Savages - LolaStark

Savages
By LolaStark

Chapter Nineteen

[Robb]

The sun began to fall on the seventh day, and all around the large mound, covered in stones, they gathered to watch the protected flame dancing in the wind. Each man watched in muted silence, except Bard Friel who sang softly as if it was the whisper of the wind. The flame was bright as the darkness encroached upon the camp, and Robb's eyes were transfixed upon it, waiting and watching for something to happen that never would.

She was gone, separated from him as if his soul was ripped from his body.

His mother was at his side, steadfast and silent as he once again whispered a prayer to the old gods, praying that Fallon Magnar's death was only a horrible dream.

The funeral customs for a Nighean of Skagos had been practiced for centuries and Fallon was the first to since, it was written, that was not given the luxury of being buried in her homeland. Fallon had once told him stories of the hillside near Kingshouse where the Magnars and the Nigheans were laid to rest. Stone mounds covered the hillside in elaborate shapes and symbols that derived from the ancient customs.

And upon the death of a Nighean, a festival would be held to celebrate her life and a torch would burn for seven days atop her mound, protected by the men she served in her lifetime. If the flame went out before the seventh nightfall, it was said that her spirit would be lost. But Robb saw to it that he was constantly by it's side, though her body did not lie beneath the jagged stones.

And now as the seventh night fell, he felt an ache in his heart as they watched the wind extinguish the flame. The light went out, the flame was gone and so, therefore, had the flame in Robb's heart. It seemed like all at once everything good inside of him was extinguished alongside it.

All that was left was something savage.

He pulled his hands from his mother's and left her standing there, alone as he approached the stone and stared down at them and then watched as the smoke rose into the sky as if it were Fallon's soul reaching towards the heavens. And he felt the familiar ache in his throat that had tortured him since the moment his hands had touched the parchment with the news of her death.

"Slán mo ghrá," he whispered beneath his breath, his goodbye. "Mo shíorghrá," he said, his voice breaking as he whispered the words, 'my eternal love,' in the Old Tongue and wondered if she had known that's what she was to him.

"Robb," Rowan whispered from his side, placing his hand on his shoulder but Robb didn't look away from the smoke as it was risen into the air. "We must go."

"Not yet," Robb whispered in reply, closing his eyes as the wind blew, a harsh cold breeze across his face.

He could feel the soft rustle of Grey Wind's fur on his fingertips as the direwolf sat down next to him, nudging his leg with a slight whimper. Robb wrapped his fingers around the fur lightly as he watched flashes of Fallon's smile appear behind his eyes. Her pink lips turning upwards in the corner of her mouth as she looked at him behind her green eyes, shining in the sunlight. And as the wind blew he thought he could almost hear her whispering his name.

And then it was gone.

He looked down to see Grey's bright eyes staring up at him, his snout nuzzling Robb's hand as his master, once again, swallowed the ache in his throat. Grey, knew there was something wrong, but Robb wondered if he could feel that Fallon was no longer with them. Robb didn't want to believe it at first. He wanted to believe that he would have felt it if she were gone from this world.

But he felt nothing.

And then he felt absolute pain.

And finally, emptiness - a numbness that seemed to take hold of him even now.

He turned to see Rowan looking down at the mound, lost in his thoughts just as Robb had been. He waited a long while, watching as Rowan thought of his sister and Robb realized he wasn't the only one she'd been stolen from. Moments passed, and Robb thought if Rowan's tears started to fall, he'd have to turn away. But neither happened. Rowan finally faced him, and gave him a curt nod

Robb walked towards his tent, Grey Wind following by his side where he'd been since Robb received the news. The walk was a short one and the visit would be quick. And then they'd be off. Taking the Westerlands would not be complete without Casterly Rock. Fallon had been the one to help devise a plan for a siege if Tywin's forces proved unwilling to negotiate a surrender.

Robb was almost happy to see that his request for peace was denied by the Lannisters. It was his moment for vengeance, and soon enough he'd have it.

Grey Wind's growl launched him out of his stupor and he looked up to see his tent was already occupied by the Lady Jeyne who looked up in surprise as he walked through the tent flaps. It wasn't her presence, but the position he'd found her in that was the reason for the furrow of his brow.

"Your Grace!" she said, her voice high as though he'd caught her doing something, which was very likely the reason for her startled demeanor.

"Lady Jeyne," he said, watching her step away from his desk curiously. "Were you looking for something?" he asked her, glancing down at the pile of papers sitting atop his work space.

"Merely waiting for you, Your Grace," she whispered, distractedly, staring at the ground and Robb loosened his grip on Grey's neck fur, but stayed the wolf's desire to step forward, towards the girl.

"They are gathering the horses," Robb informed her, still eyeing her right arm which was concealed behind her back. "I told Olyvar to take you back to the castle," he informed her and she nodded.

"Yes, but-" she said, stepping towards him eagerly and he hear Grey Wind's growl increase and she stepped back. "I didn't want to part company without saying farewell," she whispered, her eyes on Grey.

