finally leave the matter alone. It didn't stop her from a victory drink with Jaeda, who was not amused but drank anyway.
Being back in Winterfell was both exciting and challenging. Exciting because she got to be with the Starks again. She helped Bran with his archery during the day, and taught Arya a thing or two about sword fighting at night. She showed off her newfound skills to Robb and Jon when they practiced, thoroughly embarrassing them as Bran watched from the top of the turrets. More than once she caught Arya playing little jokes on Sansa and helped by distracting her sister to make a clean getaway, making surprisingly civil conversation with the lass before sneaking off to avoid her wrath. She played with little Rickon, and with all the new direwolf pups that were rescued after the execution.
She felt particularly close to Greywind, who would often follow her with his tongue hanging out when he wasn't with Robb, adoration filling his eyes to the brim. Nymeria would often sneak up on her and lap her hand before running off to find Arya. Lady was just like Sansa, all prim and proper and often unamused by Blaire and Arya's antics. Shaggydog was just as wild and untamed as the little baby Rickon was. Bran's wolf didn't have a name yet, and was just as mysterious as Ghost, who was often off in his own world, yet rarely strayed from Jon. When he did, it was not for long. He had an interesting way of showing his affection, merely bumping his nose against the hand before wandering away. Apart from Jon, he's only done that with Blaire so far, and she felt honored to have earned his affection.
Apart from Lady, all the direwolf pups were fond of Blaire, and she shared their affection. More than once Blaire would wake from a deep sleep to find one or more of them cuddling up next to her on the bed, which she found strange and comforting. Strange because though she was very fond of them, they were not hers to care for, and they knew that. Comforting because every time she found one at her side was when she woke from another nightmare.
The man from the Nights Watch has taken residence in her dreams and try as she might she couldn't seem to escape him, or his words.
"I saw them!" He would shout, the terrified tones bounding through her ears as she walked through this snowy, ice world where she could barely see, weapons at the ready and eyes sharp despite the storm keeping her at bay. His words would repeat repeatedly, getting louder in their rush until Blaire struggled to focus on the task at hand. She was searching for something. What she was searching for she didn't know. The only thoughts that raced through her mind were the same, "Find him, I need to find him."
At the end of the dream she would come across a shadowy figure who looked unaffected by the storm. The figure stood there, watching her struggle as she straightened her body and gripped her sword tighter, fully ready to use it. She would step forward, about to lunge when the figure opened its eyes, and suddenly the darkness disappeared as the shocking blue appeared. It was white like the snow, bones protruding where its skin once was. Ratted clothes hung flimsily off its bones, and through the roar of the storm and the pounding of those repeating words she heard its bones click as it approached her.
Just as it opened what used to be its mouth the storm would suddenly go silent, and the words of the Nights Watchman would change to "White Walkers!" and it let out a terrible scream as it charged her. The feel of her sword swinging towards the creature stung her hands every time she'd awaken from the dream, but the most haunting part was her final thoughts before she returned to the world.
"Find him," she would think as she sprung out of bed, one hand gripping the dagger under her pillow while the other reached out for anything to steady her. Who is he she would think to herself, constantly wondering who he would be.
The consistent dreams were only part of the challenging aspects upon her return, the majority being the residents of Winterfell who have never been particularly fond of Blaire and Jaeda. The cowardly raper was not the only one to call Jaeda "salt girl". In fact, most of the people only knew Jaeda as "salt girl" which drove Blaire mad on more than one occasion. Jaeda on the other hand wears her moniker with grace. Not exactly proud but she doesn't shy away from it either. She sees it as her one victory in life. She escaped the Iron Islands and now resides safely in the North. She might not belong, but she's away from severe danger, "staying alive is better than staying a maiden" she would always say to Blaire which would make her anger simmer.
Blair's monikers from the gracious people of Winterfell were numerous, ranging from wild bastard to reckless traitor, but the one that stuck most of all was "Black Stag" which they would often whisper behind her back. She was always confused by the moniker but paid it little mind for the most part until Robb would jokingly call to her "Ah! The Black Stag approaches! Bow down before her lest you want to keep your head." She would smack him for the remark but laugh all the same.
