A Comment on Age

All characters in this story are 18 years or older, despite their ages in the original fiction.

The Godswood Winterfell grew colder as she staggered toward the gate. Naked, save for a large fur wrapped around her body, Ros was sure that she would die. Her bright red hair billowed behind her as she forced herself to move against the wind. She was unaware of the small crimson drops she was leaving behind from between her leg–she had grown too numb to feel anything below the waist.

            She turned to look up at the castle that might have been her’s one day; Winterfell stood like an old wizened sentinel among the great walls it’s only scar the fallen tower that now filled with snow. There were a few lights burning in the windows but the wind seemed to be blowing them all out one by one.

            Mine will follow soon, she thought.

            She continued moving forward when she came upon an entrance to the Godswood. Her poor feet began to tingle at the thought of plowing barefoot through the high mounds of snow. But, just like the maidens in the old stories, she was heartbroken and had nothing to live for anymore. She was unwanted when all she had ever desired was to be wanted. It was clear that the new gods, the ones she had sworn to serve had failed her. Perhaps the Old Gods would save her. Perhaps–

            But before she could leave the sacred forest, her legs failed her and she collapsed in her furs before the old iron gate. Huddled in a heap on the freezing stones of Winterfell, her flaming red hair a sunburst around her head, Ros saw any things from her past as death’s cold embrace took her.

            She saw a little redheaded girl giggling as her father told stories by the fire. He picked her up and bounced her on his good knee. His other knee had been ruined when his cart flipped on his way home to be there for her birth.

            “I bear that scar with pride, my fire nymph.” Father would tell her. “I’ve never been a patient man, but this old wound makes me move slower. Reminds me to be patient for my family.”

            “And it slowed you down enough to lose half of our income,”her stepmother snapped as she spooned mouthwatering broth into the five bowls on the table. “Now,will you put the girl to bed, Jacob? It’s her night to go without and I will not let her weasel any out of you this time.”

            “And perhaps patience with my family as well.” He whispered to Ros with the warmest love she had ever known. It didn’t even matter that her belly was empty. She had the love of her father and that was enough.

            Of course when he came to check on her after dinner, he brought his bowl with almost half of his broth left. “Don’t tell your stepmother,” He winked and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodnight, fire nymph.”

            “Goodnight, Father.”

            She saw herself at fourteen, riding with her father in the cart, listening to his stories about wildling encounters, Children of the Forest, and Bran the Builder. She loved the long summer season. As long as the summer lasted, she would be able to escape from the house and the rest of her miserable family.

            Ros knew that she was becoming a woman and it was clear that her stepmother was not pleased with the attention her father gave her. The The last time her stepmother had been there to see them off, she had completely ignored Ros.

            That was fine by her.

            She had become her Father’s number cruncher, alone, she had been able to increase her father’s income by one hundred percent. For some reason this was another reason for her stepmother to hate her even though it put more than enough food on the table. But her father beamed everytime she managed to bring in a new buyer.  Part of that talent was her  talent with numbers of course. Another part of it, she suspected, had to do with how the men looked at her.

            But everything changed when her stepmother forbade her to go with Father on his annual trip to The Wall.

            “I’ve got my hands full with your brother’s and sisters.” Stepmother said in that voice that always made Ros feel like something was her fault. “It’s too dangerous anyway.”

            “I’ve been going with him to the wall since I was ten.” Ros was furious.

            “But not looking the way you do now.” Her stepmother snapped back. “The Wall is no place for a woman kissed by fire and as willing to flaunt it as you. Your father will manage.”

            He had been killed by wildlings fifteen miles from The Wall. The Lord Commander sent a raven with his condolences. Ros had been inconsolable. But that had been no excuse for her stepmother to be kind to her.

            “He’s gone now, and that means you need to pull your weight around here.”

            “I can make the deliveries.” Ros said.

            “No, you can’t.” Stepmother said. “You’re a woman. Without your father, his buyers will move on. They don’t want to do that kind of business with you.”

            “I won them over! I know the business! I can do it!”

            “No, you won’t.” Stepmother said. “I’m selling you to the Septas.”