Robb was the one that stepped forward then, and watched as her brown eyes betrayed her words. There was only fear in them, dread perhaps as he approached her and though her smile was steady, the rest of her was not. Their bodies were now inches apart as he looked down at the young girl and he reached around her to grab her hidden arm.

The contact of his skin on hers caused her to flinch and her fingers tightened over the parchment she concealed. She diverted her eyes in shame as he looked down at her, tears welling up in her eyes as he pulled her wrist out in front of her.

They were his correspondence with Roose Bolton, he realized when the handwriting was visible. Detailed plans were written about his movements at Harrenhal and these plans were being stolen by this woman who'd posed so long as an overly-concerned nurse. For several weeks he'd suspected her of trying to seduce him but had written it off as a girl's foolish desires. But this was something entirely different.

"Please, I had to," she pleaded in a ghostly whisper, the tears now falling down her cheeks.

"Who were you taking these to?" he asked her and he could tell by her shameful look that his suspicion was confirmed. "Tywin sent you," he realized. "That is why we've faced much more resistance as of late?"

"He said I had to find out things, anything that would tell him what you were doing."

"And if you didn't?"

"He'd kill my family," she said, her voice strangled. "Please, I never meant any harm."

"Thousands of my men march through the Westerlands and any comprising of our plans would mean their deaths," he said harshly, his fingers gripping her wrist tightly. "The Lannisters' resistance has caused more deaths than were necessary, all because of the information you passed to him."

"Please," she begged again and Robb could only see betrayal, he could only hear Grey's savage growls next to him.

But then as he glanced into her eyes, he did not see brown orbs looking back at him, but green. His composure had fallen, for a slight moment, but still he was ashamed. Fallon would have urged him to have mercy on her. The girl was not the villain, but the tool of the villainy that Tywin Lannister had forced to do his bidding.

He dropped her hand quickly and walked towards his desk. Jeyne didn't move, only looked down in shock, towards the growling hound as Robb scribbled a few notes on a bit of parchment and then handed it to her with a frown.

"I will spare you, lady. But in return, you take him this and you tell me everything."

[Garlan]

The winds were much harsher in the North than he remembered. It was a bitter coldness. The winter winds had descended upon the land and the snow was thick upon the ground. Garlan sat upon the mare he'd stolen in White Harbor and contemplated how he'd managed the last two weeks.

He had taken a great beating in Dragonstone, the ambush had been unexpected to say the least and his escape had been one that he was still unsure how he'd managed with the wound to his side. His face was bruised, somewhat beyond recognition, and for that, he nearly thanked the gods. Having a recognizable face in the North while his family's loyalties now lie with Tywin Lannister and the Iron Throne, would only bring more misfortune upon his current circumstances.

Going North hadn't been his original plan. He was instructed to return to Robb Stark's camp as soon as his mission was completed. But the plan had been altered and he had no intentions of traveling through the Crownlands in times such as these. His return would have to be delayed, much to the dismay of his King.

Upon reaching White Harbor, many of the Northmen had been curious about his intentions and his cargo as well as wherefrom they had sailed. He had neglected to tell them he was pulling a ship from Dragonstone and instead said he was pulling cargo from Dorne and that those matters were private dealings which were none of their business.

Needless to say his presence wasn't exactly welcome, but he needed to reach Winterfell without prying eyes. Now they were on the outskirts of the village where he had left months prior in a much different state than it was in now. And suddenly things were much different.

Then it was full of laughter and dance. He'd seen Fallon take in her fill of drink and dance to her hearts content with a fair smile as she looked on with lover's eyes towards Robb Stark. Before all of this madness they were happy once, Garlan recalled. And now the world had flipped and things had happened that could no longer be undone.

Winterfell was not far in the distance. He could see the castle towers high and proud, standing as if it's noble House had not fallen so far in the tragic story that was unfolding for the Stark family. But, now, it was no longer the seat of a high lord. It was once again the seat of a King. The King of Winter - the King in the North.

"It's much bigger than I thought it'd be," the voice said from the other horse at his right and he looked down to see that Gendry had awoken from his silence.

They had ridden for hours after they'd stolen the horses in order to get to Winterfell before nightfall. Neither had said much, but he'd seen Gendry's curious eyes wandering the countryside and knew it must have been a much different sight than what he'd seen in the South.

"It's the seat of a noble house," Garlan replied, ignoring the ache in his side as he spoke. "Fit for noble rulers."

"Do you think we'll be safe here?" Gendry asked curiously, slowing his horse to a stop next to Garlan's as the looked up at the fortress. "She said we'd be safe."

"There are many strange faces here," Garlan said in a low voice, pulling his hood down more as people passed through the village. "I lived here for many months and these people no longer look the like the faces I once knew. The guards, they don't bear the Stark sigil."

"What sigil is it?"

Garlan glanced at a passing guard who seemed to take no notice of his presence at first and saw that there was a familiar pattern embroidered into his cloak.

The flayed man.

"House Bolton," the third voice said and Garlan wrapped his arm tighter around her waist as she fidgeted, now awake from her slumber.

