So this is a pretty long chapter… it's the last Bolton chapter of the instalment, so I wanted to show as many people as I could as well as moving the plot forwards. This is the penultimate chapter, so the next one is the last of this instalment. This instalment is, after all, just a set-up for everything that follows.

Also, since this is going to need to be put into 4 instalments at least, I figured I should come up with a series name.

Theadosia Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North

He wept as I peeled back the skin. He screeched as I freed his flesh. It was strange, watching his face contort and spit fling from his lips as I twisted the knife and pried it below the skin. I was careful not to catch the muscles. No, I wanted it to be a perfect job… And sure enough, when I finished, the skin of his torso hung on either side of him, like a shirt had been undone.

"I'll give you a moment." I placed the knife on the table, and dipped my hands in the water next to it, rinsing the blood off. I glanced to my right, where Alara Hornwood waited patiently, eyes fixed on the corner.

Alara was two years my junior, and had been in my service for three years now. Unlike Katya, she never seemed to enjoy our hunts and games. Too sheltered, too hesitant. Father had adamantly requested her as my handmaiden, doubtlessly because her family had a history with my own. Alara's aunt, Melissa Manderly, had been my aunt Maryana's handmaiden, and consequently became a mistress to my father. Perhaps this was some way to find a wife for Raff. No… I wouldn't like that much. Raff would brutalize the girl in the most boring, obvious ways. He never could fathom the subtleties and finesse I had begun to master.

She was a pretty thing, if one cared for such things. Golden brown hair that was plaited in a style similar to my own. Large flint grey eyes like mine, and a constellation of freckles on her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple blue dress, spun from fine wool.

"Where did you get that dress?"

Alara looked down at her clothes, "It was my aunt's, My Lady."

I nodded, "Your aunt that my father fucked?" I didn't speak out of spite or bitterness. No, I just wanted to see how she would react to this. She was usually so quiet, I couldn't for the life of me gauge an emotional response. Not unless I was killing someone or flaying someone else.

"Yes, My Lady."

"Rat," I turned towards my toy, "do you know about Lady Melissa Manderly?" He was silent, panting as his head lolled against his chest. "Rat, you remember what happens when you don't answer me?"

"Yes, Mistress," he croaked in a shallow voice, "She were the mistress of Alvar Bolton."

"Lord Alvar Bolton." I corrected him.

"Apologies Mistress- Lord Alvar Bolton! Apologies Mistress!"

"Carry on."

"Lady Melissa was to marry Lord Alvar. And then the Starks… the…" He gulped as if he was trying to swallow the words.

"Go on." I smiled, watching him wrestle with that last part of him. That last part of him that was Rickard of Crofters. I watched his eyes swell as I picked up the blade once more, twirling it around in my fingers.

"The oathbreaker Stark kidnapped and defiled Maryan- Lady Maryana."

"Who was promised to…"

"Who was promised to Lord Elryn Umber. Lord Alvar married Lady Ilyana Umber to honour the betrothal. Lady Melissa died some years later…" Rickard hung his head solemnly, sobbing quietly into the red flesh of his shoulder, blood smearing onto his chin.

"Very good, Rat." I smiled, walking up to him and pressing my lips to his cheek, delicately kissing him. "Very good." I turned around to face Alara. "Did you get all that?"

"I did, My Lady." Alara kept her gaze at the floor.

"Look at him, Alara." I instructed. She tentatively moved her eyes up to face him, in all his glory. "I think I've taken all the Stark out of him." I admired my work. "He's so beautiful now, isn't he? Look at the muscles," I gestured with the knife, "the bones here are to protect the heart. You can see just under the muscle…" I prodded the scarlet sponge of flesh with the tip of the knife, making him flinch and the muscles contract. "Come, it's your turn."

I held out the knife. "My Lady?"

