It was dusk, when they reached Winterfell. The lanterns had been lit as the sun set over the moors and mountains, making the great grey castle appear almost warm and welcoming. It would be home to Ross no matter what it looked like. King's Landing was grand and impressive, but it never, ever felt like home. Nor had the Dreadfort. Despite being its lady for over thirteen years, there were certain places that sometimes, when she was alone, made her uneasy. A prickle on her neck, a shiver up her spine, like she wasn't supposed to be there. No, Winterfell would always be where her heart lay.

She rode alongside Ren as they passed through the gates into the courtyard, scanning the assembled crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her other three children. The girls should have been in Winterfell a week already, whilst her son had been fostered there since he was nine. Sure enough, Edrick was stood to the right of the Starks, Aileen beside him, now a good inch or so shorter than her brother where they'd once been the same height.

Aileen took after her father in looks, whilst Edrick looked more Stark than any of the others. Her eldest daughter was clever, quietly-spoken and studious, and was Lord Bolton's favourite of the three. Edrick, despite being the heir to the Dreadfort, generally irritated his father. Her younger son took after her brother Brandon in temperament; wild and hot-tempered, with more than a drop of wolfblood to him.

And then there was Morganna. Her youngest daughter was not one to fade into the background. She said what she thought without caring for the consequences, and there was an ever-present wicked gleam in her eyes. The girl was Lady Margaret's favourite bar Aileen, and could be the picture of charm when she wanted, but tended to prefer riling people against her for fun. Much like her father. Not to mention, she was a successful liar, through through no subtlety of her own; Morganna was such a force of nature in looks and character, she tended to blindside people into going along with whatever she said. Ross could see through her, but few others could.

The King was greeted first, of course, impatient as ever with the formalities, but glad to see Ned. Then Cersei - Ross had bitten back a smirk when the enormous wheelhouse couldn't fit through the gates, so its occupants had to walk - and the three royal children. Thirteen-year-old Joffrey and Myrcella, then eleven-year-old Tommen. Robert took noticeably greater pride in introducing Loreon right after his trueborn children were announced. This was... unconventional, and Ross could understand the murderous look in Cersei's eyes, even if she did not agree.

And then it was their turn.

"Ross," Ned smiled at her as she approached him, having handed her horse over to an anxious-looking stable boy.

"Ned," She embraced him, briefly but tightly.

The moment she let go, Morganna had already broken protocol and hurried over, throwing her arms around her mother in a crushing hug. She had always been the most affectionate of Ross' children, and the most clingy. Her father had little time for her, and Edrick and Ren rarely returned to the Dreadfort; all this made her eager for attention from Aileen, Ross and, unfortunately, her hateful grandmother.

In the background, Ned was being pulled away to the crypts by an impatient Robert, despite the Queen's obvious displeasure. Ross managed to feel a spark of anger that even after all this time he idealised Lyanna enough that he wanted to see her tomb the moment he set foot in Winterfell. Over Morganna's shoulder, Jaime was watching them, his expression bored but his eyes focused. Despite having seen Ren almost every day for the past five years, this was the first time he had set eyes on their daughter.

"I missed you," Morganna murmured against her chest. She wouldn't say it in anyone else's hearing; Robb and Edrick would surely tease her for it.

Having been talking with Catelyn, Cersei swept inside with her children, casting a characteristically disdainful look over everything as she did so. It was strange, seeing someone so intrinsic to King's Landing in her childhood home. Like the two sides of a life colliding. Ross would go to her, tomorrow some time, but for now she turned her full attention to her family.

"And I you," Ross stroked her dark hair for a moment before releasing her, holding her at an arm's length. "You look like you've got in trouble already,"

"Never," The girl said, unconvincingly.

Aileen scoffed.

Ross moved on to her elder daughter, giving her a one-armed hug - like her mother, Aileen was not one for prolonged displays of affection - then gave Edrick's shoulder a warm squeeze. Her son was thirteen, and would not appreciate being fussed by his mother in front of people.

