Hey guys, guess what, it's my birthday! This chapter's quite short, but it's more just to introduce another character. I didn't really know how to end it so I just sorta did this. Anyway, I still haven't accepted a Lord Bolton, so I've tried to be quite vague about him. If I don't receive one, I guess I'll make a Lord Bolton.

Now then, let's see how Rickard's doing…

Rickard of Crofters – The North, The Dreadfort

Gods, I wanted sleep. I hadn't slept in so long. But if I did, the Bolton woman would come again. I was terrified of what she would do if I closed my eyes. She was here, somewhere, watching me. In the shadows, like the demon she was.

The door creaked open, and I began to struggle against my binds again. My wrists were rubbed raw, but I summoned all my strength to try and fight off the woman. And there was no woman. Instead, there was a man.

He dressed like no other northerner. No other main-lander, at all. No, he was clad in leather armour, like an Ironborn soldier. His jaw and scalp were shaved bare, leaving only the pale white skin, and those unsettling grey eyes. Not like the Starks, deep and dark like the wolf's. His eyes were hard and pale, like twin pebbles from the Stony Shore.

"Rickard!" The man smiled, pulling on a line of rope, "My sister was telling me all about you. She said you're a man who knows pain." He pulled out a knife, identical to the one the Bolton woman used, "I've decided to see what her words are worth."

Before I could start to attempt to struggle against my bonds, a woman entered the chamber, carrying a plate of bacon, blood sausage and bread. No, not a woman, not yet. A girl. She could have only been thirteen or so – I'd reckon she hadn't bled yet. She was lithe and blonde. At least, I could tell she used to be. Now, her hair was closer to white, and the wet white dress she wore clung to the jutting bones of her body.

"You are a lovely little girl, aren't you?" He flickered his eyes and up down her, grabbing her wrist before she could leave. "What's your name?"

"Lily."

"Lily!" He cut into his sausage and began to noisily chomp. "Meet Rickard. Rickard, Lily." Lily's eyes flickered up to me, and the man's chomping silenced. He pointed his knife at her, "Curtsy." The girl scrambled to do so, and his chomping continued. "Rickard should bow but… well, he's a little tied up at the moment." He continued to chew his pork while examining me. "Gods, you are an ugly fellow, aren't you!" He sniggered. "You look like a little rat… Rickard the Rat! There's one for the songs!" He let out a few more gasps of laughter, shook his head and continued to cut the sausage. "Do you sing Lily?"

"I don't… not really M'Lord-"

"Sing the Rat a song, Lily."

"Don't." I managed to grunt. The girl looked up at me, eyes wide like coins. I shook my head to her.

"Wha… don't?" The man chuckled in disbelief, "Don't?" Now he was actually amused. "Of course. I just named you the Rat; It's your name day. You get whatever you want. So, let's see what you think," he grabbed the belt from his breeches, and began to tie it over my mouth, "of lovely little Lily's voice." He pointed his knife at the girl and twirled towards the wall opposite me. She walked over and stood there, eyes flitting back and forth.

"What should I-"

"Wait. For me. To. Sit." The man ordered, knife pointed at her. He sat down, and gently gestured for her to start singing. She opened her mouth, and a delicate and brittle voice emerged. I recognized the song. The Winter Maid. A sad song. The girl would flinch and her voice would waver when the man stabbed his food. As her eyes began to travel across my bloodied arm, tears started to swell in her eyes.

When the girl finished singing, her voice was fragile and cracked, trying to withhold the tears that escaped her eyes and raced frantically down her cheeks, as if they wanted as far away from that scarred and beaten body as soon as possible. She stood there in front of me, eyes cast down upon the ground before closing at the sound of the man's rambunctious applause.

"Wonderful!" He nodded, still chewing his pork, "wonderful, didn't you think so?" He asked me. I tried to say no, to shake my head - I wanted him to let her go. She was a child. "N...no? You didn't like little Lily's song?" He stood up, turning back to face me before turning to the girl, a toothy smile cracked across his shorn skin, "Well, it is your nameday," he stood up from the table, picking up that thin blade, "and you get whatever you want on your nameday..." he turned back to the girl, who started to back away, shaking her hair, letting out panicked yells of fear. He grabbed her arms, lashing her against the wall with leather bindings before turning back to me.