He looked down at the wilted flower that was Fallon. She had been weakened and starved at Dragonstone and her injuries sustained during the ritual should have been fatal. But somehow she had managed to escape with minor wounds, one that spanned from her jaw to her chin, the blade that had been intended to bring her death. Fallon had made one last ditch attempt to escape and her movements had saved her life, and Gendry's.

"What is House Bolton doing guarding the village? Where are Stark's men?"

"At war," she whispered, her voice hoarse as she laid her head against his chest. "Lord Bolton must have sent his men North to aid what was left of Robb's men here."

Garlan, however, was not entirely convinced that was the case. There was something different about the way they strutted around the streets, their hands on their blades while the villagers looked out from their hoods in fear. This was not the Boltons kindly lending their hand towards the Starks. This was something else entirely.

"Help me down," she whispered and he frowned.

"And where do you plan to go?" he asked her, in a tone that made her sour her face in response.

"I'm going to have them take me to the castle. I need to speak with Bran and Rickon, to send word to Robb that we are safe."

"I can't let you," he argued. "I told Robb I'd keep you safe and letting you run off with those brutes doesn't sound like I'd be upholding my end of the bargain."

"Just help me down," she muttered and Garlan sighed and dismounted the horse, not allowing his face to show how much pain he was in from the wound healing on his side.

He then placed his hands at her waist, lifting her up and then down onto the ground where her boots shifted uncomfortably in the snow as she tried to gain her footing. She held onto his arms as she steadied herself, getting her bearings before straightening her simple dress and thick cloak. Garlan pulled the hood up over her hair, hiding what he could to keep her from being recognized as well.

As she stepped away towards one of the guards he held onto her arm lightly and gave her a look that showed his disapproval. She wrapped her fingers over his and sighed, gripping his hand as a small smile appeared in the corner of her pretty mouth. In the light of the evening he could see the angry cut along her jawline and frowned.

"I just wish to speak with them," she whispered. "Do not worry yourself over me."

"Something is not right here," he replied and he saw her look to Gendry.

"It is odd, don' you think?" Gendry replied. "That there would be not a single Stark sigil this close to Winterfell?"

She glanced from Gendry to Garlan, then back twice before she shook her head. She would not be deterred, that much was obvious. But there was certainly a seed of doubt in her mind as she looked up behind her emerald orbs and Garlan felt increasingly anxious about where they stood here in the open.

"Stay here," she whispered. "If there is something wrong, as you say, I'll need someone to send for help."

And with that she jerked her hand out of Garlan's hold and walked towards one of the guards who had walked passed them earlier. He could see the man look down at the girl in slight interest, watching her with keen eyes the longer she stood there and Garlan felt his heart begin to race anxiously.

"Who is your master here?" she asked, not far from where they stood, but just far enough that he had to strain to hear her words. "And where are the Stark men?"

"And who is it that is askin', girl?" the brute replied coarsely.

"I am a lady of Winterfell. I mean to know who runs it's keep in place of the king, for I have traveled long and hard to return here," she said with a stern voice, pushing through the roughness in her throat and Garlan could hear the authority in her words.

"Lady?" the brute asked with a skeptical laugh. "Which lady?"

Do not tell them who you are, Garlan thought to himself. Over and over all he could think during her seemingly long pause was that she would out herself and they would yet again be in a position that would place her in someone's dungeon. Anyone but Fallon Magnar.

"Lady Sansa Stark," she barked, her face in mock disgust at the man's rudeness. "I am the sister of His Grace, the King in the North and I demand that I am to be lead to see my brothers, this instant."

"Lady Sansa?" the brute said in surprise. "But...but I heard you was taken captive in King's Landing?"

"And I am no longer held captive. I was brought here in secret. The King's men will be searching for me and I seek protection here, in my home."

The man watched her for what seemed like forever before taking her by the arm lightly. Garlan immediately reached for the sword at his side but saw Fallon look over her shoulder and shake her head. It was then that Garlan realized she had planned this all along. She knew something was amiss and yet she was going willinging with a man whose loyalties looked questionable at best.

"Where is she going?" Gendry whispered. "Should we follow her?"

Garlan shook his head, watching as she was placed upon the man's horse and started off in the direction of Winterfell's gates. If Winterfell was overrun, like he very much suspected, then she was headed straight into the grasp of those who were defying Stark rule to begin with.

"She's going to the castle," Garlan said angrily. "And if we go after her, we might get her killed."

"Why would they kill her? If they think she's Sansa Stark?"

"Even if they continue to believe that, they will believe she is a valuable hostage. If my thoughts are correct, then Stark men no longer rule this castle and if we storm in there and reveal that she is Fallon Magnar, the bastard of Robert Baratheon, they'll either kill her or hand her over to whoever their loyalties lie - which clearly isn't the King in the North. If it's Stannis or Joffrey, that would be a fate worse than death."

Off in the distance Garlan watched the two figures atop the white horse disappear into the snow of the hilltop and he gripped his sword with all the force of his hand, frustration washing over him. And as he watched her hood fall and her black hair blow wildly in the wind, he couldn't help but wonder - how he had gotten involved with someone who was so insistent on getting herself killed.

