The Dreadfort was an imposing place. The castle had thick, high outer walls, built of dark stone and dotted with triangular merlons that looked like pointed teeth biting at the sky. Inside the walls, a great keep rose, smaller but taller than Winterfell's, along with several strategically placed, huge towers. No wonder Harlon Stark laid siege for two years, rather than take this place by storm. Strangely, the grim castle did not make Ross any more uneasy. The opposite, if anything. Even a dragon might have trouble breaking this.

Married life was... not terrible, in truth. To her surprise, leaving Winterfell was, whilst gut-wrenching, in many ways refreshing. She no longer slept in her childhood rooms that felt like they belonged to someone else, no longer had Lya's ghost facing her around every corner, no longer felt like a useless accessory to Catelyn, who was the Lady of Winterfell now, not her. Here, Ross was Lady of the Dreadfort, a role which she took to with determination. She was no longer the gaunt, hate-filled creature who haunted the halls of the Red Keep, and no longer trying to fit into the role of the girl she had been last time she lived at Winterfell.

Whilst she was saddened to leave her family, Wylla had come with her as Ren's nursemaid. Ross was grateful to the woman, wanting someone she trusted around her son at all times. Aside from Wylla, the rest of her household were Dreadfort people. The guards, the servants, and her handmaid, a girl a couple of years younger than Ross named Alys, who was quiet at first, though had started to warm up somewhat after Wylla befriended her.

Three months after the wedding found her sat in her chambers, whilst Alys helped ready her for the day. Ren played with a pair of wooden soldiers on the floor, as Wylla sewed in the corner. She was a handy seamstress, and once Ren grew out of needing a nursemaid, Ross would likely keep her on as such.

Ross was not in the best of moods, despite the winter sun shining bright through the windows, reflecting off the snow. She had spent the early hours of the morning bent over the privy, throwing her guts up, and her stomach was far from settled.

"You must be with child, my lady," Alys was saying as she did Ross' hair, with all the knowledge of a girl of six-of-ten. "My sister was just the same,"

"I was just the same, when I was pregnant with Ren," She said. "Though knowing my luck, it will be that the stew last night had gone bad,"

"It would be lucky, to fall pregnant so soon after the wedding," Wylla said, smirking. "Not implying anything about his lordship's prowess in the bedchamber, milady,"

Alys flushed pink, but Ross snorted with laughter. "Imply all you like, I will say it outright. I tire of lying on my back, staring at the ceiling,"

Her husband was not the Mad King. He wasn't violent, but he was cold, both of them sharing a bed out of duty alone. Lord Bolton preferred sleeping with various whores, serving girls and mistresses - she could not care less, as he was discreet about it - whilst Ross preferred to be left alone. The first time, she had frozen, waiting for it to go how it always did with Aerys, and had blinked in surprise when she realised it was over and she was not bleeding or in pain. After that, it was not so bad; a chore, certainly, but not an ordeal as it had been before. Once, she had tried imagining Jaime, though it was so different as to be impossible.

"At least you do not loathe each other," Alys said, optimistic. "My Ma remembers the old Lord Bolton and Lady Margaret used to fight like cats and dogs,"

Perhaps that was why the Dreadfort now, under its current lord, always had an air of hush to it. A peaceful land, a quiet people, her husband had said once. From anyone else, it would have sounded like the sentiment of a kindly lord towards his vassals. From him, it sounded sinister.

"Being married to Lady Margaret would drive anyone mad," Ross said, making Wylla and Alys both laugh.

Her largest complaint by far since arriving at the Dreadfort was that the old Lady Bolton still resided in the castle. Her goodmother was an old hag, with a pointed, pinched face and beady eyes too dim to read a page. The woman insisted on being a part of running the household - apparently she hadn't bothered for decades until Ross arrived - constantly sniping, and cackling at her own jokes, which were usually at Ross' expense, or that of the nearest servant.

After her first week as Lady Bolton, Ross found herself in the Godswood, sincerely praying for the death of her goodmother.

Her husband seemed to dislike his mother as much as she did. It wasn't obvious, but Ross saw the way his eyes narrowed a fraction whenever she spoke, and how his jaw tightened whenever the woman started griping at him. It was the most emotion he ever showed that wasn't mild amusement, or disinterest. Life seemed to be something that Roose Bolton was observing, not fully taking part in, like a moderately entertaining show. Whilst he was not the kind of man who took joy in other's pain, he felt nothing towards it whatsoever, the same way Ross would feel nothing stepping on an ant.

It was far from a love match, though Ross had expected worse, considering she had tried to murder him the night before the wedding. If anything, it was more of a working relationship. She managed the household, the accounts and expenses, with the assistance of the steward - a shrewd but witty man in his fifties named Evan, who was excellent at redirecting Lady Margaret. These duties were second nature to her, having been doing them at Winterfell since she was a child, and slowly she began to turn things in the castle to more her taste.

