"Are we certain these are the same bandits?" Roose asked Harald Karstark.
"As best we can tell, my lord," Harald nodded. "We tracked them, but we lost them to the north. They could be hiding in the Gift."
Ramsay's eyes flickered. "They could be heading to the Wall."
"To take the black?" Roose asked dismissively.
"To find the last Stark," declared Ramsay.
"Jon Snow's a bastard, not a Stark."
Ramsay tilted his head, his arms crossed. "So was I, Father."
Harald Karstark frowned. "Your hold on the North will never be secure so long as a Stark could walk through that door."
Ramsay approached his father. "Castle Black isn't defended on the southern side. The few men left are barely men at all. Farm boys and thieves. With a small force we could storm the castle, kill Jon Snow-"
"Murder the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? You'd unite every house in the North against us!"
Ramsay shrugged. "We don't need every house in the North. The Umbers, the Manderlys and the Karstarks command more soldiers than all the others houses combined. With their support, none could challenge us."
Harald nodded warily. "The Starks lost my house the day King Robb took my father's head. It's time for new blood in the North."
Ramsay grinned at Harald. "Well said, good father."
Roose noticed Harald could barely make himself look to Ramsay and nod. He'd heard the things his son did with Alys Karstark. Saw what the girl had become.
The North had always believed Winterfell needed a Stark, but with the Stark daughters dead or missing, the only option was to play on House Karstark's Stark blood stemming from their founder, Karlon Stark when he started the cadet branch. That would be enough to quiet the people's demand for Stark blood, at least keep them from using it against them.
Getting to his feet, Roose looked to Ramsay. "If you acquire a reputation as a mad dog you'll be treated as a mad dog. Taken out back and slaughtered for pig feed."
The clink of Wolkan's chains heralded his arrival before his words. "My lords. Lady Walda had given birth." He managed a smile, the best he could after all these years among the Boltons. "A boy!" Ramsay's eyes shifted, his jaw set and firm as Wolkan continued. "Red cheeked and healthy."
"Your congratulations, Lord Bolton," Harald offered.
Roose turned to Ramsay, who approached him. After a moment Ramsay embraced him. "Congratulations, Father. I look forward to meeting my new brother."
Once they separated, Roose placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll always be my firstborn." The words were bitter on his tongue, his mind flashing to Domeric. The first son he'd lost, the better son.
Ramsay thought of him as well. His brother, the weak boy who'd rather play a harp than hunt a woman. Even though he'd shared their father's cold instincts and could have matched Ramsay in the yard, he was a soft heart, friendly and polite. The pathetic fool had wanted nothing more than a brother. And he choked on his bloated tongue as Ramsay smiled down on him.
Roose knew, but he had no choice. Mad and born from the rape of some waste of flesh who'd failed to keep Ramsay away as he paid her to do, he reeled the boy in, let him have his outlets. Crafted him from a wild bastard to a lord.
"Thank you for saying that," Ramsay said meeting Roose's gaze, "it means a great deal to me." For a moment Roose felt pride at the emotion in the boy's eyes.
And then he drove a dagger into Roose's side, between his ribs and into his heart.
Roose gurgled and gasped as Ramsay's fingers dug into his shoulder, pushing the dagger as far as he could, feeling it scrape at bone and tear at flesh before he ripped it out. Sinking to his knees, Roose wished he'd done what he wanted years ago and skinned the dumb woman after he'd taken her. Domeric would be alive and so would Roose.
Lord Bolton fell back, Ramsay breathing heavily as he wiped the dagger clean. "Maester Wolkan. Send ravens to all the northern houses. Roose Bolton is dead. Poisoned by our enemies." When Wolkan stood staring at the corpse of his lord, Ramsay turned to him, demanding, "How did he die?"
Wolkan turned to the boy he'd seen grow into the cruel madmen before him. "Poisoned. By his enemies."
Harald Karstark pulled his eyes from Roose, his hand trembling as he looked to Ramsay, and then Wolkan. He had no choice, not now. "You're talking to your lord. Use respect."
"Forgive me, my lord," said Wolkan.
Ramsay's jaw set as he nodded. "Send for Lady Walda and the baby."
"She's resting, my lord."
Ramsay's chin rose, eyes boring into the fool who dared speak back to him.
Wolkan took a breath and nodded. "At once, my lord."
Harald Karstark held his breath as Ramsay looked over his shoulder to his father's corpse before turning to Harald with a smile. "You can leave, good father. I must mourn my own."
Once the man had left, Ramsay turned to the broken excuse of a human being stood in the corner. "Reek," he ordered, "have the men prepare the kennels. Tonight we feast in honor of my father while my dogs feast upon him and my mother."
