Just a short note, this chapter is very, very short. But I consider it to be a stand-alone so I wanted to get it out to you guys in this way. Hope you enjoy and as always, I am forever indebted to you guys for being awesome readers and showering me in follows and reviews!

Chapter Twenty: Bedmates and Nasty Secrets

Corlin Frey woke with the smell of lilac in his nose and the taste of a woman on his tongue. Lately, that was always what he woke to.

A soft groan greeted him as he rolled, getting out of the musty bed that the Boltons had given him and placing his feet onto the cold stone of the floors. The Dreadfort reminded Corlin of the Twins with its silent halls and quiet misery, almost as if it's walls held nothing more than withered souls, grasping desperately at life.

Sometimes he wondered just how desperately.

"Corlin?" a sleepy voice questioned, soft hands coming out to run along the naked expanse of his back. Lilith? Lily? Something with an L.

It had been two weeks since he had arrived at the Dreadfort with his sister in tow and he still couldn't remember her name. He had met her almost immediately, tumbling into his bed with almost no thought at all. Caution always had been his worst trait. In the womb, Corlin supposed that Willa had taken all of those things with her. She had always been the stronger one, he supposed that in their making, it would be much the same.

Whatever her name was, she had smelled nice. A sign that whoever she had been bedding so far was of a high enough rank to keep her clean.

Corlin snorted, rubbing a hand through the tangled matt of his hair. Briefly, he imagined what his sister would say to the sentiment. Every time you open your mouth, you make me ashamed, you tramp. She always had been quite fun to get riled up.

"Corlin, come back to bed," her fingers curled, nails running down his back and over welts from last night's tumble. She had a sadistic streak that gave Corlin paise, something in her eyes making him almost anxious to sleep beside her.

"Hush, my rose," he murmured, getting out of bed quickly to throw on his discarded shirt as goosebumps rose along his exposed skin. "I'll go and get us breakfast."

Brown eyes stared up at him from the mess of sheets, her sharp nose wrinkling as she smiled. "I do love your nicknames."

You wouldn't love them so much if you knew the reason why I use them. He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. "I'll be back in a moment."

Corlin Frey always had been good when it came to women. What they wanted him to say, how they wanted him to smile. It was like bending into a space that they had created, shrinking down to allow the right amount of softness to grace his words. Or perhaps they wanted someone to pull their hair and slap their ass. Perhaps they wanted nothing at all and a rough night in the sack was enough. Across the years, Corlin had become many people and in the end he wondered if he was still that little boy that had cried in his mother's arms. Was there any of him left?

Corlin left before she could give more than a mumbled protest, taking the halls at a slow pace. He wanted to be alone. Even his nights with - Lydia? - were suffocating. Odd since his sister would always complain when he dragged himself into her room at all hours of the night and day. But that was in a house of snakes when the only safe place had been in his sisters room or nestled on that bench in their abandoned garden. Now she had left him in the viper's nest.

Perhaps a different sort of snakes but one den felt little different than the last.

"Lord Frey," a serving boy with striking eyes bowed, stepping aside as he drew closer to the great hall. Corlin inclined his head. He had seen less and less of the party that he had come with.

Sometimes… sometimes he wondered - Corlin cut that thought off abruptly, picking up his pace as he made his way forward. That was the long nights talking. The nightmares and the fever dreams that had overtaken him when he had come here.

Perhaps it was that dream that kept coming to him night after night. The women with ebony skin and ever-changing eyes. Run, little, lost boy. Run as fast as your little human feet can take you, they would whisper, their voices blending together until his head was filled with voices like the drip of water and the stampede of half-mad horses.

Corlin shook himself, drawing in a long breath of musty air and winter. The Bolton's had been nothing short of gracious to his brother and him, even offering them medicine, a room, and food until Corlin felt fit to travel.

There was nothing-

"Yes but Baelish sends-"

"Don't speak his name!"

Corlin stopped, his whole body going rigid. Without thinking, his body went into action, slipping into the darkest corner he could find, hunkering down in the shadows. What possessed him to stop? Why couldn't he breathe?

Maybe it were those sickening screams that he had thought - just for a moment - but that had been the wind. That had only been the wind.

"Willa Frey is alive," that first voice breathed and Corlin's stomach rolled. Why would they be talking about his twin? Worse, why would they be talking about her like she was supposed to be anything but alive?

"Keep your voice down," the second voice hissed and Corlin suddenly placed it, something sick and bitter rising up in the back of his throat. That was Lord Bolton's voice.

"Sorry, my lord." Corlin pressed closer to the cold stone as the voices drew closer. "It's just that the attack didn't succeed-"

"Goddammit, Killum," Lord Bolton snarled and Corlin flinched as he heard a slap and the sound of a boot going into flesh. "If you say one more fucking word in this fucking hallway, I'll tie you to a stake and flay you myself."

"Y-yes, my lord," Killum garbled out. "My apologies, my lord."

Corlin's head spun, his heart pounding so painfully in his chest that he didn't trust the now quiet hallways. What did this mean? Corlin's stomach gave another roll, his hands shaking. A piece of something bigger - he only had a small sliver of what was really happening.

But if his sister was in danger than there was no time to think over the bigger picture. Corlin took a quick glance out of his alcove, walking briskly from his hiding place as he took note of the empty hallway.

His mind jumped wildly from one bit of conversation to the next. Willa had always been the smarter one, even his father knew that. At least he knew where Baelish was. And if his Littlefinger was sending word about his sister than she was there.

"Corlin?" a sleepy voice yelped as he burst through the door. He blinked. He hadn't remembered that she was here. Violet, Corlin remembered suddenly. Her name was Violet.

"Sorry, rose," he breathed, jogging over to the small desk that was shoved into his room and the caged raven in its cage. Scrambling, he grabbed desperately for his quil and a piece of parchment. "Just need to…"

"What are you doing?" Something about her voice had deepened, becoming silkier.

The words scrawled across the page were messy, shaking. Because all of a sudden he was thinking about that voice in his dreams. Run, little boy. Run as fast as your little human feet can carry you. Fumbling, he tied the piece of parchment to the birdsfoot, opening the door. He would have time later to write something longer - neater.

"Corlin…" that voice was closer, just a step behind him.

"Please reach her," he breathed to the bird, letting him loose with a push, those ebony wings a dark stain against the white sky above.

Those nails ran over his back again, digging in with a viciousness that surprised him. "Oh, Corlin. Why did you have to do something so stupid?"

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