            Ros looked at her Stepmother as if she had just turned into a harpy. She felt a strong urge to wrap her hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. The pain of her father’s loss throbbed through her and she knew if she wanted to, she could kill the weak, shewry woman in front of her.  But then her eyes went to the table and the six empty bowls–they had been able to afford another one after she began helping her father– and remembered what her father had said about the scar on his knee.

            Patience for my family.

            “We can barely afford the funeral.” stepmother said. Ros knew stepmother had seen her moment of weakness and was playing on it. “The Septa’s will give us enough to buy a smaller house and hire new delivery boys. You will save this family.”

            Ros remembered her father, and left her family behind.

            The Sept of Frost had been unwelcome in the surrounding lands of Winterfell in its first years. Ros’ father had told her stories about how the Sept was cursed by the Old Gods. It was constantly under attack by locals; stones knocked from it’s walls, crude words painted in pigs blood on the gates and worse. But now, with the love of the Old Gods dying out, The Sept of Frost was a major part of the people’s lives.

            Ros hated it from the moment she arrived.

            Septa Moraine, a tall, willowy woman with a face as cracked as a dry desert, was the only woman Ros had feared. She was vicious as a snake from Dorne and twice as poisonous. She believed the Septa enjoyed the pain she inflicted on the other girls of the faith. The punishments ranged from a caning for dropping a basket of fish to flailings for taking The Father’s name in vain.

            “I’ve heard,” Sister Oren told her one day in the field, “That before she was a Septa, she was a Bolton. They flay people. It’s on their banners.”

            “They used to,” Ros said, carrying a bundle of wheat on her shoulder. “The Bolton’s haven’t flayed people for at least a century.”

            “Well,” Oren said. “All I know is that Sister Lisa spilled ink on one of the books in the library and ever since she hasn’t been able to sit without crying. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were missing a piece of–”

            “Shut it,” Ros hissed. “She’s coming over.”

            Septa Moraine walked through the path between the walls of wheat. Her wimpel made her look like some fearsome Greyjoy reaver with a kraken helm. She came right up to Ros and waited for her to greet her on bent knee. Ros closed her eyes and knelt before her.

            “Septa,” Ros said.

            “Sister.” Septa Moraine said, staring down at her. Her eyes were vicious and it looked like someone had taken a shit in her morning pottage. “Your presence had been requested.”

            “By who?” Ros asked and felt the sharp sting of Septa Moraine’s hand as it slapped across her face. “It doesn’t matter who. Now get off your damned knees and follow me.”

            Ros followed her, the cold wind of the north blowing across her stinging face. As she passed the rows of working sisters, she could see them whispering to one another. Something was wrong. Immediately her mind flashed back to the day her stepmother had sold her to the Septa’s. Were they going to sell her again? Was she being punished for something she didn’t know she had done? These questions poured through her mind as she climbed the steps behind Septa Morgaine.

            But when the entered the Sept itself, surrounded by the white statues of The Seven, all of that left her mind. Standing in the middle of the Sept was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

            Many of the sisters, whispering in secret in dark alcoves, dreamed of a man who was tall, dark, and handsome. Ros had never understood the appeal until now; the man was all three of those things yet so much more. He had a face that looked like it could have been carved of stone but his hair looked soft to the touch. And when he turned to see her fully, he smiled at her.

            That smile changed her life forever.

            “Hello, My lady,” the young lord said, for lord he was. He wore a cloak lined with heavy white grey fur and a large sword on his waist. He was probably a lord of some obscure little dutchy around in the north, but a lord nonetheless.

            “She’s not a Lady, M’Lord.” Septa Moraine said. “She is a sister of the–”

            “Leave us, Septa.” The lord said.

            Ros’ eyes went wide, but not as wide as Septa Moraine’s. She looked as if she would drop dead at any moment. The look she shot Ros as she turned to leave promised a world of pain the next time they crossed paths. When the large doors shut behind her, she turned to look at the lord  and then laughed.

            “I hope I didn’t get you into trouble.” He said. “But that woman makes my skin crawl.”

            “You have no idea.” Ros said.

            Their eyes met and Ros felt a warm trickle of fire run through her body. A hot pressure sat beneath her stomach. Her small pink nipples were hard beneath her robes and she was sure her cheeks were turning bright red before the Lord’s eyes.

            “I made a bet with one of my men as we passed the fields,” The Lord said. “We saw you and tried to decide what color your hair was.