"She really despises you," Wylla said.

"She hates everyone," Alys muttered, finishing off one of the braids in Ross' hair and moving onto the other side. "She just hates you more because you're allowed to turn around and insult her right back, not let her get away with it scot free like the rest of us have to,"

"Oh, you should've been there the other day, Ally," Wylla grinned. "The old crone was bringing out all her favourites - 'in my day, a whore would never have been allowed to become Lady Bolton, never mind bring the squalling bastard with her' - "

Ross had to laugh at the accurate impression, even as Alys tried to hide her smile, glancing her direction as though concerned Ross would be angered by Wylla's familiarity.

"- and Lady Rosennis just raises an eyebrow and said that in her day, they must have let any shrewish bar wench marry into the family, to have such a lack of grace as she,"

Alys could not mask her amusement any longer.

"I'm so glad I was assigned to you, my lady," She said. "You do make me laugh. And you have such a good face to work with,"

Ross blinked in surprise.

"There's no need for useless flattery," She said, trying to make a joke of it. "I've always had a strange face, I've not deluded myself otherwise. King Aerys used to say I looked like a banshee,"

The girl's eyes widened, forgetting her decorum for a moment. "How could you think that? I'd die for cheekbones like yours,"

Alys was a pretty girl, honey-blonde, with a round, sweet face, big brown eyes and dainty features.

"Strange doesn't mean ugly," Wylla piped up, seeing Ross' bemusement. "You're no delicate beauty, I'll grant you, but your face is very striking,"

Ross looked in the mirror, wondering if they were seeing the same reflection. Her face was the same as ever. Too long and thin, her nose too large, her chin too pointed, her forehead too big, her cheekbones standing out sharply. She liked her eyes, she supposed, dark grey and not too small, and she liked her hair, long and thick since she had left the Red Keep, but that was about it.

"Each to their own," She said, doubtful.

"And," Wylla murmured in her ear as Alys bustled around on the other side of the room picking out a gown for the day, the nursemaid now a lot more bold in the time they had known each other. "What does it matter if you don't find your own face comely? Ren's handsome father clearly thought otherwise, and you reaped the benefits of that, I'm sure,"

Ross turned to her, mouth open in amused outrage, but the smirking maid had hurried off to grab the child from the floor.

*

Since going into confinement for her pregnancy, and giving birth to the twins that morning, Ross had spent almost every day solely in bed. Her chambers as Lady Bolton were bigger than her childhood rooms at Winterfell, high up so she could see well over the walls and far into the distance. Most importantly, they were on the other side of the keep to her husband's. The windows were large and arched, paned with glass, far from the dim little room she had expected.

Her rooms also faced west, towards Winterfell, which she wasn't sure had been intended has a comfort but was grateful for regardless. The Weeping Water ran within her view too, an icy torrent cutting through the rock, swift and dangerous. There was a forest in the distance, and hills, though few trees grew nearby. Directly surrounding the Dreadfort was a broad, largely flat plain. Any approaching enemies would be seen from miles away.

In her almost-year here, she had made the rooms themselves more to her taste. The black, red and pink drapes (Bolton colours) had been removed the day she arrived. The enormous wolfskin rug in front of the fireplace had made her crack a smile, but that had gone too. The wardrobe had since been filled with various creations of Wylla's; Ross had outgrown all her clothes from before King's Landing. She favoured darker colours; greens, blues, reds, blacks and greys. Perhaps the odd white gown or brighter red, but never, ever purple. The first time Wylla suggested the colour might suit her, Ross' reaction had been bad enough that she never mentioned it again.

Currently, despite still recovering from the birth of the twins, she was wearing Stark grey and white, in an attempt to aggravate her goodmother. Lady Margaret had come to meet her grandchildren. Ross wished she hadn't.

"At least the girl looks like Roose," The old cow sniffed at Aileen, the elder by half an hour, cradled in Ross' arms. "It will be easier to find her a husband than if she took after her mother,"

Charming. Wylla, stood behind the woman holding Edrick, rolled her eyes at Ross, who suppressed a smirk.

"The boy is rather weedy, though," Her goodmother wasn't done, turning to jab a hooked finger at Edrick. "Typical of Stark children - I suppose you couldn't expect anything more,"

Her husband shot an irate look in Lady Margaret's direction, though said nothing. Evidently he had learned that rising to any sort of bait gave his mother fuel to continue.

Ross had not learned that lesson yet, or rather, did not want to. "Ironic, then, my lady, that in less than a year I have birthed double the number of Boltons than you managed in three decades of marriage," The pain and exhaustion from labour made her hold her tongue even less than usual.