"It's your turn." I repeated. "Take the knife, and flay him. Just as I showed you." She froze, eyes fixed on the bloodied knife. I could see it in her eyes – it was the same look Rickard had. That last part of her she didn't want to die. I hid my smile. "No? More for me…" I turned back to the Rat. "Let's continue…"

"Theodosia."

I froze. It hadn't been Alara who had spoken. No, it was a cold voice, harsh and stridulent. Followed by footsteps and that tell-tale tap of metal. In entered my mother. A skeletal figure, with her cheeks jutting out sharply, a thin scar sitting heavily upon it. Her eyes were hard and green. She wore a long black dress, leaning heavily on that cane, where she tapped a finger.

"My Lady." I curtsied, immediately dropping my gaze to the floor.

"What is this?" She moved forwards, cane stabbing at the stone floor as she approached the Rat.

"This was Rickard. A Stark soldier."

"Starks…" The word poured from her mouth like bile. "What are you doing with him?"

I began to frantically search for an excuse. Raff's plaything? No, she's beaten me before for blaming others. She'd beat me doubly so if I said he was my plaything. Father's? No, father never flayed unless it was absolutely necessary. I was cut off as she struck a hand across my face, sending me back into the table, where I dropped the knife.

"You filthy wretch…" she growled. "What have I done to deserve such a fiend like you for a daughter? I should have throttled you the moment you crawled out from between my legs…" Mother stopped talking as if someone had spoken her name. She turned about to face Alara, whose face quickly distorted into one of panic. Mother's eyes widened as she tilted her head, examining her. "You're the one."

"My Lady?" Alara turned towards me.

"You're Alvar's whore," She took a step towards her, "The filthy Manderly bitch. Insulting me… ridiculing me. Seeking to kill me to take my place!" Mother raised her cane and struck Alara in the waist. Alara fell to the ground, clutching at her stomach in agony. "Do you carry his babe in your belly? The beast shall not father any more brats!" Mother whipped the metal top of the cane across Alara's back. And again. And again.

"My Lady, I apologize-" Alara began to plead.

"You'd dare address me? In my own Keep? Insolent, petulant-"

"What's this ruckus?" I heard his voice. That deep, calm tone. Standing in the doorway was father, lean with greying hair and greyer eyes. That old, white scar that sat in the right of his face, behind the leather strap that covered his eye. Taken from him by Ben Stark after he struck down the brother, Adyn.

"Your daughter's games…" Mother spoke, her voice dripped in malice as she rested both hands on her cane, "I grow weary of them. And her."

Father looked between Alara, who lay on the floor gently sobbing, and me. I held my hand against my cheek, which still stung. Father clenched his jaw. "Lay a hand on my daughter again, and I shall have you whipped through the streets like a dog."

"You wield your words like a blade to a corpse." Mother scoffed, "What more are you capable of? I would endure a thousand lashes if it meant being free of you and your hellish spawn."

"Humble yourself, wife," Father took the blade from the table, "or I will humble you." Mother glowered at him before straightening up and walking away, the taps of her cane clacking against the stone faintly until they disappeared. Father's eyes lingered on Alara, who began to stand up. Father offered her a hand, helping her rise. "Did she hurt you?"

"I offended her, My Lord," Alara kept her tear-soaked face towards the stone floor, "the fault was mine, I'm sure."

Father turned towards me, moving my hand away and looking at my cheek. He gritted his teeth once more and looked at the door mother had just left through. "Damned Umbers…" He turned to Alara, "Find the Maester and see him to your wounds."

Alara curtsied and left. Father turned to the Rat, who had refused to look at us. "Thea, what is this?"

"A Rat." I answered. "He used to be a Stark scout."

"Stark…" Father growled, his voice boiling as he gripped the knife. "You serve the Starks?" The Rat refused to answer, his lip trembling as his eyes rested at my feet. "Have you taken his tongue?"

"Lord Alvar asked you a question, Rat."

"Yes, milord, I served the Starks."

"Ben Stark?" Father snarled.

"Yes, milord."