"How long have you been in Winterfell?" Ross asked.

"We got here four days ago," Aileen gave a small smile. "Father's not coming anymore. He said to tell you,"

"Such a shame," Morganna's grin said otherwise.

Lord Bolton seemed to feel nothing but mild irritation towards the girl, so Ross could hardly blame her. She felt the same way herself. Any chance to avoid her husband seeing Morganna next to the Lannisters. It would've been doable, but difficult, to ensure his suspicions weren't roused. Sometimes it was like he could see right through her, though that was impossible; he was just a man, after all, and if he could read her mind then she would be dead.

His absence was odd, however. "I didn't think he'd miss a chance to greet the King,"

It was then that Ren returned from where he'd been seeing to his and Jaime's horses. Morganna rushed forward and flung her arms around him too, and though he seemed initially startled, he soon smiled and hugged her back, before doing the same to Aileen and clapping Edrick on the back.

Ross watched their reunion for a moment before turning to the rest of the family.

"Catelyn. You look well,"

Her goodsister, as ever, looked the perfect lady, austere and composed, but Ross saw the strain in her face where others wouldn't. She supposed she had somewhat of a friend in the other woman now. Somewhat. They had been cold to each other at first, but over the years had grown to get along, at least, even if they may never be close.

"That's good to hear, that the stress of organising a royal visit with a month's notice does not show," Catelyn smiled wryly.

"There's no persuading his Grace to hold back when he has his mind set on something," Ross said, noticing her goodsister's eyes darting to the side. "Go," She smiled. "I know you've got things to do, don't worry about keeping up appearances for me,"

Catelyn looked relieved. "We'll talk later," She agreed. "Children, make your aunt welcome,"

As the lady swept away, barking instructions at a serving boy manhandling an expensive-looking trunk, Ross turned to her nieces and nephews. Robb was looking almost a man. Sansa, still a girl but growing to be a beautiful young lady. Arya had changed the least, a wild little girl, who worried Ned by acting so much like their sister. Bran, sweet and gentle but an inch or so taller. Little Rickon, who had grown the most. Jon Snow, of course, wasn't there. She would find Lya's son later, Ross had always made a point of showing him kindness, where Catelyn was nothing but cold.

Robb stepped forward, grinning at Ren. "Gods, you are tall now," He sounded a little envious.

Ren looked sideways at her, amused. "No idea where I get it from,"

Ross raised an eyebrow at him. There was a time not so long ago when that look would've made his eyes wide and his lips start spilling hasty apologies. Those days were no longer, it seemed, though she did crack a smile at the joke.

"Look at you, riding with princes and knights," Robb teased. "Do I call you Ser Snow now?"

"Give it a few months," There was a wicked glint to Ren's eye. "Lord Stark,"

Robb punched his arm good-naturedly.

"Could you beat father in a fight now?" Bran asked eagerly. "Have you slain any villain knights yet?" The boy had always longed to be a knight, and would most likely become a squire himself in the near future with Catelyn's connections in the south.

"Ren could win against any southron flower," Edrick snorted. "What about the Kingslayer?"

"No villain knights," Ren said to Bran, then turned to his brother. "And I haven't beaten Ser Jaime yet, but I could definitely beat a skinny little thing like you," He grinned as the others laughed, and Edrick opened his mouth in outrage; for all Ren joked, his half-brother was not a skinny boy, nor small for his age, big where Ren was lean.

The others laughed, all but Sansa, who sniffed. Clearly her fantasies of dashing knights in shining armour were not being lived up to by her bastard cousin.

"Don't be cocky," Ross cut in lightly. "I know you learn from the best, but do try to be selective in what you pick up from Ser Jaime," Gods, good thing Edrick had been the twin...

"I can't believe your the Kingslayer's squire," Bran said enviously.

