Chapter Thirty: The Illegitimate Son of the Dreadfort
"Have you ever done this before?" I drew in a harsh breath, the chill of the North burning my throat. Where the mountains were oppressively cold, the deeper North had a particularly sadistic streak. In the air, I could sense the beginnings of something warmer - the promise of somewhere with a fire or the turning of the seasons. It was in those brief moments of hope that cruelty took hold, ripping away those prospects with the joy of a gleeful child.
There was an outcropping of trees a few yards from the dull walls of the Dreadfort and that was where we had taken up camp. Behind me, I could hear the hushed stir of the soldiers, preparing their weapons and souls for whatever outcome this evening would allow us. More houses had come in the last day - the Tullys and Mormont riding in with a few hundred men at our call. I had met the leaders at Robb's insistence, his need to include me kindly in me a longing that I was still confused by. His every attention made me unsteady.
Robb had been bogged down in meeting after meeting, taking up with every house head last night and this morning. Robb hadn't needed to explain to me how grim this was - not, especially because of any great advantage that the Boltons possessed but more due to our own stark reality. We had little preparation to this battle. We had no good footing to draw the Bolton army from their well-supplied walls, no way to cut off their shipments of goods nor the time to try to acquire that outcome. We were here for my brother which put us up against a rather grim clock that had begun to tick long ago.
The plains that circled the Dreadfort didn't allow the Boltons to have any great advantage but therein lay the real issue. Robb had been heralded as an up-and-coming military strategist in the War of the Five Kings. Most forgot that there had been five heads to that hydra, especially now that the Wolf King had risen as the final victor. Robb Stark had used the land to win most of those battles, drawing back his armies to plan around terrain and army numbers before ripping into the Lannister flanks. Aside from the direwolf that guarded his side, his performance on the field had also cemented that title. He stalked all opposing armies with the confidence and intent of a wolf with the assurance of a pack at his back.
But this… this was decidedly not in his favor. He had no time to plan a way to draw the Boltons out of their walls, no time to barter, and no terrain to play to.
I was rolling the dice with my new husband's reign. And so early on - what a feat.
"I-" I drew in another icy breath, tugging at my fur-lined gloves. Sansa's face was smooth indifference, her hair a startling shade of red in the winter sun. What did she think of me? What would I think of a strange, deceitful creature like myself if I was in her shoes? I had doubted her for her ability to survive in the North while her family was being butchered like cattle, but what about me? What had I done to survive? "No, I can't say that I've negotiated the release of one of my siblings from a man that has tried to murder me."
Sansa's lips tipped upward a fraction as she drew her heavy cloak higher around her neck. Now away from the confines of the Vale, she looked… stronger. More sure of her footing. I could see the same sort of relief in my husband as well - his eyes searching her out in a tense way that I understood all too well. My eyes were doing that now - searching the walls of the Dreadfort for my brother even though he would look like nothing more than a silhouette. I had convinced myself that I would be able to identify him by a blur, by a single cloud of breath, by the feel of his eyes. We had always been like that - two sides of the same coin, two allies in a sea of opponents.
Now I only saw dreary clouds and torches against plain walls burning in the distance.
"I'll give you some advice then." Sansa gave me a calm smile. "Don't let them see how much they affect you. No matter what they do or say, make sure that you never give them more than a passing glimpse of your actual emotions. Men like the Boltons look for fear in women. They like to see how their savagery destroys us. More than Robb, more than Theon, the men that come to this meeting will be looking to you for their next meal." Her smile wasn't calm anymore. It was a brutal, wicked thing, all sharp teeth and cold fathomless eyes. "I would like to leave them hungry."
I stared at her for a moment longer, trying and failing to come up with a proper response. Had she always been this way? What kind of girl had Sansa been before the world had pressed her into a woman, I found myself wondering.
"I think I have a lot to learn from you, Lady Stark," I blurted out.
Her smile was cunning. "As do I, Lady Stark."
The sound of boots crunching into hard, winter brittle grass stalled anymore discussion, both of us turning toward the sound.
Robb Stark cut a hard, unforgiving figure in the dull morning, his auburn hair turning inky, the ends more unruly than usual in the harsh winds that ripped through these grounds. The heavy dark fur of his cloak made his already broad shoulders seem even stronger, the dark leather as intimidating as the expression on his face. His blue eyes were razor-sharp, thick brows furrowed, expression one of dangerous intent.