"See how she talks to me, Roose!" Lady Margaret waved a hand. "No respect, no manners - you have married a gutter tramp,"

Ross smiled sharply up at him. "My commiserations, my lord, that you were birthed by a shrew with delusions of grandeur that rival those of Aerys Targaryen - who, may I add, believed he could turn into a dragon,"

"Enough," Her husband was evidently sick of both of them, though her last words did earn a faint smile despite the hiss of outrage from Lady Margaret. "House Bolton has an heir - this is cause for celebration," From his tone, he might as well have been discussing the weather.

Ross was grateful, when her husband left, taking his hateful mother with him. She smiled, as Alys showed Ren in. There was no question of letting him anywhere near Lady Margaret, who was nothing short of vile whenever she caught a rare glimpse of him.

"Look, Ren," The girl was cooing at him. "I told you she was alright, see. And there's your new brother and sister,"

Her first son was now a child rather than a baby. Evidently unsure - having heard her screaming for half the night - he hovered next to Alys' legs, until Ross beckoned him over. Then he grinned and ran to jump onto the high bed, not quite making it until Alys helped him up.

"Is it a boy?" He peered at the baby in her arms.

"She's a girl," Ross said. "Her name is Aileen. But you have a brother, too - Edrick,"

"Two!" Ren exclaimed, very pleased with himself for holding up two fingers.

"Two," She smiled.

Twins had been a shock for everyone, herself included. Neither the maester nor the midwives had known there was another baby until after Aileen was born. Ross was ashamed to admit that she had been incredibly relieved, to hear that the second child was a boy. There was little need for any marital duties now she had given her husband both an heir and a daughter.

The twins had jet black Bolton hair, unlike the dark-brown of Ross and Ren. As they were so young, it was hard to tell who they looked like, though unfortunately Lady Margaret's assessment was not far off Ross' own; Aileen looked more like a Bolton, and Edrick looked more like a Stark. Their eyes were still that baby-blue colour, though with two parents with grey eyes, it would only come down to the shade; Ross' darker grey, or her husband's milky-pale.

Unlike Ren, who was resigned to a small room with Wylla, the twins were placed in the Bolton nursery with three Bolton nursemaids. Ross was grateful for this; Ren had been an easy baby, but Edrick and Aileen were not, by any means. The moment one stopped crying, the other started. Had she been dealing with them herself, it would have driven her mad.

*

Her husband was somewhat too happy for Ross to visit Winterfell with her son whenever she pleased. Before her pregnancy, she had gone frequently, every couple of months or so, as it was only a five-day ride at the speeds she travelled. Not once had he made any sort of protest.

She was hardly going to complain, however. Not that she'd have stood for it if he ever stopped her going home to see her family. Despite Catelyn's coldness with Ned after finding out about Jon, their marriage had settled somewhat in the time since; building her a sept and bringing a septon from White Harbour had no doubt helped. Ross would never be close friends with her goodsister, but she and Catelyn got on relatively well, even if the other was the definition of a southron lady, upright and proper.

Catelyn may have forgiven Ned for his presumed indiscretion, but she had not forgiven Jon. Her eyes narrowed whenever she saw the boy playing with her own son, and she was nothing but cold towards him, though she did not seem to be actively cruel. Ross would have not reacted well if she had.

Six moons after the birth of the twins, as winter turned to spring, Ross found herself riding south for the first time since Harrenhal, five years ago now. It felt like a different lifetime. Then, Lyanna had been at her side, Brandon too, as they headed to the Eyrie to meet Ned and Robert. Now Robert was King, Ned was Lord Stark, and everyone else was dead. Given how poorly that occasion had gone for her and her entire family, it was no wonder that she was feeling more tense the further south they got. She would not have even brought Ren with her, but she didn't trust her husband enough to leave him at the Dreadfort.

Benjen, recently turned a man, rode the other side of Ned to Ross. Catelyn had intended to come with them, as it was to Riverrun they were headed, however that had been before she realised she was with child. She had stayed at home, as had Robb and Jon, as well as Ross' twins, all of whom were too young to travel. Never mind that Ross had carted Ren around strapped to her chest for months at a time. That was one child to watch for; three would be another matter entirely. Wylla and Alys had come with her, to attend her as handmaids officially. Unofficially, they were perhaps her closest friends, outside of her brothers.

Judging from their tenseness as the journey went on, Ned and Benjen felt as Ross did. None of them voiced their feelings; they didn't have to, understanding each other well enough. They'd have all sooner stayed in the North. But one did not disobey a direct order from the King, and Robert had insisted that the Starks south to Riverrun for a tourney held by Hoster Tully to celebrate Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrcella's first nameday, claiming to want to see 'Ned's frozen face' again.