[Robb]

"Your Grace, I do not think that decision would be wise at this-"

"If I wanted to hear your misgivings, Karstark, then I would have asked for them," Robb ground out angrily. "Frey thinks I'm going to come crawling back to his gates to plea his forgiveness? Well he's mistaken."

"Walder Frey is a strong ally to have. If we leave him without a compromise and a newly arranged pact, he will give his services to Tywin Lannister and that we can't afford," Cley added in but Robb wanted to hear none of it. "I know the memory of Lady Magnar's death is still fresh-"

"Silence boy!" the Greatjon shouted. Cley recoiled at the man's booming voice as he sat back down around the table in the tents.

The siege had been going on for nearly a week and Tywin's forces showed no signs of weakening or backing down, just as he'd expected. Roose Bolton had sent word that his position was being threatened by Frey bannermen and increasing strength from the Crownlands loyal to Joffrey. If they let it go on too long, the North would be invaded by a new threat.

"We cannot hold Harrenhal forever," Rickard Karstark added. "Bolton will lose more men than we can spare and our homes, that we only recently won back, will be taken. And the Queen's bastard will spare no mercy for our wives and children. They will be slaughtered."

"And so we just leave Casterly Rock?" Broden snapped. "Another week and Tywin will have lost the sea and in just a month he could be starved out. Most of his food has been sent to the lines. They're running out of options and viable soldiers."

"Broden is right," Robb agreed. "They haven't given up but we've made progress here. If we leave to pay homage to that Frey scum, then we lose our footing here. Losing Harrenhal does not mean our demise."

"Then send your Uncle, it's he the Old Frey has asked for anyways," the Greatjon suggested and Robb shook his head.

"He does not just want my Uncle to marry his daughter, he wants me on my knees to apologize for Aenys' death. And that I will not do," Robb announced and many of the men nodded, agreeing, while the rest looked away - away from their stubborn king.

Robb didn't care what they thought at this point. They could look at him, ashamed, but he was not wasting another moment on Walder Frey when he had an army to command. He trusted Roose's strength in forces and the men he'd sent of Karstark and Umber. Any apology made between Frey and Stark would have to come from the older of the two, Robb decided.

"If the Lannisters get to Frey before us, Your Grace, we will lose this battle - and this war," Lord Cerwyn said, his voice as insistent as his son's. "And the North."

All of it was true. If he let his home get taken, there was no hope for the North. His people would be slaughtered and all Rob would have left was his quest for vengeance. While he often found himself lusting after the death of the Lannisters and Stannis Baratheon, he still knew it would not be enough to keep his men fighting alongside him. But if he conceded to Walder Frey's terms, he felt like it would be a betrayal to Fallon, to himself even. And he wasn't sure that either option was acceptable.

But the fact still remained, that he needed more support. Garlan had been killed before he could recruit the Tyrell army and funding and plan to reach out to Stannis for an agreement was out of the question. Everyone else was loyal to their own king, except his aunt in the Vale and the Freys. And Lysa Tully had already declared that she held loyalties to no one in this war. Which left Robb with a choice.

A thousand times in his mind he'd chosen to ignore Frey's offer. And a thousand times he told himself Fallon would give him one of her disapproving glares as she tapped her foot impatiently. Eventually he would give into her because she was right. But this time he didn't want her to be right. He wanted Frey to feel insult, to be scorned and above all to suffer how Robb had suffered.

He looked up towards his mother who was eyeing him carefully. Her eyes were no longer red from grief, but now full of emotions he too felt. He saw them there, in her blue eyes. The anger, the worry, the bloodlust. It was all there. They'd both lost so much, too much.

"Mother," he whispered and watched as she looked up, surprised that he'd said her name. He held out his hand to her and she took it and he lead her out into the night air.

It was cold enough that he could see his breath as they walked, and moments passed as silenced seemed to consume them. Only Grey Wind's huffs at his side broke through it and Robb could feel the direwolf nudging at his side. There was snow beneath his boots, finally making it's way through the Westerlands. He thought of home, wondering if the moors were hidden beneath the white thickness, and he wondered if he'd ever see it again.

"What are you going to do?" Catelyn asked, breaking the noiselessness.

"What can I do?" he replied, a bitter laugh rising from his throat. "Do I really even have a choice in the matter?"

"You are the King in the North, Robb, of course you have a choice," she whispered and he sighed.

"One choice is no better than the other," Robb mumbled impatiently. "If I ignore Frey's invitation, then I could lose our home - or whatever is left of it. But if I leave our pursuit of Casterly Rock - Tywin wins. We could lose this war. Both options are unacceptable."

It was Catelyn who stopped walking first, turned toward her son and her eyes said something before her lips got a chance to. She had thought of something, he realized as her eyes danced from his left to his right and there was almost a hint of a smile on her lips as realization came over her. And then she spoke.

"What if there was a third option?"

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously. "I've gone over this a thousand times. I cannot just throw away the information I got from the Westerling girl. I hold Tywin where I want him and if I relent now-"

"But that's just it," Catelyn exclaimed. "A third option would allow for you to attend the Frey wedding and to launch your attack without either Lord being the wiser." Robb waiting for her to continue. "Do you remember the story Fallon told to Bran, about the conquering of Skane?"

