rooseundone

Maybe it had been petty of him, ignoring her request to sneak off somewhere private, but he hadn’t enjoyed at all the looks she had been exchanging with his bastard. She had flounced off in a huff, leaving the ballroom alone and when he saw Ramsay considering the door which she had exited, Roose nearly saw red.

He pushed through the doors, ignoring the smirk on Ramsay’s face and caught up to Lady Isyla in no time at all. She had wanted to be caught, after all.

Roose reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him, and then he took a step forward to push her back against the neat stone wall surrounding the gardens.

A puff of breath escaped her mouth at the impact, which was oddly pleasing to him. The playful grin she offered was assurance that he hadn’t done any damage, anyhow.

@knxw-your-mxster

Roose narrowed his eyes at Kly’tem. She had begged and pleaded to attend the ball with he and Ramsay and he still wasn’t sure if bringing her along had been the right decision. But he needed her to be loyal to him. If the rumours were true, her father knew how to forge Valyrian steel, and it was entirely possible that he had shared that knowledge with his daughter. So he would continue to build her trust.

The woman was lanky, and at least as tall as Roose, and a Northern to be sure. The steely gaze and warrior’s stance brought to mind a different woman -- Maege Mormont, the old battle axe -- though Roose remembered Maege being at least a foot shorter than the lovely woman who stood before him.

There was no doubt, this was Maege’s oldest daughter, Dacey.

Roose offered a formal bow.

“You do, my lady, though it has been several years since I was last at Bear Island. Lord Bolton,” he said, as a reminder.

****

Roose gave the girl the look she deserved.

1. what would completely break your character?

being forced to face the demons of his past. I think Roose likely comes from a long line of sociopaths and I can only imagine the horrors that he witnessed as a young child. My headcanon is that Roose is a detached observer of life, always watching from the outside and never truly engaging -- a survival method developed in his childhood. 

2. what was the best thing in your character’s life?

he had a nanny that was lovely and nurturing but she didn’t last long

4. what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

If it were not for his steady grip she would have fallen to the floor. She wasn’t pleased with his determined, restrained words and he would know it. Isyla pulled her swollen bottom lip between her teeth to sulk ever so slightly. 

What difference would a night make?

“Fine.” She huffed. The young woman was contented with his pledge, albiet a tad miffed. “I’ll make due with your cloak again, I suppose.” she teased lightly, leaning forward, eyes tilted towards as she leaned against the opened door.

Isyla had every intention of torturing him until the Ryswells were long gone, pushing him, taunting him, drawing Roose in until he lost control. She shifted her gown, sliding it off her velvety olive shoulders and turning away. With a defiant, sensual glitter in her eyes, she turned back. “ Good night, my Lord.”

She then closed the door. 

the next morning...

“Well, actually, I’m afraid her affection toward you was more of the fraternal type. She said you reminded her of her brothers,” Roose said politely, struggling not to smirk at Lord Rickon’s poorly masked outrage. 

“And Barbrey,” Roose continued. “I trust you were able to pack up everything you wanted from Beth’s rooms.”

Barbrey smiled at him, though it was not a pleasant smile. It was a knowing smile. “Yes, Roose. I see you are quite eager to get us on our way home. We won’t keep you from any of the pressing matters that are occupying your time.”

Some of the ferocity went out of Brienne’s face then, though she was careful not to show the fear that was twisting her stomach. Were I you, my lady, I should worry less about Starks and rather more about sapphires. It had been a noble effort on Jaime’s part, but in the end it seemed it would be of little use. On some level she was grateful for a few more days of safety, but on another more urgent level it was hard to concentrate on gratitude. 

“I am sure my father will reply at once,” she said stiffly. “I won’t be under your protection for very much longer.” Had she felt free to roam Harrenhal she would’ve sought out the highest tower to watch for a raven. As it was she expected to be escorted back to her room soon enough. 

“Was there something else you wanted, Lord Bolton?”  

It had been foolhardy of Locke, taking Ser Jaime’s hand. Lord Tywin would not look kindly on that, it was certain. An alliance with the Freys had been forged, but Lord Tywin’s cooperation was important as well. And to think that Locke might have ruined it all.

It was essential that Ser Jaime saw Roose as a saviour and reported back to his father as such. Qyburn had helped of course, likely saving the man’s life. A pity he could nothing about the hand though.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, my lady. You would be safer in your own chambers. Please let me escort you back.”

He offered her an arm, not really expecting her to take it. It didn’t matter really, he just wanted the opportunity to talk to the girl. It was quite curious, the way she had looked at Ser Jaime during supper.

His reaction to her admission was more than what she expected. The heat and taste of his mouth marking hers had fluttered her insides, her breath had become ragged and her heart felt as though it was beating in her ears. Every part of her felt flushed with want and warmth. Isyla could still feel the imprint of his strong, calloused hands over her wrists - the searing, delicious pain it caused. 

She breathed out, a delicate hand ghosting over the lips his own had been then gripped onto his roving hand. Her eyes were glossed and lashes fluttering when she then brought her lips to the tip of his thumb. 

