Walder

For the better part of a moon's turn, Wylla had refused to speak to Walder. In fact, she had seldom spoken to anyone. After Theon Greyjoy had returned to Winterfell with the broken and burned corpses of the queen and her children, as well as Bran and Rickon, Wylla had spent her days praying in Lady Catelyn's Sept, sleeping there, and eating food from time to time.

Several times, he had made attempts to speak to her, but each time she rebuffed him. She did not rage loudly, but she did not warm to him either. Each time she just remained distant and cold, unwilling to even speak to him.

All this over those bloody Starks. He still did not understand her unwavering devotion towards them. By rights, he ought to have scolded her for this, dragged her forcefully out of the sept by now, and told her to get over herself. But he hadn't, and the fact that he hadn't made just as little sense to him as Wylla's mourning. Even now as he walked towards Lady Catelyn's Sept, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bring himself to enter and demand Wylla return to his bedchamber in the Great Keep of Winterfell with him.

As he approached the sept, he quickly realized something was wrong. The door was closed, which was uncommon. Wylla always kept the door open, usually in some sort of silent prayer, singing some song of mercy or sleeping on the hard stone floor, but he didn't see any sign of any of those taking place through the windows.

Walder opened the door and quickly looked around. She wasn't there, and he felt a bit of panic start to rise in his throat. "Wylla!" he called, just to make sure she was not hiding within the sept, or sleeping somewhere she didn't normally sleep. But when he didn't receive any answer or see any movement, he knew she was not there.

He rushed back to the keep and began to search for her. He checked the privy and Wylla's bedchamber, but didn't see any signs of things being disturbed. He searched for her in the kitchens and the dining hall and throughout the yard, but there was no sign of her there either. In a fit of madness, he even checked the godswood to see if maybe she had chosen to take those trees as her god suddenly, but she wasn't there.

The last place he searched was Maester Luwin's turret, but when he asked the old man, he said he had not received any visit from her. As he walked out, he found himself face to face with Theon Greyjoy.

"My men say you've been rushing all over the castle this morning," Greyjoy started. "Might I know why?"

The truth would come out sooner than later, and he would rather it not be his cousin who was the first to learn Wylla had gone missing. "Wylla… she's not in the sept. I've been looking all over the castle for her, but I haven't seen her anywhere."

Greyjoy muttered a curse. "I ordered my men not to touch her."

You Ironborn are all scum, Walder thought silently. "Did one of your men take her?" He vowed to kill whichever one had dragged her out of the sept and taken her back to his chambers to rape her if it was true.

"I'll order my men to do a search of the castle." From Greyjoy's tone, it seemed he did expect to simply find her in the bed of one of his men.

Walder should have been content with that. The castle was big, but there were only so many places Wylla could be, and he had already looked in more than a few places. But something nagging inside of him wouldn't let that be enough. "And if she's not in the castle?" If those mudmen have taken her…

"Then she's gone. I cannot afford to send men to search for her now."

Walder saw the wisdom in that. Theon had taken the castle of Winterfell with only thirty men, but between the few he lost when taking the castle, as well as those murdered by the Starks as they futilely tried escaping and the recent murders, Greyjoy was down to just seventeen of those who had originally helped him take the castle. Even when his sister had come, she had only given him ten to reinforce his garrison, leaving the castle pitifully undermanned as the looming threat of Ser Rodrik drew nearer. And that was even before last night when a dozen had left, including Asha Greyjoy's reinforcements.

Greyjoy turned away, off to go give some orders to his men no doubt, leaving Walder behind.

He decided it was best to search for his wife-to-be on his own, independent of Greyjoy and his men. Between those resting and those who were manning the walls, he guessed only a small handful would be actually looking, and the bulk of Greyjoy's search would be simply making certain she was not in the bedchambers of any of his men.

After starting with the kitchens and then the library tower, he went to the armory, and then up to the covered bridge between the armory and the granite walled-Great Keep. There, he checked his own bedchamber, as well as his cousin's (which was thankfully empty) before looking for her in one of the Stark's bedchambers. She was not in any of those either, so he descended to the bottom of the keep, and searched through the cellars underneath the keep with their narrow windows. Once those failed, he made his way over to the glass garden greenhouse on the north side of the castle, and then made his way to check the stables on the south side of the castle, but Wylla wasn't there either. Walder went back to the sept again, and tried his luck there, to see if perhaps she had returned there, but she hadn't, and he was starting to become nervous.

As he wandered through the courtyard of Winterfell, his cousin came up to him. "The prince told me your bride ran away."

