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cdragons · 11 months ago

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No Hope - Robb Stark x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader

Summary: You ended it. It killed you to do so, but you had to do it. Soon, it won't matter anyway - you were set to travel with Lord Stark and Lady Sansa as her lady-in-waiting to King's Landing. It's not as if you two will ever meet again. How wrong you were...

Warning(s): Hard Dom Robb, OC is cold, Robb is dark AND delulu, Canon divergence, hard smut, slight BDSM, KIng's Landing criminal justice system, etc.

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIPPY!!! I know I'm three days late, and I swear I meant to finish this on your actual birthday, but I ended up overwriting, and then I had to be at the DMV for about 7 hours and then had to pack up my house yesterday 🫠. ANYWAY, thank you so much for being such an amazing friend! It really has been such an honor to see how much you, your writing, and your blog have grown! Here's to another year of friendship and great writing!

The siege against King’s Landing was a success, resulting in an overwhelming victory for Stannis’ campaign as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

House Lannister, despite the arrival of reinforcements from House Tyrell, led by Ser Loras, was no more. While it was a clever ruse on House Tyrell’s part, neither house would have expected men from the Riverlands to join Stannis in his fight, resulting in an overwhelming victory. As a result, the futures of two of the ancient Seven Great Houses of Westeros now rest in the hands of a new ruler—King Stannis of House Baratheon, a figure whose emergence will undoubtedly shape the course of Westeros.

Despite being a wheelhouse dozens of miles away from King’s Landing at this point, the shouts and cheers of Stannis’ men rang clear in your ears. Inside were three young women transported to the Westerlands—to Robb Stark, the Young Wolf and King of the newly independent North.

The thought of seeing him again after the way the two of you left things off made the ride all the more unpleasant.

You remained silent and softly stroked your lady’s head as she rested her head on your lap. Tried as she could to stay lucid and awake, but it seemed that the stress and terror from being trapped as King Joffery’s former betrothed before being sold to his dwarf of an uncle had taken its toll. As she slept, you took in her features and noted the changes from the child you knew in Winterfell to the young woman trapped in King’s Landing. Her gorgeous red Tully hair lost some of its splendorous luster, appearing more matted and unkempt than you had ever seen it after years of being in Lady Sansa’s lady-in-waiting. Despite being in the South for over a year, her ivory skin seemed to pale until it was translucent. While the court believed her pale fairness to result from her Northern birth, only you and Shay knew that it was from Sansa’s inability to stomach more than a few meager bites off her plate during her mealtimes.

“The circles under her eyes have darkened further,” you thought as Sansa gripped your skirt – tightly clenching her fist as if she were a small child still terrified of the dark. “She’s grown too thin – she’s barely improved since I’ve returned by her side.”

It terrified you when Shae, who took your place as her handmaiden, informed you that her mood had improved tremendously since Lord Tyrion’s success in releasing you as a wedding gift to his new wife. Knowing that Sansa, to which your previous liege lord entrusted her care to you, was in such a state for months broke your heart. The bright and cheerful smiles you adored had become so rare since you returned to her side. But you hoped that due to recent events, your red-haired wolf would soon smile as brightly with all the more radiance as she did as a child.

“Do you think Lord Tyrion will be alright?”

You looked up to see Shae sitting across from you on the other side of the carriage. Her expression, while usually impassive and unreadable, was fraught with unease about the uncertainty of the future—hers and her lover’s.

“Stannis Baratheon is not one who shows mercy,” you answered truthfully. “It is likely that he will face the same fate as his nephew, as well as his sister and father.”

Perhaps your tone was too blunt, judging by the slight flinch Shay gave when you referred to Joffery Lannister. But, it would not help anyone, much less her, if you spoke anything less than the truth – that was what Ned Stark taught you since you were a child, and it was by that faith you would remain steadfast no matter what. She deserved nothing less than the truth; it was what you owed her. After all, from what Sansa spoke to you, she helped protect her however she could when you were not by her side.

And for that, you were most grateful.

“However,” you continued, “perhaps Lord Varys will vouch for him. The Master of Whispers holds Lord Tyrion in high regard, and out of all his family, your lover is admittedly the best of them. If nothing else, maybe he’ll pledge loyalty to Stannis and convince Tommen to do the same.”

She grew flustered, “He is not…we are not–”

“You will not find judgment from me,” you assured her with a bitter chuckle. You looked down at Sansa, her sleeping figure sparking a twinge of guilt in your heart. “Believe me, I am the last one to preach about the sins of an affair between a lord and his servant.”

It was a joyful reunion between mother and child. Before the wheelhouse fully stopped, Sansa flung open the doors and leaped out, racing into her mother's arms. Lady Stark was just as eager to hold her daughter – forgetting all forms of propriety and etiquette when she picked up her skirts to run. Both were a mess of wide smiles and joyful tears, and you don’t believe you’ve ever seen Lady Stark act so young. Seeing the two embrace – one who lost a husband and two sons and the other who lost a father and two brothers –made for such a beautiful scene that it made you weep in relief.

“I did it, my lord,” you silently prayed out, “I’ve kept my promise.”

You swore you felt your liege's gratitude by the gentle breeze that blew through the field. But unfortunately, the joy you felt would only further load the weight of the shackles of your guilt and self-loathing that refused to release you. Even if someone as good and honorable as Ned Stark could find it in his heart to forgive you – you couldn’t help but feel you don’t deserve his forgiveness.

…No…you knew you didn’t deserve it, and knowing that made the shackles heavier than you’ve ever felt.

Sansa was absent since Lady Catelyn insisted that her daughter remain by her side for the night. Shae accompanied her, and you remained alone as you lay on the cot set for you. A squire announced himself before entering the tent the men had set up for you and Shae. He called out your name and informed you that you were expected to wait in His Grace’s tent.

“His Grace requested a moment with you,” he explained, “he wishes to thank you for your service and loyalty to Princess Sansa.”

“Well, you can tell ‘His Grace’ that he can thank me here,” you scoffed. “Because I’m not fucking moving.”

You dismissed the young man without a second thought. Seriously? Did he genuinely expect you to come so quickly to him? Honestly, the nerve of that man.

It was not long before the squire returned.

“H-his Grace insists that you meet him,” he stammered.

The poor boy looked terrified, like a little puppy caught by its master for doing something it wasn’t supposed to. Seeing his discomfort was almost adorable – it nearly made you smile.

“And I insist that he let me rest,” you raised your brow and cocked your head to the side. “Or is he, in fact, ordering me to meet him? Ahh, and after such a long journey – honestly, he acts so spoiled sometimes, such a typical highborn born with everything.”

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded.

You impassively stared at the poor fellow briefly. His cheeks were flushed bright red underneath the dirt and grime, and his eyes looked close to crying. Gods, Robb – what in the Seven Hells kind of tongue lashing did you give the poor boy? Surely, he wasn’t so desperate to see you, especially considering how the two of you left things off.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I suppose I could spare him a moment. But it won’t be before I’ve had a bath – I’ve already called for hot water; it won’t be long.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady,” he sighed in relief. “His Grace will be most grateful to see you once he is finished speaking with his council in the war tent.”

Fuckin’ son of a–

You swore you felt a vein on your forehead pop. Did that idiot really summon you to his tent while he was in a council meeting?

The walk from your tent to Robb’s was a battle in itself - your mind dreaded what your heart longed for.

You had just finished your bath and changed into a simple linen dress (plain but clean) when you decided you kept His Majesty waiting long enough (two hours, give or take). You were just about to enter when a particularly irritatingly slow clap stopped you in your tracks. There was only one person who could bring out your ire in such a short amount of time. You turned around to see Theon Greyjoy – standing and smirking like the arrogant bitch you fought and played with since you were just a girl.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” he smirked. “Makes you wonder how the men of King’s Landing kept their hands to themselves when they saw you.”

“Wouldn’t know,” you wryly replied, “after all, I spent most of my time there in a dark, damp cell. I barely had enough food and water to survive, let alone to be a vision.”

Although Theon still joked and teased like he always had, you could see the war had taken its toll on him. He grew thinner. His body had lost weight, and his muscles appeared leaner and more taut. His shaggy curls were more closely trimmed and no longer tickled his shoulders. But his eyes—how they looked so haunted and tired—made your heartbreak.

“He’s missed you,” he whispered. There was no need to state a name – you both knew who he was referring to.

“He got married,” you replied while looking away. To a Frey, no less.

“She's dead, and he never loved her.”

“That makes it better?”

“It does when you were the one who broke his heart,” he retorted.

You sharply turned back, “That is not–”

Light poured out of the tent behind you as the front flap opened. You heard your name being called out in that tone that always made your knees buckle—revering and filled with longing with an undertone of authority. It beckoned you to look at him, and when you did, you swore you felt your heart leap into your throat by him.

“You’re late,” he grunted.

Robb Stark, with his crystalline blue eyes not once looking away from you, shifted to the side and let you in. His gaze moved to Theon and narrowed when he noticed the lack of distance between the two of you. Saying nothing, you silently bowed your head before heading inside the warm tent. However, you remained close enough to hear the brief exchange between the Greyjoy and Stark. But after being away from Robb for so long, you couldn’t focus on any words between the two men.

Taking a deep breath, your body tingled as you took the familiar notes of fine leather and freshly burned smoke. You glanced at his bed and longed to lie in its furs without the hindrance of clothes. Your mouth watered at the idea of wrapping yourself in them. The idea of pressing your nose against the furs made your center throb and grow wet, as the idea of the scent of his hot sweat mixed with his musk trapped in those hides was almost too much to bear.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you nearly missed Robb calling out your name. You responded by regaining your composure as quickly as possible so as not to betray any lustful thoughts swimming in your mind.

“What did you and Theon talk about?” he bluntly asked, standing impassively as you remained silent.

“Was the journey smooth?” he tried again. Nothing.

“I hope my men–”

“Idle prattle doesn’t suit you,” you tiredly sighed. “Just tell me whatever you waited so long for, and then I can return to my tent and finally rest.”

Robb clenched his fists and stared at the ground. How cruel, how unfair – one word from you, just hearing your voice, struck every word on his tongue dead. War made him lax. He, of all people, should know how you could drive good men to insanity.

Yes – it felt like he was going mad.

He looked up from the ground and wanted to weep. There you stood – looking as beautiful as a fresh layer of snow and just as cold. It took everything in him not to reach out and pull you close. He wanted to feel your body close to his, to revel in the softness of your hidden warmth. He wanted to go back to Winterfell – to simpler times with his father and brothers alive and laughing, to when Jon was by his side and his brother and best friend, and to when you would look at him like he was your world.

How you used to look at him – how he still looked at you.

Robb tried to start a conversation to loosen the tense atmosphere, but it was clear you weren’t having it. You even cut him off on his third attempt. Your voice was so cold that it burned him like ice. He wasn’t even sure if you were looking at him or just at a corner of the tent so you could maintain that cold, domineering façade you had perfected since childhood. It was obvious to him that you were trying to goad him into losing his temper – giving you the perfect excuse to leave and ignore him again.

Why else had you sent his squire back to him after he requested your presence to wait for him at his tent? Furthermore, why else did you make him wait two hours for your bath?

“I wish to thank you for your loyalty towards my sister during her time as the Lannisters’ hostage,” Robb calmly said, keeping his voice steady but firm. “You acted bravely.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I acted as anyone else would have in my position. My loyalty to your sister and family is not something to be admired or coveted.”

“That’s not true,” Robb argued. “Your loyalty to my family is nothing short of admirable. It’s only right that–”

“Robb.”

It was infuriating how regal you looked, carrying the air of a queen.

“My loyalty will always belong to House Stark, that’s true – but,” you stared deep into his gaze, “all I cared about in that damp, rotting cell, where I was given barely enough water and food to survive, was whether my lady was well.”

Please stop it.

“I didn’t endure because my lady was a Stark,” you continued, “I endured because it was Sansa.”

He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Is it only for Sansa that you’ve suffered?” he rasped in anger.

This wasn’t good; he just got you back. If he doesn’t properly utilize this chance, you’ll be gone from him forever. He knew you’d never leave Sansa’s side. Your loyalty to her, even when she still acted like the spoiled little princess of the North, drew him to you. As the eldest daughter, Sansa was the one closest to their mother. However, as the second eldest child, it also meant that she had to understand she could not always have their parents’ attention. Before Jeyne Poole, before Septa Mordane – you were Sansa’s first and constant companion. You were someone whose loyalty ran deep and remained unwavering in the worst times.

He collected himself enough to apologize for his outburst when your voice returned – regal and imposing, cold and distant.

“Not just Sansa,” you stated. “…I also made a promise to Lord Stark.”

Something in him snapped. Robb considered himself a good man, an honorable man. One whose father instilled lessons of honor and duty in him since he was old enough to walk. A father who he missed, whose absence was painful. But hearing you speak of him, of his father, it was like a bucket of ice water was poured over him, and it awoke a bitter memory he had long forgotten.

“Is it true?” Robb demanded unannounced after storming into his father’s private study. His father sat at his desk, appearing as tired and weary as the day of his departure from home to the vicious South treads closer with each passing day. Ned set down his quill and sighed deeply. He knew it would not be long before Robb would come in to demand an explanation. He supposed that, as his boy’s father, he owed his eldest son that much… if for not his own sake, then for the sake of closure. “…What may you be referring to, Robb?” he asked, despite already knowing what this was about. Robb furiously shook his head, “Do not pretend with me, Father. Did you or did you not plant the idea of a future engagement between her and me as treason against you?” “…Before I answer that,” Ned began carefully, not wanting to upset his son further, “am I to understand that when you mean ‘her,’ you are referring to a particular lady-in-waiting favored by your sister?” It frightened Ned how quickly Robb’s anger was snuffed out. He whispered your name with reverence and veneration fit for the Maiden. But just as soon as his heir’s fury went away, it came back at a speed and quantity tenfold. Ned could see it in his eyes. Robb may have inherited his Tully mother’s eyes, but the cold storm raging in them could only belong to one whose blood belongs to the Old Gods of the North. “Sansa requested her to accompany us while she learns to be Prince Joffrey's future queen,” Ned explained. “Robb… your sisters need people they can trust – now more than ever with Bran’s accident.” “And she’s agreed to this?” Robb interrogated. “You expect me to believe that?” “Yes,” Ned solemnly nodded, “because it was brought up to me by her…”

Robb didn’t believe it then, and he still didn’t believe it now. He refused to entertain the idea of you, of all people, who would propose to his father that you leave him. You, who Robb loved with a love more fervent and true than any fanciful tale sung by the bards in Southern courts. You, who listened to all of Robb’s deepest fears and worries since you and him were still small children. You, who whispered promises of love and devotion to Robb night after night since he first warmed your bed.

You, who cried tears of joy when he secretly proposed to you underneath the blood-red leaves and snow-painted branches of the weirwood tree, swearing his love to you before the Old Gods and New.

…No…no, no, no—it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be…but what other explanation was left?

“Robb…?” your voice gently called out to him. “If that’s all you wish to say to me… then I must be heading back to my–”

He walked forward and tightly grasped your arms, making you unable to escape. Robb felt your feeble attempts to pry his fingers off with your delicate hands. But it was to no avail.

“Why…?” Robb rasped, letting out all the pain and longing he had been keeping locked inside since you dissolved you and his affair. “Why did you leave? …Why did you leave me?”

“Damn you,” you thought. “Damn you, Robb Stark.”

It was pathetic… how easily this man broke down your walls. One word… one word from him was enough to make you want to surrender everything.

“I…I-I… only did what I thought was best,” you stammered. “For us…and for you…”

Robb scoffed because why wouldn’t he?

“For me…?” he rhetorically repeated. “Leaving me – no, abandoning me… that was for my benefit? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

You shook your head, “Belief is secondary to truth,” you explained. “And I am telling you the truth. I’ve never lied to you.”