"Two fingers…" Father examined the Rat's hand. "Thief?"

"Truanting training, milord."

"Cowardice? Or laziness?"

"Reluctance, milord."

Father shook his head and turned back towards me, fiddling with the knife as he did so. "These games bore me, Thea," his voice was gentler when he spoke with me, "a Lady should not be engaged with such activities."

"Yes, My Lord." I nodded, bowing my head. His eyes twinkled for a moment as the corner of his lip pulled up for a moment into a smile.

"You're a lot like your aunt." He glanced back to the knife. "She used to look down at the ground when she was lying too." He placed a finger under my chin, raising my gaze to meet his. I could see myself reflected in his own eyes. I wondered what they looked like cut open. What sort of juice would come out… would it be like an egg? How would it react to heat? "If you wish to continue with these acts, do it without the Hornwood girl. Use the Whitehill lass."

"Katya? Why not Alara?"

"The girl is of a delicate nature. Her strengths lie in how you must conduct yourself around others."

"Of course, father." I curtsied. Father sighed, and turned back towards the Rat.

"I know it isn't your fault, boy." He informed the Rat. "So many men die in the wars of others… but it was your Lord who spilled blood first." He then plunged the knife through the Rat's heart, watching him pant and groan, leaning forwards and letting out a moan of anguish. Father then turned back towards me. "Go and get ready for the feast. The Umbers arrive presently. And tell your brother."

"Of course." I curtsied. "Why me?"

"The boy exhausts me," Father dropped the knife onto the table and began to rinse his hands, "besides, I thought you might enjoy exercising the power." He gave me a smile. "I'll tell the men to clean all this up." He nodded to the Rat's corpse and exited the chamber.

Alara Hornwood – The Dreadfort, The North

There was something about Lord Bolton. They way he looked at me… it was unsettling. I was waiting for him to suddenly produce a knife or some morbid instrument of torture. Or, perhaps it was just because of what I'd seen Theadosia do to that poor man. Gods… I could still hear that awful squelching sound…

I took a breath to centre myself, flattening out the creases in my dress as I clasped my hands and waited for Theadosia to return. The door opened, and in entered Katya Whitehill. She placed a wooden tray of food down at the table before turning her gaze to me.

"Who hurt you?" I looked down at the tear in the mid-riff of my dress.

"Lady Ilyana."

Katya nodded slowly. We'd both been here long enough to endure a hiding from the Lady of the Dreadfort. But Katya seemed to have changed while she was here. I remembered playing with her as a child; Kitty, I used to call her. She was adventurous and boundless, always running off to climb trees or discover the secrets of the forests… Now, she was a statue. Made of stone, with nothing resembling the child I had known.

The door creaked open, and in sauntered Raff Bolton. His chiselled face was shorn clean of any hair, save his eyebrows. He was wrapped in a series of dark leathers, a hand resting on the axe sheathed at his belt. "You haven't seen my sister as of late?" Katya shook her head.

"She was in the dungeons with your Lord father, My Lord." I informed him.

"Well then," Raff walked into the room, "I think I'll wait here for her." He walked in and sat down at her table, picking at the breast of chicken. His eyes drifted over towards Katya. "I heard this one recently; How many babes does it take to paint a room?"

Katya froze, as did I. I was grateful to have avoided Raff's torment and jokes this time, but Raff had found Katya's weak point. Her younger brother and sister. Raff preyed on this daily, trying to provoke her through tales of slaughtering children.

"Do you think I'm talking to hear the sound of my own voice?" Raff tore off another part of chicken.

"No, My Lord."

"Well then?" Raff began to chew, waiting for her to respond.

"I don't know, My Lord." Katya replied, one hand clenching the other as I saw her try to contain her rage. Raff cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "How many babes does it take to paint a room?"

"Well, it all depends on how hard you throw them." He let out a small titter as Katya turned away from him, trying to busy herself with menial tasks. Raff shifted his attention to me. "Are you mute, girl?"