My breath hitched, my heart beating a bit faster as I watched him stride purposefully toward us. A few of his advisors whispered to him, whatever they were saying making that tick in his jaw throb every so often as he listened and gave quick replies.
It wasn't lost on me that this whole endeavor was almost entirely due to me. The only lives that could be lost in this were Freys and at that, Freys that my husband had only met for moments. There was no real obligation especially since it seemed that my own father cared very little about how his children were being handled in the Bolton house. If anything, he had offered us up like lambs, fork and all. Robb Stark had absolutely no reason to be taking this as seriously as he was. No reason… besides me. My throat closed up, irrational tears pricking at my eyes before I could gather myself and force all that useless emotion down.
"Brother," Sansa greeted amiably, giving him a small smile. Her horse nipped at the vibrant strands of red that flowed down her back, giving her a little nudge before she turned and clucked at him good-naturedly.
A single brow rose as Robb finally reached us, his lips twitching. "I see that you've taken this morning's invitation as a formal affair."
It was true. Sansa's hair always seemed to be coiled back, every strand perfectly placed. It was such a marked difference from the wooly, unrestrained waves and curls of my own hair that I felt a spike of embarrassment run through me. I had never had much luck with keeping my hair up and back. Which… would be an issue if I wanted to look any degree the regal leader that my husband and his family so clearly were. Sansa's cobalt gown was finely pressed, no muck or wrinkle to be seen in the thick folds. Her cloak was a deeper, lusher indigo with the same thick fur at her collar and shoulders. She looked every bit a princess.
"It is a formal affair to meet one's enemy before a battle," she said primly, tugging at her deep blue gloves. Her expression was decidedly unimpressed when she glanced at her brother again. "It's the last respect that any of the men and women here will get until this ordeal is over."
A chill went down my spine at her words. There would be a loser here. And not in the silly way that playing games would be. More than getting in a tussle and coming out bruised. More than throwing a tantrum when another cheated. I felt so naive. So scared. The Freys played games in our little towers. We wrestled over who would gain our father's praise or lashing. We struggled for power in that small house on the river but our games were curtained. We moved as if coming in and out of the main stage of a play. Here there were no stages only blood and gore and the undeniable victor and all those who were left in the mud beneath his boot.
Saliva pooled at the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow. Robb's eyes seemed to immediately hone in on the movement, his body shifting so that he was almost fully facing me. His expression darkened, his brows furrowing further as he took a step closer. A ghost of his breath and mine merged in the slim space between us as he ducked a bit so that I would have to meet his gaze.
"Are you okay?" he whispered and Sansa had the good grace to turn away, murmuring softly to her mount in a fragile play for privacy.
"I-" I swallowed again, trying and failing to give him a smile. He shouldn't be worrying about me right now. It was the last thing he should be doing. "I'm fine."
His eyes narrowed. "Willa."
"Robb," I countered but sighed as his eyes darkened, a low warning growl rumbling from him. "I've never participated… I'm not accustomed to…this. I'm sorry. I - Don't worry about me. I'm just - just a little… out of my depths."
"Your brother was captured and is currently being held as a hostage under a lord who seems to want your head." He said it all so calmly. Something about him laying it out so plainly made my head spin, that deep pit of dread that I had been ignoring these last few days yawning open inside of me. His eyes were the only thing that kept me grounded, his body so close to mine the only solid thing in a sea of uncertainty and terror. "That's more than out of anyone's depths and it's more than most people would be able to handle rationally."
"A queen would be able to handle it," I blurted out, shocked at my own forwardness. I wasn't used to laying out my fears like this… I glanced down at the way the heavy fabric of my blue skirts brushed the tips of his boots. I had chosen a simple gown and now… now I was thinking that was a mistake. I didn't look the part of a queen. I didn't look - I gulped, dragging my eyes back to Robb's heavy gaze. I didn't look like his equal. "I know what can be lost if this doesn't go well today."
"We could die." His words shocked me, his eyes swirling with winter winds, greys battle blues like the ocean trying to reach up and strangle the sky. "We could be captured and tortured, beheaded, or, more than likely, skinned alive while the Dreafort eats whatever disgusting swill they serve pigs like the Boltons." He shrugged, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his eyes flicked to the harsh outline of the castle before he was turning back to me with an indifferent set to his lips.