"A-As you wish, my lord." Reek shakily bowed his head, departing in a rush.
Edd left to ask the wildlings for help and thankfully Podrick returned from Brienne's room with her armor and supplies before Alisser Thorne turned up to offer them until nightfall to decide whether they'd leave in peace or die alongside Jon.
Once he was gone Davos looked the them. "Boys, I've been running from men like that all my life. In my learned opinion, we open that door-"
"And they skin us alive," Sansa finished, drawing their eyes. "They're murderous butchers, same as the Boltons."
"They want to come in," one brother nodded, "and they're gonna come in."
"Aye," Davos nodded, thinking. "We don't need to make it easy for 'em."
"Edd is our only chance."
"It's a sad fuckin' state if Dolorus Edd is our only chance," a brother groused.
After a moment Davos decided, "There's always the Red Woman."
Sansa looked to the man as another asked, "What's one redhead going to do against forty armed men."
Davos's gaze rose to meet the man as he declared, "You haven't seen her do what I've seen her do."
His eyes turned to Sansa, confused by his words, not daring to let hope claim her and lead her astray. Her hand squeezed Jon's, Ghost nuzzling her side as she reached down to stroke his chin.
"Whatever it takes."
Night came and so did the Watch. Thorne banged on their door declaring time had come, asking them to open it. Offering to set Ghost free north of the wall.
"I've never been much of a fighter," Davos told them as he took Jon's sword. With a nod to Sansa he offered, "Apologies for what you're about to see." And Longclaw rang as he and the others drew their swords.
Brienne and Podrick moved to the other side of the table, blocking Sansa. Ghost growled near Jon's head while Sansa kept one hand in his and the other clutched her dagger.
The door buckled and cracked, but before they could attack she heard the bangs. The splintering wood. The bolts and grunts and swords and breaks. The scream and splat.
Once it had all settled Brienne returned to Sansa's side, placing a hand on her shoulder once she'd sheathed Oathkeeper. With a shaky breath, Sansa set her dagger down on the table, her hand trembling too much to properly sheath it.
Davos and Edd led Tormund into the room, his eyes stuck on Jon before raising. He looked to Sansa with sympathy and regret, almost apologetic, and then his eyes found Brienne and widened slightly with carnal admiration. The lightness that claimed his face when he saw Brienne quickly faded once he looked at Jon again.
"Took a lot of knives." Raising his gaze he declared he would prepare a pyre for the bodies.
Davos left shortly after, leaving Brienne and Podrick with Sansa, Ghost and Jon's corpse.
"Thank you for staying," Sansa said quietly, looking from Brienne to Podrick. "Both of you."
Podrick smiled. He'd known she was wary of him at first, skeptical of his loyal, so her thanks meant near as much as they could to a person. "Of course, my lady."
Brienne wore pride in her squire's thanks. The boy wasn't particularly skilled, but he'd survived the long, dogged trek north with her. He'd taken his first life, earned his first scar on his hip. He'd come a long way from the boy all but forced into her service, though he still annoyingly called her lady.
She was equally impressed by the woman before her. She'd been scared, weak and alone when they found her. Sansa had been a girl barely a woman when they started, before she'd killed a dog to save herself, before she'd survived long cold nights on the road. Now she was a woman, stood fiercely protective and ready to die with a dagger in her hand. Perhaps not a true Lady, but a woman whom Brienne held with respect above any she'd met, even Lady Catelyn.
When Davos returned, the Red Woman joined him alongside Edd and Tormund.
"Strip him," she said firmly. "Fetch me a bowl of water and a rag. His wounds should be cleaned." She came to stand beside the table and met Sansa's eyes. "You'll need to stand aside, Lady Sansa."
Something in her voice made it clear that Melisandre had known who she was the moment their eyes first met when she returned to Castle Black.
Sansa backed away, letting them strip Jon of his clothes, turning her head until Brienne nodded once they'd placed a cloth across his hips. She watched Melisandre carefully bring the wet cloth across his chest, wiping away the dried, cold blood. Seeing the holes in his torso, tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Without a sound she wept, and without a sound Ghost rested his head on her lap, licking her hand and nuzzling against her stomach, letting her pet him.
The Red Woman spoke a foreign language as she clipped his hair and trimmed his beard, throwing his hair into a flame. She spoke again as she wet his hair, letting the water drip through it into a bowl and brushing her fingers through the ends that hung over the edge of the table.