"Father doesn't like him," Robb reminded her.

"Not many do," Ross said, and Ren gave her an amused look.

"Can you show me how to fight, Ren?" Arya glared at her brother. "I want to learn like the boys, but Father says no, and no one else will teach me,"

Ross knew exactly why Ned said no. He thought that Arya was too much like Lya as it was; their sister had loved messing around with a practice sword and the tilts. Brandon had, for a laugh, taught her the basics. But though Arya was wild like Lya had been, Ross didn't think they were much alike at all. Lya's head had been full of dreams, a secret romantic at heart. Arya was most certainly not like that. Lya had never been mistaken for a boy, and was never quite as... feral as Arya was.

"Could you even lift a sword?" Sansa wrinkled her nose.

"I could lift a bigger one than you," That was probably true.

"With those skinny arms?" Edrick teased.

"I'm strong!"

"Whatever you say, Twiggy,"

"Then I'll have a small sword, stupid,"

"Stop it," Sansa hissed, eyeing the courtyard nervously. "People are looking,"

Anyone important had all gone inside. Morganna laughed. Though she and Sansa were the same age, they had never really got along well. When they were younger, their encounters often ended in Sansa running off to her septa or Lady Catelyn in tears. Morganna thought that her cousin was dull as ditchwater, and Sansa thought Morganna was unseemly and rude.

Arya pulled a face. "No they're not," She stopped arguing anyway when Aileen put a hand on her shoulder.

"I've missed this," Ren looked amused. "It's not like this in King's Landing. Fewer wolves," He looked pointedly down at the wolf pups sat at each of the children's feet.

Ross had been meaning to ask about them too. "Yes, where did they all come from?"

"They're direwolves," Arya said proudly. "Robb and Jon found them in the Wolfswood,"

That was a story in itself, direwolves south of the Wall, in summer too. She must ask Ned about that.

"Their mother was dead," Robb said. "So we took them back. One each,"

"We didn't get one," Morganna didn't sound too concerned. "There's a spare, but it didn't seem to like any of us,"

"Yes, come and see," Ren didn't protest as Arya dragged him away towards the kennels, Bran and Edrick hurrying after them, leaving Ross with Sansa, Morganna and Aileen. Three young ladies, all with Stark blood, but all so very different.

"I must get ready for the feast," Sansa explained herself not going after the others. "Apologies, Auntie," She gave a polite curtsey that even the prissiest southron lady would be proud of and hurried away.

Sansa always seemed slightly nervous of her aunt, perhaps because the inane chirping the septa and her mother had drilled into the girl had never worked on her. At times, Ross had had to stop herself disillusioning the girl in all her fantasies of songs and stories; Sansa deserved a childhood, and though Ross didn't agree that keeping her ignorant was a good idea, she was not her mother and it was not up to her. As far as Sansa was concerned, Ross had just been a hostage in King's Landing during the rebellion, perhaps sitting sadly in a tower, untouched and lonely like a lady in a song. It didn't even occur to her that anything else might have happened. In real life, ladies like that never stayed untouched.

"Do you need hours to get ready?" She asked her own daughters sardonically.

Morganna laughed, showing perfect white teeth, and Aileen smiled slightly.

*

In the bedchamber she'd slept in since she was a child, Ross looked at her reflection critically in the looking glass on her dressing table. She remembered Lya insisting on doing her hair in front of this very mirror when they were girls, saying it would be fun; Ross' hair was much longer than hers. All Ross had noticed, however, was how much prettier her sister was, compared to her own long, sharply-angled face. Not to mention, Lyanna was not at all skilled at styling hair, which had admittedly been funny, though hardly made Ross like her own reflection more.

Lya and Brandon were the beautiful ones in the family, taking after their mother, which partially was why they got the southron betrothals. Ned, Ross and Benjen were much more typically Stark-looking, taking after their father, though Ross had been told she did not look unlike her grandmother Arya, from the mountain clans. This used to bother her when she was younger. The plainer Stark daughter by far, as Aerys had liked to say, and much worse besides.