            Ros went to answer but The Lord interrupted her.

            “No, don’t tell me.” He said. “ You see, Brutus thinks that you are fair haired.”  He pointed to one of the dark corners of the Sept and Ros saw that a man in full armor was leaning on a spear, a big smile on his face. Then she noticed other guards as well. Apparently, this Lord was more important than she thought.

            “I,” the Lord continued, “ think you are, as the wildlings say,  kissed by fire.” He moved closer to her, close enough for her to smell the horse he had ridden in on. “You, are a redhead. Remove that whimple and show Brutus I’m right.”

            Ros smiled, untied her whimple, and for the first time in the hallowed halls of the Sept, she released her billowing mane of red hair. It caught the light from the window above and for a moment, she thought that perhaps she had in fact been kissed by fire. The guards muttered and the Lord laughed.

            “I believe, Brutus, that makes me the winner.”

            “It does, M’Lord.” Brutus said.

            Suddenly, Ros was aware of how the men looked at her. It had been different when she was younger and working for her father. She had never derived any joy from it unless it made her family money. But that warm feeling in her stomach grew hotter. She liked it.

            “What is your name, Sister?” The Lord asked.

            “Ros, M’Lord.” She said, stepping closer to him.

            “Well, Ros,” He said, so close to her that she could taste him. “I’d really like it if you could meet me tonight, perhaps in the field?”

            “Tonight?” Ros was so wet that she feared leaving a puddle behind on The Sept floor.

            “I find the life of the sisters to be very…fascinating. I was hoping you could tell me a few things. Beneath the stars…”

            “Yes.” She said, without hesitation. “I’ll sneak out tonight.”

            Then he put his hand in her hair.

            “You are beautiful, Ros.”

            It took all the strength she had to keep from falling to her knees. She smiled up at him, leaned in, and kissed him.

            When she left the Sept, arrived at the mess hall doors just in time for dinner. When she sat down by Sister Oren, she was greeted with a flurry of questions;

            “Is he as handsome as they say? What did he smell like? What did he want to see you for?”

            “Wait,” Ros said, “Do you know who that was?”

            “Of course,” Oren said. “ That’s Lord Brandon Stark…he’s the heir to Winterfell.”

            For the next month, she and Brandon would meet at night and lay under the stars, talking and kissing one another. He made her feel like she was the most amazing woman in the North. He would hold her in his large, strong arms and kiss her delicate neck. Every morning, she would return with the rising sun and greet Septa Moraine with a friendly smile. She was sure the Septa knew, but no punishment ever came. Who could contradict the Heir of Winterfell?

            It was a month of pure bliss where she got to have her cake and eat it too. Thinking back on her life, she realized it was the happiest she had been since her father died. But then, suddenly, she stopped receiving messages.

            And then The Septa visited her room.

            “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Septa Moraine said, her hands behind her back.

            “What do you mean?” Ros asked.

            “Seducing a lord of Winterfell. Sneaking out to give him his jollies.” She spat the last word out. “Well, I have had quite enough of it and it would seem he has as well.”

            She revealed a long cat o’nine tales from behind her back.

“Strip.” Septa Moraine hissed.

“If you touch me, he will know. My Lord Brandon will know and–”

“Your Lord is in his precious castle with his whores.” Septa Moraine snarled. “He has forgotten you and now you have to pay for your sins. Now strip!”

            Ros shook her head in disbelief and anger. Something was wrong about this; Brandon wouldn’t just have abandoned her. He wouldn’t have. It was Septa Moraine’s fault. It had to be.

            “Get out of my way, you old bitch.” Ros hissed, standing to her full height as she stared the woman in the door down.

            “How dare you!” Septa Moraine screamed. She raised the vicious flail but Ros rushed her and grabbed her wrist, twisting it back until the old woman screamed. The cat o’nine tails fell to the floor of the hall as Ros shoved Septa Moraine against the wall and then threw her to the ground.

            “You wicked bitch!” Ros screamed. “You’ve stolen my messages! You kept us apart!” She picked up the flail and brought it down hard on the woman. The crack echoed through the hall followed by her screams. Heads poked out of the hallway and watched as Ros flogged the Septa who was crawling away from her in vain, screaming like she was being flayed alive.