"He did?" Walder was confused. "Why did he talk to you about it?"

"He wanted to tell you himself, but he couldn't find you, so he told me to tell you if I saw you." Big Walder's voice had changed dramatically over the past few months, and sounded almost unrecognizable to Little Walder. "They didn't find her anywhere in the castle."

And they didn't check outside of the castle. Walder felt a good deal of resentment towards Greyjoy, for not only refusing to search outside of Winterfell, but refusing to allow him to leave to search as well. "Did they find anything at all?"

"Aye," he said. "A missing horse, and tracks headed southeast."

"She's fled to White Harbor."

Walder was a little impressed with his intuition, but his cousin only rolled his eyes. "Of course that's where she went. I'm of a mind to flee too, but I don't know where we would be able to go."

"We?"

His cousin didn't answer that directly. "Greyjoy wouldn't pursue us if we snuck out. I'm sure we could sneak to one of the gates and kill the guards at their post tonight and then sneak out with stolen horses if we wanted to."

He liked the idea. "We should do it then. Tonight… I'll find a way to steal a sword from the armory, and you'll get the horses."

Once again, Big Walder was not impressed. "Where would we go? The Ironborn hold Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square and Moat Cailin and who knows what else they've taken by now. We wouldn't make it to the Twins, if that's where you're thinking."

"White Harbor," he suggested. "We could seek refuge there."

"Lord Wyman won't welcome your presence if that's what you're thinking. You merling will have told him all about how you and I betrayed the Starks, and helped Greyjoy to capture and kill them." His tone hinted that was not all Lord Wyman would be displeased with.

"We didn't," Little Walder said defensively. "It was Greyjoy and his men who continued on to kill the Starks, not us."

"It won't matter to Lord Lamprey."

Out of the corner of Walder's eye, he spotted old Lady Lyarra Stark walking through the courtyard. Every morning she went down to the ancient crypts to mourn her dead family, as she always had since the Walders had first come to Winterfell, and it seemed she was returning from that day's trip. "Then what can we do?"

"We stay," Big Walder told him. "We stay until Ser Rodrik retakes the castle. He is going to, it's only a matter of time."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing. "Arrooooooo!"

"Is it Ser Rodrik?" Little Walder asked.

"It must be," Big Walder answered.

Together, the two boys made their way out of the yard, and to the hundred foot tall inner wall, near the Hunter's Gate where the blow had come from. In the distance, they could see a few scouts sticking out of the Wolfswood, not even trying to be discreet. "Arrooooooo!" came another blast, this time from the South Gate.

Again, they rushed over to that side of the wall, this time going further away from the gate. It seemed on this side they weren't even being led by scouts, but a few hundred men were riding up the Kingsroad. They were too far away to make out the heraldry on their banners, but all the same, Walder knew these were Northmen, who were encircling the castle with an intention of retaking it and hanging Theon Greyjoy.

The Walders descended from the walls, and made their way back to the courtyard. Greyjoy was there with a pair of men tailing him, and he was hardly pleased. Before they even had a chance to speak with him, the self-styled prince had gone off, making his way to the East Gate.

"What do we do now?" Little Walder whispered.

Big Walder gave it some thought. "We need to prepare ourselves."

"For what?"

"Come with me."

Big Walder led them away from the courtyard, and over towards the vacant guest houses, where the area was deserted. Before Winterfell was taken, Wylla had been the only notable guest in the castle, and she had been allowed to stay in the Great Keep, which meant that nobody went in there, save for a few servants who maintained it. They finally sat down on a bench once it seemed the older boy was sufficiently satisfied no one was around.

"If Wylla has escaped, she's likely met with the host outside, or is even with them," Big Walder explained. "If she has, she's told them that we helped kill the Starks."

"Maester Luwin went with us too… and Farlen as well."

"Farlen is dead, and Maester Luwin is sworn to serve the castle, regardless of its lord," Big Walder pointed out. "He's an old friend of Ser Rodrik's too."

Little Walder tried to understand what his cousin meant. "What do you mean?"

"Ser Rodrik won't let those who helped in the deaths of the Starks walk freely. He'll want justice for his king's family. That will mean us."

"So we need to escape?"

Big Walder's face always looked foxish, but now more so than ever. "In a way. But there's no escaping Ser Rodrik's host. They've surrounded the castle."

"What then?"

"We need to force a gate to open. Greyjoy has four gates and seventeen men. That's four men per gate with one to spare and himself."

"Oh," Little Walder understood now. "Which one do we attack?"

