#boltcn

The ride to the Dreadfort was filled with bitter winds and ice covered trails. The weather progressively worse each time he journeyed south of Karhold. The lords waited with bated breath for the white raven from the citadel. But he supposed the maesters would wait until their southern towns were blanketed in snow before bothering to inform the kingdoms. Eventually the roads would grow too treacherous for daily travel, but she would be long gone by then. A memory of summer and bliss replaced by the unforgiving chill of winter. Even when the snow subsided he would awake every morning beside someone else. A friend, yet a stranger all the same when compared to her. 

It didn’t take long to slip by the guards. His actions so repetitive Torrhen could have performed them in his sleep. Like a shadow he crept along the corridors, avoiding any guards or servants roaming about. If he were found the lord had a simple excuse, but it didn’t deter from the strange nature of him roaming the halls late at night unannounced. Somehow he found that the Lord of the Dreadfort would have a difficult time wrapping around his head that Torrhen was just there to discuss strategy.

Dark eyes stared at the chamber door before him. Hesitant on whether or not to knock. It took his best efforts to keep his recent deals in secret, but spies lurked at every corner. His decision would leave her angry--he knew that much. But when she was far away there would be nothing either could do to change it. His fist barely made a sound against the wood, nerves coiling around his stomach like a snake. 

“Gillie.” 

I despise the foolish southerners and their warm weather. Meet me in the southwest tower tonight so I may be reminded of home. I will bring the wine

--Torrhen

  He felt a fool writing such a message to her. Surely she had better ways to spend her time than in a tower, drinking spiced wine with Torrhen Karstark. He should have been preparing for the events, the possibility of bringing home gold and grain for the north all the more reason to spite his king. Though his mind couldn’t shake the way her eyes lit up as an arrow pierced the heart of a doe. Or her crimson braid going on forever as loose hairs danced in the wind. It felt as if years had passed since that brisk morning in the woods. Though he wished to invite her to travel with his family south, Torrhen was aware it wasn’t his place. He was neither a husband or family to her. Her place was with her brothers, as his was with the Karstarks.

  The wine left his cheeks flushed, and thoughts on huntresses with flayed men on their breastplates. Anxiety clawed away at the lord. What if she failed to come? Perhaps she took one look at the note and laughed. At that moment he swore he could hear the sweet sound in his ears, like bells ringing through the early morning. What a privilege it would be, to be rejected by Gilliane Bolton. At least she was worthy of such a thing. Before his thoughts could wander further into his drunken state, Torrhen heard the sound of a door opening and the shuffling of feet. His heart rate suddenly increasing, he scolded himself. It could have been anyone, but he knew it had to be her. 

  “I thought you may have decided not to come, so I already started drinking.”

   The news hit him harder than the lance that shattered his ribs. Though he never learned of it until long into their journey home, the mention of it on his brother’s lips. The wide and fearful eyes of servants as he went into a fit of rage--only stopped by the immense pain and exhaustion from his injuries. A fool once again, over a woman he would never really have. But she wasn’t Jeyne. Her lips were soft petals against his skin, her laughter sweet music in his ears. He tried not to think about how perfectly her torso fit against his that night in the tower. Though every time he closed his eyes he was plagued with the sight of her crimson tresses and sad smile. There was so much he wished to tell her--yet he may never get the chance. It may have just been best to forget Gilliane Bolton was someone he almost had. 

  The servant entered with cautious steps, their nervous gaze on the lord in his bed. Their statement almost forcing him to fall from the mattress. It had to be a sick joke--something one of his brothers decided to do in order to torture him. Anger, happiness, melancholy, and grief struck him all at once. Why would she travel so far, when any hope of them was extinguished by that Dornish prince? Regardless he couldn’t resist the urge to see her again--those bright eyes one last time. 

  “Let her in.” 

send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.

Name: Bethany ‘Beth’ Stark

Gender: Female

General Appearance: Beth has long brown hair, light grey eyes, and a complexion closer to Raya’s rather than Arya’s. She has the long stark face, and she’s gorgeous, there is never any denying it. She’s a skinny little thing, but wonderful. 

Personality: She’s extremely well behaved. She does as she expects people to want her to do, but beneath her skin simmers the wolf blood, and she yearns to run wild and free. She’s climbing the walls of Winterfell, she’s riding horses bareback, she’s letting everyone know just who is in charge when she walks into a room. She’s very prideful, Family, Duty, Honor - She’s there for the pack first, her duty and honor come later. Watch yourself around her, or Beth will throw you out of Winterfell herself. 

Special Talents: Dancing. She adores dancing, and is always very eager to show off her talent. 

Who they like better: Both

Who they take after more: Arya

Personal Head canon: She is named for Bethany Ryswell, Raya’s mother.

Send a pencil and a plot you want with Arya. 

Certainty of death? Small chance of success? Sign Arya up for a journey into the shimmer with Raya, where they see all this mutated crap and Arya can’t decide if she likes it or not. 

why are you trying to hurt me like that