“Right, of course – that’s why you ran off to King’s Landing with my sister,” Robb raged. “Yes, certainly that for my well-being. You, being paraded and courted by knights and nobles with their pretty words and fine silks – what a relief to know that you endured all that for me…”

Oh, this son of a – gods, how could one man be so beautiful, yet so infuriating?!

“Did you ever love me?” he asked, his voice a little rough from choking back tears. “Was it ever real? Any of it? Or was it all a lie?”

“I believe I told you I was expected to wake your sister for her early celebration…” you looked out the window, “…right now…? It would seem…?” It was the morning of Sansa’s eleventh birthday. Lady Stark planned to surprise her daughter with a splendid spread of leek pottage, freshly baked bread, slices of smoked meat, and a cup of sweet Dornish wine. She entrusted the duty of waking the little princess of the day to you, Sansa’s most entrusted companion. It was expected that you would take the role. After all, everyone in the castle knew what an absolute nightmare Lord Stark’s eldest daughter was in the early mornings. …But…it would seem that Lord Stark’s eldest son and heir did not understand the gravity of your role today…considering he remained insistent that you spend your morning with him… in his bed… without any clothes on your person. While usually, you’d be much more cross at his insistence… you couldn’t deny how delicious it felt waking up in his arms after a night of gloriously intense lovemaking. And the way he further convinced you by tracing feather-light kisses down your neck and collarbone was downright sinful. “I believe…” he momentarily nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, causing you to softly shriek and giggle. “…I told you never to speak of my sister or any member of my family while in bed with me.” His lips trailed further down to the valley of your breasts. “Stay here…with me…and let’s forget the world this morning.” Gods, it’d be so easy to give in …to remain hidden from the world within the arms of your beloved…but life was hardly so easy. “You know I – can’t…!” you sharply gasped at the feel of his lips around your teat. You pitifully whined his name. “Robb, please…” “Shhh—careful, my love,” he huskily whispered, “unless you want all of Winterfell to know how even one of its coldest women is powerless against her wolf…” You held his chin to press a soft kiss against his lips. Gazing into his deep pools of sapphire, you knew this was the only man you could ever give your heart to. “My wolf…” you corrected, “and only mine…” “Yours…” Robb agreed as the two of you got lost in each other all over again.

Instinct and fury blinded rationality and composure as a sharp crack rang within the tent as your palm made contact with Robb’s cheek. Hot tears spilled from your eyes as the wet trails streamed down your cheeks.

“Fuck you, Robb…” you grit out.

Did he not think you haven’t craved him and his love as much, if not more, since your separation? Was he so obtusely… thick in the skull to think that you hadn’t cursed yourself for plunging you both into the cruel depths of a life without the other? Had he not realized that what saved you from falling into despair… from the moment you were thrown into the Red Keep’s dungeons… was your sweet memories of him?

You angrily swiped away your tears on the back of your hand before shoving him aside so you could make your way out of the tent. You couldn’t stand to be so close to him, not anymore, not when it cut you so deeply.

What was the point? Of being so close to one when they cannot have the other?

But it seemed your king did not agree with your sentiments as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him. Your chest collided against his, and you felt the hard planes of his muscles and wanted to sink to your knees while stripping him of all barriers that blocked his glorious body.

Robb growled as he felt the tremulous rhythm of your beating heart, effectively giving away all your true feelings and desires toward him – the same he felt to you.

“You’re a cruel woman…” he growled as he forced you to look into his deep, blue eyes by holding your chin, “but you’re my woman.”

Without another word, he seized you by the arm and threw you onto his bed. He tore off his tunic before gripping your ankles with both hands and forcing them wide open before he forcefully pulled your body to the end of the bed. Not wasting another moment, he clutched the neckline of your nightdress and tore it open, leaving you exposed and defenseless against him. You felt the peaks of your breasts harden against the cold air and tried to cover them with your arms, but Robb slapped your hands away and pinned your hands above your head.

“And I’ll make sure you learn your place by the time I’m done with you…”

Time meant nothing inside that tent. The only things that mattered were Robb Stark, young King of the North and recently widowed, and you, his precious whore he loved so dearly. It could have been an hour, it could have been five –you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that your former lover was currently cementing his claim on you as his bitch-in-heat by making you cum twice with his fingers and thrice more from his cock.

“You *huff* …really…expe- fuck…!” The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, interrupted by the squelch of your juices mixed with his as he moved in and out of you. He loudly groaned when he felt your walls clamp down on his still-hard shaft. “Fuck – how are you still so fucking tight…?”

You didn’t answer him; you couldn’t – at least not with words. Each of Robb’s thrusts hit that spot inside you that made you lose all sense of logic and rational thought. All you could offer was broken garbles and moans of your ecstasy as your insatiable wolf continued to feast on your pleasure. And this only seemed to further incense Robb into driving himself deeper inside you, as if he had not already caused you to peak three times since he first pushed into you. Your vision became blurry as your eyes crossed, but he brought you back by delivering a hard slap against your bottom, the stinging pain quickly shifting to ebbing pleasure.

“Well?” he tauntingly jeered, thoroughly enjoying your sharp tongue could only be quieted by him fucking you dumb. “I expect an answer…!”

“Ah-ah-ah – FUCK…!” you cried out after he delivered another harsh slap on your bottom’s other cheek, making you sharply gasp and continue to slather your drool and tears into his bed’s furs. “I don’t know…!”

Robb cruelly smirked, “Don’t know…?” He grabbed the front of your neck and pulled you until your sensitive back was pressed flush against his hard chest. “Don’t lie to me… you know… don’t pretend that you don’t – but do you want me to tell anyway?”

Fervently nodding, you felt him grin as his hot breath panted against your neck, causing goosebumps to prick across your skin covered in bite marks.

“It’s because…” Robb quickened his pace from rough to erratic as your mind nearly blanks from feeling more and more of him hitting the entrance to your womb, “we both know that cunt belonging to such a cold whore like yourself…could only be thawed with cock like mine and only mine.”

The war changed him. The Robb you knew and loved would never dream of speaking to you in such a filthy and vulgar manner. Before, your Robb always made love to you sweetly with the gentlest touches, and as far as you could tell and feel, he was gone. In his place was a wolf with a voracious appetite who could only seem satisfied with your humiliation from his rough squeezes and unforgiving pace. The evidence was plain to see by how he littered your body with purple love bites down your neck, red bite marks over your breasts and inner thighs, and deep indents of his nails from gripping your hips too hard and too long.

And the worst part of it? You loved it. Every bit of his ministrations was a piece of heaven. If this were torture, then you would only crave pain for the rest of your existence. Everything hurts so good, from the way his thick, throbbing cock stretches your walls to the way his rough, calloused hands manhandle your body with his bruising grip. You weren’t sure if there was anything left of you that Robb didn’t already possess. Your eyes glazed over the veins in his arms bulge as you barely register the rasped grunts and growls leaving his lips. If you looked down, you were sure to see the outline of his cock bulging from inside you as he continued to split you open.

He stilled for a moment and whispered in your ear as you cried out your frustration and begged him not to stop.

“I’m going to cum in you,” he rasped with perverse glee, “and afterward, I’m going to make sure my seed takes root in your womb.” He pushed your face down to the furs and forced your hips to meet his thrusts without mercy. “You tried to… escape your fate by leaving. Well, *huff* let me tell you right now… that’s never going to happen – I’ll lock you… in the tallest tower in Winterfell and chain you to the bed if I have to…”

One of his hands left your hips and went below you as his fingers deftly sought out the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs that was your clit. You tried to protest, not sure if your body could take even more pleasure, but all that came out was a warbled cry as he pressed down and circled your bud. The overstimulation was proving to be too much as your body started shaking. You felt a cord tightening more and more until it just *snapped*, and you screamed out your release as your entire body trembled.

Robb refused to let up his pace, and he continued to thrust in and out of you as you felt him stiffen and – gods, how did he get even bigger? Before he released his seed inside you, he bottomed out – making sure that there was nothing of him that was not inside your sopping cunt. Your vision went white as he let out a loud and powerful groan from his release, and you could feel his hot seed painting your inner walls with his essence.

His peak seemed to drain him of all his energy as he gathered you in his arms without pulling out and resolved himself to finally rest. His sweaty forehead rested against your shoulder as he panted. Between each labored breath, he planted a kiss across your shoulders – your body still twitching from the intensity it endured as you, too, tried to catch your breath.

All was silent until you found yourself speaking, “…There was no hope, was there…?”

Robb lifted his upper body on one arm to hover over you. You repeated your question, to which he gave you a relaxed smile and tucked a stray piece of hair stuck to your temple behind your ear.

“No, love…” he confirmed. “But you must have known that from the beginning…I would have never let you go.”

…How does one respond to that?

You tried to search for the answer in his eyes, but all you saw was love… love, and madness. It was always there inside him; you’ve known that from the beginning… only you were blinded by his beauty and your love for him. But your lord knew the truth; he saw that obsessive love from the start; after all, Robb was his son. He warned you, but you didn’t listen. It wasn’t until you saw him beat a poor knight bloody and broken on the ice-covered ground – all because you made the mistake of smiling at him.

That’s why you ended your secret engagement. You had hoped that time and distance would ebb away the insanity flowing in his blood, or perhaps he would find someone else and eventually forget you – whichever came first.

But that was a fool’s dream; you knew that now.

Wordlessly, you nodded, to which Robb gently pressed his lips to yours, just as he had back in Winterfell. With each second, you began to respond more and more to the kiss. You wrapped your arms over his neck as his lips trailed down your next again, and you felt your sore body humming for more despite its sensitivity. Your fingers gripped his unruly, dark auburn curls as a tear trailed your cheek.

Forgive me, my lord…I’ve failed.

But you know you were secretly glad of it. After all, how could you not be? Life was growing inside you at that very moment.

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yandere-romanticaa · 11 months ago

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Marriage was often used as a tool of convenience - be it to upgrade one's own social status, get some much needed silver and gold, or to just get one leg up over your enemies, it really did not matter in the end.

Like it or not, you were tied to that person till death did you part.

That was a chant that has been sung to you ever since you came out of your weeping mother's womb. As the daughter of the household, it was natural for you to wed one day. However, the family was one of average standing, it had no special titles tacked onto it nor did it have any grotesque reputation which could sully it to the darkness and back. In its own way, it was oddly blissful, being invisible like that. No one expected you to act like a stuck up lady who would be locked away deep in a tower and you were also safe from becoming a measley wench who would be forced to spend the rest of her miserable days stuck rolling around in the mud, selling her body to all sorts of horrific strangers just in order to eat for a day.

You had the privilege of being born into a happy life. Perhaps a slightly dull one sometimes but regardless, a good one at that. You were content with everything which was given to you, perhaps even happy.

However, all things come to an end, and your end came in the form of a man riding on horseback.

He was strong, capable, handsome... But you kept that thought to yourself as you helped the wounded stranger get back on his feet, his midnight black steed happily trotting away somewhere as it accidentally shook the rider off its back once it locked eyes on you, a stranger in the woods.

"And who might you be?" asked the dark haired man, his curly hair framing his pale face so wonderfully that it took the breath from your lungs away.

You held onto him tightly and pressed him close to your body, the odor of blood and sweat covering him from top to bottom but you couldn't be bothered to care. He wore simple clothing which made you think that he was in a similar position like yourself in terms of finance, which gave you a slight glimmer of hope.

It was embarrassing how much you were swooning over the stranger.

Taking him back to your hut took longer than expected but all was well in the end. The handsome stranger had a name, Robb he said it was, and you couldn't hide the adoration in your voice whenever he would speak to you. The night flew by like a summer breeze - too fast and too sweet. Come first daylight he had to leave, which you understood.

That didn't stop you from feeling a little blue.

He mounted his horse like a knight in shining armor, its mane tussling proudly in the bitter north wind as Robb looked down at you, his warm blue eyes desperate to tell you many stories and secrets, but time was cruel and scarce.

He would come back to you, he promised.

And you gave him a smile sweeter than any juicy fruit, telling him that you would gladly wait for him.

He rode away all the while looking back at you, sending you a heart stopping smile which could make anyone weak in the knees. The horse left large hoofprints in the snow and you focused your attention on that, rather than the bitter stabs of pain in your heart.

There would never be a day when you'd see Robb ever again.

You were due to leave for the South in a few weeks time, in order to finally be wed off. The fantasy of Robb was saccharine and enchanting, many hours of sleep were lost due to him. Even if you barely knew him, the matters of the heart were reckless and stupid.

The heart wants what it wants and your heart ached for Robb.

All the while, you hadn't a clue of him and his plans. The men in Winterfell grew tired of his constant ramblings of this lovely woman he met, this sweet little thing which made his heart sing like no one else. He would walk in the corridors with a pep in his step as he thought of all the ways he could take you back to his home and give you the life you deserved.

His candied tirade quickly came to an abrupt halt once his mother had informed him of the grave news, that you had been promised to another man.

Robb was furious.

Who was this man?! Who did he think he is?! Ever the meticulous man, he got to work immediately. In less than a few days he had managed to gather all the information he could on this mystery fiance of yours, all the papers sprawled across his massive table. The candles in his chambers glimmered gently, the shimmering light a stark contrast to the raging flames in his heart.

If he could have his way, he'd be out for blood. Robb was too much of a jealous man for his own good but he needed to think, he needed to prepare if he wanted to do this right.

In less than a day, he had everything set up. If the man wasn't willing to take the gold he was offering him, he was not above using any scare tactics. His anger ended up getting the better of him though, so a bizarre combination of both was used.

The way in which your fiance left you made your heart sink. How were you going to break the news to your parents? Whatever could you have done so wrong to earn the ire of this lord whom you haven't even met yet...

You weep in your room, staining the mattress with your salty tears, completely oblivious to the small cavalry with House Stark banners raging on your front door.

Robb Stark had come for his bride. And she had no idea what sort of future awaited her...

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doe-eyeddreamgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Thinking about Robb Stark asking you to marry him.

It's just the beginning of Robb's war, but it's been going well. The plans the pair of you and the war counsel had devised had been successful, even capturing the Queen's brother, although he had almost escaped not long ago. He wore thrice the amount of chains since then.

You had known Robb your entire life; you were an orphan at Winterfell and had been taken in by the Starks as Sansa's handmaiden, but you had been raised as their daughter. While you loved all the Starks as family, something about Robb was... different. Although you'd never admit aloud, you were particularly fond of the Young Wolf.

The night had grown dark in the war camp. As you wandered through the camp, you listened to the crickets and the pops and crackles of fires, witnessed as the soldiers sat around them, singing and laughing, while others stood tall, posted at their duties, and others returned to bed.

You nodded to the soldier outside this specific tent, well acquainted. You pressed your cheek to the flap, feeling it flutter through your fingers as a gust of wind past. It made you shiver, but it wasn't nearly as cold as the breezes in Winterfell. The reminder made you long for home. "Your grace?"

"Enter," came Robb's gruff voice, laced with authority, sounding much older than what you were used to.

You brushed underneath the flap, eyes crinkling at the wave of light from inside the tent, lit by an assortment of flaming torches. Robb stood over his make-shift desk, adorned with books, maps, and candles alike. His palms were braced against the wood, body turned to show the entrance his side profile.

Robb took a glance over his shoulder-- a glance at you --and sighed. His posture unraveled as he dragged a hand down his face, trying to rid it of sleep. "Y/N," he breathed, voice full of relief.

"Had you thought I was someone else?" you chuckled, wandering deeper into the tent.

He was still dressed in his clothes from the day. Suddenly, a part of you felt self-conscious to be dressed as if you were ready to pass out at given moment: hair undone, nightgown lazily falling from your shoulders.