            Finally, when her arm was to tired and sore to move, Ros chucked the instrument across the hall, spat on the Septa’s face, and then ran down the hall.

            “You’ll be sorry, you whore!” Septa Moraine screamed. “You little whore!”

            Those words echoed in her mind as she trudged up the path to Winterfell. The sun had set and the wind picked up promising a late summer snow. If she didn’t get there in time, she would probably freeze to death. She picked up the pace and thought of her Love.

            Brutus was standing at the gates when she arrived.

            “Gods, Ros.” He exclaimed. “What are you doing here? The Septa will–”

            “She’s not going to do a damn thing.” She pulled her cloak over her face to shield it from the wind. “I need to see him.”

            “Ros, I can’t just let a sister from the Sept into the gates. There are rules and–”

            “Please.” Ros said. She did not beg and she did not scream. She simply said the word, looking at him with tears in her eyes. His face scrunched up as if he had smelled something foul and then rolled his eyes.

            “You can’t get in to see him tonight,” Brutus said. “But you can go in and sleep in the inn or perhaps even at the brothel–”

            “The brothel!” Ros gasped. “I’m not  staying in the brothel.”

            “Not like that! They’d give a woman a bed if she were in need. They’ll try to recruit you, but–”

            “I’ll be at the inn, then.” Ros said, pushing past him and waiting for the gate to open. He called up to the guard on the battlements and soon the gate was open.

            She had never been to Winterfell proper before. It was an impressive fortress and behind it’s walls was hidden a small community for the vassals; a market, an inn, and yes, a brothel. Ros saw the women standing outside beneath the lanterns. They were wrapped top to bottom in furs though they would part them to expose their breasts to the men walking through the alleys. She shuddered at the thought of such a life.

            It was then she realized that there was another sigil worn by the men she saw; a black horse head with red eyes and mane. If she remembered her house history correctly, that would be house Ryswell.  And it was when she saw a group of Starks and Ryswells walking arm and arm with a group of women toward the main keep that she knew how she would get in to see her Brandon.

            The guards did not stop her as she entered the main doors, the bare breasted women  she had slipped her coin to begging them for their attention. When inside, she slipped through the halls and up into the living quarters. She wasn’t sure which room belonged to her dear Brandon until she heard a voice call his name.

“Brandon,”Sweet Brandon?” The voice called. Ros turned around the corner to see the last wisp of a dress disappear through a doorway. She summoned all of her courage and followed slowly.

Peeping around the entrance, she saw a handsome young woman with long brown hair and a long, slender neck. She was looking around the bed chamber as if expecting to see someone .

Brandon, Ros thought. She’s here to see Brandon.

The young woman, sure now that no one was in the bedchamber, climbed up onto the bed and lay there, smoothing her copper and black dress down and teasing her hair.

A deep anger began to boil inside of Ros. Her fingertips pressed so hard into the stone that the skin broke and she began to bleed. This woman was waiting for Brandon to come to her. She was going to try to seduce him…steal him away from her! The bitch…the fucking…

“Whore!” Ros screamed, entering the bedchamber in a fiery passion.  The woman on the bed bolted up, panic on her face.

“Septa!” The woman cried out. “How dare you enter a lord’s bed chamber!”

Ros slapped her hard enough to knock her down onto the bed. The woman, seeing the robes, thought she was still a sister of the Sept. Why not use it to her advantage?

“Shame!” Ros shouted, channeling Septa Morgaine as best she could. “You little slut! How dare you attempt to seduce the heir of Winterfell?”

The woman rolled off the bed on the other side, holding the side of her face as if it had been branded.

“I am Barbrey Ryswell, daughter to Lord Rodrik Ryswell! Guest of your lord! I will have you hanged by your entrails you vicious cow!”

Ros circled round the bed, grabbed the woman by the hair. “You’d need to have a tongue to give that order, M’lady, and The Father wouldn’t take too kindly to you threatening a Holy Sister.” Barbery’s eyes went wide with disbelief and, perhaps, fear. She began to pull her towards the door when suddenly a large shadow appeared in the doorway.

“Brandon!” Ros cried. She released the Ryswell woman and ran to her love, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Brandon, I waited for you. Septa Morgaine, she–”

“What are you doing here, Ros?” he asked. His hands pressed into her back and she knew that everything would be fine. They would be married and–

“Brandon?” Barbery hissed. “You know this woman?”