Now, she was less critical of her appearance. She liked her height where she had once felt awkward and gawky - Brandon calling her 'spider' at every opportunity had not helped - and she liked her long, thick hair. Whilst she was still rather flat-chested despite having had four children, her lower body was leanly muscled, shapely from years of riding horses every day. And as for her face... some thought it was striking, whilst others thought it strange and off-putting, but what did it matter? Jaime, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, clearly found her pleasing enough, and he was the one who had to look at it, not her.

"I forget how pretty your knight is, when we've been in the North a while," Alys sighed as though she had read her mind, arranging her hair how she liked it; a Northern style, mostly loose, with a small braid running down the back. "If you ever get bored, my lady, then tell him I'm waiting,"

Ross smiled, putting in a pair of elegant jet earrings that matched her necklace. "You're a married woman now, Ally," She chided, not serious. They were alone, with the door shut - and the doors at Winterfell were more soundproof than anywhere she had ever lived - so she did not mind such talk. And Alys' admiration of Jaime was nothing new.

Her maid raised an eyebrow in a way she had almost certainly learned from Ross. "And what's that husband of yours, milady, chopped liver?"

That won a surprised laugh from her; Wylla was ordinarily the more witty of the two.

"If only,"

Alys smiled, shaking her head. "I shouldn't say, but I am relieved he didn't come here this time. Lord Bolton makes me feel like someone walked over my grave, sometimes,"

That evening, her gown was new. The bodice was black, high-necked as always, and her skirts were a dark forest green. Just as Alys finished lacing her into it, Morganna burst into the room without invitation, her sister Aileen at a more sedate pace behind her.

"Do you like my dress, Mother?" Her younger daughter swished the skirts around, pleased with herself. "I helped Wylla design it - I've had it for months, waiting for the right time to wear it,"

The gown was blue and silver, and rather adult for a girl of eleven, but it was not immodest. It was cut in the current southron style, which must have been Wylla's touch; she never got to make such items otherwise, given Ross' tastes, and must have been thrilled at the challenge. Morganna's hair was worn like Ross' own, however.

"I can tell," Ross said. "Wylla would never have given you a neckline that low on her own," At Morganna's rolled eyes, she continued. "You do look beautiful, however," Too beautiful. If a stranger was told that her daughter and Princess Myrcella were cousins - which they were - they would easily believe it.

"Don't I?" The girl grinned, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, swinging her legs.

Aileen, still standing, looked amused by that. "Ren's found himself a new pet, Mother," Her gown was more simple than her sister's extravagent creation, in Bolton pink and Stark grey, but pretty nonetheless.

"Yes!" Morganna said, eager. "The spare direwolf took a liking to him,"

"Does the spare wolf have a name?"

"I've been calling him Crow," The girl shrugged. "Arya said the name was stupid - she's called her wolf Nymeria so I don't know what she's laughing about - but Crow's stuck now. The kennel boys won't call him anything else,"

"Nymeria's the name of a warrior queen," Aileen said. "Crow is named after a bird,"

"It's not as bad as Shaggydog," Morganna grinned. "Rickon's wolf. Whoever let the baby name it himself?"

"We all know you're the baby," Aileen muttered under her breath.

*

Ross and her daughters made it to the feast in good time. The King and his family entered first, of course, escorted in by Ned, Catelyn and their trueborn children; Joffrey with Sansa (the poor, blessedly ignorant girl), Myrcella with Robb, Arya with Tommen then Bran and Rickon.

"How did you ride a horse all the way here?" Morganna was saying to Tyrion Lannister as they waited outside the hall; they were to walk in together, given that it would appear cruel to place him next to the much taller Ross. Her daughter seemed fascinated with the dwarf, who was eyeing her much the same way, in a way that worried her; Tyrion was observant enough to notice her resemblance to Jaime, given his prior suspicion. Ross would insist on walking beside Tyrion herself, pride be damned, if that did not mean Morganna would end up beside Jaime.