You tugged it up quickly as you moved to stand beside him, peering down at a map of the seven kingdoms, decorated with chess pieces.

"I hadn't known who," he sighed. "I'm glad it's you though. I need your help with something."

You smiled, watching Robb divulge into hypothetical scenarios, plans of war, oblivious to the mess of auburn curls on his head. It made it hard to focus, but not impossible. When he concluded, you nodded slowly. "That could work," you said slowly. Then reaffirmed it, nodding, "Well. That could work well, definetely."

Robb sighed, a tired smile coming over his face. "Thank the gods."

You hummed. "Finally deeming yourself fit for bed now?"

"Well," he tilted his head, eyes scanning over the table, debating. "I still have quite of bit to get done..."

"Robb," you stated sternly, a hand coming to rest gently on his bicep, dragging his attention from his work to you. You nudged your head toward his bed. "Greywind is falling asleep before you. Rest."

Robb turned his attention to his bed, where Greywind, his direwolf, a supposed 'mighty beast' laid across the end, head on the edge, dark eyes blinking hazedely. He snorted, running a hand through his hair and turning back to you. "'Suppose your right then. That doesn't happen too often."

You slapped his arm. Robb faked a cry. "Ouch, my lady! That's a king you're striking, you know."

"A humble king, as well."

"Aye," he grinned, "That I am."

You rolled your eyes, smiling so widely dimples formed in your cheeks. "To bed, Robb," you said, huffing. "I mean it. I'll clean up."

"I can't ask you to do that--"

"You don't have to," you interrupted, watching the tension in between his brows unknit itself. You turned away from him, giving him your back. You closed a book, already shuffling a pack of papers together. "You can repay me after the war: make sure I marry some rich handsome Lord who leaves me alone and has a plot near your castle, yes?"

There's silence. Your brows furrowed and you looked behind you. "Robb?"

He'd gone quiet, staring at you. His brows furrowed again. He seemed confused. "You wish... to marry some... Lord?" he asked, the tease he had moments ago lost.

You didn't understand what's shifted. "It's duty," you shrugged. "I'll marry a Lord, if I'm lucky. It's not guaranteed. I'm no lady, Robb. Not like your wife will be."

You turned around again and continued cleaning, thinking the matter is settled. You didn't see the crestfallen look on Robb's face, the battle in his eyes, the sputtering frog in his throat which he swallows. You didn't notice him inch closer, not until you feel the warmth radiating off his, pressing to your side, his arm gently finding your wrist.

"Marry me."

You blinked, lips parting. A guffaw burst from your lips. "What?" you laughed, shaking your head. In fact, it sent you into a fit of giggles, much to Robb's obvious dismay, who stood staring at you, dead-serious. His eyes had a peculiar shine to them.

Your laughter died down. "Robb, you..." your lips twitched, still in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

He took a step closer, blue eyes gleaming down at you, reflecting the fire within him. "I am, " he whispered, the grip on his wrist sliding down to your fingers, lacing them together. "Marry me and we won't have to worry about stupid Lords or ladies, just you and I."

You blinked, heart hammering on his chest, smile dropping swiftly. For as long as you could remember you had loved Robb, but as long as you had known him you had known you could never be wed. He was going to be the Lord of Winterfell-- now the King of the Seven Kingdoms-- and you were merely Sansa's maiden, an orphan the Starks took pity on. He had duty and honor, you had nothing. "You..." you shook your head slowly, "Robb, we cannot."

"What?" he asked, confused. "Why not?"

Your head shook, lip beginning to wobble despite your attempts to prevent it. "You have a duty, and I will not get in the way of that."

"What?" Robb took a step closer, deeply, utterly confused. He could feel the rush of blood in his veins and his heart pounding in his chest. He was fully awake now. "What are you talking about?"

"You are meant to marry a noble lady from a noble house--" you began.

Robb cut you off quickly, grabbing your other hand as if it would make you see reason.

"I do not wish to--"

You tugged your hands from his grip, stepping away from him, trying to get air. You couldn't breathe with him looking at you like that, eyes full of hope and desperation. You could hardly think. "You cannot just marry me because you do not wish to marry a stranger!" you shrilled.

Greywind stirred from his sleep, shifting from his bed, watching the two of you.

Robb shook his head wildly, lips twisting like he had been insulted. He looked at you crazed, taking a step forward. "You think that is it? I want to marry you because- because what? I'm afraid? I'm desperate? Because I do not wish to marry some powerful Lord's daughter." He took another step closer. "Do you think that is why I dance with you at feasts as well? To avoid mingling with other ladies?" he spit. "Why have I spent these years trailing after you like a lost pup?"

"I don't know why you choose to do what you do."

Robb threw his hands in the air. "It's because I love you! Ever since I was a boy. Ever since I have known what love was, I knew that I loved you."

The memories flashed in his mind: Snowball fights and horse rides. Sword fights and bandages. Sneaking to the kitchens and watching you do his sisters' hair. His teases, your scolding. His calloused hand holding your soft palm.

He swallowed, voice low. "Say you do not love me."

You shook your head. He wasn't understanding. "I cannot," you said, frustratedly, quickly adding, "But I cannot marry you."

"Why?" he growled, exasperated.

"I will not let I this," you waved between the two of you, "bring death to your duty. I will not ruin your chances at bringing your sister's home; at avenging your father; at winning this war. I will not kill you."

He couldn't give a damn about being alive if it meant not being with you.

Robb's jaw clenched. "I love you."

Clamping your eyes shut, you ignored the gnawing of your heart that begged you to stay, and you turned around, "Good night, Robb."

"No, you cannot just go!"

He hadn't meant to shout. It had just happened, erupted from him like dragon fire. At the commotion, the large wolf on his bed shot up to stand, barking. The barks became background as he watched you turn around, eyes wide, looking frozen.

Fuck.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, dragging a hand down his face. "I-"

You beat him to it, looking down at your hands, picking at your nails. "Your grace," you said plainly. Robb flinched. "If I can please be dismissed."

"You don't..." You didn't need to call him that. He tugged on his curls, a pout on his lips. "It wasn't a command. I would never command you to do anything. Of course, you can..." he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'go'.

If he said it, he'd be giving up. On this conversation. On your marriage. On you. He would never give up on you, not even when you whipped around, rushing to escape his tent like a freed hostage.

Without meaning to, he rushed after you, watching as your head disappeared underneath the flap of the tent. "Y/N," he pleaded.

You reappeared just as quickly as you left, head peeking through the flap. Eyes glossy, but stern. Beautiful. "Do not seek me."

And you left Robb alone again, and he listened. He stayed in his tent, trying to tune into the sounds of crickets; laughter, singing, and snoring; Greywind's disappointed huffs; and his ragged breathing, but nothing could overpower his thoughts and the crack of his heart breaking.

But yk just a thought.

Robb please let me have ur babies, thank yur

(My reoccuring scenario uhg)

oh uh not proof read and written in an hour before i should go to bed

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gulnarsultan · 2 years ago

Text

Robb watches his future fiancee from a distance. Sweet doe doesn't realize being watched. The Wolf is determined to ensure that the precious Princess becomes his wife.

#yandere game of thrones #robb stark x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark x oc #robb stark #yandere robb stark #yandere robb stark x reader #baratheon reader #dark robb stark #dark robb stark x reader #dark!robb stark #yandere male x reader #male yandere #yandere

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venusbyline · 5 months ago

Text

𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺/𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑰𝑨𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ☙

❥ about me • main masterlist • wips

I only wrote for character x female/afab!reader, characters x female/afab!OCs, and some specific ships.

I write for female characters and sapphic ships too.

: ̗̀➛ REQUESTS: closed.

❥ ASOIAF Random Headcanons (masterlist)

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ Perverted Half-brother (headcanon, smut, dark, modern AU) - dark!Jon Snow x Stark!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥

❥ nothing yet

𝐍𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 & 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

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darlingweareatragedy · 16 days ago

Text

to love a wolf - part 3

Warnings: Obsession, Sexual Content, Incestuous Undertones, Manipulation, Emotional Distress, Voyeurism, Female Receiving (Oral), Stalking, Possessive Behavior, NON-CON, DUB-CON, Toxic Relationships, Dark Romance

Summary ~ The North rode to war. But not only for vengeance. For love. For a queen once sent away like a pawn, now a wolf in lion’s skin. At her side, a husband who would tear the world apart to protect her. Before her, a brother who would burn it all just to drag her home. The game of thrones had never seen such a reckoning.

Part 1, Part 2

All good things must come to end.

You had begun to relax. To settle into the freedom of the North. You had begun, foolishly, to let your guard down.

That’s when the letter came.

Sealed in red wax, the lion of Lannister stamped deep in the fold. It smelled faintly of your mother's perfume and smoke. You imagined your mother writing it with a goblet of Arbor gold in one hand and a candle flickering low beside her.

You broke the seal slowly.

The handwriting was precise. Each word honed like a dagger tip:

My sweet girl, The court is not the same without you. Your brother asks after you often. Still, he has grown. You would be proud. He attends the Small Council meetings in Robert's stead. He reads the ledgers your grandfather sends. He listens, now. And he waits. He misses you. We all have. The King insists on the royal court riding North. A royal visit to bless your match. Robert also means to name Ned Stark as his Hand. A decision made more heart than head as usual. But he'll dress it as duty as loyalty as old friendship reborn.

You folded the letter, fingers stiff. Set it aside on the desk.

Cersei was always clever with omissions. Her truths emerged slowly, like silk wrapped across the throat.

You stared out your chamber’s window, where Winterfell bustled with nervous hands. The banners were already being raised. The kitchens hot with honeycakes and fresh bread. The royal party was coming.

Joffrey was coming.

The words from her letter echoed.

He listens now. He waits.

He had always been clever. Sadistic, yes, but clever. You’d seen it in the way he played with the other courtiers, made servants weep, twisted compliments into veiled threats. But never had he been patient. He had always been impulsive, quick to anger yes, but his mood swings, and tantrums were easy for you to predict.

But when you left, he had changed.

You heard the whispers. How he’d begun attending Small Council meetings. How he’d started reading, of all things. Sending ravens to Tywin Lannister. Sitting in silence as Grandfather and Tyrion spoke of the matters of the realm. Reviewing Gold Cloak rosters. Purging those who who was bought by Littlefinger. Building, some whispered, an army loyal only to the crown.

Not the realm. Not the noble houses. The crown.

Your absence hadn’t softened him.

It had refined him.

And worse, Robert adored it.

The horns called.

Snow fell on the old sturdy stones as the gates of Winterfell creaked open to receive its southern guests.

You stood beside Robb, his hand warm against yours.

The riders came first: white-cloaked Kingsguard, then Ser Jaime, face golden and easy as ever. Then the king.

Robert Baratheon, larger than life, broader, red-cheeked, swaggering. His beard streaked with grey and road dust. But his eyes lit when he saw Ned.

“Old friend,” he boomed, dismounting without waiting for help. “You got old.”

Silence, then Ned smiled. “And you’ve gotten fat.”

They embraced, the sound of it familiar, real.

Then Robert turned to you.

And to your quiet dread, his eyes softened.

“Well,” he said, stepping forward, “the North becomes you, girl.”

You dipped into a curtsy. “Thank you, father.”

“And this must be the wolf who stole her.” Robert’s hand came down heavy on Robb’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Stark. She’s a golden prize.”

Your fingers curled against your skirts.

“I didn’t just come to drag Ned back to court,” Robert said, voice lowering. “I came to see my daughter again. And bless this match.”

My daughter.

How easily he said it. How deeply it ached.

Then came your mother. Queen Cersei, dressed in gold, her face a statue of regal perfection. You felt her gaze brush over you like a blade.

And behind her—

Joffrey.

Taller. Composed. Not a hair out of place. He wore fur trimmed black coat embroidered with the royal stag of House Baratheon and the proud lion of House Lannister. His gaze was already on you.

Behind you, Sansa giggled. “He’s even more handsome in person,” she whispered.

Your mouth dried.

“Sister,” Joffrey said, bowing just enough to observe decorum. “You look radiant. The North suits you… though I must say, I’ve missed the way you looked in silk.”

You met his eyes with your own. “And I’ve missed you brother", you replied cooly determined not to show any cracks ...any weakness's,

He smiled. Too easily, and pulls you in for an embrace.

His breath was warm. His grip, tight.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m not angry.” he whispered in your ear

Before you can react, Joffrey pulls away, and the mask of the golden prince slips back on

“I have missed you greatly,” he declared with a charming smile,

“I look forward to you showing me around Winterfell, dear sister. We shall have ample time to catch up.”

That night, the hall of Winterfell was ablaze with torchlight and laughter, the rich scent of roasted meats mingling with the sharp sweetness of spiced wine, filling every corner. Nobles from the North and the Royal Court draped in velvets and furs mingled between tables, their laughter tinkling through the air like fragile crystal shards. The music swelled, lutes and harps weaving joyful, celebratory threads through the murmured conversations.

You moved with Robb across the polished floor, his arms steady and sure around your waist. His warmth grounded you, a quiet anchor amid the swirling gaiety. Each step, each glance, whispered of the life you wished to build, one of hope, strength, and quiet loyalty.

From across the hall, though, you felt the weight of Joffrey’s gaze burning into your back like a brand. You knew without looking: he was watching, calculating. He moved among the guests with the effortless ease of a royal prince, his polished grin drawing laughter and compliments. To all appearances, he was the charming, protective brother, the lion blessing his sister’s match with the heir of the North.

When the hall fell to attentive silence, Joffrey rose, lifting his goblet with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. His smile was warm, disarming, a golden, charming prince.

“To my dear sister, the beloved doe of the Realm, whose beauty and grace has tamed even the fiercest wolf. May her union with Robb Stark bring harmony between our houses and strength to the realm.”

Murmurs of approval rose around the hall. Joffrey’s gaze then shifted toward Robb Stark, who stood with quiet strength beside you.

“And to the young wolf who’s captured her heart,” Joffrey continued, voice light and teasing. “Robb, you’ve proven yourself brave and true, though, I must say, it takes a brave man to keep up with my sister.”

A ripple of laughter followed, gentle and easy.

He winked, tone still playful but laced with an edge meant only for you. “But beware, Robb Stark. I do take my role as protective brother quite seriously. So tread carefully, lest you find me reminding you of the cost of forgetting that.”

You tilted your head, smile cool and sweet. “How generous of you, Joffrey. But I think Robb will manage just fine without royal warnings. I’ve already trained him well.”

The laughter this time was louder, more amused, and Robb leaned in with a grin, eyes never leaving Joffrey.

“She’s fiercer than any sword in my arsenal,” he said smoothly. “And twice as sharp. I’d be a fool not to listen.”

For a moment, something flickered in Joffrey’s eyes dark, unreadable. The smile stayed, but the warmth had thinned, a tightness creeping into the corners.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice low, just loud enough for you to hear. “My fiery twin, I missed that bite of yours.”

The court chuckled, you met Joffrey’s eyes and smiled tightly, heart pounding. To everyone else, he was the charming prince and doting brother, but you knew better.

Later, once the feast’s warmth had faded, you slipped quietly into your chambers. The door shut behind you with a soft thud, leaving you alone with the echo of Joffrey’s words and the unsettling certainty that his teasing carried a weight far beyond what the court understood.

The chamber was dim, lit only by a single flickering candle that cast trembling shadows against the stone walls. The warmth of the feast felt like a distant memory, replaced now by a cold tightness settling in your chest.

Your breaths came quick, shallow, too fast. You pressed your back against the door, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, hands trembling. The walls seemed to close in around you, every quiet creak and whisper magnified in the stillness.

He’s here, your mind screamed. Watching. Waiting.

The toast, his smile, the way his eyes lingered too long, it all churned inside you, twisting into something darker. You tried to steady yourself, to breathe, but the panic clawed upward, unbidden and fierce.