Brandon was silent.

“He loves me, you slut.” Ros snapped. “Leave us alone and–”

A pain erupted in Ros’ head as Barbery grabbed her Wimple and hair, pulling her head back. She spun around and grabbed hold of Barbery’s dress, pulling her in close to her so she could rip her fucking eyes out. But then they were pulled apart by Brandon.

“That’s enough!” Brandon said with a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m not going to have the two of you tear eachother apart in my bedchamber, do you hear me?”

Both women stopped trying to claw at one another as he pressed his hands against their chests. Ros, despite the strong desire to rip Barbery’s eyes out, felt that warm feeling return to her stomach. Now more than ever before, she was sure tonight would be the night she gave her maidenhead to the man she loved.

“If you’re going to fight, it should be in the Godswood, where no one can see.”

The wood was lovely, dark, and deep.Though snow covered the ground in patches, the warm springs and pools made it almost balmy. The red leaves of Weirwood covered the ground with a blanket of red, a premonition perhaps… Ros would have been lost in it’s glory had she not been fully focused on the moment at hand. Barbery looked her over with a vicious hatred. Brandon sat beneath the Weirwood tree, his arms crossed behind his head. He was so handsome…so perfect.

Ros untied her Wimple and shook her hair out in a bright red fan.

“Whenever you are ready, ladies.” Brandon said.

The two stared one another down for a moment and then lunged at each other. Barbery grabbed hold of her thick red hair and began to pull her head down toward the ground. Ros began to pull at her dress once more, eager to strip her of her rich attire.

“You lying little cunt!” Barbery hissed as she threw a punch into her Ros’ face. It was a desperate punch with no real force behind it. But that only made it worse. In fact, it pissed Ros off. She pressed her fingers up higher, feeling the flesh of one of Barbery’s breasts and raked her nails down the supple flesh.

Barbery screamed and tried to pull away from Ros, releasing her hair and grabbing the offending hand. Ros used her new freedom of movement to grab hold of Barbery’s hair and began to jerk her head back and forth like a stubborn cork in a bottle.

“You rich bitch,” Ros screamed. “He loves me and you thought you could lure him in with these?” She moved on to the other breast, pulling it free from the top of her dress. She clutched the small brown nipple between her fingers  and twisted.

Barbery’s screams echoed through the wood. Ros could feel the blood beating hard in her ears. She was going to tear this bitch down in front of her love, and then she —

Ros screamed in agony as Barbery reached between her legs, under her skirt, and grabbed at her hair covered mound. Barbery’s nails found all the right places, sending needles of agony through her body. Ros released her attackers tits and began to stagger back. She tripped over a white root and fell to the ground, Barbery falling on top of her.

“You fucking bitch,” Barbery hissed, mauling Ros’ cunt. No one’s going to take that maiden head of yours but me, you little slut!” Barbery spat. She pressed Ros’ face into the ground as she continued to claw and pull at her pussy. Ros opened her mouth and bit Barbery’s fingers. She tasted blood and bit harder until the digits were jerked from her mouth. Ros balled up her fist and drove it into Barbery’s jaw. Barbery bent forward and used her free, bloody hand to tear at Ros’ habit, exposing her large breasts. She sank her teeth into the top of the pale right breast, bringing a scream to Ros’ lips.

Ros grabbed Barbery’s hair and began to jerk her head backward, pulling her off of her breast. She buried her nails into the cunt’s scalp and began to jerk her nails down the sides of her head, drawing more blood. Barbery screamed and wrapped her hands around Ros’ throat. She began to throttle her and Ros saw stars as the back of her head hit the forest floor.But she refused to let go, grabbing hold of Barbery’s ears and pulling, wanting to rip them off, wanting to mutilate the nasty bitch.

Barbery’s screams grew louder as her head went down, trying to avoid having her ears ripped off. She released Ros’ throat with one hand and brought it across her face in a backhand slap and then another vicious bitch slap. Ros took the blows and used the final to begin rolling them across the forest floor. As they rolled, Barbery grabbed hold of Ros’ red hair once more bending her neck back in a painful arc.