His memory was foggy, disrupted by the sound of Fallon's name between them but he concentrated on the memory - the story that had always been Bran's favorite. And in this situation, he could not be more proud of his mother.

[Fallon]

She had traded on prison for another.

Perhaps she had appeared overly confident, she thought as the numbness crept over her. She knew trusting Roose Bolton was a gamble and it was a gamble she had lost. Only this time, as she sat where her hands bound and her dress torn, she was in a familiar room, with familiar faces. Once face a little too familiar.

Kathryn.

It was her smile, that unnerved Fallon. The twisted pink smile, the smirk that gave Fallon the idea that the younger girl had been quite busy since their departure. Every so often she glanced towards the helpless Theon who knelt, tied to some miserable contraption with pieces of his flesh removed in the most ugly ways. Fallon cringed at the sight of his mangled skin and his gaunt face and wondered what had happened between now and the time they'd both departed Robb's camp so many weeks ago.

"He looks dreadful, does he not?" Kathryn said, playing with the ends of her yellow hair as she paced the room, turning her nose up at the stench.

"What have you done to him?" Fallon whispered, hoarsely and Kathryn laughed.

"I thought, certainly you would have heard by now," was the girl's reply. "Theon and his sister stormed Winterfell, tried to take it for their own. Didn't you dear?"

Fallon frowned and glanced towards where Theon's head was shaking weakly. Fallon's arms ached but as soon as she thought she might harbor on the thought, she saw the deep cuts in Theon's wrists where his binds had been digging into his flesh, and she thought better of it. What good were her complaints when it was Theon who had be tortured longer.

"He denies it of course, or at least, he did until my sweet Ramsay got the truth out of him," Kathryn said, glancing down at her nails and wiping them free of dirt. "Surely you heard that Theon had Robb's brothers killed?" Fallon's eyes widened in horror and she felt a gut-wrenching ache in her stomach as the words came out so nonchalantly. "Yes, he came to Winterfell and burnt them alive, hung their corpses on the North gate for a week before Ramsay came and struck him down. Now he is paying for his crimes. One bit at a time," she said with a girlish giggle.

It was the way she talked of Ramsay, Roose's bastard that concerned Fallon. Kathyrn's demeanor had changed somewhat, as if the monster within her was no longer at bay, unleashed for them all to see. But the dark bruise on her collarbone was a sign of something else, something that said she wasn't in as much control as she wanted Fallon to believe. She approached Fallon with steady eyes and a terrifying smirk. She grabbed hold of Fallon's chin in her hand as she leaned down over her.

"I told you I would be Lady of Winterfell," she whispered and then jerked her hand away in manner that left a small scratch on Fallon's cheek from Kathryn's nails.

"You will not be Lady of Winterfell once Robb finds out what is going on here. Does he know about - his brothers?" she asked after a long pause and Kathryn laughed.

"Of course he knows. Though it was him who told us you were dead," Kathryn replied. "So imagine our surprise once we saw you dragged in here and not Sansa as the guard had announced. And as for our dear Robb. He will know nothing after he visits the Twins in a week's time." Fallon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"The Twins?" she asked curiously.

"Seven Hells, you really do know nothing," Kathryn said with amusement. "Surely you know Robb broke his engagement, not that I was surprised, after the death of Aenys. Of course once he realized his strength was limited without Lord Frey's help, he knew he had no choice to but wed her and beg for her father's forgiveness."

"Aenys is - dead?"

"Yes I'm sure you are disappointed as you will never marry well now. Neither will your Robb."

It wasn't her first comment that caused Fallon's eyes to widen, but he latter. The fact that Kathryn said Robb would never marry was making Fallon's heart race anxiously as she watched the girl's expression change from annoyance to pure glee.

"It is a pity that killing you will come as no surprise to him. He already believes you to be dead. Even if it did, the message would never reach him in time anyhow," Kathryn told her absently as she looked down at her fingernails boredly. "Does that bother you? Knowing he will die thinking you are already dead. And all the pain that it has caused him. I hear he has become quite savage since the letter came with the news. Sweet Robb is no longer his sweet self. Ruthless from what I've heard."

"You get no advantage from Robb's death," Fallon said sternly, pretending that the words were not haunting her as she thought of Robb's misery of his impending death. It was like an axe to the gut, but she would not let Kathryn know. "Perhaps you get some satisfaction out of me being dead, but Robb? What good will come of that. You think your precious Ramsay will keep you safe from what is to come? The Northerners will never forget the blood Roose will shed for this."

"That is the best part," Kathryn said clapping her hands excitedly. "They'll all be dead as well."

"A massacre?" Fallon whispered, horrified at the idea. "You plan to kill them at the wedding?"

"Not I, Fallon - the Freys. It is the Freys who-"

"That is enough Kathryn," a deep voice came from the doorway.

It was a quiet voice, one that was composed enough that it didn't frighten Fallon or startle her. But as her thoughts raced on the trap Robb was headed into, she saw the figure enter the room for the first time and realized who she was looking at.