"Morganna," Ross turned around, admonishing her rudeness.

"What?" The girl said, indignant. "I'm being polite!"

That, unfortunately, was true; this was her daughter's idea of small talk. Edrick and Aileen were stifling laughs at their sister from behind.

"Not to worry, Lady Bolton," Tyrion said, seeming amused by the question. "I got here after a great deal of pain, Lady Morganna, and dreadful blisters in highly unpleasant places. Though to answer your question, I had a special saddle made for me,"

"Do you like riding?" Morganna asked. "I do,"

"Very much, when it's not for a month's journey," He said. "And that does not surprise me - your mother is half horse herself,"

"I've spent too much time with Her Grace the Queen," Ross said, tone coloured with distaste. "I cannot tell if that is a compliment to my skill and or a jibe about my face,"

Tyrion could have meant it as either. Once he had heard how Jaime spoke to her, he had taken it in stride that he could get away with the same - worse, if anything - without making her burst into tears or slap him. He had a wicked sense of humour, which she did not hesitate to reply to with sharp barbs of her own.

At her words, they all had to stifle laughter, as it was now their turn to enter the hall, behind Bran and Rickon; the younger of the two lingered at the lower tables and had to be ushered on by Jon Snow. Ross with Jaime, Morganna with Tyrion, and Aileen with Edrick. Though it was a result of protocol, and no one knew the truth, walking into Winterfell's great hall on Jaime's arm seemed like a surreal, suicidal display. His arm, warm and strong under her hand, his hip inches from her own, and everyone looking at them.

They passed the benches, filled with Winterfell's household and many of the men from King's Landing too. Ren was down there, with Jon Snow and Loreon, many of the serving maids eager to linger around where they were sat. Her son liked to pretend Ross did not know what he and Loreon got up to in King's Landing, and she liked to pretend she didn't either.

Ross let go of Jaime and took her own place at the high table next to Catelyn. On her goodsister's other side sat Cersei. Saints, she looked in a terrible mood. Not outwardly, but from her fixed smile and the cold, furious look in her eyes. Robert was half-drunk already, already leering at serving maids and generally being a nuisance. She wished she was sat at the other end of the table, with Tyrion and Jaime, or at least next to Ned, not forced to listen to Catelyn's polite small talk with Cersei, who was not in the mood to be pleasant to anyone; Ross, for her part, gave the Queen as wide a berth as she could.

Benjen's last-minute arrival from the Wall, later on, once the dancing had started to pick up, gave her the excuse she needed to get up from her seat. Perfect timing; Robert had pulled a giggling maid into his lap, and Cersei was glaring daggers.

"Ross!" He embraced her as she approached, the imposing, weathered-looking man transforming into the eager boy she had grown up with. He was more slightly built than Ned, but with his long beard and black furs seemed almost as imposing to those who didn't know him.

"I'm glad you came," She had sent the letter to the Wall herself, once hearing of Robert's plans, though ravens were slow to travel that far north. "Even if it is just to beg for more funding for the Watch,"

"Beg," He made a face. "At least give me the dignity of calling it petitioning,"

She laughed. "If you say so. Though as you can see, our noble King is occupied at present,"

Benjen glanced at the high table. "His poor wife. Has he got no shame?"

"None at all - you remember Robert at Harrenhal, surely? And don't let Her Grace hear you call her that. Lannister pride is easily offended,"

"Catelyn looks appalled," He grinned like a twelve-year-old. "I wish I'd arrived earlier, this is all very entertaining,"

"I think Ned partly forgot what he's like," Ross said, amused. "He's not seen him in years. Mind you, all Robert goes on about is how much he loves him. Cersei is fond of saying he would have preferred to marry Ned instead of her,"

Her brother snorted, then looked over at the benches as there was a small commotion. "Is that Jon?"