I gaped, terror and consternation swirling up inside of me until I felt an irrational laugh bubble up and spill from my lips. He watched me, a slow smile curling his lips as his eyes dipped to my mouth as I let another guffaw stumble from my tongue. It was a completely inappropriate reaction. He had just told me about a fate that we had the chance of meeting in only hours. But something about the bluntness of it made it… acceptable.
Tears burned at my eyes as I finally forced my laughter to quiet. "You're awful," I breathed, grinning as he gave me a slow, mischievous smile.
"I'm realistic," he quipped, tugging me closer with a finger through the gold ribbons at my waist. "The reality, my love, is that we might meet a horrible end tonight. But to sit aside while your family is butchered is the mark of a coward." My heart ached, his eyes unwavering. "Even the Lannisters had loyalty to their own. And it's that loyalty that made them such a force to be reckoned with. I won't leave your brother to the Boltons. That's not the way of the North. That's not the way of the Starks."
The way of the Starks… I think I liked their ways. Liked them much better than the Freys, that was for sure. Something in my chest grew and grew, pushing against my ribcage until I could barely draw in a full breath with how utterly… content I was. I stared up at the big hulking man who had taken over my life and for the first time in a very long time I felt… safe.
His teeth flashed in a crooked smile, his head dipping so that he would press a quick kiss to my cheek, his beard tickling my cheeks.
"My King!" The sound of a horse storming toward us broke through the quiet evening air. A young boy dressed in the armor of a watchman wheeled his horse to a halt near us. His head tipped toward the Dreadfort, leading our gaze. "The gates have opened."
Whatever warmth had crept between us vanished, leaving only the harsh wind of a night unfinished. It was time to meet the Boltons."
The wind was even harsher in the barren space that separated our camp from the Dreadfort. The fields sloped softly but not enough to hinder the cutting gust that kicked up frozen blades of grass and pine needles with flurries of snow. My cheeks stung from the cutting temperature, the darkening sky making our slow trek seem more steeped in danger. For what was meant to be a level talk, this felt more like an ambush.
My throat closed as my horse went over another dip, Sansa's face unreadable beside me as she kept an even pace with my mare. In front of me, Robb and Theon road together, the other lords trotting just a bit behind my husband and his second. In the distance, the glow of torches signaled the oncoming party, a stark difference to our own. Robb had denied the light, his eyes cold as he eyed the long expanse of open fields in front of us.
I tried to see it from where he sat, my mind drifting back to the time when the Stark armies had camped just beyond our bridges. How I had kept the fires burning along our borders long after they had left. Light allowed archers a better view. In a situation where we didn't have the advantage of walls to hide behind, the darkness was more of a friend than a foe.
A low howl sailed along the night air and I watched as Robb held up a hand, halting the rest of the party. At first, I hadn't understood why Grey Wind had remained back but now I could. He was out in the woods, keeping our flank clear. With a direwolf, my husband seemed to be more beast than man, able to see in the dark.
We waited, my breath puffing from me like silent signals in the night, the dark rendering me nearly blind. I wasn't adept at moving in the night without torches, not like how my husband and his men were after years in the war. It left me with only my hearing to be trusted, my nose nothing more than a frozen lump on my face, the sharp tang of winter rendering everything else null.
Beside me, I could sense the same unease in Sansa even though her eyes remained adamantly forward. No one spoke.
"The Wolf King!" a voice with a slight accent called through the night. No one moved as the torches drew nearer and nearer, illuminating 5 dark figures lumbered closer on their mounts. I had heard that accent before - when my sister was being wooed by Roose and even before that when I was very, very young.
Flashes of the youth with dark eyes and silky words flashed through my mind along with other images. Images of his brother. Of the bruises on his arms and the hunted way that he had looked around when I had found them. Of my engagement, however short and young it was, to Domeric Bolton, the last legitimate heir to the Bolton name.
Ramsay Bolton was unlike his brother in every way. Rather than chubby, he was lean, his body well-built if not a bit short for his age. Although he had the same tousled, raven-dark hair that Domeric and Roose had been known for, there was an unkempt twist to it that made me think that he had just rolled out of bed. His clothes were rumpled. His smile crooked and his eyes sharp and devoid of all joy that made his laugh seem odd… threatening.