"No, My Lord."

"So… what, you didn't like my joke?" Raff stood up. I didn't know how to respond here. I knew what he was looking for – he wanted me to bend and submit to his will. But there was something in me that would not allow me to do so. Some sort of Northern pride, I suppose. "You are a fair beauty…" Raff looked me up and down, "for a Hornwood lass. You know, back on the Iron Islands, we took Salt Wives during raids. By the Gods, we never found a girl like you. Not much to my liking, but if Sigurd Greyjoy found you…"

Before Raff could finish with his horrid tales, My Lady Theodosia entered the room, visibly vexed about something.

"Raff." She said, voice steeled and cold.

"Sweetest sister," Raff opened his arms widely, "your Ladies were just entertaining me. And I them, I believe…" He turned to face Katya, who still looked away from him.

"Why are you in my room?"

"Oh, no reason…" Raff sat back down and poured himself a cup of wine, "I just found myself with nothing to do today."

"Aren't you usually sparring?"

"Usually, aye. But this new squire… Dalton? Duncan?" Raff began to snap his fingers as he tried to remember. He turned to me. "Your cousin, Manderly."

"Darnis, My Lord." I corrected him. Darnis had been in Raff's service for little over a week now, at the age of thirteen.

"That's the one! Well, he's an arm less now." Raff rubbed his eye tiredly as he drank, "you should have heard him; whinging and whining… Gods, my ears are still ringing."

"How heart-breaking for you…" Thea said absent-mindedly, looking through her letters. She eventually put them down and turned to face Raff. "You should be getting ready."

"Ready for what?"

"The Umbers are early. They arrive within the hour, and we're having a feast to celebrate their arrival."

Raff snorted loudly, "Fucking Umbers… what are we eating?"

"That's not what's important, Raff."

"It is a feast…" Raff drank more of the wine.

"The purpose of them being here is to conduct a strategy against the Starks."

"What strategy?" Raff stood up, "We'll meet them in battle, and I'll take Markas' head, just as I did his father."

I remembered hearing the tales of this. Alvar had wanted Bennard Stark brought back to the Dreadfort for execution, in accordance with our laws. Raff, however, was a mad dog. He had fought Bennard and clobbered him to death on the battlefield, taking his head as a prize and returning it to our father. I'd heard the men talking about him on the battlefield - he had been a man possessed, fighting like fury incarnate.

"Go and get yourself ready. Father requests it."

Raff placed the empty cup on the table, "Requests or orders?"

"Pick one." Thea responded, eyes cold and flint against Raff's burning steel. Raff eventually turned around and left the room, muttering darkly to himself. "Come," Thea took a breath, "there's much to do."

Alvar Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North

Our hall was crammed full of tables, each adorning candelabras, illuminating the black stonework and banners of House Bolton and House Umber. It was during these feasts that I remember being in Winterfell. Their hall was infinitely greater than ours, with windows to allow in the winter's sun. Their hall bustled with cheer and merriment, much like mine did now. But mine was tainted… besmirched by the treacherous Stark. Beside me, Lord Umber's eldest son, Elrys, spoke with his niece, Thea. She had very little of the Umber blood in her, if you asked me. No, she was spitting likeness of her aunt, Maryana. So beautiful… dark hair, flint-grey eyes. Carved features and a brilliant smile. Not to mention her brain. She had Maryana's mind, able to calculate risk and strategy.

"This meat is fucking tough!" Elrys Umber growled, "What is it?"

"Rat." Thea smiled, watching him eat each mouthful. Elrys stopped for a moment before proceeding to give a hearty laugh.