The Stark's made it worth the struggle, and Blaire found herself thanking the Gods for having them in her life. She found herself doing that quite a lot since her return. Winterfell's subjects have grown particularly distasteful and even hostile towards Blaire, not that she minded much. She was always ready for a fight. With hostility comes violence, and Blaire relished any challenge.
It was after a particularly brutal fight the previous night, and the same harrowing nightmare, Blair woke to Greywind licking the blood off her face, Shaggydog curled up against her chest, and Ghost staring at her curiously, yet worriedly as she pushed up to a sitting position and popped her back blissfully. She scratched Greywind behind his ears before standing to her feet, stumbling slightly as she struggled to gain her balance. She rolled her shoulder gingerly as she walked over to the water pale.
She washed her face and hands as the wolves watched interestedly. Greywind sat on her feet, smiling at her with his tongue hanging out. She smiled at him, leaning down to give him a kiss before walking off to get dressed. She was almost done when there was a knock on her door, and Robb's voice came through.
"Blaire?"
"Yes?"
"May I come in?"
"Of course, Greywind's waiting for you."
The door opened with a loud creak and the quick scuffling of paws sounded before Robb let out an "oof!". Amanda turned to see Greywind climbing into Robb's arms. He laughed as his wolf panted enthusiastically in his arms, his eyes filled with adoration as he struggled to choose who he wanted to stare at more, either Robb or Blaire.
"I thought I might find you here," he briefly scratch Greywind behind the ears, "I see you've gained another admirer." He gestured to Shaggydog as he set Greywind on the bed. The black wolf was now curled up on Blair's pillow, staring at her mournfully.
"He likes the heat, Rickon doesn't give off enough to warm himself at night, so he sneaks in here with the rest. Found him on me chest this morning dozing away like the pup he is." She scratched him behind his ears as she leaned over to grab her dagger from under the end of her bed. The same silver dagger from all those years ago from the rugged man, and the cold Greyjoy man. It didn't hold the same shine as it once did, but Blaire kept it just as sharp, and lethal.
She twirled it around with her fingers before shoving it into her boot. "So, what brings you here, my lord? I suspect it's more than a friendly quest to find where all the direwolves have been spending their nights?"
His smiled dimmed slightly, "a Raven came today."
"From where?"
"The Dreadfort, from Lord Bolton's bastard son." He handed her the opened note with narrow eyes.
She looked at the note before roughly taking it from him, "you know it's rude to read other people's letters. I thought Lord Stark would have taught you better." She folded the letter and placed it in the hem of her pants before grabbing her sword leaning against the bed and roughly pushing past Robb, taking her bow and arrows on the way. The heavy thud of his shoes was overshadowed by the scuffling of paws as they followed her down the dark hall of the castle.
"Why is Ramsay Snow writing you letters? How do you even know him?"
"We met after I first came here, remember? When you thought I ran off to join the Night's Watch after old nan told us stories about the Long Night and the Ice Dragon, I really went east to start exploring with Jaeda." She took a left turn, quickly descending the stairs without looking at him. She knew he would follow her. "We waded through the white knife and ventured eastward until we reached Hornwood. After restocking we headed North, hoping to travel through the Lonely Hills when we came across the Dreadfort. Like with Hornwood we didn't intend to stay for long. We were just gathering our things when we saw Domeric Bolton riding his wretched horse dragging a naked, beaten servant girl through the mud with a smile on his face."
She took a breath, turning to look at him as she reached the bottom floor, whispering, "I didn't think, I just reacted the way I always have. It was a good thing I wasn't up to par with my bow yet, or else I doubt I would have made it back to Winterfell alive. Still my arrow grazed his shoulder, causing him to fall from his horse. I didn't know it was Lord Bolton's son until people started rushing to his aid and calling for the Maester."
"Seven Hells, Blaire." His eyes went wide, arms crossing as he stepped towards her.
"I ran into the forest while Jaeda hid amongst the other travelers. It wasn't long before someone found me, or really, I found him. Long story short he protected me from his father's soldiers and brother's wrath. It helped that no one saw me shoot the arrow."
"Why did he do that? That was his brother."