Ros released her grip on the bitch’s ears leaving bloody trails down her neck and grabbed her breasts, this time pressing them down hard on the ground as they rolled, grinding them into the rocks and dirt. In their wake was left a trail of furrowed earth, red hair, and the shreds of a lady’s gown.

They slammed into the trunk of a tree, coming to a sudden and painful stop. Barbery grabbed hold of Ros’ breasts and pressed them high up into her chin, her nails making nasty trails across the soft, pale skin. Ros, moaning in agony, wrapped her fingers around Barbery’s nipples and pulled up, actually forcing Barbery to sit up as she stretched out the smaller breasts. Their cries of agony filled the Godswood, and Ros was sure that Stark men would be on them any moment now.

That was when Barbery released the one of Ros’ breasts and shoved a hand up her habit and found her hair mound once more. She began to pull the wiry red hair and Ros’ eyes rolled into the back of her head as she bit down on her tongue to stop from screaming. And when Barbery pulled the red pubic hair from her mound, she shoved them into Ros’ face.

“I’ll rip you bald, your red headed cunt! EAT IT!”

Ros opened her mouth but lunged forward and bit Barbery’s lower lip and began to pull. Barbery released her, howling. She balled up a fist and drove it hard into Ros’ temple. Knocking her to the ground, dazed.

And then, Ros felt the vicious cunt shove her fingers inside of her. Ros began to buck and kick wildly. The pain was exquisite and for a moment, Ros was sure she would pass out from the pain. She tried to pull Barbery off of her by jerking her hair with both hands, but it was to no avail.

Then, a blinding pain just beneath her stomach. Instinctively, she knew that Barbery had fulfilled her promise; she had taken Ros’ maidenhead. Barbery smiled down at her and jerked her fingers from Ros’ sore pussy. She held the fingers up to reveal her scarlet tips.

“You’re worthless now, you nasty cunt.” Barbery panted.

            Ros was blinded with tears, half from pain and half from shame. She clutched at he crotch and saw the blood on her own fingers. Then she began to wail like a child.  Barbery stood and Ros rolled over, clutching the mound between her legs. She watched as Barbery walked over to Brandon and knelt beside of him.

            “Let’s fuck here, Brandon…please…” Barbery moaned. “I want her to watch you take my maidenhead.”

            The blood  on her habit and the sound of her rival’s voice stoked the rage inside of her. She stood, her legs shaking uncontrollably. Her habit felt like a mass of crawling insects on her body. She tore at it until she stood naked, her thighs stained with blood. Brandon saw her but Barbery did not, her dress coming up over her head just as Ros tackled her to the ground.

            “YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Ros screamed. She plunged her nails into Barbery’s small breasts puncturing her skin and feeling the blood ooze out through her fingers. Barbery’s screams were muffled by her dress but Ros was sure they were more pained than ever.

            “HE’LL NEVER TAKE YOUR FUCKING MAIDENHEAD.”

            Ros raked her right hand down Barbery’s body down to her ass, pressed her fingers up against Barbery’s wet mound, and plunged them in.

            But before she could tear the cunt’s maidenhead from her, Barbery kicked her hard in the stomach, forcing her back onto her ass. Barbery turned and lunged at Ros, her teeth bared and her eyes wild with fire.

            But Ros was ready for her. She caught Barbery in the throat with a hard kick, dropping her like a stone. The lady clutched at her throat, coughing and clawing at the earth, trying to reach Ros. Ros grabbed a handful of her dark hair and jerked her head up. When she did, Barbery threw a handful of dirt into her face. Ros howled, rubbing at her eyes with her palms as Barbery began to crawl away toward Brandon, her hand stretched out to him.

            “Brandon…Brandon stop her…”

            Ros Lunged forward and dragged Barbery back by her foot, taking a few wild kicks to the face. She bit into Barbery’s toes, a wet scream her reward. Then she pulled her way up the naked body, and began to punch her in the side of the head until the screams became weak sobs.

“NEVER! HE’LL NEVER TAKE YOUR MAIDEN HEAD! NEVER YOU FUCKING WHORE!” Ros was a wild animal now. She was out for blood and this bitch just couldn’t bleed enough for her. So she decided to end it.

 Barbery wailed like a dying animal as Ros stabbed inside of her with her fingers. When Barbery’s screams faded into  more tears, she pulled her fingers back and found them covered in blood. Then she slid onto the whore’s back, grabbed her hair, and began to pound her face into the carpet of red leaves.