Those soulless eyes raked over our group with unhurried glee like he wasn't seeing an army at his border but an old friend over for dinner. I could see how that look made the older lords of our group stiffen, their shoulders going taut in offense. For my part, I didn't feel the sharp disdain of an insult. I felt wary. I felt like I was one step away from falling into a trap.
It had been so long since I had seen Ramsay - and even then, it had only been at a glance. Roose treated his illegitimate son like a boulder that had been tied to his leg, as if he was just waiting for the key to unshackle himself. He couldn't possibly have remembered me…
His eyes latched onto me, making my skin prickle as his yellowing teeth flashed a bit wider. In front of me, I saw Robb tense, the first movement from my husband since Ramsay had come into view. "And here she is! The woman of the hour! My dear, dear almost-sister."
I swallowed down the acrid taste of bile that coated my throat at the title. Beside me, Sansa's eyes flashed to the side sharply. The alarm coursing through my party in ripples. For his part, Robb didn't so much as flinch, his face deliberately impassive as he took in the Bolton's.
That didn't stop Ramsay from noticing the shock on every else's face, his lips twisting blithely. "Oh she didn't mention it?" He started conversationally, still loping forward steadily. I could see the others now - non-descript men in armor with mean eyes and harsh, dark armor. One of them was holding something… My eyes sharpened, trying to see beyond the shadows created by the torchlight. "My father made a little agreement with Walder Frey to sell her away when she first bled." Robb's jaw ground, an involuntary action to Ramsay's words. My eyes stayed on those shadows, though, following the rope - yes, it was rope in his hands. "Nasty business. Domeric died after what? A year? Two?" His eyes flicked to me as if he expected me to answer. I kept my mouth shut, unwilling to give him anything more than a bored glance. Ramsay shrugged atop his stead, giving a theatrical sigh. "I think she's more trouble than she's worth, mate. Cursed, probably."
"He's your king, you illegitimate brat," one of the lords - the Tully head - finally growled, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. His face was a mask of murder, his teeth flashing in the torchlight as he sneered across the way.
Ramsay didn't seem offended in the least. In fact, his eyes lit, sparking with an edge so wild that my grip on my own reigns tightened to the point of pain. His voice was soft and silky as he finally drew close enough that the torchlight slithered up the remainder of the rope like a sleeve finally being pushed back to reveal the hand beneath. "Oh, haven't you heard? My dear father legitimized me. And then he died rather abruptly. Shocking."
I choked back a gasp as Daltis' battered face was cast in the stark light of the torches, his hands bound so tightly that his fingers were looking to be the shade of plums. The dark clothing that had surely been handsome before was now ripped and torn, his steps stilted enough to give no illusion to the beating that he must have received. And from the blood dampening his dark curls it had to have been a fresh one.
Ramsay's eyes were too sharp, the arrow that he had let loose hitting exactly where he wished it to. I couldn't help the way my heart seized, tightening until it felt painful for blood to be pumped through my veins. I could, barely see the glint of his usually sly gaze, his eyes were swollen so badly, whatever sharpness to his features overtaken by the battered skin. Ramsay took in all in with the keenness of a cat watching a mouse step closer to it's trap. "Oh good. I thought I might have been lied to about your relationship."
The man holding Daltis gave his bonds a yank that sent him stumbling forward, his face scrunching with obvious pain. It took everything in me not to move forward. Dalits and I had never been close but… we had played together. He had been a face that wasn't quite friendly but had never been a foe. And watching him being treated this way made every nerve in my body cry out, my stomach dropping.
"Is there a point to these theatrics, Ramsay?" Robb's voice was winter itself, frigid enough to make even the brutal winds seem like a reprieve. In the dark, the shadows created by Ramsay's torches, he seemed hulking, his silhouette made of the darkest shadows, his eyes almost luminescent in the dark.
"Oh," Ramsay mulled over, his brow bunching in a play for deep thought. "I wanted to bring forward a token of trust, if you will. See, we're not all bad-"
Robb's voice was a thunderclap, ringing across the clearing with enough force that even Ramsay paused, his expression going guarded. A few of the men accompanying him paled. "You've murdered your father, taken the Freys captive and beat a member of the royal family-"
Ramsay blinked, looking taken aback for the first time since he had tromped out here. "I highly doubted that Daltis could be considered-"
A lazy smile curled Robb's lips, his teeth sharp and white in the moonlight. Even through his indifference, I could see the danger there, running through his veins like gold ores beneath the mountains. "Is he the Queen's brother?"