Ramsay.

"Our guest does not need to know all the nasty details of her lover's death," he said quietly, a small smile appearing in the corner of his straight mouth then. "At least not until we know everything that has happened," he laughed. "Then we can tell her every excruciating detail. Perhaps we should wait until after he beds his new bride before we kill him."

"Oh yes," Kathryn said eagerly. "I would so love to recount that to sweet Fallon."

Fallon felt fury like no other rising within her. But her weakness left her unable to move from the spot she was currently bound. She did not know how or when but she knew that she must escape. She had no way of knowing where Garlan and Gendry waited or if they too had been captured upon realization of who Fallon was. Surely Garlan had been spotted by the soldiers by now. Either way she needed to find them and make her way to the Riverlands. She could not sit idly by as Robb was ambushed so savagely. It all hurt to imagine. Hurt to know that Robb was suffering because of her and her brothers who would no doubt be too blinded by hatred to see that they were walking into a trap.

"Leave us," Ramsay said then and Kathryn looked at him in surprise. He only had to glance at her once before she did as she was told and walked out of the room, shutting the large door behind her.

Fallon could hear Theon's moans had now silenced and she wondered if he was unconscious from the pain. She didn't know whether to loathe him for his sins against Bran and Rickon or pity him for the mutilation that was his punishment. While any man that would murder two innocent children deserved to die, she didn't know how long he'd been suffering or to what extent the punishment had gone to.

She looked up at Ramsay and watched as he sunk down to her level, crouching like an animal who was stalking it's prey. Fallon watched as his eyes danced over her, watching him carefully as he leaned in, grabbing a piece of her hair and inhaling the scent of it. It made her sick to her stomach as she turned away, but he pulled her chin forcefully so she was facing him.

"I've heard much of you," he whispered. "I am glad I got to see you for myself." She started to speak but he covered her mouth with his fingertips. "You do smell nice. But you're not as pretty as the boys said, not as smart either, getting yourself locked up here - no one to save you."

She raised an eyebrow at his words, his mention of Bran and Rickon sparking her curiosity and her eyes danced to Theon.

"Oh don't worry. He won't bother you," Ramsay said with a smile. "He's going to sit over there very quietly, because he knows better than to speak out of turn. You'll learn too. I'll be sure to teach you."

He was close then, holding her head from leaning back away from him in disgust. She was frozen there, feeling as his face pressed against her neck and jaw until she realized he was smelling her.

"You and I are going to have such fun," he said smiling against her ear and she realized she was shaking then, his unwanted touch making her skin crawl as he laughed and then stood walking out and leaving her in the dimlit room, alone with the painful moans of Theon Greyjoy.

It took quite a lot to scare a woman like Fallon. She didn't fear torture because she expected it. For three days she had expected Ramsay to walk in and peel her flesh back with that dagger of his. But instead what he did was much worse. Each day he'd make his way in and spend the whole day whispering all the things he was going to do to her. Every graphic detail left his lips. Every step of the process of how he would hurt her, how he would make her ashamed of herself.

And by the end of the third day, she was shaking with fear.

Every time a door would open, the room pitch black and full of the sounds of the horrors that were to come, she would jump slightly. Every slow footstep was an agonizing reminder of his threats and the way his fingers felt on her flesh.

She would hear Theon's whispers in the dark, his pleas for forgiveness, his moans of agony. It made her heart ache, especially after she realized all was not as it had seemed.

"They're gone," he would say over and over late into the night until all she could hear were his words over and over in her mind. Sometimes she wasn't sure if he was saying it or she was thinking it. Wherever the words came from, the placed a seed of doubt inside of her when she watched Theon's pathetic form shrivelled and broken.

It was before dawn, the darkness still heavy outside the window when she found herself too curious to keep silent any longer. She could not see him, but she knew he was there. His breaths were labored and his wounds fresh once again from his beating earlier that evening.

"Theon," she whispered, her throat aching as the words came out, hushed and broken. She didn't know if he heard her, or if he could even respond in his weakened state. But she heard him shuffle a few times and took it as a sign that he knew she was speaking to him. "What happened? Tell me what you have done?"

At first there was no sound, only the slightest sob and a heavy sigh. But then his words seemed to form and his voice was no longer the strong and confident one from her memory.

"They're gone," he stammered, whispered the repeated words she'd heard for days.

"Why did you do it? Why did you kill them?" she whispered, her voice catching as she spoke. "They were your brothers too."

"No, they're gone," was all he said then and she couldn't make sense of it, only that the longer Theon stayed here, the deeper and deeper he slipped into madness. "They're gone. They- they're gone."

He whispered this again and again until the only sound she heard were his steady breaths, sometimes interrupted by groans from the pain of his bindings. She thought she might continue, question him again until he got his wits about him. But the longer time passed, the more she too sunk into misery. Death surrounded this place, this place she had once considered a home. She could feel it, the unsettling eeriness that had settled upon it like a thick fog that would never lift.