            “He’s mine, you vicious bitch! Mine!”

            “Ros.” Brandon called out in his strong voice.

            Like she was under a spell, she was drawn to his voice. She stood weakly and went to him, holding her bleeding body, tears of joy and pain leaping into her eyes.

            “Oh, Brandon. Brandon my love–”

            Brandon’s strong arms lifted her up and threw her to the ground. She looked up at him in shock.

            “What have you done, you stupid girl?” Brandon hissed.

            “I…I fought for you…She was trying to steal you from me…”

            “She’s a Lady, a real Lady. And you just took away her greatest bargaining chip.”

            Ros felt the hot tears burn her eyes.

            “But…what about me?”

            “What about you?” Brandon shouted. “I stopped writing you! You wouldn’t give yourself to me so what was the point?”

            Ros’ mouth fell open.

            “Please…no…no I love you.” She moaned, crawling to his feet.  He pushed her back with his boot. He unfastened his cloak and threw it at her.

            “Cover yourself and get out of my sight.” He spat on her, and then went to Barbery.

            Ros covered herself and ran, not knowing where she was going or what she was going to do. It took her a few minutes to realize the horrible shrieking sounds in the woods was coming from her.

            Now, sitting at the gate of the Godswood, she thought this was it. Her whole life had been filled with loss; her father, her dignity, and now the man she loved.

            He never loved you. You were a foolish girl with a foolish dream. You deserve everything you get.

            Looking up at Castle Winterfell, she saw one of the lights from the window coming toward her. She gave a final sigh and gave herself over to the light.

            When she woke the next day, she was staring up at a lovely woman with a massive bosom and rouged cheeks. But though she looked young, she had an air of authority to her.

            “Oh, there we are dear.” The woman said. “Didn’t know when you’d be up.”

            “Where am I?” Ros asked, trying to move but the singing in her body loud and painful.

            “You’re in my establishment,,” the woman said. “I’m Madame Morse, and you are a very lucky girl.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” Ros said, remembering the events from last night. Her eyes filled with tears again.

“Stop that.” Madame Morse snapped. She grabbed Ros’ face and pressed her cheeks together. “I know your story and I’m here to tell you that you are lucky to be alive. Another one of Brandon Stark’s broken toys. And after what you did to Lady Barbery? Wars have been started for less.”

“I don’t care.” Ros sobbed. “I’d rather the world burn than live without him.”

Madam Morse smacked her.

“I’ll thank you to not pull me and my girls in to your deluded fantasy. You want to die, fine, but don’t go taking the world with you.” She paused and looked into Ros’ eyes. Then continued. “But, if you want to live…and I mean really live, you might consider letting me give you a place to stay and a profession suited for you.”

Ros stared at her for a moment and then realization dawned on her.

“A whore!” She sat up in the bed, the furs falling from her bare breasts. “I am not a whore.”

“No, but you could be.” Morse said. “And a damn fine one at that. Men would worship you. Not a man around would be able to pass you by…women too. Everyone would want you.”

Ros considered for a moment. The shook her head.

“Not Brandon.”

“Fuck Brandon Stark,” Morse said. “He’s a vile man who treats women like playthings. Here, you won’t be a toy. You will be a Goddess.”

She left Ros in her room to think it over. As Ros wrestled with the choice, she looked at the fur cloak on the chair. Her heart ached for her loss, but if what Morse said was true, how many other cloaks had been lost to other innocent women? How many girls had Brandon Stark left naked, bleeding, and alone?

She made herself a promise then.

She would survive. No matter what she had to do…who she had to do, she would live if for no other reason than to spite them all. Brandon’s cloak would top her bed. She would fuck on the Stark name until it was covered in all the filth of North. It would be her own, personal revenge.

“I accept,” Ros told Morse when she brought her a bowl of broth. “I’ll be a…a whore.”

“Say ‘professional’ if it makes you feel better.” Morse said. “You will be great someday, if you stick with it. Though to tell you true, it’s going to be rough to start. You’re the new girl, so you have to climb the ladder.”

“It was the same at the Sept.” Ros said.

Morse laughed. “I doubt that.”

This Story is Continued in Part 2 — Click Here to Go There!

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