The Starks rode into the castle to be greeted by a welcoming party of not only Lord Hoster, his brother Brynden and his young heir Edmure, but also King Robert Baratheon, as strong and muscled as he had been when he had ridden victorious into King's Landing.

"Ned!" Robert roared in delight, embracing him like a brother the moment he dismounted. "It's been too long, I haven't seen you in years! I would have loved to have met your pretty wife, but I hear she's in a certain way again. Ha! Can't say I blame you,"

Beside him, Catelyn's brother, uncle and father's smiles became somewhat fixed. She shared a look with Benjen, both knowing Ned would absolutely hate that.

But then, to Ross' surprise, the King turned to her.

"And Lady Rosennis!" He embraced her the same way he had done to Ned, which was remarkably familiar of him. Her eyes widened and she froze, as she did at the touch of most men, but then Robert was releasing her, stepping back with a big grin on his face. "A pleasure to see you. You look much better than you did when I saw you last,"

Considering then she had been a gaunt, grieving shell, that was hardly a compliment. In fact, the last time they had spoken, she had coldly turned down his drunken marriage proposal in the wake of Lyanna's death.

"So do you, your Grace,"

He roared with laughter again. "Tongue as sharp as ever! I had half forgotten that. At least you were a good sport. Alls well that ends well, eh?"

He glanced to Ren, who had ridden in front of Ross on her horse, and was just now sliding off without her assistance. It was a long way to drop for a young child, but her son only staggered slightly, eyes widening as the King descended on him. Something Ross had been hoping to avoid.

"And this must be that boy of yours. Just a babe, the last time I saw him, now look at you! Looks just like his beautiful mother,"

As Robert moved onto greeting Benjen, taking his effusive compliments with him, Ren looked up at her, his confusion and dislike of that entire interaction evident on his small face. Ross had to smile, amused, taking his hand.

So overwhelming was Robert's presence that it was only then that she noticed his Queen.

This was the first time she had ever lain eyes on Cersei Lannister. Seven hells. The woman was even more beautiful than she imagined, wearing a truly lovely smile, though her eyes were sharp as she stared directly at Ross. Gods, surely she couldn't think... Though from Robert's display just then, she could see why the woman might wonder. It was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that Robert had gone to war for Lyanna, and now here he was making a fuss of her sister. Never mind how laughable it was, that any man would spurn Cersei for Ross. In a magnificent dress of sea-green silk trimmed with gold, the Queen looked so much like Jaime that it hurt. Ross - dressed in her dark travelling clothes, with her odd face and skinny frame - could appreciate now how poor a replacement she had been.

Her eyes searched for him in the crowded courtyard. There he was, towards the back beside one of the main doors into the castle, in his white cloak and Kingsguard armour, looking just the same as he had done the last time she'd seen him. And - shit! He'd caught her looking, green eyes meeting hers across the courtyard. He smiled that ridiculous smile at her, and it was like she was fifteen all over again; for once in a good, non-traumatised way.

No matter how much she tried to tell herself it was just to keep him from being underfoot, when she hoisted Ren onto her hip - something he was getting too big for - it was certainly for Jaime's benefit. His eyes lingered on her son - their son - as she was shown with Ned and Benjen to the rooms they would be occupying for their stay here.

*

The feast that night was as she had expected. Robert was, as ever, loud, brash and the centre of any room. In the years since she had last seen him, he had seemed to put Ross in the same category as Ned. The way he spoke to her was certainly not how he spoke to most women. She wasn't especially beautiful, she was Ned's sister (who sat between them) and she was married; though one, or even two, of those factors may not have been enough to deter his interest, all of them together were. Nonetheless, the King had decided, for whatever reason, that he greatly enjoyed her company. She was more than willing to offer sharp retorts to everything he said to her, which he found hilarious, never mind that most of the time she wasn't joking.

Cersei was a stunning presence to Robert's left, dazzling in the same way Jaime was when he was trying. The woman was all charm and sweetness, though Ross did not miss the poison look she often shot her way. At one point, when Ned and Robert had gotten up - it wouldn't surprise Ross to find them dancing together, from how much Robert had been gushing over his friend all evening - the two of them were left alone.

"So," The Queen's tone was sweet but her glare was like daggers. "Robert seems to have a weakness for Stark women,"

Seven hells... "A pity, then," Ross replied, fully capable of the same level of cattiness, however true or not her words may be. "That I find him as irritating as my sister did,"

At this titbit of information, the other woman's eyes lit up in interest. "Really? Little Lyanna did not care for him as he did her? How utterly tragic,"

Cersei Lannister, as it turned out, was fickle. Where five minutes ago she had undoubtedly been planning Ross' bloody demise, now she had turned on her full charm, hanging onto her every word, in case it would give her something over her hated husband. A far cry from the girl Jaime had described, who had been eager to marry the King.