Ramsay's mouth shut, his eyes flicking to the side in insolent rage like a toddler caught in a lie. Robb's voice had taken on a slower, smoother quality as if he were speaking to a child, a fact that didn't seem to be lost on Ramsay by the reddening of his cheeks.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand the lines of legitimacy, Ramsay. You have little experience." I felt the slap from my place in the back of the party, a crow of victory building in my throat. I bit down on the sound, relishing in the flash of teeth that Ramsay gave my husband, his retainers shifting uneasily in their seats. "But even with your ignorance, there's one area that you cannot be excused from." My husband's words were dipped in poison, the sharpest blades, the darkest night. He oozed menace and the sight absolutely warmed my heart. "You're attempt on the Queen of the North, your Queen. The one that your house swore fealty to the moment the war was won. Even someone with barely any training in being more than a sculley maid would understand the treason that you have performed on my land."
"Your land-" Ramsay scoffed, mumbling into his shoulder.
"ALL OF THE NORTH IS MY LAND!" Robb roared and even the wind quieted. In that moment, Robb Stark looked more like a God than a man. Distantly, I heard the lonesome howl of a direwolf, long and sharp in the winter air. Robb's eyes were quicksilver as he snarled across the clearing at Ramsay Bolton, his teeth bared in a way that made me think he would have ripped out the young Bolton's jugular if he was close enough.
Silence held, stiff and pregnant. Even Daltis, half comatose and struggling to stay upright, held very still. Beside me, Sansa let a sliver of a smirk slip onto her lips, her eyes taking in her brother with unabashed pride. One more moment passed and I watched silently as Ramsay put himself back together brick by brick.
Slowly, his lips curled. "I'd like to see your evidence of my guilt."
Robb's voice had gone back to it's usual indifference, his expression almost bored as he answered. "We have documents of money moving from your house to house Aryn as well as the confessions of the lady there and her consort Petyr Baelish. And if their words are not to be trusted, then the correspondences between you and lord Baelish would have sufficed. Both were put to death by my sword. And I'm sure that when all is said and done, there will be more concrete evidence inside of your father's house."
A tick went off in Ramsay's jaw at the news, the slimmest smile curling his lips. "Then my guilt is already proven."
Robb gave him a blank stare. "If it looks like a dog and barks like a dog, then it's a dog."
A teasing line scrunched Ramsay's brow. "Dogs look an awful lot like wolves."
The look Robb shot him was anything but humorous. In fact, my husband looked like that was the dumbest thing that he had ever heard. "Not in my experience."
Ramsay's eyes moved over our company once more, some calculation tightening his expression before he was blinking and it was gone in a laugh. He looked around with a chuckle, shrugging. My skin prickled at the strangeness of the gesture like watching an animal feign death.
"So that's it?" Ramsay quipped, raising a single brow. "I'm to be executed for treason?"
Robb didn't respond. He didn't need to. There was only one answer to treason - even the smallest form. Ramsay had tried to kill me - had made rather large steps to fulfill that goal. For what, I wasn't entirely sure. For the throne? For the title of King of the North? I couldn't wrap my head completely around the concept. Who would make such a bold bid for something like this? Coming out of a war, it seemed like an odd thing to do. The dust had barely settled and there had been no adverse affect to the houses of the north. Under Robb, things would remain the same. The Bolton's would have continued to live here in this dreadful little slab of rock and be left to their own devices. Only someone mad with greed would do what Ramsay had done.
Wariness settled over my shoulders like a cloak, heavy to the point of near-suffocation. In Ramsay, I wasn't sure what I saw. But one sliver showed through in that crooked smile and those fathomless eyes. He wasn't made of all the parts that other humans were. In him, there was a darkness that enjoyed the suffering of others.
Ramsay's eyes moved over me once more, his eyes lighting up with a fever that made me want to sink lower into the shadows. "It was a good play, you have to admit," he mused almost absently. Robb jaw clenched, his horse shying to the right a bit until I couldn't see Ramsay at all anymore, just his big back all clad in cloth and fur. Over his shoulders, I caught the gleeful lilt of Ramsay's voice.
Robb didn't answer. Sansa's eyes caught mine, a reflection of my own wariness shining brightly in their depths. I could sense the same tension in all the lords of our party, each of them unsure of the carefree way that Ramsay was speaking.