Sure enough, Jon Snow was storming out of the hall, angry and red-faced amidst a small gale of laughter from where he'd been sat. Ren wasn't laughing, and got up to follow him, a dark direwolf pup darting around his ankles. Whilst Ren had never lived at Winterfell, his life as a bastard at the Dreadfort had given him enough of an understanding of Jon for the two to be close in a way the other children couldn't understand. Lord Bolton's quiet menace was a different kind of vile to Catelyn's cold hatred.

"It can't be easy, growing up like him," Benjen said. "I feel for the lad. How is your Ren getting on in King's Landing?"

"Well," Ross replied. "People are still awful everywhere, of course - he's always needed a thick skin - but he's made a name for himself. Being friends with Robert's son, Loreon, helps. Few of the other boys dare say anything to either of their faces anymore. Ren is more skilled with a sword than anyone in this room save Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister,"

"He always was good," Her brother said. "I suppose that's the only reason Lannister took him on in the first place. It still was awfully magnanimous of him, agreeing to a bastard for a squire,"

Ren had returned from outside and sat with Loreon once again. Morganna had become immediate friends with the Princess Myrcella - of course she had - and the two of them had followed him to pester Loreon and Ren, sneaking sips from their drinks when no one was looking. Ross had never known Myrcella to behave in such a way at a feast; her daughter was without a doubt the bad influence. Lucky that Cersei was too furious with Robert to notice.

A glance up at the high table saw Jaime watching Morganna and Ren from afar. To anyone else, it would looked as though he was merely surveying the room out of boredom, but she knew better. He smirked as Ren caught Morganna with a drink in hand and rightly tossed it away. Then his head turned right in her direction, catching her staring. A slightly raised eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement; a look she knew.

"Ross?" Benjen had caught that look, frowning.

She turned back to him abruptly, trying not to appear startled. "What?"

*

She waited a minute or so before politely making her excuses to Ned and Catelyn, and the disinterested Queen. She didn't bother with Robert, whose hands were occupied feeling up the breasts of a different maid. It was easy to claim exhaustion from weeks of travel, as well as a wry comment about not wanting to watch her son flirt with the servants.

"You will have to show me the delights of Winterfell tomorrow, Lady Rosennis," Cersei's smile was all teeth. Ross knew that was code for walk with me whilst I spit venom about my husband for hours. This was somewhat of a snub to Catelyn, who was the actual lady of the castle, but there was no going against the Queen.

"Of course," She said, and Cersei seemed satisfied, waving a careless hand in dismissal.

*

Once in her chambers, she waited; there had to be some time between the two of them leaving. Jaime knew the way, she had made sure of it before they arrived. She opened the window, looking out across the lanternlit castle and the darkness beyond. The night air was pleasantly cold in summer, especially after the heat of the crowded hall.

The door opened and she glanced around for half a second, making sure it wasn't one of the maids. It wasn't, of course. The lock clicked in the door. As Ross pulled the drapes decisively closed, she felt strong hands on her shoulders, trailing down to her waist to undo the laces of her bodice. As the material fell open, he turned her around to face him and kissed her deeply, slipping a hand into the open back of her gown against her bare skin and drawing her close. The room was dimly lit by the few candles that remained burning, enough light to faintly see each other. Having spent three weeks on the road, with limited opportunities to be this intimate, both of them more than made the most of the time they had.

"I can't stay," Jaime reminded her, after.

They lay in bed, her long hair spilling out over his bare chest, his arm around her. The castle was quiet now, everyone either retired to bed or passed out drunk. No one was in the room next to Ross'. It still lay untouched, just like Lya had left it.

"I know,"

Neither of them moved. There was a pause.

"I was watching them, earlier. We were the same age as Ren and Loreon are now, when we met. A frightning thought. What did you think of me, then?"