You needed someone to hold you here. To ground you. To remind you who you’d become, who you are.

You needed Robb.

When the knock came moments later, you already knew it was him.

“Come in,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Robb stepped inside, eyes immediately scanning your face.

“I saw you leave,” he said softly. “What happened?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He stepped closer. “Was it Joffrey?”

Still, you didn’t answer. You just reached for him.

“Please,” you whispered. “I can't talk about him right now, I just need.....just this. Just you.”

He froze for only a breath, then he moved.

Robb kissed you like a storm, urgent, wordless. He caught your face in his hands, his mouth hot and searching against yours. You whimpered when his lips moved down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, devouring each soft sound like he couldn’t get enough.

He backed you toward the bed, but instead of climbing over you, he dropped to his knees.

“Let me,” he murmured, voice raw. “Let me make you forget.”

You stared down at him, breath caught in your throat.

“Robb…”

His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent. He gathered your dress with practiced care, pushing the fabric higher until your bare skin met the air, his breath hitched, but he didn’t rush.

Then he leaned forward and kissed the inside of your thigh, softly. Then again, higher. And again. Your knees trembled.

“Lie back,” he said, voice thick with heat. “Let me worship you.”

And you did.

You laid back against the furs, chest rising and falling, and Robb buried himself between your thighs like a man starved.

His tongue was slow at first, deliberate. He mapped you like a treasure map, every curve, every reaction, every soft gasp. He found your rhythm and stayed there, eyes half-lidded as he devoured you.

You moaned, your body shaking with need. Your hand found his hair, fingers curling in those auburn waves as your hips rolled against his mouth, seeking more.

He groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your core. The pressure built, hot and sharp and aching.

You choked out his name. He pulled you closer, arms locked around your thighs to keep you open, to keep you his. And when you broke, shaking, crying out, he didn’t stop.

He held you through it. Kissing you through it. Letting you fall apart on his tongue.

When he finally pulled away, lips slick with your essence, pupils blown wide, he looked at you like a man who would kill for you.

“You’re mine,” he said, low and hoarse.

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He kissed you again, this time on your mouth, letting you taste the proof of it.

You didn’t think of Joffrey again that night.

Not once.

But tensions only mounted as your wedding to Robb crept closer, threading unease through every corridor of Winterfell.

You found your mother in one of the lesser-used halls, her eyes scanning the shadows ahead. She turned at the sound of your steps.

“The tailor can't find him,” Cersei murmured. “Joffrey has yet to have his final fitting.”

“I’ll find him,” you said before she could suggest otherwise.

You weren’t just offering, it was necessary. You couldn’t keep dodging him like a coward. Not when his eyes lingered across the feast table like you still belonged to him. If there was any chance of snuffing this out, of killing the last flicker of whatever fantasy he’d clung to, it had to be now.

Cersei hesitated, “Are you sure?” she asked. And for a moment, she didn’t sound like the queen or your mother, but simply a woman who feared what her son had become.

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Joffrey’s chambers first, making your way to the guest wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the library at King's landing, and you were confident that you would find him in the one at Winterfell.

You had not been inside the library for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, rounding the corner of a long winding dusty aisle, when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end, concealed in the shadow of the tall bookshelf were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to quietly turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar green eyes meeting your own.

A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Joffrey simply stared at you.

He did not break his predatory gaze with you as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as one of your mother's ladies-in-waiting. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Joffrey as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Joffrey was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable.

Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way your twin’s low deep moan rang through the forgotten alcove of the quiet library.

You bumped into your mother on your way back, your steps unsteady.

"Did you find him?" she asked, noting your flushed face and distracted eyes.

You shook your head. “No. He wasn’t where I thought he’d be.”

Her eyes narrowed, concern flickering beneath her composed exterior. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, brushing past her. “I just need to rest.”

You didn’t wait for her reply.

But he was faster.

By the time you reached your chamber and pushed the door open, Joffrey was already inside, emerging from behind a curtain and sliding the door shut before you could slip back out.

Joffrey’s smirk deepened, his gaze darkening with a dangerous gleam. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, voice smooth as silk but laced with something sharper underneath.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, keeping your tone steady despite the turmoil inside. “Does Mother know what you’re doing with her lady-in-waiting?” you asked quietly, suspicion and disgust mingling in your words.

He laughed softly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Does it matter?” he said, stepping closer, invading your space. “None of that matters. What matters is that I want you.”

Your heart caught in your throat.

His hand reached out, gloved fingers curling around yours both possessive and demanding.

“You should be flattered,” Joffrey said, almost lazily, as if commenting on the weather. “Your reputation precedes you. Your name still lingers in the capital like perfume. They whisper about your grace, your smile, your kindness to the smallfolk”

He tilted his head, watching you closely.

“Even Margaery Tyrell has taken notice. She’s made a performance of it, really, smiling like you do, laughing when it’s expected, listening with that same serene tilt of the head. Visiting the orphans and bringing gifts like you used to do. But it’s all mimicry.”

You froze. “You’re to marry her?”

He shrugged, something sharp flickering beneath the casual gesture. “That’s what Grandfather wants. What the realm needs, an alliance with the second richest house in the realm.

Then he turned, facing you fully, his voice cooling.

“But what I want, dear sister, is no illusion. Margaery is just a mirror, polished and practiced, but still just a reflection of you.” His gaze darkened, possessive. “And I’ve never wanted the echo. Only the original.”

“You and I were born together. Like the dragons. Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries. We’re above them, now. Above men. We could be the same.”

His hand reached for yours, gloved fingers curling tightly around your wrist.

“Joffrey…” You tried to pull your hand back.

He held it tighter.

“Don’t you see? We were born together. That’s not chance, that’s design. Like the Targaryens. Two heads of the dragon. A king and his queen, born of the same blood.”

Your breath caught. “We are not gods.”

“We’re better than men,” he whispered. “They put crowns on our heads. They gave us power. Why pretend we’re like them?”

You stepped back, trembling. “You’re sick.”

“You’re mine.”

“No,” you said. “I’m Robb’s. I chose him.”

His face twisted, not quite grief, not quite rage. “You don’t choose blood. You are what we are. You don’t belong to the Starks. We’re lions. We are—”

“Bastards.”

The word silenced everything.

He flinched, his mouth opening but no sound coming out. You didn’t know why you’d said it. Maybe because you finally could. Maybe because the truth had teeth too.

“You know it,” you whispered. “You’ve always known. Robert's not our father, Jaime is."

Something in his expression cracked, just for a moment. The charm, the calm, gone. You saw the boy beneath your twin: raw, bruised, furious.

Then, just as swiftly, it was gone. The mask slid back into place.

“Let me tell you something about the truth,” he said, voice soft and lethal. “It doesn’t matter.”

You blinked. “What?”

“About bastards. About lies. About fathers who aren’t really fathers. It doesn’t matter. People believe what they’re told, not what’s real. A crown makes reality. It writes the story.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“I do.” He smiled. “Because I’ve watched it happen. And I intend to be the one holding the quill.”

You took a shaky step back.

He let you.

“Enjoy your winter,” he said, voice too smooth. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

He smiled again, something cruel tucked beneath the curve of it.

“I’ll be watching,” he said. “And when you tire of pretending, when you’re ready to stop being good and start being great… I’ll be waiting.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your chambers.

#obsession #possesive love #game of thrones #smut #robb stark x reader #lannister reader #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #joffrey baratheon #robb stark #dark romance #possesiveness #asoiaf

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floatyflowers · 1 year ago

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Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 1

(⚠️ sucide)

In your former life, you were the twin sister of Joffrey and you were wed to Robb Stark.

However you choose to stand on your husband's side when war erupted.

The problem is your mother and your twin didn't like that at all.

So, Roose Bolton kills Robb and Catelyn.

He was planning on returning you to your mother, but you ended your life before he could do so.

You didn't imagine that you would be reborn in the past as the twin sister Of Jacearys Velaryon.

Even in this life, you were born as a bastard.

Yet, Rhaenyra is an amazing mother, and so are your new brothers.

Unlike cruel Joffrey who used to hit you whenever you refused his advances, Jace would only treat you kindly and is overprotective.

And Lucerys reminded you of Tommen.

You also adore baby Joffrey and don't care about how his name is the name of your previous twin.

But there is one problem you tried to fix in Luke and Jace and this was bullying Aemond.

But they took Aegon as their role model.

Unlike Targaryens, you refused to interact with your dragon because you were simply afraid.

You even own a cat, who you enjoy spending time with instead of the dragon.

Aegon reminded you greatly of Joffrey, never the less, Aegon wasn't a psycho.

He wouldn't waste a moment in teasing you day and night.

"One day you will become my wife"

Rhaenyra happened to hear what he said one time, and immediately betrothed you to Jace. Despite how much you refused the idea.

When Luke deforms Aemond, you quickly try to control the situation like a Lannister.

"This was not anyone's fault but mine, As the eldest twin I should have been watching over them all"

Everyone is shocked by your words, meanwhile Rhaenyra wanted to intervene, same with Daemon who believed that the Hightowers deserves nothing.

however, you get down on your knees in front of Alicent, after taking the Targaryen's ancestral dagger.

"Take one of my eyes instead, I hope it's more then enough repayment"

Of course, Alicent doesn't do that, you only earned the Queen's love with such brave action.

Viserys' is happy at how you defused the situation.

Those actions made everyone obsessed with you.

Part 2>>>

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #platonic yandere #yandere house of the dragon #daughter reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 years ago

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Safe and Sound

Pairing: Dark Robb Stark x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your husband is a rather protective man.

WARNINGS: Toxic Marriage.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

“You’re not going.”

“What?” you laugh, turning around to look at Robb, only to discover his face devoid of any humor.

Your maids immediately halt, bowing before their King.

“You may all go now. The Queen isn’t leaving the castle.” You glare at him as he dismisses the servants with a wave of his hand.

He approaches you, his big hand reaching for your elbow as he firmly pulls you towards your chambers. You glare at him, incredulous, as you remove your arm from his hold with an aggressive tug.

“I can’t believe in this. Are you forbidding me from leaving Winterfell?”

Robb’s jaw tightens at your tone, but you don’t back down.

“Are you?” you insist.

“I’m your husband and the King. I have every right to make decisions when it comes to your safety.”

You scoff, crossing your arms.

“Does that mean you’ll keep me as a prisoner? As if I’m a criminal, not the Queen.”

Robb sighs heavily, rubbing his hand over his face.

“If I have to, then yes, I will.” he replies, determination splashed over his face. He takes a step closer, his face so close that you can see the irises of his eyes, the way your upset face is reflected in his blue eyes.

“If it means keeping you alive, then I will. If it means keeping you away from all the dangers that exists outside, then I will.”

His voice deepens as he speaks. Goosebumps flaring up in your arms upon hearing those words.

This isn’t the Robb you married to. No, this is King Robb. Not your husband.

“There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do if it means keeping you safe.”

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #robb stark x reader #dark game of thrones #dark got #robb stark imagine #dark!robb stark #dark robb stark #dark!robb stark x reader #dark robb stark x reader #tw: toxic marriage #tw: dark content #tw.dark content #yandere x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #yandere robb stark

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ichorai · 1 month ago

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i'm not made by design ; jaime lannister ; part three.

part one | part two

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 11.9k

themes ; heavy angst, action, sort of barely-there fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a dance with dragons, politicking, foul language, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, emotional constipation on bw's end, complicated-ish dynamics

a/n ; oh god i'm so sorry this took so long </3 it's so hard figuring out what to write now that i've run out of source material man !!! so i'm rlly sorry if this doesn't live up to the last two parts, i tried my best :( i'm honestly not entirely happy w this chapter but i rlly hope you guys enjoy it regardless! i love these two so much i rlly do :(

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Summers in the north meant many rainy nights. Snow was not foreign during the season either, though it was more of a cold, icy sludge than the usual thick blankets one would expect in winter. Ned wondered how long this summer would last—he’d have to check the granaries and consult the maesters to make sure they were well prepared for a sudden winter, even if it would likely be years until then.

“It’s hot,” came a voice beside him. Ned turned his head to see you making your way towards him, a frown etched across your features. “I can hardly wear my furs without boiling myself.”

A touch of a smile graced his usually-solemn face. “You’re being dramatic.”

You shot your brother a glare. “Perhaps. But it is undeniable that this summer is hotter than the previous ones. We’ve hardly gotten any snow.” You toed at the melting sludge beneath your boots.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he told you, not unkindly. “It won’t be like this for long, I’m certain. Winter is coming.”

Now at eight-and-ten, you were practically a woman grown. You were no summer child, Ned knew. In fact, you had been born amidst a harsh and blistering three-year winter. Regardless, in his eyes, you would always be the young girl he had left in Winterfell when departing for the Eyrie all those years ago.

“I hope it comes sooner,” you grumbled, fanning at your face, which Ned found amusing, considering there was a semi-chilly breeze whistling through the two of you. Then, you casted a sidelong glance at him.

It had only been a handful of weeks since he returned from the south to suppress the Greyjoy Rebellion. The young boy he had brought back as a ward-hostage, Theon, was a frightened, green-eared thing—but little Robb seemed to take a liking to him.

“Theon and Robb were playing at the kennels,” you told him, voice softer. “Tossing bones at the hounds.”

Ned made a noise of disapproval, but said nothing.

“Ned… Theon is the second child you’ve brought home unannounced. You scared Cat half to death.”

Ned’s eyes grew pained. He remembered the way she looked at him once she saw the little boy by his side. “I know. I need no reminder.”

“At least you bear no resemblance to Theon. But Jon—he looks much like you,” you said. The sludgy snow you were toeing had now completely melted into a shallow puddle.

“He looks like you, too,” Ned pointed out. He wasn’t quite sure what you were dancing around.

“No, I’m saying…” You winced at yourself. It was an awkward topic to discuss, knowing Ned was so adamant on keeping his secrets close to his chest, despite your and Benjen’s prodding. “Does he resemble his mother at all?”

Pursing his lips, Ned simply bowed his head and sighed as he always did when it came to matters of Jon. “I don’t want to speak of his mother.”

“Alright,” you relented. But another second passed, and, unable to help yourself, you blurted, “He has the dark hair of Ashara Dayne.”

Ned’s dark grey eyes swung to you. Anger crossed his features, which he had never looked at you with before, not once. His soldiers oft spread rumors of Ashara and him, he knew, but you? He hadn’t expected this to come from you, of all people.

Quickly, you began to stumble over your words. “I just—I remember how you danced with her. And you went to Starfall to return Dawn, didn’t you? And she died, Ashara, so I thought—It was only logical that Jon—”

“What does it matter?” Ned brusquely snapped. “Jon is my blood. He’s your nephew, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, guilt seizing you. You shouldn’t have pried. It was a sensitive subject, and perhaps there was a reason why Ned didn’t want to tell you. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you looked ten years younger at that moment. Ned softened.

“He does look like her,” said Ned after many minutes of silence. “His mother. I thank the Gods for that.”

You leaned against the balcony ledge. “He has Stark eyes, though. Our eyes.”

“Aye.”

A strike of guilt warmed your insides as you gestured about vaguely. “He’s my nephew, just as Robb is. But I treat neither of them as such. It’s hard being… affectionate. I wish I had it in me. Lyanna would have been a much better aunt than I. I suspect she would have loved Jon where Cat could not.”

There was something about Ned’s expression that struck you as odd. His features hardened considerably, and your stomach turned with guilt yet again in fear that you’d said something out of turn.

Finally, Ned squared his shoulders and turned to face you. “You’re a fine aunt. Jon and Robb love you well enough.” Ned shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “The boy, Theon. I can only pray he won’t become a trouble in the years to come. He’s a good lad. But I do hope I won’t have to keep him for long.”