"Rat!" He chortled, "Fucking rat! She's got a sense of humour… she gets that from me!" Elrys informed me. I gave a smile as I looked towards Thea, shaking my head. These games she played… I knew which rat she had used for Elrys' meal. Disgusting…

I'd made Raff sit with the other bannerlords below us, in order to teach him some sort of humility. It seems the lesson was wasted on him, as he thrived there, talking with the throngs of common soldiers. He arm-wrestled an Umber, cursing and swearing as he slammed the man's hand onto the table, cheering and gulping down copious amounts of ale. He was nothing like me. Or like Maryana. He was like his grandfather. The man was cruel, brutish and foul. I didn't shed a single tear when I burnt his body. Nor when I plunged the knife in his heart.

On the other side of me, sat my wife. Ilyana was a tempestuous woman, full of spite and malevolence. The woman repulsed me now. Once, I had hoped to marry my sister's handmaiden, Melissa Manderly. A beautiful, compassionate woman. But, with the traitorous Stark, I had to honour the agreement with the Umbers, and marry the vicious Ilyana. The years only twisted her mind further, turning her into herself as she screamed at the shadows. Many nights, I found she wandered the castle, spouting nonsensical ravings about wolves and dragons. Once, she insisted a titanic wolf of stone had come to crush us all, breathing a black inferno that engulfed the castle. Gods, she demoralized the men more than a thousand Stark soldiers could have. Since then, I had endeavoured to keep her under careful supervision. Ilyana held the knife in her hand, her eyes resting on Alara Hornwood. She had her aunt's frizzy golden hair and freckles. Though, her eyes were not a Hornwood's eyes. They were light and large like Thea's. Lighter than the Oathbreaker Stark's.

"What are you doing with that?" I asked her quietly, so as to not grab her brother Elrys' attention.

"I was contemplating castrating the hounds." She stated in a daze, like she was under some witch's curse.

"At least it's not the servants again." I leant over and took the knife from her hand. "From this moment, anything you do to my daughter, I'll visit upon you thrice."

"Gallant as ever." Ilyana replied, looking away from me. "Perhaps I will fling myself from the highest tower. And free us both of each other."

"And who would you torment then?" I leant back into my chair, sipping the wine. I was careful never to get drunk, especially not because of someone. Strength came from within, and I would endure this malign woman. I stood up, clapping my hands to gain the attention of all within the hall. "Boltons!" I called, watching my men cheer. "Umbers!" The other half cheered. "Near two decades ago, we joined our houses when I married your Lady Ilyana." The Umbers all cheered as Elrys grinned at her. Ilyana, however, retreated further into herself, and gripped her fork. "And we all remember why. Bennard Stark was a friend to many of us, once. Under the reign of his father, we all prospered. But Cayde Stark is dead. As is Bennard Stark, by the hand of my son, Raff Bolton." I held out a hand, watching all the men cheer as Raff stood up, taking a bow and raising his glass to me. "Bennard Stark dishonoured my family. He dishonoured your family. And Markas Stark, the Young Cub, has wed his sister to the Baratheons! He would bring Southnors up to fight his war for him!" The men began to hiss and sneer at this, Raff being the loudest of them. "He has found allies in the South, and so too must we."

"Southnors?" Raff stood up, swaying and slurring, "you'd bring Southnors up to kill Starks?"

"No," I shook my head, addressing all in the room, "the North is ours. We can beat back the Starks without the help of flower-scented knights from the South. But Markas Stark is counting on the help of the Baratheons. What he does not realize, is that we too have cemented an alliance with a Great House. They will keep the Baratheons from marching North, and we shall crush the Starks and take Winterfell, as our ancestors, the Red Kings, did aeons ago!" The men howled and cheered at this, thumping their tankards against the tables. "And now, join me in raising a glass." The men all did so. "To the union of Raff of the House of Bolton, and Lyra of the House of Lannister!"

Plot twist! No-one saw that one coming…

Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter – it took me a little longer than usual to write it because it's three fairly long POVs. Anyhow, please leave a review, don't forget to favourite…

Now, I won't be able to start the second instalment until I get some Essossi characters. What I need is some Bravos (Water-Dancers) and a special Essossi character. If you haven't submitted an Essossi character, please send one in.