"Ramsay hates his brother. Domeric is the true born son while Ramsay is the bastard, and Domeric never hesitated to remind him of that. He's very entitled, and just as cold and manipulative as his father. Having someone shoot his brother and knock him off his horse made him the happiest man to ever live at the Dreadfort. In return he not only shielded my crime but helped me improve my archery as well. Since then we've kept in contact. He's proven to be a good friend."
"Bastard or not he's still a Bolton, Blaire. You can't let him fool you because of one decent act, and kind, amorous words." He gestured to where Blaire placed her letter.
"His words are not amorous, and I haven't forgotten whose House he belongs to. I know that while he might not be as attuned to his father as Domeric is, he inherited that same cold, unfeeling nature from him. I know when I need to on my guard, Robb, now stop treating me like a child and move on. We have a long day ahead of us."
Blaire turned away from Robb once more, all but running out the entrance and into the courtyard where Rickon was jumping in the puddles with glee. After a few small greetings and meager conversations, Blaire arrived at her post along the highest wall overlooking Wintertown and beautiful lush green landscape touching the grey sky. She leaned the bow against the stone wall and hung the bag of arrows on the nearest nail before grabbing the letter. She turned to press her back against the stones before roughly sliding down to sit on the ground, unfolding the letter as she did.
Blaire. Father has received word from King's Landing. A great tragedy has struck the royal court. I fear it will affect you and the Stark family in due time. Be prepared for the changes you are about to face. It will not be what you expect. Stay strong, stay fierce, and as always stay beautiful wild one. It's been too long since you have graced me with your presence. I am most eager to see you again, if you will permit me. You're loyal friend, Ramsay
She bit the inside of her cheek as she read and reread his letter, studying the harsh strokes of his writing. What changes were coming? What could he mean? Why was his father privy to information from the South, King's Landing and the royal family no less? Blaire was unsure of what to make of Ramsay's letter, or understand why Robb decided now of all times to confiscate and read it. It appeared that changes were already happening at Winterfell, and she was not prepared for it in the slightest.
As she stood watch along the edge of the castle, she thought back to the day she met Ramsay Bolton. The story she told Robb was true enough, she shot his brother and he protected her because he hated him, and he helped her improve her archery. What really happened was a bit more complicated.
The truth was Blaire did indeed intend to go to the Wall but as inexperienced as she was, she and Jaeda lost their way multiple times before arriving at Hornwood. They restock their supplies, asked someone to point the way, and off they went again. They were lost again and came across the Dreadfort, where the tale truly begins.
Blaire knew looking at the castle that it was not a safe place to be. Jaeda opted to walk in with the other weary travelers they happened across on their journey while Blaire snuck inside another way. There was a crack in the wall that she slid through, her hand always on her dagger should trouble arise, and stayed hidden as she ventured through the castle grounds. Winterfell was an absolute beacon of light and hope compared to the Dreadfort, which looked and felt like one of the seven hells the Septons continuously warned people about.
It was when she saw Jeada successfully make it through the entrance with a tight, steady expression that failed to conceal her shaking hands that Domeric Bolton road in front of her with the screaming servant girl dragging behind him. His pompous, cold, yet oddly handsome face glowed as the girl screamed in terror behind him. His cold, cruel eyes stared down at the subjects with disgusting smirk as he abruptly turned his dark horse around and happily trampled her.
Blaire stared in shock and fury at the scene before her, not realizing that she was moving until she roughly pulled free her bow, knocked her arrow, and aimed at his disgusting smirk. Before she released the arrow, their eyes met, and all she saw in those dark depths was sadistic pleasure. She released the arrow with positive glee, aching the see it cave in his eyes, but missed and hit his shoulder instead. The impact knocked him off his horse and sent him to the ground, his scream heard amongst the courtyard. In a matter of seconds Blaire realized what she had done, where she was, and how this was going to go should she get caught. She was running from the courtyard before Domeric hit the ground.
She remembered people's voices calling after her as she escaped the castle and hid amongst the trees. The thick green leaves smacking her face in her retreat, her chest stinging with pain as she fought to control her breathing as she continued onwards. It was not long before someone found her, before he found her.