“Robb will be heartbroken once he leaves,” you said.

Ned’s reluctant smile returned at that. “He’ll live.” One of Ned’s hands landed on your shoulder. “If things were different, Robert would be on the throne with Lyanna as his Queen. Maybe then the Rebellions would never have happened. Balon Greyjoy thought Robert lacked noble support. Perhaps with Lyanna by his side, it would have been different.”

That made you bark out a harsh laugh. “That’s not true,” you told him. “Lyanna would have found a way not to come to her own wedding. She would have rather run off to Yi Ti than marry Robert. And even so… if she had been forced into the marriage, the rebellions would likely still have happened. Balon Greyjoy is a power-hungry man. He would’ve sought another reason to claim independence.”

Ned frowned at that, but did not disagree with you. “And you? Would you do the same if you were betrothed? Run off to Yi Ti never to be found again?”

You shrugged. “It depends on who I would be bound to.”

“Jory Cassel?” Ned lightly suggested, more as a jest than anything. Though, come to think of it, he was a good, loyal fighter, and would treat you well enough. “It would be a fine match.”

The thoughts were quickly dashed, however, when you scoffed and batted his hand away from your shoulder. “Jory would be more suitable for Benjen than I. The two tussle about with their swords all the time.”

“How about—?”

“I don’t think anybody you offer would be any good for me, Ned.”

“Do you plan to just sit in the castle all your life?”

“Yes. If I were to marry a man, would I not be doing the very same, just in a different castle?” At that moment, it looked like you were sulking, as you often did when you were a very young child.

Ned smiled fondly. “A fair point, sister-mine. Alright, then. As long as you’re happy.”

“You’re my family, Ned,” you told him. “I do not need a husband or children of my own to replace who I’ve lost.”

Going further north was not an option for you, not anymore. It was crawling with Freys and westermen alike. Westward from the Vale was the only viable pathway now.

The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a famous little establishment—notorious for its location, where your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, first knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. You stared at the old, flaking painting depicting the kneeling figure, his hands bound together. If not for his submission, you likely wouldn’t be standing here at this very spot.

With a grimace, you made your way into the inn. It was a far cry nicer than any other inn you’d been to the past few moons, and consequently far more crowded. After a quick glance around, you observed no enemy banners or insignia anywhere, and deemed it safe to stay for a bit. The air smelled of fresh bread and crisp ale. You sat down at one of the common room’s tables, your hood pulled up over your hair, which was freshly cropped and dyed as of the previous night.

“What can I get for you today?” a rotund serving boy asked, smiling at you wide and genuine. All the commotion and bustling made him damp with sweat and rosy-cheeked, but he was happier than ever.

“What do you have?” you asked.

“We have meat stew, we do. Horse or lamb or rabbit, you can take your pick. Fried onions and eggs and beans, if it please you. We’ve got plenty of ale for you to wash it all down, as well. There are sweetcakes in the pantry, last I checked, but I’d have to look again to make sure. Food goes quickly here!” He laughed good-naturedly, but abruptly paused when he caught a glimpse of your eyes. “Say—I knew a girl who had eyes just like yours.”

You arched a brow. You were sure there were many girls out there that had eyes like yours. “Did you?”

He lowered his voice and glanced about, as if he wasn’t sure of what he could say. “I was traveling with her from King’s Landing, you see. We’ve parted ways since then. I do hope to see her again, once the war is over.”

Wishful thinking, you thought with a sad hum.

“Who was this girl?” you asked.

“Nobody,” he replied hastily. “A friend.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Hot Pie, ser.”

“Don’t call me ser.”

“Sorry. Er—what should I call you?”

“You can call me Ned. That’s a funny name you’ve got, Hot Pie.”

“My mother was a baker.”

The past tense in the sentence was not lost on you. You regarded him in a more sympathetic light.

“My mother was a lady,” you told him in a lowered voice, and his brows raised.

“Would that make you a lord, then?”

You sucked at your teeth. “Not quite, Hot Pie.” There was a familiar cinch of hunger that took hold of your stomach. “Could I have some of that rabbit stew? And a bit of bread to mop it up with, please. That’s a good lad.”

Hot Pie brightened and nodded several times. “Yes, of course! I’ll bring you the freshest bread we’ve got! I bake them all myself—it didn’t taste that great before I got here, but it’s much better now, I promise.”

The chubby boy hustled away, stopping by a few other tables to take orders and pluck up empty chalices. It took only a few minutes for him to return with the warm stew and bread, and you were quick to start wolfing it down.

“Sit, Hot Pie. Have some of the bread,” you told the boy. You supposed the best way to get information was talking to someone who worked here rather than a passerby. Hot Pie seemed reluctant to take a break, eager to get back to serving customers, but it was clear that your request was an order, not a offer. The dangerous glint in your gaze made a shiver run down his spine and he didn’t wait to sit down across from you. You wiped a bit of stew from your lips with the back of your hand and asked, “What’s been happening in the Riverlands? I’ve heard talk of sieges during my travels.”

Hot Pie shifted his weight this way and that. He reached over to tear off a chunk of the fresh bread he brought. As he chewed, he hummed in thought. “You’d be right in that. From what I heard, the Lannisters have come to bring peace to the Riverlands. There have been sieges, but it’s all been resolved now, if I recall. There is still much to be wary of, though. The brotherhood without banners are at large and there are many thieves and crooks out alike. Bad men roam these lands. I’m lucky the cooks in this establishment had the space to take in a boy like me, even if they’ve got me scurrying around until it feels like my feet’re about to fall off.”

You spooned some more stew into your mouth and swallowed heavily. “Yes, I’ve heard of this brotherhood. That’s not what I’m worried about, really. Who’s heading the Lannister sieges? Lord Kevan?”

The young boy shook his head. “It’s the Kingslayer at the head of it all. Jaime Lannister. He just had Raventree surrender to him, I’ve heard.”

There was a brief pause. You could feel your heart seize in your chest, almost painful in its stutter.

“Ned? Ned, are you alright?”

You hadn’t realized you’d went quiet for that long. Hot Pie was leaning forward in concern, waving his hand a short distance from your face.

After another moment, you washed the food down with a swig of ale. “I’ll be taking a room for the night, Hot Pie. Will you let the inn owner know for me?” You slipped the boy enough money to cover both the food and the room.

“Oh—yes, of course. Yeah, I’ll get right to that. Just tonight, you say?”

“Just tonight,” you confirmed with a grim nod. “I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

Pennytree was slowly but surely rebuilding itself. It was larger than Jaime had expected, with its stretches of burned fruit orchards, blackened, crumbling houses, and scorched rubble. But new houses and buildings were being erected, and plenty of them to come, judging by all the wood and raw material he could see stacked in neat, orderly piles.

Despite the obvious signs of life, there was not a single soul to be in sight. Hiding, he presumed. Afraid of me. Perhaps rightfully so.

They set up camp for the night right outside the village. Jaime first sent out half a dozen scouts to make sure no enemies prowled about, then meandered about the wreck of a village, eyeing all the burnt homes and destroyed livelihoods. King’s men had done this, one of the sentries told him. His men.

Not too long after, one of the scouts came back with someone accompanying him.

“My lord,” the young boy addressed him, pulling Jaime’s attention away from the rubble. “She rode up to the camp, bold as ever, demanding to speak with you.”

When Jaime’s eyes fell upon the newcomer, his back straightened like a rod. “My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon.” Her face… What had happened to her? “You’ve been wounded,” he said, feeling like a fool for pointing out the obvious. Of course she’s been wounded, half her face has been torn off.

“I was bitten,” Brienne told him. Her blue eyes swam with pain from more than just her flesh wound. Her hand was wound tight around Oathkeeper. “My lord, I have a request to ask of you. It’s—”

Before she could finish, another scout that he’d sent off at the same time as the first, grizzled and worn by age and war, came riding up to him with a cloaked figure behind his back.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lord,” he said, scowl deep and voice strained. Jaime could sense something was off. “Found this’un trying to creep into camp. When I tried to shackle the lad, he put a blade to my throat and forced me onto the horse to get to you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for his own sword’s hilt. “I would be ever so grateful if you could release my scout—unless you’d prefer to be gutted like a pig. I would be happy to arrange it.”

“You wouldn’t do that. But I do need to be promised I won’t be pierced with arrows once I let go,” said the figure.

That voice. Jaime knew that voice—he’d recognize it anywhere. That was no man. Before he could think, your name slipped from his throat, more of a question than anything.

You pulled back the cowl and he could see the flash of the blade pressing deeper into the scout’s throat. Jaime stared at you with eyes as large as the moon. It was you—unmistakably so—with harsh eyes of winter and lips drawn back into a familiar snarl. Your hair was different, he quickly noticed—short and coppery-red. Like Robb Stark’s had been…

But it was you. You, who he had never expected to see for many years to come. You, who he had willingly given up, even if he never wanted to let you go. What the hell were you doing here?

Two arm’s lengths away from him, Brienne watched you with utter relief in her eyes, clearly having been at her wit’s end trying to find you the past fortnight.

“Jaime,” you sharply said, snapping the knight out of his reverie. “Tell them to put their weapons down.”

He glanced behind him to see a few knights with their swords and bows at the ready. Immediately, he waved his hand and told them to leave. They glanced at each other, unsure.

“Put your damn weapons down!” Jaime barked, voice now raised. Almost immediately, the knights reluctantly lowered their arms. Satisfied but still wary, you slid down from the horse and pulled the blade away from the scout.

“Leave us,” Jaime told the two scouts and all his loitering squires.

“But—” the grizzled scout began to say.

“Leave us.”

They all scampered off into nearby pitched pavilions, pace quickened by the tone of finality in Jaime’s order.

Jaime then said your name again, and he could see your chest rise and fall rapidly. Calming your nerves or quelling your anger, he wasn’t sure. Instead of saying a word to him, you looked to Brienne.

“Gods, Brienne, I am very glad to see you. I thought you died,” you said, so soft and unsure. One of your hands reached up to hover just above her flesh wound, but you did not touch it, knowing it must’ve hurt like all hells. “I’m so sorry I left. If I’d known—”

“No, my lady,” she placated. “I’m glad you left. They would have killed you if you hadn’t. I only barely escaped with my life. I apologize—I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“Would someone care to fill me in?” Jaime impatiently asked, gaze flitting back and forth between the two of you.

Immediately, your head snapped to him, and he had to resist the urge to shrink away. Monstrous knights and beasts aplenty he’d faced, but none were as frightening as you were in that very moment. In the blink of an eye, you darted forward and your palm struck across the side of his face. Jaime staggered a step back in shock, his one hand cradling his now-throbbing cheek. Many seconds of silence passed, thick with tension.

Then he smiled. All sharp and prideful.

“I’m sure I deserve that,” he said, voice clipped.

The way you regarded him was not hostile, but rather akin to a wounded feral animal of sorts. “You deserve more than that. Burning down the Riverlands. Taking their castles. Have you no shame?”

“No, but I have a duty,” came his dry response.

You reared back with an incredulous look. “Duty? You wouldn’t know duty even if it spat you in the face!”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” Jaime taunted, his infuriating smile only widening. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Your face flushed with heat. With a frustrated huff, you shook your head, knowing it was futile to argue with him. He had kissed you the last time you saw one another, but that felt like centuries ago. Time had weathered the two of you. Was he even the same Jaime that had set you off on Varys’ ship?

“There is much you need to tell me, but I should tell you this first,” Jaime said, eyeing you curiously, mind still reeling. His voice lowered, making sure only you and Brienne could hear him. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, since you’ve left but it’s best you hear this from me than some fishwives’ gossip mill. There is a girl posing as your niece, Arya in Winterfell. She’s just been married to Ramsay Snow. Bolton now, actually. Roose’s bastard has been legitimized.”

Your brows creased at the news. “What? Who’s the girl?” You glanced at Brienne, who’d told you that Arya had been traveling with the Hound a while back, but you decided now was not the best time to share such rumors with Jaime.

A shrug lifted his shoulders. “Some girl. She’s young and scrawny. It’s close enough to what people are expecting of her. And of the small population that actually remembers what little Arya looked like, who would dare to defy the Warden of the North?”

Anger seized your chest. “Who did this? You?”

“Of course not,” snorted Jaime. “My dear father did. He’s dead now, so don’t go traipsing off trying to kill him. Tyrion already did that honor for us.”

You swallowed heavily. How haven’t you heard that the mighty Tywin Lannister has fallen? With hesitant hands, you reached out to take his golden one. You knew what it was like to lose a father. Jaime could feel his heart palpitate beneath his chest.

“Jaime…”

Whatever you wanted to say—an offering of condolence, perhaps—died on your tongue. You let the golden hand drop back to his side, and folded your arms across your chest, glaring off elsewhere. Tywin Lannister was no man to mourn—he didn’t deserve your grief.

“I do have good news,” he said, desperate to rekindle whatever good nature the two of you once had.

“I doubt it.”

Jaime could only smile at that. “Bitter Wolf,” he said, almost affectionately. “Your nephew at the Wall—Jon Snow, if I remember?”

At the mention of Jon, your head turned back towards him. “What? What about him? Is he alright?”

The knight let the seconds draw out—he liked the way your eyes widened with anticipation. “I cannot attest to his well being. But I can tell you he’s now Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He hung his head and laughed a dry, chesty sound. “Bastards are climbing high these days.”

There’s one on the Iron Throne as we speak, he thought to himself.

“Jon…” you whispered, eyes now distant.

“Stannis is there, as well. Planning on taking Winterfell, perhaps finding another little lordling to plant there. Hells, if he got his hands on you, he’d rejoice…”

Jaime narrowed his eyes in thought.

“You aren’t planning on keeping me prisoner, are you?” you asked Jaime. If you were to get to Stannis, things would certainly look up for you.

“I promised you I would never, didn’t I?” he replied. “All those moons ago, in Harrenhal. You’re so forgetful.”

You chose to ignore his airy, nonchalant manner. “Could I have a moment to speak to Brienne privately?”

This surprised Jaime. “What could you say to her that you can’t say to me? I thought you trusted me.”

Both you and Brienne stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. Finally, Jaime nodded his defeat. “Fine. I’ll bring the two of you some hot food to fill your bellies. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be so keen on biting my head off.”

“Unlikely,” he heard Brienne mutter as he moved away.

He could just as easily have asked a squire to fetch the food for him, but Jaime thought it wise to let the two of you have a moment to yourselves. He wasn’t keen on being slapped another time.

“My lady,” Brienne said once Jaime left, her voice now strained with urgency. “There’s been—I know this may sound deranged, but I need you to trust me. Lady Catelyn is back. Only, it’s not really her, not as you remember her, she is—angry and torn.”

You reared back at her words. What the hell was she on about?

“Cat?” You tilted your head in befuddlement. “I don’t understand.”

“Her body is cut up and her hair is white and her eyes have been scratched to ribbons. She is a living corpse,” Brienne told you, quick and hushed. Her blue eyes shone with a film of unshed tears. “They call her the Lady Stoneheart. She leads the brotherhood without banners—a group of misfits and bandits and thieves alike, but they rally to her, exacting revenge on everybody involved with the Red Wedding. I tried to tell her of my search for Sansa, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She wanted me to bring her Jaime’s head. And…” Brienne paused for a brief moment to suck in a breath. “She has Podrick. She was about to hang me—asked me to choose between the sword or the noose. And I couldn’t sentence Podrick to his death with me so I…”

“You chose the sword,” you whispered in horror. “I cannot bring Jaime to his death.”

“They’ll kill the boy if we don’t,” Brienne replied, almost pleading.

You gestured about aimlessly. “So what’s your plan? March him right out of his own camp and murder him the second we’re a league away?” You shook your head vehemently. “No. I could not—I will not—kill Jaime. Is she sound of mind, Cat? Will she be willing to hear me speak?”