"I will hand myself over to the mercy of the King of the North tomorrow at dawn." He waved a hand as if he were talking about taking breakfast. "I have a few things to attend to tonight, you see, being the sole leader of my family's house." My mind flashed uneasily to my sister, Walda. Women were not given rule of a house the way men were. More than that, my sister was of no threat to Ramsay. There would be no reason to kill her. "For my crimes, I will willingly face your judgment though." Robb didn't say anything, his face set in an unreadable mask. This all felt… "A show of trust for now?" Those eyes - I could feel them like grasping hands even through my husband's body. He was speaking to me now. "A family reunion, yes?"
My heart leaped. I wanted to force myself forward so bad. I wanted to speak to my brother, to draw any sort of information from him in reference to Corlin. Dalits would know - had to know if they were being held in the same area.
Hope jolted through me as Robb's head tilted to the side, a single eyes catching my eager expression. I felt more than saw the sigh go through him, his ruthless gaze softening for a moment before he was turning back to Ramsay. A single had flicked upward, the sound of bowstrings being drawn taut from both parties. Robb's voice was all careless disdain. "You'll forgive me if I don't reciprocate your trust, Ramsay."
"Not at all," came the amiable reply. "I would be disappointed if you did."
Sansa's lips thinned as she watched me fumble with my skirts, a crease forming between her brows. She obviously didn't approve of this plan. I slipped from my mount, passing the reigns to the young soldier beside me before stepping cautiously forward. I didn't expect Robb to wheel his mount around, his silhouette mammoth before me like a wraith of death sent to collect my soul. My breath jerked in my lunges as he rounded, his stead galloping forward at a rate that made me squeak out a panicked breath. Just before he would have ran me through he leaned down, his mount curving around me as a strong arm curled around my waist and hefted me onto his lap without a pause.
My head spun as he unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting wickedly in the moon's glow as we trotted to the space just between where our party and Ramsay's waited. Robb's breath ruffled the hair at the crown of my head, his arm cinched tight enough around my waist that my side was squashed into his side. His body was a stable comfort all around me, the strength of his body enough of a reminder that I felt some of the nerves slip from me.
Ramsay's brows were raised comically high as he watched us come forward with a grin. "I had heard that the Wolf of the North had fallen head over heels for a useless river dweller but hadn't completely believed it."
A growl rumbled along my side, Robb's face a mask of pure, burning hatred as he stared down the other man. Beside each other, Ramsay looked… young. Weak and naive in a way that seemed to speak more of the soul than anything else. Ramsay had not served in the Battle of the Five Kings as his father had. He had stayed behind at their keep while others had suffered and died.
That thought made me loathe him more. That someone like him would amass enough people to go against my husband seemed almost laughable.
"Thank you, husband," I murmured, turning away from Ramsay with as much disrespect as the movement would allow me. Robb's eyes stayed on the other man for a moment longer, his face filled with enough lethal intent to give any sane man pause. Ramsay didn't seem exactly sane however. Finally, those blue-grey eyes that I was used to turned back to me, his expression softening just the tiniest bit as he stared down at me.
His brows furrowed into a stern line, silently warning me to be careful before his arm was loosening and I was slipping from the horse, his body bending with me as he made sure that my feet touched the ground before he straightened back in his saddle.
"I didn't take you for the type to cling, Lord Stark," Ramsay mused, his eyes dancing between us in a way that made me feel slimy.
"She's the Queen of the North," Robb said simply, his voice hard. I felt my insides flutter, warmth blossoming inside of me. "If anyone needs to be protected, it's her."
A guffaw left Ramsay, the men in his party smirking like they had just heard a grand joke. Their eyes traced over me, clearly unimpressed. "I've never heard a Frey referred to as anything other than an inbred-"
"And I've never heard you referred to as anything other than a useless bastard," my voice cut across the clearing. I was the queen, I reminded myself, forcing any nerves down as red slipped into Ramsay's cheeks. I forced my face to remain bored as I stared up at him, trying to not look too long as Daltis who remained shivering beside the men's horses. Still, even though he was weak, a smirk curled his battered lips. Frey's we may be but we weren't weak. That smirk pounded through me like a drum. We were strong. Corlin and Walda and Daltis and I were strong. "Are you going to waste more of your last night alive with this drivel or will you let me speak ot my brother so that you might get back to being incompetent somewhere out of my sight?"