She had been standing still in an open area, searching through the trees for any routes of escape while listening for any followers from the castle when the sound of an arrow came whooshing towards her. She turned at the last second, the sharp edge of the arrow missing her cheek by a hair, piercing the tree behind her. She ducked immediately, jumping for cover behind the nearest bush as she readied her bow and arrows. She forced her lungs to take deep, calming breaths as she surveyed the area once more, this time looking for her attacker.
"You're quick, I'll give you that." A high-pitched voice sounded through the trees, a chill ran down her spine as she searched frantically through the trees. Her heart pounded in her ears as panic started to consume her. She took another deep breath, pushing away the dark thoughts of how this was it, one simple adventure to the wall ended in a fatal mistake in the woods. Amid her fear, she couldn't find it in herself to regret her decision to shoot that lordly scum off his horse. He deserved it, and if the price of her actions ended with her death, so be it.
There was a flash of movement in the distance, then a loud snap of branches. Blaire stepped out from her perch, aimed carefully towards the sound and bravely released her arrow. It went through the bushes, hitting nothing but leaves and dirt. She sighed and readied another arrow before stepping further away from her hiding spot. Once again there was no movement, no sign of life. She stepped closer to the open area, her hands steady yet back aching from her crouched position. Suddenly, just as took another step, there was movement to the right of her.
She turned just in time to avoid another arrow, once more almost touching her cheek. She pulled back arm and released the quiver just before her attacker could evade. There was a loud grunt of pain coming from behind the tree. She readied another arrow, stalking slowly towards him as she kept her eye on that spot.
"Not bad," he grunted, a flash of his sleeve briefly entered Blair's line of sight before disappearing, "your aim could use a bit of work, but not bad."
"My aim appears to be fine since I hit my target." Blaire stepped carefully, attempting to make as little noise as possible in her slow advance.
"If your intent was to graze my arm then yes, your aim is perfect."
"Got you to stop, didn't it?"
"Yes," he laughed, "I suppose it did."
She took another step, "why don't you come out? Talk face to face?"
"I must say, I'm tempted. Hearing your lovely voice can only mean you have a face to match but considering you're well prepared to kill me once I reveal myself, I sadly must decline." There was more movement from behind the tree, she took a breath to steady her trembling nerves.
"Who says I'm going to kill you?"
"Well you did just escape my brother, holding a weapon you're clearly not afraid to use, and haven't given any inclination to suggest otherwise." He took a deep breath, "How did you manage to get your hands on a weapon so quickly?"
Her brow creased in confusion, "I brought it with me."
"You and I both know that's not true." His tone darkened, his movement lessened, "I thought you would know better than to be dishonest after your latest punishment, or are you really as stupid as my brother says?"
"What are you talking about?" She asked, thinking him to be mad.
"Come now, wench. Don't pretend you don't know what I speak of."
A thought suddenly occurred to her, "do you think I'm the servant girl that piece of shit was dragging through the courtyard?"
He hesitated before answering, "Aren't you?"
"No, I'm the one who shot that scum of a lord off his horse." Blaire took another step towards him during her declaration, taking a breath steady her resolve when he revealed himself.
He was handsome, almost like the young lord, his brother, and appeared to be not much older than Blaire. Her guess was 12, 14 at the most. He had the same dark hair, a similar face, and both pale and slender characteristics as his brother. His eyes matched his brother's as they contained the same cold and sadistic qualities, but something was different about his. There was an emptiness hidden within the depths of his bright eyes that conflicted with his love of inflicting pain. Suddenly she had the image of a sad little boy looking at his father and brother talking in the distance, desperately wanting to be part of the conversation while knowing that he can't. There was so much within those depths, so much that yearned to be seen.
He looked at her strangely, studying her as keenly as she studied him. His handsome face clouded with confusion the longer he looked at her. Something about her surprised him. Was it the way she refused to loosen her hold on her arrow? The rigid stance in which she took to fend him off should she miss? Was it her strange eyes, or was it something else entirely?
He took a step towards her, the leather of his dark coat scratching the leaves on the bush next to him. She refused to move away, ready to release at a moment's breath. He didn't seem to mind, his eyes fixed on hers. "You're not afraid of me?"