Placing the pitcher back on the table, she stood beside Jon and carefully placed her hands on his chest. She spoke, and seemed startled that nothing happened before pressing her hands and speaking again. She looked to his face and spoke again. And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Finally with a sigh she whispered, "Please."
With no movement she withdrew her hands and looked from Sansa to Davos regretfully. Sansa choked back a sob, glancing at Ghost who looked unconscious, laying with his eyes closed on her lap. Tormund huffed and left, followed by Melisandre and Edd.
Davos looked at Jon, his jaw shifting as he looked to Sansa. "I'm sorry, my lady."
With a nod to Brienne and Podrick, he left the room.
Sansa sniffed, brushing her fingers through Ghost's fur.
"Lady Sansa," Brienne whispered.
After a long time sat in silence, Ghost's eyes snapped open and he whined. He took a step back, away from Sansa as he turned to the table just as Jon's eyes snapped snapped open and his gasp filled the room.
Sansa felt a rush of emotion flood her, leaving her feeling flushed and unsure how to breath. Brienne stood frozen in shock and awe while Podrick's eyes were large as saucers, his hands trembling.
Davos returned, looking intent to say something, when he saw Jon breathing before he sat up and looked from Davos to Ghost to Sansa. He saw them staring at him, his eyes falling to his chest where he felt the wounds, struggling to breath properly.
Davos rushed forward, wrapping Jon in his cloak and catching him as he tried to get off the table. "Easy, easy," he said helping the Lord Commandeer sit.
Melisanre came through the door, eyes wide as she looked from Jon to Davos and back.
"What do you remember?" Davos asked as Sansa got to her feet, carefully walking around to watch Jon.
"They stabbed me," he said staring toward the floor. "Olly put a knife in my heart." He searched his memory, replaying it and shaking his head. "I shouldn't be here."
"The lady brought you back," said Davos.
Jon looked from him to Melisandre, who rushed forward and knelt, clutching his hand. "Afterwards. After they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go? What did you see?"
Jon looked into her eyes. "Nothing. There was nothing at all."
Melisandre met his gaze. "The Lord let you come back for a reason. Stannis was not the Prince who was Promised, but someone has to be."
Watching the man's head sink, his jaw shivering with contained emotion, Davos asked, "Could you give us a moment?"
Melisandre was pulled from her reverent stare, glancing at Davos before looking at her prince and standing to leave the room. Davos closed the door behind her and looked to Sansa and her companions before grabbing a stool and placing it in front of Jon, sitting before the man.
"You were dead, now you're not. That's completely fucking mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you."
"I did what I thought was right," Jon said, clutching Davos's cloak in hopes of stopping his trembling. Riding himself of the lingering cold still clutching at him. Raising his gaze to Davos he continued, "And I got murdered for it. And now I'm back. Why?"
"I don't know," said Davos, meeting Jon's eyes. "Maybe we'll never know. What does it matter? You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can."
Jon shook his head. "I don't know how to do that. I thought I did but…" He looked to Sansa, tears streaming down her cheeks as he declared, "I failed."
She frowned, watching his head sink in defeat.
"Good," said Davos. "Now go fail again."
Hesitantly raising his head to look at Davos, he took a breath and turned to Sansa. "I'm so sorry, Sansa."
She couldn't help but smile. Of course Jon would apologize for being murdered.
Wiping her cheek, she rushed closer and wrapped her arms around him, careful not to press too tightly in case he was in pain. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
"You were," he said reaching a hand out from the cloak to rub her back. "You are."
Davos wore a fond smile as he watched the pair. "Lady Sansa's stood over you the entire time."
Jon smiled at the sheepish look Sansa wore as she moved back. He met her eyes as he said, "You and Ghost."
Sansa nodded. "I wouldn't let them touch you."
"I know," he said, not quite sure how he knew, but he did. He knew she'd stood over him, he knew she'd held a dagger, ready to fight for him alongside Brienne and the others. He knew she'd been terribly sad, and only seemed to smile whenever Ghost nuzzled at her or licked her hands, begging her to pet him, to be happy, to forgive him for making her cry.
Davos helped him dress, Podrick having run off to get him clothes. The sun had risen on a new day and men filled the courtyard as Jon left the room with Davos and Sansa behind him and Brienne and Podrick behind them.
Tormund claimed they thought him a god, teased him about his pecker, earning his first laugh of his new life. His first smile had gone to Sansa. As had his first hug, his second going to Edd.
"Is that still you in there?"
"I think so," said Jon. "Hold off on burning my body for now."
Edd chuckled. "That's funny… You sure that's still you in there?"
Jon laughed, glancing back at Sansa, who beamed at him. Was it still him?