It was some time before she heard another sound, footsteps and the heavy door opening. She jumped, startled by the sound and ashamed at the action that had belittled her to such a skittish child. The footsteps were slow, the hall still filled with darkness that the night had brought. Each step made her breaths quicken as she tried to hold in the fear she felt, the idea of another blade across her skin, his mouth on her neck.

But as the footsteps stopped in front of her, she felt a different pair of hands on her. She still jumped at the contact but knew immediately that the large calloused hands did not belong to Ramsay, but to another. Relief did not come, however. These hands were still strange, not welcome on her body and so she flinched.

But the hands soon traveled up where her wrists were bound. Cuts that opened up old cuts, cuts that were unhealed, burned as the ties were released and she felt the arms lift her off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all. The gruff breaths were unsteady, labored even as each step brought them out of the room.

For a moment she thought she should struggle. Try to use her weakened arms to push herself from the man's hold. But the farther they walked from that room, the more she began to realize the man holding her was not bringing her to Ramsay. His labored breaths said one thing.

He was injured.

This man who took such care with her as they walked quickly, was injured, perhaps gravely. And yet he did not falter in his steps, he did not cry out or groan when he ran into the wall and flinched. He was a strong man, a man who was used to braveness and did not fear pain. But it was not until they reached the courtyard that she saw this man and thought surely her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Sounds distracted her thoughts then. Sounds of shouting inside the main keep and guards running on the castle walls above. But her eyes did not break from the figure who dragged her towards the forest with haste. He did not look down at her, not once until they reached a thicket of trees that kept them hidden from the me who would no doubt come searching. It was then that he looked down at her, his eyes light and his expression so much softer than she'd ever known it to be.

"Father?" she asked in disbelief as she steadied herself, finding her footing in the snow and the feeling of his hand against her.

"Dear sweet Fallon," he said, his accent thick with the old tongue and his small grin apparent under is thick beard. He pulled her against his chest in an embrace that left her puzzled.

"What are you...how?" she stammered, trying to understand as she looked over him as if surely it was a dream, her seeing him and she would wake up at any moment still shackled in the tower.

"Nevermind how, lass, we have but a few moments before they find us. You have to go," he said quickly, looking back towards the castle as he held his side.

"Go?" she asked quickly, confused. "Go where? And what about you, you're hurt."

"Nothing I cannot handle, or have you lost faith your lord father already?"

It was his attempt at a joke, but she could see by the blood on his tunic, that his wound was more extensive than he let one. But Drystan Magnar was not weak. He had endured wound after wound in battle on Skagos soil. Fallon could not even recount the amount of scars she had seen on his bare skin. Regardless of the seriousness of this wound, it would not be anything but a scratch to him.

"How did you come here, how did you know where I was?" she begged him as he ushered her deeper into the forest where she found a lone horse, tied to the tree and packed as if it had traveled a great distance.

"I came when I heard about the Boltons, Snow was the one who lead me here, we parted ways once he found the boys," he told her as he adjusted the saddle upon the horse's back.

"The boys - you don't mean Bran and Rickon? They are dead" she asked and Drystan paused his movements for only a moment.

"They were quite alive when we stumbled upon them with Enat, the crippled one on the back of some great Brute that reminded me of your Uncle Char."

"Hodor," she gasped in a whisper. And dear Enat. How could she have forgotten.

"That's, the fella sure liked that word, whatever it meant."

"Where?" she asked.

At first he didn't answer as he lifted her up onto the horse's back, putting the reins firmly in her hands and then draped a thick cloak over her back. He pulled a dagger from his boot and placed in hers, hidden beneath her tattered dress. And then he looked up at her, his expression something she was more accustomed to. His mouth in a firm, straight long and his eyes unyielding as he was surely about to tell her something she did not want to hear.

"Skagos," he whispered. "Snow has taken them to Skagos."

"But there is war!" she hissed, her throat aching as it warned her to keep her voice down, the scratchiness like needles to the raw skin. "Broden has taken our army South, to aid Robb."

There was a flash in his eye, for a fleeting moment as she said the name that trailed off on her tongue.

"They will be safe," he said sternly. "You will see that they are taken to Skane, until the Young Wolf has returned North."

"Skane!? Father they would be safer in King's Landing than to face Bricriu alone! What have you done?!"

She would have dismounted had he not been holding her there, his hands tight around hers to the point that her wrists began to ache.

"They are safer with Bricriu and his savages so long as our family rules Skagos and with you there to be sure they are safe-"

"No," she whispered. "I must go south. I am needed there."

"You are needed in Skane," he insisted. "You are the Ni-"

"Do not call me that," she wanted to shout. But it came out as a stifled cry. "You know as well as I that I cannot be the Nighean. Not as a bastard." Realization washed over him as he took in her heaving chest and the fire in her eyes and she could see that he realized she was no longer ignorant to her past.

"You have a responsibility," he replied, his voice hard and clam. "You may be the result of - of that man, but I chose you, Fallon. I chose you to be mine and to bring honor upon our house. You think I would have sent you into battle alongside your brothers, alongside your men without the utmost faith that you were meant to do so."