"Cocky, irritating and too pretty by half,"

"Just the impression I intended, then,"

She smiled. "You were a lot more innocent then,"

"Hardly. I'd been sleeping with my sister for years at that point,"

"Not like that," She wrinkled her nose. "You know, when I found out about your sordid secret, I thought the worst was that it was your sister. I've since realised that the fact it was Cersei is much worse,"

That earned a half-smile, half-grimace.

"I have to agree with you, though you'll no doubt say I've a biased view," He paused. "You were more innocent then, too, no matter what cold front you put up. It was... unpleasant, seeing every awful thing that happened to you make your eyes grow harder each time,"

"I thought the same," She said. "Your eyes were so young, then - they hadn't seen the world yet. I believe I prefer you now, though. Not least because you cut your hair, and looked less like a blushing maiden fair,"

"Did that make you the bear?" Jaime asked innocently, and she hit his chest. He laughed. "No, I suppose not. You hit like a maiden fair,"

"I pushed you over, don't you remember? In the Godswood in the snow,"

He smirked. "True enough. For my part, I much prefer you at thirty-two. I remember you at fifteen - all spindly arms and long legs like a colt,"

"You say that like I've doubled in size now," She rolled her eyes.

"Hardly," He snorted, holding up a bony wrist, which his fingers fit around easily. "Though all that time on horseback... I know full well it's not for my benefit, though that doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," His hand slid to her backside.

"Have you been taking lessons from Robert in how to talk to women?" She said, tone dry.

Jaime stayed anyway, for better or worse. So long as he left before dawn, it would be no problem. Ross shuffled away from him - she didn't like sleeping in anyone's arms, she got too hot - and blew out the last flickering candle.

Drip... Drip... Drip... Hands, she must clean her hands. Dripping, they were, with dark, thick blood, into the cold basin, staining everything it touched. More blood flowed through her fingers, a never-ending, immovable stream, down her wrists, staining the white sleeves of her nightdress. But he was going to take her away from her child, her handsome boy, take her and use her and force her, like the Mad King. Aerys! Aerys, Aerys, here... No, he was dead. She'd stood over the body. Kicked it. Opened its eyes just for the satisfaction. But he was here. It was undoubtedly the Targaryen, bearing down upon her with a skeleton's grinning teeth, purple eyes glowing, silver hair hanging in long rats tails, his frightful face leering, getting closer, six inch nails scratching down her skin, tearing at her flesh, no matter how she screamed inside. He laughed and laughed, high and cackling, she plunged a dagger into his chest again and again and he laughed harder, the shade of the Mad King melting into becoming her husband on his back, her suddenly over him now, with staring pale eyes the colour of her dress, ghostly and accusing, dead lips softly whispering promises of fire and blood, as his own spilled over her hands. She looked up, saw her reflection in the mirror. Drip. Drip. Drip. Blood in the basin. She looked like a corpse again but worse hollow black eye sockets, cold white skin, her dress stained red, hands slick from the dagger. Then it changed, and it was Ren, dead in the mirror, Aileen, Edrick, Morganna, Ned, Benjen, Jaime next to him, all grinning ghoulishly, hideously, dead. Golden hair matted red. Shades appeared behind her and she spun around, three dark figures, Brandon, Father, Lya, flat stares accusing, judging, reaching out towards her with grasping fingers. Her lips parted in an anguished scream, everything melted to black -

Ross awoke with a gasp, sweating. She breathed heavily, taking a few moments to convince herself it was a dream, never mind that lots of it had most definitely been real. It was late, still dark outside. On the other side of the bed, facing away, Jaime didn't stir.

She didn't want to close her eyes again. Ross hadn't had a dream like that in months. They had become less frequent over the years, granted, though never stopped entirely and always popped up again with a vengeance.

She stayed awake, staring at the dark window, until the sun began to rise hours later and she could shake Jaime awake.

*

Edited November 2024