Her brow creased once more, "Why would I be?" Her response triggered a vast change in his expression, a change she didn't fully understand.
"I'm not like other men you've encountered."
"And I'm not like other girls." She countered with a glare, and a flash of a smile crossed his lips before they returned to their firm set.
"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes intent.
She opened her mouth to answer when a loud crack sounded behind her.
She turned to face it on instinct, realizing her mistake only when footsteps sounded behind her. She attempted to turn back when a strong arm wrapped at her waist and a hand went to her mouth, halting the grunt of panic. He pulled her back against his chest and into the thicket of dark, mossy trees where he was originally hiding. She dropped her bow and used the arrow to try and stab him in the sides. He grunted in pain as he released his hold on her waist to roughly pull it from her hand. She took the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach where the sharp edge of the arrow grazed him. He doubled over slightly, but it was not enough to escape him.
His arm wrapped around her waist once more as he pulled her back behind the tree, leaning against it as he started shushing her.
"Stop, they'll hear us."
She continued to struggle within his embrace for another moment until she heard voices in the distance. She grew still, her hands unconsciously holding his arms as men's voices floated towards them.
"Can't believe we fucking lost her." A scratchy, angry voice spoke, and Blair's attacker stiffened.
"How does one lose a beaten servant girl?" A smooth, arrogant voice said, closer to them this time as footsteps rang loudly through the silent forest.
"By a rogue archer apparently, though no one saw the culprit."
"Lord Domeric did, said it was a boy no more than eight, a mangy thing with dirty clothes and dirty hair. Believes him to be one of the travelers that arrived today with the wheat stock." The arrogant man responded, closer now than before. "Isn't his bastard brother out looking for the bitch as well?"
"Aye, and if he finds, she won't live to see the dawn."
"If she does, she'll wish she hadn't."
"The bastard likes to play with pretty girls, she was lucky the true born decided to claim her instead of him. There's something wrong with that lad."
"True," there was a rustle of movement in the bushes behind her. She moved instinctively for her dagger, preparing for the worst. Her attacker tightened his hold in response, his lips pressing against her temple. Don't move he breathed so faintly, so softly that she wasn't entirely sure those were his words when the arrogant man's voice sounded again.
"The archer has been through here."
The angry voice scoffed, "How so?"
"They left their bow behind," Blaire stiffened at the proclamation, and her attacker responded in kind.
"Must still be learning," the angry voice paused, "or perhaps the servant girl managed to grab a weapon in her escape?"
"Only to abandon it when she needed it most?"
"The girl was never very bright, why else would Lord Bolton allow his son to drag her the courtyard like that?"
"Spill one to many chamber pots and you'll be fed to the dogs," the arrogant man laughed as his footsteps sounded away. "Let's go through there, rogue archer or not if that bitch isn't found we'll all be dead by morning."
"Aye, let's hurry. It won't be long until nightfall."
There was more grumbling from the pair for a moment more as they left the clearing, and then silence. They waited for a long moment, barely moving as the wind rustled the trees and his hot breath caressed her exposed cheek. Ever so slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth. "If I release you, will you attack me?"
"Only if you give me reason too," she retorted, her hands gingerly searching for her dagger.
He chuckled in her ear and released her from his grasp. She stepped away from him and back towards the clearing.
"Shit" she cursed as she searched the area for her fallen bow.
"They must have taken it with them," she turned to see him smirking at her, his eyes studying her once more.
"Why did you protect me?" She stepped towards him, searching those hidden depths.
He didn't answer at first. He studied her a moment more as he took very careful steps towards her, watching her curiously. She watched him with equal vigor, refusing to back down as he closed the space between them.
"You're really not afraid of me?" It was a question, but he said it as a statement.
"No, I'm not." She stepped forward as well, refusing to break eye contact.
Her words and actions strongly affected him and touched him in a way he's never experienced before. Deep in those hidden depths she saw the slow spread of warmth creep into his eyes. Blue and green eyes, her eyes flashed in her mind.
His hand went to her cheek beneath her blue eye. His skin was rough and cold. "Who are you?"
She looked deeper into those depths, only finding honest curiosity, "Blaire."