"I hated you, you know," Cersei said idly, after she (and Ross too) had drunk rather a lot of wine. "My brother, Jaime, let slip about Robert's pitiful drunken proposal. He was on duty that night and witnessed the whole thing," Like she could forget him being there.

Of course he had told his sister. It shouldn't hurt like it did. She smiled tightly. "The night we returned with Lyanna's corpse. He thought he had more right than I, to grieve my sister,"

"Yes, well, Robert is incapable of considering anything other than himself," Cersei tutted, with a glare at where the King had a serving girl in his lap on the other side of the room. "You refused, obviously, but surely you were tempted," She could not seem to believe that anyone would turn down a chance to be Queen.

"All the gold in Casterly Rock couldn't have persuaded me to stay in King's Landing," Ross said. "Or marry Robert. I did not want to be called the name of my dead sister in bed for the rest of my life,"

To her surprise, that won an almost visceral reaction from Cersei. The Queen's beautiful face contorted into a vicious, hateful anger.

"I was so happy, on my wedding day," She said through gritted teeth. "The strong, handsome new King, the rebellion leader, beloved by all. Until, that night, he got raging drunk - though when is he not raging drunk? - and said a name in my ear whilst on top of me. Lyanna, he groaned, and I will never forgive him,"

For a moment, Ross shared her fury. Her sister, who died at sixteen years old, reduced to a drunken King's fantasy, a name grunted obscenely into his bride's ear. That was all Lya was to Robert. A beautiful, wild thing to tame for his own and keep in a gilded cage like an exotic bird. Gods, if Ned knew that, he would be near as furious as when he and Robert argued over the deaths of the Targaryen children. Ross was truly grateful, then, that Lyanna had never become Robert's wife.

The crunching of glass snapped her out of it, cold wine splashing onto her hand. Her grip had tightened in anger enough to break the stem of one of Hoster Tully's far-too-delicate glass goblets. Cersei was watching with undisguised glee, glad that someone loathed her husband as much as she did. Part of Ross wondered if that awful tale was even true, though she doubted even the best actress could fake the hate in Cersei's voice.

As the nearest servant swooped in with sincere apologies, taking away the broken glass - not the only one, that night, Robert had already unintentionally crushed three - Ross steadied herself, turning back to the Queen.

"Forgive me, your Grace," The apology was mechanical, insincere.

"Oh, not at all," Cersei smiled wickedly, seeing through her right away. "It will bring me great amusement to know, when next Robert decides to treat you like he does your brother, that you will hate every second,"

Ross had to smile. "I had heard the Queen's character was as fair as her face. Now I know better,"

It was a risk, talking like that to a woman whom she knew to be volatile and who didn't take well to offence. Cersei, thankfully, seemed to take that as a compliment. As the Queen actually laughed, Ross caught Jaime's eye for a split second; he shot her an incredulous look. It was like they were once again on opposite sides of Aerys' court, admittedly with less wildfire.

"Oh, don't mind my brother," Cersei said with some distaste, following her stare and misinterpreting. "He is determined for me to be miserable at every opportunity," The dislike in her tone was... unexpected. Far from that fateful letter she had written to Jaime, which Ross had read by mistake.

"Really?" She frowned. "You are twins, are you not, your Grace? I'd have thought you would be close,"

The twist of Cersei's smile, the woman believing her ignorant of the irony of that statement, made her feel rather ill. "We were close. Inseperable as children, and we missed each other terribly, when he was sent to squire at Crakehall and I went with Father to King's Landing. Though now, I believe his time in the Mad King's court has changed him, for the worst. And my vile little sister likes to worm her way into his ear and turn him against me,"

Ross could hear her own heart beating in her ears. "Your sister... Lady Giana?"

"The coniving little whore who bore my husband's bastard, yes," The Queen sneered.

She had almost forgotten that whole sorry affair. The last she heard of Giana was from Jaime, that her son had been born healthy, though Lord Tywin was furious and marrying her off as soon as possible. She hadn't paid that much attention. There were rather more pressing things to concern herself with at the time to enquire any further.

Cersei smiled, not in a pleasant way. "Though you have a bastard of your own, my lady, do you not? There must be a story behind that. I barely know you, yet I would not have thought you the type," At Ross' silence, she pushed further, delicate fingers tracing the scars on the small part of Ross' wrist that was visible. "I heard rumours that Aerys Targaryen himself...?" She let the awful question hang in the air.

Ross refused to snatch her wrist away, refused to snap at Cersei, refused to reward her with any kind of reaction even if she wanted to turn and slap the Queen around the face. She couldn't trust that anything she did say wouldn't be spread around the court, either, so did not make some sarcastic remark about letting the first guardsman she saw into her bed.