"The South Gate. That'll be where we attack. We'll get to the top of the inner wall by saying that the prince sent us to help, and then we'll push him over the wall."

I'll push him over the wall. "There will be two men, won't there?"

Big Walder considered that for a moment. "Mayhaps… we'll need to steal from the armory, I think. Let's go."

Every one of Greyjoy's men were out of sight as they approached the armory. All the weaponry was locked up inside, but the armory itself was unlocked. As they stepped in and closed the door behind him, Little Walder studied the inside of the almost tower-like structure. Inside of a series of locked wooden boxes were the weapon stores. Greyjoy always kept the keys on his person, which meant they had no way to open them though.

"How do we open them?" Little Walder didn't have the faintest clue how they would be able to open something like this, or what they would do without any keys.

Big Walder pursed his narrow lips, thinking about it more. After several minutes, he finally spoke. "I have an idea."

"An idea?" Little Walder was curious to know what his cousin had come up with for a plan.

"I'll be right back, just stay here." Big Walder dashed up the tower, it was only a few seconds before Little Walder couldn't hear the other boy's footsteps at all.

He sat down, cursing as he did, wondering why his cousin always had to be like this. The only time he ever shared his clever ideas were when he needed help from others. Now he felt like an idiot who didn't have any clue as to what his cousin was planning on.

Eventually, he heard Big Walder's quiet footsteps return. When his cousin finally emerged at the bottom of the stairs, Little Walder saw he was holding something. A torch.

"It's made of wood," the older lad pointed out. "It'll burn."

"What if we start the armory on fire?"

"We won't." Big Walder sounded firm. "Everything is made of stone here, and stone doesn't burn."

Little Walder could see the sense in that, though he was still nervous they might burn themselves. But his cousin looked like he was already starting to leave again. "Where are you going?"

"You try to burn through the box, I'll go get another torch."

"Alright," Little Walder managed, as his cousin set off.

The wooden boxes were not quick to light. Walder held his torch up to its side, hoping that a fire would take hold, but for several minutes all the wood did was blacken. Several times he moved his torch away, hoping to see if the fire was self-sustaining on the box, but each time it was not. Before long, his cousin returned, with another torch, and he held this new torch close to the other one, giving it more heat. The wood continued to darken, and several more times, Walder tried pulling his torch back, hoping to see if the fire was self-sustaining.

On the sixth or seventh try, it finally was.

They both moved their torches around that side of the box, hoping to light more of it, as the flames slowly began to burn through the side. Within half an hour, that side was noticeably charred and thinned, as the flames continued to burn. Little Walder stood up, and urged his cousin away from the box, handing him the first torch too.

He kicked at the side, once, then twice, seeing how the side was noticeably bending at the force. It was on the third time he broke through, his boot almost getting stuck within the wedge he'd made into the box. The hole was not big enough for either of their hands, and it was still burning too hot for them to touch either way though. "We need gloves," he said.

Big Walder nodded and began to search throughout the armory, looking for the armorer's gloves, while Little Walder took back both torches and continued to use them to try and burn more on that side.

A few more minutes later and the hole had widened, more than large enough for them to put their hands in and grab the weapons within, as well as the ability to see them clearly. He grabbed a pair of swords out from within, using the armorer's gloves to protect his hands, his cousin burned his hand when he tried to pick one of them up by the hilt.

They moved to the other side of the armory, watching as the box continued to burn even more, while the swords cooled more and more. They waited patiently, and he wondered how much longer it would take.

When the swords were finally cool enough to touch, the two boys sheathed them within the scabbards that had been hanging empty from their belts prior to this. Without a word, they started out of the armory.

As they drew closer and closer to the South Gate, Walder began to notice something was wrong. From the west gate, he could hear the sound of fighting, as though the Northerners had finally decided to storm the castle. Big Walder seemed to think the same. "If they're storming the castle over there, we're of more use there."

Together they ran over to the East Gate, but when they were in the yard, it seemed the fighting was occurring outside. Greyjoy stood on the battlements, with three other men, as well as the old maester, watching something happening below. They could hear the clatter of steel ringing, men giving orders, desperate charges, the sounds of dying horses and men. The Ironborn can't put up this sort of a fight.

They caught Greyjoy and his men by surprise when they reached the top of the battlements. "What are you doing here?" the heir to Pyke demanded as he turned around. "Where did you get those?"

"We wanted to help," Big Walder offered. "We heard the fight."

Greyjoy gave them a look indicating he would deal with them later, while they both stepped forward to look out over the walls.