Surprise crossed his face "Blaire?"
"Yes," she paused, her face subtly leaning into his touch, "Who are you?"
"Ramsay Snow" his voice was blunt, like the ends of the practice blades Sir Rodrik would use. The backs of his fingers caressed her cheek with a reverence that she couldn't understand. He moved forward slightly, an unconscious effort on his part, his lips parting slightly.
"I've never met someone who hasn't feared me. Whenever I meet a stranger, whether commoner or Lord, they have always been weary, careful to keep their distance. At first, I thought it was because I was the bastard, the scum on my father's boot that can't be cleaned away. As I grew older, I realized it was not simply my moniker, but my disposition that everyone feared, and in time I came to accept their fear of me, embraced it even. It's easy to do when you're a Bolton.
Yet you, sweet Blaire, standing before me with no hesitation, no wistful longing for a place far away from here, from me. I sense no fear in you, why is that?"
"It's easy to fear or hate what you don't understand. I've always known what it's like to be mistreated by those who couldn't, or wouldn't see past my strange eyes, my wild nature, or the mark I've bared since my birth." She raised her marked hand then, revealing the dark wings on the back before turning over to show the spiral.
He took her hand with both of his, tracing the red markings with his cool, calloused fingers as she continued, "My parents sent me away because they didn't want me. I've always been wild, eager to fight and knock down those who threaten or oppose me. I suppose it became too much for them to bare because now here I am. Talking with a boy not much older than myself who seems much older than he appears, a boy who had every right and opportunity to kill me yet protected me instead. From his own men no doubt. The same boy who's surprised to find that I don't fear him, but why should I fear him when I know what it's like to be him? To be ousted or ignored by your family and ridiculed by strangers wherever you go just because you're different. How could I fear someone like that?"
The look he gave her she didn't quite understand. She saw relief cross his face, but it morphed into something stronger, wilder than she's ever seen before. He took one last step forward, his chest now touching hers. She didn't realize how tall he was until she realized she was eye level with his shoulder and had to crane her neck up to look at him. One of his hands went to her neck, his thumb rubbing her jawline.
"I'm going to keep you, sweet Blaire. Hide you away so father and brother can never find you."
His voice was so soft, so gentle that Blaire almost missed what he said. Almost. When the weight of his words struck her, she struck back.
She roughly pulled from his grip and pushed his chest with all her might. He was surprised by her sudden attack, and unprepared to stop her as he went tumbling back into the muck. He landed hard on his back, and before he could retaliate Blaire was on top of him, dagger in hand as he pressed it to his throat.
"I'm not one for hiding or being kept." She leaned down slightly, whispering to him, "and just because I know what you are doesn't mean I won't hesitate to kill you. Understand?"
He grinned beneath her, laughing at her actions, especially when she pressed harder with the dagger.
"If not hidden or kept, how else would I get you to stay?"
"You could have asked me nicely, but now I'm not so sure."
"What if I help train you? With bow and sword?"
She considered, "what of your brother? Your father?"
"You heard what the soldiers said, he saw a dirty common boy, not a beautiful, fiery girl with a warrior's heart. All we have to do is get you cleaned up and get you fresh clothes."
"How about navigating a forest?" Though this trip didn't end as terribly as it could have, Blaire didn't want a repeat performance.
"Of course," he smiled.
She pursed her lips, believing it too good to be true, yet saw no deception in his eyes. She pondered what the best course of action would be when she finally pulled the dagger away from his neck, standing as she placed the dagger back where it belongs.
He eagerly stood before her, gently grabbing her hand and leading her back towards the Dreadfort, "Don't worry, you're safe with me," and safe she was.
Ramsay never broke his word to Blaire. During her stay, he helped her improve her archery, her skills with the sword, and spent many hours and showed an endless amount of patience as they trekked through the forest many times until she could find her way out of the woods without his help. Jaeda was less than thrilled with the extended stay, claiming the Dreadfort was not a welcoming place to be. Blaire paid it no mind.
Lord Bolton had been surprisingly gracious to Blaire, as was Domeric who never recognized her as the one who shot him down. The Bolton's subjects were far grimmer than those of Winterfell, but this lot kept to themselves, their eyes to the ground as they shuffled through day in and day out. The days were always dreary, and the nights were often cold. Blaire couldn't be happier.