"As if I wouldn't have drunk as much moon tea as I could get my hands on, if there was any chance of birthing Aerys' bastard," She said with disdain. Though Ross couldn't help but push things herself, adding with a rush of spite, "You've seen my son, your Grace. What does he look like, to you?" She had counted on Cersei not paying much attention to him at all, because Ren's green eyes were the spitting image of her own.

"A little Stark brat," The Queen laughed. "Very well, Lady Rosennis, keep your secrets. I suppose it was dreadfully rude of me to ask,"

As if you care. "Not at all," Ross smiled just as falsely.

*

She left the feast earlier than most, making her excuses to the Queen. Cersei, despite her rather awful personality and pointed jibes, seemed to enjoy Ross' company, and had been drunk enough to want her to stay. Ross had refused, though had little choice but to accept the Queen's invitation to watch the tourney with her tomorrow. It would not be the worst thing in the world. Cersei - setting aside that she was a terrible person, whom had slept with the father of Ross' child, her own twin brother - was entertaining to talk to, in the same way that watching two knights gallop at each other with lances to a gruesome crash was entertaining.

The halls of Riverrun were deserted as she walked back to her chambers. Wylla and Alys would have already gone to bed, and Ren would also be asleep. Part of the reason Ross had left so early was that, now she had a face to the name, she could not get the image of Jaime and Cersei together out of her head. Though something had gone wrong, given how Cersei had spat her brother's name with such dislike. That part about Giana coming between them... Surely not. Ross had never got the impression that Jaime felt anything more for his younger sister than she did for Ned or Benjen, but once you crossed that line with one sister, how hard would it be to do so with another?

"I must say," A voice behind her made her startle, and she whirled around to come face to face with Jaime himself, walking towards her down the corridor. "I certainly did not expect you and Cersei to become such fast friends. I'd have thought you'd despise her, and she you,"

The last time they had spoken had been years ago. It had seemed almost unthinkable, then, that after everything they had been through, it would just end.

"She did despise me, at first," Ross made herself say something, because why was he here? "For the wrong reasons. She thought I was angling for Robert,"

He grinned at that. "If only she knew. Were you? Angling for Robert?"

"As if," Ross pulled a face. "You told her about that drunken embarrassment of a proposal,"

"It was quite amusing," Jaime shrugged, unapologetic. "Cersei isn't easy to win over. How did you do it? I know it wasn't your charming personality,"

She couldn't have held back a smile if she tried. "Prick. She was better company than I expected, though she doesn't seem very happy with you,"

"She's never liked being refused," He said. "Least of all by me,"

A pause.

"Do you want a reward?" Ross raised an eyebrow. "For not sleeping with your - ?" She broke off, amused by the glare he shot her.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder, then turned back with that dazzling smile he knew didn't work on her. "Do you want to proclaim it to the entire castle? This conversation would be best continued elsewhere,"

"Forward of you. I'm married now,"

"Of course your mind leaps straight to the gutter. I believe I said conversation, not consumation,"

"Consumating what, broken vows and desperation?"

He laughed, even as she pushed open the door to her chambers, glancing around before letting him in, the door closing shut behind them. Alys had left the candles burning, and the fire in the hearth; though spring was in its early days, the nights were still bitter cold even in the Riverlands.

"I missed that sharp tongue,"

"What happened with Cersei? I've got considerably more self-respect than the last time you saw me, and won't play second fiddle to your own sister,"

Whilst her words amused him, Jaime did sober slightly. "You left, and I was overjoyed to see her again. I was furious when she married Robert, though she did not care what I thought. She came to my bed more often than his, but I started to see her, truly see her, for the first time. Not the Cersei that Tyrion and Giana know, but the Cersei she had always been to me, the side I was too blind to notice. Mind games, manipulation, double-standards - I won't bore you with it all. That being said, I am hardly the cleverest Lannister, and she was there, a habit I couldn't break. Then, one day, Giana caught us,"

"Gods," Ross grimaced. "That must have been fun for everyone involved. If I saw Lya and Brandon together like that, I think I'd vomit there and then,"

"How kind of you to say," He said, sarcastic. "Giana was not far off that, in truth. She froze, with this awful look on her face, and Cersei was screaming and screaming, saying that she would tell everyone our secret, telling me to kill her,"

"Kill her?" Ross was taken aback.

He nodded with a humourless smile. "Needless to say, I didn't. That showed me my delightful sister's true colours plainly enough. After that, I couldn't stand to touch her. Which she did not take well to. I've always been her loyal dog, after all,"

That sour note sat for a while in silence, as Ross digested what he had said.

"Are you happily married, Lady Bolton?" He asked, too casually.