Outside, the Northerners were fighting what seemed like other Northerners. It was madness outside, fighting in and out of the Wintertown which was quickly being lit on fire. Those who seemed to have been under the command of Ser Rodrik were in complete disarray, their lines broken, each individual man fighting for themselves against other foes, almost entirely mounted.

When it seemed that the fighting outside had died down, a mounted column began riding towards the castle through the burning streets of the Wintertown. They were led by a man wearing dark armor with a red helm and a pink cloak strewing from his shoulders. "Open the gate!" one of his men demanded.

"Are you friend or foe?" one of Greyjoy's men, Black Lorren, asked back.

"Would a foe bring such fine gifts?" The pink cloaked man waved his hand, and his men dumped a trio of corpses in front of the gates. Walder could make out their faces quite clearly.

"The old castellan, with Tallhart and Cerwyn," Black Lorren said aloud, though they could all see it. Ser Rodrik's left arm had been cut off at his elbow, and he had half a dozen other wounds, and the boy lord had taken an arrow to the eye, while it seemed that Tallhart had been trampled with a horse.

Old Maester Luwin gave a cry of dismay, and turned away from outside, falling to his knees.

"The great pig Manderly was too craven to leave White Harbor, or we would have brought him as well," shouted the one who led the outside force.

Theon Greyjoy was silent for a moment. "Open the gates for our friends," he finally announced.

The Ironmen did just that, opening both the inner and outer gates, allowing the pink cloaked men and his column to flow through into Winterfell. Little and Big Walder followed Greyjoy down from the Battlements, with Black Lorren and Maester Luwin, while the other men remained upon the wall. As the red helmed man dismounted, Greyjoy began speaking to him.

"How many men did you lose?"

"Twenty or thirty." The pink cloaked man gave a shrug.

"Ser Rodrik had you five-to-one."

"Aye, but he thought us friends. A common mistake. When the old fool gave me his hand, I took half his arm instead. Then I let him see my face." He put his hands to his helm and lifted it off his head.

Reek, Walder instantly recognized. Theon said the name as well.

Reek laughed. "The wretch is dead." He stepped a little closer. "The girl's fault. If she had not run so far, his horse would not have lamed, and we might have been able to flee. I gave him mine when I saw the riders from the ridge. I was done with her by then, and he liked to take his turn while they were still warm. I had to pull him off her and shove my clothes into his hands—calfskin boots and velvet doublet, silver-chased sword belt, even my sable cloak. Ride for the Dreadfort, I told him, bring all the help you can. Take my horse, he's swifter, and here, wear the ring my father gave me, so they'll know you came from me. He'd learned better than to question me. By the time they put that arrow through his back, I'd smeared myself with the girl's filth and dressed in his rags. They might have hanged me anyway, but it was the only chance I saw." He gave a grin. "And now, my sweet prince, there was a woman promised me, if I brought two hundred men. Well, I brought three times as many, and no green boys nor field hands neither, but my father's own garrison."

Theon Greyjoy turned and looked over at one of his other men. "Harrag, go to the kennels and bring Palla out for…?" He waited for a name.

"Ramsay," answered the man who not so long ago had gone by Reek. "Snow, my wife called me before she ate her fingers, but I say Bolton." He gave a curdled smile. "So you'd offer me a kennel girl for my good service, is that the way of it?"

"She was what was promised."

The bastard wasn't pleased with that. "She smells of dogshit. I've had enough of bad smells, as it happens. I think I'll have your bed-warmer instead. What do you call her? Kyra?"

Greyjoy was angry now too. "Are you mad? I'll have you—"

He never finished, as Ramsay Snow slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. The blow came with a sickening crunch, as Greyjoy fell over, his hand moving to his face. It seemed Greyjoy had been knocked unconscious by the hit, as he went limp on the ground.

More of the bastard's men began to enter Winterfell.

Immediately the Dreadfort men began cutting down the few Ironmen in the courtyard, who put up a valiant fight, but were clearly outnumbered and outmatched. "Burn it, burn it all to the ground," Ramsay Snow ordered his men. A few of his men began to advance towards the Walders, who nervously started to draw their swords, when the bastard turned to them. "Save the Freys." The bastard's men began to grab torches, and spread out throughout the castle, lighting buildings like the stables and the Great Hall. Maester Luwin was trampled by a horse and began to crawl, but was speared in the back between his shoulders by a passing spear.

Little Walder trembled a little as Ramsay Bolton began to urge his horse forward towards them. His lips were wide and meaty as he gave them a very wet smile. "Don't be afraid, boys. I'm going to take very good care of you."

Author Notes:

Thanks for reading!