A few of Lord Stark's soldiers arrived to claim her not long after she learned to navigate through the forest. They stayed for a few days to rest and allow Blaire to say goodbye to Ramsay. The parting was not as bad as she had expected, only a simple goodbye before the two would undoubtedly meet again.
"Don't worry, Ramsay. We'll see each other again, that I promise" she said to him before climbing onto Casper, who still maintained his hatred of men, and trotted away back home.
Since then the two have maintained correspondence, writing to each through Raven's whenever they had the chance. Lord Stark was aware of it, but no one else was, not to Blair's knowledge.
Twice since their first meeting has Blaire visited Ramsay, and both times were amazing and wonderful. He always treated her as he first did, but when it came to others, she saw the cold cruelty take hold of him much like with Lord Bolton and his brother Domeric, who had taken a keen interest in her that unnerved her, particularly when she started to grow up. She began to see what others felt, though she knew she too needed to be weary, she couldn't bring herself to do so. Not once has he given any indication that he might hurt her, and if he did, she would have taken him down and stopped him.
The wind fluttered ends of the page as Blaire stared at his letter. It has been so long since she last saw him, yet now as she read his warning, she realized it might be even longer before she could see him again. At long last she folded the letter and placed it in her pocket. She spent her time pondering, now she needed to stand watch.
It was mid-day when she started hearing whispers amongst Winterfell. The fellow soldiers along the wall with her wouldn't shut up, glancing at her now and again. She ignored them, unsurprised by their whispers. She was used to it after all these years. She dutifully continued her duties by watching the horizon until she caught the loud, arduous words of Sir Rodrik and his son passing through the entrance below her.
"Get those lads into shape. I want them to be expert swordsman before they arrive."
"Understood father."
"Only a fortnight to prepare for The King and the Royal family, and the Gods praises us if we have that long. Up off your asses' boys, The King will be arriving before we know it!"
Blaire abandoned her post to stare down at the passing Master of Arms with wide, unbelieving eyes. The King was coming? To Winterfell? Surely this was a joke?
She studied Sir Rodrik's hurried pace, his stiff, frustrated demeanor as he charged through the courtyard, his son struggling to keep up.
Blaire cursed, shocked at the revelation. The King was truly coming, with the Royal family in tow. She didn't know how to feel about the news, confused seemed to be easiest emotion to feel with good reason. Out of all the years rarely, if ever has a southern King trekked this far north merely for a social visit. Something brought this about, but what could it be?
Her hand went to her pocket. A great tragedy has struck the royal court he wrote, but who's tragedy could it be? She had little time to think about it when Sir Rodrik's voice bellowed once more.
"Toby! Where's Blaire?"
"Watch duty, sir!"
Blaire reared back out of sight, quickly gathering her things and running for it. Blaire wasn't scared of many things, but she knew better than to be in Sir Rodrik's presence when he was in a mood. It didn't help that she technically wasn't supposed to do watch duty with the soldiers. Lord Stark allowed it because she was the best archer in Winterfell, but Sir Rodrik didn't approve and never hesitated to stop her nonsense. His voice bellowed louder than before as she quickly snuck passed the soldiers and towards the small opening on top of the wall that she could use to climb down instead of opting for the stairs where Sir Rodrik would undoubtedly go.
"Better hurry bastard!" The soldiers laughed as she swung her leg of the mortar, grabbed a tight hold on the stone, and descended.
She made it to the ground safely enough, not once losing her footing as she landed on the thick green grass with a light thud. Once there she ran back towards the entrance, her eyes looking out for Sir Rodrik. He was ascending the stairs just as she made it through the entrance. She did her best to blend in with the crowd of people, but it was not an easy task.
She was taller than most of the people there, taller than most people she met if she was honest and stuck out like a sore thumb. It also didn't help that the moment they saw her they immediately backed away like she was some disgusting plague. She wanted to curse them all, beat them within an inch of her life, but had little time to when Sir Rodrik called once more.
"Blaire Storm! Stop there this instant!"