"How could I be, though?" she asked, her voice catching as the full weight of her past falling upon her shoulders. "I am the bastard daughter of a lecherous, drunk. What honor could I bring to a house where I do not belong."

She knew it was coming before she felt the small sting against her cheek. He did not slap her hard, but hard enough that she could feel the disappointment she had brought upon him in that statement. She knew she could not mean the words she said. She knew nothing except her love for her homeland and her family. But somehow, facing her father after knowing she was not his made her feel unwanted and undeserving of his love. And the slap his planted against her cheek was enough to sober her from that thought.

"Don't you dare say such things," he growled.

They stood there for many moments. She stared down at him upon the horse and saw that disappointment no longer clouded his features, but instead something she'd never seen in her father's eyes. But the look, she recognized. She'd seen it in Robb's soft features so many times and she felt the urge to reach out to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

It was guilt.

"You are the Nighean of Skagos. You have a duty to your homeland."

She swallowed hard as she prepared to speak, having never disobeyed an order given by her father. But there was no way she could go home when she was needed here. She thought of Bran and Rickon in Skane and the brutality they would witness from the cannibalistic Bricriu. But if her father said that they would be safe so long as House Magnar reigned, then her duty was to ensure the Magnar family returned home.

"I have a duty to my brothers," she whispered. "And-" she paused as she looked down. "And to the man that I love."

He seemed surprised by her admission, so freely given in a way she had never done before. Even in her years of loving Aedan she had never hinted to her father the way she felt. Of course the day he gave Elsbeth's hand to Aedan, she knew her father was quite aware of her feelings. His decision was a way of telling her that she and Aedan could never be. She had hated him then, but now, perhaps she knew he had done it to protect her, to ensure she saw to her duty as the daughter of Skagos.

"Robb Stark?" he said and she was surprised as the name came off his tongue easily, gently unlike she would have expected.

"He might die." she explained. "And if I do not reach him-."

"You go there and you could die as well."

"Or I could ride to Skagos and forever have his death on my conscience. My heart forever ripped from my chest as I live out my days slowly bleeding because I never had the courage to try."

"I told you to harden yourself, Fallon," he said shaking his head. "Against such things. Love embitters the heart of even the sturdiest of warriors. I've told you this your whole life."

"And look where that has gotten us. Broden - alone. Rowan - alone. Me…." she said, her eyes watering. "I hardened my heart to him for too long, Father. Had I perhaps let myself love him much sooner I would not have wasted so much time attempting to pretend that I did not deserve such a happiness." Her father placed his hands on either side of her face.

"Of course you deserve happiness, child. You most of all. But sometimes responsibility requires us to reserve - even sacrifice some of our happiness. Will you turn your back on that? On what you were born to do."

"You ask me to sacrifice more than happiness," she told him, frowning. "Sacrificing Robb is a choice I am no longer willing to make."

Truth be told, she had fully expected her father to frown at her words. But there was something else replacing the hard lined mouth of his. Perhaps it was a grin of irony, she thought. He had asked her to harden herself against love and yet she had softened it. Her heart had always been a caged one, even when she let herself love Aedan as well as one can, a heart on a leash, waiting for the moment she would have to pull it back.

But the moment she had given into Robb, she had let loose her heart to him. Her unrestrained love for him could no longer be stifled. Perhaps it was wrong, going against the responsibility her father had thrust upon her. But the savage part of her no longer cared. She would not stand by and let Robb die so long as she could help him. Nothing would keep her from the will of her aching heart.

"You are much braver than I was," he whispered and she raised her eyebrow in confusion. "I never let myself fully love your mother the way she deserved. If I had, perhaps she would not have turned to another man. Then of course I would not have you. All your life I have tried to train you that duty is more important than the wills of the heart."

"Duty is important. But I have more than one duty, including one to myself."

She could see that the time had passed for long moments of contemplation. She would need to go before they were found but she could not help the overwhelming sense that this could be the last moment she spend with her father. And so she reached out for his hand.

"Slan Athair," she whispered as she had over a year ago when she said goodbye in a similar fashion and he smiled.

"Slan mo 'níon cróga."

She pulled the reins of the horse into her hand, holding them as hard as she could to keep her balance as she let it trot out towards the Southern path of the Wolf's wood and then she paused and looked back, feeling panic arise.

"My friends - they came here with me," she said quickly, remembering Garlan and Gendry and he nodded.

"There was one, a Ser Garlan who told me where they kept you in the tower. He had a boy with him but they were separated, gone south - I know not what for. But the other, he is in the village. Ride quick and he will meet you there."

She wasted no time then, turning back towards the Winter Town where she had began her last journey south and she rode as hard as she could until the sight of the blacksmith's cottage was in view. This time she did not look back, only forward as she rode, looking towards the shadows were Garlan was sure to be waiting.

No longer could she set her thoughts on the man in black, the green 'M' embroidered on his collar. The time had passed for sentiment of the man who had saved her from Ramsay's dark tower of torture. Now her mind was on being the one to do the saving.

And time was no longer in her hands.

AN: I'm getting closer and closer to the end. Only a handful of chapters left. I can't wait to see what you guys think about the end. xoLola