“I cannot say, my lady. She would not listen to me.”

There came noises from outside the tent and the two of you went silent for many moments before continuing in an even lower volume. “Do not tell Jaime of this. He won’t come if he knows of the truth. We will tell him Sansa is with the Hound holding her hostage—and we need him to come along to pay her ransom with that wretched golden hand of his.”

Brienne nodded. “He must come alone. Lady Stoneheart is not likely to listen to us if he brings a squadron of soldiers with him.”

“We’ll tell him he must come away with no company or Sansa will be killed,” you said, grimacing at the idea of lying to Jaime. “Once we get to Cat, I will try to reason with her. She wouldn’t murder an innocent boy. Seeing Jaime would, hopefully, convince her to release Podrick. And if not… well… I’m sure I could make some sort of bargain with her. She’s my sister.”

This made the tall woman hesitate. Was Lady Stoneheart still Lady Catelyn deep down? “What if she forces you to choose?”

Your expression grew stony. “I would save the innocent squire over the man who fights alongside the monsters that murdered my nephew. But it won’t come to that.”

Brienne’s torn expression was skeptical. You had not yet seen the ruthlessness of Stoneheart; your mind’s image was still picturesque and soft with hope of a distant past. “My lady, I do not know if this is wise.”

“What other choice do we have?”

Once Jaime returned with warm bowls of meat stew, both you and Brienne scarfed down the food at a concerning speed. Jaime watched you with a twisted sense of wonder—part of him thought that he was going to wake up any moment now, and you’d still be gone, off sailing somewhere with the little birds. But you were here—eyeing him intensely over your bowl of stew. It made him feel his chest feel warm and hazy, which was ridiculous, considering the night was frigid. Jaime found himself thinking that he found you frustratingly complex—he was never one for puzzles.

“There’s more if you’d like—” Jaime began to say by the time you had your last spoonful, but you shook your head.

“No time. We have to go.”

Jaime pretended not to be affected when you gave his shoulder a little shove.

Jaime put up little argument when the both of you told him of Sansa.

“I’ll come,” he had said, amused at the surprise in your eyes. “I swore an oath. Not that that means much anymore. But I swore, and I intend to see it through.”

“Really?” you asked, disbelief evident in the singular word. “No questions asked, you would follow me just like that?”

“I would follow you off the edge of a cliff if you asked,” Jaime said, so calm it disturbed you. Being away from the tension and stress of King’s Landing really had changed him, it seemed. Distance from his family was, likely, also a contributing factor. “I jumped into a bear cage for the two of you, remember? This isn’t new territory.”

The three of you left Pennytree almost immediately after the meal—Jaime made sure to tell the few men who you passed that he would return in haste. He gave them no explanation as to where he was going.

Brienne had told you “Sansa” was about a day’s ride away. After many hours on horseback, trying to put as much distance between you and the camp, the three of you stopped by a grove of shady trees for a brief rest to recover the numbness in your legs. The sun was just beginning to rise, and Brienne rode off to do a quick scout of the perimeter.

“Do you still feel the same as when you left?” he asked once the two of you were alone. The green of his sharp eyes seemed to glow in the warm, dim light. “You told me I was a good man. Was that real, or were your words just wind?”

You had been tightening the saddle on the horse, but stiffened at his sudden question, turning to face him. “That was before you aligned yourself with my nephew’s murderers.”

A frown creased the space between his brows. “I was sent away by Cersei’s command. I never wanted to leave Tommen. Do you really think I have a say on who fights who in this five-faced war?”

No longer did the war have five faces—not if your Robb was dead. Anger crossed your expression, and you pushed closer to him in a blaze of fury. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? You always have a choice, and you’re always choosing the wrong one.”

Jaime’s one hand reached out to brush over your arm, but you shoved him away. His expression crumpled. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

You felt tears touch the corner of your eyes, but you willed them away. He had chosen you, to your simultaneous dismay and relief. Why?

Jaime turned his head to the side and breathed out a heavy sigh when you spared him no response. “I avoided as much bloodshed as possible in this war. I kept Edmure Tully alive thinking of you and your family.”

“What, you want me to thank you for not brutally murdering an innocent man?” Your hands twitched at your sides, and Jaime wondered if you were going to slap him again. If you were, he was not going to pull away.

But you didn’t, and he ignored your question to continue his dramatics. “And now I’m leaving it all—the battles, the fighting, my duty—because I want to be with you. You are more important to me than this war. I want to help you find your niece.”

Guilt stroked its heavy hand over your chest. You took no pleasure in lying to Jaime. Especially not when he’s been so honest with you in the past, even when he shouldn’t have been. The wretched knight seemed to notice the conflict warring over your features, and reached out to gently cup your face with his one remaining hand.

“My Bitter Wolf,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “I’m choosing you. Does that mean nothing?”

You wrenched yourself away from him, causing him to stumble back a few paces, and your eyes stung with salt. I’m not choosing you, you thought miserably. But you spoke no words, spared Jaime a hurtful glare, and whisked away from him, back to Brienne.

When Brienne led you into the thicket where the brotherhood had set up their makeshift camp, a swarm of men crawled out from the forest like ants to honey. They nodded to Brienne, grabbing a hold of her. She relented with no fight. They took you and Jaime—while you stared at the ground, Jaime erupted in incredulous commands and angry queries to unhand him. He said your name many times, demanding some sort of explanation, but you ignored him. Jaime thrashed and bucked under the grasp of half a dozen men, breaking the nose of two before a blade was slotted beneath his throat. If it had not been for your calm manner, he would have done much worse damage—and he would have easily bested all six with hardly any effort.

“I suppose this is my fault,” Jaime said, voice low, stilling his motions. “My punishment for choosing you, Wolf? What have you done?”

You shut your eyes for a brief moment. After sucking in a breath, you craned your head back to look at the man binding your wrists together. “Take us to her.”

Behind screens of brambles and by the babbling brook, what looked to be the main area of the camp came into view. A large fire crackled greedily within the center. The brotherhood was much larger than you imagined.

Lady Stoneheart was a sight to behold. Her skin was grey, gnarled, and scarred. Her hair was a mess of ashen-white clumps and tangles. Her eyes were a menacing, angry red. Across her throat was a deep gash wound. But beneath all the blood and decay, you could see her—you could see your sister.

“Cat,” you murmured, taking a step towards her. The man holding you tugged you back forcefully. Again, you said her name, this time a sob bubbling forth. It suddenly felt as if you were seven-and-ten again, with your head resting upon her shoulder, listening to her hum as she embroidered Tully fishes onto baby Sansa’s dress. “Cat!”

You cried, heartbroken that the Cat you had known for so many years was now—

She croaked something unintelligible. Her voice was rough, akin to the sound of steel against stone. Beside her stood a thin, bearded man in an oily jerkin. It took you a few moments to recognize him through your bleary gaze.

“Harwin,” you said, remembering the son of Hullen, the master of horse at Winterfell. The knight had once been a stable-boy when you were no more than a child. He used to ride with Arya, Jon, and Robb during quintains. One of the few chosen to travel down south with Ned after he was appointed to be Hand. What was he doing here?

The man stared at you with only slight sympathy, but made no attempts to help you. “Lady Stoneheart says you have brought him the Oathbreaker.”

“What?” You looked to Jaime, who was staring at you with an indecipherable expression, then turned your eyes back to Catelyn and Harwin. “No, I—Cat, I didn’t come here for that. It’s me. It’s your good-sister. Please, please hear my words.”

Another gruelling noise fell from her torn lips.

“She does not want to listen to you. She wants justice,” said Harwin. “Bitter Wolf, I believe it best if—”

Rage began to spill over your expression. You could feel the anger that haunted you throughout your youth begin to resurface upon seeing a reminder of your past, of Winterfell. “I’m not speaking to you!” you just about snarled at him, lips curled. You looked back to Catelyn’s desecrated corpse. “Cat, please. It’s your sister—Ned’s sister. Remember?”

Cat grated out a sound.

“She remembers,” Harwin translated. “She remembers everything.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Then you must remember the oath Jaime swore before you released us. He is no oathbreaker, Cat. I was there. I saw Sansa—hells, if we could have left we would have. She disappeared, and I know where she is.” You hoped your lie sounded more believable than it sounded; you misliked the way your voice trembled with uncertainty. “She’s in the Eyrie. Littlefinger has taken her there.”

There was a cascade of murmurs across the brotherhood. Stoneheart, however, stared at you with her cruel, torn eyes.

“Let him redeem himself,” you pleaded. “Cat, let him fulfill his oath.”

The sound that left Stoneheart was sharp and angry. Harwin, solemn, said seconds after she fell silent, “‘Not an oathbreaker?’ she asks. Jaime Lannister is the reason why her son was murdered.”

“Robb?” you whispered. “That’s not true, Cat. We were still traveling together to King’s Landing when it happened. I miss him, too. More than anything, more than life itself—but it’s not right to blame him for a crime he has not committed.” Finally, you tore your eyes away from Catelyn to look over at Jaime. For once, he was silent, watching you with creased, heavy brows.

Stoneheart gestured to a man nearby, wielding a sword. An executioner? You felt your blood run cold.

“Jaime Lannister will not be leaving alive,” said Harwin.

Having been quiet for longer than usual, Jaime finally decided to speak. “I demand a trial by combat,” he announced, voice clear and devoid of fear, a stark contrast to you. “Clearly I won’t be getting a fair trial otherwise, no matter how many testimonies I receive in my favor.”

Stoneheart twitched with mute fury. Her shredded eyes honed in on Jaime as she garbled out more nonsense.

“Very well,” Harwin translated, expression distinctly Northern in his grimness. “Her champion will be Brienne of Tarth.”

You could feel your heart attack the inside of your ribcage, akin to a panicked bird in a cage. “Unhand me,” you snarled, turning to the man still holding you.

The man said nothing, but with one look at Stoneheart’s expressionless nod, released his grip. Immediately, you sprang away from your captor and made to stand between your former good-sister and Jaime.

“I know you must think him a monster. Trust me, I did, as well. But he’s not a monster—he’s just a man. A better one than most.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You didn’t dare look back at Jaime, keeping your eyes fixed on Cat. “I’ll extend you a deal. A promise. I will personally bring him back to you if he fails to find Sansa within a year, and you’ll be able to do what you want with him. Please, Cat. I was your kin by law. You were my sister. Please let him help me find your daughters. Just give him some time to fulfill his oath.”

Lady Stoneheart seemed to consider your words seriously for the first time since you were brought out in front of her. She said something then, cold and emotionless, and you could already tell this was another denial before Harwin could even begin to translate.

“She asks if you have decided to betray your family for the Lannisters,” said Harwin.

Your expression soured in incredulity. “I am a Stark of the North,” you whispered. “I will never turn my back on my family. Sansa is not too far, I’m sure. We’ll be able to find her. She’s suspected for the murder of the bastard king, Cat. If Cersei finds her before us, your daughter will be dead. And Arya—Arya is in the North. In… in Winterfell. She’s to marry the Bolton bastard and will be at the mercy of the Lannisters.”

It was a lie, you knew. Jaime told you it was some girl posing as Arya, not Arya herself. Would Stoneheart know? You could only pray she didn’t.

The name Bolton seemed to stir something in her. Her torn eyelids closed open and shut, open and shut, open and—

“Ahh…ya?” her ragged voice strained. That was the first word she’d uttered that you understood.

“Yes,” you said, eyes misting over once more. “Arya. The Boltons serve the Lannisters now. With Jaime by my side… he may be the only bartering tool powerful enough to sway Roose, now that Tywin and Joffrey are both dead.”

After another lengthy pause, Stoneheart straightened her crooked spine (which still remained considerably bent), and nodded once, then twice. She rasped out some things to Harwin.

Even Harwin looked mildly surprised when he translated. “She accepts this deal. However, she has one condition.”

“Name your price,” you said.

“Bring back Jaime Lannister in a year. If you don’t have at least one of the girls with you, he will die, and you will die with him.”

Behind you, you could hear Jaime suck in a breath, as you knew without even sparing him a glance that he was about to say something rash. You took a step back closer to him and immediately said before he could get a single offensive word in: “Alright. Yes.”

Finally, you turned to look at Jaime. To your surprise, his eyes were wide and—was that fear you could see? Anxious flecks of gold amidst the arrogant calm of his green? You hadn’t even realized that Stoneheart had said something more until Harwin cleared his throat.

“You will be given a warm meal to fill your belly, and you and the Kingslayer will be sent off.”

“What of Podrick and Brienne?” you asked, looking towards the large knight—your friend. Your only friend.

“They will be kept prisoners—to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. We cannot trust your word alone. If Jaime Lannister is not brought back for execution within a year, the woman and the squire will both be met with noose. Bring back the girls, and they will be spared.”

“My word alone?” you parroted in offense. “I am Stark. These are my nieces we are talking about.”

Harwin merely shrugged at this. “The Boltons were one of your family’s bannermen. They are not the paradigm of honor you once thought, either.” With that, he gestured towards a few watching men standing further away from the fire. “Bring them food. They will set off in the morn.”

The brotherhood had given you meager rations for your journey. A handful of salted meat (you hadn’t had the heart to ask exactly what kind of meat), a few chunks of crusty bread, and two leather pitchers full of water that tasted distinctly of old metal. You decided not to think of it too much and accepted what was given to you without complaint. They allowed for you to keep your weapons—they knew better than anyone the two of you would hardly survive a fortnight without a form of defense.

When the two of you left, you bid Brienne a solemn goodbye and a promise to return. The look she gave you was equally somber, but she nodded in understanding. Jaime made a snarky remark about missing seeing her brutish face first thing in the morning, and Brienne simply pretended not to hear him.

The plan was to move north, avoiding the Twins crossing, for obvious reasons… and head eastward towards Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. Howland Reed was a close friend of Ned’s, a small, kind man from what little you remembered of him… you were sure he was more likely to be friend than foe—though Jaime Lannister in your company made the situation a tad more complicated. You weren’t entirely sure how Howland would react to a Lannister in his halls. Many moons ago, Robb had sent orders to Howland to defend the North by not allowing Tywin Lannister’s army through. But Jaime was not Tywin, and the two of you were no army. Greywater Watch was the most promising place to go.

Your journey the first few days consisted of many questions from Jaime. How was the trip? What happened to Varys’ ship? Where did you go? Why did you come back? Where are we going now? Why aren’t you eating? Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at making conversation? So on and so forth. For every ten questions, Jaime counted you bothering to answer only one, and it was often curt, single-worded replies. At least this time he was not shackled with a big brute of a woman prodding his back every five seconds, so he supposed he had less to complain about.

“I could leave you here now,” Jaime had said. “I could abandon you while you sleep and alert my men of your whereabouts.”

“Do it,” you said airily. “I’ll go back to Stoneheart and ask her to hunt you down.”

Jaime’s sharp face soured. “I wouldn’t leave you. Even though you make things incredibly difficult.”

“Oh, I know,” was all you said in return, and the conversation ended with that.

On the third night of traveling north, the two of you decided to settle down by a bubbling creek. The water was greenish and looked rather terrible to drink, but water was water. Jaime watched you build a small fire. He asked who had taught you to build fires, and, expectedly, was received with silence. To his small delight, you sat beside him instead of across from him.

It was only a few minutes later when you spoke. “She’ll kill you,” you whispered, just loud enough so that he would hear over the howling wind and crackling fire. It was obvious to Jaime that you’d been thinking about her the entire journey so far. Your eyes flickered upwards to search his face. His beard seemed to give him a scruffy, wild spirit that you rather appreciated. “Even if you bring Sansa back to her, she’ll kill you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You were so tired of crying. You’d spent your entire life doing so, and it seemed you weren’t stopping any time soon—you felt the tears slip down your face regardless of your contempt for them. Jaime swiped the wetness away for you with a soft touch for a calloused thumb, but you shifted away from his touch.