They weren't smile anymore. Ramsay's guards eyed him warily, taking in the rushed breathes that he was taking, his eyes murderous as he stared down at me. He wanted to say so much. I let my lips curl up into an insolent smirk. No matter his bluster he was still just a boy who had never seen real war.
"My Queen has a tongue on her," Theon drawled, speaking for the first time since we had arrived. I had nearly forgotten that he was here. "Those teeth come with talons, Lord Bolton. I would do as she said."
Ramsay gave a brittle smile. "Who knew that Stark men would give their balls over to one Frey woman?"
"I'm a Greyjoy, Bolton," Theon called, sighing as if he were bored with the whole evening. "Not that I would expect you to know much about house titles being as your names so shiny new."
It was too easy of a target not to hit. And I was delighted that Theon and Robb were so accurate in their aim. Ramsay looked about ready to jump off his horse right then and there. But someone like Ramsay against someone like Robb and Theon? That was suicide, and no matter his sanity, Ramsay wasn't suicidal. He seemed to delight too much in his games for that.
The man holding Daltis' cord yanked, jerking him forward enough to send him to his knees. A ragged breath puffed from my brother's lunges as he struggle, and I itched to go forward and help him up, to give him some sort of comfort. My eyes ticked over the strategic way that they had kept him just against the line of Ramsay's horses. I couldn't go near him without being close enough to grab.
I gritted down on my own hostility, forcing myself to remain where I was as Daltis finally forced himself to his haunches and then ever so slowly to his feet. If they beat him anymore… I pushed the thought away.
"I'm sorry for interrupting your honeymoon, sister." There it was. Dalits' voice still held the same mischief, the same upturn of his lips that I could barely see through all the swelling. I couldn't help the smile that curled my lips, my hands squeezing down on each other as I kept myself from leaping forward and holding him.
"I only blame the intrusion on one person, Dalits. You're in the clear."
His teeth flashed, bloodstained. "Good to hear."
We stood for a moment in silence, my eyes running over him again and again, taking in every cut and bruise and gash that marred his body. I tried to see past the swelling. Tried to see if his injuries were simply surface level or worse. But I had never been good at the medicinal arts.
"Walda…" I didn't know how to phrase what I wanted to ask. Ramsay leaned forward, his face etched with glee.
Daltas' shoulders hunched up, whatever humor he had disappearing. "She died a weak ago… with the…"
Fists clenched around my lunges, squeezing until it felt near impossible to draw in a breath. A picture of sweet, innocent Walda flashed through my mind. She had been so hopeful that this marriage… I clenched my jaw around the urge to start crying. Walda had never been particularly good at the game of politics that Frey children had to play. She liked her cooking and her knitting and her dreams of the future with a babe and husband.
"What what, Daltis?" I breathed, dread coiling heavy and thick in my gut. It was impossible to miss the eager way that Ramsay was leaning forward in his saddle, the glitter of his eyes.
Across from me, my brother swallowed thickly. "The - the babe."
His words teetered off, dropping between us like boulders being hurled from the sky. My heart clenched, anguish chilling my insides. "She had a baby?" I breathed, confused and- My eyes cut to Ramsay, to that stupid grin on his face. Behind me, the rest of Robb's party was deathly silent. "You killed a baby?"
Ramsay rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop making it sound like it's some great travesty."
"He would have been your brother," I hissed, rage mixing into a frightening concoction inside of me. I felt magic pulse along my fingertips, the urge to lash out clawing at my insides. Gulping, I struggled to contain it.
A cold smile slipped across Ramsay's face. "My father raped my mother and then stole me from her corpse. Any familial obligation ended the say I was born."
My stomach rolled with repulsion. He had to be one of the worst men I had ever laid eyes on. It was like fighting with a slab of rock. Whatever this creature was, it wasn't human. The things that he had done to his own blood turned my insides. But - "What did you do to my sister?"
I didn't know why I was asking. Some cruel, masochistic part of me yearned for the knife of his words. I wanted to know the thing he had done to Walda - sweet, innocent Walda - because I wanted to make this as painful as possible for myself. I deserved to suffer with this knowledge.
"Willa-" Daltis started, his voice filled with censor.
Ramsay cut him off, looking delighted by the prospect of a retelling. "I waited until she popped out that little urchin she called a son, and then I slit her throat." His lip popped out in consternation, something about the whole dreadful tale making him unhappy. "It was quick, but the fat bitch would have taken too much time to skin."