"My husband is... fine. He scares me, sometimes. Not like Aerys," She added hastily, seeing Jaime's face darken. "He's respectful, but cold. Though... often, when he looks at me, all I can think of is the room in the Dreadfort where the Boltons hang the skins - yes, the literal skins - of their enemies. Several Kings of Winter were dragged beneath that castle in the past, only their bones coming back out. Roose is not so far removed from his ancestors. I could see him skinning a man alive and barely blinking,"

A pause.

"That sounds like it makes for riveting nighttime activites,"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. I was thankful to have twins - no need for any more,"

"Don't be too thankful. Twins can be more trouble than they're worth,"

"Don't say that! My children would hardly be as perverse as you,"

He laughed. "I missed you, you know,"

Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected sincerity. She wanted to speak, but no noise came out.

"This is where you say, 'I missed you too, Jaime, and not just for your dashing good looks',"

"Certainly not for your ego," She said, buying time to form the words she wanted to say. "This isn't - you didn't just finish with Cersei and think, 'Ross is easy, I'll find her', did you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. The easy option would be to take advantage of the many serving girls who all but throw themselves at me. You are married. For all I knew, he was your dream come true,"

"No one wants my dreams to come true," She snorted, thinking of the blood and wildfire that haunted her sleep each night.

He laughed and moved in to kiss her, then, though paused just as her breath caught in her throat.

"May I - ?"

She closed the distance herself, overwhelmed with a wave of some indescribable feeling at him actually asking if he could. For once, she stopped thinking, stopped worrying, just melted into him like she had done so many times before. She had to stand on her tiptoes; she'd forgotten, Jaime was taller than her husband. The backs of her legs soon pressed against the bed, and she sat, pulling him with her until she lay against the pillows, but her hand on his chest held him back for a moment.

"What is it?" His eyes were dark as he looked down at her.

She was silent for a long moment, running her eyes over him as he held her, taking in every inch of his handsome face, his mane of golden curls, his sharp jaw, his familiar smell, how his strong, calloused hands on her arms felt.

"Ross?"

"I want to know what I'm doing," She murmured, meeting his eyes with her own. Somewhere in her head she was screaming, so happy she could burst, unable to believe this was truly happening. "So I can remember exactly how good it felt to break my vows to my husband,"

He'd kill me if he found out... If anything, it made this all the sweeter. Jaime laughed, as irreverent and mocking as ever. The thought came to her again - why me, of his choice of everyone? She had too much self-respect to voice the question, however, and suddenly found she no longer cared.

This time it was him who kissed her, her words feeding the fire between them. It wasn't slow or sweet - he'd never been one for slow, whilst she'd never been very sweet - but neither was it rushed and frantic. Rather, strong, intense, consuming. He was graceful where she was not, slowly coaxing the warmth out of her as he always had done. His hands were strong and skilled, so different from the coldness of her husband.

It was breaking his vows and hers, what they were doing, but neither of them were saints as it was. Both had blood on their hands. Ross had no time for meaningless honour after the life she had lived, and the idea of passing up Jaime for the promises she had made to a man she felt less than nothing for was insanity. What was a marriage vow, over this?

*

After, in the dim candlelight, she lay across Jaime's chest, his arm around her waist, fingers idly tracing the curve of her hip. The idea of being held at night was usually repellent, but now, Ross found she did not mind. The feeling of being wanted in this way was a novel one, something she had not experienced since King's Landing; and then, her mind was occupied with far more than that. What they had together then had been a comforting, necessary distraction. Now, he had her full attention.

"I missed you," The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she immediately felt like a fool.

"I could tell," The smug bastard said, smirking as she elbowed him in the side.

Ross wasn't going to let him get away with that. "I suppose I have one thing to thank Cersei for,"

It took him a second, but when he understood what she meant, he laughed aloud. "You truly are vile sometimes. Though you're not entirely wrong. My sister is... demanding,"

At that, she grimaced. "I regret bringing it up,"

A pause.

"You said... Do you still have nightmares?" His tone was too casual.

"Most nights," Ross said. "Less so, now. The first few months after getting home were... hard. Too many ghosts, everywhere I looked. I scared the life out of some of the guards, sleepwalking. I can't blame them - what was it Aerys used to say, that I look like something from a story people scare children with?"

A breath of laughter. "Aerys was known as the Mad King for a reason,"

That was oddly sweet of him.

"No one else knows what it was like," She said. "They know he was mad, but hearing about it and living it are two different things,"

He shifted slightly, and she ended up nestled tighter in his arms. "I know. Everyone seems to think I was off on a grand adventure, then killed the King for the hell of it, just because I could," The disdain in his tone was tangible. "I dread to think what they say to you,"

"I'm certain my goodmother believes I sat around like a princess in a tower for two and a half years, sleeping with whatever Targaryen guardsman took my fancy,"

"Isn't that what happened? Just with a few bits missing,"

Ross turned to him with a flat look, but couldn't help but smile. "You didn't take my fancy,"

"What do you call it, then?" He asked, amused. "The wicked and seductive northern temptress taking advantage of the good, innocent knight of the kingsguard?"