“Because she will never forgive you. As Lady Catelyn, perhaps she once would have. But she is no longer my good-sister Cat. Not anymore. I do not blame her.”

There was a long silence. Jaime regarded you with a look that you could only read as warm. “If she kills me once I’ve fulfilled my oath, I would gladly welcome the prospect of dying after doing something honorable for a change. I do not fear death.”

“I do,” you told him. “I’ve seen it everywhere I go. And to see you dead… it would ruin me. You ruin me.” Another pause, then— “I loathe you, I really do.” It sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Jaime made a gruff, chuckling noise, even though it was no laughing matter. Your hands curled into tight fists. “I think if there existed a world where I never met you… I would’ve been far happier. How does the saying go? Never meet your idols.”

Jaime stopped laughing and reared back a small distance with quirked brows. “I’m your idol?”

“That’s not the point,” you said, rolling your eyes away from him to the dark sky. “I just think you were much more appealing as an idea in my head. That’s all.”

Jaime thought it very pretty, the way your nose wrinkled and your cheeks warmed the more flustered you got. “No, no, I would really like it if you elaborated on this ‘idol’ matter. Missing a hand, wronged you a dozen different times, and brought shame to everything I’ve ever been named to? That is who your idol would be?”

“I don’t mind the missing hand. How it went missing is a different story. And yes, you’ve wronged me, but I’ve wronged you, as well. I lied to you. Granted, it’s not of the same caliber.”

“You lied to me, but then you lied for me. I would call it even. Who’s keeping score?” Jaime then regarded you with a queer look. “You’re chatty today. I like you with a loose tongue.”

You ignored his statement, stoking the fire by tossing more broken branches that Jaime had collected before into the licking flames. “You shouldn’t be so proud of being my idol. From childhood it was because of your infamously worst deed. I used to think you heard my prayers from all the way down south and killed the king just for me. I was no older than one-and-ten. Don’t let it get to you.”

It was already getting to Jaime. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smug grin from his sharp lips.

“You honor me,” he said, sounding genuine; a rare feat. “I am glad to be your idol.”

That brought a touch of fondness to your wintry countenance. If Jaime wasn’t careful, he would find himself lost in those tired, sad eyes of yours. There was a quiet beauty to them.

“Your eyes,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Your father had the very same eyes.”

At first, he thought you would bite his head right off, with the way you stared at him in that same wounded-animal expression you often wore. Then you quickly looked away, sucking in a small breath. “Do I? He told me I had my mother’s eyes.”

Jaime softened. “I never met your mother.”

“Neither did I. Not really.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Apologies were foreign on his tongue.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “After all, how can you miss something that never really existed for you?”

There was more silence before Jaime said, “I miss many things that never existed for me.” He could feel your curious glance roam over his features, so he decided to change the subject. “Would you like to hear a story?” Before you could say anything—not that you were going to—Jaime said, “My brother was married once before he was wed to Sansa.”

You tilted your head, suddenly interested. “He was?”

“When I was twenty years of age and Tyrion three-and-ten, we were traveling together between Lannisport and Casterly Rock. We came across a maiden. A crofter’s daughter. Tysha, her name was. She was being robbed by a group of outlaws. I chased them off and Tyrion looked after Tysha. He was madly in love with her, you see. He took her maidenhead and the two were later married by a septon drunk off Dornish red. I wasn’t there for the occasion… I had returned to King’s Landing to attend Robert Baratheon at the time. The duties of a Kingsguard.” Jaime smiled at that, sharp as a fox. “A fortnight later, the septon felt awfully guilty and confessed to my father what he’d done. Of course, Tywin Lannister wasn’t happy about his son marrying a common girl. So he had me lie and say that she was a whore I paid for Tyrion to have a few nights with.”

“That’s terrible,” you said, voice quiet. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Jaime could only shrug at that. Whatever residual guilt he had harbored over the girl was still there, though the many years had softened the blow. “I have no proper excuse. I was young. Father was convinced she only wanted Tyrion’s money and not Tyrion. He convinced me to lie that I had set everything up, outlaws and all—and I thought it best at the time, considering Tyrion was so miserable all the time. He missed her.”

“What of the girl?” you whispered, stomach knotted, knowing no story like this had a happy end.

Jaime drew in a shallow breath. “She was brought to Casterly Rock. My father had her raped by the guards to put her in her place. A silver for each guard. Then he had Tyrion rape her, too. Left a gold coin for her because Lannisters are worth more. The marriage was undone, and now hardly a living soul knows.”

There was horror written plain as day across your features. “Your father was a monster. It was no wonder Tyrion killed him.”

To that, Jaime nodded. “It was at times like that I considered myself fortunate to be a Kingsguard, far from him. Either way, I would have been an Oathbreaker from the start. Betray my king or betray my blood?”

“Would you really have defied your father’s orders?” you asked.

Without needing to think about it, Jaime said, “Yes. If I needed to.”

The wind howled cold whispers into your ears as you pondered on his story. You drew further into your cloak’s hood. “I’ll tell you a story.”

This pleasantly surprised Jaime. “That’s a first,” he said. “Out with it.”

“The first time a boy kissed me, I was seven and he was one-and-ten, if I recall correctly. Perhaps two-and-ten. It was only a moon before the tourney at Harrenhal. He was the son of a blacksmith living in the castle. He would bring me arrowheads he made—they were terrible, blunt little pieces, but I accepted his gifts nonetheless. He kissed me as he handed me another arrowhead. I shoved him away as fast as I could—I was afraid I’d done something wrong, and Father would be cross with me. I was so angry with him… and he was so afraid of me. He asked for my forgiveness—begged for it, even.”

Jaime leaned forward. “And?”

To his bemusement, your expression grew rather embarrassed. “I kicked him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not too ba—”

“In the face.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, it was not my finest moment. Two of his teeth came out in bloody stumps. I felt sorry for him, but I told him never to touch me again and I ran off. Brandon had to take care of the mess while Lyanna and Ned comforted me. I was sobbing in his arms, afraid the stableboy had gotten me with child. Lyanna had to explain why she was sure I wasn’t with child.” You used the cowl of your cloak to shield your burning features.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jaime flicked the hood back just enough so he could meet your eyes. “And? What came of him? Did your father lop his tiny cock off? Became a eunuch and was sent off to the Wall?”

“No,” you hotly replied, swatting away his hand. “It was just a warning and a slap on the wrist, was all. He actually became a distinguished rider in Winterfell. I hardly ever spoke to him after that—he kept a respectful distance. If I recall, he’s even gotten himself a wife and children.”

A silence stretched thin between the two of you. Then, to your shock, Jaime began cackling up a storm, even bending at the stomach and slapping at his thigh in hilarity. His ribs ached with how much he was laughing.

“It wasn’t a funny story,” you said, almost stern. “I feel bad for him.”

This made Jaime pause. “He forced himself on you, and you feel bad for him? If anything, he deserved a worse fate.”

“We were children. Things are much simpler when you’re children.” You tilted your head, recalling another memory. “When I was an even younger child, perhaps Rickon’s age now, I told my siblings I was afraid of doors.”

The knight beside you scoffed at that, stifling the remnants of his laughter. “Doors?”

“Well—not the physical wooden slab itself, but… the idea of not knowing what was behind it. It terrified me. But that was all too much and too hard to explain to my brothers and sister at such a young age, so I simply told them I was afraid of doors.”

Jaime regarded you with narrowed eyes. “Hm. I can’t even picture it.”

“Brandon and Ned never let me sit closest to a door from then on. Benjen always teased me and would sling me over his shoulder and stand the both of us by the doorway, and then he’d ask if I was scared. He was cruel the way brothers are cruel. The way you were to Tyrion, I suppose.”

A discontent noise fell from Jaime’s lips, but he did not disagree with you.

“And Lyanna… Lyanna tried to help me face this fear by telling me to open a closed door to check what’s behind it.”

Jaime hummed. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing ever,” you said, shaking your head. “Except one time, Benjen was hiding behind. But he never scared me, not ever.”

“And are you now?”

“Hm?”

“Are you afraid of what could be behind a door?”

There was a pause as you thought. You picked up some more branches to toss into the fire, watching the fire shift and pop with the new food. “Would you think less of me if I told you yes?” you whispered.

How Jaime saw you then was how he was sure a moth saw light. “No,” he said, feeling as if something had caught in his throat. “I do admire your fear, Wolf. It’s something I can learn from.”

Jaime was asleep. One thing you noticed was that he always left you to sleep past the agreed time he should’ve woken you up to swap watches.

“You need your sleep,” he had said with an easy shrug and a grin once you confronted him about the matter. “You look terrible, you know.”

As irritating as he was, you found yourself grateful for the extra hours of rest. The journey certainly hadn’t been kind on your body; your feet were aching with the grueling pace you had set for yourself. While Jaime was catching up on a few hours of sleep, you would watch the treeline in the distance, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze and the owls hooting to their hatchlings. The stars were bright that night, pale amongst the sky. You wondered how many there were, and if you could manage to count them all before having to rouse Jaime.

You only managed to get to twenty before you heard a swishing noise from a thicket in the distance. You tensed, immediately reaching for your dagger. The two of you were somewhat protected by a brambled hedge of shrubbery, but that did not mean you were entirely safe.

A four-legged figure nosed its way out of the green. Your muscles relaxed, but only slightly. An animal was far less dangerous than a man. It would likely scurry off in a moment or two.

You stared at it for a while longer, and the animal drew nearer. A wolf, you realized, noting its bushy, swishing tail. Then, your brows knitted together. It was far larger than a regular wolf, near monstrous in size, looking to be taller than you, even in the distance. It had a glossy grey pelt and glowing, amber eyes.

This was no normal wolf. It was a direwolf.

You breathed out a shaking breath. Direwolves hardly wandered as far south as Winterfell, much less down to the Riverlands. It couldn’t have wandered here all on its own. Lady was dead, you knew that to be true. Grey Wind murdered by the Freys. Shaggydog and Summer were likely killed by Theon Greyjoy, or thrown into a cage somewhere in Winterfell. Little Ghost was on the Wall with Jon. That left—

“Nymeria,” you murmured in shock.

You stood up. Would she recognize you? Or worse—would she hurt you?

It was probably a good idea to shake Jaime awake. You casted a brief glance over at him, curled up by the sack of food rations, his sharp, handsome face softened with slumber. Deciding against it, you began to creep nearer to the direwolf. She stood with her ears pricked, unblinking, not taking her eyes off you.

“Hello, sweet one,” you said, voice low and level, despite the rushed blood coursing through your veins. Nymeria’s ears twitched. “It’s been a long time.”

The wolf lifted one paw, swayed her tail against the grass twice. Then her sharp teeth bared in a snarl, glowing beneath the starlight.

You stepped back, sensing her growing hostility. It felt ridiculous speaking to a direwolf, but you knew how intelligent they were. If there was even a shred of a possibility, it was worth pursuing.

“Do you know where Arya is? Arya.”

At the name, Nymeria put her paw back down. Her head tilted, much like she used to do when she was a confused pup learning how to spin for food. Abruptly, she turned and bounded back into the trees. A deep howl echoed through the forest, sounding ghostly in its timbre. Other howls echoed after her—Nymeria clearly wasn’t alone. You were grateful the other wolves hadn’t approached. Just a day ago, Jaime was telling you about many squadrons of Lannister bannermen being mauled by a pack of wolves, led by a large she-wolf. Perhaps that was Nymeria. She certainly fit the description.

You returned to the bramble barrier, finding Jaime still sound asleep. He had turned whilst you were gone, now facing away from the sack. You sat down beside him, and, strangely, found yourself excited for him to wake up so you could tell him what had happened.

There was, you waged, about an hour before the sun would rise. You would wake Jaime then, and the two of you would continue northward to Howland Reed’s castle. If the pace the two of you had set was consistent, you should be there in no more than a fortnight.

It was quiet for a long while. You thought you could hear someone humming a familiar tune, and after waiting with your ears pricked for a moment, you realized you were imagining it—after all, you knew nobody but Benjen that used to hum that melody. Your heart ached at the thought of your youngest older brother.

There came a rustle, a step, and the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left. You turned, hand curled around the handle of the dagger, muscles coiled at the ready. Perhaps Nymeria had come back, you pondered, unsure if that was something you would even want to happen. Probably not.

Another snap. A shuffle. A thud. You narrowed your eyes—wolves familiar with this forest would be far more sure-footed than that.

After a tense second, you were proved right. Before you knew it, half a dozen men swarmed out of the trees, silent despite their clumsy feet, eyes wide and pale with the moonlight. They all carried weapons—though they were rather unconventional ones; pitchforks, shovels, garden pick-axes. Their tattered clothing told you that they were likely farmers who had turned to the life of thievery in times of desperation. So much for Jaime bringing peace to the Riverlands.

Hurriedly, you managed to kick at Jaime’s leg just as one man was already advancing on you with a snarl, barreling forward and pinning you down onto the foliage underneath. All the air slipped out of your lungs. You were no good at close-hand combat, and hadn’t had time to properly train in many moons—but you relied on your instincts, which told you to claw at any part of his skin you could reach, and lift your feet as high as he could possibly allow, kicking him in the chest.

By now, Jaime had been hauled off by a bigger, burlier man that stood so tall that Jaime only came up to his chest. There was another going straight for him—but you had more pressing matters to focus on. The man that had been on top of you was drawing back with wounded, ragged gasps, and you pounced forward, brandishing your dagger.

He had time to let slip one plea for his life—but you were quick to plunge the sharp end straight down his sternum with as much force possible, piercing his heart swiftly. Out it came—and down again. And again. Again. Once more. There was blood all over your forearms, some flecks landing wetly on your face. With a clenched jaw, you slashed his throat. Rubies dribbled from the cut, glittering under the moonlight. You abandoned his body, briefly wondering if Nymeria and her pack would come back and feast.

When you turned, there were two more thieves hesitating. They looked on the younger end—just boys. You scowled at them, made a motion as if you were going to attack them next, and they promptly turned on their heels and fled. When you looked over to Jaime, he had managed to grab his sword and had pierced his two assailants swiftly. They fell to the ground with bloodied noises of pain. Jaime flicked the excess blood off of the blade with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Then, he looked at you, taking in your gore-soaked appearance. His brows raised when he looked over at the corpse you’d stabbed and slashed.

“What happened to being so concerned over innocent men?” Jaime questioned, half-genuine and half-provoking.

“I told you before,” you hissed. “There are always a few rotten apples in an orchard. I would have been fine helping the men find food—pinning me to the ground with the intent of robbing us, or worse, revokes them of any right to my pleasantries.”

Jaime smiled at that. “Right—because you’re well renowned for your pleasantries. Is it concerning that I find you even more attractive covered in blood?” he asked as he drew nearer, blunt as always. “I do think I’m falling for you like this.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you snapped. You turned to look at the treeline, where Nymeria had come out.

“Are you alright?” he queried, expression shifting into one of concern, single hand reaching out to touch your arm, tender from when you slammed into the ground. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Most of the blood isn’t mine. I just have to wash it off.”

Jaime nodded, looking strangely prideful. He offered his hand out for you to take. You stared at him for a moment, then brushed past him and made your way to the river. He trailed after you with a barely-repressed smile.

“What were you looking for?” he asked as you began to scrub the blood off you. Thankfully, it came off quite easily since it hadn’t had time to set and dry on you.

“I think I saw someone I knew,” you muttered. The excitement of telling him the news had worn off with the attack. The water was frigid, and though you were well acquainted with the cold, you were going to catch your death if you loitered longer than you needed to.