He shrugged as if the whole ordeal was done. I felt like throwing up. "The babe… her son-"
Daltis seemed to shrink further into himself, his skin going an unnatural shade of gray. I felt like my very ribs were being cracked open as Ramsay grinned down at me. "My dogs get rather hungry during the winter."
Vile. He was a vile, evil, repulsive mass made in the form of a human. I didn't give in to the urge to cry as I stared up at him. Don't feed them, Sansa's voice whispered to me. I wouldn't let this monster take from me - not like this. I drew in a long breath. Don't feed them.
Another breath.
Don't feed them.
I forced my eyes back to my brother. Had Ramsay made him watch? Bile burned at my lips.
"Did her son-" I tried to finish the sentence and failed. I couldn't help the slight tremor there, the way my legs shook. Walda was dead, a tiny part of me wept, dumb and in agony. Her baby was dead.
Daltis gave a stiff, sharp shake of his head, and a little more of me died. "She - she didn't have time to give him a name."
Monster, I wanted to scream. Who killed a mother before she could give her son a name? Who tore life away from two people who were so innocent of all wrong. I wanted to rip his throat out. I wanted to grab Robb's sword from his hand and shove it through his chest.
Instead, I took another deep breath.
"And Corlin." I pressed on, words stiff. Fear coursed through my veins. If Ramsay had done that to Walda, then the prospect of what he could do to my twin terrified me.
Dalits perked up, his head cocking. I felt all of the breath lock inside of my lunges, every muscle tensing as I waited. "He's alive, Willa. He's still alive."
I could have burst into tears. Hot, unforgiving relief made me weak. I wanted to curl up there and never get up. Alive. My brother was alive. I gulped down a sharp breath, thanking all the Gods and Goddesses. I had gotten here in time.
"Well!" I wanted to shove that word back down Ramsay's throat. Dalits gave a sharp grunt as the man holding his tether gave a harsh yank, dragging him back into the embrace of their party. I watched him struggle with an odd mixture of desperation and rage - rage at myself for not being able to end this for him. Rage at Ramsay for being such a cruel, inhumane worm. "This has been a lovely evening of reunions and introductions but we really must be going. I have a final supper to plan."
Robb was there in a second, scooping me back up to the safety of his lap in seconds before retreating back to our party.
"My scouts will know if you try to escape, Ramsay," Robb warned his voice the coldest steel.
Ramsay merely smirked. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"You will bring the Freys and all other captives to the gate tomorrow along with your army."
Everything in Ramsay's face said that he would sooner jump off the edge of the Dreadfort. "Of course, My King."
We watched them go, our horses slowly retreating as their torches got smaller and smaller. My eyes stayed on my brother, heart aching as he struggled to keep up with the horse that we was tethered to. Watching him go was a death in itself, slow and painful.
When they were finally far enough away that their torches were nothing but hazy blurs. Robb wheeled around, taking off back to our camp at a near gallop. He kept me close to him the whole way, an arm tight around my waist as if he were afraid that I would slip away into the night and never be seen again. No one spoke. What was there to say after the news of my sister and her babe?
"Animal," she heard one of the lords snarl to himself.
She thought the word was giving Ramsay Bolton too much credit.
"He won't give himself over, will he?" I finally mustered up the strength to say.
Robb didn't take his eyes away from the field in front of us; his jaw tensed to hard granite. "No." A vein pulsed in his jaw. "It will be war."
What more was there to say? War. A battle. All would be decided tomorrow morning no matter the outcomes of tonight. I had hoped - I bit down on a hopeless flutter, my eyes turning to the endlessly black sky above us.
"I'm sorry, Willa," Robb said suddenly, lips moved softly along my temple. He didn't need to explain more.
I tried to speak, tried to say anything around the lump in my throat. In the end, I could only shake my head. I wanted to cry. I could feel the need like a dam shaking under the tension of oncoming water. I wanted to scream and wail and sit in the dark for days. But to do that would mean that I would need to stop. To do that felt like a defeat in itself. My family didn't need my tears right now. They didn't even really need my sadness.
Right now, my brothers and sisters needed my strength. They needed my rage. I set my jaw, reaching out to that sliver of pure, wrathful magic that Chaos had given me. No. Today and tomorrow were not the time for tears.
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