Blaire cursed again, pondering the best path to take. Wait and endure his endless rant about how she was a girl and needed to act like one, not play with swords and arrows when she could kill someone or run for it and hope she runs into either Lord Stark or his children? She thought on it and made the few steps to escape when she was stopped by none other than Theon Greyjoy.
His smile was cruel as he placed a hand on her shoulder, waving off Sir Rodrik, "Don't worry sir, I'll take it from here."
"What do you want, Greyjoy?" She knocked off his hand as if it were a rat.
"Lady Stark has asked for you presence. Sounded urgent."
"Why does Lady Stark desire my presence?"
"Don't know, I'm just following orders."
"And you do it so well," she pushed passed him, glaring at the crowd with all her might as they cowered away from her.
Ignorant fools, always afraid of what they don't understand.
She ignored the stares and fearful looks from the people as she headed into the castle. Theon followed behind her with a smile on his face.
In no time at all she stood in front of Lady Stark in the Great Hall. She too was very stiff and frustrated in her demeanor, a line started to form between her brows that threatened to become a permanent fixture.
"Blaire, good of you to come." She mumbled, briefly glancing at her over the paper in her hand.
"Apologies, my Lady. I didn't realize you had asked for me."
"No need for that, come with me." She handed the page to Maester Luwin, who looked just as stressed bent over a stack of papers at the big table. She grabbed her arm, a very rare physical action on Lady Stark's part. Its shocked Blaire enough to let the Lady pull her along.
"I'm sure you've heard about our guests that will be arriving soon?"
"The King and the Royal Court?"
"Yes," she pulled her off to the side of the Great Hall, "and I need to talk to you about that."
Blaire gave her a confused look, "why would you need to talk to me about The King and the Royal family?"
She sighed, refusing to look at her, "It's no secret Blaire. You've been known to be reckless in your actions during your stay here, reckless to your detriment."
Blaire pulled away slightly, "Pardon my intrusion my lady, but how exactly has it been to my detriment?"
She gave a scornful look, "Need I mention the tarring incident?"
Blaire pursed her lips, jerking her head side to side.
The Lady patted her hand, "I know I can trust you Blaire. There is no one outside of this family I would trust with the lives of my children more than you."
"Yet you don't want me in the King's presence?"
She sighed again, "I'm sorry Blaire, but I request that when the Royal family arrives you will do well to stay out of their way."
She looked long and hard at Lady Starks face, trying to see what motive she had for asking such a thing. She still wouldn't look at her. How strange, Catelyn Stark was the most forward and honest person Blaire ever had the pleasure of knowing, yet here she was hiding whatever her true motives and intentions for wanting Blaire kept away from the Royal family.
She thought on what the Lady said, about her reckless behavior being the cause of her request. Perhaps it wasn't unfair of her to make such request considering the chaos Blaire caused during her stay here. The fights, the random disappearances where she ventured into the forest weeks at a time, more fights, almost burning someone alive with molten tar, more fights, and more fights on top of that.
Blaire relented, slightly nodding, "As you wish, my Lady. When the Royal family arrive, I'll stay out of sight."
"Thank you," she squeezed her hand slightly, "Now start preparing the children, make sure they know to be on their best behavior when they arrive."
"Understood," Blaire nodded. "What of Jon?"
The look Lady Stark gave her at the sound of his name made Blaire clench her fist, "He too will not be permitted to be in the presence of the Royal Court, something I'm sure he's already been made aware of. Now please leave, I have a feast to prepare for."
She briskly walked away, pushing past Blaire and towards the table where Maester Luwin had abandoned his papers and was staring intensely at Blaire. He would often look at Blaire in that fashion, it was just his way. Watching her with vast disappoint or worry over what she'll do next. She used to get angry about it, but now she was amused by it. What can she do to make those ridiculous eyes pop out of their sockets with shock?
His stare today was different than normal. Disappointment and worry did not cloud his intensity, but a curious gleam lit his expression as he stared at her. What could he be so curious about? Blaire didn't bother to ponder the implications behind his gaze. Instead she nodded her head to him, turned on her heel and left the Hall, intent on finding Arya and play a game on Sansa before the time for games was over.