With furrowed brows, Jaime regarded you as if you had grown a second head. “Who?” His hand was already falling to the pommel of the longsword.

You shook your head. “Not a person. A direwolf.”

After you had washed up, dripping with river water but now void of grime, you and Jaime were quick to pack up what little you were carrying with you, to start off northward once again. When you had asked if Jaime wanted to wash himself before leaving, he only laughed at your face. “I’ll freeze my balls off if I do that. I’d rather keep them for now. I can bathe once we get to Greywater Watch.” Where there was one gang of thieves, there were likely a dozen others—it was better to keep moving.

“Only if Howland Reed doesn’t skin your balls off himself,” you remarked.

Jaime didn’t say anything to that, but he glanced over at you with a grin. That was likely the closest thing to a jest he’d ever heard you say.

As you walked, Jaime noticed you were favoring your left side, trying not to put too much weight on your right foot. “Did he knock you there?” he asked, gesturing downward to your ankles.

You scowled at him, as if irritated that he was observing the smallest of your actions. It made you feel terribly intruded upon. “I’m fine,” you repeated.

Jaime shrugged. “If you say so.” But he stepped closer, occasionally bumping into your right side as if to help you keep your weight off. Arse.

About an hour after the skirmish, Jaime decided he had enough of the silence. He was keen on hearing your voice again, even if it was going to tell him to fuck right off.

“You can reclaim the North as yours now,” he said. “If you gathered enough loyal men… you could.”

You sucked in a breath. “I have more pressing matters before sitting on a throne.” You didn’t bother to list them, but you thought them glaringly obvious.

Sansa. Arya. Brienne. Pod. Ca—Stoneheart.

“Everyone in my family is scattered and alone and I need to be there for them. What good would it be wasting all my energy battling the Boltons?”

Jaime wasn’t used to being the smarter of the two. He felt that it was the most logical decision at the moment, considering the two of you would practically be wandering about aimlessly if not for going after your rightful seat. “Perhaps you can be there for your family by retaking your home.” With a softer tone, he added on, “Might I remind you… you have nothing right now. No castle, no money, no weapons, nothing. Only me to watch you.”

This seemed to struck a nerve in you, much to Jaime’s simultaneous dismay and elation.

“I don’t need you to watch me,” you scathingly said. “You’re just with me because you’re an important political figure that could be of use. And I didn’t want to have to watch my good-sister lop your head off.”

Jaime briefly wondered why, but instead arrogantly retorted, “Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have let it come to—”

“But I suppose you’re right,” you admitted, interrupting him with a melancholic puff of an exhale, words weighing heavy.

Jaime barked out a laugh. “Say that again. I want to savor it this time.”

“You are insufferable,” you said, though it lacked any true bite. “To save my family, I must leave them. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaime reminded. “You’re just taking… a short detour.”

“Short,” you snorted. “It would be a miracle if we can take Winterfell back before the year’s mark.”

Jaime squared his jaw, now thinking back to Brienne. “Alright. After Greywater Watch, what then? Where would you like to go? I would…” He stopped walking, and grabbed hold of your wrist. Your eyes flashed dangerously as they met his. “I would follow you wherever you go.”

For once, you had no harsh retort for him.

Instead, you asked, almost as if searching for a reason for him to rescind his statement, “Even if I keep telling you to leave?”

Jaime nodded. “Even then.”

“And when I put a knife to your throat, deciding that I want to take revenge for my nephews?”

Again, there was no hesitation on his end. Jaime hardly thought before he spoke, but it was the truth nonetheless. “I would let you cut me open until you’re satisfied with me, if that’s what you wish. Are you done asking me needless questions or shall we start playing a drinking game with our muddy river water?”

Your features, which had softened considerably, now fell back into their naturally irritated state. You nodded with solemn determination. Jaime thought you looked much like your brother Ned right then.

“Right. I think that settles it.” You started off walking again, shaking your wrist free of his hold. “We’ll go north, as we have. But—it’s time I stop hiding.”

In the distance, a single wolf howled.

“It’s time I returned home.”

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cdragons · 1 year ago

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I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

“WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips. The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her. Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

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littlejoels · 3 days ago

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𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 - f!reader x robb stark

♰ this long winter war was tiring, to say the least. even as a noble in a expensive tent it still was much. the 'king of the north's' tent was warm, lit heavy with foreign candles and the scent of leather oil, yet the real warmth comes from robb; fully lined fur cloak and calloused hands.

♰ he’s supposed to be checking maps, speaking with bannermen, and counting swords; preparing for war. but you’re sitting in his lap, and your bodice’s come undone—just enough for the lace edge to sag below the tops of your breasts—and suddenly he can’t remember a single thing about tactics or flanks. he can't help it, his mouth is on you again.

“you are hopeless, my love,” you whisper, threading your fingers into his hair as he nuzzles into the soft swell of your chest. “you can not possibly need comfort this often.”

“i do when it is you.” his voice is muffled, lips trailing lower, tongue flicking the underside of your breast where the skin’s softer, making you squirmy. “you are the only thing keeping me sane.”

♰ you laugh, trying to catch your breath, because he’s suckling now—suckling, like he’s starving and you’re milk wrapped in skin. “robb, you’re going to leave a mark.”

“good, let them see it.” he kisses over your nipple, then latches on again, smiling against it.

♰ your hips subconsciously move you to roll your hips in his lap. he’s still in half his layers, tunic open, cloak fallen off one shoulder, his family sigil half-swallowed in the twist of his collar.

♰ your royal dress is bunched up around your hips flowing around his own hips—one hand, of his, at your lower back, the other sliding up to cup your breast, getting ready to hold and suck and leave wet with spit.

“is this how you calm down before battle?” you tease, moaning softly as his tongue teases around your nipple.

♰ he hums, in agreement, “mhm, 'tis better than prayer. a lot softer, too.” you tug his hair gently, making him groan again, rutting up against you like a dog in heat.

“the men will start to wonder where their king’s gone.”

♰ he pulls back his eyes half-lidded with pure love shining in them, “they will know exactly where to find me.”

“suckling at your betrothed like some desperate pup?”

♰ he grins, wicked and boyish all at once, “like a man in love.”

♰ your heart flips sideways in your chest while continues to rub slow circles over your nipple with his thumb, watching your face. “what?”

♰ he kisses you again, this time his tongue drags over the swell of your other breast, causing your skin to pebble, “you think i am only doing this because we are promised?”

“i think you are doing it because you like my tits.” you remark, glancing down at him to watch him.

♰ he chuckles, “i love your tits.” kissing your sternum. “and your laugh.” kisses your collarbone. “and the way you always get snippy when you are flustered.”

♰ he cups your ass in both hands suddenly and grinds up into you as you clutch at his shoulders with an audible gasp.

“i love how you sound when i touch you.” another kiss, between your ribs. “and how you pretend you are not just as obsessed with me.”

“i am not—”

“you are.”

♰ you pout, and he leans back just far enough to look at your face fully. gods, he could truly melt with those dark eyes. “tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this fucking map table and take you like a true stark. right now, before the drums start.” you bite your lip, contemplating.

♰ he laughs fondly, and then drags your hand down to where he’s straining against his trousers. “feel that? that is what you do to me. every time you walk past with your skirts swaying. every time you kiss my cheek like we are still pretending this is all duty and not the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to either of us.”

♰ you shudder as his fingers slip between your thighs, grazing your slit. “you are wet, sweetling.”

“you are unbearable.” you purr out fondly.

♰ he kisses you, then he’s back at your breast again, sucking greedily. you reach between your bodies, working at the laces of his trousers with trembling fingers. “just for a few minutes,” you whisper, breath hot against his ear. “do not make me walk funny through camp, robb stark.”

“no promises, my lady,” he growls, flipping you beneath him in a rustle of fabric and fur, already kissing a trail down your chest, between your thighs. “i need all the luck i can get. so let me worship my bride before i go kill for her.”

special tags: @inbred-eater , @carmysdoll

#robb‧ ₊˚✩#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #house stark #robb stark #robb stark x reader #Got #got x reader #Robb stark #Robb stark smut #Robb stark x reader smut #Jon snow #Jon snow smut #Jon snow x reader smut #game of thrones smut #game of thrones x reader smut

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kirunawrites · 9 months ago

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i got a req!!

Jaime x reader stark ( twin sister of robb )

they already married. Just make it smut and the plot depend on you author. I just wanna read some smut 🤭🤭

Omg, my first request ☺️🙈

a wolf in lion’s clothing

no matter the loss, a daughter of the North is not defeated until she says so.

Pairing: Reader! Stark x Jaime Lannister

A/n: warnings of smut, teasing, somewhat dark!Jaime (c’mon, give him a break, he has lost a hand and we all hate Vargo Hoat). Reader is Robb’s twin, but I did not want to feast over the Red Wedding because my Northern little heart aches for it 😢, let’s say she knows they are gone but not the whole circumstances

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Damned be the day you left Winterfell.

Damned be the day you and Sansa were trapped by the Lannisters.

Damned be the day your future was sentenced by your brother’s enemy.

Damned be the day you were taken to Casterly Rock, far from anything you knew, and surrounded you by unknown faces.

Damned be the day that shining knight had been relieved of his position as a Kingsguard and pushed to assume the status of heir to the Westerlands.

Damned be the day you were forced to marry him.

Damned be the day you found that he is the least bad of all that wretched family.

Damned be the day he went to war and returned maimed, with all his pride taken of him.

It had taken you all of your strength to not fall apart when you have seen that man coming from captivity, and all the courage you did not knew you had to not die when you heard him say that he feared that you would have gone to The Twins.

“What keeps you that busy? I haven’t seen you since lunch” You say with a soft smile when you come into the library and find him focused over a pile of dusty parchments. He looks up, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over his face. Sometimes he still flinches when somebody catches him by surprise, you think it is because of his moons as a prisoner.

“Ah, Y/N,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. “I've been trying to sort through these old records,” he explains, gesturing to the mess of papers before him.

“It is dark outside, my love. You should rest," you suggest gently, glancing toward the window where the last sliver of sunlight has vanished. “The past cannot be changed, but exhaustion won't aid in the future,” you continue, moving closer to his side, kissing his hair once you are next to your husband.

He sighs deeply, nodding as he leans into your comforting touch. Eyes closed, he murmurs, “I know you're right. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I've overlooked within these pages.”

“It just surely can wait” your hand lays upon his shoulder, tracing the way to the other with care. “Your mind needs as much rest as your body,” you insist, urging him to set the parchments aside.

He hesitates for a moment, eyes lingering on the scattered documents, before finally conceding, turning to face you with a softness in his look you have not seen in ages. A loving smile tugs from the corners of your lips as the other hand goes to his cheek, soothing the worry etched there. “Come,” you coax gently, drawing him away from the desk, “you can revisit the mysteries of the past with a clearer mind tomorrow.”

With a hum he manages to tug you towards him, falling on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the calmness you provide. “You always know how to bring peace to my mind,” he whispers, pressing a grateful kiss to your temple.

You bite your lower lip, a playful glint in your eyes. “It's a gift,” you reply with a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him, brushing his lips with yours, tempting. “Perhaps we should see what tomorrow brings,” you suggest, teasingly brushing your nose against his.

“Screw tomorrow” he tries to kiss you, only for you to lean back slightly, just out of reach, your eyes gleaming with mischief. He chuckles, recognizing your playful challenge, and gently pulls you back toward him with a quiet determination . “No escaping now,” he murmurs, capturing your lips this time, their warmth reminding you of the comfort and safety he has always offered you.

The kiss deepens, each moment a promise of shared dreams and unspoken futures. Unconsciously you make yourself comfortable on his lap, giving up to his wondering hand on your back. With a contented sigh, you melt into his embrace, letting the world outside momentarily fade away. Time stands still as the mingling rhythm of your hearts becomes the only sound. His fingers trace light patterns across your back, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You end the kiss only to trace with your lips his jawline, earning pleasured sighs as he tilts his head to leave you an unbroken expanse of skin to explore, which you gladly pamper, a deep part in your mind yelling at you that right now the only salvation you have is to make that man sire children with you.

A wanton moan escapes your lips as you feel the bulge pressing against you, a reminder of his desire matching your own. You quickly change your position, riding his lap, as your quick fingers start unbuttoning his doublet, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost a purr as your kisses go down to his collarbone while you teasingly rock your hips against him. A muffled moan escapes your lips when you feel his hand and the golden prothesis caress your thighs under your skirt. “My little she-wolf”

Your hands roam free to his hair, your fingers curling against it, ripping a soft moan from his lips, half muffled by yours when you press a needing kiss.

“What if somebody comes—?”

“They will see their future lord fucking his wife and putting a little lion inside her.” as you talk your fingers quickly go to his breeches, unlacing them, searching for the object of your desire. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?” your hands reach his cock and free it, going up and down of it before driving it directly to your folds, making him discover what you have spend days doing —purposely leaving your undergarments aside to get him fuck you. “Wouldn’t my lord like little lions playing free along the Rock?” you purr to his ear, gladly earning a lustful groan, making it the signal to slowly go down his length, silently moaning as your wetness takes all his cock and your folds glide over it with little to no effort.

Your hips keep rocking over his lap, swallowing all of him in the process, as you let yourself go, free to enjoy a pleasure that can guarantee your safety.

What at the beginning had been just wanton moans with the only purpose to entice your husband turn to feel true, to really drive you helpless as you give up to any restrains you had towards the man who had pliantly followed instructions that had led to the disappearance of what you once dared to call ‘home’. With the golden hand by the lower part of your back, his left subtly goes to the lower part of your belly, his dexterous fingers adventuring the way towards your sweet spot, its tips teasing it, tearing pleasure sounds from your mouth.

It had been days since that shell of a man had started to show himself again, and even more days since the last time he made that easily a mess of you.

“Shh” almost entranced, you lean over him, your sweaty forehead against his, your eyes half-lidded as if the thirst for his touch had possessed your body “The whole castle may hear us.”

The subtle weight of the golden hand forcing you to go slower as your hips try to search his good hand with a hint of desperation to ease the sudden need.

“Jaime—“ you whine, breathless, one of your hands unconsciously returning to his hair “Please."

His lips twist into a crooked smile as you lay featherlight kisses along his jawline, panting.

He knows well how you Starks could behave, because he had seen it with his very eyes at King’s Landing and in the battlefield, and he knows that if he wishes for you to be the mother of proper Lannister children, he has to make sure that you will make a proper lady of the Rock.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispers to your ear before nibbling your earlobe, earning a moan in exchange. “Come on, be a good kitten and speak to me.”

Before you can even try to speak, his fingers retake their ministrations between your legs.

“Jaime—“ you close your eyes in delight.

“Come on, sweet girl.”

It is hard to properly think when you are so close to the edge.

“Yours” you pant, helplessly realizing how tables have turned.

“Such a good girl” he nuzzles against your neck as you try your best to hump against him, perky breasts brushing against his chest from behind the fabric of your dress. “You want to give me heirs, don’t you?” you nod, mewling, half eager, half desperate.

You know too well that you can only survive if you become the mother of any heir to the Rock, and yet you cannot help but find it enticing any time that man does his best to carefully push you to an extreme, even if he tries to make you realize you have left all behind.

“Y/N” he sighs, his lips finding yours as you eagerly kiss him, finding that he is no longer making you stay still, but encouraging you to keep going as his fingers retake their speed in their teasing.

Finally the tingling feeling at your core takes over you and you find yourself muffling your moans against his lips as he releases himself inside you with the clenching of your folds, claiming you as his.

But you don’t care. You were made to endure.

You are a daughter of the North.

And the North never forgets.

#a wolf in lion’s clothing #reader insert #got x reader #got x you #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister fanfic #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister x you #got smut #asoiaf smut #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic

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darkdevasofdestruction · 10 months ago

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Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

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