She snorted at that, the entire idea absurd. "You're thinking of two other people," A pause. "Did I tell you I tried to kill my husband the night before my wedding?"

Jaime laughed, not as surprised as he should've been. "No," His eyes were gleaming. "Do tell,"

*

Sat beside Cersei Lannister in the royal box, watching Jaime win round after round in the joust, Ross could not help but take some sick sort of amusement that the Queen had no inkling as to where her brother had been last night. It was petty and childish, sure, but validated by the fact that even having Cersei's favour was no protection from her spite.

"The current fashions must not have reached the North," The woman remarked on Ross' high-necked, long-sleeved green gown, and her hair, which was loose in the Northern style with two small braids pulling it back from her face. "How can you bear all that material up to your neck?" The Queen was wearing an elaborate, low-cut dress in Lannister red that day, covered in jewels and embellishments; apparently, this was the latest in court fashions.

The jibe held less weight than it otherwise would. Ross favoured a higher neckline to hide her scars, although that day it was more to cover the purple mark blooming at her throat. She smiled. "I do not believe I have the right shape for a cut like that, your Grace,"

Cersei laughed, easy to win over through compliments that made her sound superior. "Yes, I suppose someone with a flat chest would look rather odd wearing such a gown," A pause. "Though you have kept your figure well, considering you have birthed three children,"

Ross blinked at the unexpected, backhanded compliment. "I spend a lot of time on horseback, your Grace," Usually at least two hours a day, back at the Dreadfort. She had noticed a difference, after those years spent wasting away in the Red Keep; her stomach was now firmer, her lower body toned with muscle instead of twig-thin and weak. Perhaps it was not the most ladylike pursuit, but since returning North, she could not bear to spend all day cooped up inside.

"A tighter skirt would flatter you more than a low bodice," Cersei said, casting a critical eye over her. And because she could not be too nice, she soon added, "And would make you look less like you stepped out of the previous decade,"

*

It had been an uncomfortable conversation with her husband, once she returned to the Dreadfort, that she wished to have another child. Ross had not yet known the result of her and Jaime's encounter at Riverrun, but didn't want to risk becoming pregnant whilst not having shared her husband's bed since before the twins were born. She was glad for the foresight; not four weeks after returning from the tourney, her stomach began to turn and she spent most mornings throwing up in the privy.

Ross found herself, once again, unsure of who the father was. It was a humbling position to be in, for the second time no less, and there had been a moment where she wondered if she really was the whore her goodmother claimed she was. And what if the baby was born with blonde hair and green eyes? How on earth would that be explained?

It was a relief, when her daughter Morganna was born with the dark brown hair of the Starks. Her eyes were blue, swiftly turning grey as the days passed, and Ross could still not tell who had sired her. Morganna came into the world nine moons and one week after Ross had met Jaime at Riverrun, and eight moons and three weeks after she had told Lord Bolton she wanted another child.

Perhaps it was best if no one ever knew. Her daughter would be Lady Morganna Bolton for the rest of her life, with not even her mother knowing if that was a lie.

Wylla brought in her children to meet the new baby. Edrick and Aileen weren't even a year and a half old, too young to really understand that they even had a new sister. Ren, however, was more used to babies now than he had been when the twins were born. Ross smiled as her eldest son peered at her newest daughter.

"She's very red," He said. "And Aileen wasn't this small,"

"You weren't much bigger than she is,"

He frowned, reaching out to touch the baby. Morganna waved a tiny baby hand and gripped his finger tight. Ren looked to his mother, startled, and she laughed.

"Her eyes are like mine,"

Ross' stomach gave a nasty lurch. Now he was older, it was clear that Ren had many of her own sharp features, and not enough Lannister in his face for anyone to question it, but his eyes were all Jaime's. Morganna's, whilst a different colour, matched in shape.

"She's your sister," She said. "You're bound to look alike. She's got your hair too, and mine,"

"Half-sister," He corrected automatically, which saddened her.

Ren was old enough now to know what a bastard was, that his name was Snow, and that Edrick, Aileen and (potentially) Morganna were not his full siblings. Even at this age, he knew he shouldn't ever give Lord Bolton reason to notice him. Part of Ross wondered sometimes if it would have been better for him to stay at Winterfell, where Ned would love him like a father, and he would grow up surrounded by cousins. She had asked him, once, if that was what he would prefer. His eyes had widened and he had furiously shaken his head, clinging to her despite not being a clingy child, pleading not to send him away. After that, there was no question of it.

"To Lord Bolton, perhaps," She said. "But not to me,"

*

Edited November 2024