“I promise, I’ll be honest.” her lips kissed each finger of a hand she would surely give thanks to many times in the near future. Part of his last words troubled her, she didn’t wish to speak of it later..she wanted more of his mouth covering her own. 

Isyla was spurred on craving as stubborn as her nature. She stepped forward, her lips hovering over his with a soft sigh. “How long will I have to wait then, hmm?” She purred before kissing him. It was a slow, sensuous embrace, the tip of her tongue tasted his top lip, teasing, tempting him. She couldn't help any part of it, his energy had trapped her in, turned her into a shameless, needy little thing. 

She would be the death of him.

Her tongue was hot and wet on his mouth and he fought to regain control of the situation. She was so different from any other woman he had been tempted by. Never once had he felt such a loss of control. This was no blushing maiden, no submissive servant. 

Her brash nature was part of the attraction, he knew, but still, he preferred a more obedient partner.

Perhaps she could be taught.

Roose reached behind Isyla and opened the door she was so conveniently leaning against. Although she stumbled back, he didn’t let her fall.

Isyla deserved to be loved, someone to dote and lay his cloak down for every step she took. That was what she always wanted, as a little girl at least- but now, things were entirely different, a grown woman in love with someone she shouldn’t be. Was it love though? She wasn’t an expert but all the poets seemed to agree that yearning was a painful existence, an infection that kept you breathing in utter agony. She fell back against the door, leaning into the frame. 

“I thought that’s what I wanted.” She blinked, fresh warm tears fell down her cheeks. Lord Bolton had cracked the surface of something dark within her, she would be restless in a menial marriage. She needed unhinged fervor and Isyla wanted him more than any other Lord, more than home. 

Isyla pushed off the doorframe and straightened herself. “He reminds me of my brothers, so you’ll forgive me if I have taken a liking to him.” she took a step towards him. 

“I went behind your back because I was indignant towards you, to myself, for wanting you, a man whose wife was on the doorstep of death, yet I still desired to you- Desire still and I am sorry.” Amber eyes caught his gaze, she dared not relent, not now. 

“Please.” she closed the gap. Her quivering hands pawed at his leather-clad chest. “I don’t want Lord Ryswell. It’s not his mantle that keeps me warm at night. I want you Lord Bolton.. Roose.” a hand reached up to touch his warm, stubbled jaw, she was desperate. What little he would think of her now. “Tell me to stop, tell me no and I’ll leave with Lord Rickon.” 

Isyla didn’t wish for him to comply with her offering, but it might dispell the pressure of the agony resting inside. 

Her mention of his wife gave him pause, but only for a moment. Had it truly only been a fortnight since her death? It seemed to Roose that Bethany had been dead for years. 

And the thought that Isyla had felt guilt over pursuing him... tt was just a tiny glimpse into the real Isyla, not the one she hid behind saucy remarks and impertinent looks, but he found it... attractive.

A few days ago, he thought it had been a good idea. Send her off to the Rills, and then he could forget. Move on. Focus on what was important. But seeing her with Rickon .. a mere boy, of all things...

She would not be leaving the Dreadfort.

Her hand was soft and silky on his face and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless. A reward for her honesty.

But then, all of this could have been avoided if she had only been honest from the beginning. If she hadn’t played her little games.

It was easy enough to remove her hands from him, his fingers clenched around her wrists. And it didn’t take much force to push her hands back against the door. He noted with interest the way her chest rose and fell as her breath quickened, and how the little pulse point on her neck fluttered with excitement.

“Thank you for your honesty, my lady.”

A small reward - a tender kiss, his lips only a whisper of a touch upon hers, in contrast to the iron grip on her wrists.

He pulled back to observe her reaction once more with detached interest. “In the future, you will be honest with me from the beginning,” he said, giving her a hard look. 

A second kiss - this one because he couldn’t help it - but ruthless, not tender, taking possession of that sweet mouth, tasting and devouring.

He had to step back then. She was too tempting. It was too easy to lose all control.

His spiteful, venomous words had first pinched the skin, then plunged beneath the surface - staking her heart. Her instinct then had not been to fight off his closeness that boxed her in, nor had it been to crumple into a blubbering heap. 

Her palm came swift across his stubbled cheek so hard she could feel the sting on her hand. 

There was silence, eternal it seemed but she was far from done. 

“My father would have sold me to a slaver if he had his way!” Her voice was raised and cracked, her fists coiled when she pushed at his hard chest. 

Several tears pulled at her eyes yet, not at her resolve. “You want me to leave, don’t you? hmmm?” The ire was burning brightly within her becoming the fiery Dornish girl again. “Are you so concerned with my person, or the liberties you want for yourself?” 

It wasn’t really a question then when she raised her chin defiantly. 

The stinging pain on his cheek from the strike of her hand jolted him back to his senses. He had probably deserved that.

And yet, the way she so easily became combative with him - it was infuriating.

“This has nothing to do with what I want,” he said, stepping back from the door. “Never once have I suggested that you should leave. This is your own doing, Lady Isyla. You set this all in motion when you sent that gods-damned raven to Ned Stark.”

Her tears rankled him because he knew not whether he should offer comfort or chastise her for using a woman’s weapon of manipulation. And so he settled for being blunt.