"What do you say, little wolf," He raised an eyebrow, "tongue?" He clinked the knife against her crooked mouth. "Teeth?" I shook my head. The Flayer furrowed his brows, looking around for someone to explain why I was saying no. "What, then, tits?" He slapped the flat side of the blade against the girl's breasts, emitting a sharp squeal from her. Eventually, the Flayer's smile fractured his mouth again. "Oh," he chuckled, "oh, that is a lot to ask for! You are being greedy today, aren't you?"

I began to realise what he was talking about as he grabbed the hem of her dress, cutting it open with the knife. I began to let out as much sound as the leather gag would let me. The Flayer turned his sickly eyes across the girl's bare body before looking back at me. "Well, alright - it is your nameday after all! Besides," He turned back to the girl, flourishing the blade, "you were done using your cunt anyway. Weren't you?"

Theodosia Bolton – The North, The Dreadfort

I enjoyed watching people eat. It tells you a lot about a person. The way they hold their knife, cut their food, the combinations. In our hall, my brother Raff, my father and I all sat in silence, except for Raff's loud chewing and slurping of ale. Raff's face would flicker back into sight with the dancing flames. Raff raised his tankard aloft for one of the serving girls to re-fill it. I wonder if anyone would notice if I switched out the pork with human flesh.

"…Lords Umber and Flint will be here in the fortnight," Raff said between mouthfuls of food, "and Locke, Hornwood and Manderly will march on Winterfell with us."

"Lord Umber is coming here?" Father spoke from the head of the table. Raff nodded. "What about the Karstarks?"

"I've sent a raven to Sigurd Greyjoy," Raff explained, "he'll send twenty longboats to take Karhold."

"Good." Father nodded. "Very good. And the Stark scout in the cells?"

"Oh," Raff beamed and chuckled, "he doesn't know anything."

"Then why is he still alive?"

"My own personal amusement?" Raff giggled. There was a lull, as Raff looked to father, whose lips were a thin line, and his eyes bored into Raff.

"I am not laughing." Father stated. "I gave Greyjoy a boy and expected a man to return. But no…" he sighed, "again with the games…" I liked looking at Raff. The raw skin on his knuckles stretching as his fist clenched. The physical reaction to a verbal action.

"If I have displeased you, father-" Raff began.

"Kill the bloody Starks. Then I will coddle you." Father stood up. He turned to me. "Where is your mother?"

"Drawing." I plastered on a smile as father grumbled. "Father? The Stark scout was journeying to Last Hearth."

"To the Umbers?"

"It clearly means wheels are turning." I stated. "The Starks will move to take Hornwood. It's the closest keep, and they can rally the Cerwyns-"

"Thea," Raff smiled, "this isn't the war room."

"Clearly not. A woman would never be allowed in there. Hence why we're talking about this now."

"Father has entrusted me to lead the forces. I have secured the Ironborn-"

"I don't wish to bicker Raff." I leant back in my chair, simpering into my cup of wine, "It's unbecoming." Raff was a raging ball of emotion. It was fun to do this every now and then. Play with him and pull at the strands.

"Take after your sister." Father want to move past us, but lingered for a moment next to me. "If only you had been born a man." He chuckled, and continued to exit the hall. Raff gripped his fork.

"You still get so upset with me playing with your toys…" Raff chuckled to himself.

"Lily was mine." I stated. "Now I have to find someone else for the hunt."

"What about Rickard the Rat?" Raff let out a scoff with a smile. I rolled my eyes at his imaginative naming.

"I already hunted him. He'll stay in the dungeons until I tire of him."

"Well," Raff leant back in his chair, picking his nails with his thin flaying blade, "these hunts sound fun. You don't mind if I join?"

"Of course not," I shook my head, "as long as you arrange our quarry."

Raff laughed, "Cross my heart."

I know – a little bit of a short update. I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as you could. Next chapter is in Winterfell. Also, we've only got another handful of chapters in this 'instalment'. Like… six or something. But, I'll get to work on the next one straight off.